#how to draw the eiffel tower in paris

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[othernightslikethis]

SPRING LOVE

3,6k words

Smut, Bf x Gf

Kim Minju x Male Reader

Ahhhh she is so beautiful 😍😍😍

As the current centre-back for Paris Saint-Germain, you’ve become the missing piece in the squad, which now sits comfortably in Ligue 1 and advances in the Champions League after knocking out Liverpool. With solid performances and impeccable skills, the press and fans don’t hesitate to call you "the new Maldini."

But none of that mattered. Not when you were with her.

Kim Minju.

She was your girlfriend. You met through mutual friends when you were both just nineteen. Back then, she was still a K-pop idol, and you were a rising star in Korean football—much skinnier than you are now. To say it was love at first sight would be... a lie. You got along well, but at the time, you agreed to stay just friends, as too many things between you seemed too different.

But everything changed after six months of deep conversations, shared laughter, and moments that brought you closer. That was when you finally confessed your feelings for each other. Your relationship was celebrated with joy, and your teammates were incredibly kind, offering advice—some of them a bit too much.

You never got to meet the members of Minju’s group, but it was never an issue. When IZ*ONE disbanded, it was a tough time for her, but you supported her unconditionally as she pursued an acting career.However, there was a moment when your relationship became fragile: when you received the offer from Paris Saint-Germain at twenty-two. The club was restructuring after the departures of Neymar, Messi, and Verratti—brilliant players who hadn’t managed to secure PSG’s long-awaited Champions League title.

You told Minju about the offer, and she celebrated with you, but both of you knew the distance would be an immense challenge. It wasn’t just moving cities—it was continents, cultures, routines. After many emotional conversations, you decided to break up and remain friends.

But that decision didn’t last long. At the start of 2025, you rekindled things, choosing to try a long-distance relationship. You agreed that if it didn’t work out, you’d part ways peacefully, with no regrets. Since then, whenever your schedule allowed, you’d fly to Korea to see her. And when she wasn’t busy filming, she’d appear in Paris, bringing a piece of home to your life in Europe.

It was hard, yes. The long nights and hectic days tested both of your patience. But every video call, every message exchanged in the dead of night, every reunion—it was all worth it. Because, in the end, no title, no trophy, no praise from the fans could compare to her smile.

That was what mattered. Her.

Kim Minju.

That was why your lovely girlfriend was there, in your mansion in France, a few days before the match against Aston Villa.

Minju had managed to carve out a break from her hectic schedule to spend four days exclusively by your side, especially to watch the game. Everything seemed perfect—the romantic atmosphere, the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower framed by the mansion’s large window, the cosy silence of the evening... But in that moment, none of those details mattered.

What dominated the dimly lit room were Minju’s soft, breathy moans, echoing off the walls like a forbidden melody. She was lying on the sofa, completely naked from the waist down, wearing only an oversized hoodie of yours that barely covered her delicate frame. The muted light accentuated the glistening wetness on her thighs, where a tantalising slick had begun to trickle, betraying just how aroused she was. Her fingers moved with perfect precision inside herself, curling in just the right way to draw out another high-pitched sigh.

— Baby... Just like that... — She arched her back, lips parting in a mix of pleasure and frustration. — fuck, it’s not fair, ahnn... You promised you’d let me be on top today!

Her voice was a blend of complaint and provocation, but she barely managed to finish the sentence before throwing her head back, fingers clawing at the sheets as her thighs clamped involuntarily around your hand. Her eyes, usually so sweet and bright, were now darkened with desire, locked onto you with an intensity that nearly made you give in.

She was right, of course. You had promised. But the truth was, Minju was rubbish at being dominant. There was something irresistibly adorable about the way she’d try to take control, only to crumble minutes later, whimpering and writhing beneath you. It was as if her submissive nature always betrayed her attempts at command—and you loved every second of that contradiction.

— You say that like I have a choice... — you murmured, leaning over her as your fingers deepened their movements, feeling her shudder. — But we both know you prefer it this way.

Minju let out a sound between a moan and a protest, but the shiver that ran through her body and the way her legs fell open even wider were answer enough.

— Ah! No— not like this, baby...

Minju gasped as your third finger joined the other two, pressing lightly against her entrance before sliding in all at once, filling her completely. You weren’t exactly experienced with women—Minju was only your second girlfriend—but your time in Paris had granted you a few casual encounters. Minju, however, was different. She was the only one who could take three fingers. Her soft, slender frame might have been deceiving, but you knew just how well she could handle every inch of what you gave her.

— It’s too... ahn... much— she moaned, her fingers digging into your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

You smirked, feeling how she was already clenching around your fingers, hot and tight, even as she complained.

— Bollocks. You fit just fine.

And then you began moving your hand with a firmer rhythm, three fingers sinking deep before pulling almost all the way out, only to push back in, faster this time. Minju cried out, her voice breaking into a sharp whine, and you felt her pulse quicken, her body twisting between the urge to pull away and the desperate need to press even closer.

— Fuck, stop! Stop for a bit! — she whined, but the trembling in her legs and the way her cunt pulsed betrayed her real plea: don’t you dare stop.You leaned over her, whispering against her neck as your fingers kept working, now with a curling motion that made her shudder.

— You can take three, can’t you? Want me to take one out?

— N-no! — She shook her head, eyes glazed with pleasure. Just— ahn— slower...

But you already knew she didn’t want slower. She wanted to be pushed to the edge, even if she pretended to resist. So instead of easing up, you added a slight twist of your fingers inside her, your thumb finding her clit at the same time.

Minju screamed your name, her body arching violently, and then—she fell apart.

Her muscles clenched like a fist, hips jerking uncontrollably, and you felt the warm rush of her release spilling over your fingers as she came, desperate moans tearing from her throat.When she finally stopped trembling, she was panting, face flushed, lips swollen from biting down on them.

— You... wanker... — she breathed out, still trying to recover.

You laughed, bringing your wet fingers to your mouth and licking them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

— Promise you’ll be on top next time.She let out a weak chuckle, both of you knowing full well neither believed that.

— Shut up and pull it out, come on.

Minju was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze challenged you even as her body trembled with post-orgasm sensitivity. You obeyed, slowly withdrawing your fingers, feeling how she still pulsed around them—warm and soft. A trickle of desire dripped between her thighs, and you couldn’t resist—you ran your thumb over her, gathering some of that nectar before bringing it to your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

— Disgusting... — she murmured, but the blush creeping up to her ears and the way her legs shyly pressed together betrayed her words.You smirked, leaning over her, bracing yourself on your arms to avoid crushing her completely.

— You love it.

She tried to look away, but you gently cupped her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. — Do you really want me to stop?

Minju bit her lower lip, hesitating. You knew that expression—it was the face she made when torn between what she should want and what she actually desired.

—...No.

The answer came in an almost ashamed whisper, and it was enough to make your blood boil. You captured her lips in a voracious kiss, feeling her melt against you, her hands gripping your back as if afraid you might vanish.

When you pulled apart, she was even more breathless, her eyes glazed.

— Then show me how you want it.

Minju hesitated for a second before rolling over, pushing you back against the sofa cushions. She settled onto your lap, still wearing that oversized hoodie that only amplified her aura of perverse innocence. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid your trousers, but when she finally freed your erection, her gaze darkened with desire.

— You’re... Big today. — She murmured, wrapping her hand around you experimentally.

You clenched your teeth, feeling her heat even in that minimal contact.

— Your fault.

Minju smiled then—one of those rare, wicked smiles that only appeared when she was especially confident or aroused.

— Then I should apologise properly, yeah?

Before you could respond, she leaned forward, taking you between her lips in a slow, deliberate motion. You groaned, your hands instinctively tangling in her hair. She wasn’t the most experienced, but the way she looked up at you with those big, pleading eyes as she sucked you like you were her last sip of water in the desert—fuck.

— Minju... Your warning came out more as a moan.

She ignored you, deepening the movement until you felt her throat constrict around the head. You arched your back, muscles tensing.

— If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—

Minju pulled back at the last second, letting you slip from her mouth with an audible pop. Her face was flushed, lips glossy and swollen.

— I want you inside me.

She didn’t need to ask twice.

In one fluid motion, you pulled her up, aligning her with your length. She was already so wet that she slid down without resistance, taking you all in one smooth movement. The two of you moaned in unison—her, at the sensation of being stretched open again; you, at the unbearable heat of her tightening around you.

— fuck… — Minju arched her back, her hands gripping your shoulders. — So full…

You held her hips, helping her find a rhythm.

— You can take it. You always can.

She began to move, hesitant at first, but soon gaining confidence. You watched, mesmerised—the way her breasts swayed slightly under her hoodie, the mix of concentration and pleasure on her face, the obscenely wet sound every time she sank down to the base.

It was beautiful. It was filthy. It was Minju.And when she started losing her breath, her movements growing uncoordinated, you took control, flipping your positions in one swift motion. She gasped in surprise, but you were already between her legs, lifting one over your shoulder to plunge even deeper.

— I said you could be on top… — you growled, thrusting hard. — Didn’t say for how long.

Minju cried out, nails digging into your back, but her hips were already meeting yours. She was close again—you could tell by the way she clenched around you, by the way her moans turned higher, more desperate.

— Come on. — You ordered, rubbing her clit between your fingers. — Come for me.

She obeyed with a sharp cry, her body arching violently as the wave hit her. You held her through it, drawing out every spasm until your own back tingled, the pressure becoming unbearable.

— Inside? — You asked, already knowing the answer.

Minju nodded frantically, eyes brimming with tears.

— Inside, inside, please—

That was enough. You pulled her flush against you, burying yourself to the hilt as you came, her name spilling from your lips like a mantra.

When the haze of pleasure finally began to fade, Minju lay sprawled across your chest, utterly spent, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

— Still think I don’t let you be on top? — You teased, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.

She gave your chest a weak slap, no real force behind it. — Prat…

Minju mumbled against you, but the satisfied smile on her lips gave her away. She was exhausted, but you knew her body would still respond to touch, always so sensitive after the first climax. Your hands slid down her back, exploring every curve, before gripping her arse firmly.

— Think we’re done? — You whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver.

She lifted her head, eyes slightly unfocused. —You still not satisfied?

You laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. —Not even close.

Your fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow circles as she writhed against you.

— Let’s try it like this. — You suggested, guiding her leg over your hip.

Minju understood what you wanted and adjusted, letting you slide back into her. She was so soft and warm inside, still sensitive but ready for more. You started with slow, deep strokes, feeling every inch of her stretch around you.

— This good?

She bit her lip and nodded, fingers clutching your arm. — Slower… just a bit…

You obliged, keeping the pace steady, but after a few minutes, she began rocking her hips against yours, asking for more.

— Fancy a different position? You asked, already knowing the answer.

She shook her head, breathless. — Want you… from behind.

You didn’t need convincing. Gently, you helped her turn, positioning her on all fours on the sofa. She arched her back perfectly, and you couldn’t resist—running your hands over her curves before lining up and sliding in smoothly.

—Fuck… You groaned, feeling her even tighter like this.

Minju buried her face in the sofa, muffling her moans, but you knew she loved it. You gripped her hips and picked up the pace, each thrust harder than the last.

