#the truth is that I had the best time visiting French and their cities are a lot more livable than Italian ones

[in-kyblogs]

need to know more about italian lestat and why is this so overshadowed by his french side 😤

Have you heard about the fact that Lestat is nonbinary on his mother side? We could say the Italian thing is the same kind of situation really lmao

His mother, Gabrielle De Lioncourt, was born in Naples and grew up there. It was common for Italian nobles to marry in France for political alliances reasons, the most famous is the Medici family from ‘400 Firenze: Caterina De’ Medici was a french queen in 1547 (fun fact: the Medici family seal has similarities to the royal French seals with the arald of a lily I think for some alliance thing in the ‘500 but I can’t exactly remember). But I digress. This is to say that, as direct neighbours, Italy and France have a lot of history and a lot of beef, mostly due to wine and cheese if you can believe it. And football. Oh, especially football.

Gabrielle isn’t really an affectionate mother, she has a complex and fascinating relationship to her role as a woman and a wife and a traumatic experience, I’d say, with giving birth to seven sons (can’t wait for her character in the show, especially since Hannah, who wrote a play on these themes called What a young wife ought to know, which I wholeheartedly recommend, said she is really excited to be writing for her!). This results in her and Lestat having a really weird relationship, cold and distant but at the same time extremely visceral due to the both of them being kind of prisoners in their own life. Gabrielle never teaches Lestat Italian, nor is particularly forthcoming about her old life or her cultural roots. When Lestat runs to Paris, Gabrielle tells him to find someone who can write Italian for him, so he can send her letters that his father can’t read. She also never bothered to teach him the alphabet, even less a second language, and she used to read Italian books that Lestat couldn’t understand. So, very mixed feelings about this on Lestat’s part I’d say. He is, I think, really resentful of this side of his mother that he isn’t allowed to know, but at the same time really fascinated by it: his first attempt at escaping is with an Italian troupe of commedia dell’arte actors, a type of play that involves a lot of improv. Basically you have a series of “maschere” (characters) that have a definite set of characteristics but no written lines (we call it canovaccio I have no idea how to translate this concept though). Each character is tied to a specific part of Italy, for example Pulcinella is the neapolitan one, Arlecchino (Harlequin) is from Bergamo (near Milan). Lestat plays Lelio in the book, a character from the italian play that is the maschera of the lover. (He is also the protagonist of a play by Goldoni where he is also a liar (title of the play Il Bugiardo), totally unrelated to iwtv but it always makes me laugh).

I basically wrote all this stuff to say that Lestat knows basically nothing about his italian heritage and that explains why it is so overshadowed by his french side, but I will say that both italian and french people are extremely extra, in wildly different ways and also they will fight each others over nothing (they stole the Gioconda btw), so this accounts for why Lestat is like that ™️. Particular about food? Italian heritage. Snobbish about music? French heritage. Extremely petty? Eh, to be fair, both. Will hold a grudge forever? I will tell you, during fifa and uefa football games we still yell at the French team about that time during the 2006 World Cup final when one of their players went and hit one of the Italian team players with a headbutt (Italy won btw💁🏻‍♀️). So yeah. Lestat never stood a chance really

[romi--weiss]

TRIGGER WARNING: drug abuse, death, murder, guns, homophobia

❀ *◦ mia goth. cis woman. she/her. lesbian. ⇝ hey, isn’t that romi weiss ( nickname: onyx )? i think that the twenty-five year old from new york city, ny works as sous chef at the ivy and spy for the cardinal serpent, but outside of that people describe them as glitter on the floor after the party, chanel diamond earrings & a fresh manicure. i hear they are contrary & self-destructive, but they are also known to be bubbly & generous. consider giving them a visit at their home in the marionette and get to know why they’re called the life of the party.

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Romi Chava Weiss NICKNAMES: Rom (pronounced "Rome") AGE: 25 BIRTH DATE: August 5, 1999 ZODIAC SIGN: Leo ETHNICITY:  English, French, Brazilian GENDER: Cisgender female (she/her) ORIENTATION: Gay BIRTHPLACE: New York City, New York OCCUPATION: Sous Chef at the Ivy

RELATIONSHIPS

SIBLINGS: Liliana Weiss (sister) RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single CHILDREN: N/A

PHYSICAL TRAITS

FACE CLAIM: Mia Goth EYE COLOUR: Light brown HAIR COLOUR: Dirty blonde HEIGHT: 5′10″ WEIGHT: 120 lbs. BODY BUILD: Slim 

HEALTH

ALLERGIES: N/A SMOKES?: Yes DRINKS?: Occasionally DRUGS?: Yes, weed on occasion CHRONIC ILLNESS: N/A

DISORDERS

ADDICTIONS: Cocaine (in recovery) MENTAL DISORDERS: Depression WHEN WAS THIS DIAGNOSED?: When she was 24, Romi was diagnosed with depression while she was in rehab

BIOGRAPHY

EARLY BEGINNINGS

Romi was born in New York City in 1999 to her parents Peter and Eva Weiss. Growing up, she and her older sister, Liliana, were incredibly close and they spent a lot of time playing together in their Greenwich Village townhome. The Weiss family lived in the lap of luxury and Romi and her sister never wanted for nothing

What Romi didn't understand when she was younger was where all that money came from. The truth was that her father was a mobster and he made all of his money by being a drug baron. In fact, at one time, Peter Weiss was responsible for a majority of the heroin that was being sold in the city

Growing up, Romi was the apple of her father's eye, his baby girl. However, it wouldn't always stay that way. Though her mother, Eva, tried her best to look their other way regarding Peter's dangerous line of work, her final straw was when a bomb was set and detonated in their home when Romi was fourteen. Thankfully, Eva had taken the girls out for the day, though their housekeeper was killed. After this, her mother was determined to keep her children safe. She packed a suitcase and took the girls with her

However, Peter Weiss did not take kindly to his daughters being whisked off into the night and he wasn't about to let his wife win, nor would he allow her the opportunity to take all of his blood money in alimony and child support. So he did something about it

While the girls were at school, Peter had his wife taken care of and he was determined to ensure that his girls never found out. When he picked them up from school, he informed them that their mother had gone away for a while. And then 'a while' turned into 'a few months' and then finally, the story was 'I'm sorry, girls, but she's decided that she doesn't want to come back'

From the very beginning, Romi knew that something was very wrong--her mother would never, ever leave her daughters behind. The whole story just sounded wrong, like it was just vague enough to buy some time. Though no one ever said it, as Romi grew older and realized the dark truth about how her father supported their lavish lifestyle, she realized that her mother was dead and that she would probably never, ever be found. You could call the mob a lot of things but you could never call them inefficient

THE CHATALYST

For a very long time, Romi didn't feel like she could do anything about her suspicions. How could she? By the time she was 17, she was well aware that her father financed her entire lifestyle. She wasn't stupid enough to think she could just get disowned and survive. Maybe that made her weak, to be unable to live without Daddy's money, but she didn't know what other choice she had

Over time, though, it began to weigh heavier and heavier and heavier. She'd started to have nightmares about her mother, started to wonder how much her father actually loved them. Sure, he said it all the time but did he really love them? Or were they just his darling dolls, his prized possessions to show off and take credit for raising such wonderful children--or so he thought

The first straw was when Romi came out. She'd always known she was different but she never thought it was a big deal--in fact, she really didn't try to hide the fact that she was gay. However, when she brought her first girlfriend, Meg, home to dinner, her father blew up, screaming at her, calling her a disgrace, disgusting, and a disappointment. Romi would remember looking at her sister, Lily, and pleading with her eyes 'Please say something! Please stand up for me!' But instead, her sister just averted her eyes, probably grateful this wasn't happening to her. Romi had always feared her father but this was the first time that he'd ever screamed at her

After that, things were different. She wasn't the apple of her father's eye anymore--quite the opposite. From that moment on, he only ever told Liliana that he loved her and it showed. Romi felt the lack of love, from the both of them. It's like she'd completely abandoned. A few days after the incident at dinner, he'd come to her and apologized for yelling but he also made it explicitly clear that she was to keep her sexuality to herself. She remembered having laughed in his face, asking him "Are you fucking serious?" His face of anger and disgust showed that yes, he was indeed serious

Romi's father was verbally abusive but he'd never been physically abusive--after all, why raise a hand yourself when you can pay someone else to do it? After she'd come out, Romi had noticed that she was being followed. At first, she was worried that it was some creep but it turns out that her father had had her tailed, just to keep an eye on her, to make sure she wasn't 'disgracing the family.' It was soon after this that Romi started to use coke on a regular basis

Though she'd never been interested in drugs before, suddenly, partying became her escape. After all, what else could she do? She was forced to be closeted at the threat of being kicked out of the family. Feeling unloved and unable to love out in the open, she really lost all inhibitions and threw caution to the wind. Every single night, you could find her in a club, high, having the time of her life

One night, however, she'd made the mistake of stumbling into the house right in the middle of an important business meeting. To save face, her father tried to have her escorted to her room but something in Romi just snapped--maybe it was the way he was talking to her, so fucking condescending, like she was a child. Sure, maybe she was acting like a child but he should fucking know why. After all, how could you expect a motherless child not to be lost?

In front of her father's business associates, she'd made an offhand comment about her mother--she hadn't meant to, it had just slipped out. "Are you gonna' do to me what you did to Mom? So I'll stop being such a fucking bother to you?"

After apologizing to his associates and apologizing for his 'disturbed' daughter, he had Romi escorted to her bedroom where she passed out. However, when she woke up, she found herself in a very different place. She was alone in a room and shortly after she came to, her father stepped into the room. Shit, this was bad

At first, she started begging him--she was sorry and she promised not to cross him again, promised to no longer embarrass him. But he said it was too late for that. At that, suddenly her fear turned to rage and she leapt at her father, her nails tearing at his skin. "I know what you fucking did," she snarled. "You think you can just throw people away when you get tired of them? When they're no longer of use to you?" Her father simply pushed her away and gave her a sickening grin. "Precisely." Pulling the pistol from his waistband, he muttered something about how she was far more trouble than she was worth. After that, everything went dark

THE AFTERMATH

For quite a long time, it's as if Romi was living her new life on auto-pilot, as if she'd barely registered that she herself was alive--and how exactly the fuck was she alive anyways? For a long time, her memory was a thick fog that she was unable to see through, only getting bits and pieces here and there. However, eventually, she was able to piece enough together to know that her father had been behind it all

She hadn't been able to locate her sister, Lily--though she never stopped hoping that one day, they'd be reunited. She did, however, find her father. She tracked him down and discovered that he was now living in Anchorage, Alaska, one of the city councilman no less. With that, she set off to Alaska

She still had her orders, of course, but she was also pursuing her own agenda. When she showed up in her father's office, for just a brief moment, she saw a sight that she'd never beheld before: he was afraid, like he'd just seen a ghost--because hadn't he?

Needless to say, Romi turned the tables on him and blackmailed him--what kind of father gunned down his own fucking daughter anyways? She let him know straightaway that he would be funding her lifestyle and he'd continue to do so lest he risk losing it all. It wasn't just what he'd done to her--it was what he'd done to her mother and all of the knowledge that she held about his life of organized crime

Even though on the outside, it seemed like she'd won, she still felt as if she had a storm inside her chest. She continued to party, becoming even more reckless now that she seemingly had endless money to spend. In her young adult life, she'd had a lot of low moments but perhaps her rock bottom was when she'd gone on a three-day bender in her big, empty apartment. She'd been doing line after line and at one point, her euphoria turned to sheer panic because she could hear her heartbeat in her ears and it felt like it was racing faster than ever before. Suddenly, she was sobbing, terrified that her heart was going to explode, terrified at the idea of missing out on everything that she'd yet to do

With some encouragement from friends like Cyrek Fawn and Anka Mae-Nava'i, Romi eventually checked herself into rehab, where she was diagnosed with depression. She's had a few backslides but she's now been sober for a year-and-a-half, a huge feat for her

Anka also encouraged her to explore her culinary skills, which Romi seemingly had a knack for. Having trained under Anka, Romi is now a sous chef at the Ivy, an accomplishment that she's rather proud of

[ithinkineedamoment]

2. Paris, France

1 of 1,000

I feel like it’s way too early in this process to even fully begin to unpack this one, but here we go. 

Realistically, it makes sense. Barely a month ago, Sergio and I got off a plane from attending the 2024 Summer Olympics in France. It was a once in a lifetime event that I had been planning and replanning tediously since January 2023. There were tickets to be won, booked out hotels, over priced planes, and a whole lot of unknowns. 

Sergio had never been to Paris or France. I, on the other hand, grew up no less than 20 minutes from the French border, in Germany, for my teenage years. Birthdays, long weekends, grocery shopping, flea marketing - it’d all happen in France. So in planning this Tour de France, it was less about me, and more about what I thought was worth seeing in France for Mr. Man’s first time. I stressed over every detail - was it worth going out of our way to Mont Saint Michel? Will he like staying in this neighborhood in Marseille or should I pick somewhere closer to the water? I begged and pleaded for his engagement for over a year and piecemealed together a plan. So much needed to be figured out, but not for a single minute did I worry about our weeklong stay in Paris. 

It was September 25th, 2010 and our high speed train from Kaiserslautern had just arrived in Gare Montparnasse. My family had barely been in Europe for two months and there we were, dressed in our American best pretending we were citizens of the world. The photos of this trip are hilarious given that these were before years of military propaganda and attempts at assimilation (our military TV, AFN or Armed Forces Network, showed several commercials threatening terrorist attacks if you left your military base looking or acting like an American). 

Regardless, we were there for one day to celebrate Mom’s birthday. It had not been an easy move to Europe. Over the past few months, Dad returned home from a year long deployment and he and I quickly fell into a quasi-estranged relationship. Weeks later, we found ourselves in Germany living in a concrete box on a military base, ostensibly, in the middle of nowhere. Mom would lash out, leaving scuffs and indents in the walls of the staircase that would never be fixed. The four of us were each other’s only support system, changed by the reintroduction of Dad to the mix after his yearlong absence. Who we were to each other and how we operated as a family unit was actively being rewritten in a militaristic world we had always been a part of but never formalized. It’s been 14 years, but I don’t remember we were ever happy in those early months. So stepping off that train felt energizing. Here we were in Paris - Paris! We were finally fulfilling the promise we were told of travel and seeing the wonders of Europe. It felt like the pain of getting to this point was finally paying off. 

Truth be told, I barely remember anything from this specific trip to Paris. Scenes of this trip playback like the photographic screensaver that used to run on the family computer. But there would be more trips. A Memorial Day foray through the Louvre and the Gardens of Versailles with family friends, a spring break stay at EuroDisney, the three of us zipping through the Metro to catch sights of Mom running her first and only half marathon, a couple days here, an evening or two there - all these visits from our time in Europe exist in my mind as a living map of the city. “Remember when we were here last?” we would ask each other, only to respond “of course! New years 2011,” while standing under the Eiffel Tower. Each trip was significant enough to be noteworthy, but when played back over and over again, they lose their place in time.

This timelessness, I feel, is the point. When you’re sneaking down the Cour du Commerce Saint-Andre, just off the Boulevard Saint-Germain on the Left Bank, it makes sense. The stories you hear of winding streets flush with candlelight, the chattering of wine glasses and the clinking of vape pens against the metal tables, and somewhere, a street performer playing an Edith Piaf song because beauty is innate in every Parisien (and not because they’re catering to a tourist economy) - all of this combines to reaffirm your preconceived notions. Some find it romantic, others, a caricature to be avoided at all costs. And yet, we visit - experiencing a city designed to be beautiful by people who inspired its destruction.  For every cathedral vault, there is a riot and barricade, for every newly built city wall, there was a force itching to invade. 

In the fall of 2019, in the “blissful” months of post-college “freedom” that usually consisted of downing a bottle of wine by myself in bed watching old seasons of “The Amazing Race”, I felt the need to leave. I had some extra cash, not because my job paid well, but because I was paying next to nothing to live in the converted living room of a shared apartment with two former classmates. It was lonely - feeling as if you were entering adulthood having spent the past four years destroying yourself for a chance at success. So I planned a trip that I knew would hopefully spark some joy into my life. I booked my first solo trip to Paris. 

Except it wasn’t solo. Within a few weeks of booking, I reconnected with Rick for the first time in months. I don’t remember who reached out first but after my fallout with Sergio, it felt harmless enough. While sipping a margarita at some restaurant in Midtown New York, long since closed, we caught up. He pummeled me with questions about what I was doing, where I was living, who I was fucking - convincing himself that the two classmates I was sharing an apartment with were my two boyfriends. I sipped on my drink and wondered what I was even doing there. It was just good to see him. 

Eventually, we parted ways, tearfully. Texts became more frequent and the fear of repercussions dwindled and I mentioned that I was going to France - had booked a whole trip to go to Paris and see other places in the country I had never been to as a treat for myself. I never asked him to or made any indication it was something I wanted, but the next thing I knew, I was planning a trip for two. It’s funny how organizing a trip with someone who has money makes the entire planning process significantly easier. I didn’t complain, but knew that it was most likely a disaster in the long run. 

A few days before the trip, Rick visited the doctor with a horrendous cough. He was told it was the flu and it’d pass, but it certainly wasn’t contagious anymore (Covid was knocking at the door). He could walk only steps at a time before needing a break and was constantly breaking out in a cold sweat. He was adamant that he’d still go on the trip. So there we went. 

The trip was emotionally brutal for the most part. Traveling to Paris with him felt like trying to recover from alcoholism in a winery. Insane on my part. But he was sick! He couldn’t do anything. I’d leave the hotel and roam for hours just to return back to sweaty and upset Rick. I didn’t blame him. He could barely talk yet wanted to know everything, he couldn’t walk, but wanted to experience the city. I felt bound by some duty to give up the things that I wanted to do to support a man who I had loved through the city of it. Suddenly, the sights and sounds of the city I had treasured as the escape from my life through my youth felt like a prison. I was there but I shouldn’t be, I wanted to grow but I couldn’t. I was reminded of all the ways I would minimize my existence growing up in my parents house and performed them with wine stained lips - filling the silence while refusing to acknowledge my part in it. I missed him and I missed his company. I still do now, at times. However, that shouldn’t have been the reason I let him come on this trip. A part of the depression and mess I had been recovering from in New York was now sitting across from me at the dinner table in a foreign country I wasn’t supposed to be in. He wanted so desperately for me to love him again, and I knew a part of me did, but to admit that would have destroyed what was left of me. 

So on the day before we were to leave Paris for our next city, I set off on the day’s journey. I remember the streets being quiet as I crossed the Île de la Cité. In December, the cold hangs over the city like a layer of frost no amount of warmth could penetrate. The buildings, the sky, everything seems a bit paler than it should be. I roamed and I roamed, climbing to Montmartre and realizing I had never been there. Ascending the winding streets and into Sacre Coeur, my mind flicked through the rolodex of bad ideas that could save me from my current situation. After cresting the hill, I found myself going west and eventually to Montmartre Cemetery. The sun was peeking through the grates of the Pont de Caulaincourt while the trees’ remaining leaves swirled down to their crunchy grave. It was cold, and it was quiet. 

I took to the uneven cobblestones that lined the cluttered pathways of the cemetery. The tombs and mausoleums crowded each other like the misshapen buildings of a neglected city. I was alone in this necropolis, the city of the dead.

At a certain point, surrounded by the silence, I found a bench under a Maple tree.  I don’t remember how long I sat there, sipping in the silence as one might a Vin Chaud, letting it numb me. Hector Berlioz, Edgar Degas, thousands of others all lay in their final resting place around me at peace and I was living. Why couldn’t I be at peace? Why did I have to be living? Living with the regret of not being strong enough to save myself, with the want of falling asleep there in the cold and praying I’d awaken to a different life. I had loved so hard and loved so deeply, but could never seem to love correctly. I gave everything I had to everyone else, and with everyone gone - I had nothing left. 

Almost in response to my isolation, a small black cat emerged quietly from the untrimmed brush that twisted between the two tombs in front of me. The only other sign of life in the cemetery curled their way to the top of the tomb and pawed gently at the leaves, clearing a place to rest. I don’t remember whose tomb it was but time seemed to collapse. It didn’t matter whether the interred died 100 years ago or 500 years ago. Side by side, they were all equal in death. And we, the cat and I, were there now.

In the epilogue of Alistair Horne’s Seven Ages of Paris, which I only read this past year, he muses on the significance of the French words for love and death being so similar. Paris, to me, had always been a city of history, of art, of good food, and of love. It was an escape - a vision of a better world, a better life. It was never anything real. Love, as I knew it growing up, was using and being used - it wasn’t care. Paris was a city I used. Now death - death I could understand. Growing up in the military, it surrounded me. I begged for death several times before I should have. Death is inevitable and everyone will know it. All around Paris are markers of this knowledge - these memento mori. Cemeteries, catacombs, monuments, statues - all in remembrance of those who have come before us and had made this city beautiful. It is on the mounds of the dead that the sprouts of new love and life are able to be shared. It is in death that a tomb can become a bed to a sleepy cat. 

I can’t say I bounded from the cemetery, energized by the notion of life. I did not run back to Rick and take him in my arms and promise myself to him forever. I knew that France would be the last time I would ever see him and as of today I’ve yet to be proven wrong. For the rest of the trip, I treated the death of our connection with patience and care, lulling it to sleep as you would a child. I knew that I could not give more of myself to him and I had to stop pretending that I could. What mattered more now was remembering that I will, in fact, die having lived a life for myself. I knew what was left of me was worth saving. I might have felt there was nothing left for me to give, but I could always create more. I couldn’t die without ensuring I left even the smallest bit of beauty behind. 

Now, almost 5 years later, I’m freshly returned from another stint in France, this time with Sergio. We still have never discussed what happened between Rick and I or what happened in France, and I don’t know if we ever will. As I stated at the beginning, we were there for the Olympics and I cannot overemphasize how incredible it was. Yes, most of the city was empty save for the hordes of tourists, but who am I to complain? We were tourists too. It was exciting to return to a city I felt I had history with and not for the city’s sake. Seeing Sergio witness the city with fresh eyes and fresh criticism brought the city to life. In walking hand in hand down the banks of the Seine, it didn’t matter that we were passing the Musée d’Orsay. It mattered that we were there together. We had multiple, lengthy conversations about the struggles of our relationships and the ways we don’t show up for each other while also unpacking complicated feelings of family and home. It was hard, tiring, emotional - but the person I was 5 years ago could never have done so. My parents, who were also attending the games, made guest appearances a few times during our trip. It’s worth noting that shortly after that cemetery visit in 2019, my parents and I fell out of touch - no longer on speaking terms for years. Yet, here we were, back in the city that started it all in 2010, each willing to give Paris and each other another chance. 

On our final night in Paris, as the Olympics drew to a close, Sergio and I grabbed a bottle of wine and made our way to the Jardin du Carrousel. The Olympic cauldron, as made famous by the fact it wasn’t a fire, was a giant hot air balloon whose basket was a ring of lights and smoke that would lift into the air at sunset and shine over the city and all the various arenas. I posited that it was most likely because the first manned hot air balloon ride that brought man to the skies back in the 1800s had taken place in Paris. Either way, we stayed in the garden commenting on the past 16 days of travel and what it meant to each other. For him, an opportunity to discover and appreciate a history he had always known but had strong prejudice against due to France’s imperialism (fair, lol). And for me, an appreciation of feeling present in a place with a history that had not always been easy. Home is a concept that I struggle with, but sitting there with him, it felt like home. 

The sun set and the crowd around us leapt to their feet as the giant balloon in front of us unceremoniously slid into the sky. The empty wine bottle laid at our feet as the two of us stayed seated. The city had never felt so magical and this love had never felt so beautiful. 

[marvelslegacies]

Stats:

Name: Noah Dupont

Nickname: Cadillac/Caddie

Alias: Element; Michaelangelo

Affiliation: Team Legacy

Position: Team Member

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Age / Birthday: 27 / June 28th

Sexuality: Bisexual, Biromantic

Hometown: New York City, New York

Zodiac: Cancer

Quote: “God, I love some people sometimes because people are very, very special.” -AJJ

Personality:

Noah is a rambunctious, happy-go-lucky dude with too much energy. His vices are many, including but not limited to: drugs and alcohol, sex and lovers, gambling, reckless driving, junk food, and shopping. Noah is a kind-hearted individual who harbors as much hope and love for people, even strangers, as he harbors puppy-like excitement. Noah talks a lot, and he tends to mix metaphors and phrases, bending the English language to his whim. He is spontaneous and outgoing but most of all he is open and agreeable, willing to try anything one, and most likely to decide he likes it after he’s tried it. Noah’s kind heart is only overshadowed by his ego and eccentrics, he often feels unseen and misunderstood but combats this feeling with becoming overly eager and jovial. His ever-present smile, in truth, masks deep remorse and sorrow.

