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early2000smovieimagines · 3 years

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Meeting and Dating Ahkmenrah

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(This movie was my childhood. Brings back so many good memories ...and crushes.)

- You’d worked at quite a few museums in your day but none of them were quite like the Museum of Natural History; a fact you’d be made aware of very suddenly and without warning.

- You were somewhat new to the building, hired to do work on the exhibits since you were skilled in restoration and design. You weren’t a night worker, at least you weren’t supposed to be, but you’d accidentally dropped something as you were leaving your office and were forced to stay late to clean it up.

- After a few moments of sweeping, you’d heard a commotion upstairs and as you went to leave the museum; and investigate, you’d walked straight into the beautiful chaos of a night at the museum.

- Let’s just say that Larry had a lot to explain, all of which you took surprisingly well; though you didn’t have much of a choice now did you?

- Ahkmenrah spotted you from across the museum and watched as you made your way around the new magical world, staring at every person and thing in awe. He spied on you throughout the night and found that when he’d finally thought it appropriate to approach you, the sun was already beginning to rise.

- So the next day, he asks Larry about you, pretending as though he’s asking for no reason at all. Larry knowingly offers to introduce the two of you and the mummy drops the act, eagerly accepting.

“I’d like that very much, yes.”

- Larry approaches you with the sparkling pharaoh and is soon called away by someone else, leaving the two of you alone to speak. Ahkmenrah motions over to a bench nearby, commenting that it “must be a lot to get used to” as you both take a seat. You laugh in agreement and before you know it, the two of you are engaged in a conversation.

- Ahkmenrah’s sweet, he’s charming, he’s handsome, and he’s quite enamored with you; though you don’t know that just yet.

- Soon enough, it’s time for the sun to rise and he takes notice, begrudgingly standing and admitting that he “must say goodbye”. You respond with a somewhat disappointed goodbye yourself, watching as he begins to walk away before he turns and says “I should like to see you tomorrow ...to continue our conversation” to which you happily agree.

- The two of you become close fairly quickly. Anytime he spots you in a room, he makes a beeline towards you; both because he really likes you and because he’s somewhat awkward himself.

- He always likes being there for you, considering you’re new and not used to all that history coming to life stuff. He takes pride in being your guide and sort of likes the feeling of you depending on him a bit.

- Your “friendship” takes an obvious romantic turn, particularly; and outwardly, on his side; I say “friendship” because it was probably somewhat obvious from that he liked you more than that even from the beginning.

- He compliments you, oftentimes earnestly and quietly calling you beautiful, uses any excuse to touch you and your clothes, etc. He awes you with talks of Egypt and sweeps you off your feet quite easily. It’s really only a matter of time before the two of you get together.

- That “time” comes one day as you’re both sitting all alone. The room is dark and warmly lit and you’re sitting so close that his knees are touching yours. His hands hold yours as he speaks quietly to you and your face is leaned in close so that you can hear him.

- And then it just happens, your faces close in and you kiss, his grasp tightening around your hands.

- You’re interrupted by one of the others, most likely Larry who quickly apologizes and mentions something about the sun coming up before leaving the two of you be. Ahkmenrah turns back to you, saying something along the lines of “so we must once again say goodbye” with a small smile.

“It would appear so.” You respond, though you’re hesitant to move from your place. But alas, the sun has to rise and you have to go home.

“Tomorrow then,” He smiles at you, giving your hand one last squeeze. “...My queen.”

- You leave that morning, eager for the daylight to go and for you to be reunited with your newfound lover once more.

- Ahkmenrahs from ancient Egypt so I’m sure he isn’t particularly accustomed to “normal” Pda. That being said, he is somewhat dorky and practically has an entire hall to himself so he either just gives you innocent pda or the two of you go to his exhibit; and not have to worry about anyone seeing you.

- He’s been locked up in a sarcophagus for about fifty years; or more, so he’s arguably a bit touch starved. He’s always trying to touch you in some way and absolutely loves it whenever you touch him.

- He likes holding both your hands in his, occasionally bringing one of them to his lips. He just likes touching your hands in general if we’re being honest.

- Gentle caresses. He’s in love, leave him alone.

- Forehead and cheek kisses. He likes prolonging the amount of time his lips spend on your skin; a normal prolonged amount of time of course.

- Long, soft kisses.

- Loving makeout sessions. His hands roam your back and pull you in as close as they can whenever you have one.

- He likes laying between your legs and/or resting his head in your lap.

- Cuddling with your arms wrapped around each other and your head resting against his shoulder. He likes laying and talking with you, playing with the fingers that lay on his chest.

- Having his robes draped over and around you.

- He likes having you with him at all times, both because he’s protective of you and because he can’t bear to be away from you for more than a few hours.

- You’ll usually hang back and cling to his arm whenever you’re standing together. He likes feeling your presence at his side and the light grip you have on him.

- A bit clingy. He only gets to see you at night and has been alone for quite some time, of course he’s gonna want to be around you as much as possible.

- He always gets somewhat flustered when you give him gifts; particularly sweet things like flowers. You would have sworn you’d given him your underwear with the way he smiles and blushes in response.

- Ahkmenrah was the favorite son so he was a bit spoiled as a child. That being said, he’s surprisingly humble and sweet for a pharaoh that was given the best of everything.

- He’s probably teared up a little because of you at some point, whether it be your actions or just the fact that you’re there with him. He can get a bit emotional at times.

- Dancing together. We all saw how beautifully that man can move.

- Sneaking him out every once in a while. He really likes your apartment; even if you’re sort of embarrassed because he’s a literal pharaoh and lived in a temple when he was alive.

- Movie dates. They’re the easiest thing to do with him and he’s missed out on pretty much all of them so he’s got a lot of catching up to do.

- Listening to music together.

- Considering his time at Cambridge and just the way he is, he may or may not wax poetic about or at you on occasion. He gets a little embarrassed when he realizes that he’s doing it but it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard/seen.

- Compliments and lots of them; usually paired with a term of endearment.

- He uses a lot of pet names on you, usually somewhat old fashioned ones. My dear, my sun, my queen, etc.

- He’s the cutest when posing for photos. He tries to look all regal in the beginning but it quickly dissolves into the adorable dorkiness that you know so well.

- The boy is lovestruck. He could sit and watch you do nothing with this look of unwavering love on his face for hours. Need to do some work? Thats totally fine. He’ll just sit there and love you.

- Please let him braid your hair. There’s just something that’s so relaxing and sweet about it to him.

- He has a hard time saying no to you. You’re his queen after all, you should have everything you could ever dream of; and he’s just too sweet to deny nearly anyone.

- Polite and respectful, Ahkmenrah is a gentleman with incredibly good manners. You’ll never be disappointed in his behavior.

- Helping Larry and him take care of the museum and tablet.

- Teaching him about all he’s missed.

- Always having a translator. He certainly comes in handy when you’re traveling around the museum and run into some “hostile” exhibits.

- Getting quietly and excitedly told a bunch of stories. He’s always so adorably eager to tell you about his life; whether it be about Ancient Egypt or more present times.

- He wants to introduce you to his parents so badly; though he’s somewhat embarrassed by them. Maybe you’ll transfer to the London museum for a bit?

- Getting bragged about. He always makes you sound cooler than you really are, though in your case, that’s just how he sees you.

- Stopping him from making morbid comments; oftentimes at the wrong time, or just giving him a look. He’s got a sort of different view on what’s exactly an acceptable thing to say.

“Too dark?”

- Sharing looks and making comments to each other.

- He’s always so gentle and caring with you; especially when you’re hurt or upset. He prides himself on being by your side and taking care of you.

- He’s a fairly patient person; especially with you. I mean, he’s had to wait a lot more than a few years to be let out of his sarcophagus so one can assume that he’d be good at that sort of thing.

- He’s not a terribly jealous person. Arguably, if you choose to be in a difficult relationship with a mummy, then you obviously want that relationship, right? He’s loyal and he expects you to be as well; that’s how it was in his times.

- That being said: if someone shows interest in you then he’ll get a bit jealous; though he’ll save his real jealousy for when he gets to see how you respond to them and how they respond to him making it known that you’re together.

- The museum can certainly get a bit dangerous at times; and he can only be there for you when you’re there, so of course he’ll be protective of and worry about you. He looks out for you and tells you to be careful every time you’re saying goodbye.

- The two of you hardly ever fight or argue, you’re just compatible with each other; and you rarely have the time to do so anyway. Plus, your pharaoh doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and lives to please you, so why would he try to fight with you?

- If he’s somehow done something; which is highly unlikely, he’ll apologize the minute that he realizes he’s upset you or thinks that he has. He’ll give you space if you want or need it and welcomes you back with open arms when you’re ready.

- If you’ve upset him then he’ll do his best to give you the silent treatment and act professional with you; not quite cold but not loving like he usually is. He’ll do so until you apologize and he cracks, shyly accepting your apology and reverting back to his sweet self.

- Lots of I love yous. You’re his queen, what do you expect?

- Your relationship is certainly going to be a bit challenging, but the happiness and love you feel with each other is worth it.

#ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah headcanons #ahkmenrah headcanon #ahkmenrah imagines #night at the museum imagine #night at the museum headcanon #night at the museum imagines #night at the museum headcanons #early 2000s movie headcanon #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie imagines #rami malek imagine

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 years

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Emotional abuse is NOT to be normalized.

Hello everyone! Anon from the “

I’m a victim of emotional abuse

” post. And today I’m going to explain my story of the emotional abuse I went through.

My story begins as a lot do, online. I was about 10 years old so I didn’t know what were red flags, and what relationships I should avoid. I had a very toxic friend group back then that enjoyed self deprecation and honestly bullying each other, me included. We used to do the cringe roleplays children do and making cringe oc’s. I met someone we’ll call Rin.

Rin didn’t bully me like the others in the friend group and very often came to me for opinions, and over all talking without making me feel like utter garbage. I ate up all the praise, all the love and support Rin gave me. However, even as early as friendship, they would get angry at me if I did stuff they didn’t like and would sometimes ignore me, sometimes verbally assault me into apologizing for things I really shouldn’t have.

»»————-————-««

For context, Back then I was both unmedicated for anxiety and I was going through a harsh time with my aunt and cousins living with us. When I was 6, my drug addict uncle committed suicide and I’d been living with them for about 4 years by that time. (No, my parents nor aunt told us he committed suicide. at the time, don’t worry) They made my life HELL, constantly getting me in trouble and generally putting me down.

Context: Rin was 16 when i was 10.

»»————-————-««

One day I was doing our daily playing games with the friend group and Rin when one of our friends, Rose, Told us we’d make a *great* couple. By that time I had some feelings for Rin, we’d voice call occasionally, to me they weren’t a stranger. Rin had agreed and in hind sight I was kind of pressured into the relationship.