— More… more… — She begged between ragged breaths.You gave in, losing yourself to the rhythm until she trembled again, her body clenching around yours. This time, you didn’t hold back—letting yourself go with her—until a wicked idea struck.You leaned down, letting saliva drip onto her even tighter hole, her arse, feeling her tense and glance sharply over her shoulder.

— Wait, what? Hang on, we’ve never done anything there! You can’t just assume I’d—

You raised a brow and smirked, pulling back and lining up against her again.

— You can take it.

— Like hell I can, you’re big, really huge! I’ll die if you—

She cut off with a gasp as the head of your cock pressed slowly into her arse.

— Relax… — you murmur, holding her hips firmly as you slide just the tip inside her, feeling her initial resistance. — Take a deep breath… like this…

Minju moaned, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions, but she obeyed, inhaling slowly as her body adjusted to the gradual intrusion. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the near-suffocating heat, and you had to restrain yourself from losing control right then. Your heart pounded wildly, as if trying to escape your chest, and the air around you felt charged with electricity.

— Does it hurt? — you asked, stopping completely to let her adjust, your eyes fixed on her face for any sign of discomfort.

She shook her head, breathless, her lips slightly parted.

— No… just strange. Keep going, but… slowly.

Her voice was a silken thread, trembling faintly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed, advancing inch by inch, each movement calculated not to startle her. Until, finally, her body yielded and accepted you fully. A rough groan escaped your throat when she was completely filled, and Minju arched her back, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and pleasure.

— Fuck… you fit so perfectly here… — you muttered, almost breathless, the words gritted between your teeth. The sensation was indescribable—as if she enveloped you in a completely new way, tighter, more intense, as if she’d been moulded just for you.

She didn’t respond, but the flush on her cheeks and the way her muscles clenched around you said it all. You began to move, slowly at first, testing her limits, but soon found a rhythm that drew higher, more desperate moans from her. Your bodies intertwined, creating a symphony of muffled sounds and skin against skin.

— That’s it… just like that… — she whispered, tossing her head back when you hit that spot, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

You smirked, mischievous, and repeated the motion, firmer this time, making her cry out.

— You like that, don’t you? Want me to go deeper? — Your voice was rough, thick with desire, and you felt your own pulse quicken further at her reaction to your tone.

She nodded frantically, her fingers now clutching the arm of the sofa as if it were her only anchor.

— Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…

Her plea was almost childlike in its sincerity, and a wave of possessiveness surged through your chest.You had no intention of stopping. Your hips rocked against her with increasing force, each thrust deeper than the last, until she began trembling uncontrollably, her moans turning almost tearful. The sound was intoxicating, and you leaned down to drag your tongue along her neck, savouring the salt of her sweat.

— Gonna come again? — you teased, feeling her walls clench around you. — Want to feel you squeezing me like this… all of you…

She couldn’t answer, only let out a high-pitched moan as her orgasm hit, her entire body curving as she clung to you like she was drowning. You held her steady, prolonging every spasm, until your own resistance gave way and you buried yourself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a muffled growl against her shoulder.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, panting, glued together by sweat and body heat. The air around you seemed frozen in time, and you closed your eyes, committing every detail to memory—her scent, the sound of her breathing, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.You finally pulled out, and Minju collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent, her eyes closed.

— I… hate you… — she murmured, without any conviction, her voice hoarse from moaning.

You laughed, lying beside her and pulling her against your chest. — Liar. You love me.She didn’t reply, but the small, satisfied smile on her lips was answer enough.

— You were insatiable today...

Minju breathed deeply, still catching her breath, her body relaxed and heavy against yours. You could feel her warmth mingling with yours, their skin slightly sticky with sweat. Gently, you ran your hand along her back, tracing soft lines up to her nape, where the muscles were still tense.

— You alright? — you asked quietly, your fingers massaging slow circles into the spot, loosening invisible knots.

She let out a barely-there sigh, sinking further into your embrace. — Mm-hmm… just tired.

Her voice was drowsy, and you felt such overwhelming fondness it almost hurt.You smiled, understanding perfectly. You knew that even after the high, her body would still be sensitive—especially after what you’d done. Without hurry, you reached for the hoodie that had been discarded earlier and draped it over the two of you, covering yourselves partially. The soft fabric was warm and familiar, and Minju nuzzled into it with a murmur of contentment.

— Hang on. — You got up for a moment, heading to the bathroom to fetch a damp cloth and a clean towel. When you returned, she was lying on her side, eyes half-lidded but still awake. — Come here.

Minju turned with slight hesitation, and you began cleaning her skin with gentle strokes, running the warm cloth over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts—all with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from before. She watched in silence, but you noticed the gleam in her eyes, the wordless gratitude.

— Did it hurt? — you asked, pausing when she winced slightly as you wiped between her legs.

— Just a bit… but that’s normal, right?

She shrugged, as if trying to downplay it, but you knew every microexpression of hers.

You didn’t reply, just leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the inside of her thigh, almost paternal. — Here.

You grabbed some lotion from the coffee table and dabbed a bit onto your fingertips before applying it where you knew she’d be most tender. The massage was slow, almost therapeutic, and she let out a deep sigh, melting under your touch.

— You’re good at this… — she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut, her voice fading to a whisper.

— It’s the least I can do. — You chuckled softly, finishing up before lying back down beside her. You pulled the hoodie over both of you, creating a cocoon of warmth between your bodies, and wrapped your arms around her. — Sleep. I’ll stay here. Night.

— Mhm, night. Love you.

Her voice was so soft you almost missed it, but the words reverberated in your chest like a bell. Within seconds, her breathing slowed, her face finally relaxed. You stayed there, listening to the quiet rhythm, your fingers playing with strands of her hair as the night passed slowly. The world outside could wait.

— Love you too.

[sereia4skz]

heyyy~

girlie, you’d never guess what!

hahah i think you would actually, you know me too well. Anyways, Hyunjin, you know the artist of the guys? He asked to paint me, and like, how could I say no to him??

Sooo.. one thing led to another, and he ended up, pardon my french (lol), painting me. For lack of a better phrasing.

Besides that I did get a very nice painting out of it as well.

I’ll keep you posted!

1k Followers Event | pardon my french

pairing: ferret!Hyunjin x reader

genre: smut

warnings: MDNI, hybrid features not relevant, Hyunjin takes a picture, jerking off, cum

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

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Hey~*

An artist? Is it true they see the world differently? I wonder. Maybe he'll even take you to the Eiffel Tower? No need to go all the way to Paris. 

I kid… Maybe. 

I would ask to see the painting but I doubt it's for my eyes. Maybe keep it for the two of you?

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Hyunjin’s studio smells like charcoal, paint, and him, something citrusy and expensive that clings to the collar of his shirt. He’s quiet as he works, sitting on a stool with one leg hooked on the rung, sketchpad in his lap and fingers stained black.

You sit on the old couch against the wall, posed exactly how he told you to. Legs folded, back arched just enough to make the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt you assume, slide off one shoulder. It gapes open at the front, not enough to show everything, but enough to tease.

He’s been staring at you like you’re a piece of art. A masterpiece he’s trying to unravel with every stroke of charcoal. And maybe to him you are. 

“Stay still, mon coeur,” he murmurs without looking up, voice low and focused.

Your lips twitch. “I’m not moving.”

“You’re breathing wrong.”

You breathe out slower this time, teasing. He finally lifts his eyes and looks at you through his thick brows, smoldering, burning, it makes your heart trip, dark, hungry, like he’s barely holding himself back. His gaze flicks to your mouth, then lower. The charcoal smudged across his fingers trails onto the edge of the paper.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Like my own personal doll.” His voice is reverent, but there’s something deeper in it now. Need, maybe. Patience slowly unraveling.

Minutes pass. He draws. You stay still. But he keeps shifting in his seat, adjusting how he’s sitting, as if trying to hide the growing tension in his body. You’re the only thing in focus. Then he stands, Hyunjin’s sketchpad lying forgotten on the floor now, smudged with charcoal fingerprints and streaks of haste. He doesn’t care. He presses his lips against yours, so soft but so needy.

He’s standing in front of you, hands framing your face, eyes so dark they barely reflect the light. You’re still breathless from the kiss, lips tingling, thighs pressed together, his shirt half off your shoulders, marked by the black dust of his fingertips.

“Do you know how hard it is to concentrate,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “when you sit there looking like this?”

You smile faintly, but he leans in closer, so close his breath fans across your cheek. "You asked me here, artist"

“So sweet,” he whispers, brushing his lips against your ear, “so pretty. I could stare at you for hours… but right now I want to do something else.”

His fingers slide down to your neck, then your collarbone, slow and teasing, as if he’s tracing you like one of his sketches, leaving streaks of charcoal on your skin.

You shiver. “What do you want, Hyunjin?”

He hums like he’s considering it. Then leans in again, voice silk-wrapped sin. “I want you on your knees, doll. Or sitting pretty just like this. Doesn't matter.” His hand lifts your chin. “I want to jerk off to your face. Watch you watch me. Let myself make a mess of you.”

Your breath catches hard in your throat. He smiles, dark and crooked, seeing your reaction. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding it gently back behind your ear, exposing the soft line of your jaw.

“You’d let me do that, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs. “Let me cum on this pretty face? Be good for me, doll?”

You swallow thickly, skin prickling with heat, and nod. “Yes.”

His exhale is shaky, relieved. Wrecked already.

“Merde,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours for a moment. “Thank you, baby. Stay right there. Don’t move.”

He steps back just enough to undo his belt, movements slow, deliberate. You keep your eyes on him, legs parted just slightly, hands curled in the fabric of his shirt still clinging to your frame.

When he pulls his cock out, he’s already flushed, hard, leaking for you. He watches the way your gaze drops, how your breath hitches when he starts to stroke himself, slow at first, letting you feel every second of it.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, voice trembling with restraint. “Look at you. All soft and ready for me.” His pace quickens. One hand still works over himself, the other ghosts across your cheek, thumb grazing your bottom lip.

“Can I- merde- can I get a little closer?” he asks, voice raspier now.

You nod, tilting your chin up, lips parted. He groans deep in his throat.

When he steps in, the head of his cock hovers just in front of your lips. You flick your tongue out, barely touching the tip, tasting the pre-cum. That earns you a hiss, his thighs tensing, pace stuttering.

“God, mon coeur, don’t- don’t tease,” he breathes.

But he doesn’t pull away.

He strokes faster now, moaning openly as he watches your face. Your eyes, your mouth, the way your body reacts,perfect, pliant, waiting for him. And then he’s spilling. With a sharp gasp and a guttural curse, he cums, hot and messy over your face. Thick ropes across your cheek, your lips, dripping down your chin and collarbone. His hips jerk once, twice more as he finishes, breath ragged.

You stay perfectly still, breathing shallow, mouth slightly open as his release glistens on your skin.

He stares at you like he’s just seen something divine.

“…Wait,” he murmurs, eyes wide now, awestruck. “Don’t move.”

He stumbles for his phone, quickly, hands still shaking.

“Stay just like that,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You look- merde, you look too good like this.”