Biography:

[Allow Me to Introduce Myself… Mr. Right]

My name is Noah. Philipe Dupont is my father and I respect him a lot for everything he has taught me. I try not to hold the whole “abandoning me with nothing but a stupid key for the first 14 years of my life" thing against him. (That was a joke, I think.) I grew up in New York but I love to visit New Orleans, especially the French Quarter- it’s about as close as I can get to my true French culture (and a kid like me takes what he can get). I’m actually rather impulsive and daring, if I do say so myself, but I also do a lot of meditation and tai chi to help keep calm so my powers don’t go crazy.

[Have you seen my powers?]

Noah is called Element because of his mutant ability to produce and manipulate the four elements: Earth, fire, water, and air. By extension, Noah has discovered an ability to manipulate blood and electricity, although these aspects of his powers prove more dangerous than the others. Earth takes the most effort, but is easily manipulated. Fire is easily produced but the hardest to manipulate. Water is the hardest to produce and the easiest to manipulate. Air takes almost no effort, but is harder to control.

[The Epic Love Story of Andrew and Noah]

Noah was an orphan for the entirety of his childhood and grew up with a roommate, Jonathan, whom he now refers to as his brother and best friend. In the orphanage, which he often refers to as “the home”, he became close with other children including: Jasmine, Amelia, Hunter, Taylor, and Andrew. For two years they all lived together, the year Noah turned 15, they shared their last summer together. When Andrew was brought to the home under the suspicion that his father was physically and sexually abusing him; he was made Noah and Jonathan’s new roommate and they all became very close. Over the course of a year the Andrew and Noah entered into a secret relationship. From ages 12 to 14, they went on secret walks together away from the others, hiding their love from everyone but each other. Then on Noah’s 14th birthday they decided to have sex for the first time. A few weeks after this they broke up because Andrew believed Noah reminded him too much of his father and he couldn’t cope. After that, everyone got moved around and Noah eventually fell out of touch with everybody. He thinks of Andrew often and wishes to find him again, one day, later in life. Perhaps things will be better by then.

[The Brothers’ Grim Tale]

Noah’s birth was almost 2 months earlier than his due date… Philipe Dupont had gone out “teh take care of t’ings” which really meant he was going to kill whomever had grown suspicious enough to stalk the Dupont family. Almost ten minutes after Philipe left Chevy alone with his mother, the contractions started, and after one short hour of labor Noah was born and given the name Caddie. The mother of the two young boys bled out with no medical care during the birthing process… having seen it all, Chevy grew convinced that it was the baby who had killed his mother and devised to kill his premature brother. It was these dark and raw emotions that triggered Chevy’s mutant powers: the ability to raise the dead. His mother’s reanimated corpse rose and cradled her newborn son in loving arms. “I don’t want him here!” Chevy shouted at the gruesome body of his mother. “Of course not.” It said to him with robotic obedience, and walked the baby with super speed to New York, New York where she left him at an orphanage, and dropped to the ground dead. So Noah, who would have been named Caddie, never met his brother nor did he learn the truth of what happened to his mother and father.

Powers:

Elemental Manipulation:

The Elements:

Fire:

Noah finds it most difficult to produce fire and it is also difficult to control but with considerable practice any many mistakes, Noah is able to produce and manipulate flames and strikes with his hands feet and mouth. The key to controlling his fire is controlling the air around it.

Air:

Noah does not need to produce air as it is all around him on Earth though he wagers if he were in space he could figure out how to produce oxygen. This would take months of practice, maybe longer. Air is the easiest element to manipulate as it already flows freely and has no shape.

Water:

Water is fairly difficult to produce depending on the moisture in the air if there is no access to water nearby but Noah has mastered this and, were he stranded in the desert, he’d be able to pull moisture from the environment around him despite its dry, aridness. Water is also fairly difficult to manipulate but when mastered, is one of the more useful and powerful elements.

Earth:

Earth does not need to be produced as it is beneath our feet at all times, and yet it is the most difficult to manipulate with efficiency and speed. Earth, Noah considers, moves slowly unlike fire and wind. It takes considerable concentration for Noah to move the earth around him.

Blood: Using a combination of earth and water manipulation, Noah hyper-focuses on the iron in one’s blood and the water of inside one’s body, and manipulate the positioning of one’s body. He can do much worse things, like slow the flow one’s blood and bring them to a state of unconscious or even a death-like state.

Electricity: Noah doesn’t quite understand how he has manipulated lightning and does not think he can produce it. He has had exactly 2 encounters with lightning none of which went over well.

Skills:

Hand-to-Hand Combat: Hand-to-hand combat is a physical confrontation between two or more persons at short range (grappling distance or within the physical reach of a handheld weapon) that does not involve the use of ranged weapons. The phrase "hand-to-hand" sometimes include use of melee weapons such as knives, swords, clubs, spears, axes, or improvised weapons such as entrenching tools.

Family:

Philipe Dupont - Noah’s estranged, biological father.

Ariel Dupont - Noah’s biological mother who died in the process of giving birth to him. [DECEASED]

Chevrolet Dupont - Noah’s biological, older brother, who goes by “Chevy”.

Team Mates:

Jarome Blakely - Team Legacy’s leader, Cassius is his most loyal team member and thusly gains special rights and responsibilities as Second-In-Command. Cass is also the only one who’s powers can compliment Jarome’s. When Jarome goes deep into the astral plane, Cass establishes a psychic link with him to ensure his safe return to the corporeal world.

Cassius Murdock - Second-In-Command for good reason, Cass also could sense Biron’s pain and anguish and played a major diplomatic role in Biron’s acceptance onto the team.

Biron Bostaligni - The fourth and final member of Team Legacy, Biron was taken in after being sensed by Cass through his empathy. Cass felt compassion and sent Jarome to find him and help him through his psychological break down. Shortly after this endeavor, Biron joined Team Legacy.

Allies:

Poe, Akimi - Noah's crush who was a close friend to Noah at first, but slowly pulled away, having chosen Cass as the one she wished to be with it.

Poe, Ruki - Akimi’s father and one of the trainers at The Academy, Ruki’s loyalties truly lie with his daughter and if her loyalties should ever shift away from Team Legacy, his would surely follow.

Harvard - Although Harvard and Noah didn’t interact very often at first, the two became allies rather quickly after coming to an understanding: Noah could best Harvard using his powers, and Harvard could best Noah without Noah’s powers in play. This forged their mutual respect.

Lovers:

Andrew Golden - Noah's childhood best friend and first love. [DECEASED]

Kelsey Abraham - Noah's first serious boyfriend.

Enemies:

[No known enemies]

ANTHEM: Alone Again Or by Love

Verses:

Werewolf!Noah | Earth!616 | DC | The Boys | Invincible

Tags:

Head Canons | Quotes | Music | Face

Other Muses:

Jarome | Cass | Biron

[Bonus Content Under the Cut]

[Unabridged Biography for Noah Dupont]

[alluringjae]

au cours de l’été - jjh

⤑ translation: over the summer

⤑ summary: this is a story of an exhausted painter who needed a breather from the hectic city life. so aside from moving to the countryside, the needed air in your lungs also came in the form of a person. this summer meant for pure relaxation, perhaps your heart may dive into him too.

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 15.2k (so much for saying that i’ll be writing shorter stories)

⤑ genre: fluff, romance, smut | author!jaehyun, painter!reader, strangers to lovers!au, 50s-60s!au, summer love in france!au

⤑ warnings: me inserting some french phrases because I want to practice (feel free to correct me if I made mistakes, i’ll appreciate them), fictional interpretations of real-life people, explicit language, jaehyun being such a romantic pls im in tears, mentions and scenes of burnout (the worst)

⤑ playlist: everybody loves somebody by dean martin | c’est si bon by eartha kitt | it’s always you by chet baker | les yeux ouverts by emilie-claire barlow | a sunday kind of love by etta james | the most beautiful thing by bruno major | try again by jaehyun and d.ear (duh) | free love (dream edit) by honne | petite fleur by jill barber | plus je t’embrasse by blossom dearie | so this is love by ilene woods and mike douglas

⤑ author’s note: this was an idea that just came to me after pinterest kept recommending me poetic beauty/try again jaehyun, so here we are! i intended to write less than 5k words but sometimes plans don’t go as planned once you really invest in the story yet i’m really happy how this turned out!

the romantic exhilaration in my bones are off the charts because this is jaehyun we’re talking about lol enjoy!

⤑ masterlist

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism, or hellos!

3 juin 1957

The city life overstimulated your entire system, losing your brainpower and inspiration. Another exhibition that’ll feature your works with other influential painters was happening at the end of the year, and you had nothing prepared so far. You’ve crashed to the deep end of creative fatigue.

So you needed to get away again; somewhere quieter and surrounded by nature.

That’s why you ended up in the countryside down south, somewhere within Provence. It’s purely just for the summer, but extensions were okay as long you get back at least a month before the show. Filing that leave of absence at the studio you worked at was worth it.

You rented an apartment overlooking the marketplace, where the heart of the village was. After arranging things from your boxes and luggage the entire day, you found out that you lacked in the food department.  

So the succeeding day, the entire morning was spent on grocery shopping downstairs then stocking them inside your refrigerator, freezer, and pantry. Right after changing out of your pajamas into a flowy floral dress and sandals, you decided to bike to the bakery that locals suggested. A must-go place for newcomers, they all raved.

“Café des Étoiles Perdues.” (Café of Lost Stars.)

The clear chimes of the bell resounded through the small, cottage-like lobby as you entered inside. An old woman, whom you assumed was the owner, welcomed you openly.

“Oh la la, vous êtes belle! Vous vous appelez (Y/N), la nouvelle venue, n'est-ce pas?” (Oh la la, you’re beautiful. Your name is (Y/N), the newcomer, right?)

She complimented, making you shyly mutter your answer. Wiping off the flour from her apron, she introduced herself kindly.

“Je m’appelle Camille. Mes spécialités sont les macarons pisctaches et des croissants avec des amandes. Autre chose que tu aimes?” (I’m Camille. My specialties are the pistachio macarons and croissants with almonds. Is there anything else you like?)

“J'aime tout ce que vous suggères, Madame.” (I’d like anything that you suggest, Madame.)

A younger man, who went by Jaemin, was a part-timer barista who asked for your coffee order. As he directed you to the best seat of the café, which was outside overlooking the garden of blooming sunflowers, you pulled out your sketch pad so you could capture this dreamy view. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your life.

You’ve decided on a theme already for your exhibit thanks to your conversations with locals yesterday, which was related to freedom. After being chained to cities for so-called better living and financial standards, it’s actually how your inspiration to create squeezed the life out of you like a lemon. Although it was fun at first to see those tourist spots, it eventually got tiring.

Another matchstick to graze intensity through your bones was what you prayed for.

While you’re engaged in a rough sketch of the scenery, the dandy presence of a young man entered the café with his books. White shirt, red trousers with a matching beret, he sported freckles on his pale face. Despite visiting his favorite café numerously, Camille was overjoyed to see him and his serene smiles.

“Jaehyun! What brings you here?”

“Bonjour, Madame! I’m starving for your croissants because I ran out back home.”

“Not to worry! I’ll pack up some so you’re on your way.” She lightened him up like one of her kids, taking one of the bigger paper bags.

“No rush though, Madame. I’ll be reading and working here for a bit here.” Jaehyun affirmed, bringing it out his wallet and called out for Jaemin.

“Un café crème, s’il vous plait.” (One cup of cappuccino, please.)

Jaehyun’s usual chair was by the large window, overseeing the wide garden planted by the citizens of the village way before he was born. It was places like this he missed after moving to the city for his education and work’s sake. 

That’s the thing when you’re coming from a rich family; you don’t have much of say with what your parents order you to do. However, his recent request to stay in his childhood home (or mansion) again was fulfilled because he couldn’t search for what he needed in the cities anymore.

Jaehyun was a sucker for romance; an old romantic others would say. A lot of women mistook his kindness as flirting on many occasions, but ironically he just wasn’t looking for anyone yet. 

Starting as a novelist in the said genre based on real-life stories of people he met in Paris, Barcelona, London, and more, his stories were popular hits especially to young adults who aspire to find love one day.

However, traveling to the known places no longer felt fun as he got older. The stories he gathered were very similar, just in different languages. It took an enthusiastic dinner with his family, specifically his only older sister Krystal retelling fond stories from their younger years to get the idea of moving back for a bit. So consumed with the city life, he wanted to see things from another perspective.

What was the difference between a love story formed in the countryside than in the city?

It’s been a month since he arrived, but he didn’t hurry himself to do his research. He’s been reading books in his family library, revisiting monumental places, exploring around the village, and reconnecting with old friends as if he never left. 

Readjusting to his former life would make writing easier when he’s motivated enough to do it again. Besides, his books were profiting well enough to his taste; good enough for the next 10 years according to his personal accountant, Kim Jungwoo.

Jaehyun resumed reading this book his mother recommended him before he left. Entitled “Réessaye”, which was about a young man who reunites with his childhood sweetheart after his arranged marriage failed. After what she put her through, he’s hesitant whether to try again or let her go.

Jaehyun enjoyed reading books with realistic outlooks on love because he found them more meaningful, enlightening how exactly it makes you feel and do. Even if he enjoyed reading sappy, fairytale-like stories from time to time, he always returned to the real ones as they only displayed the truth.

That love isn’t always rainbows and sunshine, but something that can also break you especially if you go after the wrong person. This kind of mindset was how he toiled on his stories, which gained him a status outside of his unavoidable labels such as “the only striking son of the Jeong family” or “Valentine Boy”.

He diligently browsed through the climax, where the main male character confessed all his constrained emotions to his sweetheart. But it was until Jaemin pressed the bag of croissants in front of his face after placing down his childhood friend’s drink to disturb his peace.

“Reading again?” He taunted, snatching his book away and throwing the bag on Jaehyun’s lap. “When are you writing that book already? Everyone is practically dying for you to release something new again!”

Jaehyun flatly shook his head, drinking his coffee quietly. It’s not the first time anyone asked (or pressured) him about his next release, and it’s the last thing he wanted to think about. “Not in the mood right now, Jaemin. Now off to work before Madame Camille scolds you again.”

“You’re just stalling because you have nothing to write, don’t you?” Jaemin cunningly expressed, raising a brow. He’s known to catch onto the people’s bs easily; the last person you’d want to say your secrets too and Jaehyun realized too late. Though lucky for him, Jaemin shut the topic down right away so he wouldn’t pop a vein.

“Sais-tu de la nouvelle venue dans le village, d'ailleurs?” (Do you know about the newcomer in the village, by the way?)

“Une nouvelle venue?” (A newcomer?)

Being stuck at his mansion recently, news about village affairs were now late to him. Jaemin’s finger discreetly pointed outside the window, pertaining to a young woman sat outside painting her view in front of her.

That would be you, shading all the flowers in bright colors.

Seeing a new face amazed Jaehyun, especially when she was almost someone right out of a book. In a neat bun with white daisies printed in her dress, she crossed her legs whilst continuing her movements. She bit her lower lip, frustrated over an accidental smudge she made and trying to fix it by blending it with another color. When she accomplished it, she swapped brushes. A thinner one, to outline the shapes of the flower. Her lips curved to a smile after finishing another one perfectly with the rest.

“Jaehyun?”

Jaemin snapped his fingers to his distracted friend, zoning out the window. Still something he hasn’t stop doing, he pondered. With a final snap, Jaehyun broke away from falling hard from his abstract. Jaemin calculated the problem so quickly, analyzing his friend breezily like his medical school requirements.

“Elle est splendide, n'est-ce pas?” (She’s gorgeous, right?)

“Elle ressemble à une personne décente.” (She looks like a decent person.)

Jaehyun pushed it aside, flipping back to the page where he stopped reading. Before Jaemin responded, the door chimed open again to alarm him that a new customer came in. He excused himself to his friend, warning him that this wasn’t the last time he’ll talk about the newcomer too.

Jaehyun nodded along, not taking his friend’s cheeky words so seriously. However, the final result you attempted to create tickled his curiosity, so he slyly peeked from his book to the window.

You’ve freed your hair down, victorious to have started your collection this early in your break. A fantastic start, you let the paint dry first and munch on the croissant that served as your reward. However, you ‘re quick to notice a manly figure glancing through the window. From the side, his brown eyes appeared lively even if his entire face was hidden by the book.

Réessaye by Mark Lee; he must be a romantic. Every person in your studio read it, excluding yourself. Painfully beautiful, they’d summarize it.

Daring to meet more people, you locked eye contact with him. He didn’t expect it, almost flipping from his chair. Bashfully, you waved him a hello to somewhat break the ice. However, it broke his composure, and suddenly, he scurried off with his things from the café.

Now, you got quite worried. You checked your tiny mirror if he saw anything unpleasant with you, but you’d say you look relatively fine. Oh, maybe you could redeem yourself the next time you saw him. After bidding goodbye to Camille and Jaemin, the latter chased after you when you prepared yourself on your bike.

“By any chance, did you say hi to a guy with brown eyes and a red beret?”

“Well, more like I waved at him, then he zoomed out. Did I do something wrong?” You questioned with concern, putting your hands on the handles.

“That’s my friend, who’s quite reserved with strangers. I’m sorry on his behalf.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You brushed it off politely. “See you again soon, Jaemin!”

Peddling away, letting the cool breeze fan you, your mind reverted its thoughts to that strange man. Maybe you’ll give it some time; you had a lot of it.

“Shucks, he was pretty cute.”

12 juin 1957

The world must really be on your side with these good decisions because you crossed paths with the strange man again in the café a week later. But instead of running away, he asked nicely if he could sit across your free chair in front of your table outside. It was a Saturday, and the place was packed.

“Joignez-moi, s’il vous plait.” (Join me, please.)

You insisted, giving yourself time to subtly observe his physique a lot more. Freckles dotted under his eyes like a constellation, bushy eyebrows, pink cheeks to match his pale complexion, and wearing a fuzzy knit sweater that meshed well with his green beret. He had some sort of necklace too; there was a heart pendant.

“Vous êtes une artiste.” (You’re an artist.) The small wooden palette of paint beside your small sketch pad was exposed, finding it as a great icebreaker.

“Une peintre, spécifiquement. Franchement, les visuels ici sont trés captivants qu'à Paris.” (A painter, to be specific. Frankly, the visuals here are more captivating than in Paris.)

“Je suis d’accord,” (I agree,) Jaehyun leaned against his chair, taking a better look at you with the remaining light from the descending sun.

“Oh, vous êtes comme moi. J’habite à Paris aussi.” (Oh, you’re like me. I live in Paris too.)

“Bon, je suis née à Londres. Puis, j’ai déménagé où je voulais en Europe depuis j'avais 18 ans. Mais oui, j’habite définitivement à Paris maintenant.” (Well, I was born in London then moved wherever I wanted in Europe for inspiration since I was 18. But yes, I live permanently in Paris now.)

You clarified, beginning to enjoy his comforting company. Initiating conversations with people you’re not acquainted with wasn’t in your range of skills, though he didn’t have an intimidating vibe. He looked too youthful to act like that.

“Je m’appelle (Y/N), d'ailleurs.” (I’m (Y/N), by the way.) You stuck out your hand as a sign of respect, which he enthusiastically obliged.

“Salut, (Y/N). Je m’appelle Jaehyun.” [Hi, (Y/N). I’m Jaehyun.]

He kissed it in a gentleman fashion, applying the manners he’s been taught since he was a child. Should you have been flustered, but no.  It’s been a long time since anyone greeted you like that, specifically back home.

Throughout your talk, you learned more about who he was, his job, and what his life in the countryside is like. He was an author of romance novels, yet you’ve never heard about him prior. Heavily prioritizing your work, you don’t keep up with the new releases or trends at all. Though after mentioning his last name, it piqued your interest.

“Jeong? As in the business, Jeong Tea Inc.?”

“Correct.”

His family was one of the most affluent families in Parisian society. Old money immigrants from South Korea, they brought their tea business to France and it boomed successfully. You’re quite sure you’ve seen his parents in past exhibits, but never did you approach them because you were a rookie then. But he reassured you that it was fine, and to just treat him like you’d treat your friends. Plus, it came to your knowledge that he was the same age as you too.

He opened up how this village was where he lived his childhood, so he asked his parents if he could hand over their mansion for a while for rest. It then shocked both of you at how identical your reasons were for staying in the countryside.

“I’m burnt out from the city, so I’m trying to regain my spirit here hopefully. Besides, I needed a change of scenery after living there for 3 years. My longest stay yet outside of London!”

“I need new ideas for my books. The cities don’t charm me anymore, so I returned here for peace and quiet. Maybe let these ideas come to me rather than me going after them.”

From a bigger lens, people would conclude your interaction as a sight of two artists who passionately talk about their art. But to you, you’d interpret it as two relaxed, young adults in their twenties who simply wanted to run away from the pressures of their art and enjoy the summer as every young adult should.

Not cooped up in the studio or office, but innocently waltzing around with your youth while it’s still there.

début de juillet 1957

“Dépêche-toi, (Y/N)!” [Hurry up, (Y/N)!]

Jaehyun yelled at your open balcony from downstairs, parking his mini car beside your bike. He planned on taking you somewhere a little farther this time; to absolutely feel like one of the locals.

The countryside urged you to wear more dresses and flat shoes, so you took out a turquoise dress with a white scarf to wrap on top of your head. Like your relaxed fit, your mindset too was calm. Upon meeting him, he wore his round spectacles with a red knit sweater over a white turtleneck long-sleeved top. His fingers were adorned with silver rings, then around his neck was a thin black ribbon. He curled some of his hair again, a style you really liked of his.

You can’t lie, but this man could pull any trend or style and still look extra pretty.

Out of all the locals you’ve befriended in your stay, Jaehyun was always your companion. He took you to varying places that those locals don’t visit nor tourists acknowledge in their reviews for the past few weeks. For someone who hasn’t been in the village for a long time, his memory didn’t disappoint. His childhood was only filled with cheerful moments.

Today, he was taking you to a peaceful district of shops in the farther part of the village. It’s where he’d buy sweets, journals, and accessories with his mother, Krystal, and one of his housemaids every other weekend.

All the stores there were currently bombarded with blooming flowers along their alley, bringing more enticement to those who were roaming around. There was so much life here; the head waiter of one restaurant smiling at every passing customer, one florist handing a free flower to anyone who asks, and a young lady showcasing her jewelry collection to a bunch of women who looked like tourists.

“Cette librairie vendent des livres enveloppés dans du papier. Ma mère m'a offerte l'un d'eux pour mon anniversaire tous les ans comme une surprise.” (This bookstore sells books wrapped in paper. My mother gifted me one of them on my birthday every year as a surprise.)

He trained his attention at a rustic shop with open wooden windows giving a glimpse of their shelves.

“Avez-vous fini les lisant?” (Have you finished reading them?)

“Du début à la fin.” (From cover to cover.)

He took you to this rooftop restaurant overlooking the entire plaza. Since he didn’t arrange a reservation yet didn’t get rejected, he must know the owner. Especially how a lot of the staff gave casual hellos and high fives.

Speaking of the owner, he walked out of his kitchen to introduce himself to you. He went by the name Moon Taeil, another one of Jaehyun’s childhood friends whom he used to play at his house whenever his parents came along.

Gobbling up in the appetizing food Taeil prepared beforehand, Jaehyun brought up your painting exhibition again. He loved hearing artists talk about their works, wanting to know more about their driven mindset and what their imagination is like. After all, it does vary for everyone.

“So far,” You poked your fork through the chicken, taking a bite of it. “I’ve produced 3 paintings. The garden of flowers outside Café des Étoiles Perdues, the kids playing hopscotch in the alley, and the peach tree outside your house.”

“Woah, you’re on a roll.” Jaehyun clapped across you, pouring you another glass of water. He recalled the nights you ranted not having any clue what to do for the exhibit. Then after taking you to more places, he’s rewarded to see you be creatively active again. “How many artworks do you left to make?”

“Around 3-4 left. I have ideas already, but I’m still brainstorming.” You internally rejoiced, loving how much progress you’ve made. “How about you, Jaehyun? How’s your progress?”

Unlike you, Jaehyun still felt stuck. Although he did find couples around the village, none of them intrigued him as much as his past stories. But he won’t give up easily; that’s not in his work ethic.

“Still searching, but I’ll get there.”

Recently, you got ahold of some of Jaehyun’s books from him personally since they weren’t sold in the village. You wanted to understand how he became so well known outside the labels people put him under. Reading his first novel entitled “Des Papillons” (Butterflies), it was about a couple separated during World War II without contact or knowledge about their well-being. Yet whenever they saw butterflies on the day they parted, they took it as a sign that the other was alive wherever they were.

You’re always hanging on the cliff when the scenes revert back and forth to the main male lead getting stuck in intense war scenarios, rooting for him to get out alive each time. In the end, it took 7 years before they were reunited and wed.

Jaehyun had a wonderful way with his words and descriptions, managing to enwrap you in as if you’re also a character in the book. Like how you rooted for that male lead, you’re rooting for him to find his spark again.

Following this uplifting conversation, Jaehyun finally took to your greatly anticipated spot. It was the main viewpoint of Gordes, one of the most beautiful hilltop villages in the country. The sunset was about to hit, and the lights from the city across you slowly turned on like a bunch of dominos.