All of the behavior I mentioned before, where they would get pissy whenever I did something they didn’t like or get nice when I did something they *did* like got WORSE. It’s nothing like what media presents, because when people wish to manipulate you they will without hesitation.

Rin began threatening bodily harm, showing me cuts if I did something vaguely wrong. They would tell me I was worthless without them. That if I’d “Only just listen to me I could make you the best girl ever!"

They found it funny when I’d get squeamish over topics, continuing the conversations and saying that if I’d just tell them that I’d like it then they’d stop.

One day when I was 11, it just got too much for me so I said we needed to break up. You wanna know what Rin did?

They threatened suicide. They told me if I left them they’d kill themselves. That I was all they were living for. That I was the love of their life and if I left them it’d be my fault if they killed themselves.

I was 11, I didn’t know any better about the situation but I knew I didn’t want them to die so I stayed. I stayed in the relationship. I tried 3 more times to break up with the same result. the same threat of Suicide. Sometimes with photos.

After that original threat they began getting s*xual. They began mentioning we should meet up IRL, despite us being several states apart. They began describing what they’d do to my body s*xually when we met IRL. They told me that if I didn’t want to fulfill their fantasy’s I was a bad SO. That I should only exist to fulfill their wants and *their* needs. It didn’t matter what I wanted.

when I was 12, I finally had an out. They had been stabbed and sent to the hospital. They weren’t online so I took the chance and broke up with them when they couldn’t do anything about it. They tried when they got back but I was long gone.

Now normally Media presents this as when a trauma victim starts healing and returns to perfect normalcy. That isn’t the case. Its been at least 4 years since I left them, since I got out of that situation, but I still have the fears. Have the insecurities. I still hear their voice telling me I’m worthless, That I’d be better off a trophy on their wall. That since I’m not their perfect ideal woman I should just shut up and be the best wife to the next man that decides I’m worth their time.

my anxiety’s voice, once a always changing one *became* their voice. I’ve healed, I’ve moved on from the abuse but their voice haunts me. Their Abuse has left mental scars that will NEVER heal.

This is why having Mental Abuse of any form be normalized is horrible. because it means more people like me will go through situations like these. and not be allowed to escape because we’re "over reacting”. Because we’re “just in hysterics. it’s perfectly normal!"

this is a serious issue that shouldn’t be brushed under the rug. Miraculous Ladybug is the WORST offender of normalizing Mental Abuse I have ever seen. because I KNOW the red flags. I have trained myself to see them. To protect myself.

Normalizing normal little issues is fine. But mental abuse? never. NEVER should ANY form of abuse be normalized because it means more victims will appear. This shouldn’t even be a thing but here I am. Having to fight for people to realize this isn’t a thing that should be just accepted.

TL;DR: My first ex threatened to cause bodily harm when i was 10, and when i was 11 threatened suicide for me daring to try and break up with them. I escaped when i was 12, only barely. Now my anxiety has taken their voice and haunts me to this day.

If you’ve read this long, thank you! and have some

kittens

for what I just made you read. Thank you for your time.

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

First of all, I want to thank you for your bravery in coming forward to share your experience. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Nobody deserves to be treated this way.

Second, you still raise a valid point.

Media in general tends to downplay emotional abuse and parental neglect, a good example being Monica Geller’s relationship with her parents from Friends. Almost every episode featuring Monica’s mom showed her being insensitive to her daughter and constantly belittled her while undermining her achievements like prioritizing Ross’ new girlfriend over Monica’s weight loss in a flashback. Even if it was unintentional on her part, it still damaged Monica’s psyche, and this kind of treatment was always played for laughs.

The fact that even shows today tend to downplay mental trauma shows that people don’t really understand the kind of damage it can cause.

The way Chloe’s relationship with her mother is portrayed is a good example. At least Friends is targeted towards an older audience so it could be enjoyed in a morbid way by laughing at Monica’s misery, but at its core, Miraculous Ladybug is aimed at children. Children will see Chloe bonding with her neglectful mother and see it as normal, as a good thing.

The fact that Astruc still doesn’t get how bad Chloe’s upbringing was shows he doesn’t get mental abuse either.

You need to better understand mental trauma before actually trying to write it. Otherwise, you end up depicting mental abuse in the wrong way and give viewers the wrong impression of it.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #queen b #audrey bourgeois

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hummanbirb · 3 years

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The Final Objective: HCCW AU

TW: SUCIDE AND PANIC ATTACKS.

“It’s over Deku!”

“I know, Katsuki.”

He hasn’t called him Kachan since this began.

Kirishima was the first to go. He knows that the only reason he was targeted first was because of him.

Kaminari was next. Not to die or be put out of commission, but as a traitor. He took down Iida with him.

Sero was found wrapped in his own tape. Hanging off the edge of the building, a threat hanging from his neck. When did Deku learn how to tie a noose?

Uraraka was still there, her and Todoroki taken hard by the loss of Iida and the betrayal from Deku.

They were out raiding the villain base while he went after Deku, who was hiding on the roof of some empty school. All the buildings were empty. This was a war after all.

Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when Deku blew half the city up.

The thought makes his hand itch, the familiar flex of his arms as he clenched his hands awaiting the satisfaction of the pop and crackles from his sweat soaked palms.

He couldn’t feel it.

“Why can’t I use my quirk!?”

He was still turned away from, but Bakugou could still tell what he was saying. His shoulders were back, strained from being forced back after so many years cowering, but still relaxed. The bastard was looking down on him, mocking him.

Deku laughed before he turned.

“This entire area is built with the same technology as the quirk suppression cuffs. You’re essentially quirkless here.” Deku said, his eyes alight with that unnatural sadistic gleam.

Oh, this fucker.

Bakugou screams as he swings his fist, “I CAN STILL FIGHT YOU!”

The damn nerd dodged before he could land a hit, always just that bit faster than himself, always just out of reach before he could pummel him. Before he could beat it into his skull to give up. It still pisses him off.

“If you want to lose.”

That stops him.

“What?” he snarls teeth clenched in a grimace of hate. He can’t feel the heat from his quirk. The calm rush that comes after using it. Its not there. It’s useless.

But if its not there than why is Deku’s shirt burnt? He’s not wearing his usual get up, but it’s still familiar. Why does it look so…?

He’s wearing their old middle school uniform.

“Right now, the remaining members of your team are raiding the villain’s headquarters, but they won’t find my people there.”

His people. The extras that turned against the rest of the class.

Mina and Kaminari.

“They’ll find a trap.”

No.

“At this moment they’re my hostages.”

He’s shaking. He’s furious and he can’t use his quirk. He lost.

He lost to fucking Deku.

“So, you win…Why isn’t it over!??” his throat is scratched and raw from screaming.

He still can’t use his quirk.

“Because I haven’t said so yet. Because I haven’t given you an ultimatum. Because I still have one objective left.”

Deku smiles, cruel and unforgiving, gone was his teary-eyed smile of determination. That smile of defiance. This was like a different person.

But at the same time, it wasn’t.

This was Deku. The same one he bullied relentlessly. The spark behind his eyes whenever Bakugou knew he went too far. The one that Deku let him see, let him know.

It made him angry, so so angry.

That spark was burning from the inside out. Until now.

“Bakugou?! Come in!? This is Uraraka, please answer me! We can’t get out… it’s a trap.”

“I know Round-face! Just…SHUT UP.” He barks back into the coms.

His quirk isn’t working. He can’t fight. He’s powerless. He’s useless. Just like last time.

No. He still has control. This is Deku. This isn’t like last time.

This isn’t the League.

This isn’t the sludge villain.

“What’s your ultimatum?”

“In order for you to win…you have to lose.”

What the fuck? What does that even mean?

“Right now, you are quirkless. You’re alone with no one to help you. Your former best friend standing in front of you. Sound familiar?”

He’s so done with these fucking mind games. He’s going to kill him.

“Tell me how the fuck to win and let’s get this over with you damn-!”

“I’M GETTING TO THAT.”

He never yelled like that before. Deku never acted like this.

That spark of malice was raging now. Deku’s face contorted before slipping away, back to the slightly manic calm it was before.

The spark was still in his eyes.

“If you want to win, you need to lose. Think about that Katsuki. You’re angry, hotheaded, violent, and rash, but you’re not stupid.”

If I want to win…I need to lose?

“The only way I lose...is if I- “

“Yup.” The damn nerd says, popping the ‘p’ pleasantly. Fucker.

He can’t mean that. That’s too sadistic even for him.

(Is it though?)

Deku tosses something to his feet. A timer.

Its going. Four minutes left.

“What is this? WHATS YOUR AIM?!”

“You can’t be the hero and win at the same time. You can’t be the villain FOR TEN YEARS AND THEN ACT LIKE A HERO!”

Tears…its always tears, but he’s never cried until now. Not through all of this until now. So why is he bringing it up?

He’s smiling, hyperventilating. Crying as his hands shake, but all the while still feral and manic. He looks insane.

This isn’t really him.

(It is. He knows its him.)

Villain. Be the villain act like a hero?

That’s it.

Act like a hero, be the villain. That’s Deku.

His mind is whirling, trying to put things together, words on the rooftop spoken put together a story.

He can’t fight back. He’s quirkless. He’s alone facing the one person he never thought possible to hurt him, (and he hates to admit it) his once childhood best friend. An ultimatum, an objective.

It wasn’t Sero’s noose.

Act like a hero, be the villain.

…

So that’s the final objective.

It hits him like that time All Might punched him. He feels like puking. His sweat is hot, but doesn’t ignite. It’s not there.

Its crawling up his throat. Down his throat. He’s suffocating and his quirk isn’t working.

The com is alive again. She’s saying something but he can’t hear her.

“Deku?” the voice is quiet. Hesitant in a way he’s never known. He didn’t think anyone else was on the roof.

The roof of a school…

He can’t mean it. There’s no way he’d bring this up. He can’t save his team unless…

No, he can’t mean it. He can’t mean that.

He didn’t mean it.

“If you want to be a hero so bad, there’s always one way…” Deku looked up, a manic smile scarred across his tear-streaked face.

Bakugou didn’t mean it.

(He did at the time.)

“Just take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”

He’s standing on the ledge, but Deku isn’t the one whose going to jump. He’s just waiting for him. Izuku reaches his hand out for him to grab. Just like when they were little.

The final objective: make the hero the villain.

“It’s over, Kachan.”

_______________________________________________________________

“Bakugou?! Come in!? This is Uraraka, please answer me! We can’t get out… it’s a trap.” She finishes lamely, just in time for Bakugou to yell at her. Todoroki and her continue to search the room.

Its mostly empty save for a table and the several chairs surrounding it. On the table is a photograph of a class. The text says Aldera Middle School of XXXX. She see’s both Deku and Bakugou among the kids in the photo.