He snaps the photo, stares at it for a moment, lips parted.

Then he looks back at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I need to paint this.”

You blink, still catching your breath. “Seriously?”

He grins. “Seriously. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

He leans in again, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth where his cum is still slick, pushing some of it into your mouth.

“My perfect little doll,” he whispers. “Let me keep you like this just a little longer, I'll paint later.”

And with that his lips are on yours. 

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o

[totalswag]

pairs love - DREW STARKEY

authors not since drew is in pairs at the fashion shows i thought why not write something cute and adorable. like can we talk about how freaking good he looked walking around ugh. the poll is officially over and the rafe series won! ima start working on the master list and have it up.

summary you come out to visit your boyfriend in pairs during fashion week.

warnings kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower

Drew was invited to two fashion shows in Paris: menswear for Prada and Loewe menswear. He left three days ago, while you stayed at home to put the finishing touches on your flower garden.

You couldn't be more proud of your boyfriend with all the success he's gained over the past couple years. He truly deserves this. Getting the recognition he deserves.

Last night, you landed in Pairs, drained from hours on the plane and eager to shower and sleep on a bed. It felt good seeing Drew and being in his arms. Although it was three days without each other, you always miss his presence.

Drew had the day off, so he planned to take you out to dinner, walk around, shopping, and visit the Eiffel Tower. He advised you to get enough rest early so you have enough rest to explore the Pairs at night.

During dinner, Drew spoke about what the shows were like and meeting celebs he's seen in movies or other people for the first time. It was really cool hearing what he had to say.

You were quite excited to visit the Eiffel Tower. You've always wanted to see it in person someday. Your inner child was jumping up and down inside.

"That restaurant was so delicious; I can see why you enjoy it so much," you tell Drew, tucking your hands into your coat to keep them warm from the cold.

"I'm glad to hear that you liked it baby," He smiles, tilts his head to the side, and blushes.

You chuckle as you playfully nudge his arm. He pretends to fall on his side, with a dramatic expression on his face.

"You are such a dork," you laugh.

"Your favorite dork, dork," he responds in a playful tone, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you continue walking down the sidewalk.

Drew and you went inside a few stores that caught your eye; you might've bought a few things. Drew watched you in awe as you showed him different clothing throughout the store.

"What do you think about this one?" You inquired Drew, holding two clothes that piqued your interest.

Drew hurriedly glances aside from the apparel rack he was browsing. His brows furrow as he casts a stern stare with his pointer finger on his chin.

"I think both will look great on you, but I'd go with this one because it draws your eyes out," he says casually, sweeping his arm toward the shirt you first showed him.

"You are too sweet, you know that" you reply as you turn around, putting back the other clothing item.

He loves seeing you happy. He knew how much you've always wanted to visit Pairs and thought this was the best time to go.

"Thank you for the stuff, baby," you grin, gripping his hand and lifting the bag with your other hand.

When you went out of the last store, you heard people heading in your direction, fans. They walked forward with grins on their faces, carrying items for him to sign and their phones for photos.

When one fan spotted you were with him, she screamed your name out in delight, and the rest followed after. You put your free hand over your heart with a pout before beaming at the little fans.

We love you Drew

This is the best day of my life

I can't believe he's in front of me

He's so beautiful in person

Drew started taking pictures with the fans; giving them hugs, making videos for fans that couldn't make it, signed a few things, and had conversations.

Fans also came up to as well. They were all so sweet and caring. One fan came up to you with tears forming in her eyes, you opened your arms to welcome her.

You are so sweet, Y/N

You are so gorgeous

Can't believe you are here too

I love your relationship with Drew

When word spread that Drew was in a relationship, all of the fans went crazy, searching for who this mystery girl was. You were apprehensive about how the fans might react.

You eventually posted a TikTok video with your best friend, Madelyn Cline, and Drew happened to be in the background; people then connected the dots. In the end, they loved and admired you.

Being in a relationship with someone in the public spotlight offers advantages and disadvantages, but you wouldn't alter it for anything, especially if you love them.

"Don't cry now love," you tell her softly, "what's your name?" She tells you her name and goes on to explain how much she loves you and your content you post.

"That's so sweet of you, thank you."

You spent ten minutes with the girls until it was ready to go look at the Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower was everything you've dreamed of. Seeing it in person was one of the best feelings in the world. So many emotions were going through your body.

You got out your phone to capture some photos and videos to share later tomorrow. Drew snapped a photo of you with his digital camera, capturing the tower, and he couldn't help but smile.

He carefully put his arms around your waist, drawing you into his front, chin on top of your head, rocking you side to side slowly and silently while savoring the moment.

"This has been one of the greatest days of my entire life. Being here with you in your arms in Pairs. I just want to say thank your for bringing me out here and experiencing this."

You feel your body relax in his touch, allowing a sigh to escape your lips, your head to strike his chest, and giving him the opportunity to kiss you.

You two don't give a damn whether anyone witnesses you kissing at this point. Right now, just the two of you matter because you are in love. And you are in Pairs.

"I had to bring you out here with me, of course, sweetheart. You keep me warm, too, and I love holding you in my arms. However, when you consider it, this is our first trip to Europe as a couple” he says.

You move your body around so that your chests are against one another. In return, you up on your small toes and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face.

I love you.

I love you more.

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line over your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @rosezza @kaydr3venge

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Tentative Timeline (Pt2c) - Unreliable Narrators, Armand & the Trial

Thanks for the response to Pt2b, @usuallydeepalpaca-blog! I really want people to talk to me about the IWTV timelines, cuz this show is SO confusing! 😩😭

"I think if you create the timeline with info the show doesn't provide, i.e. Armand was involved from the start, then you're bound to get it wrong."

Absolutely. I fully expect that I got some stuff wrong, which is why I said it's a TENTATIVE Timeline.

I've in no way said it's THEE CORRECT™ timeline, cuz chile IDKWTF is going on. 😅 I openly say what confuses me, questions I have, and how I come to the conclusions that I draw. I'm being as transparent as possible to let y'all know that I DON'T know. 🤷 The show doesn't provide EVERYthing, so I'm just piecing things together in a way that makes an iota of sense to me, following the logic of what the show HAS provided. The only solid details we have are diehard IRL dates, that gave us a time range when certain events can/can't happen. AFAIK I'm working with the same set of details everyone else has, until AMC gives us more info in S3+. And unfortunately, the 2 biggest unknown variables are Lestat & Armand, and to what extent they were/weren't involved in the Trial that got Claudia killed & Louis buried alive.

"saying Armand messed with Louis' memories re: the trial is also something not supported by the show."

The show obvs. wants us to assume that Armand made Louis hallucinate Sam guarding him in the theatre box (thus painting Armand as a "captive" along with Louis & Claudeleine).

Even if Armand didn't use the Mind Gift on Louis, he lied at least twice:

lies by omission: letting Louis think a hallucination of Sam was real

lies to Louis' (& Daniel's) face: going along with the premise that he was Sam's "captive" & Armand sat there the whole time thinking of a way to rescue Louis

And we KNOW this is a lie, cuz Daniel calls it out explicitly, asking how Sam can be "in two places at once," allegedly "guarding" Armand, but ALSO helping to torture Louis in the Wet Room.

Armand never denied or contradicted Louis saying Sam was in either place. Maybe Louis really did misremember Sam being in the wet room--the ONLY one who can corroborate all this is SAM--whom Armand ALSO lies on, throwing Sam, Daniel & the Talamasca all under the bus by saying the script with his handwriting all over it was forged! No honor amongst thieves I guess! 🤣

(Eff Lestat's POV in S3--when is SAM gonna give HIS POV of the Trial?!)

So I'm operating on patterns of behavior, and the logic that if he's deliberately lying about one thing (a VERY BIG THING, actually), then what else is he lying about? How are you "atoning" for anything, when you're just heaping lies on top of gaslighting on top of manipulation?

Armand has used Louis' obvious confusion to his advantage, just going along with whatever will make him look better & more sympathetic. Which ofc, is the exact same thing he does with the "Banishment" lie. "They gave me a choice...I could not prevent it" is the truth and a lie all rolled into one incredibly manipulative cocktail, cuz if it was just a simple matter of Armand selling Claudia out to save Louis, that would be one thing--but Armand KNEW the script planned LOUIS' death the whole time. The "seismic lie" about "Banishment" effs up Armand's whole defense.

Cuz Sam already wrote the script in April 1949 (and I said this is confusing, cuz if it's the WHOLE script, then this implies Lestat's half was written by then, too, and NOT in September after the Eiffel Tower crime--which means he was ALREADY in Paris & working with the coven; inc. Armand (which would also explain WHY Armand took Louis to the library so much--perhaps anticipating that Loustat would feel e/o's presence if Louis was around the theatre too much? But that doesn't explain Claudia)--omfg I'm confused). Wtvr--we KNOW that at some point b/t April & September 1949, Armand made his edits & directed the entire production--from Santiago to Lestat to Tuan's projections--ALL of it. And we know Tuan's projections started being made in June/July 1949.

Armand KNEW Daniel had been given the OLD script from the archives, WITHOUT Armand's edits & directions, and LET Daniel AND Louis think that was the truth--

--same way he went behind Louis' back and removed extra pages from Claudia's diaries that would reveal MORE of his shenanigans--

--and the same way he lied about Nicki (& Gabrielle) in 2x3.

The show ALSO provides us with quotes like this:

And this:

And this:

Which in retrospect make Armand look even more insidious, esp. when we wonder to what extend Louis' been "driven to form new conclusions about myself" when he doesn't even KNOW himself; let alone WHAT memories he has that are real or false.

It's so effed up, and it makes me side-eye all the insistence that LOUIS is the one mostly at fault, when he's got literal double-hypnosis Brain Scramblies from WWDITS. 😭🤦

Ofc there are unknown-unknowns when dealing with unreliable narration. But there are also known-unknowns, too, that also make Armand sus.

Sure, Loumand was away at the library in July (IF that memory's even real, Mr. "I Had A Hunch")--but how on earth would Armand have NOT known that the coven was working on the Trial right under his nose for MONTHS prior & after July--Luchenbaum sewing new barrister costumes & wigs; Tuan painting projections & testing new lens/film tech; and Sam writing a new script (when we already KNOW Sam can't multitask when his "head's in a hat")?

July is only ONE month in over HALF A YEAR of Trial prep. Louis was never around the coven to know what was going on--but ARMAND was; it's where HE lives.

Whose POV was it that showed the whole coven passing around Claudia's diaries? Whose POV was it that revealed Santiago being called Maitre in every scene that ARMAND was also in?

Armand was in the park with Tuan when Tuan called Santiago Maitre; and Armand was in the theatre with Sam when Sam called Santiago Maitre--so this is clearly either Armand's POV telling on himself; or it's AMC screwing with us.

It's TRUE that Turning Madeleine was the straw that broke the camel's back, as Armand was like I can't keep THAT a secret from the coven, too (and ofc he couldn't--they're VAMPIRES; they'd FEEL a new vamp in their territory). But Loumand's problems PREDATE Madeleine; the same way Loustat's problems predate Claudia. I blame Les for not dealing with Lou's BS, just like I blame Armand, cuz THEY are the Coven Masters, NOT Lou--esp. cuz Armand had 14 other vamps in his coven he SHOULD be prioritizing over Lou. The same way Loustat's guilty of being bad fathers (which they BOTH admitted to), Armand's guilty of being a bad coven leader (which HE admitted to).