As you marveled at its aesthetics, Jaehyun leaned against the hood of his car. He sensed how in awe you were, more than you ever were in the city he assumed. So used to the city that being surrounded with nature became foreign to you.

He took out his polaroid camera from his trunk and captured a photo of you from behind. The shutter sounds were obvious, turning your back at the commotion. Jaehyun fanned the freshly printed photo to dry, giving a mischievous smile.

“What can I say? While you’re fawning over the view, mine was more enamoring.”

Although Jaehyun felt overwhelmed the first time he locked eyes with you, he can’t resist the power of his developing feelings for you. The more time he took you around, the more his heart found different details about you to admire. After listening to all those love stories in the past, the people he spoke to shared how there will be some distinct moment where your heart decides who they’re longing for.

That exact view of you by the cliff, he already knew.

He’s infatuated by you.

“Tu es très ringard, Jaehyun.” (You’re so cheesy, Jaehyun.) You scoffed sassily, with a hand on your waist.

“Un gentleman ne ment jamais, (Y/N). Allez, il fait nuit maintenant.” [A gentleman never lies, (Y/N). Come on, it’s night already.]

He cleverly responded, grabbing his car keys from his pocket. The trip back to the village was energizing, putting down the roof of his car to relish the chill breeze of the night weather. You even raised your arms in the air, losing your scarf even from the speed Jaehyun went at!

The two of you belted along to the songs on the radio when the fields were the only ones surrounding you, no neighbors to shout at your rambunctiousness.

The late-night hours drew by so quickly almost like dinner with more of Jaehyun’s friends didn’t happen. Arriving at the front doors of your apartment complex, Jaehyun raced over to your side to open your door. Always maintained proper observation of manners, you appreciated that side of him. Rarely anyone in Paris that you’ve encountered treated you that way because you were a foreigner.

“Bonsoir, (Y/N).” [Goodnight, (Y/N).]

“Bonsoir, Jaehyun. Quand est-ce que je te revois?” (Goodnight, Jaehyun. When can I see you again?)

“Demain et après-demain. Appelle-moi quand tu es libre.” (Tomorrow, and the day after that. Just give me a call when you’re free.)

With a short wave, you entered your building and marched up to the stairs. A good day only meant being tired to the core, ready to crash and fall in your soft bed. Opening your wide windows to let more of the cool breeze in, your eyes easily caught Jaehyun’s classy car still there. As for the owner, he didn’t move an inch from his leaning position.

“Rentre à la maison, Jaehyun! C’est tard!” (Go home, Jaehyun! It’s late!) You shrieked, peeking side to side to make sure none of the neighbors scold you.

Jaehyun laughed wholeheartedly, not budging at all. “La nuit ne fait que commencer, ma chérie.” (The night has just begun, my darling.)

“Comment tu m'as appelé?” (What did you call me?)

Either your ears were fooling you or he addressed you by a divine pet name. The gasp you swallowed, as your entire body tingled with exhilaration. Your mind would simply disregard it like his former teasing words, but your heart begged to differ.

Rather than responding with words, Jaehyun’s voice serenaded you with a wondrous song, C’est Si Bon by Eartha Kitt, that played on the radio earlier. Out of the blue, a random guitar accompaniment followed his baritone vocals.

“En voyant notre mine ravie,”

Against the railing of your wired balcony, your body shifted forward to watch him better.

“Les passants dans la rue, nous envient,”

Your hand perched on your cheek, admiring his talent.

“C'est si bon de guetter dans ses yeux,”

It was like a lullaby, and here you were drowning in its peacefulness. Sensing the passion he gives off in his singing, your heart couldn’t refrain the strings inside from being swayed and tugged.

This was your moment of realization: that you too were smitten.

“Un espoir merveilleux, qui donne le frisson…”

À la mi-juillet de 1957

“Hello, nature!” You greeted brightly as your legs raced the huge garden in his manor. It was the first time he invited you over, too lazy to go out of the city. His social battery needed a recharge for the weekend, so a picnic within his home would do the trick. Additionally, it was an excuse to bring you over after the numerous times you’ve begged him to.

Jaehyun merely shook his head, enjoying the rush of childlike fun in your veins while you squealed and grazed your hands through the flowers.

He carried a wooden basket full of treats his family maids cooked, taking his time to venture through the rows of flowers. They were growing healthily and phenomenally these days, sometimes riding his bike to personally water them since he became busy with writing again. Lately, he found inspiration again, and so he wrote day and night to set them free.

“Voila!” You yanked out a sunflower, sniffing it a little. “Come on, Jaehyun! Pick up a few for our lunch!”

He followed your order, picking out some he found ideal. But just for fun, he put down the basket and carried you from behind out of the blue. You tried kicking him away, but his muscular arms can’t compete with your soft ones.

“What are you doing?”

“You said to pick up a flower, so I did. The prettiest of them all.”

His flirtatious words were never serious, yet you took it as a compliment. That’s how high your confidence is. Only we define our own worth, not others. The two of you chatted more about your lives until the first rain of the season poured down, chilling down from the raging heat. None of you had an umbrella; the weather was too unpredictable.

Deciding to just run for it, he gave you the wooden basket to protect yourself whilst he used the blanket you’ve sat on. Running with laughter to return to his mansion in the muddy dirt, the cool drops shivered your figure yet felt fantastic.

If you were in the city, you’d panic because it’d mess your appearance and your boss would be infuriated by your unprofessionalism. But in the countryside, it didn’t matter at all. The condition of the rain wasn’t budging to improve, getting stronger by the minute. His entire house even lost power, his housemaids having to bring candles to his bedroom and your assigned one once night dawned.

It was hopeless to return home for you, plus it’s dangerous to drive in in the dark, narrow streets too. Jaehyun handed you some of his fresh clothes so you’d be free from flinching from cold dress sticking to your body.

“Get dressed and some sleep, (Y/N).”

Nodding, you excused yourself to find the bathroom. You’d assume it’d be easy, but this was your first time in his house; a mansion even. Doors from left to right, long corridors that seemed never-ending, no maids were within the vicinity whom you can ask for guidance.

Resorting to return to Jaehyun’s chamber for help, you were taken aback by what your eyes laid on. In front of his full mirror, he discarded his now-dried shirt. Even with the dim lighting, you could make out that he was fit by the transparent view of his abdomen. Peeping like this was wrong, yet you couldn’t turn away just yet. The heat in your cheeks was inevitable, finding composure in such an unholy sight.

Though a gear in you suddenly twisted; a gear that straightened your nerves. You’re taking a bold move on the chessboard of your feelings. Wholly opening his bedroom door again, you leisurely sauntered inside without warning.

“Oh, (Y/N)! Ne peux pas trouver la salle de bain?” (Oh, (Y/N)! Can’t find the bathroom?)

Unbothered as he stood shirtless, you on the other hand silently dropped his clothes on the floor. Holding intense eye contact, your fingers graciously unzipped the side of your dress. Inch by inch, the tension built up like the strong tiny flames lit on the candles around you two. Joining the pile of clothes, all that remained were your white lace undergarments. Unplanned for the get-go, it’s the ideal set for your earlier outfit at the picnic.

“Je me suis perdue, mais je pense avoir trouvé quelque chose de mieux.” (I got lost, but I think I found something better.)

Your fingers grazed your arm up to your collarbones, faking your naivety. From your lust-filled stare, the glint in Jaehyun’s eyes darkened. He gulped at the revealing sight of you, brushing his hair back to restrain himself.

None of you could utter a single word, only the vivacious rain being the only sounds ringing around you. Thus, you allowed your actions to pursue precisely what you desired to do.

Taking baby steps towards him to test the waters, he met you right in the center and closed the leftover space. His hands cradled your face, whilst yours clung to his chest. His lips tasted like red wine, watching him pour in a glass for himself earlier. He did offer, yet you declined.

Your tongue darted his lower lip, gaining access after. Sensing the edge of his bed, you plopped yourself down the cushion. His knee urged your legs to widen, letting his body slide in. From your face, his fingers lowered to the back of your bra, snapping the clasps open.

“It takes skill to accomplish that in one try, Jaehyun.”

“I lived in Paris too, ma chérie. You out of all people would understand and have the experience.”

His palms massaged your freed breasts, throwing your head back even more to his pillows as his lips ravaged down from your stomach until the fabric of your not-so pure panties.

“Call me that again, please.”

“Ma chérie, seras-tu mienne?” (My darling, will you be mine?) He kissed and licked the tiny ribbon in front repeatedly, where your now-swollen clit laid. It electrified your bones, pulling on to his ruffled hair.

“Tu peux m'avoir.” (You can have me.)

Sex in the form of one-night stands were all you’ve invested; upcoming artists like you weren’t capable to maintain long-term relationships. Les plans à trois even if you’re extra freaky or drunk from the afterparties of your events. All that these occurrences had in common were not seeing those men ever again after sneaking out of their apartments in the morning.

This time, it’s different.

When they said that doing the deed with someone you’re romantically entangled with was more special, they didn’t bluff. You could plan bits of your life, but it can sometimes change aspects of it when you least expect it. Sometimes for the best or the worst, but right now, it went beyond your expectations.

It’s rewarding that the man you’ve slowly fallen for within your stay returned your affections.

Around late 3 am that night, your brain jolted with artistic ideas that awoken your sonorous rest. There are no hopes of sleeping them off because they tend to bother you for hours until you do something about it. But you’re already so cozy having Jaehyun’s arms around you, skin to skin under the duvet. His lips daunted right above your forehead, recalling his endless kisses there that helped you fall asleep.

Well, these ideas don’t work themselves unless you do. Untangling him tactfully, you stepped out of the blanket and wore one of his long white shirts he gave you earlier before pulling out your sketchpad and palette of oil paints.

Luckily, there was still one available candle to use as the rest have melted indefinitely. You slid the matchstick again to the sand surface, boring a flame from the friction which you placed on top of the wick.

All your ideas that night leaned towards one thing, or person rather: Jaehyun.

You spent a few minutes retracing how he vividly looked at the picnic, leaning back from the chair of his work desk. His outfit of a turquoise turtleneck underneath a white button-top with trousers matching the said turtleneck looked good together, how his ears tingled red after you complimented his newfound inspiration for his book, and the prominent veins in his arms when he rolled his sleeves due to the heat.

The thin brush you held defined the shape of his face, then paying attention to the messy strands of his hair. Stroking in a circular way to outline his eyelids, a hoarse grunt disturbed the peaceful silence.

“Get back in bed, ma chérie.” His eyes drowsily opened, lying on his side. The moment he no longer felt your warmth, he worried something happened. Instead, you’re working late at night after quite a rough yet romantic night.

“Shush,” You shunned him down with your index finger. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“Perhaps, are you painting me?” He hunched from the covers. “Your eyes looking back and forth would never lie to me, would they?”

“Maybe…” You teased, batting your eyes at him without any risky intentions. Or not?

He deeply chuckled, sluggishly removing himself under the covers. In his pure nudity, he advanced himself towards you. You shrieked, covering yourself with your free hand.

“Jaehyun, stay back! I told you I’ll be there soon!”

Not listening, he carried your bridal style, making you drop your precious palette to the fur rug. Laying you carefully, he popped each button open. By the sight of his cock hardening again, you knew you were in for another round with him.

“Wet again, ma chérie? Oh, this will be fun.”

Fin de juillet 1957

So this kind of summer romance concept that everyone fantasized about… it became your present.

Together you’d stroll in the smaller streets and immerse yourselves in the unique culture of the village. Whenever anyone saw you together, holding hands, biking, or what-not, they’d praise in the name of love for bringing you both together. A romance like yours in the countryside was a lively sight.

Remember how extensions were a possibility if your search for inspiration wasn’t found? Well, it’s not a question that you’d make one, except inspiration found you instead. And he had one arm around you as he slow danced with you in the open grounds of the village, listening to the live band covering song classics.

In particular, Chet Baker. He was Jaehyun’s favorite artist at the moment.

There was an ongoing week-long festival dedicated to summer, giving more plants their bloom and spreading gratitude to the hardworking people. Especially the students, off on their break.

The faint radiance from the post lights as Jaehyun swayed you around, making you laugh as he tried to mumble the lyrics of the song. All those glasses of wine he tried earlier with you from the bartender offering it for free had its effects, and you weren’t off the hook from them either.

Blisters started to form from your ankles, adjusting to the new pair of heels Jaehyun gave (or insisted to buy) you a while ago after staring at them like lasers. You’ve always provided things for yourself that being spoiled by someone else felt weird to you.

“If there’s anything you want me to buy for you, just tell me.”

“How can I buy you if you’re already mine?”

His smooth talk often made you punch his shoulder, but it’s just a mechanism to hide the exhilaration.

Under each other’s spells in your dance, you laid your head on Jaehyun’s chest. Feeling the strong beat of his heart, you were reminded of how much life he’s filled with. And you became a part of it, in the same way he crossed yours.

Jaehyun’s lips sank to the top of your head, pecking it affectionately. The first-ever summer where he wasn’t stuck at his desk working or drinking his life away with his rich friends in their Parisian homes, it couldn’t get better than this.

“Oiii! Flirtez ailleurs!” (Oiii! Flirt somewhere else!) The distinct voice of Jaemin, handing out pastries to passersby, shouted at the both of you, making you flip your middle finger at him.

“Trouve une copine d’abord, d’accord?!” (Find a girlfriend first, alright?!) You shouted back jokingly, almost falling due to the ache of your feet. Your immodest behavior was censored by Jaehyun’s large palms, not wanting the kids around to see it. Whispering closely to your ear,

“Tu es ivre. Laisse-moi te ramener chez toi.” (You’re drunk. Let me take you home.)

You changed back into your sandals as Jaehyun led you through the different alleys. Your vision was too hazy to navigate, so he had one arm wrapped around your shoulders. The weather grew cold too, shivering your bones so he draped you in his blazer.

“Wait,” You stopped, making him do the same. But before he could ask for your reason, your hands yanked him by his suspenders and your legs walked backward to reach the brick wall. Standing in his 5’11 glory, you were overpowered.

Yet your lips captured his effortlessly, raising to your toes to press yourself closer to him. He moved fast, one arm hugging your waist while the other hoisted your leg up. Tangling around his waist, the urge to move your hips against his crotch couldn’t be contained any longer.

Everyone was probably still out at this time or sleeping. The sloppy sounds you’ve produced were beyond suitable for any audience. Not to mention, the nasty words Jaehyun’s pretty mouth spoke in your ears desired you to fall to your knees.

“Not afraid of getting caught, ma chérie? You want me to ruin you right here, right now?”

“God, Jaehyun,” Your hands tugged his belt forward, the friction it gave to your core twitched the naughty side out of you. “Do it, please.”

The idea of public sex thrilled your mind into overdrive, yet you’ve never done it. In Paris, a city where several people started to know your name, you didn’t need a scandal to be plastered in your resume yet.

Jaehyun himself included, and still opted not to give it to you.

“Another time, ma chérie. Your apartment, now.”

The moment you unlocked your apartment door, Jaehyun was far from gentle like in the mansion. Ripping you out of your frilly dress didn’t take long, so was unbuttoning his trousers down to the floor.

On your knees, his hand gave you a makeshift ponytail as your tongue flicked the slit of his cock. Then slowly taking him inch by inch on your mouth, you’d let out a loud pop when you needed to breathe. Your hands fondling his balls, he groaned from the edge of your bed and tightened his hold on you. Tears formulated in your eyes as you got to swallow him whole, uncontrollably bobbing your head.

He felt like putty when he released, your throat taking the salty base. You hastily unhooked your bra in front of him when suddenly, his hand flicked on the fabric of your panties, cueing you to stop your motion.

“Keep them on when you ride me.”

Straddling on his lap, his head laid against the headboard of his bed. His arms roaming around your back to stabilize you, your fingers pushed your panties to the side as you pushed yourself down his protected length. Your moans became shaky. Up and down, you bounced while bracing on his shoulders.

Against his ear, your moans were harmonious. His hips moved against your beat, hitting your g-spot like the sexual ace he is. His thumb rubbing your clit, you shuttered your eyes at the impending high approaching you like a bus.

“I’m close.” You choked out, the overstimulation overwhelming your nerves.

“Fuck, me too.” He grunted, slapping your butt that made you shriek.

Soon enough, everything hit you both all at once. The knot snapped, and so did your body falling on his chest after a single scream. Panting, Jaehyun pecked on your temple as his cock softened up. Once you returned to your senses, you lifted yourself from his length, laying bare beside him.

His eyes started to fall, but before they did, he muttered huskily. “Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

It was the first time he’s said those words in the way they meant, and he’s more than certain that it’s what he felt with you. Sure, it started as mutual infatuation, but now, it can’t leave. Not on his watch.

Love was a concept unfamiliar to you, but Jaehyun slowly taught you what it was and how it felt like. Books and films may give sneak peeks, but to personally give and receive it back was made possible by him.

From this moment on, you could conclude that yes, you reciprocated it.

“Je t’aime aussi, Jaehyun.”

16 octobre 1957

Autumn made its way to the countryside.

The leaves switched into red-brown shades, the weather in the south was warmer, and the wine harvest was highly anticipated. Jaehyun’s camera was a common item in your outings, taking as many photos as he could so the two of you had something to look back on.

Planned and candid, his range was wide. These were moments that proved that your youth was as happy as you wished it to be. You wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Painting in his mansion was a regular thing, having new canvases prepared at his patio. There were so many items that amused you there like you could base your entire collection on his home. It’s not like Jaehyun could argue; it meant more time with you whenever you came over.

“Jaehyun, if you smudge paint on me, so help me Go-” He refused to listen to your “threats”, smearing black paint on your cheek.

“You were saying?” He cockily pestered, showcasing his paint-filled fingers. You dipped one of your brushes into the new paint and chased after him without hesitation. The entire evening became a paint war, a laugh fit even after seeing your reflections in the mirror. But before you could clean yourself, Jaehyun’s camera was by your face and he pressed the button.

“Still breathtaking.”

But the middle of the season arrived, that’s where your planned extension you’ve reached its end. The exhibit was next month, getting calls from your boss regarding your return and the paintings you’ll present. You informed her that you already had them mailed to your studio way back, so there’s nothing much to worry about.

All your bags were packed in the private car Jaehyun rented. Here, you’re bidding your goodbyes to every friend you’ve made outside the doors of your apartment complex, saving your last words with Jaehyun.

The night before, he stayed over and helped you pack your last items in luggage bags. He even brought extra clothes for you so you wouldn’t work extra. You’ve talked it out the whole evening through what happens next to ease your worries. In your bed, he opened the wide windows and pulled you under the sheets.

“Write to me.”

“Call me when you’re free, or whenever you feel like it.”

Leaning against the railing of the stairs, watched the sorrow in your face over this parting. He sensed how bittersweet everything was, but he wouldn’t change anything about it. He’s positive that your story won’t end here, not right now.

Sauntering to him, you sighed whilst taking your bag he held the whole time from him. His touch was tighter as the two of you hugged tenderly, nuzzling his head on your shoulder. The scent of his citrus cologne that implanted in your brain felt comforting, despite the uncertainty of everything between you.

You hinted a minty taste from the menthol candies from his home as his lips brushed yours, colliding it timely. He waited when everyone left, relishing these last seconds.

Stepping inside the vehicle, you waved your summer love farewell one more time before the driver hit the pedal. Your eyes couldn’t stray away from looking back, the distance between him and your former apartment widening. Only when he was no longer in the frame, you shifted your focus back in front.

Your fingers fiddled with the charm bracelet he gifted you from the market. It was custom-made by a jeweler who was great friends with his mother in his younger years. There were two pendants chained on it: a paintbrush and the sun.

“A paintbrush to remind you of your passion, and the sun to remind you of the summer we first met.”

The man was like one of his romance books, in human form. He knew how to catch your breath effortlessly.

Your stay, for now, may have concluded, but there was always next summer. And the ones after that. The village felt like a second home, one you can’t neglect like the other places you’ve lived. Then having Jaehyun here, the more reasons to return.

Undoubtedly the best vacation you’ve ever been in your adult years, one that didn’t sacrifice for your art so you could compete with other artists. The weight on your chest poofed into thin air, and you felt ready for what the next steps as a painter were.

Appreciating the greenery you passed by, you peeked over the side mirror of the car only to find Jaehyun quickly biking in your direction.

Now, what was he up to?

You instantly requested the driver to slow down his pace, rolling down the window of the car. Not caring about the strong winds, “You fool, what are you doing?!”

Although he trusted your last words, he had the greed to see your face again. It would be a long time until he’ll see you in person again. So he pedaled as fast he could to still reach you. Oh, the things you do when you’re in love.

“Mon cœur bat la chamade pour toi, (Y/N)!” [My heart beats loudly for you, (Y/N)!]

You giggled at his silliness, throwing out flying kisses.

“Je reviendrai bientôt, Jaehyun!” (I’ll come back soon, Jaehyun!)

21 octobre 1957

Only your friends at the studio gave you a warm welcome back, receiving comments like “get back to work” from your first encounter with your boss. Popping a champagne glass open after work hours on the rooftop of your studio, they interrogated you with all the questions they could think of.

“So this village in Provence…. was it beautiful as the tourists said?” Ten, who moved from his home in Thailand to Paris at a young age, expressed his curiosity whilst leaning against the railing overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

“Beautiful is an understatement, Ten. I miss it dearly!” You heaved a sigh, twirling your glass.

“So this inspiration you were looking for…” Amélie, your dear friend since your university days, created some tension as she prolonged her last word. Playfulness twinkled in her eyes, crossing her legs. “Was a person involved by any chance?”

For a moment, your throat almost gagged on the sizzling alcohol going down.

“What do you mean?” You acted clueless, pouring your now empty glass with more booze. But the moment Ten gave you the troublesome look coordinating with Amélie, you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. These two were such gossips in and out of the studio.

Ten took the seat across you on the table and leaked all his pent-up information.

“So you know Seo Youngho, the only son of the Seo family. Rich, socialite, a total hotshot… yeah, all that jazz.” He dived in, seeing you nod over knowing that man. Someone in the past you’ve slept with, but that’s another story. “Well, Amelie and I attended one of his parties at his large penthouse. He had his usual crowd there; Kim Doyoung, Lee Taeyong, Nakamoto Yuta, and Lee Minhyung. But fun fact: there’s another member in that friend group who doesn’t go to these kinds of events.”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Amélie excitedly took off like the pipelette (chatterbox) she is. “Youngho, who was talking to us for a bit, asked where you’ve run off. Poor him, he must’ve missed you in his bed but anyway! We told him that you went down south somewhere in Provence for a break. Oddly enough, he mentioned how the mentioned member moved back there for the same reason.”

Ten and Amélie gave each other another frisky look, merely to piss you off. So predictable of them.

“Get to the point please!” You screeched.

“Jeong Jaehyun, ever heard of him?” Amélie imitated your tone of voice. “I mean, you should since you made a whole painting of him.”

“H-How,” Speechless, that’s what you were. Ten went on a fit of giggles, signaling the build-up of his intoxication.

“Youngho visited the studio to find a specific painting for his home, and we helped him in choosing. Then when your deliveries of paintings arrived that day and were unwrapped, the look on his face when he saw Jaehyun’s painting was priceless. Things started to add up, especially when he told us that he called up Jaehyun prior, he said that Jaehyun was seeing a girl during his stay there.”

“A young, burnt-out painter from Paris, to be specific.”

They’ve put you on the edge of the cliff, and it was too close to call it a coincidence. Of all things to be revealed, this had to be the first.

“Well, I was waiting for another time to tell you guys about him though.”

Their gasps of joy could give you guys a noise complaint by the neighbors, telling all about your escapades of him and you. During it, the more you missed seeing him daily either on his bike or his car. It was stuck in your routine, but now it’s reverted to your old one.

Could the next summer come any faster?

14 février 1958

Perhaps your newest collection at the Louvre was your most successful one yet.

Entitled “Inspirez, Expirez” (Breathe In, Breathe Out), your sceneries during your stay in the village varied. An old couple slow dancing under the night sky, and the quiet district of shops Jaehyun took you, those were some of your last additions.

A multitude of positive reviews on the newspapers and art magazines came in, commending on taking on a fresher, brighter outlook for a change whilst finding your spark again. As fulfilling it was, what you longed the most was the one responsible for it.

Lately, it’s been tough to contact him. His maids always answered the calls, informing you that he was busy with work or family matters. It’s so rare for him to act like this. Whatever it was, it wasn’t grand or serious hopefully.

Back to your collection, tonight was the last night of it. Just in time for Valentine’s day, where numerous socialite lovers embarked on this event, but you’re more fixated that it was also Jaehyun’s birthday. A boy full of love born on the day dedicated for it, things made more sense. In case, you’ve sent your birthday wishes to him through letter and passing the message to one of his maids. Even on his special day, he hasn’t reached out to you.