She spends longer than she should looking at them.

‘How did it come to this.’

“Uraraka, look.” Todoroki’s voice is urgent and draws her out of its morbid and depressed reverie.

She looks up to see him staring at the corner.

On the wall is a timer.

Less than 2 minutes and going down fast.

“Bakugou, there’s this timer? It’s….it stopped? Bakugou it stopped! We-!”

“The Leader of the Hero Team is dead. That concludes the end of the exam. Please exit the facility to receive the scores.”

________________________________________________________________

This is for a fanfic I probably won’t ever write, but I loved Hero Class Civil Warfare by RogueDruid you can find it down below. Please be kind because I haven’t written anything for this fandom, this is my first time posting anything of my own on here, and I haven’t really written any fanfic since 2017-ish? Anywho, hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446512/chapters/33370263

#mha bakugou #villain deku #hero class civil warfare #my hero academia #fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

the art of losing isn't hard to master. (though it may look; like disaster).

pairing. ⤳ bang chan x reader.

genre. ⤳ angst.

alternatively. ⤳ a mystery trope. :3

word count ⤳ 2.07k

note ⤳ sorry for the long title hah. this is inspired by jaurim's song 'twenty five, twenty one.' and the title is a quotation from elizabeth bishop's poem 'one art'.

"I don’t want to see you again."

Chan knows you don't mean it, not even one bit. From the way the sentence comes out all shaky, the way you're pretending to stare off into space in sudden contemplation when really you just didn't want him to see you tear up.

But it still hurts.

It hurts so much that he almost regrets breaking up with you, finds himself wanting to take the words back as swiftly as he'd uttered them in the intimate setting of your favourite café.

Almost. If he says something now, he can taken it all back. Just one word. An explanation. And he can gone back to basking in the warmth of your affection in that selfish manner that he always did.

He doesn't, though, he can't.

Not when he was starting to notice just how absorbed you were becoming with your relationship, minimising your own priorities to make sure the bond lasted, giving up applying to your dream college because it meant you'd be moving away from him.

Sure, it sounded like some heroic bullshit sacrifice in his head, like something infuriating drama protagonists do - but there was not a speck of doubt in him pertaining to the department of seeing you happy.

Even if it had come to this.

Even if losing you was the expense he had to incur to get you to love yourself more than you loved him.

Chan, however, doesn't tell you that. Knowing how stubborn you are, you'll certainly not let go without a fight.

It's easier this way, he thinks, if instead he says he can't do it anymore - and lets you believe it.

"Okay." He says, finally finding his voice and these words, he really means it, "Anything for you."

...

It's the sheer irony that baffles him.

There was a time when Minho used to mock Chan about keeping blind faith in settling down with you, pointing out that, even if it was through harmless banter, it was an absurd thing to want out of a highschool sweetheart.

And the former is also the first one to stop beating about the bush, to tell it as it is, "You're a fucking asshole." Minho says, plopping down beside him. He sounds more disappointed than angry.

A movie plays on before the pair and Minho wastes no time in stuffing his face with popcorn, flaunting that he had no intention of explaining his comment, as if it is just that obvious.

Chan remains silent, baffled by the fact that this the first time he's on the receiving end. He usually acts as the one who dishes out words of wisdom and scoldings when necessary.

When he heard you were going away for college just the next morning, he was both ecstatic and horrified. Ecstatic because things were going according to plan. Horrified because that meant he wouldn't be seeing you at all, even if chancing upon you had grown obviously less frequent than it had been when you were together. It meant he wouldn't find you lounging absently at a local café while your eye brows furrowed, fixated on a particular page, it meant that there would be no accidental brushing of shoulders when you'd end up going to Jisung's parties, it would mean completely falling off of your radar.

However, Minho's outburst acted as a vague consolation, albeit he understood it was wrong, it indicated that you weren't doing well either, it indicated that you missed him like he missed you, it meant that you still loved him.

The idea of forever and always had been embedded in his ideology too deeply to apply reason.

He is always going to love you, you are always going to love him. He knows that much. He believes that much.

That alone is enough. That has always been enough.

...

It's too early in the morning and he is positive that this is an abysmal decision.

But the little care he had for rationality, always in your department was not new.

You push a suit case out of the door, there is an Uber waiting, the sound of rain hitting pavement is at such great volume that he can hardly hear his rapid footsteps.

When you crane your neck his direction, Chan stops walking further, but he is too near to go unnoticed.

"W-What are you doing here?" The question comes from you. He notes that you almost sound...hopeful. Like you would go right back in and snuggle into the comfort of your covers if he asked, like you'd forgive him if he asked, like you'd love him despite the distance that'd keep you apart if he asked.

Chan doesn't ask.

"I just... wanted to see you off." He lies, it's taking a whole lot of self restraint to not go up to you to engulf you in his bone crushing hugs, to uproot you off of the security of your toes. He only seems to stare, feigning nonchalance.

The I'm sorry, the truth, sits atop the tip of his tongue and he inwardly promises that he'll tell you someday.

...

Chan doesn't, of course, anticipate this.

When he finally conjures up the courage to send you a follow request after bashfully asking for your username and twiddling his thumbs over your Instagram icon, the acceptance and follow back request notifications almost reduces him to a giddy child who was allowed to watch cartoons way past their bedtime. The unanticipated pleasure that comes with getting something you had no expectations whatsoever of getting.

What is more shocking, he notes, is just how much your life has changed;

or at least, seems to have changed.

There are endless photos, shots of bright neon tones of a typical college party where you're holding up a solo cup to the air and grinning big enough that your eyes are closed, Chan smiles at this.

His enjoyment is, although, quite transient when another pop up in his notification bar reminds him that you've made your most recent post just a few seconds prior.

Curiously, Chan scrolls upwards, careful not to accidentally like any old photos.

This picture is different, the premise is a concert of some sort, he can tell from the banners, the condensed congregations of people around you, mouths awkwardly paused in uttering lyrics - the disturbing part, is the long, bleached blonde stranger behind you, his gangly arms looped over your chest, your back pressed against his front, while his chin is propped up onto the gap between your neck and shoulder. There is no caption.

You look the happiest here. He knows this. The familiar childish glow of your face whenever he'd crack a dumb pun was etched vividly into his memory.

Uncharacteristically, Chan finds himself putting down the phone on the table so Jisung would notice and elaborate without him asking.

And his endeavour is satisfied, "Oh, that's Hyunjin." Jisung explains, before rolling his eyes when Chan kept looking at him to say more, "They're just friends."

It’s only when Chan lets his breath go, does he realise that he was holding it all along.

...

"Long time, eh?" You smile at him, it's an easy, carefree smile, not the tight lipped ones you'd shoot his way weeks after the breakup. That elicits a weird feeling in Chan, he wants to understand why, know what brought this change.

Were you just that happy to see him? Did you remember that your first date was also on a New Year's Day, just like today? Or was he just lingering in the past, all alone?

Even though Hyunjin's invitation to the party was a nuisance, his delayed presence sparked a hopeful event for Chan, now that you were home for the holidays, he needed a proper chance to finally tell you all that he was holding back and do anything, everything to make up for it.

He imagined all the stories from those photos on your feed, musing over your brief conversations through DMs but back in his room, with a blanket pulled to your chin, while he threw a free leg around your waist.

Chan nods slowly, rummaging through the snack shelves. "Yeah. I can't believe it's been a year already." He prepares a mental conversation in his head as he finally secures a bag of Lays.

You smile slowly, looking down at your chipped nails, "Me neither."

In the living room, a loud pop song is playing, the two of you divorced from everyone, a countdown almost commencing.

From behind the kitchen counter, Chan opens his mouth to ask you about something but can't remember what, the last ten seconds rolling to ten, nine, eight, seven -

"I've been looking everywhere for you." A foreign voice comes but the stranger, on the contrary, is not unrecognisable.

His hair is the same long blonde, he's tall, his eyes are hooded but bright with kiddish excitement, his mouth naturally pouted. And when he says this sentence to you, your face, almost immediately, lights up.

The dramatic exclamation is exaggerated with sets of long flailing arms, Chan wants to roll his eyes at the cheesiness, had it not made you laugh.

You only get to turn your body partially before Hyunjin walks over to your position, he cups your face with one hand and the other traverses to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. It's as if you've completely forgotten about him, as if you're the only two people in the world and Chan, a wistful member of the audience merely permitted to have the luxury to watch.

It is then that Chan realises that Jisung was definitely misinformed. Friends don't do this, friends don't look at each other like this. six, five, four, (But he can't look away, can't look away because he has to face the music, bite the bullet, to accept it for what it is. The spectacle is only but a morbid reminder of how taking people for granted always proves to be fruitless.)

Three, two, one,

"Happy New Year." Hyunjin's mouth moves with brief soundless words, he looks like the happiest man in the world and there's not a doubt he is, with you...

And when he kisses you like that, it's anything but perfect, he keeps grinning against your mouth like he can't believe this is happening.

The lonesome spectator senses himself thinking that you've never looked a fraction of happy with him as you do with Hyunjin.

Every sound falls back into muteness, all but the ringing in Chan's ears. Every planned syllable deems his tongue to a limping, incoherent mess. He bites it down.

All Chan understands is -

there is no going back from this.

..."You know I never told you." You hold up your fingers to his face, there's a giant indent of a wedding ring against the skin. The ornament catches light and glints.

Chan hums, finding that he was just as enamoured with your smile. After all this time. "Told me what?" He asks, eyes flitting behind your head to see Hyunjin picking out your favourite drink in a memorised fashion, a matching accessory banded around his finger as he points to a menu displayed above. It's only a matter of minutes.

You giggle, as though it's the silliest thing in entire the universe, the equivalent of admitting you used to believe you'd grow a tree inside your tummy if you swallowed apple seeds, "This is going to sound stupid."

You look downright embarrassed when you press your palms against your face and gaze at him through the gaps of your fingers, then rest them back on the table, "Don't get me wrong..like, of course it hurt, at first. And I was so angry at you..." you chuckle, embarrassed, " But if we never broke up, I can't imagine where I'd be right now...if it wasn't for you I don't think I'd be the person I am today." You explain lightheartedly, it's time and familiarity that makes bringing this topic up so easy. Like it means nothing at all. "So I guess I just wanted to say...thanks?"

Chan smiles, a genuine smile, even if it has a melancholic quality to it, all he ever wanted...really was for you to be happy. And you are. Most certainly.

So he doesn't tell you more, doesn't tell you about almosts and rain hitting pavements and forever and always.

But he reaches out and pats your knuckles and says - because he means it the same still, "Anything for you."

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Lydia Deetz

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Lydia after she moved into town. You went to the same school as her and were in a few of her classes, though you doubted that really mattered; you’d find out about her pretty quickly even if she wasn’t.