IMO, all this makes any & all discussion about Armand's trustworthiness difficult, when his "seismic lie" throws EVERYTHING else he's done into question. Esp. since the show ALSO provides us with the FACT that Armand knew from DAY ONE that Claudia lied about "Bruce"/Lestat; and that Louis was a terrible liar & terrible with the Mind Gift; and that he'd ALREADY planned on killing Louis in 2x3! Armand knew from the get-go that he couldn't do EFF ALL to keep Louis & Claudia out of danger, and TOLD Louis so.

"It also ignores that Louis softens his participation in certain things because he can't live with the guilt of his full participation, e.g. Claudia's turning, which he continued to lie to Claudia about even during the trial and only accepted the extent of his involvement in Dubai"

The Trial Timeline's purpose is to pinpoint when the preparations took place, NOT to hash out how bad of a father Louis was to Claudia. 🤨

And it certainly isn't meant to provide a timeline for the events in S1 wrt Claudia's Turning--we already know the dates for all of that, that she was made in 1917. I focus on the 1940s in S2, and the European dates, NOT the NOLA dates. LOUIS did not participate in the Trial's preparations, ARMAND & LESTAT did. My timeline has ZERO bearings on Louis' guilt for not warning her, etc.

But on the subject of Louis & Claudia, I've cussed Louis out for not telling Claudia about Armand b4 (x x), I don't ignore it at all. I fully understand & even agree with Armand being fed up with dealing with Louis' BS. But HE CHOSE not to kill Louis when he had the chance, and it's obvs that whatever arrangement they made when they had sex in 2x3/2x4 allowed Louis to TRUST that Armand would keep "the secret" & keep Louis & Claudia SAFE from the coven. (Which is a BOGUS claim for him to make, when Santiago'd ALREADY peeped that they were lying about Lestat & being from NOLA, but wtvr). I've called Louis a naive idiot 1000x for overestimating Armand, putting his life in Armand's incapable hands--just like he would AGAIN by trusting him about "Banishment;" and AGAIN by asking Armand to wipe his memories in SanFran (and LIE by omission about Les saying "I love you, Louis").

"Louis remembers the trial, he remembers what was said and what Lestat showed him."

HOW can Lestat have showed Louis ANY memories during the Trial (inc. the Ep4 revisit), when Makers/Fledglings CANNOT read each other's minds???????

I love this show so much, but I effing hate this show--they don't even give us an answer, Daniel just moves right past it, like wtf are we supposed to do with that, AMC? There's plot threads, vs plot HOLES. Louis' TOO unreliable, Armand's a shysty liar, white savior Lestat to the rescue~~~! "BANishMEnT~!" As if Lestat's any less impartial?

Esp. when at least SOME parts of the Ep4 Revisit were OBVIOUSLY Scripted lines written by the coven to implicate Louis in breaking the Great Laws that Lestat allegedly taught him AND Claudia to follow?

Like, Louis HATES himself, and is quick to blame himself for things beyond his control (a la Paul, a la the Ordinances; "Can we be forgiven if we do not forgive others ourselves?"); so if one is determined to see him bad faith then of course one can easily pounce on him Florence DPDL style / Santiago style, and blame him.

(Esp. since in 1x4 we literally SEE Louis admit to begging & emotionally baby-trapping Lestat into turning Claudia--the revisit in 2x7 is more (melo)dramatic & extended, sure, but it does NOT contradict Louis' account in S1. So I get REAL confused when people say he lied about 1x4 or wtvr.)

Louis invalidates his perspective cuz he KNOWS he's an unreliable narrator--he spends 2x1 sobbing about wanting to remember & "get every detail right"--and ARMAND is there constantly tryna STOP the interview; having directly contributed to his already deteriorated (& inherited?) mental illness, by bending Lou's trauma into "a Lestat shaped-effigy" with all that "I will not harm you" bullcrap.

TL;DR: We won't know for sure what the Trial timeline actually looks like, unless S3+ revisits it with more context.

But as things stand at the end of S2, NO, I don't trust Armand as far as I can throw him, cuz there are waaaay too many instances where he's deliberately lied & obfuscated & omitted in ways to deliberately confuse the narrative surrounding the Trial--that go beyond Louis' already confirmed trauma, PTSD, mental illness, repressed/faulty memory, and guilty conscious.

If y'all want a timeline of S1 events, those have already been made by other people in the fandom (this one is goated).

I wanted to know what was going on in S2; so I used every single date and IRL reference possible, and put them in chronological order in a way that makes sense based on how I TENTATIVELY understand things currently; NOT how AMC has confirmed yet--if they ever will.

If anyone has more relevant in-show references & IRL sources we can cite, to help make better sense of S2 than I did, let us all know!

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 10: Threesome with Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett.

Pairing: Wade Wilson X Reader X Logan Howlett Work Count: 818 Warnings: Threesome, Oral sex (M receiving), P in V sex, Eiffel Tower (sex position), Dirty talk, Wade Wilson and his endless pet names, Cum eating (Kinda, reader licks a little off her face and then kisses Wade), Logan and Wade wanna fuck each other too, They're all into each other, Wade breaks the 4th wall once.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

“You know, when I said I wanted to visit Paris to see the Eiffel Tower, this isn’t what I meant.” Wade said as he looked at Logan, then down at you. “Not that I’m complaining, Sweetcheeks.” He finished with a wink as he threaded his fingers in your hair to push his dick further into your mouth.

“Wade, if you don’t shut the fuck up in the next two seconds. I’m going to cut it off.” Logan threatened before delivering another body wracking thrust into your stuffed pussy, slick and cum dripping down your thighs and making the filthiest sounds with each movement.

You let out a muffled moan as the man behind you brushes against you G-spot for the umpteenth time, the stretch of each push and full sending shocks up and down your spine.

“Awe, she’s so cute when she tries to talk around my dick.” Wade cooed, in that weirdly sincere way he had. “What was that, Sugar?” He asked after pulling your mouth off his cock with a wet pop, tilting your head to look up at him by your hair.

“Shut…The fuck…Up.” You panted slowly, eyes rolling at the tug to your scalp, barely able to hold back the moans that what Logan was doing made bubble from your mouth.

“You two are no fun.” He answered before guiding himself back between your puffy lips and returning the slow rhythm he’d previously held.

“Says the guy in a threesome.” Logan rolled his eyes before drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he ramped up his rhythm, his hand slipping down to wrap around your thigh to lift your leg, sending him somehow deeper and making sure he grinds against your G-spot every time.

The messy sounds from your throat mixed with the muffled sounds of your desperation as your orgasm built, how many was this now? You’re not sure, but it’s been at least several hours, and these two men have nearly never-ending stamina, so it’ll probably be several more.

“Christ, she’s getting close…Getting tighter.” Logan groaned, head falling back at the sensation, sweat making the bulging muscles of his arms and chest glisten.

Wade’s hips faltered for a moment as the view he had of Logan distracted him for a split second. “Next round I’m fucking you.” He said as he picked back up, the wet sounds coming from between your lips somehow louder.

“Think you’ll be able to keep up?” Logan taunted, you didn’t have to look back to hear his smirk, the challenge was clear.

“I don’t know, Grandpa. Can your knees handle it?” Wade countered with a tilt of his head, eyes shining with excitement before rolling closed in pleasure as he brushed a funny spot and you gagged slightly, causing your throat to tighten. “Sorry, Baby…” He managed around his groan.

God, these two are whores.

“Your whores, Sweets.” Wade said with a smile that would look innocent if not for the face he was buried balls deep in your throat, making it bulge with every thrust.

Your brows furrowed for a moment in confusion before deciding not to overthink it, Wade was gonna do what Wade does.

Besides, your legs are shaking, and your belly is getting tighter and tighter.

“Almost there, Pretty…C’mon, give it to me…” Logan coaxed as he leaned down just enough to wrap his free hand around to rub circles into your clit.

“Choking is only fun on purpose.” Wade said he pulled himself free of your swollen mouth to jack himself off while you moaned like a feral animal in heat as Logan brought you to the precipice yet again and threw you off.

Your arms nearly gave out under you as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through your body, the sensation of Logans hot cum filling you and Wade coating your face not lost, in fact they served to heighten it all.

“Now, ain’t that a sight…” Wade sighed as he watched your tongue slip out to catch the little bit that landed near your lips, pulling it into your mouth with a moan.

“More…” You moaned As Logan pulled out and you sat up, nearly crawling up Wades body to yank him into a kiss, neither of you caring that his cum was now in both your mouths. No, that made it so much better.

A low chuckle sounded behind you before you felt Logans chest press to your back, flesh blazing hot and hair tickling your flushed skin. “In a minute, Baby. Wade’s gotta deal to make good on…” He purred into your ear.

You parted from Wade with a gasp and Logan immediately took your place, pulling the merc into a ferocious lip lock over your shoulder while your lips attached to his neck, unable to leave any marks, but reveling in the sounds you managed to pull from him.

This was going to be fun.

[stayycalm]

i have a Request! could you write a little short about Hyunjin and Fem Reader? maybe something where Reader is in paris and taking picture of the beautiful scenery and ends up taking a picture of Hyunjin? but like they dont notice till they are back at their hotel? and then they are admiring the beautiful stranger and they cant sleep so they go out on their balcony to look at the beautiful lights but little do they know a wandering Hyunjin is outside looking for inspiration for drawing/paintng and when he sees a mysterious figure on a balcony hes enthralled by their silhouette? he hurries back to his room and begins to sketch right away and he wonders who the beauty was, and then they end up meeting? sorry this is long but i really want to know how you'd write this!!

ok, first of all, I want to deeply apologize, anon, because I'm just now finding this ask??? it's been in my inbox for a year?? so please accept my deepest apology and enjoy this! 😭

Drawn to You by stayycalm

The streets of Paris hum with life as I sling my trusty Canon Rebel T7 over my shoulder, ready to conquer my ambitious agenda. Two weeks here, and yet, the city’s allure hasn’t dulled a bit. Every street corner, every café, every wrought-iron balcony layered with Gothic spires or curving Art Nouveau façades feels like a treasure to an aspiring architect like me.

On this second-to-last day, I’m determined to make the most of it. The itinerary, planned by a finance teacher who wouldn’t know a flying buttress from a baguette, has been criminally devoid of exploration. I mutter under my breath, “How can anyone come here and not explore?”

I pause at Pont Alexandre III, lifting my camera to capture the graceful curve of a bridge flanked by its gilded statues, glowing in the soft morning light. Click. I take another, angling for the perfect shot of a bride crossing with her billowing white train, the Eiffel Tower rising in the distance.

As the day unfolds, I let my instincts guide me. From the serene paths of the Tuileries Gardens to ornate windows with their curved frames, I capture it all. Then, just as the sun begins to dip low, its golden light casting long shadows across the city, I find myself facing the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lattice glows with a warmth that takes my breath away. I can’t help but do a little happy dance as I check the shot in my viewfinder, triumphant.