But to momentarily forget about that, there was a closing ceremony held for this exhibit with the other artists involved, and it was your turn to give your final remarks. More esteemed socialites and journalists were present, which didn’t halt your nerves the slightest. You were a professional after all, holding pride in your craft as you stood in front of the microphone wearing your new favorite custom-made gown.

There are perks when you have close friends in the fashion industry, specifically Kim “Key” Kibum from the House of Key. After defending him from a disrespectful client when you were picking up a dress for your boss during your internship years, not only did you earn his respect, but an invite to his shows and first claiming of new items from his collections. Dining in expensive restaurants in the metro was a plus, catching up on your lives. Sometimes calling each other out for your sexcapades too.

Speaking of him, he was in the crowd that night, ordering every photographer to take photos of your gorgeous self in one of his dresses. Or in your opinion, bribing some by how he stuffed a few thick stacks of Euro bills down their pockets.

Only one of it ever made. A dark green satin v-neck off-the-shoulder gown, where diamonds adorned your neck and ears and white stilettos kept your perfect balance. Also courtesy of Key.

Because it’s the winter season, he gifted you a limited edition white fur coat every socialite tried getting their hands on. Your hair was styled in a bun, emphasizing your dark tinted lips from this new lipstick Amelie insisted you buy.

Most people would get the first impression that you were one of the socialites, a child from one of the affluent families even. But you were a lot more remarkable than that, having inborn talent in the arts that you specialized over your youth and rising to the top without any parental help.

“Thank you to everyone for their endless support towards the magnificent collections of each artist present. As for mine, I am grateful to rechannel my creative side by taking a break. Rather than romanticizing overworking our bones to the core, there’s nothing wrong with taking a step back from the pressure. Being alive is a blessing, realizing further how our youth won’t stay with us forever. Being away from the boisterous cities, I found relaxation in the countryside of Provence.”

Your lips quirked into a grin as every single memory during that time reeled in your head like a movie. “The beauty of Provence cannot be simply put in words. The muses I’ve encountered were more than lovely, especially the man behind the Poetic Rose. With that, I sincerely thank everyone from my bottom of my heart and I hope to continue to support me in the years to come.”

The applause roared once you stepped down the platform, shaking hands with every esteemed guest with more gratitude as they praised you. These days, socializing with them was a lot easier. You’ve even taken more initiative to greet people first before they do, conversing with them easily about anything.

Key definitely noticed that as you toured him around your section, holding his nth glass of wine for the night.

“You, Madame (Y/N), transformed into a social butterfly.” He nudged your shoulder, smirking once he got a better view of his favorite painting from you. “I guess that’s the thing when you’re in love.”

“I beg your pardon?”

With this free hand, he motioned it up and down at the painting in front of you. “The Poetic Rose is none other than the youngest son of the Jeong family, whom I’ve met through his older sister, Krystal.”

“Am I really the only one who doesn’t know him?!” You stressed, jokingly. Key was elated to capture you in his trap, the changes of your personality too evident in his eyes. Figuring it out that it was love took a while, but being acquainted with Krystal, she’s the one who told him that her younger brother was in love with a painter in Provence. Do the math.

“I’ve met him through his older sister, one of my highly favored clients. He’s not much of a socialite like her, so I don’t really blame you for that.”

Searching for a waiter to refill your wine glasses, a surprise emerged the both of you.

“Madame Krystal, you’re absolutely stunning.”  Key complimented her, giving the engaged heiress of Jeong Tea Inc. kisses on the cheek as respect. Her recent engagement to Kim Donghyun, her childhood sweetheart and also the heir of Kim Couture, was the talk of the town.

They arrived at the event together, drawing the attention of everyone in the room earlier. Now, he was speaking to a few influential socialites he made a deal with this week about the art collections present.

“Key, you never fail to look fantastic,” She remarked positively, poking his necktie before placing her undivided attention on you. “So you must be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’re beyond bewildering in that gown.”

“Flattered to hear that, Madame Krystal. Such a pleasure to meet you.”

The three of you chatted as if you were the only people there. From art, passion, and love, pride filled in your chest when you toured your collection. It was like walking down memory lane for her, adding out how she used to climb the peach tree with her younger brother during their childhood. Once her eyes laid on Poetic Rose, she took her time admiring it.

“My younger brother grew up well. That’s all I could ever hope for as his only older sister.” She paused, noticing how silent you became when you stared at the painting along with her. She observed the passion lit in your eyes, yet there was longing behind it by the way your lips pouted briefly. “You must really love him, do you?”

“I do, truly. After meeting him, not only was I boosted with so much ideas, but my heart embraced him for what and who he is in this universe.” You professed confidently, earning an approving smile from Krystal.

“If that’s how you feel, why not tell him that yourself?”

Her fingers gestured you to turn around. Stood in a grey suit with his brown hair slicked back, it was like seeing a completely new person. A handsome one though. His fashion in the countryside heavily differed from his fashion in the cities. So sophisticated and refined, he looked like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

Your fairytale.

“Jaehyun.”

It’s like everything stopped once he sprinted towards you, pulling you off your feet for a snug hug. Your arms threw themselves on his neck by instinct, not wasting a single second in his grasp. Your nose inhaled the woody scent of his cologne, something more formal than his usual fruity scent.

The smell of aftershave in his jaw couldn’t go ignored either, assuming that he must have had plans to go out tonight. Nonetheless, you squealed as if you were back in Provence, giggling at his boldness. Once he put you down, neither of you could get your hands off each other.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you’d be in Paris!” Clutching your waist, you gazed at him with doe-like eyes, instilling confusion.

“J’ai voulu te surprendre, my chérie.” (I wanted to surprise you, my darling.)

He chuckled, pushing some straying strands of your hair behind your ear. His eyes evoked so much endearment towards this elegant look you prepared, making his heart race as if he were in the gardens of his manor again.

Hearing his petname for you again attacked your heart every time no matter how much time passed, he lifted your chin high. Jaehyun urged himself to kiss you senseless right there, leaning lower. And yes, you anticipated it by how your eyes instantly closed.

Only if it weren’t for Krystal to clear her throat, obviously ruining the mood. Flinching away from your sensual lover, you rubbed the nape of your neck. Towards an heiress like her, it must’ve been unprofessional.

“Couldn’t you at least wait until I left, younger brother?” Her fingers flicked Jaehyun’s forehead, a teasing trick they used to do as kids. Even if she was a lot shorter now, it didn’t mean the impact was weak. He cursed under his breath, covering his forehead.

Stifling your laughter was a failure, crinkling your eyes to unleash your emotions. So this is what their sibling dynamic was like?

“Now excuse me, older sister. You didn’t tell me you were visiting the exhibit after my birthday dinner with our parents?” He crossed his arms, exchanging a judgmental look. For his sake, he wanted to maintain his pride. “All you said after dinner was that you were going straight home with your fiancé after all the alcohol mother gave you because it made you lightheaded.”

“Well, you know Key and his persuasiveness. He insisted I attend this event last minute because all the collections were amazing.” She explained, shedding a subtle glance at you. “Plus, it’s an excuse to finally meet this lovely girl you raved so much through your letters.”

Jaehyun kept his family life private, so this piece of information was new to you. The unpredicted way the fluttering feeling drew in your stomach, all you could do was smile from the flattery.

“He spoke about me to you?”

“More than speak, my dear. He practically professed his love for you, asking me advice on how to court a girl, make them smile, etcetera. You’re the first girl he’s been this affectionate with, and I completely understand now.” She patted your shoulder, hopeful. She had such a strong older sister vibe, reminding you of your older siblings back home. “You’re a clever, talented woman. I look forward to seeing you more often.”

As you nodded in approval, she turned towards her brother with her recurring teasing look. “Yah, Jaehyun. You better take care of her. If she ever sheds a tear because of you, I’m hunting you down in the gardens.”

“Harsh of you, Krystal.” He planted his hand on his chest, feigning pain. “But no worries. Having you and mother around me kept me well-mannered towards women growing up.”

Playfulness aside, Krystal felt honored towards her younger brother. Men these days maintained their sexist beliefs and rudeness, especially those who doubted her high position in the family business once her father stepped down. Nowadays, it’s men like Jaehyun who could really challenge the patriarchy and make women pursue a lot more than being limited as a housewife.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now please excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

Krystal waltzed her way out without tripping from her slight intoxication, which Jaehyun worried about earlier. But anyway, that left him alone with you. Filled with so many questions, you didn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Paris? Why didn’t you acknowledge my birthday wishes to you? Why aren’t you answering my calls and letters?” You blurted without wasting a breath, weren’t trying to come off as needy, but it became peculiar when he was contacting you like usual.

You pushed off thinking of the worst scenarios, not wanting it to ruin your drive and your emotions either. Yet you trusted Jaehyun enough to know he wasn’t the type of person either.

“Okay slow down, ma chérie.” His hands maneuvered for you to stop for a bit. “Ask me one by one and I’ll give you a solid answer for each while we roam around.”

He arrived in Paris last week, which was initially for work. Then his birthday clashing was a coincidence. It would be too lonely to go home and celebrate his special day alone, so he extended. But again, it’s his work that caused his abrupt contact.

When you were too busy delving into the success of recovering your inspiration, he also found his spur to write again too. Day and night, his mind kept him tedious with an endless trail of thoughts and words. Overall, he finalized it then brought the end product to the same publishing house where his books in the past went through.

In fact, he decided to publish them specifically today on his birthday. The only day in his itinerary he planned, where after publishing, he’d hang out with his friends, have dinner with his family then run off to reunite with you.

“I didn’t intend to make you feel like a second choice, so please forgive me for that, ma chérie.”

“All is forgiven, Jaehyun.” You held both his hands, kissing them tenderly out of habit. “I’m overjoyed that you rekindled your creative side again.”

You were so understanding and empathetic, and Jaehyun aimed to act that way too. He learned so much from you as his friend before being his lover. Quickly enough, you’re both back to his portrait in the center. Like a critic, he narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose. Tapping his chin with his finger,

“This man in Poetic Rose, he’s quite dashing.” He commented with conceit, walking closer to it to view it better. “His freckles are on point, his dimples and dazzling eyes too. Why exactly is he described as a Poetic Rose?”

“Well sir,” You stood beside him, imitating his actions. “This man here always spoke so eloquently, like he had a very poetic approach on life. He reminded me also of a rose by his rosy tinted cheeks and his beauty. He was alluring inside and out.”

“Is he your favorite muse?”

“I never quoted him as a muse because he’s more than that. Muses can be replaced once they no longer serve purpose towards the artist. Though with him, he’s the never-ending flame that I want to keep for the rest of time."

You held on to his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. The apparent reddening of his ears proved that he was flustered, yet you spoke no lies.

“Joyeux anniversaire, ma flamme.” (Happy birthday, my flame.)

“Merci beaucoup, ma chérie.” (Thank you, my darling.)

Something about his new release piqued your attention so you brought it up again.

“So tell me about your new book.”

“Let me show you instead.” Inside the blazer, there was an inner pocket that sealed a small hardbound book. Taking it out, he handed it over to you. “This is your copy.”

The cover of the book had an illustration of two young adults running down the fields under the bright sun, with the title written in cursive and placed in the center.

“L’Été de 1957.” (The Summer of 1957.)

Like a child who received a new gift in the mail, you flipped the book open. Seeing the table of contents and credits to other important people involved in the process, there was a detailed dedication right before the starting chapter. It’s an unexpected page, noticing that he never put anything like this in his last works.

“Pour ma chérie, qui a peint les couleurs manquantes de ma vie.” (For my darling, who painted the missing colors of my life.)

Although Jaehyun planned to write about the couples he met in the countryside, he chose to change his perspective. Instead, he based this new book on your summer romance, installing more original characters who made your romance blossom more.

“I was once so engaged in listening to people’s love stories, hung up on what they felt.” He expounded, pacing around the floor whilst you skimmed through the pages. There were black and white photos from your adventures too to wrap the reader further in the story.

“While I was struggling to find the next story, I realized late that my story with you was a perfect choice. When I fell in love with you, it’s like I didn’t have to fret anymore about anything. Everything slowly yet surely aligned into place for me. Like how we found inspiration in each other.”

A poetic speaker meant having a poetic, wise mind. You kept an open mind whenever Jaehyun shared his thoughts on life with you, an intimate time that didn’t require using your bodies. Whether you were stargazing or drinking wine by his patio, his soulful personality never changed.

“So I recapped every single memory we had and compiled them,” He resumed, taking a closer step towards yours. His warm hands grasped your waist again, catching a glimpse of your astonished face. Mostly, towards your lips that he missed feeling against his.

“This book expressed my own take on love this time, the one I want to grow in.”

You’d care less if you dropped the book and your coat right there, your major desire to kiss him again was driving your senses to the edge of a cliff. Nothing could’ve braced yourself the second you fervently collided your lips with his. It didn’t feel like you were in this exhibit, but somewhere back in his mansion engulfed in each other’s presence.

Your legs almost melted by your daring move, if it weren’t for Jaehyun’s arm moving upwards to your back to stabilize you more. Your body tingled with goosebumps due to his relaxing fingers all over your body. His tongue caved in your lips, and you couldn’t ban its access.

Such an explicit sight, it felt forbidden as you were inches away from the public crowd. Yet it was the least of your worries if they made a big fuss over it. Jaehyun was here again with you, and that was more valuable to you. He savored every trace of your touches, taking his delicate time with you. No past birthday could defeat this, especially when it’s the first one to celebrate with you. The first of many.

As much you wanted to keep this up for hours, your lungs started feeling constricted of air so your lips timidly let go. Though your hands couldn’t, your overwhelmed eyes couldn’t shift away from the heart-stopping view of your lover. Wherein even after such a fearless session, his eyes fused with love and need with his plumper lips.

“Everything about Provence, especially you, that’s the life I want.” You confessed this concealed secret that’s revolved your head for a while now. Yet its certainty was true.

“Are you sure, ma chérie? What about work?” As an artist, he believed you should stay where everything is accessible. Yet as his woman, he wanted you to follow your heart. Jaehyun didn’t want you to choose or struggle.

“I’ve grown out from the idea that the city life was the only life meant of an artist like me.” You replied, confident enough to discuss it after deep thought. “Cities like Paris hold exciting, vigorous flames that will have you clinging on to them. But then, they’ll eventually die the longer you stay. You get burned in the process too. However, I stand by what I said earlier. I found an endless flame when I met and began loving you, Jaehyun. It doesn’t sting at all; it illuminates strongly every living day.”

Urging him to lower his stance with your fingers, you stated one last phrase. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“If that’s the case,” Jaehyun acknowledged, sticking his arm out for you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Astounded expressions crowded the socialites in the event as they watched the both of you exit together. If the news of Krystal and Donghyun weren’t crazy enough, some journalists figured the mysterious man behind The Poetic Rose and spread it like wildfire.

How was the youngest son of the Jeong family turned renowned romance novel author connected to the impressive, up-and-coming painter from London?

What really went down in Provence?

“How can you miss out on the signs? Did you not see them share a kiss earlier?” Key protested to those who weren’t approving whatever relationship you guys had. He loved his tea but hated those who simply were money hungry. Wanting a chance to be a part of the rich family, only to fish them out of their riches sooner or later.

Meanwhile, the winter season didn’t stop any of you from roaming the streets of Paris. Moments like these were a preview of the future you’ve envisioned with Jaehyun. Youthful, free, and fiery, a love between two artists created more magic not just in their crafts but to those around them.

Promenading a street overlooking the Seine River, Jaehyun took out a smaller instant camera from his pocket and took a candid shot of you. Stunned, you slapped his chest with your bag.

“Hey! Just how many more things are hidden in your blazer?”

“Just my wallet and a few condoms. Why’d you ask?” He raised a suggestive brow, feigning good intentions.

You hummed, faking your deep thought mindset. “At this rate, I don’t think we’ll make it back to my apartment alive.”

Jaehyun tugged you by your coat, his lips hovering your ear to whisper. “If we call a cab right now, I can finger you in the backseat.”

You chuckled at his vulgar idea, but it seemed ideal. You loved the thrill of getting caught or having someone overhearing you two, just like him. Besides, his fingers don’t match up to yours when you touch yourself alone in your apartment. You bat your eyelashes, giving in.

“Deal.”

6 ans plus tard (1964)

Summer returned, the sun strongly smiling down to the plentiful flowers at your family garden. By the patio of your home, your canvas was already laid by the easel stand. Shades of yellow were applied first to symbolize the brightness of the day, following the outline of your desired scenery for this piece.

Dipping the brush in water to change colors, you took another glance at the breezy sky. Light blue with clouds resembling soft pillows, you inhaled gently as your brush faintly stroked the canvas again.

Your hair was tied in a bun, meaning that you’re in for a busy session. But a more soothing one as the jazz music flowed from the vinyl player inside. Stress was the last thing you needed right now.

“What’s madame artiste up to right now?” Your husband piped in from behind, placing down a tray of tea and crackers. With some top buttons of his white top left unattended, you glimpsed on his toned chest when he leaned down. But you mustn’t pry whilst working, even when temptation was calling your name repeatedly.

“The summer sunshine healed me of my discomfort, so I think it’s about time I painted again.” You chewed on the snack, looking back and forth to the view. As enchanting as all the flowers you and him planted over the years grew, you’re more amused by a little boy strolling around it with his magnifying glass and tiny wooden basket with his furry puppy by his side.

His tiny legs often troubled the two of you because he enjoyed spending time with nature. Only God knows what he found in the garden this time.

“Adrien est explorer encore. Devrais-je lui dire qu’il change de place, ma chérie?” (Adrien is exploring again. Should I tell him to change places, my darling?) Jaehyun cautiously asked, not wanting his 3 year old son to impair your perspective.

“Non,” (No,) You held on to his hand, kissing it sweetly. Although you peeved any unnecessary details found in your scenery in the past, Adrien was an exception. As his mother, it’s hard to say no to him unless necessary.

“Il est un garçon curieux, alors il devrait explorer et flâner où il veut.” (He’s a curious boy, so he should explore and wander wherever he wants.)

Life ever since you returned to the countryside shifted into something more precious than you imagined. From moving places constantly, you found a home to settle in for good. A home with overflowing love and inspiration. A home within Jeong Jaehyun.

Recently, you halted your work-related activities in Paris and came home because you were heavily homesick. It even affected your health as a whole. So you made adjustments with your schedules, postponing appearances to events to next year.

On the plus side, you could be more active as a mother to Adrien. It felt like you burdened Jaehyun to take care of Adrien most of the time because he mainly worked from home, wherein important people who wanted to meet him would have to fly out to the countryside.

Back and forth to Paris, your presence towards Adrien often lacked. Here came your biggest fear, which was Adrien forgetting you. But Jaehyun told you over and over again that it wasn’t the case. As he listened to every wrenching thought you had, but he’d combat it with heartfelt words of reassurance so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

He vowed to love and take care of you when times get hard, and he will continue doing so.

Remember when you said how his mansion felt too big?

It no longer did after getting married.

It gave more room to grow and breathe more life into it. When Adrien was born, he was the prime reflection of your and Jaehyun’s love. He mirrored his father’s physical traits but with a daring personality like yours. A perfect mixture, the world worked amazingly to bring a boy like him into your life.

“Maman! Papa!” Adrien bolted to where you and Jaehyun stood. From the clothes he wore, it’s very much clear that his father was in charge of it whilst you slept in the entire morning. Suspenders, capri shorts, a white shirt, and a red beret, he deserved his title as Jaehyun’s mini-me.

Jaehyun swelled with pride and love for his only son, peeking over what he brought to show and tell you both. “Oh Adrien, what do you have for us today?”

In his basket, there were 3 sunflowers stuck out from the edge. It’s been a while since you’ve seen some in full bloom, lowering your stance to get a more vivid view. He took them out to hand them to you and your husband.

One flower for Jaehyun and two for you. You let out a gasp, scrunching your brows to the center. He always gave one of each item to you and Jaehyun, never more or less.

“Ooh, deux fleurs pour Maman. Pourquoi, Rien?” (Ooh, two flowers for Mama. Why, Rien?) Jaehyun let his nickname out for his lips while you grasped his small hand.

“Well, I heard from Olivier next door that on his birthday, he gave extra flowers to his mother so he could have another sibling. And it worked!” He spoke so innocently, yet it hitched a choke from Jaehyun’s chest. Your eyes widened from disbelief. The information he collected due to his curiosity, no boundaries truly.

“Le mois prochain, c’est mon anniversaire. Je me demandais si je peux avoir un frère ou sœur comme Olivier? Tu es toujours occupée, comme Papa. Je ne veux plus être seul, alors je veux une amie aussi.” (It’s my birthday next month, and I was wondering if I can have a sibling like Olivier? You are always busy, like Papa. I don’t want to be alone anymore, so I want a friend too.)

You exchanged looks with Jaehyun, not knowing how exactly to respond. Although you and Jaehyun did agree that you wanted more than one child when you were younger, neither of you brought it up again since your careers were always loaded with plans.

Adrien was a surprise child actually, conceived on the night where you and Jaehyun celebrated after L’Été de 1957 was announced to be the best-selling romance novel of the decade in the country.

In Paris at his family home, where his parents brought out all their prized liquor, the two of you drank the entire night away to the point Krystal and Donghyun had to push you away from each other from your public affections because their children were present.

But it didn’t stop you two once you reached his bedroom, far away from everything and everyone. And you’ll never change it.

“Oh, Rien,” You eased in, consoling him. “Je suis désolé. Mais c’est franchement une grande demande, n'est-ce pas?” (I am sorry. But that’s quite a big request, right?)

“Mom and I will think about it first, okay? Another kid is a big responsibility, and you’ll be their older brother. That’s another important job, can you do it well?”

“Yes, I can, Papa!” He beamed with glee, his covered head patted by his father after. As you placed the sunflowers beside your palette, Adrien then proceeded to ask you if he could paint with you like old times.

Never you refuse especially with his sparkling round eyes and chubby face that makes you want to squish every time.

As you lifted his light body to sit on your lap, you placed your brush between his stubby fingers and carefully aimed in whatever angle seemed fit so the painting process would run smoothly and perfectly. He let out sounds of amazement when the strokes get bigger, jumping slightly too because the picture became more vivid. You’d smile and coo at him, commending whenever he followed instructions well. As his mother, you only encouraged your child in whatever they want to excel in.

Adrien was the child of two artists, so it was only natural that he had an artistic side in his veins.

Too caught up in your fun, hearing the automatic shutter of the camera from your side was delayed. The source was none other than Jaehyun hiding behind his camera. Jaehyun’s heart soared at the heavenly view of the most important people in his life, wanting to treasure the moment as a lovely memory.

“Hey!” You shouted, placing down the messy brush by the palette. “Je suis très laid!” (I am very ugly!)

“Shh! Tu est rayonnant, ma chérie. Papa est juste, Rien?” (Shh! You are glowing, my darling. Papa is right, Rien?)

Jaehyun politely quizzed the peppy boy, nodding excitedly. His dimples deeply showed up, the main trait he claimed from his father.

“Oui, papa! Maman est toujours belle!” (Yes, papa! Mama is always beautiful!)

He exclaimed, pecking your cheek numerously. You squealed, attacking him with tickles and kisses back. His shouts of delight, then he was suddenly carried by your tall husband in the air like he was flying in the sky. Adrien enjoyed that motion highly, ending up on Jaehyun’s shoulders shortly after to play by the garden again.

“Go paint. I’ll take care of him now.” Jaehyun persuaded, roaming through the long rows of flowers in full bloom. Though seconds after adding some strokes to your piece, you let down your hair, put a hat and sandals on, and ran to the cute duo to join them.

And that’s how your family spent the entire afternoon. By the garden, running around and taking photos and short videos from Jaehyun’s camera. Freezing these valuable memories, this was truly the life you loved so much.

After your break, you could convince the company you worked at that you’d prefer fewer trips to Paris and stay in the countryside longer. How badly you’ve wanted to hold your exhibits here instead. Plus like Jaehyun, let influential people visit you. You’ve already made a big name for yourself now, so that should be valid enough.

Dinner time passed by quickly too, eventually putting Adrien to a smooth slumber as you massaged the roots of his soft hair while Jaehyun sang him a lullaby. This was your joint parenting technique with him since he was a newborn, and it worked quickly as lightning.

You redressed into your silk nightgown after bringing your canvas to the master bedroom, opening the balcony doors to invite the cool breeze in. You tweaked some bits of your painting, including a silhouette of your small family. Regarding where to place it, probably by the living room as it matched the theme.

“What a spectacular day, don’t you think, ma chérie?” Jaehyun conversed, admiring the calm movements of your brush. He noticed a quirky smile grace your lips.

“It’s been a long time since we had quality time like that with Rien. He’s a feisty ball of energy these days.” You replied with a nostalgic daze. “It’s so crazy how one day, he was still crawling to us. Now, he could outrun the both of us.”

“Comme le temps passe vite, hmm?” (How time flies fast, hmm?) Nodding, nothing braced for what your husband had in mind. You almost dropped your brush mid-way. Jaehyun’s lips impatiently devoured your neck, his huge hands fondling your breasts. Violently throwing your head back against his chest, a needy moan parted your lips.