- Lydia was an ...interesting character. You liked to think of your school as fairly accepting, people weren’t outwardly mean to her; some were even welcoming, but you somewhat understood many peoples hesitance towards befriending her. Above all, she was fairly standoffish though at the time, no one knew why.

- Still, you liked her style. She was strange and unusual, something you admired. So you took the chance and tried to befriend her, approaching her after school and trying to start a conversation as she unlocked her bike. She was polite but quick to end your talk, making up an; obvious, excuse before riding off.

- But you wouldn’t be deterred, continuing your efforts as the days rolled by and eventually getting her to warm up to you. You even managed to invite her out with you, giving her a tour around the town and slowly getting to know her better.

- Over time, you grow to like her more and more until you realize that you don’t just want to be her friend. It’s then that you have a real predicament on your hands, and a decision to make: try to ignore your feelings and hope they go away or confront them and hope for the best.

- It’s a few months into your friendship that you decide to confess your true feelings for her. Unbeknownst to you, she was planning on doing the same.

- You were sitting in the towns graveyard with her, a place you’d been to several times mainly because you knew she loved it. It seemed like the perfect place to tell her how you felt so you took a deep breath and stumbled through your confession. And... she burst out laughing.

- Yeah, so not a good sign. You were completely embarrassed and was wondering whether you could play it off like you were joking. Deciding that you couldn’t, you went to stand up and leave before she lunged forward, grabbing your hand quickly and exclaiming “no, no” as she tried to stop her laughter.

“I’m sorry, really. It’s just that, all day I’ve been wondering how I was gonna tell you that I liked you and, well, here we are.” She smiled, and ushered you to sit back down.

- The two of you had your first date in one of the towns many fields. You brought a basket full of stuff and sat out there for hours, having a picnic and overall just hanging out. She’s got about a dozen photos of the day.

- You had your first kiss at least a week after you first got together. Neither of you were brave enough to just go for it so it took you a while to actually do it.

- When you did, it was after the two of you snuck out together and were taking a late night walk through the town. You were sat on an old wooden fence, the moonlight shining above you as you talked. That was when you turned to look at each other and just began to lean in, inching closer and closer until your lips met.

- And thus began your strange and beautiful relationship.

- The two of you are most likely bambi lesbians; your relationship is fairly innocent and things never really get too hot or heavy.

- It’s the 80s and you sort of live in a small town so you try to keep your relationship on the down low. Whenever you’re out in public, you try to just act like friends, never doin anything exclusively romantic in nature.

- Holding hands, locking arms, hugging, sitting very close to each other; you can get away with a lot since you’re young girls but you try not to push your luck.

- Most of your dates take place where there isnt a lot of; if any, people. She prefers keeping to herself so you wind up just hanging out at her place or places no one really goes, like the graveyard or forgotten roads.

- Pecks on the lips and cheeks.

- Sweet and chaste kisses.

- Laying your head in her lap while you sit and talk. Occasionally, she’ll run her fingers through or just play with your hair, looking down at you with a soft smile.

- She’s got soooo many photos of you. She likes to jokingly call you her muse, taking random snapshots while you’re doing something or asking you to pose for her.

- Horror movie marathons. The two of you have stayed up late countless times, eyes wide and glued to her tv screen as you shovel popcorn into your mouths.

- Riding your bikes together after school. Sometimes you’ll just ride around town, stopping at some random place you’ve never been to and going exploring together.

- Walks through and picnics in the graveyard. It’s one of her favorite places to visit except when its close to the anniversary of her mothers death.

- Letting her talk to you about her mother and rant about Delia and her dad.

- Meeting the Maitland's and her eccentric parents. They all love you and have a feeling that you aren’t “just friends”, not that it really matters to them anyways. Delia is particularly happy with the idea of you two being together, Lesbianism is so avant-garde.

- Morbid conversations. Want to have an hour long conversation about death? Well, you’ve come to the right girl!

- You’ll never have to worry about getting rid of spiders again for the rest of your life. She’ll just scoop them up in her hand and gently place them outside while you trail hesitantly behind her.

- Dancing together.

- Surprisingly enough, she’s quite fond of being bridal carried or getting piggyback rides.

- Getting to see all of her rare smiles and giggles, most of the time they’re reserved pretty much exclusively for you.

- She doesn’t really use nicknames/pet names all that much but occasionally she’ll call you the name of a character from a movie or show when you say or do something that reminds her of them.

- Collecting and pressing flowers with her. You help her swap out and rearrange the ones on her wall every few months.

- She has a bit of a dramatic streak so occasionally you’ll just have to snap her out of it, either by cheering her up or helping to rationalize a situation.

- She loves rainy days. She likes to invite you over, sit up in her room and just hang out with you while the skies are a dreary gray. She finds the atmosphere very beautiful.

- Her room is perfect for afternoon naps. The two of you head over to her house after school, lock her bedroom door and pull the curtains down before snuggling under her covers and catching a few zzz’s.

- She’ll never admit it out loud but she actually really likes cuddling. You tend to cuddle hugging each other, taking turns having your heads resting against each other’s chests.

- She loves eating dinner or lunch at your house. Delia prepares the weirdest foods for everyone so being able to eat something like a normal turkey sandwich or bowl of soup is a nice change.

- Going to antique and thrift shops. If it looks haunted, she’ll want to buy it.

- Holidays!! She gets all festive around them; especially Halloween, always wanting to decorate and do the usual seasonal activities.

- Letting her style your hair. She finds it really fun and you certainly don’t mind looking a bit unusual.

- Gothic tea parties. Join her on her wooden floor, surrounded by black teddy bears and creepy dolls, eating little sandwiches and drinking tea.

- She likes to write you little poetic letters. Some are purely romantic while others are dreadfully depressing but you love them all the same.

- It’s pretty easy to find her presents; if it’s ugly then she’ll love it.

- Doing little crafts together. She likes artistic stuff, as long as it isn’t weirdly abstract like delias art.

- She tends to stick to compliments about the work that you do or the things you choose to wear. She prefers making you feel good about the stuff that you make not the things you were born with.

- Many people don’t seem to realize it but she’s got a pretty good sense of humor. That, paired with the shenanigans you get yourselves into, ensures that the two of you have a good time together!

- Getting dragged into supernatural and paranormal adventures. If it was her choice, she would probably leave you out of it, but alas, it isn’t.

- Beetlejuice is certainly an interesting individual to meet. Lydia is not fond of him calling you babe though, even if he calls everyone babe.

- She’s never really gets all that jealous. She reasons that you’re with her and if you’re with her, then you most likely like weird people, which you don’t find all that often where you live.

- She’s certainly been through some stuff, especially after moving to town so she’s fairly protective of you. Now that she knows the dead can linger on, she tries to look after you even more.

- She’s somewhat sensitive so she tends to take things to heart even when they’re misunderstandings.

- You dont fight a whole lot but when you do, your arguments wind up turning into catty yelling fights. One of you will usually storm out, throwing a “fine” or something of the sort out before you go.

- The two of you will give each other the silent treatment for a while but you’ll most likely be miserable the entire time. She’ll cave a little sooner than you will, finding you at school somewhere or being let in by your mom and just showing up at your bedroom door shyly. You both usually have a hard time staying mad at each other, once either of you apologize.

- She gives you a “love you” everytime you say goodbye. It’s pretty much routine by now.

- She doesn’t realize it for a while but ever since she met you, she hasn’t thought about dying. In fact, now that she has you, she can’t even bear to imagine it. She wouldn’t want to leave you behind, she loves you.

- Her one goal in life is to be the woman that historians say “lived with her lifelong best friend, never marrying or having children but writing letters to each other about loving each other fiercely”.

#Lydia deetz imagine #Lydia deetz headcanons #Lydia deetz headcanon #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #Beetlejuice imagine #Beetlejuice headcanons #Beetlejuice headcanon

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 3 years

Text

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Some explicitness towards the end

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 11/16 (all chapters)

Hizashi was used to staying awake long into the morning. He was also used to sharing his bed with one night stands.

For some reason, though, something felt different about it when it was you.

He had been tired from sex and relaxed from the bathtub, yet when he laid beside you he couldn’t look away, much less sleep. After your long soak together, he had gotten you an oversized shirt to wear from his wardrobe and stroked your hair until you fell asleep.

Even then, wearing nothing but a shirt with his face on, you still reminded him of a kitten.

He considered it as you took the train back to your place, watching your reflection in the windows. Every so often you stifled yawns and scratched your eyes, the steady rhythm of the train carriage lulling you into sleep. You rested your head on his shoulder without meaning to, only to jump start awake whenever the train came to a stop.

You looked so innocent while you slept and he couldn’t believe he had slept with you only a matter of hours before this. It was possibly the furthest thing from his mind when he left the restaurant to find you, let alone when he got dressed to go out.

He wanted to discuss it with you while it was still fresh in your minds. It had been a long day for everyone and he didn’t doubt that the next one would be longer, but what had happened between you was too important to leave buried between the sheets.

He reached out for your arm as you got to your stop, oddly concerned that you would fall asleep on your feet. You blushed at the contact though didn’t shrug him off, cheeks still peppered with colour as you unlocked your front door.

Hizashi had never been to your apartment before and didn’t know what to expect, his curiosity on the matter giving him a new lease of life.

“I’ll make some tea,” you said, pointing out a dinner table and couch, “make yourself at home.”

Hizashi didn’t sit down. Instead, while you pottered around in the kitchen, he took the chance to look around, leaning over to examine the photographs on your walls and bookshelves.

“Is this you?” he asked, picking up a particular frame.

“Oh,” you glanced across. “Yes, haha. It was taken a long time ago, though!”

It was a photograph of a younger looking you at your high school graduation, standing with your mother, father and older brother. Hizashi hadn’t given much thought to what your family might be like, only that the photograph in his hand didn’t match the image in his mind. Your father was tall and broad shouldered, with cold, searching eyes. Your mother was slight and had clearly been beautiful in her youth, though she glared out at the camera as if whoever took the photograph had gravely insulted her. Your brother was the perfect combination of them both, handsome and tall, with a sharp jawline and serious expression. He had on a perfectly tailored suit and held his arms behind his back, rigidly standing up straight as if someone had given him a forceful boot to the rear seconds before taking the photo.

There was no warmth in any of them, not even you. You stood as rigidly as they did, positioned between your mother and father like a hostage. Hizashi glanced back at the person rummaging through the cupboards for cups and then at the photograph, trying and failing to match up the girl in the picture to the one he knew.

“Now then,” you said, resting a tea tray on your kitchen table and pouring two cups, “about...earlier..”

He set down the photograph and joined you at the table, accepting the cup you held out to him.

“I...ummm...Where would you like to go from here?”