A text buzzes from my phone, snapping me out of my euphoria. It’s my roommate, letting me know she’s heading back to the hotel. Sighing, I tuck my phone away and begin the trek back.

Later, I sit at the desk in our room, my hair wrapped in a towel from a much-needed shower. My laptop hums softly as I transfer the day’s photos. One by one, they fill the screen, and my excitement grows with every frame. I start editing, erasing stray tourists and clutter from the pristine geometry of my shots, until I reach the final picture.

My fingers hover over the trackpad as I zoom in on a figure in the background. He’s leaning casually against the bridge railing near the Eiffel Tower, his silhouette partially lit by the fading sunlight. His dark hair falls just past his shoulders, and his profile—what little I can see—is striking.

“Wow…” The word escapes me, barely a whisper.

“What are you oooh-ing over?” My roommate’s voice startles me. She emerges from the steamy bathroom, her towel-turbaned head tilting as she raises an eyebrow at me.

I jolt, fumbling to close the photo. “Oh, you know… buildings.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Only you could get off to a building.”

I snort, but the heat rises to my cheeks. Turning back to the laptop, I save my edits and close it, needing an escape. “I’m stepping out for a sec,” I announce, grabbing a cardigan and slipping out to the balcony.

The air is cool, and the city stretches before me, a sea of glittering lights. With the sun gone, Paris seems transformed into a constellation fallen to earth, each light twinkling like a star. I lean against the stone railing, letting the sight fill me.

It’s moments like these that make Paris feel like a dream—a city so alive, yet timeless. A city of romance, indeed.

Hyunjin's POV

The sharp click of my shoes against the marble echoed through the Versace store as I stepped out, the heavy glass doors swinging open. A wave of flashing lights greeted me, relentless and blinding, a cacophony of voices calling out my name—professional photographers and STAY alike. It was always surreal, this paradoxical familiarity. I didn’t know a single face in that sea of people, yet they all knew me, or at least the version of me they thought they knew.

My lips curled into a smile, practiced but genuine in its intent. The sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose shielded my eyes, but they couldn’t hide my gratitude. I raised a hand, waving to the crowd before blowing a kiss into the air. The gesture elicited a cheer, a ripple of excitement that followed me until I ducked into the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

Inside the car, the energy of the crowd faded, replaced by the hum of the engine and the muted bustle of Paris beyond the tinted windows. When we pulled up to the hotel, I took a moment to shed the Versace image. Gone were the statement pieces; in their place, a plain hoodie, jeans, and sneakers.

Tonight, I wasn’t Hyunjin, the idol, the "Versace prince." Tonight, I was just Hyunjin—an artist looking for inspiration in the heart of Paris.

The city’s streets welcomed me with their usual charm: cobblestone paths, golden streetlights, and the murmur of life flowing seamlessly between its residents and visitors. It should’ve been easy—a city as alive as Paris practically begged to be captured in art. Yet, as I wandered through alleyways, past street performers and cafés spilling over with laughter, nothing reached out to me. The fire I sought remained elusive, a spark I couldn’t ignite.

The Eiffel Tower loomed in the distance, its iron frame bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. I found myself on a bridge, leaning against the railing as I stared out over the Seine. The water reflected the dying light in shimmering streaks, and the Tower cast a long shadow over the city.

“Where are you?” I muttered under my breath, the question aimed at no one in particular. A sigh escaped me as I pushed off the railing, shaking my head. Inspiration had never been this difficult to find before.

By the time the sun had dipped completely below the horizon, Paris transformed into a city of light. Neon signs buzzed, music drifted from open windows, and the streets teemed with energy. But even in the midst of all this vibrancy, I felt disconnected. My steps slowed as I glanced around one last time, taking in the tourist shops and the occasional artist sketching caricatures on the sidewalk. Still, nothing.

Frustration prickled at my skin. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. When I opened my eyes again, I froze mid-step.

She stood on a balcony a few stories above me, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room behind her. Her head was tilted upward, as if catching the glimmer of the city’s lights on her skin. Her hair moved with the breeze, framing a face so serene it made my chest tighten. The faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips curved ever so slightly—it was as if she belonged to this moment, this city, more than anyone I’d ever seen.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. I drank in the sight of her, committing every detail to memory. Then, a voice called her from inside, and she turned, disappearing into the room. I waited, hoping she’d reappear, but the balcony remained empty.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to move. My steps were quicker now, my heart racing with something I couldn’t quite name. By the time I returned to my hotel room, the feeling had morphed into a need—a compulsion. I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed my charcoal pencils, and approached the easel I’d set up by the window.

The lines came easily, flowing from memory to paper as if she’d etched herself into my mind. The curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, the way her hair had danced in the wind—each stroke brought her closer to life. I worked with a fervor I hadn’t felt in weeks, adjusting, refining, until the figure on the page mirrored the one that had captivated me.

I stepped back, studying the sketch. She was there, but she wasn’t. I’d captured her image but not the essence—not yet. The fire was back, though, and I felt alive for the first time. In what felt like forever.

rubbed my eye, trying to wipe away the sleepiness threatening to overtake me as I leaned against the wall with the rest of my group. Whoever decided that 4 a.m. was a good time to fly needs to be smacked. Hard. My eyelids started to get heavy, and I began to nod off when a voice called over the loudspeaker announcing that first class for our flight could begin boarding.

I groaned and smacked my head against the wall, wincing at the dull throb that now pulsed in my temple.

"What's wrong with you?" my roommate asked, poking my side from the chair she sat in.

"I didn’t get much sleep last night," I grumbled, swatting her hand away and rubbing the sore spot on my forehead. In reality, I didn’t sleep at all. My mind kept thinking about the beautiful stranger in that photo. Was he a tourist? What was his name? Was he that beautiful up close? These were the questions that kept me awake until we had to head to the airport, where I now stood miserably as the wealthy boarded the plane first.

"Screw the rich..." I muttered under my breath, running both hands down my face. Once it was our turn to board, my group got in line. I handed the stewardess my boarding pass. She scanned it, frowned slightly, then scanned it again, her brows furrowing. A pit grew in my stomach.

"Oh no," I thought as her eyes darted over the words on her screen. She turned her gaze to me and spoke. "I’m sorry, miss, but it seems we double-booked your seat..."

I felt like I was going to throw up. My face must have turned even paler as she continued typing on her keyboard.

"But it looks like I can bump you up to business class, if that’s alright with you," she said.

My sleep-deprived brain barely processed her words. I just stared at her for a moment as she added, "Free of charge, of course, for the trouble."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, unable to form words. She printed a new boarding pass, handed it to me, and waved me through. I found our professor and gave him the update. He gave me a thumbs-up before pulling on his headphones and lowering his eye mask.

I made my way to the business class section, searching for my seat. It was in the middle row, meaning I had another seat next to mine. But when I saw the amount of space I had, I didn’t care—as long as my neighbor didn’t mind if I snored a little. I plopped down into my seat after putting away my carry-on. Letting out a sigh, I pulled the provided blanket over myself, turned to one side, and drifted off to sleep before we even took off.

I woke up to the hostess asking if I needed anything to eat or drink. Blinking my eyes, I regained consciousness and asked for water and a snack. Once I had both, I sat up a little and took in the seat I was in. It was almost like a mini cubicle with a small folding table and a TV screen. To my left was the divider between me and my neighbor, who was busy drawing something on a sketchpad. I couldn’t see his face clearly because of the mask, hat, and headphones he wore.

My attention shifted back to my snacks as I pulled out my laptop to get started on more editing. At some point, I fell asleep again but woke up before they came around to deliver more food.

"Thank you," I whispered to the steward, who smiled and nodded before moving on.

"That’s a beautiful picture," an accented voice said behind me. I whipped around to see my neighbor looking at my laptop.

"Oh, thank you," I said shyly, setting my food down. I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest from his compliment as I continued to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him shuffle and take off his headphones and hat, but I averted my eyes before he caught me peeking. To distract myself, I clicked on the picture of the stranger and zoomed in slightly.

My neighbor made a choked sound. When I looked back at him, his wide eyes were glued to my screen.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He looked at me, then back at the screen.

"That’s me," he said, pointing to the photo.

My gaze darted to the picture and then back to him, my eyes narrowing. "What are you—" But before I finished, he took off his mask, and the words died in my throat.

Here, next to me on this very plane, was the reason I couldn’t sleep last night. I sat there, mouth open in shock, as he looked at me with an odd expression.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

He nodded. "Why do you have my picture?"

"I wasn’t taking YOUR picture." I clicked to expand the photo. "I was taking a picture of the Eiffel Tower."

His eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed red. "Oh..." His voice was soft as he apologized.

I nodded, and we sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"What are you drawing?" I asked, trying to ease the tension, pointing at his sketchpad.

He blushed more, tilting the pad toward me. "It’s just a sketch of a woman I saw last night," he muttered, avoiding my gaze. The whole time we’d talked, he hadn’t fully looked at me. I wondered if there was something wrong with my face. But when my eyes roamed over the drawing, I tilted my head in confusion.

"She looks an awful lot like me," I chuckled, knowing that wasn’t possible. But his eyes snapped to me, then back to his drawing. His mouth opened in wonder.

"Were you staying at Hotel de la Tour Eiffel?" he asked.

My laughter died. "Yeah... How did you—" My eyes widened as we both looked at his drawing. It was me.

"Holy crap," I muttered as he shook his head in disbelief. We looked at each other again.

"I can’t believe I found you," we said in unison.

We spent the rest of the flight chatting quietly about everything and anything. Soon, we were landing, and a wave of sadness hit me. I’d never see him again. Once it was our row’s turn to exit, I grabbed my things and turned to him.

"It was nice to meet you, Hyunjin," I said with a soft smile before slowly making my way down the ramp and into the terminal. As I stood off to the side waiting for my group, I heard my name being called. I looked around to see Hyunjin waving at me.

When he reached me, he blushed, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I just..." He took a deep breath. "Can I have your number?"

I gave him a shy smile and nodded. The smile he gave me made butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I thought to myself, I might have brought home something better than pictures.

[pandaofsecrets]

For the ask game: how about a city that already debuted in Miraculous Ladybug, London?

Like with the NYC version, a lot of the character names would change to their closest English equivalents, with French-specific puns like Rose, Nino, Marc, and Luka and Juleka's names being the first on the chopping block.

London is one of the four fashion capitals of the word, along with Milan, Paris, and NYC, so Marinette being an aspiring fashion designer would probably still be a big deal.

Like in the New York version, I'd expect the ethnicity of some characters to be different. Marinette would most likely stay Chinese, but Alya, for example, would probably be from a British overseas territory like The Cayman Islands, Bermuda, Anguilla, or Montserrat. Since Sapotis kinda relies on Alya's family being from Martinique, that episode would see one of the most drastic changes. Nino would probably be from Pakistan or Bangladesh.

Also like in the New York version, I'd expect that Nino being Muslim and Nathanaël being Jewish would be confirmed.

Adrien's maternal extended family would most likely swap from British to French.

Big Ben takes over from the Eiffel Tower as the perpetually destroyed monument.