“Jae-” His touches reaching south to where you desired him highly, dampening hastily as your legs naturally spread apart. Rushed exhales, “À quoi tu penses maintenant?” (What are you thinking about right now?)

“Rien se sent seul,” (Rien feels alone,) His hot breath whispered against your ear, his fingers dangerously trailing your thin panties up and down. With your hands tightly clutching on his bicep,

“Alors, donnons-lui une amie.” (We should give him a friend.)

Ever since Adrien mentioned such a daring topic, it hasn’t left Jaehyun’s mind the whole day. After seeing you in utter bliss with your son earlier, he found you so majestic and radiant. It’s a different kind of happiness, especially for parents.

Now you went on hiatus, he thought that it was the right time to have another. He enjoyed his younger years with Krystal, and he wanted Adrien to experience it too. 3 years was quite a wait, and it seemed ideal to try again.

From his nude chest, you flipped around to intensely clash his lips with yours. Draping your arms behind his neck, Jaehyun lifted your entire figure from the chair. His hands gripping on your butt, he delicately lowered you down your bed.

Drowning into his sensual kisses with his hands all over you, this could prolong for hours. Reddening love marks started to resurface whilst your fingers tugged on the drawstring of his pajama pants. Jaehyun’s fingers dove under the fabric of your panties, his index finger rubbing figure 8s the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You struggled to swallow your moans, not wanting Rien to hear it. You wouldn’t want to repeat history, covering it as Jaehyun massaging you after a hard day.

“I know you want one too, ma chérie.” His fingers began to drape down the straps of your gown, presenting your breasts in its full, perky view. But before his lips could suck on your erect nipples, you parted momentarily from him and got up on your feet. Pulling up your straps again, Jaehyun simply laid down but he wasn’t pleased from how you left him hanging.

“Où vas-tu, ma chérie?” (Where are you going, sweetheart?)

He was growing impatient. You were never to interrupt such a sexy atmosphere ever.

From one of your drawers in your vanity table, an important, half-opened envelope was hidden. You were supposed to give it tomorrow but now seemed like a perfect time. Reading it as soon one of the maids handed it to you gave you the jitters, but in a positive way. Sitting back down on the edge of your bed, you exhilaratingly passed it to your husband.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” (What is this?)

“Ouvre-le.” (Open it.)

Jaehyun slowly opened the edges and once he took out the contents. Reading it thoroughly, he couldn’t believe it as his jaw dropped, pacing from the letter and you back and forth.

“Vraiment, ma chérie?” (Really, my darling?)

It was from a doctor you visited in Paris a few days before you left, who confirmed just exactly what caused your health to go feeble suddenly. You already had one certain suspicion, which you addressed in your leave of absence letter. Amelié, who finally got the position as the head, couldn’t believe her ears and insisted you take all the time off you needed.

“On dirait que Adrien a reçu son cadeau d'anniversaire en avance.” (It looks like Adrien received his birthday gift early.)

Overall, it turned out the headaches and repeated vomiting you mistook as motion sickness from traveling was a surprise hello to your second child.

A girl specifically, thanks to the blood test she recommended.

“Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

“Montre moi combien tu m’aimes, Jaehyun.” (Show me how much you love me, Jaehyun.)

The whole night through, the two of you vigorously celebrated with the moonlight from the windows and a few scented candles set in the room. Wet kisses left on your collarbone, words of devotion exchanged, holding his hand as he groaned from heartily thrusting in you, the number of moans from your lips overlapped with the vinyl playing in the room. The intimacy between you two increased, almost as if you made love for the first time again all those years ago.

Excluding being drenched from the rain.

Once the two of you grew tired, Jaehyun lied down beside you. Wrapping one arm around, one hand trailed down your naked skin again. His wedding band flashed your eyes, reminding you of the commitment you promised each other. For better, and for worse.

Jaehyun promised to love you endlessly as a woman and his wife, and it didn’t cease when you became the mother of his children. He respected how strong you are, physically and mentally. He helped you in any way he could as you endured the struggling process.

At the end of the day, his family was his biggest priority. More than ever now, you needed him as you go through the pregnancy phases again. Specifically, his index finger lingered on your stomach. There was no bump or other signs of showing, except for that glow he complimented you earlier on.

“We met and fell in love over the summer, got married in summer, had Adrien mid-summer, and now found out about our daughter at the start of summer.” He smiled, blessed at all the good he’s received during this time.

“The summer gods must adore us.” Your vacant hand with your wedding band topped his. To love and to cherish. “Ils m'ont amené à toi.” (They brought me to you.)

His power on you was simply addicting, as if your early twenties revisited you. You straddled himself once again, your fingers caressing his face sweetly. When it reached his lips, he placed longing kisses there and pulled you closer again for another kiss on your lips. In between, you mumbled in a silvery tone,

“Then they led us to say I do. Pour toujours et à jamais.”

copyright © 2021 by alluringjae.

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Willing or Not

Pairing: dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Paris, France. The Louvre. A handsome stranger saving you. It was worthy of a romance novel.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY DARK!FIC!, con then dubcon (implied drugging/ implied forced captivity), mentions of marriage failures, explicit smut, loss of virginity, some light praise kink, corruption kink if you squint, mostly fluff tbh

A/N: Dedicated to @awesomerextyphoon who succeeded in luring me with fluffy smut plot with a dark undertone. I hope I did your idea some justice. Enjoy! Not edited. Not beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.

Full Masterlist

Paris, France was the immediate choice for you in your journey to finally taking control of your own life. You had been terribly sheltered from childhood, being an only child to your parents who struggled for years to have children. You were their precious baby girl. You never truly had a problem with it, raised to be grateful for whatever you were given and to follow the wisdom of your elders. You always believed that they had your best interest at heart. Even as you missed out on things your peers were experiencing, you didn’t mind.

You were driven to and from school until your university days, your father bidding you a good day and to be safe before driving off to work. Field Trips and sleepovers were the same, only if your mother was friends with their parents. Dates were few and far between where you were allowed but with a chaperone, your parents both telling you at the end that he wasn’t good enough for you. You still lived in your parent’s house even as you started your own career. This just felt natural for you.

You didn’t mind.

You didn’t actually feel like you had missed out. Your priority was always to make them proud. That was the truth until the divorce. Your parents divorced, to you, rather suddenly a few years after you had finished school. It was heartbreaking for you seeing two of the most important people in your life tear each other apart during the proceedings. You didn’t see it coming. They had wrapped you so tightly in bubble wrap and encased you in a glass cage that you hadn’t noticed any of the signs.

Your concern for your parents though was overshadowed when they started negotiating about custody of you. You were shocked to say the least. You were not a child. You were very much an adult. Hearing them talk about you almost as if you were property nauseated you; from who you would live with, visiting agreements, holidays, your bank accounts, your career path. Who were these people? They didn’t sound like your doting parents.

The most sobering was when they talked about your future marriage, specifically who would decide on the man you were to marry. You realize that you weren’t on the list of options in making that decision. A belated rush of rebellion then consumed you.

You snapped.

You distanced yourself from your parents, needing the space to be able to reassess your life. You moved out the following month and in the next you were already booked for the solo vacation of your dreams in the most romantic city in the world. Paris was perfect. You were intent on experiencing everything you had been deprived of during your two-month long stay.

It was during week 2 that you met Andy Barber.

It was your first time in the Louvre and you were understandably over enthusiastic. It came to a point that one of the guards was scolding you now. In French of course. You didn’t understand a single thing he said particularly since he was talking so fast and gesturing wildly. The way his voice was rising made your whole face burn with embarrassment, your head lowered and your eyes averted. Your palms felt sweaty as you fidgeted with the strap of your bag, willing the ground to just swallow you up or for anyone to save you from this mortification.

“There you are, honey,” a low melodic voice came up from behind you accompanied with a large warm hand on the small of your back.

You turned your head to look up at the man who had sidled up beside you, prepared to scream if he was a creep but thoroughly unprepared for how unnervingly attractive he was. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened slightly, his gentle smile down at you had you melting.

He turned to the guard then and spoke in the local language to him. He was fluent despite his thick Boston accent giving him away as a foreigner. You weren’t paying attention to what was being said, too mesmerized by the charm oozing out of your knight in shining armor. You couldn’t tell whether he pulled you in closer or it was you who leaned closer into his touch until you were snug against his side. Either way you happily basked in the warmth and protection he readily offered.

He suddenly turned to you with that same soft expression, waking you from your daydream. The guard had already long left. You moved to jump away from him as you realized how you were practically clinging to an absolute stranger, but the hand on your back kept you in place. Rather, it pressed you closer.

“You alright, Miss?” he asked and all you could do was nod. “Good. I had to lie and tell the guard we’re together so you might want to stick by me for a while. Come on.”

You didn’t fight it when he guided you around the museum, giving you little snippets of trivia about the pieces. You thought that he belonged there; intelligent, charismatic, authoritative, and with beauty that rivaled the art pieces. You didn’t fight it when his arm moved to settle on the curve of your hips, keeping you pressed against him. There was a strength in him that was reassuring and invited you to take refuge under it. You didn’t fight it when he told you he would take you to this little bistro two blocks from there that had the best Quiche Lorraine. 

You felt like you were in a romantic movie or a meet cute imagine from one of your favorite fanfics. It was a moment of serendipity that brought you together in a foreign country at the oddest of circumstances. That was only the first of many dates. Andy insisted on taking you out every single day during your stay. He took you to many more of the little haunts he had discovered during his years of living in the city. He showed you the best places to take pictures and strolled down the most scenic walkways with you. All the while holding your hand, kissing your cheek, and affectionately watching you enjoy yourself.

He was an absolute prince.

He was so perfect and the whole thing felt like one of your beloved romance novels, books you had hidden under your clothes for fear of your mother saying they were improper. They were your guilty pleasure, a way to live and love without actually experiencing it. Now though you could say that you’ve experienced a whirlwind romance and it was beautiful.

A week before your return flight, you felt the urge for more. He was always a gentleman, but after the fifth date you started to feel his touch burn you differently. You felt his gaze and wished they would narrow with desire. You began wishing the usual kiss to your cheek would go lower, wanting to feel his beard against more sensitive skin. The fact that your stay was coming to an end emboldened you. The fact that you were trying to grab life by the horns propelled you to slot your lips against his when he leaned in for the usual chaste peck before dropping you off.

You panicked when you felt like he wasn’t reacting and moved to step away. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have been so rash. He was probably just being indulgent of you, taking pity on a naïve girl on her first trip alone. God, you were so embarrassed.

All your doubts were pushed aside when his arms came around you and lifted you slightly off the ground to mold your whole body to his. His mouth coaxed your own to open as he deepened the kiss, groaning when you sighed into it. You wound your arms up his shoulders and your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue insisted on tasting you thoroughly. You both pulled away breathless much later. Damn, your prince could kiss.

“Do you wanna come up for some coffee?” Your words came out as barely a whisper, so unsure and scared of him possibly rejecting you. You both knew you actually didn’t mean coffee.

Andy cupped the back of your head to force your eyes to his and pecked the tip of your nose to calm you. “Are you absolutely sure, honey?”

You saw it in his eyes then that he wanted you, but he was letting it be your choice. For someone who has just realized that you’ve had very little choice in your life so far, it was both thrilling and comforting. 

“Yes.”

Andy wasted no time after that, practically dragging you into your temporary apartment while keeping his mouth and hands on any part of you he could reach. You tasted so good. You felt so good. He has only had a small taste and already he was addicted to you. He thanked whatever force pulled him to the museum that day that led him to meet you, such a sweet innocent girl in need of a savior. You immediately had him and you hadn’t even met his eyes at that point yet.

He’s wanted you since that first day, wanted all of you, but he didn’t want to scare you away. You were so perfect and so beautiful that he didn’t want to waste his shot. He knew already that you were the one. You were his second chance. Now that he had you in his arms, he never wanted to know the feeling of you not in them.

Now naked on the bed beneath him, he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire you. All the sights and art in the city couldn’t compare to how utterly enthralling you were. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumbs smoothing circles on your skin. It slid down your neck to the curve of your breast, gently rolling a hardened nub between his fingers. Goosebumps tickled your skin. Lower still it ventured from your waist to your stomach and your hips, relishing the feel of your skin against his. He smiled when you started to whimper. When it reached your thigh the grip got tighter and you gasped as he got closer to your now weeping core. Looking back up at you, he frowned when your arms moved to cover yourself and you chewed on your lip nervously.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hoping you hadn’t changed your mind. He didn’t know what he would do with himself if you changed your mind.

“I haven’t done this before,” you muttered shyly.

A virgin.

His already raging hard on twitched at your admission. This would be your first time with any man and you had chosen him. You had chosen him to entrust your purity to. No other man has had this privilege and he was going to make sure no one else ever would. He swooped in to capture your lips in a heated kiss and forced your arms up over your head as he ground his cock against your thigh.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he grunted against your lips. “I’m going to make you feel so good, honey. Please tell me you’re on the pill. I need to feel you.”

All you could do was nod. Words had seemed to escape you at this point and you were more than happy to just surrender yourself to him. He pulled lightly on your bottom lip with his teeth before trailing sloppy kisses down your neck that had you dizzy. When he sucked and bit just below your ear you moaned and your hips started to move on its own, searching for friction. He hummed in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

He lapped at your breasts, squeezing one in his large hand and sucking the pert tip into his mouth. Your back arched in shock, the sensation shocking you. He grew impatient, wanting to hear more of your pleasured ones and he knew just what to do to pull them out of you.

He nipped at the inside of your thighs, his tongue swirling on your skin. Closer. Closer. Closer to your throbbing core. You jolted when he blew on your bud and you felt yourself drip. You felt so embarrassed at having him look at you right there, but at the same time it just made you feel more aroused.

“You’re so beautiful, honey. Can I have a taste?”

He didn’t actually wait for an answer. The moment he actually closed his mouth on your sex, you felt like you were going to go insane with the pleasure. Each flick of his tongue sent jolts of electricity through you, leaving you panting and moaning his name. He groaned into your heat, praising you for tasting and sounding so good for him. When he slid a finger inside and then another, your hips were beginning to move erratically and his strong arm over you was the only thing keeping you in place.

You felt something build up inside you and the only reason you had any inkling of what it was because of your romance novels. The authors had described this coil that wound tighter and tighter until it snapped. It didn’t describe how torturous the build up was and that it would have you gripping his hair to pull him closer, begging him to grant you your release.

Andy loved how innocently responsive you were, as if you were just following whatever your body told you. He sucked your clit into his mouth and sped up his fingers. He felt you tightening and he just knew you were going to feel like heaven around his cock. A particularly hard suck brought you tumbling over the edge and he moaned as your taste flooded his mouth.

You were still trying to recover from your first orgasm, breathing ragged and eyes still unfocused, when he came up with his beard wet with your cum and a smug smirk on his face. He kissed you then, shocking you at first. He didn’t give you time to really think about how you tasted like on his tongue because he had already slotted himself between your spread thighs and was rubbing the head of his cock along your slippery folds. You shuddered and threw your head back.

“You ready, honey? It’s going to hurt for just a bit,” he whispered.

“Yes. I want this. I want you, Andy,” you said as firmly as you could, making a point to look into his eyes.

He smiled at you and kissed you again, this time much softer as he slowly slid into your heat. You tore your lips away as the burning stretch caused you to gasp and instinctively tighten around him. He shushed you gently, stroking your hair as he fully sheathed himself in you with a low groan. You felt like absolute heaven and he was struggling to hold himself back from pounding into you.

“You’re doing so good, honey. Just relax. Just breathe for me.”

Gradually, he began to move in and out of you. With each slow stroke you could feel every ridge and curve of his cock and it was feeding that fire inside you. He whispered praise into your ear, telling you how tight you were and how good you felt. That paired with his low voice in your ear and the way he rolled his hips was quickly making you delirious with bliss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered.

The pain had long subsided and all you felt was the need to have him closer. Have him move faster. Have him harder. You squirmed and moaned, making him chuckle a bit at your eagerness. He answered your silent plea, already attuned to your body. He increased his pace, carefully keeping his eyes on you for any sign of discomfort.

“More.”

God, you were perfect.

He hooked your leg up on his shoulders, the new angle making you both groan at how deep he was hitting you. One hand held the back of your head to keep your eyes on him while the other reached between you to rub at your clit. He pounded into you, his breath mixing with yours and your moans working a symphony. The sight of you slowly unraveling beneath him was enough to make Andy cum, but he held back. He wanted the reward of feeling you gush around his cock.

“Cum for me, honey. Cum around my cock please.”

Finally you shut your eyes, the sensations that racked your body too overwhelming for you to keep them open. You keened and he swallowed it with a kiss as he continued to rail into your shaking body. He chased his own release, the squelching noises with each thrust erotic to his ears. He emptied himself into you with a long low grunt.

It was a long time that you stayed in the same position, catching your breath and laughing as you stole kisses. He rolled to his side and took you with him, tucking you underneath his chin and wrapping his arms around you. You sighed in contentment.

“How are you feeling?”

“Incredible,” you admitted.

He chuckled and kissed the top of your head. “Good. You can use the bathroom first if you like. You wanna watch a movie and have some wine?”

“That sounds lovely. Will you stay the night?” you asked reluctantly.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“I wanna stay too,” he said, lifting your leg up to his hip and grinding on you. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Several more kisses were shared between you before he released you. In the bathroom, you couldn’t help but giddily smile to yourself despite the ache between your legs. You couldn’t have chosen a better man to give yourself to and you suspect that he might have already ruined you for other men.

Andy wrapped his lower half in a spare blanket as he made his way into your kitchen, not finding any difficulty in locating your wine and some glasses. He pulled out some snacks too. As he was setting it on the living room table, he caught sight of some papers on the side table. He picked it up out of curiosity.

It was your plane ticket home.

Realization sunk in for Andy then. You didn’t cancel your return flight. You were going to leave him next week. After all that time you spent together, you were still going to leave him. He saw a future with you, had actually began planning it out. Andy was in love with you and he thought that you felt the same way. This first time you spent together only solidified in his mind that you were the one for him.

He didn’t want anyone else.

Andy sighed as he walked back silently to the room to reach for the small vial of white powder in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and toyed with it in his hand as he stared at the closed bathroom door, the sound of a shower running clear from behind it. He really wished that he didn’t have to go this route, but you left him no choice. He couldn’t let you walk away. You were his now.

Willing or not.

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A/N: Am I doing a sequel to this? Maybe. I have some ideas. I could be tempted into doing it.

EDIT: There is now a sequel.

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[sturchling]

Hey can you do a daminette fanfic where marinette transfers to gotham because of lila's lies and becomes the class favourite, then lila's class goes to gotham for a trip and, unlike the french class, this one can see through her lies and work together with damien to protect marinette and expose lila. Adrijon pairing and lila salt and alya salt please

Marinette felt nervous as she approached the gates of Gotham Academy. She had never thought she would leave Dupont, let alone Paris. Now, here she stands in a new country, at a new school, on the other side of the world from her home. She had never wanted to leave Paris, she truly did love the city. But Lila hadn’t left her a lot of options.

-----------------

Lila had stayed true to her word for once. She had systematically removed Marinette from her friends. Marinette had been so sure that her friends would see through any lies Lila told about her. But it didn’t take much from Lila to convince the class that Marinette was nothing more than a bully. It had been heartbreaking. Marinette had tried everything she could to convince the class that Lila was a liar and tried to prove her innocence but nothing worked. The only people that believed her were Adrien and Chloe.

-----------------

Adrien obviously knew that Lila was lying and stayed by Marinette’s side, despite the class’ pressure to leave the bluenette. Chloe believing her had surprised Marinette. But Chloe had known Lila was a liar since that incident with the Ladybug summoning dance. Of course, even without that, Chloe would have known. She may not like Marinette, but even she knew that it was utterly ridiculous to think of the girl as a bully. Marinette was the furthest thing from a bully. 

----------------

But as time went by, even their support wasn’t enough. The class got worse. They were harassing Marinette any chance that they had, and Adrien and Chloe couldn’t be with Marinette constantly, though they tried. It was eventually decided by Marinette’s family that a change of scenery would be good. They looked at several study abroad programs, eventually deciding on Gotham Academy. The school was excellent and even had a very well reputed arts program. It was perfect for Marinette. Luckily, Gina had a friend in Gotham named Alfred that she had met on her travels who, after speaking with his employer, agreed to host Marinette during her time in Gotham. Soon, Marinette was packed and on her way to Gotham.

----------------

That is how Marinette found herself living at Wayne Manor, in Gotham, about to start a new life at a new school. To say she was nervous would be an understatement. She would have been even more nervous, if not for Damian standing at her side. When she moved into the manor with Alfred, she was introduced to his employer, Bruce Wayne and his sons, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. They all immediately like Marinette, as a lot of people had a tendency to do. They quickly started acting like her older brothers, and made Marinette feel at home in Gotham. 

-----------------

So, on her first day at Gotham Academy, she was being escorted in by all of the Wayne boys. She was in the same class as Damian, which made her feel slightly calmer. Damian had agreed to stay by her side, knowing how nervous she was to meet her new class. After everything that happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class, Marinette was worried that the same thing might happen here. That she might become the class outcast and be alone again. 

-----------------

Needless to say, that obviously didn’t happen. When Marinette was escorted into the classroom by Damian Wayne, it definitely got the attention of her new class. Damian wouldn’t hang out with just anyone. They became curious about this new girl, and were instantly charmed by Marinette. The whole class became very fond of the designer and they were all fast friends. And they acted like friends. They didn’t always ask Marinette for impossible favors, and they helped Marinette as much as she helped them.  Adrien and Chloe would often visit her as well, and when they couldn’t visit they made sure to video call with her everyday. Marinette was the happiest she had been in a long while, starting to forget the problems she had in Paris. 

------------------

 But trouble had a way of finding Marinette. It was during one of their video calls, that Marinette found out that Mrs. Bustier’s class was participating in a program that had them visit classrooms around the world and learn how schools taught in different countries. And of course, the American school they would be visiting is Gotham Academy. And of course, it was Marinette’s class that they would be joining for the week. Just like that, all of Marinette’s worries came crashing back. What if Lila targeted her again? What if Bustier’s class started harassing her again? Or worse. What if Lila turned her new class against her? 

-----------------

Damian had grown quite close with Marinette over the last several months. They had even begun dating, much to Gotham’s collective surprise. He had learned almost everything there was to know about Marinette and loved her quirky personality. So, when Marinette grew quiet and nervous like she had been when she first arrived in Gotham, Damian quickly noticed the change in her behavior. Marinette changed almost immediately after her latest video call with her friends. He tried talking to her, to try and fix whatever was wrong. But she would just say “I’m fine.” and walk away, trying to handle everything herself. She didn’t want to bother Damian with her drama. But Damian wasn’t going to give up, he was going to help his angel with whatever was bothering her. 

------------------

He also had contact information for Adrien and Chloe so he reached out to the two, trying to figure out what had changed during that video call. That is when he found out about the visiting Parisian class. He instantly knew what Marinette was worried about. She must be worried about the liar making people hate her again. As much as he wished that she wouldn’t worry about it and trust that her friends here would have her back, he couldn’t expect that after what happened in Paris. Of course she would still be worried about it. But Damian was going to make sure that not only did the liar not mess anything up here, he was also going to keep that horrible class as far from his angel as he could.

---------------

He only had about a week to get things in place, but that was enough for Damian. He gathered the class together one morning, when Marinette was out of the classroom. He told them everything he knew about the Parisian class and what they had done to Marinette. Needless to say, Marinette’s new class despised the Parisians before they even arrived. They couldn’t believe everything they had done to Marinette, but they were determined to protect their friend for the whole week. And to try and destroy the liar that had hurt her. They had no idea what kind of lies to expect from this Lila girl, but they knew she must be a gifted liar to make anyone think that Marinette is a bully.

-----------------

Bustier’s class had arrived and Lila wasted no time trying to impress the Gotham class. She went on and on about her usual stories, while also adding in some new Gotham centric ones. Like how she had helped Batman several times, and how she is very close with the Waynes, practically dating Damian. But then immediately contradicted that by claiming that she was dating Adrien Agreste, completely ignoring when Adrien denied it in front of everyone. Mrs. Bustier’s class ate it all up, as usual. But the Gotham class just stood in shock. This girl was a terrible liar. How did this other class believe a word she said?

-----------------

But Marinette’s worries were partially realized fairly quickly. Once Mrs. Bustier’s class saw her sitting in the classroom, they started in on her. Lila tried to cry about how Marinette had bullied her and the rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class started yelling at Marinette. The young designer started to shrink into herself, until she noticed that none of her new classmates seemed to buy it. They were all glaring at Mrs. Bustier’s class and circling around Marinette to shield her from her old class. 