He scratched his moustache out of habit, searching his brain for the right words. An hour or so ago, he wouldn’t have been so sure of his answer, but now that the dust had settled only one outcome made sense.

“Nowhere.”

He didn’t miss the flash of panic in your eyes, a moment of self doubt that you might have done something wrong, and reached out to touch your hand across the table.

“Don’t think too much about it,” he said. “It’s just...you said you forgot who you were outside of your old relationship, right?”

You nodded.

“It wouldn’t be right for me to push you into one now,” he said. “I want you at nothing less than 100%. 25% (Name) is a hottie. 100% (Name)...”

He sucked in a deep breath and reached out his hands, framing your face in his fingers.

“...100% (Name) should have a warning label,” he said. “And, hey, after that performance? I’d say you’re well on your way to 30%.”

You spat out your tea at that.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said. “All I get is 5% ? How many guys do I have to sleep with to get to 100?”

“They don’t have to be different guys,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Could be the same guy over and over .”

“You’re terrible.”

“You’re cute.”

“You...are giving me really mixed signals right now.”

He smirked and took a sip of tea, silently acknowledging that you had a point.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “well...in a few hours...I won’t mention it again unless you do.”

“Like... a reset?”

You said it as if it had significance, though he didn’t know why.

“Yes, yes,” he said, “exactly like a reset!”

You laughed bitterly and for a moment he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. It lasted only a moment, though, and you set down your cup with a smile.