As far as the romance goes, I'd expect the writing team to draw heavily from well-known British novels like Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, etc., as well as the works of Shakespeare. In that case, Adrien's personality would probably be closer to that of Félix in the PV. PV Félix is a textbook Byronic hero, the kind English literature is famous for.

Speaking of which, I think the tone and overall atmosphere of the show would also be closer to the PV.

Considering Jagged Stone's name is a reference to The Rolling Stones and Mick Jagger, I'd expect the writers to use him a lot more to reference various British rock acts.

I don't know if Marinette would still be part Italian. Italians have a long history in France and people of Italian descent are about 8% of the population, but that's not the case in the UK. I'd expect her to be part Irish instead, and if not that than either Polish or Romanian.

For that matter I don't know if her family would still own a bakery. Bakeries are stereotypical for Paris, but not for London.

The show would probably be set in and around Soho. In the show, Marinette's house is based on a place in Montmartre, a district in the 18th arrondissement that kind of has the reputation of being the part of Paris where artsy people live, and the West End is basically the equivalent of that. I'd go with Soho specifically because it's also near London's Chinatown, killing two birds with one stone.

[peachjagiya]

https://x.com/TaennieFanmily/status/1768920865956344112

im sorryy for linking to a taennie blog but I never noticed taehyungs photo is also in front of bridges. and by the same photographer? they are both taken of the profile too, and both black and white... could it be because they both happened to be photographed by the same person and this person made them pose like this and front of the same place? or could it be part of the ploy, to keep fans invested? tbh these photos are very similar and without context it feels sus to me... i mean there are also instances where they have matching clothing jewelry etc, what is your stance on this? could it be part of the mediaplay, fans engaging to find connections? but how do we know what is from taehyung himself and what isn't?

Jennie's picture is from Nov 2019, I believe via her Vogue KR x Chanel shoot.

Here's the specific outfit from Vogue, taken by the bridge:

Here's that picture bundled with the profile picture and another by the bridge:

The photographer was Kim Heejune and yeah, also did the Friends concept.

Just a few names of people he has also photographed: Gong Yoo, Park Bogum, Jin, Son Heungmin, Cha Eunwoo, Lee Felix, Son Sukku, Rose, Tilda Swinton, Jeon Somi, Choi Wooshik, Lisa... etc. It's a similar situation to Hong Janghyun in that you'd be hard pressed to find a Korean celebrity they hadn't photographed.

When in Paris, people seem to get themselves in front of bridges, in front of the Eiffel Tower or from the balcony of their boujie hotel. It's so common as to be a cliche. I can find you a ton of the same kind of picture, I'm sure.

Taehyung was on the roof of a cafe in North West London with Brent Viaduct in the background. I'm pretty sure the viaduct came very much secondary to the very famous motor cafe with a history of allowing filming.

And didn't Taehyung change his profile picture a lot that day?

So considering the Jennie picture is from 2019 and Taehyung's is from late 2023... considering this is a well known photographer... considering this is a pretty common pose for Paris pictures... considering the Friends cafe is the draw, not the bridge... considering Taehyung spent the day switching his pfp around indecisively... it seems unlikely these are a conscious effort to connect up and it's just a fluke.

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 1: How not to wear a trenchcoat

"Earth to Iris!"

Selene's voice cut through the evening air, pulling me back from the delicate dance of light and shadow on the Seine. I blinked, realizing I'd been staring blankly, my sketchpad open to a page of half-finished drawings. The café terrace around us hummed with life—the soft clink of glasses, the gentle murmur of conversation, and the sweet scent of pastries mixing with the crisp smell of the river.

I looked up, catching Selene’s smirk. Her storm-gray eyes sparkled with amusement, her raven-black hair twisted into a loose braid. Silver charms woven into the strands shimmered in the fading light, like stars scattered through a night sky. "Lost in your own world again?" she teased.

A familiar warmth crept up my neck, and I tugged at the collar of my jacket, more out of habit than necessity. "Sorry," I mumbled, brushing a strand of hair—longer than it used to be, but not quite long enough to make me feel fully at ease—behind my ear. "I guess I zoned out."

"Must be quite a world," she said, leaning back in her chair, her gaze curious. "Care to share?"

I glanced down at my sketchpad, where smudged charcoal lines suggested shapes that never quite formed the way I wanted them to. Recently, my art felt like a reflection of something just out of reach—something I was still learning how to be. "Just trying to capture the light on the water," I said, snapping the pad shut. "It’s... harder than I thought."

She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you need a new perspective. How about a walk? Paris has more than a few places even you haven’t sketched yet."

I chuckled softly. "You’ve lived here your whole life. I’ve only been here six months. You know all the spots I don’t."

"Exactly," she said, standing and smoothing the folds of her jacket. "Let me show you my Paris, Iris. Live a little."

I hesitated, my fingers running over the smooth cover of my sketchpad. It wasn’t just unfamiliar streets that unsettled me. But Selene had a way of pulling me out of my head—out of that quiet, uncertain part of myself that was still getting used to being seen. "Alright," I said, standing. "Lead the way."

The sun dipped below the horizon as we left the café, the sky turning a soft purple, streaked with gold. At night, Paris became something else—its hidden corners alive with shadows, its lights hinting at stories just out of sight. We wandered along the Seine, the water shimmering beneath the glow of street lamps and the distant twinkle of the Eiffel Tower.

"So, how’s the night shift treating you?" I asked, glancing sideways at Selene. She often disappeared after dark, never revealing much about her mysterious "night job." Despite my curiosity, she always deflected my questions with a teasing smile.

She shrugged, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Same old. Keeps me busy."

"Still not gonna tell me what it is?" I pressed, though by now, I knew better.

"And spoil the surprise? No way."

I rolled my eyes. "One day, I’m going to figure you out."

"Good luck with that," she laughed, her eyes flicking toward the alleyways ahead. "But tonight’s not about me. I want to show you something special."

We veered off the main streets, our steps echoing through narrow, winding paths that twisted between ancient buildings. The hum of the city faded, replaced by the distant murmur of traffic and the soft rustling of leaves in the night breeze. Here, Paris felt older, its stones worn and heavy with memory.

"Where are we going?" I asked, feeling a familiar flutter of nerves. Uncertainty and new spaces were still a challenge I hadn’t entirely conquered.

"You’ll see," she replied, a secretive smile playing on her lips. "It’s a place that inspires me. I think it might do the same for you."

We rounded a corner and entered a narrow alleyway, the walls on either side covered in vibrant murals—fantastical creatures, swirling galaxies, and symbols I couldn’t quite place. The art seemed to move in the shifting light, alive in a way I didn’t fully understand.

"Wow," I breathed, stepping closer to a mural of a phoenix rising from golden ashes. The colors pulsed with life, as though the bird might take flight at any moment. "How did you find this place?"

Selene’s gaze lingered on the walls. "Just stumbled on it one night. It’s called Rue des Mirages."

I reached out, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the wall, tracing the fiery wings of the phoenix. "I’ve never seen anything like this."

"Most people don’t," she said softly. There was an edge to her voice—something wistful, or perhaps... protective.

I turned to her. "What do you mean?"

Before she could answer, her attention snapped to the far end of the alley. Her posture changed instantly—rigid, alert. "We should go," she said sharply.

I followed her gaze. A figure stood in the shadows, tall and bulky, swaying slightly in an oversized trench coat and fedora. Their face was hidden, but something about the way they moved made my skin crawl.

"Do you know him?" I whispered, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling growing in my chest.

"No," she said, her voice tight. "Stay close to me."

A shiver ran down my spine. "Maybe we should head back."

The figure stumbled forward, their coat bulging in strange, unnatural ways. The way they moved—jerky, disjointed—set my heart racing. When they stepped into the light of a flickering streetlamp, I saw something metallic glinting beneath the coat.

"Excuse me," I called out, my voice more uncertain than I intended. "Are you alright?"

The figure stopped, swaying for a moment. Then, a voice rasped from beneath the fedora. "Just a normal human... doing normal human things."

A tight knot formed in my stomach. "Selene, we should go."

Before we could move, the figure’s trench coat snagged on a nail jutting out from a nearby crate. The fabric tore with a loud rip, and three small creatures tumbled out.

I gasped, stumbling backward. They were no taller than my waist, their leathery skin shimmering green and gray in the dim light. Their faces were sharp, almost reptilian, with slitted eyes and jagged teeth.

"What the hell are those?" I whispered, my heart pounding.

"Goblins," Selene said quietly, stepping in front of me. "Stay behind me."

"Goblins?" I echoed, my mind racing. That couldn’t be possible. Could it?

The tallest goblin sneered. "Well, well... a Veilkeeper and an outsider. Out for a little stroll, are we?"

"Veilkeeper?" I glanced at Selene, confusion swirling with fear. "What’s he talking about?"

Selene’s jaw clenched. "Not now, Iris. Stay close."

The goblins lunged, and chaos erupted.

The goblins lunged, their movements too fast, too sharp for my mind to fully process. Selene reacted instantly, pulling a slender baton from her jacket. She pressed a button, and with a crackle, violet energy pulsed through the weapon, forming a blade that hummed with dangerous light.

Before I could fully register what was happening, the first goblin leapt at Selene, its jagged claws outstretched. She swung the baton with precision, striking the creature in midair. It let out a shriek as the energy pulsed through its body, sending it tumbling into a stack of nearby crates.

The second goblin darted toward me, its slitted eyes gleaming with malicious intent. My breath caught in my throat. Panic surged, freezing my legs in place. The creature was on me in an instant, its claws slashing through the air, and I barely managed to lift my sketchpad in time. The impact sent me stumbling back, the sharp scrape of its claws tearing through the sleeve of my jacket.

Pain seared through my arm—a hot, raw sensation that made my vision blur. "Stay back!" I shouted, but my voice trembled, betraying the fear rising inside me.

Selene spun around, her baton a blur of violet light as she struck the goblin attacking me. The creature howled in pain, its body convulsing as the energy coursed through it. In an instant, it crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from its singed skin.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the third goblin, faster and more agile than the others, lunged at Selene. Its claws aimed straight for her throat, but it was too quick—even for her. With a wild screech, it latched onto her arm, its teeth snapping inches from her face.

"Selene!" I cried, the panic in my voice sharp. She grunted, struggling to shake the creature off, but it clung to her with feral strength.

"Run, Iris!" she shouted, her voice strained. "Get out of here!"

But I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted to the ground, frozen by fear and confusion. I watched helplessly as the goblin’s eyes flicked toward me, its gaze dark and knowing, as if it could see right through me—through everything I was trying to become, to who I really was beneath the surface.

And then, something inside me shifted. A heat I didn’t recognize, a pressure building in my chest, rising fast. I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I just reacted. I threw my hands out, a desperate gesture, and in that moment, something exploded from deep within me.

Light. Blinding, searing light burst from my skin, flooding the alley in brilliant white. The goblins shrieked in agony, recoiling as the light burned their leathery flesh. The one on Selene was thrown back, its body flung through the air before slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch.

I stood there, breathless, trembling, my hands still outstretched. The light faded, leaving the alley bathed in shadows once more. I stared at my palms, my mind spinning. What the hell had I just done?