-------------------

Mrs. Bustier’s class finally noticed that the Gotham class was shielding Marinette and glaring at them. Alya became infuriated that they were standing in the way of them defending Lila. “Why are you protecting her?! She is nothing more than a bully! She bullied Lila horribly when she was in Paris, you have no idea what she did!” Lila pulled out the fake tears and cried some sob story about all the horrible things Marinette had done to her, expecting that when she peaked out from her hands after, this new class would now turn against Marinette and be glaring at her. But when she did look, this class didn’t look impressed. They were still glaring at her, some even rolling their eyes.

------------------

Lila, after seeing this, quickly turned back to her class, realizing that this Gotham class wouldn’t be easily swayed. “They don’t believe me! I’m just trying to warn them!” The Parisian class consoled their crying friend, while Alya stepped forward to defend her friend. “How could you keep protecting that monster?! She bullied my best friend and is a horrible person!” The Gotham class collectively rolled their eyes, before Damian stepped forward, having heard enough. “We are still protecting her because unlike you, we don’t turn on our friends on the word of a liar.” Lila wailed louder, trying to earn some sympathy, which just enraged Alya more. “How dare you! Lila isn’t a liar! Where is your proof that she is?!” Damian pulled out his iciest glare, making most of Mrs. Bustier’s class back away. “Where is your proof that she is telling the truth? Regardless, I know she is a liar. Marinette is the sweetest girl I have ever met, a literal angel. There is no way she would bully anyone. Besides that, I know that the liar’s stories about the Wayne family are completely made up.” Lila whips around, forgetting that she is supposed to be upset, angered that this boy had called out her best lies in front of this new class. “And how do you know that huh?! Not like you would know the Waynes. I will get my Damian down here and he will make you regret calling me a liar.” 

---------------------

The Gotham class couldn’t hold it in anymore. They all started howling with laughter at the liar who didn’t realize what she just did. Even Marinette had started to smile.  Lila shrieked, “What’s so funny?! Why are you all laughing?!” Damian stared coldly at Lila. “They are laughing cause you just said you are dating Damian Wayne and didn’t even recognize him standing in front of you. I am Damian Wayne, and I have never met you before.” Lila stood shocked, trying to think of anyway out of this. “W-well, I said we were practically dating. Besides, I am dating Adrien.” Adrien had had enough and pushed to the front to stand in front of Lila. “No you are not! I don’t like you. I have never liked you. Besides, I am dating someone else.” As if on que, which if you ask him he will deny that this was planned, Jon Kent burst through the door making a beeline for Adrien. “Sunshine! Finally came to see me again! Jon hugged Adrien tightly, while Mrs. Bustier’s class just stared in shock. They had really thought that Adrien and Lila were dating, but keeping it quiet so his dad didn’t find out. Or at least, that is what Lila had said. Slowly they began to realize that maybe just because Lila said so, doesn’t mean that it is true. 

-------------------

The rest of the week was spent quietly. Lila kept trying to win over this new class, while also trying to win back favor with Mrs. Bustier’s class but that was a lost cause. Alya kept trying to defend her friend, refusing to acknowledge that she was a liar. The rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class did finally see the light though and apologized to Marinette. Marinette did forgive them, but they still weren’t going to be friends again. The damage to the relationships was too much. The week at Gotham had ended for Mrs. Bustier’s class and they left. Things returned to normal for Marinette. She was surrounded by Damian and her new friends, who truly cared for her. She was the happiest she had been in ages, and was finally able to rid herself of the fear that Lila would ruin everything again. She felt safe and happy, and nothing was going to change that. 

[klarolinefanclub]

Klaroline Fan Club Rec List : Klaroline Through the Decades

Time is a social construct. It doesn’t matter if it’s been a day, a year, or a century... Klaroline is timeless. Klaroline Fan Club has compiled some of our favorite fics of KC through the decades:

🎫 in this wild city, you had to fight by @laufire // @laufire-writes

1916. After Klaus fails to bring Marcel back from the war, Rebekah convinces him to go to a play, in search of a nice distraction. It works, when an actress captures his attention.

Fan Club : Laufire paints a world which has you itching to visit 1916 to watch vampire!Klaus become completely intrigued by human!Caroline. What is equally as compelling is the mystery behind Caroline’s bouts of memory loss. Be mindful of the Author’s Notes at the top and bottom before reading!

🕵🏼‍♀️ what we did was wrong, you got what you need by @theviolonist

[Peaky Blinders AU] 'You,' he says, pleading, daring her to deny it, his voice slipping on the edge of his knife—but his back straightens, bone sharp, teeth a hard relief behind his lip, and now he's all accusation, 'you, you, you.'

Fan Club : The beautiful, descriptive prose of this fic lures you into an alternate universe where Klaus is a mob boss and Caroline a spy sent to take him down. You don’t need to be a fan of the show to enjoy the fic, but if you are, you’ll appreciate how theviolinist seamlessly weaves our favorite couple into the Peaky Blinders period. As with all of their works, it is pure poetry how theviolinist writes.

⏰ if i never see your face again by a pretty little liar

She watches in amazement as Stefan shows Klaus the metaphorical ropes, and she's sure of one thing: time travel isn't nearly as cool as Hollywood would have you believe. /Caroline in 1920s Chicago with Klaus, Ripper-Stefan, and Rebekah.

Fan Club : A pretty little liar’s take on our favorite bubbly blonde is sunshine. Literally and figuratively. Caroline’s fake last name after she is sent back to the 1920s is Sunshine! In every fic written by this author, you will find yourself wanting to be best friends with Caroline, and you will be so entertained by her fast-paced, snappy inner thoughts. Join us in the reviews to beg for more!

👻 chronicle by @supernutellastuff

The ghost of Mikaelson Manor still haunts its corridors.

1930s AU. Following the sudden demise of Mikael, Caroline Forbes is hired to write about the Mikaelson family history. Initially drawn to the mystery of his death, Caroline realises her mind seems to be dwelling less on the task at hand and more on the enigma that is Klaus Mikaelson.

Fan Club : A gripping, unique 1930s story told both in narrative and in epistolary format. You will get chills as you read Caroline trying to uncover the truth behind the death of Mikael as a suspicious Klaus lingers from afar.

📽 the french quarter by @hotbloodedhunter

“I couldn't care less that he is a Mikaelson or even if he were Brando himself,” She snapped at Stefan over the savory meal, ignoring the grumbling in her stomach because her wrath must be fed first. “He is an insufferable egomaniac and I will be unable to read one line before throttling him,”

Fan Club : MaddestMaid3n effortlessly builds our favorite couple into a complex world where money and influence reign supreme. Before Klaus and Caroline are even introduced in this fic, the push and pull of their chemistry shines through their characterization. Meet y’all in the comments to beg for a second installment of this fic.

🎞 golden age by @lynyrdwrites

Klaroline as actors in the 40s/50s.

Fan Club : The world needs more AU’s where Klaus and Caroline are co-stars who can’t stand each other. LynyrdLionheart captures the essence of 1950s Hollywood in this drabble of misunderstandings and first impressions gone wrong.

☮ psychedelic kicks by @klarolineagainnaturally

1969. The Summer of Love. Klaus Mikaelson has flown across the pond to attend the prestigious Harvard Law School. "Coincidentally", his brother Elijah could not find him an apartment in time, leaving him to stay with a group of Americans. Among those Americans is the perky, yet demanding, Caroline Forbes. A hippie dippie love story with life-changing events.

Fan Club : An immersive late 60s early 70s AU/AH fic. Come for KC, stay for the ensemble cast and the well-developed relationships both romantic and otherwise.

🏝 with metal on our tongue, and silver in our lungs by @viictoireweasley

when the originals move to an island where the weather changes faster than you can say hello and the locals read way too much das kapital, the last thing they are expecting is the daughter of their neighborhood vampire hunter fancying herself a nancy drew.

Fan Club : Set in 1972, melancholicmermaid’s story flows between Klaus’s sharp inner dialogue and the precarious circumstances under which he and Caroline meet. The writing is clever, playful, and charming. Add in a bit of a violent edge, and it's the KC you know and love––in a setting you’ve never read before.

🎸 rockstar au by @little-miss-sunny-daisy

80s Rockstar AU

Fan Club : Who doesn’t love a bodyguard AU? 1980s fics are hard to find, but this sweet ficlet will have you begging sunnydaisy for more pop star!Caroline and bodyguard!Klaus in any decade.

📫 delivered by @honestgrins

BarbieBlonde owns a small bakery, and OriginalHybrid is bringing the big, bad coffee chain to her neighborhood. After a year of chatting via screen name, however, Caroline and Klaus don't realize their secret pen pal is actually their bitter rival. (You've Got Mail AU)

Fan Club : Honestgrins approached a classic 90s film, filled it with even more heart, and made it Klaroline. This story takes enemies to lovers and makes it wholesome yet addictive. A must read!

A Note from Klaroline Fan Club

We appreciate the support for our previous rec lists! Rather than add fic recs to our curated list, we encourage you to submit your recs to our Ask Box, and we will try our best to include them in future lists.

Next month’s theme will be Coffee Shop AU’s, so please submit your recs as soon as possible!

We hope you enjoy reading these fics! Please support these writers with your comments, reviews, and kudos!

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Sports AU's

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[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[son-fuori-di-me]

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

[waywardimpalawriter]

His boulevard of broke dreams

His boulevard of broken dreams

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden, Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden

Setting: A few days before Dean’s attacked by the Djinn

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: angst, feelings,  

Word count: 2,979 (with lyrics)

Summary: Just a simple watch and report, till the man under surveillance reminds you who taught you everything you know.  

Notes: Sequel to “Her” also written for #decadeundertheinfluencechallenge the song I choose is Boulevard of Broken dreams by Green Day. “My shadow’s the only one that walk’s beside me. My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating.”

Tag list is open for all fandoms I write for

Dean list: @akshi8278​

His boulevard of broken dreams tag list: @cockslut-padalecki​  

Body shivering from the cold penetrating the cab of your truck dragging the thin crochet blanket tighter around your shaking frame and cursing the day of Sam Winchester’s birth. Searching for the reason you’re parked three blocks down hidden behind an old shed weary eyes searching for any suspicious active. Still wondering why you said yes in the first place. But then the reason rounds the corner and you duck down out of sight. Beat up old truck passed by as you raise neck turned to watch it disappear into the drive. A deep sigh leaving while teeth chatter and rubbing your arms to stay warm. Would’ve used the heat but a running truck gave way that someones sitting, watching.

Thankful you’ve had years of stakeout experience and know all of Dean’s habits. Though you’ve counted a few knew ones since last being in his present. Head shaking those thoughts from your mind especially when you’re there simply as a watch and report. Memories skating back to get three days ago when Sam and Bobby dropped the bomb on your ass.

“We need eyes on him, watching his movements and those around just in case,” golden flecked green eyes stare right through you. Tipping his shaggy brown head to the side Sam gives you a half smile that doesn’t reach those once warm eyes .

Shrugging, “I don’t get why I gotta do this? Why not just bring Dean back into the hunt? Why are you leaving him in the dark about being alive?” Only finding out yourself four weeks ago that Sam Winchester came back from the Pit alive and relatively well. Course you hadn’t believed your eyes at first, flinging a silver dagger at his head which he ducked blade imbedded into the spot his head once resided. Holy water splashed in his face after recovering from almost being shish ka-bobbed.

“Because,” running a hand through that just brushing the collar length brown hair eyes still firmly fixed on you. “He deserves that life Y/N to have peace for once and not worry about what monsters lurk around the next corner.”

“Pff like Dean would ever relax into an apple pie life style Sam. Knowing him there’s salt at every window, devil’s trap under each entryway point. Sawed off shotgun under the bed with holy water and salt right besides.” Your own eyes boring into his not believing his reasons for a second. Seeing one too many differences in the youngest Winchester since his return from death. “You can’t tell me a man like Dean Winchester would consciously not prepare for anything to come knocking at his door. Even if he’s given that life up it doesn’t just fade away, I know.”

Shrugging though there’s a twist to the look he’s giving you almost like he doesn’t truly care what happens to Dean. It’s there then gone making you wonder if you’re seeing things.

Different voice fills in this time,“That maybe so but he’s still entitled to that life. Just as we have to watch his backside to make sure that life stays intact.” Stepping forward to rest a hand on your shoulder, Bobby’s gravelly voice softens a touch know your feelings. Having put you back together after leaving Dean at Lisa’s almost a year ago.“I know this won’t be easy on you kid and I’d do it myself but I gotta get back up to Sioux Falls. Been away too long as is and Jodi already called half a dozen along with every half wit hunter in the area,” giving you a half smile and a pat on the shoulder. Having a soft spot much like the one he harbors for the boys but doesn’t tell them.

“Piece of cake,” brushing the concern off but deep down thankful for Bobby’s reassuring words. “He’ll never see me and I’ll only make sure no bad guys see him.”  

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me, and I walk alone

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone

“So much for this being a piece of cake,” huffing out the words grabbing for the second blanket and thermos filled with coffee. “Hmm cake that’s what I could use right now and a fucking bacon cheeseburger too.”

Passenger side door opening you reach for the 9 mm beside you, aiming it at the familiar brown head of Dean Winchester holding up a grease stained paper bag. “I come in peace and really don’t want to leave pieces plus I bring a peace offering up to the goddess,” soothing laughter edged voice comes from just outside the truck cab.

Thought you’d know that voice even in a crowded party with music thumping bass shaking the very roof shingles. “The fuck you doing Winchester I could’ve blown your head off.”

“Promise?” Wiggling his brow peeking in with that sinful signature smirk tugging at one corner of those plush lips. “Wanna lower that piece before you actually accidentally shoot me Dirty Harry?”

Tossing a balled up napkin at his head amazed at how quickly the same banter flows between you like old times. But it’s not old times and you’re not here to relive them. “How’d you know?”

“Sweetheart you maybe good but I’m still the best,” sliding into the bench seat of the truck, extending the greasy bag towards you. Keeping the door open a moment longer to take in your appearance, interior lighting doing shit for your complexion though to Dean you’re still beautiful as the day you walked out of his life.  

Looking from the bag to Dean, “Letting all the cold air in dumb shit close the door,” huddling into the blankets deeper in the guise of trying to keep warm when in reality your shrinking away from Dean. “What’s in the bag?”

Slamming the aged door, hinges creaking in protest, “Thought you’d like something semi warm instead of jerky and lukewarm coffee.” Trying to study your features in the dim streetlamp light. Only catching shadows and angles from his position. Question’s and there’s a lot of them swirl inside his head. Most prominent one isn’t a question but a gut wrenching admission he wouldn’t voice to anyone other than himself.

“Never answered my question Winchester,” taking the offered bag as your stomach growled in hunger. Fresh French fries scented the air upon opening the brown bag. Immediately sticking a hand in and grabbing a few to stuff into your mouth. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome growly,” chuckling marveling at how somethings never change no matter how much time passes. “You always drive the same beat up pickup sweetheart. This might not be Bear,” patting the weathered dash broad in front of him. Affectionate smile tugging at his lips turning his glaze back towards you. “But you always find a truck just like him. Something wrong with yours? Finally gave up the ghost didn’t he?”

The genuine curiosity in his tone isn’t lost on you nor is the way he’s glancing in your direction while stuffing your face. “What something hanging from my mouth?” Wiping at your chin feeling a little self conscious under the weight of his stare.

“No sweetheart it’s just,” shaking his head adjusting himself, back pressed into the door, left leg bent foot dangling and wiggling, a sure sign his nerves are raging through his veins right now. “How’ve you been?”

Swallowing, hating the fact that your once close relationship has slipped into nothing. Remembering the promise — now broken — you made the last time in his presence. Though he knew nothing about it and most likely never really thought about you much after leaving. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from asking him to finish his first thought. You’re slow to answer, pretending to chew that last bite just a little longer to put off from answering. At a lost to what exactly to tell him. “Good…I’m good very good actually,” forcing the words out through a tightened jaw.

“Hmm,” knowing by your body posture, the constant darting of your eyes all tells him these are lies passing your lips. Part of him wants to know why? Why after almost a year with no visits did you happen to show up now? Suspicion riding him hard and demands the questions be answered. Though there’s that other side, the one he’s artfully kept carefully hidden ever since you stepped out of his life. The one telling him to pull you into his arms, hugging the very life from your body. Holding on to part of his former life one he missed if he wanted to be truthful with himself. Settling on, “Why are you here?”

“Pulling no punches I see Winchester,” bitting off his last name almost like a curse. Warmth of earlier gone with the devoured food now just a memory of greasy bag and dirty napkins. Catching the curt nod from the man himself you sit up straighter looking out over the quiet neighborhood. Carefully kept lawns and white picket fences, trash cans in hiding places and houses in the best shape the apple pie life a fantasy they’ve all talked about. But none manage to obtain till Dean, his name tasting bitter on your tongue. Unused after all those months passing like melting snowflakes. Not wanting to regain that familiarity with the man sitting opposite, eyes drilling unseen holes into the side of your head.

Flinching slightly, hating the way his last name is spit from your mouth like garbage. “You came here remember, your also the one who stayed away don’t lay that shit at my door Y/N.”

“Yes, but your,” turning, eyes flashing in anger towards him, “the one who walked away remember. You left this life, abandon Bobby and Cas… me.” Whispering the last part hoping he didn’t hear.

Scoffing, “I made a promise to Sam,” bitting the name out while trying to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t abandon anyone if anything you ditched me with no returned calls, texts or even a fucking visit.”

Hearing the bitterness that underlay the deep cadence in his voice, your head shakes trying to hold onto your anger. To not let out why you’re here nor the fact seeing him again after a year dredges up all those old feelings both those of insecurity and yearning. “Why would I stop by when I knew this would happen? When I’d see you with Her wishing for once you had chosen…” bitting your tongue, quickly turning away. “This was a mistake, get out of my truck Winchester.”

“No,” single word leaving those plush lips and making you whip around to stare at him. Mouth gapping like a fish out of water lungs burning for oxygen. “Not till you explain why you’re here. If it’s such a hardship to come why now?” Desperately wanting you to finish the thought but too afraid the answer would break his heart.

Only two things Dean Winchester regrets in his life, letting Sam dive into the pit with Lucifer trapped inside his body and you walking out of his life. Now he walks this life alone with no one truly beside him. Yes, Lisa’s there but unlike you, she doesn’t understand the nightmares, the constant need to double and triple check the windows and doors. The need to keep her and Ben safe always in the fore front of his mind. Many nights — though he’d never admit it — he’d lay awake wondering if he made the wrong choice.            

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Schooling your expression and turning towards him prepared to give an Oscar worthy performance not anticipating the lost expression in those whiskey fleck green eyes. Trying to keep the emotions from shaking the timber of your voice, “I’d been in the area figured I’d stop by say hi.” Swallowing harshly licking your dry lips slowly and diverting your eyes back towards the road. “Now I see it’s a mistake, you have a good life and I have mine. So kindly get the fuck out of my truck.”

“I call bullshit sweetheart,” moving closer, Dean reaches out to take the hand nearest and intertwine your fingers together. Familiar gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Touch of his hand searing into your skin like a brand scorching your very soul. “There hasn’t been a mysterious case in the area for over a hundred miles. Now you gonna tell me why you’ve drove out of the way to park on my street three houses down for the last three days?” For the first time in months feeling a peace enclose him like a warm blanket on a chilly winter’s morning. He desperate to keep that warmth to keep you but there’s a little voice in the back of his mind sneering at him ‘it’s too late you’ve lost.’

Eager to pull your hand free yet reluctance stills your movement as emotions swamp your mind with memories of years ago when the two of you still hunted together. Heart pounding a triple time rhythm one yours sure Dean could hear with being so close. Eyes close in a desperate bid to reign in those feelings, to give nothing away and leave just as stoically as last time. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Call it what you want Winchester but it’s the truth,” yanking your hand from his to cross arms over your chest. “I don’t care if it’s not the answer you want it’ll be the only one I gave. So I ask, no demand that you get the fuck outta my truck,” last few words hissed through clinched teeth.

And just like that cold water is poured over his head dousing the feelings bubbling up. For the best, his mind screams while turning to reach for the door. “Just so you know sweetheart I never abandoned you, would never I just didn’t think I could give you the life your deserve. I choose the easy way out because even if it doesn’t work with Her at least I would leave with my heart.” Door creaking when opened, Dean stepped from the aged truck slamming it behind him. Sam’s voice in his mind admonishing him for the chick flick moment of weakness.

Each step he took away from your truck tore his heart to shreds. Inter-monologue fighting between cursing at him and knowing that it’s for the best. Pausing for a moment to look back seeing no movement he wonders and not for the first time if he’ll ever see you again. One last look and he turns away back towards his house, not home because you weren’t there and without you and Sam it didn’t feel like home.

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge, and where I walk alone

Read between the lines

What's fucked up, and everything's alright

Check my vital signs

To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone

Siting in stunned silence searching for what to do if going after Dean is the best course of action or just starting up your truck to drive away is better. Either way would break your heart. Dean’s with Lisa and you’d never make him choose. Never put those kind of demands on the man you love. For a moment longer you sit in silent contemplation wanting to rage at the world, to burn it to the ground and let the remains scatter across the four winds. Head dropping against the steer wheel for a moment till movement catches your eye, someone lurking just outside the well kept community.

Eyes narrowing, scooping up the night vision goggles, a gift from a certain brown eyed FBI agent you helped out of situation a couple of months ago in Texas with a haunted painting. Scanning the area closely, finally coming to rest on a man who out of place. Soft curses falling from your lips. Reaching for the cell to pull up Sam’s number.

“Green light Sammy get your ass down here now seems we got a pest problem luring about.” Tracking the suspicious male till he sprints of at inhuman rate of speed. Pulling the goggles of to toss them beside the empty brown bah.

“Be there by night fall tomorrow Y/N. Dean make you yet?” Weariness in his tone makes you wonder just what he’s up to.

Wanting to lie though deciding against pulling a page from the Winchester play book, “Sadly but nothings leaked just hurry your ass up.” Hanging up to toss the phone into the seat next to you, settling in for a very long night of watching.    

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah

Ah-ah, ah-ah

I walk alone, I walk a-

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk a-

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

Till then I walk alone

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Nine-Part One)

Summary: After (Y/N) experiences a health scare tied to her evolving magic, she and Loki decide to take some time off from their Avenger duties to visit Asgard.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Nine (Part I) September 28th, 2015 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

���How’s the book, doll?”

Careful to not move her head too much, (Y/N) glanced up from her novel to look at Steve, who was entirely focused on sketching her from his spot on the floor of the library. The super soldier’s brow was furrowed and his blue eyes were narrowed in concentration as he hunched over his work, his pencil flying over the large sketchbook resting in his lap. During her first week in the tower while she was still getting to know everyone, Steve surprised her by asking if she could pose for him sometime and she agreed, a little flattered that he wanted to sketch her of all people. It’s nice that he finally has the free time to do this, she thought to herself, knowing how busy he’d been the past few months with his role as the leader of the Avengers. “It’s good, but I think I prefer the movie; the humor doesn’t work as well here as it does onscreen, although that may be my childhood crush on Cary Elwes talking.” She turned the page of the book. “Have you seen The Princess Bride yet?”

The super soldier glanced up and nodded before resuming his drawing. “Yeah, Clint made me watch it a while ago, claimed it was the best movie ever made. It’s pretty good, but the best movie ever made’s actually Casablanca; you can’t go wrong with Bogie and Bergman.” He pulled away from his sketchbook to examine his work before swiftly returning to it. “So, how’s everything going with you and Loki?”

“Everything’s going great,” (Y/N)’s smile widened as she thought about her boyfriend and their incredible two months of dating. “He’s actually been talking about bringing me to Asgard to meet his mother…”

Steve’s brow rose and a bright smile played on his lips. “Meeting his mom, huh? Sounds like things really are going great.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, Loki and Thor haven’t explicitly said anything but I’ve got a feeling that Asgard’s not very welcoming of Midgardians, so who knows what Queen Frigga will think of me…” (Y/N) chuckled lightly, but inside her emotions were swirling. After everything Loki had told her about his mother, (Y/N) was a little nervous at the prospect of meeting such an important person in his life, but she’d been sure to hide her discomfort from him; she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by making him think she didn’t want to meet the Queen of Asgard.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, doll. Just based on the way Thor and Loki talk about her, she sounds like a very kind woman and I’m sure that she’ll like you a lot. Hell, if you could get Tony Stark to like you after almost killing him, then I’m sure that the Queen of Asgard’s gonna be a piece of cake.”

(Y/N) suppressed her laughter at his words and felt herself begin to finally relax. “Thank you, Steve.”

“Don’t mention it,” Pulling away from his sketchbook to examine it once again, Steve smiled and looked up at her. “There, all done!” With an inward sigh of relief, (Y/N) set her book aside and stretched out her aching limbs. “You’re a lot tougher than the others, you know, they usually whine and complain whenever I have them pose for too long.”

(Y/N) chuckled, slowly getting to her feet and stretching her unusually sore legs; I must’ve pulled a muscle during my mission yesterday, she thought with an inward shrug. “I guess I’m just more patient than they are; ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ can take down countless Hydra agents in a single mission without breaking a sweat yet they can’t sit still long enough to be sketched…almost like puppies…”

Laughing, Steve got to his feet and closed his sketchbook. “Well, thanks for posing for me, doll, and I promise I’ll show it to you as soon as I touch it up.”