“A reset sounds good,” you said, though the smile didn’t quite meet your eyes.

~~~~

He stayed a while longer, engaging in small talk as he finished off his tea.

He reached into his pockets as he got to his feet, dragging out his hair band and tidying up his bun. It was early, sure, but if Nemuri was right and the media really were on high alert, the last thing he wanted was photos of him looking so tired in mass circulation.

He stretched out the band, only to curse as it snapped.

“Hey, (Name),” he said. “Do you have any hair ties?”

You poked your head around the kitchen door, midway through running the tap.

“Uhhh...sure...I usually keep some in my bedroom cupboard,” you said. “Help yourself, it’s just through there.”

“Thank you,” he said, following your directions into the bedroom and realising the flaw in your instructions within seconds. You had mentioned them being in your bedroom cupboard, though hadn’t specified which one.

He opened the one nearest your bed, then the one nearest your window, all to no avail.

Maybe he had misheard you?

He opened your wardrobe door, going over your directions and struggling to think of a single misunderstanding.

“(Name),” he called out, “wh------”

He fell silent, noticing a familiar flash of colour.

No. No, surely not…

He pulled out the dress, stomach falling through the floor.

It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake.

“Having fun?” you asked, poking your head through the door.

“This dress,” he said, “it’s l-lovely. You have excellent taste.”

“You think so? I was thinking of getting rid of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, stroking the fabric with a fond expression. “I hooked up with a guy the only time I ever wore it and I can’t look at it now without thinking of him.”

He had to be wrong. He had to be.

He thought back to your first day, the conversation you had had in the izakaya.

I was seeing someone. We were together for years, actually, but we broke up a little over six months ago.

His mouth ran dry as he remembered the conversation he had had with the bartender at Ego .

She was here about six months ago. Had drinks with Eraser. I was hoping you’d remember her.

It had to be a coincidence. There were hundreds of single women in Musutafu, any of whom could have bought the same dress.

“Oh, did...did you go anywhere nice?”

“My friends dragged me along to a nightclub in town,” you said, blushing luridly. “ Ego .”

You looked up into his face the moment you said it, suddenly looking more than a little bit concerned.

“Are you okay? You’ve gone really pale.”

You reached up to touch a hand to his forehead and he flinched without meaning to.

It was the hand Shouta had reached for; one that had almost certainly explored his body.

“I...I’m fine,” he stammered, thrusting the dress back towards you. “It’s a nice dress, you should keep it! Okay, then, bye!”

He rushed out of your bedroom and through the front door before you could say another word, forgetting all about his broken hair tie and even the incident at Hosu. He caught the train on autopilot, watching and rewatching the video on his phone of Shouta and the woman from Ego . Now that he knew it was you, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed earlier. Your posture, the way the dress clung to your body...there was no one else it could have been.

He remembered your moans of pleasure and how good it had felt to be inside you, unable to distract himself from his own morbid curiosity. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, dozens of scenarios coming to mind and all of them involving you and Shouta naked.

He imagined Shouta’s lips on yours; your sigh of pleasure as you took his cock.

He switched off the video and loaded music instead, trying to drown out the niggling thought at the back of his mind.

He was jealous, though had no idea which of you he envied more.

#bnha #aizawa x reader #present mic x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #habanero

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

Note

Hi, it's me again with my second and final letter for the Wolfman/Lucjusz (Darkwood). A continuation or reply of my first letter. 20 yrs. old, romantic relationship.

I suppose I can’t blame you for not liking any of my suggestions for nicknames, kochanie. But that wouldn’t stop me from thinking of new ones, hehe. What can I say, I can’t help but tease you sometimes, but it’s good to know you always warn or stop me whenever I get too far; I know how bad your bite can get Lucjusz, but then again, we wouldn’t be together if you could have easily scared me off.

That and I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. And I trust that my wits and charms would (or might) be enough to alleviate any of your anger or annoyance. Don’t worry, if you wish for my teasing to stop, then I’ll stop.

On another note, the sappy romantic in me couldn’t help but seep out of my heart at times. I know, I’m a hopeless romantic and all. I thought I had already buried that part of me a long time ago, but alas, there seems to be no getting rid of this part of me any time soon. Or ever.

Sorry to bring up bad memories of your time back when you were still in Darkwood, my morbid curiosity sometimes gets the better of me. Thanks for your concern about my studies, I’m hanging in there, and don’t worry, there’s no need to eat any of my classmates or professors (not yet anyways, hehe).

Maybe once you’re done with work, and after you get back, we can go out for some coffee or whatever while exchanging stories of random topics that come to mind. I find talking with you in person more fun and livelier, to be honest.

I’m also wondering what you would think of adopting some puppies with me.

See you soon (and be careful out there),

Faith~

(Attached to the letter are photos of cute puppies, with each one having a potential name written on the back)

Thanks so much for holding this event Elsie! Had a lot of fun with it and I hope you’re doing well!

[Disclaimer: Letters To Those You Hold Dear (Valentine's Edition) is a special event I'm holding from February 13th - February 23rd 11:59 PM. Find the guidelines HERE so you can send a letter or two to those you hold dear <3.]

[AN: Bit of a TW on this one, Lucjusz gets weird, and he in himself is a warning.]

Привет Faith,

You really, really test my patience, króliczku, and what a shame that, as I consider myself a more than patient man. You should be careful, mind your manners, and your step. I mean every word I write and say when you need to watch yourself and do not get too comfortable with me. You keep pressing me and well...

I am not above savoring your flesh like I did my Pretty Lady. She is a part of me now, did you know that? I ate the majority of her body in a singular evening all so I would never be able to lose her again, and now she is a part of me. Is that what you want for us too? I would never be able to lose you that way. Just one bite on your neck is all it would take. I can practically hear the blood rushing through your jugular. Feel it running down my tongue. I am almost hungry at the thought.

I am an animal, a predator, a wolf, Faith. You must never forget that.

I wonder deeply what kind of starry eyed gaze you hold now. If that gaze will ever leave your eyes. Time and time again you write and speak to me as if I am some love sick puppy, but that is far, far, far from the truth. I do not know my human age, not anymore. The woods have an odd way of blurring the months to years in the blink of an eye. Whatever I was before I became the beast I am today is lost to the woods saying so. We all bend to being's will eventually. I am almost disappointed you do not require my assistance with your professors. The offer still stands, both out of concern for you and I like easy meals.

As for coffee, that is something I can willingly agree on. Alcohol can only do so much. Perhaps I will be seeing you soon. Depends on how trading goes. Some people want coke, others want guns, I am almost certain someone asked for university text books because they are much too much. It is criminal what they have students paying to only use once, maybe twice, in a semester. If that is the case with you, I will gladly show you... something... to get around that cost.

Do not get too excited on the idea of adopting some puppies. You move fast, I do not. The very fact I let you into my life such as this is a miracle, and one I was not expecting. You are in a position no one has ever been in ever before. Do not squander it by rushing. Slower, much slower.

I will be seeing you.

Mind your manners while you wait.

- L.

#lucjusz in himself is a warning #tw #darkwood wolfman x reader #darkwood wolfman headcanon #letters to those you hold dear

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Chase the Shadows Away (Taywhora) - Juno

Summary: It’s April 2020, the UK is in lockdown, and Tayce gets a hand-delivered letter from her neighbour Aurora which may change her life.

A/N: So this is set during lockdown and does mention covid, so please bear this in mind when reading if this will be a worry, but otherwise I hope you enjoy. CWs in place for alcohol, mental health mentions, and non-adherence to lockdown rules at one point.

Otherwise it’s quite fluffy with some h/c. I hope you enjoy.

The first letter Tayce got was in early April.

She hadn’t had much post since the whole country had been locked down, no one allowed to move outside their front doors for more than once a day for threat of fines and penalties and even getting sick. Most of the letters she was getting this week had been birthday cards for her absent housemate. She’d put the various brightly-coloured cards and Amazon boxes in a pile outside Viv’s bedroom door, and gave the pile the middle finger every time she walked past it.

But today there was a plain, white envelope, with “Hi” written on it in glittery red pen, and when Tayce opened it, she found a piece of notebook paper that had been folded at least four times, and Tayce nearly threw it across the room with the effort it was taking to open.

This had better be worth it.

When she got it unfolded, she read the three lines in the same glitter pen, then again, and once more just in case.

‘Hi, I’m Aurora. I’m on my own in my flat 7D because my housemate moved home because of lockdown, and you seem to be alone too. Want to write to each other? X’

And Tayce couldn’t hold back the rush of emotion, as much as she tried - but she was alone, and she took comfort knowing only these four walls would see tears stream down her face.

——

Tayce was on her own in the flat.

In the day time she opened her work laptop, thanking god she was allowed to work from home; throwing a hoodie over her pyjama top just in time for the 9am meeting where her boss grinned at everyone and told them all to keep swimming and chin up and whatever other self-indulgent bullshit she had read in her How To Motivate Your Teammanual in the chapter about Managing Pandemics.

Tayce was still surprised at how much bullshit her workmates seemed to swallow; all of them with the same broad smiles and straightened hair and shaved chins and eyeliner, for fuck’s sake - but Tayce copied them, knowing that not painting her own smile and her own eyebrows on was damning herself for the inevitable call and the simpering It’s Good To Talk conversation, followed by u k hun xx to be flashing repeatedly in the work WhatsApp group from all the team.

In the evenings, the only noise was the clink of the glass bottle against the wine glass. One glass was enough to make her a little sleepy, two was enough to make her dance, and three was enough to make her post something cryptic on her insta story and see if anyone DMed her.

Sometimes they did.

Joe liked to crack a few morbid jokes about how it was the apocalypse and we were all going to be dead by 2021, which didn’t help Tayce in the slightest. Ginny would message “You alright, bab?” at three in the morning, but never reply to any other message. Tia would send Tayce a picture of the banana bread she’d baked as if that would cheer Tayce up.

And Cherry sent her a message one time, telling her to look after her mental health, and then Tayce felt bad because Cherry worked for the NHS and only seemed to work and sleep right now, her insta photos showing her looking more and more gaunt, with #ClapForHeroes and #ProtectTheNHS appearing at the bottom of all her posts.

Nothing curbed the gaping black hole in Tayce’s chest, sucking everything that was good from her body and leaving her a shell.

Until the letter arrived.

——

Two days after she’d posted her own letter back to 7D, another letter arrived, in the same glittery red pen, this time addressed to her, with Tayce written on the front of the envelope this time.

‘Hi Tayce (sp?) nice to meet you, don’t worry I don’t know what to say either! Where in Wales are you from? I’m from Nottingham but I came to London for uni and didn’t leave! Are you still working rn? I got furloughed which is a bit shit. And my housemate is staying with her boyfriend so she can’t move back. Have you been clapping for the NHS? Someone on my floor was banging a pan or something!! Hope your ok? WB Aurora xx’

“I’m making a new friend,” Tayce had said to her mum on the phone later that night.

“In lockdown?”

“She’s delivering me letters.”

“How?”

“By hand, mum.” Tayce forced a laugh. “You know. Through the letterbox like a normal letter.”

“I hope you’re washing your hands before and after you open them, are you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tayce grimaced as she said it.

“Good. Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

One of these days, Tayce thought as she disconnected the call, she might be able to say it without her voice breaking.

——

By mid-April, a full month since lockdown had started and two weeks after the first letters between them, Aurora had given Tayce her instagram handle, and Tayce had given hers in return. Tayce found herself spending all of her Good Friday skimming down the page on moreauroramore, looking through all of her new pen pal’s photos and trying desperately not to look like an idiot by accidentally double-tapping any that were obviously over a year old.

Tayce had pictured Aurora in her mind as being over-excitable, short, with dark hair and lots of dusty pinks and baby blues and other pastel colours as her aesthetic, maybe with pot plants and cat pictures and cutesy little slogans surrounded by hearts. Instead she’d found a smolderingly attractive woman with a ridiculously versatile and sophisticated sense of fashion; one photo in a rococo-inspired summer dress, and the next in a cerulean blazer, matching trousers, and stilettos. Her hair was platinum-blonde, but it was hard to tell her eye colour as she seemed to own a never-ending plethora of colour contacts; and the eyebrow ring in the early pictures was replaced by a silver septum ring in later ones.

Her own insta looked quite plain in comparison, Tayce thought to herself. The landscapes she liked to post were interesting to her but probably not to the magnificent person on Aurora’s insta. The last picture Tayce had taken was of herself with her brother and niece in red rugby shirts just before the Six Nations was on; the last selfie before the last time she’d gone home which was … only February, she realised.

February felt like years ago.

When Tayce had awoken the next morning, she was greeted by the doorbell, and an Amazon driver sprinting away the moment she opened the door. A letter was on the doormat, in the familiar red glittery pen, and a single chocolate Easter egg.

‘Happy Easter Tayce. Don’t know if you celebrate but lol thought you would like some chocolate anyway! Don’t eat it all at once. Aurora xx’

It made Tayce’s gut wrench with guilt that she hadn’t thought to get Aurora one.

But it made Tayce even more pained, once she had clicked onto her instagram, to see that moreauroramore had liked all thirteen of the pictures she’d posted this year.

——

The zoom call at the end of April with the others from her uni group, saw not just Cherry missing, but also Ellie and Veronica.

“Ellie’s moving this week,” Lawrence nodded at the screen, “but that was all she’d tell me. She didn’t say where. Or if she’s staying in Dundee or anything. I just know she’s still trying to get her internet set up and I think she’s a bit stuck.”

“What about Vee?” Ginny asked in a low voice.

They all recognised the somber tone. They’d all taken it up. A change in their voices that all of them recognised in a kind of collective telepathic awareness. A hush in the calls, as if someone were dying, or had just died. Whenever anyone was missing, it was always the same worry circling all of their minds: what if it’s covid what if it’s covid what if it’s -