Selene pushed herself to her feet, her face pale but her eyes sharp with concern. "Iris," she said, her voice softer now, almost cautious. "Are you alright?"

"I..." My voice faltered. My arm throbbed from the goblin’s attack, but that wasn’t what was making my head spin. "What just happened? What was that light?"

Selene didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to the goblins, still writhing on the ground, their skin smoldering from the light I had somehow conjured. She reached into her jacket again, this time pulling out a small metallic device etched with strange symbols I didn’t recognize. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward the goblins.

The device hit the ground and expanded instantly, forming a shimmering barrier around the creatures—a glowing dome of light and energy that trapped them inside. The goblins clawed at it, snarling in frustration, but the barrier held.

"They won’t be getting out of that anytime soon," Selene muttered under her breath.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think straight. Everything felt unreal—goblins, magic, light exploding from my hands like I was some kind of weapon. I took a shaky step backward, my legs barely holding me up. "Selene," I whispered, my voice breaking. "What’s going on? What just happened to me?"

Her expression softened, but there was a weight behind her eyes—a heaviness that made my chest tighten. "Iris, we need to get out of here. This place isn’t safe."

"But—"

"Please," she said, her tone more urgent now. "More could be coming. We can’t stay here."

I wanted answers. I wanted to demand an explanation for everything���what I’d just seen, what I’d just done. But the exhaustion pressing down on me, the adrenaline ebbing from my body, made it hard to argue. I nodded, numb, and followed her as she led me away from the alley, my steps shaky and uncertain.

We walked in silence, the narrow streets of Paris closing in around us. My thoughts were a mess—a jumble of fear, confusion, and something else I couldn’t quite name. The burning light from earlier still tingled beneath my skin, a strange warmth that both terrified and intrigued me.

Selene slowed as we reached a quieter street, the sound of the city fading into the background. The buildings here were older, their windows dark, their walls worn with age.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice shaky but steadier than before.

"Somewhere safe," Selene replied, her grip on my arm firm yet gentle. She led me toward a small, unassuming door tucked between a shuttered bookstore and a closed patisserie. Above the door hung a faded wooden sign with elegant, curling script that read La Tasse Enchantée.

"A tearoom?" I asked, frowning.

"It’s more than that," she said, her gaze sweeping the empty street before she opened the door. A soft chime echoed, the sound oddly soothing against the backdrop of the night.

"Selene," I whispered, stepping through the doorway after her. "I need answers."

Her expression softened again, and for the first time that night, she looked at me with something like sympathy. "And you’ll get them," she promised. "I swear. But right now, we need to stay safe."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the exhaustion hit me all at once—the weight of everything that had happened, of everything I still didn’t understand. I swallowed the rest of my words and nodded.

"Alright," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "No more secrets after this."

"No more secrets," Selene agreed, though her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite read. She pushed the door open wider, guiding me inside, the warm glow of the tearoom spilling out into the cold, quiet street.

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[minaflourish]

Okay so... the new Miraculous Ladybug trailer of season 6 is crazy

Like really, it's 3 AM and I'm completely freaking out. I still don't know if the youtube video I watched is just a fever dream or real... So I just needed to share a few of my thoughts about the new season, because none of my friends is really into the Miraculous fandom so... yeah :)

-First of all: I absolutely love the new animation style. Don't get me wrong: The old one will forever be my favourite, but I really like the new suit of Ladybug and all the buildings and that stuff and just Paris in general looks so good in my opinion. (Except for the Eiffel-Tower in that one scene with Tomoe)

-Did y'all see the new feature on Ladybugs Yoyo? The one where she can select a superhero for a mission. I honestly find that amazing, but that leads to a few questions like, do other Miraculous-Holders also have that feature? How does a person knows that they're called? Do they get some kind of message on their Miraculous? But what would that be? Because it obviously can't be anything that draws to much attention. Is it like in the Movie, when Chat Noir's ring is blinking? I'm just so excited for the new season!

-The akumatization of Sublimation is c.r.a.z.y. Because Lila (or Cerise) is just such a good villain and she's a great manipulator, and I'm really curious about her new disguise in season 6 and how her relationship with Marinette is going to be. Also the new butterfly mask is so pretty! I have this theory, that Cerise is just going to do the same thing Lila did, but she's just gonna do it smarter and way more subtle. I think that this time it's really gonna be only Marinette who knows about Cerise's lies... But back to the akumatization: I'm really sad that we didn't got to see Cerise's new suit, but hopefully that's still going to come! She also seems to work more with the akumatized persons, because she asked Sublimation how they want to be named and she didn't just came up with a name herself. Probably one of her manipulations. Also did you notice, that Cerise's voice somehow changed during the time she was speaking? At least I had the impression it did... Almost as if she was trying to let people know nearly nothing about her, not even the sound of her voice...

-I absolutely love Marinette's weird costume she wears in one scene, where she pretends to be a villain obsessed with cleaning. It just reminds me of all those silly plans to get Marinette and Adrien together from seasons 1 to 3, which I missed a bit in season 4 and 5, which I'm totally okay with, but I really hope, that it's going to come back in season 6. Also did you notice, that in the Trailer there's no Adrinette scene...?

-A few weeks ago the names of the episodes where released, and ever since then I thought a lot about the fact, that they resemble the titels of old episodes so much (I bet everyone was thinking of them). And most people say, that the episodes are just going to be similar, but what if we were wrong and the episodes are actually the exact opposite of their title...?

So... I guess that's all my mind can produce at 3 (Now past 4) AM...

Sorry if my english is horrible, It's not my first language and it hasn't been that long since I started learning it, so nearly my whole vocabulary comes from fanfics and tumblr posts and stuff like that. (That's also why my grammar isn't nearly as good as I wished it to be)

Also just as a little introduction, because I'm new on tumblr and feel super awkward because I don't have a clue how this works (And I'm probably going to regret writing this in the morning but whatever):

Heyyy, my name's Mina and I've somehow got into the Harry Potter and Miraculous Ladybug Fandom and now I can't find the way out anymore so... yeah :)

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - Loumand (Spoilers)

This was so effed up, wow; I'm FURIOUS with Armand, even though I've been expecting this from him since Season 1. Cuz the ish he said just never lined up right; the most unreliable narrator's been Armand the whole time! Louis' brain is scrambled, but at least he's SINCERE. But THIS mofo has been deliberately LYING since JUMP.

Longest divorce proceedings ever--took 77 years, dang. Armand said it was the night Madeleine was turned--Mr. They Gave Me A Choice. I Chose. But that's a effing lie, too!

Cuz in Ep6, BEFORE Louis even told Armand he was gonna turn Madz, Santiago was busy committing all those "strange crimes reported;" climbing the Eiffel Tower to wake up Lestat, and breaking into cinemas to steal their color film reels for the Trial's projector.

They threw Sam under the bus as if HE wrote effed up Trial script--but THIS was when they actually started writing it--with ARMAND's input & direction.

But I'm jumping ahead.

WTF is going on here?! O_O Is this a human the Theatre keeps around for the plays, zoned out so they stay alive until they're on stage? So Armand's punishment is the shame of having to feed the "cattle"? And HOW MANY nights was Lou in there? :(

Louis was locked up for over a MONTH!? 😨 While Armand just SAT THERE?!

Lou's not screaming from starvation, MORON--he starved himself for YEARS. His DAUGHTER is DEAD.

The frame of Paul is wild--Louis was ready to end it all. U_U He didn't want to be "rescued"--he wanted his baby girl back. "What was left to endure for?"

Man's a consummate actor--everything you're about to see is FAKE.

A "sacrifice" for the "god" Armand serves, eh? (AMC got my guy out here sucking on rocks, omg. XD I hope they taste like chips or popcorn or something.)

Louis CONSTANTLY shushing people on this show, I love it!

LIES. Lou's WAY too good for Armand; I'd've been like SURPRISE! 🔥 "My rage and madness were asleep--" chile. You loved Armand, and thought he'd cared enough to save you, which is why you were able to swallow that weak AF I Could Not Prevent It excuse from a 500 yr old vamp.

Daniel is on the hunt! I LOVE how they're introducing Raglan like he's just some kindly ole assistant/researcher/editor. Honey, you've got a big storm coming! "Reciprocation"--Daniel's a vampire now, so you KNOW Raglan's gonna start cashing in them I-O-Us from Dan! 💀

77 years later.... 😬

200 years is a mighty long time to maintain a relationship built on death threats, power imbalances, and lies.

Lestat was right--even 77 years was a effing miracle--extra time bought at the price of Louis' memories being oh-so-conveniently erased.

THEY rehearsed it--LIE. There Armand goes, deflecting culpability.

Louis sleeping in Claudia's coffin, stop, my feels. U_U

Omfg Armand; of COURSE you don't remember the last thing y'all said to e/o in Paris b4 y'all left Lestat to travel Egypt--but you can "remember" alllll this other bullcrap, eh?

So they've already done Trinity Gate?

BY ALL MEANS. EXPOSE THEM.

Not Sam being in Daftpunk, y'all need to stop IMMEDIATELY. (But now I know wtf was going on in the Season 3 announcement--I was so confused why they were mentioning Sam!)

ARMAND told the coven to let the audience read Claudia's diaries and VIOLATE her body (of work), omfg 😱

Mr Frankenstein disrespected her at EVERY turn!

I could forgive spitting over "Come to Me" and how Loustat met in NOLA, but I draw the line at spitting at adding the animation of Lestat killing that dear sweet racoon! XD

Armand had the NERVE to look away when they bum-rushed Claudia & Louis with the Mind Gift.

"It's their turn to hurt--" ARMAND said he didn't think Louis would love him for 200 years, so he SOLD THEM TF OUT--to DIE.

They were HOBBLING AROUND WITH GASHED ANKLES, LAUGHED at, and stuffed in RAT BOXES! And ARMAND was in on the whole thing!

This is WILD, AMC, y'all are sick for this, but I love it!

Is DANIEL using Armand's "slave name" and abusing him, y'all? HUH? It's all BULLCRAP--Armand's BEEN in control, with all the real power the WHOLE. EFFING. TIME.

EFF what you call him, or whatever kinky ROLES he PLAYS.

ARMAND decides who lives and dies, as THE coven master--eff who's called Maitre!

Armand was gonna let Lou DIE. "He just took credit for it when the opportunity presented itself." Wow.

He let Louis suffer in that crypt for over a MONTH before he FINALLY had a change of hear/conscience and pulled him out!

And even then he wasn't gonna go WITH Louis--he expected Louis to flee Paris! ALONE.

He stayed with Louis cuz Louis destroyed his whole effing coven! Who else did Armand HAVE but Louis after that? HE CHOSE THE COVEN.

Poor dear; he wasn't held enough between ritualistic fledgling executions. 🙄😒 "We are teachers of one another! Louis, everything that gives you happiness gives me...." WHAT? What does it give you, Armand? (I cannot WAIT for S3 to do more DM, cuz I've been HATING Armand connected in any way to Louis & Claudia. I don't like not liking Armand; he's my fave book character! But AMC's bound & determined to make me spit every time he starts talking.)