They walked side-by-side out of the library and down the hall. “I really should be thanking you, Steve; I’ve seen some of your sketches, and it’s an honor to have such a skilled artist choose me as his model.” (Y/N) grinned when he blushed at her compliment. “We should probably head to dinner; I think I heard Tony mention that Clint was making his world-famous lasagna.”

“Damnit, Sam and Bucky’ll try to hog the whole thing like last time…”

(Y/N) stopped walking, a sudden chill in the air causing her to shiver. “You go on ahead, Steve, I’m going to go and grab a sweater from my room. Save me some lasagna from those bottomless pits while I’m gone?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He flashed her a smile and hurried down the hall to the dining room as she turned and headed to her room. Just as she reached her door, however, she suddenly felt lightheaded. Black spots began dancing before her eyes and she leaned heavily against the wall; gasping for a breath, she tried to call out to J.A.R.V.I.S. for help but not a sound came out of her throat. Her knees finally gave way and she fell into unconsciousness before she hit the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swirls of purple magic clouded (Y/N)’s vision before clearing to reveal two shadowy figures. They appeared to be a woman and a man but they vanished before she could get a good look at them; suddenly, a strangely-familiar voice echoed in her mind…

“She must never learn the truth of her heritage. The truth will not only destroy her, but the world as we know it…as painful as it will be for her, she must never know about her parents.” The voice waivered a little. “Goodbye, my darling (Y/N). Until we meet again in the stars…”

“(Y/N)? Darling, can you open your eyes for me? Please?”

(Y/N) was pulled out of her deep slumber by another voice. A very distressed, yet achingly familiar, voice. With a small groan, (Y/N) slowly opened her eyes and Loki’s worried face came into view. “Loki?”

Loki’s face broke out into a relieved smile but his green eyes were still filled with concern. “Thank the Norns! How do you feel?”

“I feel fine…a little cold, I guess, but other than that…” She trailed off as she looked around the room, realizing that she was once again propped up on a bed in the tower’s sickbay. “How long was I unconscious?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Frowning to herself, (Y/N) recalled her strange dream. If she’d only been unconscious for a quarter of an hour, then it would be scientifically impossible for her to experience a dream; dreams occur during the REM cycle, usually over an hour from falling asleep. However, Loki continued on before she could say anything about it. “Romanoff and I were just returning from our mission debriefing when the Artificial Intelligence informed us all that you’d collapsed. We found you in the hall and took you down here; Doctor Banner and Stark are running some tests to determine what caused your fainting spell, they should be done any minute now…”

(Y/N) wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, trying to generate enough heat to warm herself. “I think I might’ve overexerted myself during my mission yesterday; I’ve never succeeded in making something explode with my magic before and I probably used too much energy doing it…”

The day before, she and Clint were attempting to take a suspected Hydra scientist into custody in a French hospital but were forced into a high-speed chase through the city; the chase ended suddenly when (Y/N) concentrated her magic and blew up the road in front of the scientist’s car, causing it to skid to a stop and allowing them to finally apprehend him. I suppose that arresting that Hydra scientist and seeing my magic advance so much is worth the extra exhaustion, she thought with an inward shrug.

Nodding, Loki took the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders before taking her hand in his. “I believe that as well, but it’s wise of Doctor Banner and Stark to evaluate your health just in case.” He tightened his hold on her hand as he continued, “Will you promise me that you’ll be more careful with your magic in the future? Remember, you need to stick around and force me to read that infernal Percy Jackson book series.” Although his voice took on a teasing tone as he repeated her own familiar words, she could clearly see the vulnerability swirling in his eyes; she could only imagine how he’d felt, seeing her unconscious and unresponsive on the ground, and her heart clenched in her chest.

“Of course I will, sweetheart…” With a small twinge of pain to her sore muscles, (Y/N) leaned forward, cupping his cheek with her hand and pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Loki immediately kissed back and released her hand in favor of wrapping his arms around her and tugged her closer to him. When she pulled away, his lips followed after hers and she couldn’t help but smile. “So, does that mean you’re finally going to read them?”

Chuckling, Loki pressed his forehead to hers and grinned. “Oh no, my love, I cannot be swayed that easily-” She interrupted him with another kiss, this time with more passion; running her fingers through his soft hair, she gently tugged on the ends and elicited a growl of satisfaction from him. To her pleasant surprise, Loki’s lips began trailing openmouthed kisses along her jaw and down to the skin of her neck, and she couldn’t hold back her breathless moan when she felt his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

“Okay (Y/L/N), we’ve got your-geez, get a damn room, you guys!”

They broke apart and immediately noticed Tony and Bruce standing in the open doorway, Tony’s hand clamped over his eyes in disgust and Bruce smiling at the ground in mild embarrassment; (Y/N) was awkwardly holding her head in one of her hands and Loki was grinning roguishly, obviously enjoying the billionaire’s discomfort. “On Asgard, one knocks when they wish to enter a room; do they not have that custom here on Midgard?”

Tony shrugged and removed the hand from his eyes. “Takes too much effort. Hey J.A.R.V.I.S., can you let me know if people are gettin’ hot and heavy in a room I’m about to enter?”

“Of course, sir, although Prince Loki has a point about knocking…”

“Anyway,” Bruce stepped forward and glanced down at the medical charts in his hands. “We finished running some tests and it looks that you have a severe cold, most likely brought on by your over-exertion yesterday. I recommend bed rest for the next twenty-four hours to prevent any more fainting spells, and I’m prescribing some Tylenol and chicken noodle soup for the cold; no solid foods, which is perfect because Sam and Bucky managed to polish off all of Clint’s lasagna by themselves while you were unconscious.” The doctor smiled and patted her on the shoulder as Tony muttered threats against the two offenders under his breath. “You’ll be okay, just be more careful with your magic from now on, all right?”

She nodded and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Bruce, I’ll be more careful. Do I have to stay in here or can I go back to my room?”

“You can go back to your room; I’ll make sure to tell everyone that you’re okay so they can stop worrying, and I’ll speak with Director Fury about giving you some time off to recover. Take it easy, (Y/N).” With one last smile, Bruce left the room.

Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. “Well…get better, Glinda, and no playing any ‘hide-the-zucchini’ for twenty-four hours, you two…” He giggled to himself as he followed Bruce out of the room, and (Y/N) couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“So childish, isn’t-Loki, what’re you doing?!” (Y/N) gasped in surprise when Loki suddenly picked her up in his arms and scrambled to hold onto his neck as he carried her down the hall to the elevator, afraid that she might slip out of his arms and fall.

“Doctor Banner said that you needed to rest, so I’m carrying you to your room.” Loki smiled cheekily down at her as he stepped into the elevator. “I wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself by walking, my lady.”

“Oh, my savior!” She pretended to swoon in his arms and he laughed at her dramatics. The elevator shot upwards, and (Y/N) rested her head against his chest as she asked, “How was your mission?”

“Child’s play. Romanoff and I had absolutely no trouble infiltrating the meeting and collecting intel. How was your day?”

“I read a little while posing for Steve.”

Loki hummed in acknowledgement and stepped out of the elevator when it stopped. “He didn’t show you the sketch when he finished, did he?” She shook her head as they continued down the hall. “He refused to show me the sketch he did of me as well. I suspect that he’s planning a grand reveal of all the ones he’s done of everyone in the tower…thank you, darling.” He said when she opened the door of her suite for him.

“Steve sketched you?” He never mentioned anything about it before, she thought curiously.

“Yes, he did…and I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I return with your soup and medicine.” After gently setting her down on her couch, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and left the room.

Standing up, (Y/N) took a cautious step forward and when she realized she wasn’t going to fall over, she made her way to her bedroom and changed into a pair of lounge pants and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. Her muscles once-again protested while she changed clothes and she dismissed it as lingering soreness from her collapse and her previous day’s mission as she sat on the couch and stretched her legs out across the cushions. Before she could reach for the magazine sitting on her coffee table, Loki returned with two soup bowls in his hands. “That was quick; maybe I should call you ‘God of Cooking’ instead of ‘God of Mischief!’”

“In this case, darling, I’m afraid that you can’t,” After handing her a bowl and a pill bottle, Loki picked up her feet, sat down and placed them in his lap. “Stark forced Wilson and Barnes to cook it as punishment for eating all the lasagna, so you have the two of them to thank for our dinner.”

“So, what’s the story behind you posing for Steve?” (Y/N) asked, blowing on her soup before taking a cautious sip.

Loki smiled and took a sip of his own soup before answering. “Well, during my first months as an Avenger I kept mostly to myself; I stayed in my room reading the books my mother gave me and only left whenever I was assigned a mission. The others, besides Thor of course, kept their distance and never attempted to be anything more than reluctant comrades-in-arms until my second month here. The others were supposed to be out of the tower, so I decided that I wanted to take advantage of their absence and read in the library for a change. When I arrived, however, Steve was already there and busy sketching the city’s skyline. I was surprised, to say the least; I never expected the soldier to have an artistic side, so I asked him about it. He told me about his childhood dream of becoming an artist and asked me about the art on Asgard; we ended up talking for quite a while, and I wound up posing for him.” Loki smile widened, a hint of admiration in his green eyes. “He was the first Midgardian I came to respect and as I gained his trust, the others soon followed until finally, I was allowed an unaccompanied trip to the local library where I met an incredibly clumsy trainee librarian…”

“I think ‘incredibly’ is a bit of an over-exaggeration, sweetheart,” (Y/N) replied grumpily as Loki smirked. “But I’m glad that Steve gave you a chance, otherwise we may have met under very different circumstances.” She shivered slightly at her own words; she was so busy as an Avenger that it was easy to forget Hydra’s attempted abduction of her all those months ago. To distract herself from her darker thoughts, she swallowed two Tylenol pills and smiled brightly. “Anyways, it’s still pretty early; did you want to read together or maybe watch a movie?”

He gave her a disapproving frown. “You heard Doctor Banner, darling, you need your rest…” When she continued to silently stare into his green eyes, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat. “You know, those enchanting eyes of yours should be classified as deadly weapons; you wield their power as skillfully as you wield a sword.”

Grinning triumphantly, she took another sip of her soup. “Thank you, Loki, I’ll take that as a compliment.” She scooted closer to him and kissed his cheek as he smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “How about we watch That Thing You Do? I was listening to the soundtrack this morning and the theme song made me think of you.”

“It’s not like that atrocious Grease musical film, is it?”

“I promise you that it’s better, sweetheart.”

“…Fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, (Y/N) slowly opened her eyes and smiled as she looked out her bedroom window; the sun was beginning to rise, illuminating the skyscrapers with a soft golden glow. The beautiful sight turned bittersweet as her thoughts shifted to her aunt. When she was little, her aunt would wake her up early on the weekends so they could watch the sunrise together; as they sipped on hot chocolate, the rising sun would brighten their small kitchen and instantly put the two of them in a good mood. Aunt Evelyn would’ve loved Loki, (Y/N) thought, her smile widening as she imagined the petite woman meeting the towering God of Mischief; it would’ve meant the world to her if the two most important people in her life had been able to meet.

“And Loki feels the same.” She muttered to herself, playing with the edge of her blanket as she thought about the situation. With her mind finally made up, she wrapped her arms around her pillow and continued to watch the sun light up the skyline of the city. When the sun began to shine high above the skyscrapers, there was a loud knock on her bedroom door. “Come in.” The door opened to reveal Loki, already dressed for the day and balancing a tray laden with food in one hand. “G’morning, Loki…what’s this?” She asked, sitting up in bed and putting her glasses on.

Loki grinned, setting the tray down on her lap and carefully climbing onto the bed next to her. “Breakfast in bed, of course; I wasn’t sure if you’d be feeling well enough to breakfast with the others, so I brought it to you instead.”

Smiling, (Y/N) kissed him on the cheek. “You’re amazing, sweetheart, thank you.” Egged on by her grumbling stomach, she started on her oatmeal first.

“Are you feeling any better?”

She nodded. “Yep, my muscles are still a little sore but I think my cold is gone.”

“Good, I’m glad…” Loki paused, an uncertain look on his face as his fingers fidgeted in his lap. “Darling, what would you say if I told you I asked Director Fury just now to give the both of us three weeks off?”

“Well,” (Y/N) began, suppressing her amused smile; she had a sneaking suspicion as to what he was getting at. “I’d say thank you, of course, then I’d ask you if he really agreed to that and if he did, I’d suggest that we use that time to visit your mother on Asgard. What would you say to that?” She gave him a knowing glance as she sipped her orange juice.

Loki’s lips curled into an amused grin. “I’d reply that yes, Director Fury’s been impressed with our ability to do our jobs without our, and I quote, ‘sappy romantic shit getting in the way’-” (Y/N) choked a little on her orange juice and shook her head in exasperation. “I’d assure you that he’s given us three weeks off, and then I’d agree with your suggestion, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” She joked before sobering. “I know that you think she’ll love me, Loki, but to be honest, I’ve been feeling a little nervous about meeting your mother.” When Loki opened his mouth to reply, she placed a finger on his lips to silence him; the comical look of surprise on his face nearly caused her to burst out laughing but she remained composed. “However, I also know that as long as you’re with me, I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic, (Y/N),” Loki breathed before taking her face in his hands and kissing her sweetly. They parted after a moment, but he kept her close by pressing her forehead to hers. “You really are going to love Asgard, though, and I promise you that my mother will adore you just as much as I do; how could she not? You’re the kindest, most intelligent, beautiful woman in the entire universe, after all.”

“Now look at who’s the hopeless romantic.” (Y/N) teased, gently bumping his shoulder with her own as she continued eating her oatmeal. As she was finishing breakfast, Loki regaled her with talk of a rumored pranking war that was going on as a result of the hogged lasagna from the night before; I think he may need this time off more than I do, she thought pensively, watching him as he pondered aloud what clever pranks the others would come up with, a truly cheerful gleam in his eyes as he spoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the next morning, however, things were looking significantly less cheerful. As it turned out, Thor learned of their trip and decided that he would also return to Asgard to give his quarterly report on the state of Midgard to Odin. (Y/N) didn’t have any problems with Thor accompanying them; in fact, she welcomed the presence of another friendly face on their trip, but someone else didn’t see the situation quite the same way she did.

“It’s as if I’m forbidden from visiting my home realm without being on a leash,” Loki muttered darkly under his breath as he paced along the tower’s protruding helipad, his displeasure evident in his scowl and the tension of his jaw. “Held tight by my glorified babysitter.”

“Loki, you and I both know that Thor’s not coming as a babysitter; he has a report to give and it just happens to be three months since the last one.” (Y/N) lightly scolded and continued to play with the hilt of her sword from her spot next to the glass doors. She originally decided to wear her uniform to Asgard and leave her sword in her room, but her gut told her that she might need it. Probably to break up whatever fight Loki and Thor are inevitably going to get into, she thought with a sigh as she glanced at the fully armored Asgardian before her. “So, are you going to bring your mother and Samson those flowers and fruits you told me about while we’re there?”

Just as she hoped, Loki’s mood brightened at her words. “Of course; perhaps I’ll bring you along with me when I do, but I’ll have to procure another horse and teach you to ride first.”

“I look forward to it,” She flashed him a smile as the glass doors opened and Thor emerged, also dressed in his full Asgardian armor. “Good morning, Thor!”

Thor grinned down at her. “Good morning, Lady (Y/N)! Good morning, brother!” Loki’s glare did nothing to damper the Asgardian’s good spirits. “Are you ready to depart?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah, but I think the others wanted to say goodbye before we leave-”

“Keep your pants on, (Y/L/N), we’re here,” Tony quipped as he walked onto the helipad, closely followed by Steve, Natasha and Bruce. “But just so you know, I’m only here to see the My Little Pony bridge, not you guys.”

Rolling her eyes as the others chortled, she gave him a hug. “Try not to get into too much trouble while we’re gone, Tony.”

“Trouble? Me?” Tony grinned when they separated. “Have a good time for me, Morgan le Fay.” He walked over to Thor and Loki and called over his shoulder to her, “Bring me back something cool!”

Steve was next; he wrapped his arms around her waist in his trademark bear-hug. “Keep your chin up, (Y/N), and you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

“Thanks Steve,” (Y/N) mirrored his bright smile and turned to Bruce. “Since you’ll be working on that new project of yours while I’m gone, I asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to remind you to take breaks for meals so promise me you’ll listen to him, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I promise,” Bruce ducked his head shyly before pulling her in for a hug. “It’s gonna be weird not having you around for a month, but you and Loki deserve a break, (Y/N). I hope you guys enjoy yourselves!”

Natasha grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the others. “Have fun, (Y/N), but keep your eyes open and your guard up; you’re dating a prince, after all.” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “And I wanna hear every juicy detail about your trip when you get back, okay?”

“Nat!” (Y/N) exclaimed under her breath, a light blush spreading across her cheeks at the spy’s suggestive words; she followed Natasha back to the others and was pleased to see them wishing Loki as well as Thor a good trip. “Well, thank you guys for seeing us off; can you please tell the others ‘goodbye’ for us when they get back from their missions?”

“Sure thing, (Y/N),” Steve nodded and ushered the others away from the circle of etchings the brothers were standing on. “Keep an eye on Thor and Loki, will you? They need all the looking-after they can get!”

Giggling as the two brothers scoffed and rolled their eyes from the end of the helipad, she took her place next to Loki and rested her arm around his waist. “You can count on me, Cap.” She looked up at her boyfriend and smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Loki tore his excitement-filled eyes from hers and looked up at the blue sky above them as he tightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and as Thor thrust his hammer into the air above.

A moment later, they were encased in a rainbow of lights and (Y/N) caught one last glimpse of the four Avengers waving before the three of them were completely pulled into the swirling beam of colors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Nine-Part Two

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[aquamotto]

Polish School of Magic or what Rowling gets wrong about Poland

In short: many things. 

The only mentions of polish wizards come from two instances - some Quidditch team  (Grodzisk Goblins) and Hagrid’s visit to Europe (with some goblin mention, again). 

Why goblins, anyway? There is no such creature in real polish mythology. Instead, there are much more Harry Potter-esque things such as: Beast of Krakow, Dragon of the Wawel Hill who is the most famous and ferocious creature in all Eastern Europe. The majestic power of this beast can only be matched with majestic power of its city of dwelling - Krakow, to put it simply, is the city of Polish kings.

Below: Krakow, the city of “goblins”, according to JKR:

But let me guess - goblin invokes this image of rudeness and primitivity that probably comes from british understanding of poles as construction workers and such. It is curious that nuanced portrayal of poor people that is reserved for characters like Snape is not allowed to poles. They are “goblins” but Snape is a “working class hero”.  

 What I will describe below, is my headcanon based on what I imagine Wizarding Poland to really be like, sans goblins and other imperialist fantasies but based on my own observation of Poland as both pole and outsider (because, unfortunately, I am both).

Personality,  culture

Quidditch champion image as rude and loud lads couldn’t be farther from the truth. Polish wizards, much like their friends in neighboring Czech Republic, are wise, eccentric, philosophical and brave people. They have been blessed and cursed with difficult history (Such as Partition of Poland and German and Soviet Invasion) and know very well how to operate in secrecy. In fact, they are the most secretive of all european wizards and if muggle were to accuse them of witchcraft, they would deny the fact to their last breath. In the same time, polish wizards love magic and often risk everything to pursue their next magical experiment. They are prone to be idealistic and live with their head in the clouds, sometimes literally, which can lead to both troubles and brilliant inventions.

Some believe that Nicolaus Copernicus, the genius astronomer who placed the Sun at the center of the Universe, was a polish wizard (painting by polish artist Jan Matejko):

This image of genius, sudden discoveries and epiphanies is valued in Poland to the point that students of Polish School of Magic wear stars indicating their year on their uniforms - to honor Copernicus. 

However, poles aren’t Ravenclaws in disguise - they are traditional, obedient and lawful people at the core and no polish wizard, even the smallest first year, would dare to cheek their headmaster or teacher the way Harry and co. do. 

Teacher - student relationship is sacred in Poland and it’s almost like your second parent -  someone to be treated with utmost respect. This can lead to quite harsh hierarchies in Wizarding Poland. 

Looks

Polish wizards dress modestly, colorful suits Weasley Twins style are not for them. They can sometimes even look monk-like (or medieval knight-like) in appearance. Since Poland is filled with minor aristocracy called szlachta (and I am proud to belong to it, too*) many polish wizards openly wear their coat of arms on their clothes. (*If you are wondering whether I have a coat of arms - yes, I do).

Polish School of Magic uses dark red monk-like hoods with more normal suit under as an unifroms.  Since they want to be the guardians of well respected traditions, it fits them. 

This doesn’t mean that poles are somber, though. They can be playful but in their distinct, “I challenge you” way. They can be competitive and fiery to the highest degree, especially when their honor or honor of their school is involved. They are indeed the most patriotic of all wizards, thinking of themselves as separated not only from muggles but from foreigners too.

Relationship with muggles

Polish wizards do not like muggles very much but unlike Britain, it rarely comes in a form of hostility but rather patronizing and light mockery. Rather than valuing pure blood,poles just think of themselves as superior to muggles in intelligence.They are especially suspicious of muggle disrespect of culture and the past which leads to wizards thinking that muggles are morally and spiritually, rather than genetically, impure. However, there was never an attempt to deny muggleborns education - in fact, they are welcomed with open arms and often even relief - “Finally, another one of us!”. This makes them a bit closer to Grindelwald’s idea of superiority than Voldemort’s one.

Music

Anyone knows Chopin, the great french-polish composer and indeed, poles adore music. To the point that Polish School of Magic considers participation in a school choir mandatory. But highest praise is reserved for those who dare and pick up an instrument (be it violin, cello, horn, piano or something else) to join the School Orchestra. If Triwizard Tournament accepted Poland, they would arrive in most curious way possible - operating the giant musical machine which would look like a church organ mixed with piano and other instruments. The headmaster would play it and the students (dressed in cloaks) would accompany him with some strange melody to make the grandest entrance ever. 

Polish School of Magic

Pictured below: Frombork

Thanks to Copernicus, magical astronomy and astrology are best subjects to learn in Polish School of Magic. Unlike their colleagues in Prague who are obsessed with alchemy, potions and dark arts, poles are more interested in the spiritual so they also value divination in any forms and defense against the dark arts. Since living in a country as difficult as Poland forces you to  always be on your toes, teachers consider it important to teach their students nonverbal magic as soon as possible. They also encourage wandless magic and actually had a lot of luck with it (unlike other european schools). Thanks to a certain WW2 incident, they also offer a superior course of arithmancy (If you know what I am hinting at, well done!) 

Pictured: Frombork Cathedral Bell Tower

Since poles are not very practical people, they don’t teach their students about Magical Creatures at all (aside from a side course on dangerous creatures such as dragons in DADA). This just doesn’t fit their heady aesthetics. Being honest and reliable people, they also dislike transfiguration - something about turning things into animals and other things strikes them as unnecessary cruel and even devilish. Being pious at the core, poles want magic to always come from the source of respect and light. That’s why almost all students leave the school with full patronuses - most common of which is a white eagle, of course - the symbol of Poland. Poles are often so patriotic that even their best memories are linked to their national identity!

Poles are also good at charms and make superb magical duellists. In fact, not many nations can best them in this regard, if any. It is thanks to their wandless magic, wordless spells,  quickness of reaction and harsh discipline (almost military-like) instilled in them in their school. 

Talking about discipline... Polish School of Magic’s discipline is indeed very strict. The school grounds are usually quiet, students know best not to laugh too loud, not to pull pranks or fool around needlessly. Spontanous duels are forbidden. Teachers love their work and always keep an eye on misbehaving individuals. Lazy, incompetent or misanthopic teachers don’t exist in Polish School of Magic. Instead they can be overly strict, demanding, mocking, conservative and overly eccentric. (This one is based on real life experience, everyone.)

Below: Ksiaz castle

 Teachers in Polish School of Magic lean old and getting a place there is very difficult and demands tons of connections. They also lean male but not just because of prejudice (although, unfortunately, such prejudice exists - Poland is a country of soldiers in many ways), because DADA course there is especially harsh and physically exhausting. (Some say it’s because they want to best Durmstrang and it comes with knowing your enemy).

Despite the notes of traditionalist gender roles, female teachers are usually well-respected, even more than male ones. And that’s why many female teachers are quite haughty and have queen-like demeanor.

Below: Ksiaz castle room

But when do poles rest from all their strict training? The answer: when holidays come. Holidays are sacred for poles and many missteps are forgiven during them, rules become slightly more relaxed. 