Tia was shaking her head. “It’s not covid,” she said, reading the minds of everyone through the internet, but her voice was still solemn as she continued. “I spoke to her mum. She’s -“

“Say depressed, Tia, it’s fine.” Bimini spoke gently, but not all of them were as open as Bimini was. Especially when it came to Veronica, who was a brick wall when it came to showing what she was feeling.

“She’s - not in a good place.”

“Say mental health,” Bimini said, shaking their head. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna make her feel any better, Bim.” Tia rolled her eyes.

“We’re all feeling this,” Pip nodded. “We all need to talk to each other.”

“Veronica won’t. Not yet. We just need to be there for her when she does. Anyway, who’s done anything interesting? Anyone else been trying banana bread? Everyone managed to find bogroll from somewhere now? No one is having the same problem that Joe had when she -“

“I don’t think we need to go any further with that one, love,” Joe muttered.

“I’ve made a pen friend.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence at Tayce’s sentence, mouths open like fish at feeding time.

“A pen friend? What is this, 1986?”

“Shut up, Ginny. I think that’s kind of cute, actually,” Tia mused, tilting her head to one side.

Tayce nodded. “Something a bit different. She lives in my block of flats. Two floors up from me. Been nice, to talk to someone, ever since Viv buggered off to her boyfriend’s house. Seriously, as soon as Boris announced lockdown she was jumping in her car and off to Liverpool.”

“You said she was a bit flaky,” Tia said sympathetically. “What’s your new pen pal’s name?”

“Aurora.”

“A-what?” Ginny raised their eyebrows. “Can we just call her Rory?”

“No.”

“We should get her on a call with us when Veronica’s back. Ronni and Rory, sounds like Ant and Dec will have some stiff competition when they get wind of that.”

“Ginny -“ Tia began, but Tayce was trying to hold back a chuckle.

——

‘Someone is talking about a street party on the 8th of May. Are you gonna go? I was gonna stay indoors but if you’re gonna go outside i will too xx’

Tayce knew she shouldn’t be thinking of meeting strangers outside her flat while the pandemic was ongoing, but she hadn’t seen a familiar human since March other than on a zoom call screen.

‘Hi Aurora, yeah i will go outside for a little bit. Look forward to meeting you properly instead of over letters! Tayce’

And Tayce finally stopped hesitating, adding two kisses on the end for the first time.

The weather was meant to be lush for a May bank holiday, as Tayce knew because her colleagues wouldn’t shut up about it. Almost eight weeks of lockdown were beginning to show the cracks in all their faces - no more eyeliner, and even Linda in Accounts had stopped posting boomerang videos of her kids doing Joe Wicks workouts while she waved her arms behind them.

So Tayce was over the moon when Friday rolled around and she could slam the Dismiss button on her phone alarm, turn over and sleep in until noon. Once she woke up though, she sat up with a jolt in her bed and realised she’d have to get ready; somehow it was important that she looked right today.

It was a power play, she knew it. An armour. But there was just something about clothes that made her mood turn in an instant. Her favourite leather jacket was probably a bit too heavy for the warm sunshine - warm sunshine? In May? - so she opted for the black denim instead and a skirt that hugged her slender figure, leaving her hair loose and wishing she’d gone for a trim before the lockdown. Maybe she should take her scissors to it?

She held the only scissors she had to hand - a pair of craft scissors - and wondered what her hairdresser mum would say if she knew that her daughter had taken non-styling scissors to the 30-inches of hair that she had.

No - better not. Her mum could give her a go over once the lockdown period had ended.

Someone was playing tunes on a speaker already when Tayce came down the stairs, dragging the garden chair Viv had left behind and brushing the digestive crumbs off it. One of the neighbours she recognised from her floor handed her an ice-cold can of Fosters which she sipped, not really enjoying the taste but relishing the freedom of it all. She knew to keep two metres from everyone, and she knew Cherry would absolutely murder her if she disobeyed that rule.

As soon as Aurora came into view from the block of flats, Tayce knew that keeping to the two metre rule would prove a little harder than she had first thought.

Aurora’s insta pictures showed a fashion model trapped in a little box on a screen, striving to get out - but in the flesh, she looked as if she had just rolled out of the living room after a Tiger King marathon. The grey jogging bottoms paired with the crop top and zip-up hoodie were probably too warm for today - 23 degrees, the radio kept repeating - but she made them look so effortless and stylish that Tayce suddenly wanted to buy some. Her platinum hair was piled in a messy bun, dark brown roots showing but the lackadaisical nature made it seem like Aurora meant it that way.

On her insta page, Aurora was way out of Tayce’s league; but here in life, she seemed a lot more accessible, a lot calmer, a lot more real.

Maybe it’s armour for her too. All this perfection in the photos. God. Why did I wear this?

She dropped her own deck chair down a reasonable distance from Tayce, taking another can of Fosters from the same neighbour and cracking it open. She took a swig, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and waved.

“Hi, Tayce. Here we are, then!”

“Yeah,” was the only thing Tayce could think of in response. Really cool. Very clever.

But Aurora was talking animatedly about how much she’d missed the sun, as she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and leaned back against the deck chair, claiming “Tesco are having them on sale - two for £12, so I got two - what else am I gonna do on furlough other than sunbathe!”

And the more the Fosters flowed - their neighbour’s 24-pack almost completely gone before 5pm, he seemingly wanting to give a can to the whole block - the more Aurora opened up her life history to Tayce.

How much she wished she was still in Worksop and could go on the long walks into the forest. How she’d give anything to hug her mum, a care-worker, and how she FaceTimed her shielding grandad every Sunday at 6.30 just after he finished his tea.

But most of all, how lonely it was every single night being alone in a flat in a huge city. Aurora dabbed her watery eyes with her thumbs as she described how much she loved everything that London had to offer when it was full of people, not dead to the world like it was now - and in this hollow place that lockdown was, she’d discovered that a city - any city, however exciting - was just a built-up area if you had no one to share it with.

Tayce hadn’t expected to cry. She’d cried maybe once or twice this whole time in lockdown, still too numb to have taken everything in that was happening. But the moment she’d opened her mouth, suddenly the Fosters had started talking for her too, and she was spilling out her worries onto the pavement below them as Aurora rubbed her back.

How her mum was furloughed from the hairdresser and her dad was always out in the lorry up and down the country. Her brother and sister-in-law, and her niece, were all still fine in Newport, but Tayce had missed her niece’s birthday, having to settle for blowing her a kiss down FaceTime and promising her through gritted teeth and cold fear that she’d give her the biggest cwtch ever as soon as this was over.

But now Tayce was in tears again, this time on Aurora’s shoulder, releasing her sorrows onto this woman who she had only exchanged written words with; now seeing her true soul laid bare in emotions that just refused to stop once she started. Aurora’s gentle hands ghosted through her hair, but then gripped Tayce tightly to her chest, planting a long, tender kiss on her hairline.

How had this happened? How had social distancing become this? Two people, thinking they were islands, clinging to one another for dear life?

Tayce held her for too long.

Aurora’s hands froze as she realised what she had done at the same moment Tayce had.

Cherry is gonna kill me.

Aurora walked with Tayce back to her flat as the sun was setting. It was nine in the evening, the heat finally starting to break, and both of them were aching and tired, spent from their tears. Aurora gave Tayce’s hand a gentle squeeze but said nothing else, her eyes red underneath her sunglasses, and Tayce had felt herself harden once again, turning the key in the door and closing the outside world back to where it should be.

——

After two weeks had passed, both of them not developing any symptoms after their contact, Tayce had an idea.

She put the letter through the letterbox in 7D at midday when she broke for lunch, and had a reply by half past one, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce, I’d love to form a support bubble with you. I thought you would have one already thats why i didn’t ask! Want to put on a film tonight and just chill? Bubble bud? Aurora xx’

So Tayce saw inside Aurora’s flat for the first time that same evening. After work, she practically sprinted up the stairs, thankful to get away from more of u k hun xx and her still-simpering colleagues.

It was very clean, as if it had only just been cleaned that day - freshly-washed surfaces, hoovered carpets, a sparkling bathroom - and Tayce marvelled at how tidy and orderly things were, a stark contrast from her own living space which had evolved into a nest of mess by now. Aurora’s living room and kitchen space were one area, with a mismatched sofa and chair facing the tv screen, hooking up a PS4 - Tayce hadn’t counted Aurora as a Dishonoured player either. The wall opposite the window was filled with small pictures of past fashion models - Kate Moss, Agyness Deyn, Cara Delevigne - all with matte black frames which had obviously been painted in lockdown, as one was on the coffee table drying over a copy of Hello magazine.

“My housemate’s not coming back, I can see it happening now,” Aurora shrugged, “so why not make the house the way I like it while I look for someone else to live with?”

Aurora poured Tayce a huge glass of wine, and that was followed by another; while she topped up her own glass liberally and kept shifting on the sofa as if trying to get comfortable. Tayce, for her part, took the chair instead, while Aurora tapped on the PlayStation controller to try to get Netflix up. The more she drank, the more cumbersome the controller seemed to become in her hands, until Tayce leaned over and took it away from her, Aurora’s fingers lingering a little too long on it before relinquishing.

When Aurora got up, meaning to pour them both a fourth glass of wine, she slipped on something and tumbled into Tayce’s lap in the chair, tittering something that sounded like “god I’m clumsy” through the giggles that came from her, unable to stop. Tayce slapped her on the back as she started coughing, but as that died down, Aurora straightened up, picking up Tayce’s hand in hers and drawing her up and away to join her on the sofa.

Lockdown had been so fucking lonely.

Aurora’s hand in hers was all Tayce needed to dissolve every wall she was still rebuilding from May Bank Holiday.

Aurora’s eyes were on her, she knew; through her peripheral vision as she tried desperately to cling to her focus on whatever episode of Tiger King this was.

When Tayce finally met her gaze, she averted it, turning her face to the window opposite them. Almost … playfully.

So Tayce looked back at the TV screen, but Aurora’s hand squeezed at hers, thumb in her palm pressing right in the centre, the pressure somehow travelling all the way to her gut. Tayce turned back to her, and this time Aurora did not look away.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Aurora looked at her through her eyelashes, lips parted in a smirk, curiously searching Tayce with her gaze as if wondering what her next move would be.

Tayce blinked incredulously. “Me? Like this? What do you mean, I’m gorgeous? Have you seen yourself?”

“And that accent, oh my days -“

“Go to Newport, we all sound like this.”

But the wine was hitting hard now and oh god lockdown is so fucking lonely and Tayce’s feet on the floor suddenly felt unsteady and Aurora was so fucking close to her on the sofa -

——

Once the hangover was gone, the memory of rest of the night felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Tayce wasn’t entirely sure when she’d gone back to her flat, but she had, long before night had fully fallen and long after she was sure the burgeoning friendship she was finally making with someone lay in tatters two floors up from her.

The wine had washed away the strength she’d had, leaving her raw and vulnerable, and all the affection that had been growing since Aurora had first held her bubbled and burst into life. And Aurora must have felt the same magnetic pull, drawing them together across the sofa, nail marks still present in Tayce’s back that she could see in the mirror, a bruise forming on Tayce’s collarbone as Aurora had dipped a little lower.

It had been Tayce who had halted it - not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she couldn’t decipher how much of this was affection and how much of this was just two lonely people, starved of company, starved of normality, seeking and clinging to it in any form.

And now it was the following day, and Tayce still didn’t know.

The group call at the end of the day was interesting. She stretched over the back of the sofa in her living room to grab her water, and that must have been enough to flash a sliver of skin.

“What’s that?” Lawrence asked loudly, prompting everyone else to go quiet. “Tayce? What’s that on your chest, hmm?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re not wearing your glasses, Ginny, you can’t see shit. What’s that on your chest? Why d’you have a bruise there?”

“Hi!” Ellie’s voice as she joined the call unexpectedly saved Tayce any further embarrassment; everyone shrieked when she came on, having missed the last two zoom calls following her move. “Thank God my internet is working now, I’ve missed all your faces!”

Tayce silently thanked Ellie’s timing and contentedly listened to the rest of them as they chatted about everything and nothing that they’d all missed. All of them were there; even Cherry showed up about twenty minutes in to wave at them and blow them kisses, her face even more pallid than before; before ducking back out to go to bed.

Only Veronica was still missing.

“She’s been messaging me,” Tia explained, “and she said she’s feeling a bit better, but since she got furloughed, she’s feeling like there’s no point getting out of bed or getting ready because there’s nowhere to go.”

“Send her some love,” Tayce said, but Tia snorted.

“You send her it! She’s gonna feel better if she knows we all miss her.”

It was true though, Tayce realised after they all disconnected. They all seemed to be drifting apart, no more energy to continue with these online gatherings, even though there were so many virtual meetup groups and apps that there almost seemed to be no excuse now.

She looked back through her phone messages. She hadn’t messaged Veronica since early April, taking her silence as a sign that she wanted to be left alone; but what if it wasn’t? Veronica was a closed fist, everyone knew that. And Tayce’s brother? Again, early April, and a quick call the week after for her niece’s birthday.

Lockdown, and self-isolation, seemed to be one and the same.

So Tayce spent the rest of the afternoon sending messages to everyone she had neglected since then. Maybe they would reply, and maybe they wouldn’t - but there was no harm in reaching out, no negative consequences.

By the end of the day, she was fielding messages back and forth from everyone she thought she’d lost through lockdown, the grey cloud over her head starting to lift, the fuzzy feeling disappearing and clarity settling in. She felt light, lighter than she had in weeks; and warm as the summery days they were getting in this late-May spring.

Towards the end of the day, she got a message back from Veronica at last.

Veronica: I’m doing ok. I got up and went for a walk today just to the park and back. It’s really nice although my hay fever sucks. Thanks for checking in on me i appreciate it x Veronica: Oh also Tia said you had a hickey on the group call haha tell me what her name is x

Tayce was surprised to realise she was grinning at the phone as she read Veronica’s message, her fingers stroking the mark on her collarbone as if to savour the vivid image that it sparked in her head.

——