Excellent grounds to get the house, the dog, the Farm, Damek, AND Rashid in the divorce! XD

And this gremlin's got the audacity to STILL be lying, even when caught LITERALLY red-handed with his notes to Santiago in the effing margins--meanwhile CLAUDIA was CONDEMNED TO DEATH for premeditating Lestat's death in HER written diaries--which ARMAND had passed around like candy at his carnival of horrors!

"An insignificant detail delivered by an insignificant mortal"--Rolin must hate Armand, he's not giving this dude an INCH. XD And SAM delivered it, not Daniel. SAM snitched on the coven. (WHEN?! And WHY?)

I don't like the whole "you should fear the other one--" only for Raglan to be like SOS GET OUT OF THERE NOW. Didn't Raglan know Armand was lying his arse off? Or was it misdirection--fear Louis' retribution when he busts a cap in Armand's lying arse?

DanLou nation RISE! ^0^

This was beautiful; I'm so happy for them. They started off TERRIBLY, but look at that bond just blossom like a magnolia tree Armand tried to clip and prune and graft and manipulate--only for it to flourish wild and free!

[aziraphalesdiaries]

Dear Diary,

More meetings ahead and they’re getting more frequent, too. The Metatron says we're already behind schedule to prepare for the Second Coming.

However, I have finally had the opportunity to speak to some angels. I am still not sure about Michael; they are very reluctant to work with me. Of course, they do not openly speak out against me, but I don’t trust that they aren’t working against me behind my back. I can’t investigate too clearly because I don’t want to draw the Metatron’s attention to it.

Uriel and Saraqael at least seem reasonable, but I have to be careful how much I trust them and what I ask of them. Angels have fallen for asking the wrong questions... I know this only too well.

I try to use every free minute. I haven't had peace in months... not since... since I left Earth.

Right now, I'm standing by the window and looking down to it. I wish I could inquire about my bookshop, but that would attract the wrong kind of attention. Some scrivener angel wrote in a report that both Muriel and the bookshop are fine.

The Eiffel Tower is right below me.

Oh Paris… the crêpes were really delicious. And they were even better because Crowley was there.

Why didn't we just go to Paris some other time? Outside of any revolutions and people murdering other people using clever machines.

Humans say, Paris is the city of love...

We… should have gone there. Earlier when we still had time.

Oh...someone is coming... I must finish up later.

A. Z. Fell

[rabbitcruiser]

Eiffel Tower Day 

Eiffel Tower Day is celebrated on March 31 to commemorate the inaugural anniversary of the Eiffel Tower. Unveiled to the world on this day 1889, this iconic monument has withstood the test of time and remains one of the most remarkable wonders of the world. Standing at 1,063 feet, the Eiffel Tower overlooks the city of Paris and symbolizes the triumph of modern engineering and western civilization.

Being one of the most recognizable monuments of the world, Eiffel Tower Day is a day of celebration for millions of people. From Calcutta to California, people come together to raise a toast to this architectural masterpiece.

History of Eiffel Tower Day

As the country completed a century of the French Revolution, the government of France planned an international fair to display the industrial advancement of the 19th century. A design competition was held in central Paris and more than 100 artists turned in their ideas.

Among the contributors was Gustave Eiffel, who proposed an open-lattice iron tower that would be higher than 1,000 feet. With a loaded resume that included the Statue of Liberty, he was able to convince the Centennial Committee that this unimaginable feat was possible. The contract for building the tower was handed to him in 1887.

Countering years of skepticism, criticism, and even protests, he began working on the project on January 28, 1887. In the short span of two years, two months, and five days he completed the tower and presented it to the French government for exposition. The rest is history.

Gustave’s vision breathed new life onto the streets of Paris and transformed it into the city of love as we know it, although that wasn’t the intention. In his own words, he wanted the tower to be a symbol of the “great scientific movement of the eighteenth century and the Revolution of 1789.”

Today, the tower sits at the heart of Europe and is visited by millions of visitors every year. Since 2000, the golden grandeur of the tower has been complemented with 20,000 6W bulbs, flashed on and off in quick succession for five minutes of every twilight hour. On March 31, we celebrate the genius and his invaluable gift to the world.

Eiffel Tower Day timeline

1885 The First Presentation

French Civil Engineer Gustave Eiffel presents the first-ever drawing of the Eiffel Tower to the Society of Civil Engineers of France.

1887 The Contractual Stamp

The commission settles the location of the tower, approves the designs, and signs a contract with Eiffel, thus greenlighting the construction.

1887 The First Brick

Construction on the tower begins amidst protests from many elite pockets of French society.

1889 Inauguration and Exposition

Construction of the primary structure is completed and the tower is inaugurated in front of elected officials and members of the press.

Eiffel Tower Day FAQs

Why was the Eiffel Tower built?

The Eiffel Tower was built as one of the attractions of the 1889 Paris World’s Fair. It was conceived as a temporary structure and was supposed to be demolished 20 years later.

Is the Eiffel Tower shallow?

Although it appears that way, the Eiffel Tower is not shallow. It has designated flooring with shops, museum exhibits, eateries, an observation area, a post office, and more.

Who designed the Eiffel Tower?

Maurice Koechlin and Émile Nouguier are the primary designers of the tower. They worked for Gustave Eiffel’s construction company and pitched the designs to him in 1884.

How To Celebrate Eiffel Tower Day

Bake an Eiffel Tower cake

Plan a picnic

Take a virtual tour of the tower

As we celebrate this architectural marvel, how about showcasing your creative skills in the kitchen. Making an Eiffel Tower Cake is a great way to celebrate this beautiful day with your family. Although we aren’t aiming for perfection here, your Eiffel Tower cake should have four lattices and triple flooring.

If there’s anything more impressive than the Eiffel Tower, it’s the picturesque land it stands on. Champ de Mars, the gorgeous 1,011,807 sq. ft park surrounding the tower, hosts millions of picnics each year. On March 31, pack a picnic, head to a nearby park, and pretend that the tower’s looking over you.

The official website of the Eiffel Tower offers a virtual tour for free. The tour includes high-definition pictures of the monument and interesting facts attached to its history. Visit the website, hit the explore tab, and tour the nooks and crannies of the tower from the comfort of your home.

5 Fascinating Facts About The Eiffel Tower

The first of its kind

A term of endearment

Survival of the strongest

A place for a post office

More than a monument

Before the plans were laid out for the Eiffel Tower, the world had not seen a monument of its height.

The Eiffel Tower is popularly called ‘La Dame de Fer,’ which translates to ‘The Iron Lady’.

Following the Nazi occupation of 1944, Hitler wanted to demolish the Eiffel Tower but thankfully, the Military governor of Paris disobeyed his orders.

The first floor of the Eiffel Tower is home to a working post office — you can send mail to any corner of the world and the receiver will be honored with a unique stamp.

At the First Battle of the Marne, one of the transmitters attached to the tower blocked the German communications — a move pivotal to the Allied victory.

Why We Love Eiffel Tower Day

It celebrates a genius

It will never get old

We will always have Paris

French Civil Engineer Gustave Eiffel wasn’t a one-time wonder. His credit roll includes the Statue of Liberty, the Garabit viaduct, and the invention of the wind tunnel. Eiffel defended the work of his subordinates, Maurice Koechlin and Émile Nouguier, and fought many challenges to bring their visions to life. Eiffel embraced the challenges and trusted his instincts, and on March 31, we celebrate this true architectural genius.

The Eiffel Tower is the most-visited paid monument in the world, hosting seven million visitors in a year. As the tower completes a century and a half, more than 250 million people have already visited this iconic landmark. The world isn’t getting over this wonder anytime soon.

In many ways, Paris and the Eiffel Tower are indistinguishable from each other. The Parisian culture has transcended the French denomination and much of the credit goes to the monument that sits at the heart of the city. With Eiffel Tower Day, we also get to celebrate the great city of Paris and its cultural significance in our society.

Source

[audreycecilemoore]

Books to Try if You Loved Miraculous Ladybug

The way I have always viewed media is that it’s stories, first and foremost, and then the medium comes next. Medium can make a lot of difference in how stories are told, with visual media working quite well for the superhero genre and interiority shining in the written format. I want to draw attention to books that I think lovers of certain stories would also enjoy while also throwing in a few extras along the way and highlighting a diverse range of authors and genres.

If you loved the romance between a biracial artist and someone who likes science, try:

Red String Theory by Lauren Kung Jessen

Rooney Gao grew up the daughter of a famous artist and wants to make a name for herself in the art world independent of her mother, going by the moniker Red String Girl. Drawing from Chinese folklore about the red string of fate, Rooney also follows ideas of destiny in many aspects of her life, including love. Jack Liu is a scientist at NASA who is perfect for Rooney, but his own insecurities and resistance to fate might be enough to keep them apart.

If you loved the Parisian setting and strong fashion components, try:

If I Promise You Wings by A. K. Small

A. K. Small spent part of her life in the Sacré-Cœur of Paris and you can feel the city come alive in her story of grief and moving on. Alix Leclaire has graduated high school and lands her dream job at the Mille et une Plume, a feather boutique that plays a part in the haute couture fashion scene. Despite her happiness, the loss of her best friend is still a fresh wound for Alix to heal from.

If you loved the Parisian setting and the exploration of a character with anxiety, but want more of the Eiffel Tower and a Queer historical bent, try

The Paris Affair by Maureen Marshall

Fin Tighe is working for Gustave Eiffel as they work to build the Eiffel Tower in time for the World’s Fair. But as the illegitimate son of an English earl with no other heirs, the guardian of a ballerina cousin who wants to focus on her craft, and the love interest of a member of the Parisian elite, Fin and his anxiety are going to be tested in ways he never thought possible.

If you loved the dynamic of Adrien coming from a famous family and Marinette coming from a working class family with the struggles of making friendships, try

Love at First Knight by Megan Clawson

When Daisy Hasting, LARPer enthusiast from a family of LARPer enthusiasts, is volunteered to be a temporary knight at the Tower of London for a summer camp, the last thing she expects it to find love, let alone with a member of the royal family.

If you liked the secret identities but want a more grounded romance, try

Maya’s Laws of Love by Alina Khawaja

School teacher Maya Mirza has agreed to an arranged marriage with her friend from college, but on her way to Pakistan, she Sarfaraz, a Pakistani-Canadian divorce lawyer who is cynical towards love and romance. Both keep meeting up as roadblock after roadblock appears on their way to Pakistan.

If you loved the magical girl elements, but want an adult POV, try

A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon trans. Anton Hur

When the protagonist is told that she is the legendary Magical Girl of Time, she’s thrust into the world of women with superpowers. From job expos to credit card debt to discussions around climate change to conversations surrounding grief and loss, this is the perfect book for people who grew up on the magical girl genre.

Bonus:

If you liked the monsters being people the MCs know and are impacted by strong feelings, try:

Princess Tutu

When Ahiru is transformed from a duck into the magical girl Princess Tutu to save Prince Mytho, she has to fight her own friends and grow closer to enemies to accomplish her goals, even at the risk of breaking her own heart. A metacontextual examination of opera, ballet, fairy tales, and broader storytelling, Princess Tutu scratches the Miraculous itch while also doing something wholly new.

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