One of the curiously LESS regulated things in Polish School of Magic is love. While british and american wizards such as Snape may get into a puritanical rage seeing two students kissing passionately, polish teachers would just smile sweetly at them and leave them alone. Girls sending boys postcards is not considered cringeworthy as it is in Hogwarts (I am looking at you, Harry) but natural and enviable. In fact, teachers encourage students to dance together and on holidays such as Christmas, they even overlook duels related to love triangles (a rare case of them approving non-DADA duels). Poles can dance well and you can often find them waltzing in the school balroom in their festive robes. They also flirt well and all this combined with the fact how good they are at duelling, makes them formidable rivals in love for students from any other school, including Beauxbatons, especially considering that Beauxbatons boys lean narcissistic rather than chivalrous.

In the end, if Poland did participate in Triwizard Tournament, I think it would charm everyone with their quick wit, intelligence, modesty, good manners and passionate spirit. 

Quite far from the “Goblin” stuff, isn’t it?

Below: various beautiful views from Poland

[rpd-rookie]

After all things he saw and been through, Leon could use some rest... So how about Leon x reader on vacation in some remote, distant place, phone turned off, Hannigan banned from contacting him over new assignments? I guess it would be perfect for post-Vendetta? I don't really care it it's going to be fluff, smut or whatever - I just want him to take his time off and simply enjoy his leave, wherever he'd go. ^_~

Author’s note: Sorry about the long wait. This OS actually became so long I decided to make it a 2 or 3 chapters long fanfic. Here’s the first prt. Hoping you’ll love it.

Warning: Angst, Mention of Alcoholism and Depression, Language, Mention of sex.

Information : Y/SN = your second name

Holidays - Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

A fresh marine breeze entered the room through the ajar French window, flapping the white muslin curtains like two small sails. It caressed his clammy naked body and a salty smell came to tickle his nose, reminding him a time when, as a kid, he used to go visit his grandparents in their small beach house in South Carolina, a time that was far gone but that he kept close to his heart.           And so he sprawled on the mattress, a bit like a funny starfish, his blue eyes still shut, trying to linger in his memory and in his bed a little longer, at least until Hunnigan calls him to warn him not to be late to another umpteenth appointment with his DSO colleagues or the president.           Only when he felt a delicate hand brush his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear like his mother used to do when he was a child, and finally met a pair of gorgeous (colour) eyes did he realise two things.   One, Hunnigan won’t call this morning. Two, holidays were awesome.

Part 1: THE MEETING

           Scott Rossi. That was the name he had given when he had registered in this remote cottage-like hotel three days ago on the north coasts of Nova Scotia. Nothing original and probably too easy to guess – it was his father’s first name and his mother last name after all. A fake identity he had judged necessary to disappear from the DSO’s radar for a little while.     He needed to be left alone. For his wellness and his sanity even though a part of him knew drinking his sorrow away wasn’t what was best for that so-called wellness he wanted back. But it was the only solution he had found to forget. Forget about New York. Forget about the car bombing in DC. Forget about that bullet he put in President Benford’s head. Forget about everything that had led him here, drinking in this bar. But the road to forgetting was hard and the escape too momentary. And the more whisky he poured in his glass to more he seemed to drown in his bottomless pit of pain and depression.           “Tough day or you’re just not confident in your masculinity?” Usually, Leon would have ignored such a nosy question, the same way he would have ignored another over-curious judgy person, with characteristic stoicism. But there was something in that question, something in that voice - though he couldn’t pinpoint what - that made him look up from the amber liquid in his glass. Perhaps was it the strangeness of that question. Or perhaps was it that voice, confident and full of nerve, reminding Leon of old times, old friends, bold young agents and femme fatales. Or perhaps, was it simply because she was a woman and God knew how much Leon couldn’t ignore one, wasted or not.     She was a (hair colour) with piercing (colour) eyes, wearing a long marine blue coat over a nice black dress. Elegant. Self-assured. Pretty. Very pretty … Actually too pretty to hang out in some lousy hotel bar like the one she was in right now. A city girl maybe. “Excuse me?”           “The whisky. My father used to say it’s a drink for fags.” Leon’s eyes widened briefly and she added, unsettled by his surprise as if she had expected it. “But then again, my father was an asshole who didn’t know shit about anything. So tough day, huh?” Leon snickered and remained surprisingly troubled for a few second. Needless to say, he wasn’t used being caught off guard like that. “More like tough life” He finally corrected. She nodded and, unable to resist curiosity – even though she had the impression the man was certainly not the kind to easily open up to strangers -  quickly went to sit closer to him bringing her tequila along with her. “I’m all ears.”   “I don’t need a therapy.” His tone was curt and harsh and he took a sip of whisky looking away from her, thinking she would get the message and leave him to finish his fancy bottle of Glenfiddich in peace. But she did not move and simply waited, her observing eyes set on him as if she was trying to read his mind or something.       He glanced towards her only to see her sigh and take off her coat like an insect would shed their skin, offering Leon the sight of her beautiful wasp-like body covered in black silk, a sight that didn’t leave him indifferent. After all, she had an exquisite silhouette. Curvy with a narrow waist that her skin-tight black dress could bring out with ease. “Let me guess, after fifteen years of marriage, your wife cheated on you with your best friend because you were the kind of man who lived for his job instead of his family and now he’s taking care of your kids in your own house and they call him daddy.”         “Couldn’t be moooore wrong.” He had a quick laugh, not because he thought her soap opera-like story was amusing but because he actually never imagined someone would picture him married with kids. Did he look the type? He didn’t think so. “Maybe. But at least now I know you’re not married.” Leon glanced at her again, astonished by her audacity. No one had ever flirted with him that way. Though he wasn’t even sure she was flirting. “Are you sweet-talking me or something?”         She shrugged her

shoulders leaving the place for any sort of answer and Leon said “You know, you could have just look at my hand.”     “I did actually but I just wanted to make sure.” She had a quick seductive smile and smoothly bent towards Leon who peeped at her décolletage for a second before focusing on his drink again. “By the way, is shooting a hobby or part of your job?” Leon froze, his glass half way between the counter and his lips and stared at her. “How …”             “The calluses on your fingertips. Only a shooter has that kind of hands.” He couldn’t help but be impressed and after drinking his whisky in one go, he naturally sat up straight on his stool to scrutinize her, suddenly more that interested in that mysterious girl. “You’re observant.”   “Y/N actually.” She extended her hand and, after a short hesitation, he shook it with an amused smile, undeniably seduced by that cheeky attitude that suited her so well. Her skin was so soft and cold against his, he instinctively kept her hand in his to warm it up. A lovely gesture yet certainly a bit inappropriate. Either way, the girl said nothing and let him hold her hand. “I’m L… Scott. I’m Scott” He finally replied as he let go of her hand, slightly uncomfortable. “ Fine, then I’m Y/SN.”     Leon frowned, his face showing a mix of confusion and amusement. “You just said your name was Y/N.”         “Yeah but that was before you chose to lie.” She grimaced, emptied her shot of tequila and called the waiter with a small hand gesture to ask for a refill, not even slightly disappointed in Leon for lying. “I didn’t lie.” Not really. She put down her hand as she realised the barman, who was flirting with a man at the end of the counter, would not notice her.     “Of course you did. But I’ll allow it. I guess that’s just another silly way to cope with your tough life for a night. Though, it seems it’s as useless as alcohol” She took Leon’s glass and emptied it without looking away from the agent.       “I’m trying to enjoy my holidays at the fullest.” He confessed and that was the truth. “Is it working?” She placed the glass, now stained with her lipstick, in front of him and he shrugged, showing her the bottle of alcohol by his side before pouring himself another drink. “No, not really.”             “Thought so.”            

She took the whisky again, this time from Leon’s hand but he did not protest. He didn’t care about that damn liquor. He could definitely afford another bottle. The company however … He knew he would never find another girl like the one sitting next to him. “So, Y/N. What are you doing here?” He asked, his eyes fixed upon her face. “Who’s Y/N?” She replied with a cheeky wink and Leon smiled and chuckled. It hadn’t done that in a while.  “Are we really gonna play this lie the whole night?” Part of him hoped so. There was something endearing and refreshing in that little game, the same way there was something terribly irresistible in that girl.       “You wanna spend the whole night with me? Who told you I was that kind of girl?” She harrumphed, hand over her heart like an amazingly lame actress, an overly dramatic gesture that was certainly intended.         “You’re impossible.” Leon confessed but there was no hint of criticism or annoyance, quite the opposite. He was actually having fun drinking here with that girl he didn’t know. “No. I’m just a girl pretending to be someone she’s not – aka Y/SN - talking to a man named Scott who just lost his wife and kids to his best friend.”           “Not just his wife and kids, his dog too. A beagle. Poppy.” She laughed, getting the tiny nod to John Wick and he looked glad that she did. “And what’s Y/SN’s backstory?”             “I found yours. You could at least found mine.” She retorted and let him think. And for a second, as she stared at him scratching his stubble, finding him insanely handsome, she realised he hadn’t touch his drink in a small while. Good.   “Y/SN is a college student with unresolved daddy issues trying to get the attention of a man possibly twice her age to cope with the fear of abandonment his father left her with when he left her and her mom.”         “Was Dad an alcoholic?” She declared on purpose, just to see if the word would trigger his desire to drink. It incredibly did not.   “Might explain why you’re so interested in a loser like me.”

She stayed the whole night with him. Talking. Playing. Flirting in ways only she could do. Creating an undeniable connection, a sharp sexual tension that only a man deprived of all senses would have missed. She gave him a signal (if not more) with her eyes, called him with her lips. And he responded with a similar technique, a similar enthusiasm. And at the end of the night, when she got up from her stool and kissed him goodbye, right at the corner of his lips, she realised she could potentially spend the hottest night of her life if she chose to lead him in her room. After all, it was no secret for either of them. She wanted to fuck him and he wanted to fuck her.           But a part of her decided to play hard to get, decided that this night would be a sweet game, a foreplay in their roleplay. And luckily for her, he was a player. Just like her.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here’s this month’s list of amazing fics. I can‘t thank every author enough for keeping me sane with their fics ♥

When Least Expected | Rearviewdreamer | pandemic fic - online relationship - kid fic - fluff - 22k Drowning in a sea of emails and Zoom meetings in the living room, his lonely son falling more and more behind in his kitchen classroom, and crushing weight of the world being on house arrest for the foreseeable future, one fateful online interaction suddenly has everything looking up.

Across the Grey, Salty Sea | thecheshirepussycat | Dunkirk AU - prostitution - 20k Prompt 212: Alex from Dunkirk and French escort/prostitute Louis who ends up in Alex’s quarters more nights than not. Alex gives him his dog tag to wear maybe just a lot of smut and dirty talk with Louis being a pretty princess.

Sakura Sunset | MsHydeStylinson | flower shop - break up - post-break up - getting back together - miscommunication - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - 16k Harry and Louis have a tradition. Every spring they stand below hundreds of dazzling cherry blossom trees in Kew Garden, and year after year they come back to walk amongst the trees and experience that love over again. This year everything changes. Louis is offered a once in a lifetime opportunity in Silicon Valley, California. Only after Louis has left does Harry realise he made the biggest mistake of his life breaking up with Louis, and he has to live with the consequences of his actions. Four years later, Harry discovers that Louis has returned to London, and in an effort to find the closure he desperately needs, he must tell Louis the truth behind their break up so he can move on with his life.

it's hard to fight naked | bluestarwitch | enemies to lovers - roommates - fluff - smut - 11k Prompt 6: Louis and Harry are roommates, but they cannot stand each other. When Harry heard Louis moan his name while Louis was riding a dildo in Harry’s room (Louis thought he was alone at home), Harry couldn’t stop himself and so he ended up fucking Louis against the mattress. Happy ending! or where Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

where they glow | falsegoodnight | Tangled AU - fantasy - historical - royalty - magic - slow burn - first love - 70k “Look, sweetheart,” Harry starts, shaking his head. “Name your price - seriously. I’m willing to be generous, just don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. I’ll take my crown and we never have to see each other again. Easy peasy.” Louis frowns at the term of endearment that sounds condescending dripping from Harry’s lips, stepping closer. “Something brought you here, Harry Styles. Call what you will: fate, destiny…” “Liam Payne,” Harry mutters. “And I have made the decision to trust you,” Louis says, ignoring the odd comment. “A horrible decision, really,” Harry says, looking amused. “Then again, I’m the one sitting here in ropes with multiple bruises on my head so who am I to say anything about decisions?” - Or, a Tangled AU where Louis dreams, Harry runs, and the sun prince has been missing for almost nineteen years.

Too Young To Know | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - exes to lovers- k Louis blinked awake and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. This was the second morning in a row he had woken up after dreaming about Harry. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Eric asked as he held Louis tighter in his arms. Louis liked being the little spoon, except for when he’d rather be holding someone else. Which were the past two days. Or the one where Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

across city skyline (and straight through my heart) | Halos_Boat | famous/not famous - angst - slow burn - friends to lovers - miscommunication - unhealthy relationship - fluff - 76k Louis Tomlinson meets Hollywood Heartthrob, Harry Styles when he walks into Louis' little bakery one day. Immediately, Louis is charmed by him and Louis thinks Harry might feel the same way, given the fact that Harry has visited the bakery everyday since he'd come to town. Until one day, Harry walks in with a boyfriend under his arm and a smile on his face. The one where Louis owns a small bakery that's well known in his town and Harry Styles is an actor who comes to town to film a new movie. Louis is endeared by him, but that doesn’t seem to matter since Harry Styles is already taken.

High Noon Or Midnight, I Don't Want To Know | creamcoffeelou | royalty - a/b/o - bonding - 24k The intruder stands there for too long before he reaches into his bag, pulling a length of rope into his hands. The darkness is too overpowering for Harry to make out any of the alpha’s features, rather he can only see the sweeping movement of his hands, his legs as he takes a step closer. Harry knows what’s happening, can see exactly how this is going to play out, but he almost doesn’t want to fight the idea. “Wait,” Harry starts. The words come faster than he intends, mouth moving before he can think through what he’s saying. “Let me get dressed and pack a bag. And then I will go with you.” OR: Harry is an omega prince who doesn't want the crown and will do anything to escape. Louis is an alpha who does and will do anything to get it.

Landslide | ohpleaselarry | 90s AU - road trip - angst - implied mcd - crying - fluff - smut - no happy ending - 38k In the summer of 1995, Harry finishes his second term of university with flying colours, and decides that the only way to truly celebrate is to go on a four week long road trip around the UK filled with music, sight-seeing, and way too much pot. When Niall refuses to go, he has no choice but to accept the company of a spontaneous boy with an eccentric fashion sense that he’s only just met. Louis is wildly loud, blunt, and may or may not be everything Harry’s ever needed in life, even with the boy’s knack for causing mischief and ranting about mortality. Oh, And Louis has a big fucking secret.

Shut Up and Wink at Me | kikikryslee | high school - pining - hate to love - fluff - 14k “Did you get your housing information yet?” Louis asked. Harry pursed his lips. “Yeah. So?” “So? So it looks like we’re going to be roommates. Don’t you think we should know each other a little bit?” “We’ve gone to the same schools since Kindergarten. I already know you.” “Yeah, but we’re not like, friends,” Louis said. “Ouch.” Harry pretended to be hurt, holding a hand over his heart. “That stings, Louis.” Louis rolled his eyes. “Look, I would like to know at least something about you before I live with you for an entire school year.” “What do you suggest?” “I don’t know,” Louis said. “I guess just like, hang out and make sure we’re compatible?” “You make it sound like we’re going on a blind date.” “Trust me; we’re fucking not.” “Again, ouch.” --- Or, the one where Louis wants to go away to college to get away from everything having to do with his hometown. So when he finds out his roommate will be Harry Styles, perfect school athlete and the exact opposite of what Louis wants in a roommate, he's not happy about it.

Hiding Out in the Kitchen | LittleMousling | famous/not famous - dating - romance - touring - angst - jealousy - 28k Harry's in an internationally famous boyband with his three best mates, he gets laid on a pretty regular basis, and he's headed to Australia in a week. He doesn't need anything else, and he certainly doesn't need a boyfriend. If this nice guy he met in a coffeeshop wants to date him, great—but that's all it is. Right?

Things Unsaid | LadyLondonderry | soulmates - meet-cute - 4k "That chunky oversized sweater is like a clown outfit made for winter." It feels like time slows down. Those words echo in his mind, familiar. Why are they familiar? The— the sweater he saw last week. The one with all the knit squares. The train slows to a stop and Louis just— he doesn’t move. He feels frozen in place as people surge around him. Suddenly everyone is moving too fast and then just as suddenly the car is near empty, taking off again. The man is gone. His soulmate is gone. Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

Please Be Naked | Only_angel_28 | college/university - nude modeling - strangers to lovers - banter - fluff - sexual tension - 17k Louis starts squirming, desperately needing something to do with his hands. Needing to do anything, really, to distract him from the perfect male specimen standing naked in front of him. In the end, the only thing he can do is strip out of his own jeans and briefs, which he does with trembling, clumsy fingers, his heart beating out a violent, chaotic rhythm in his chest the entire time. He hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath, and slowly raises his eyes from where he was staring at his own bare feet to meet his gaze. “So,” Harry says bashfully, his voice gone even deeper somehow. “We’re naked.” “Yup,” Louis squeaks. “You okay?” No! “Yup,” Louis repeats, sounding just as unstable as he did the first time. This is the last favor Louis Tomlinson is ever doing for Zayn Malik. (Because, after today, he’ll be dead, but that’s neither here nor there.) *Or the one where Louis agrees to help out Zayn with one of his art projects and ends up getting much more than he bargained for.

Baby, Teach Me How To | FallingLikeThis | student/teacher - pining - nude modeling - 13k At 10 am, the door to the studio classroom shuts with a bang that makes Harry jolt in his seat at the sound of it. He turns to see an absolutely gorgeous man standing there, hand still on the doorknob. His hair falls in a windswept swoop over his brow and he’s got a sexy scruff on his cheeks that Harry immediately can’t help imagining between his thighs. The man’s eyes shine with mirth, lips quirked into a wicked grin at having gotten a reaction from nearly everyone in the room. Harry watches him with unfettered curiosity, idly thinking he’d be a beautiful subject for a portrait as the man’s hand falls from the door. “Hello, class,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him and Harry’s eyes have a hard time staying in his head. This is Professor Tomlinson? Or Louis is Harry's art professor and they both know it's forbidden to fall in love. Somehow, they manage to anyway.

darling, you give love a bad name | snowcaplou | shotgun wedding - arranged marriage - mpreg - childhood friends - friends to lovers - miscommunication - fluff - angst - 29k “Harry,” Louis says again. He’s swallowing down tears that have already pooled in his irises-- he’s cried enough today. He needs to get this off of his chest, he needs Harry to know what’s going on. Harry nods, encouraging him to speak, but Louis is sure that he would not be so calm if he knew what was coming. Nothing could accurately prepare him, though, for what leaves Louis’ lips next. “I’m pregnant.” OR Louis' has been best friends with Gemma all his life in this stupid little town he's grown to hate. What happens when, after one night together with his best friend's brother, he falls pregnant? Surrounded by small minds and conservative cultures, Louis has to deal with parents that demand they do the "right" thing. Get married before anybody finds out. Alternately known as "The Shotgun AU"

Be with me so happily | BriaMaria | enemies to lovers - fluff - light angst - animal death - smut - 43k Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated. From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes. Or ... the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn't so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them. [aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

[lordmartiya]

lord Martiya’s Lilanette Week 2021, part 4: Travel

@lilanette-week

@lilanette

This chapter features Luupa the Wolf Kwami, a character by StellarStylus. It also features an actual restaurant from Rome. Let’s face it: we Italians are a weird nation, and Rome is our capital for a reason.

06/23: Travel

The school was having a trip to Rome… So headmaster Damocles had asked Lila’s advice to plan certain parts, reasoning that, being from Rome, she knew the place better. And the entire school would suffer for his ignorance – after all, only Marinette and Chloè knew just how trolling Lila’s sense of humor could be.

Still, it had been two days in the trip, enough to calm them down after waiting for the other shoe to drop without anything weird happening – she had even forewarned everyone of the horrible state of Rome’s roads, and the worst they had got had been when Sabrina had said one couldn’t go to Rome without visiting the Vatican and the Roman girl had pointed out it’s the same as saying that you can’t go at someone’s house without going to the bathroom (she had particularly enjoyed the appalled shouts when they had got that). That and trying to flirt with Marinette, but while she understood the language and even a bit of the slang courtesy of her grandmother and the similarities of Italian and French she didn’t know the latter enough and had missed the double meanings.

Of course all of that was about to change now that they were to dine at “Cencio La Parolaccia”.

“It’s my favorite restaurant.” she had introduced it, much to Marinette and Chloè’s horror. Especially Marinette’s, who could translate the restaurant’s name.

Then Damocles paved the way, and as soon as he had confirmed they were the French school that had reserved the place the waiter announced them with “Apprepara l’acqua per’ brodo, so’ arrivati i Francesi!”

The entire group of students and teachers was appalled at how they had indirectly been called a bunch of cowards, with insults to their national bird to boot.

“What were you expecting? This place is called “the swearword” for a reason.” Lila stated.

Or, in other words, they were basically paying to get insulted the whole time, as per the restaurant’s gimmick based on just how crass Rome’s dialect was.

“You’re terrible.” Marinette said at her Italian suitor.

“Welcome to Rome, where a mother can call her own child a “son of a whore” and it only comes off as mildly insistent.” Lila replied.

“Fucking truth.” confirmed the waiter.

That was when Damocles realized he had screwed up. Especially as it was now too late to go somewhere else.

__________

“You have no idea what I just got through.” Chat Noir said to the female superheroines as they met near Trajan’s Column. “It got my group too weirded out to notice I disappeared, but…”

“Welcome to Rome, Paris’ exclusive twin city.” Volpina replied, sure that whatever Chat Noir had gone through couldn’t be as traumatic as the prank she had pulled on her classmates to get them to go to sleep early. She’d have done that anyway, but this way she had joined the useful and the fun, as the saying went. “And don’t worry, you’ll get over it soon.”

“But-”

“She’s right.” Ladybug agreed. “Our cities have an exclusive twinship because we aren’t that different… And I can already see the fun about what this one pulled to get us a distraction. You all remember what we’re here for?”

“Wolf Miraculous – apparently linked to Rome’s foundation and rise to power, and the guys here are now exposing what could well be it in their museum.” Volpina stated. “Guess their claim of descending from Julius Caesar’s family isn’t that fake, if they inherited it from the Julii’s cousins the Romilii…”

“We don’t have time for a history lesson.” Chat said.

Before they could start bickering Ladybug had Volpina cast her Mirage on the cameras and then, using the Horse Miraculous, opened a portal to the room where the possible Wolf Miraculous was being held…

“A’nfame, chi cazzo chiami inutile?! Io te piscio n’culo, e te corco!”

And the related Kwami was insulting Papillon, going so deep in his vulgarity that even Volpina, the Roman one, was blushing. Immediately imitated by two security guards and a man who had arrived there.

“Siam qui apposta.” Volpina said after the Kwami had wished someone killed Papillon.

Then Papillon threw the Miraculous right in Volpina’s face and jumped out of the window, ignoring the guards shooting him.

___________________

“Well, that was weird.” Ladybug said after they had left with the Miraculous, that the man, the apparent head of the family, had insisted they took away.

“Not really, Marcanto’ has heard of the actual stories about jinn, and while he can’t tell the difference with a Kwami he’s smart enough to not mess with them.” Volpina explained. “And speaking of our not-jinni… May we know your name and power, Wolf Kwami?”

“I am Luupa, Kwami of Cooperation, and I grant the power of Pack Unity.” the Kwami replied. “My wielder can allow their companion the best possible coordination in battle-”

“Like a Roman legion! You inspired them!” Volpina was Italian, and while she knew the tales were a bit exaggerated she knew far too well how the ancient Romans used to overcome numerically superior opponents through maneuvers made possible by excellent coordination among their units.

“And a power Papillon can’t use!” Ladybug noted.

“Ugh! Don’t talk me about that idiot.” Luupa protested. “Seriously, what idiot calls himself “The Bowtie”?”

As she chuckled, Volpina mused that this was indeed the Kwami that made Rome, both ancient and present, she wondered how he and Mayura had loved the temporary Heroine they had left behind to deal with Akumas and, if he had done as he had back when they had been in New York, distraction Sentimonsters.

_____________________

The following morning, Lila hadn’t even got her Espresso when Alya made the first attempt to kidnap her. Though even she wasn’t reckless enough to not stop when faced with the Italian’s glare, waiting until she had her coffee before dragging her in a secluded corner and showing how the Tiger Miraculous-equipped heroine, Waghoba sor Roaar, kicked into smithereens the Gamer mech Sentimonster before hammily announcing her name and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were on vacation and had her substitute.

“Lila, you’re her friend… Can you tell me what was Ladybug thinking when she gave my sister a Miraculous?” Alya asked.

“What makes you think it’s Anansi?” Lila asked back, making sure to use Nora’s preferred ring name.

“A Muay Thai championess who uses a tiger god’s name, who else can she be?”

“Point. As for your question… Ladybug’s really stressed, and didn’t take well when “The Bowtie” ruined her previous attempt at getting a vacation.”

“… Remind me to never get her angry at me.”