It was three days after their drunken kiss on the sofa that Tayce had another letter through the door. The same red glittery pen, the same scrawl, but the writing a little smaller as if Aurora wanted to diminish herself.

‘Hi Tayce. I’m really sorry if i came on too strong this week. Can we go back to friends? Want to hang out tonight, bubble bud? Aurora xx’

Tayce swallowed down the part of her that immediately rose up and cried that she … didn’t want to just be friends.

Then it hit her.

God. I only met this girl properly this month. What’s wrong with me?

But she replied and immediately started clearing the house.

She put the pile of Viv’s birthday cards and presents from the hallway floor into a cupboard under the sink, giving it the middle finger again; put the six-weeks worth of laundry on to wash; cleaned all the dishes; and dragged the hoover out of the tiny airing cupboard and got to work on the carpets. The hard floors she swept, and carried the bin bags out to the communal bins, all before midday.

“Who needs Joe Wicks workouts?” She muttered to herself, panting, as she tugged some marigolds over her hands to sort out the rest of the kitchen.

By the time it was six, and time for Aurora to arrive, Tayce thought the house looked much better, and honestly, she felt much better too. The little spring clean she’d given the place had cleared a little clutter from her head as well.

It’s nothing to worry about. She’d just coming over for food and -

Tayce grimaced as she realised she hadn’t thought of what to do for food. She thought back to the beans on toast she’d had at four and kicked herself for not thinking of that. Dominos was still delivering, so she brought up the app and busied herself looking through the list of pizzas.

Aurora hadn’t arrived by ten past six, and Tayce started to worry.

Maybe she’s changed her mind.

But Tayce refused to let that thought take any root. She looked at the clock, which of course seemed to slow down from having eyes on it, and firmly told herself that she would message Aurora at quarter past if she wasn’t here before.

With a minute to spare, Aurora turned up, grinning merrily and waving the bottle of rose in Tayce’s face.

“Hey bubble bud! Sorry I’m late, well I’m always late, sorry in advance if you expect me on time for anything!” Aurora took a step inside and her jaw dropped. “Wow, your place is well nice!”

“Thanks,” Tayce grinned, although she wasn’t sure what Aurora was looking at. Tayce wasn’t allowed anything on the walls from what her landlord said, but Aurora wouldn’t stay still - checking out the titles of the handful of CDs Tayce had brought down to London with her; scanning a nail along the books on the shelf above the TV.

“It’s nice to hold a book sometimes,” Tayce shrugged, “rather than just read it on the kindle app.”

When Aurora got to the kitchen, Tayce cringed. She’d have to confess.

“I haven’t got in anything to eat. Only - only some bread.”

“And pot noodles,” Aurora added, opening a cupboard and helping herself to the contents as if she’d lived here her whole life.

“And pot - oh, are you thinking, maybe …”

“No way!” Aurora slammed the cupboard door and grabbed her keys again. “Be right back!”

Ten minutes later and Tayce was at the hob over the oven with Aurora, dicing onions while she cut up a red pepper, mince that Aurora had grabbed from her own fridge was out and ready to go in too.

“I needed to use that up anyway,” she shrugged. “Please tell me you don’t just eat bread and pot noodles, Tayce, please. I need to give you a cooking crash course if you do! Didn’t you learn to cook at uni? Or didn’t you do much cooking before you went? Oh my days - no fry the onion off first, with the garlic - I’ll chop the mushrooms, Jesus Christ pot noodles …”

“I know how to cook, give me some credit!” Tayce murmured, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I just haven’t been to the shop yet, it’s been a long week.”

Aurora closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation. “Just keep talking to me, please.”

“What about?”

“Anything! Your life, your family - I don’t know, house prices, I don’t care - but that accent, ugh -“ Aurora shivered.

“Yours is cute, too,” Tayce smirked.

Aurora looked at her reproachfully. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah, I am.”

It was no use. The air was full of electricity, static around them, and before Tayce knew what was happening, suddenly they were kissing again, this time stone-cold sober, while the onions burned shadows into the bottom of the pan.

——

Viv gave her notice on the flat at the start of June.

“I just can’t afford to live here anymore,” she explained, sighing, when she got back and started to pack up everything in her room. “I’m gonna see if I can get some work back home.”

Tayce was numb, although she knew Viv didn’t mean it personally. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been made redundant straight after the lockdown ended, and it made sense that she wanted to be near her family. It was now four months since Tayce had seen hers, and she missed them every day, although she had been sticking religiously to her new routine of calling her parents every Saturday night and her brother’s family every Sunday afternoon.

“I’m sorry that’s putting you in a tight spot, Tayce,” Viv muttered, hugging her, and Tayce hugged her back.

“Can’t be helped,” Tayce replied, which was all she could think to respond with that wasn’t an inarticulate growl in frustration.

Viv was adamant she would pay her final month’s rent, and pay her half the utilities even though she wasn’t there. But she had to go home.

“How was your move?” Tayce asked Ellie on the next group call on zoom.

“Shite,” Ellie replied, “but partly because we struggled finding someone to move us. There’s plenty of places around, plenty of places to rent and stuff, because everyone’s moved back to where they came from.”

“You’ll find somewhere else to live, bab,” Ginny murmured in a soothing voice to Tayce, stroking the side of the laptop screen as she liked to do to show affection now that she couldn’t hug anyone.

“I know,” Tayce sighed. “It’s just a pain in the arse.”

She wasted no time. One of the spare room websites was always open in the background, and she was refreshing, looking maybe a little further out from central London to see if anywhere was cheaper, but nowhere was.

Then she spotted the dot in her own block of flats, and clicked the advert.

That’s - that’s Aurora’s flat.

Now she remembered. Aurora had mentioned something about her housemate moving out! It must now be official.

She read through the advert - how was it £50 cheaper than what she was already paying? - and looked at the contact name for the housemate, and there it was in black and white pixels: Aurora Martin, use form below.

Grabbing a piece of notebook paper - one of the last bits left, she’d been ripping them all out to write to Aurora - she penned a letter, one of what might well be the last ones, and jogged upstairs to post it through her letterbox.

The response came back to her in less than an hour, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce! I’d love it if you wanted to move in here! OMG. My landlord will want references from yours, but if you can get them quick then he can approve you really fast, he’s working from home. OMG you made my day. Come up at 7pm xx’

“Work contacted me today too,” Aurora beamed as she settled with Tayce on the sofa. “They want me to start back next week! Can’t wait. Need to get that coin again now! I mean, I’m dead grateful, you know, that I still have my job and I was on furlough so the government paid most of my wages, but it will be nice to have the full package again!”

“What is it you do again?” Tayce asked.

“Oh - I work as a fashion buyer. But because fashion’s kind of stopped right now, most of the designers are shut. Reopening now, especially the ones in mainland Europe! Can’t wait to be on the phone to them all again.”

“Wait. You speak to designers in other countries?”

Aurora nodded. “I speak French and Spanish.”

“You -“ Tayce was dazed. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well why would you? I mean you’ve only known me a couple of months!” Aurora laughed, and leaned back closer to Tayce, her perfume overwhelmingly sweet in the air. “You’re not gonna know everything about me yet, bubble bud.”

“No,” Tayce purred, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

——

By the Monday after the move, early July, Tayce was all set up to go. She’d moved the bed into the corner as she liked it, arranged her books into a rainbow as she liked them, and unfurled the posters she’d been unable to hang in her last flat, mostly punk bands that she liked, Bimini’s band’s poster, and the noticeboard with all the tickets tacked to it of all the gigs she’d been to. The vanity with the mirror that she’d brought from home fitted perfectly next to the window so she could do her makeup with natural light; and it was large enough for her work setup, which was where she was now.

The flat layout was almost identical to the one she’d just left, and the room was the same one - Aurora having the slightly bigger room - but it felt a lot more comforting, knowing she wasn’t alone here any more, knowing she had a little more freedom in decorations, and knowing that the hollow feeling in her chest was starting to slow down for good.

She turned off her work laptop at five as normal, which was when Aurora came in. Tayce pulled her in, giving her a peck on the lips.

“They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

Aurora just made a moan in the back of her throat and put her face in her hands, shrinking away from the vanity.

Tayce turned on her personal laptop, logging into zoom and connecting to the group chat. Her monthly uni call was set to half four today for some reason, and everyone else was already all there.

“Tayce! We wondered where you’d got to!”

It was Veronica’s voice, and Veronica’s face was in the top left. She still looked a little tired, and the shirt she was wearing looked suspiciously like a pyjama top, but she was here with them all, and this was a big step for her.

Tayce beamed at her. “So good to see you!”

“The move went alright then, bab?” Ginny asked.

Tayce nodded. “And there’s someone you should meet.” She pulled Aurora into frame, who still looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment before waving at the people on the screen. “This is Aurora.”

“Aurora!” Tia squeaked. “Like the princess!”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“So we’ve got Rory and Ronni here together at last!” Lawrence exclaimed, while Veronica gave the camera two fingers.

But Tayce just grinned at her friends on the screen, far apart but together in this strange way. Aurora’s nails dug into her shoulder, still a little nervous, but even that was fading as she got more comfortable.

Aurora had been right - the city was just a lot of bricks in intricate patterns without someone in it that made it a home.

And this just might be becoming one.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #tayce #a'whora #taywhora #ginny lemon #lawrence chaney #veronica green #tia kofi #ellie diamond #uk2 #lesbian au #fluff #hurt/comfort #juno #tw covid lockdown #tw mental health mentions #submission

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moody-bloosh · 5 years

Text

only (Pannacotta Fugo)

Ahhh, midterms have just been the worst. I’m sorry I’ve been so inactive,,, I’ll be back to working on some requests soon. So in the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy some yandere fugo. ^^

word count: 2594

content warning: yandere, homicide, kidnapping, violence

He is all they ever talk about, always, on and on, for as long as you can remember.

Why can’t you be more like Fugo?

You know of him and his triumphs better than anyone else, which is an achievement in itself as you had never even properly met the boy. Aside from passing glances you send in his direction at the posh private school the both of you once attended, the teachers fawned over the brilliant boy and cast only chagrined, faux cheerful smiles in your direction. The message was clear. He was the golden boy and you were nothing compared to him.

When you are finally able to properly meet him, it is at your school's library. Rows of books were painted a pastel orange as the sound of children playing could be heard faintly. He was never out playing with the others, so you had tailed him to this place. And now that you see him properly, you understand of how unfair life is when he looks up and his eyes meet yours. Because he is beautiful, and he makes your hands tremble when they touch and just a glance from him is enough to make your heart skip a beat. He looks disinterested when you introduce yourself and he shakes your hand, and that is enough to break your little heart. Your crush is over as soon as it began.

That day you declared that you would beat him. He was your rival, whether he liked it or not. He had only returned your passionate declaration with a blank look and you were too far gone in your anger at his lack of a reaction that you failed to notice the light blush dusting his cheeks. That afternoon, you trailed after him in the library silently marveling at how he could read all those hard books. You sat close to him, trying to wrap your mind around the difficult concepts. This would prompt him to lean over to explain them to you. Your cheeks burn from embarrassment and you haughtily told him you didn't need his help. But he would only snort at your display. You felt the gulf between you widening. But you could care less about that.

When you return home from school, you promptly throw yourself into your studies and activities even harder. You would catch up to him, no, you would surpass him. And then, maybe then, you would be the one your parents beamed with pride about, you would be the one they bragged about.

Maybe then, you would be enough for them.

But no matter how hard, how diligent you are. It is never enough. He is always better, always smarter. His name is always above yours during exams. And one day when you run over to the library for your study session he is gone. You wait until your chauffeur comes to pick you up. It is only when you are back home that you learn that he is headed off to college while you struggled, futile, under his shadow. You study until your head hurts, until the words blur, until the surface beneath you is wet with tears.

He never said anything.

Always out of reach, he is the sun to your Icarus, until he isn't anymore. His scandal rocks all of society. You can't help it, your lips twitch as a smile twists on your face. The news of his misfortune spreads like wildfire. So he had been cast out, so they couldn't even show their face in high society. Finally, you are the miracle child in everyone's eyes. Finally, you are enough. Right?

Your smile fades, replaced by cold realization. Tears you don't know you are shedding fall to the floor.

It feels empty.

You are older now. And you realize how heavy your parents' expectations really are. Before you had not noticed, simply because you were too preoccupied with trying to one up Pannacotta Fugo. You attend the same university as he did. And for the first time you understand why he did it, you understand how difficult he must have had it too.

You are sitting in the library, stifling your sobs as your anxiety gets the better of you. You cover your mouth with both hands so that you don't make anymore sounds. Perfection was a weight around your heart, creeping hands around your neck that choked and prodded with each and every action. In your mind's eye, you can see the look of disappointment in your parents' eyes. Your memories play back the sound of exasperation they make as they realize that you will never match up to the disgraced but brilliant Fugo.

Not enough. Not enough.

It takes a few bills, a few whispers in someone's ear, and you have the book he used to assault that man. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest as your fingers brush over the spine of the book. It is still bloodied; you note with a morbid satisfaction. You hide the book in a loose floorboard under your bed. You don't know what it is that compels you to do it. It was an insanely risky move on your part. If word of this got out…

But you couldn't care less. Rather, you take perverse satisfaction in it.

It is your dirty little secret.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you understand the blank look on his face. It is lonely at the top and even more lonely to fight for your place on it. So you don't hesitate. Your eyes met, for just the briefest moment, and you promptly tell your chauffeur to stop the car. You stumble out of the car, heart pounding, dashing after him desperately. The only one who could truly understand you.

Your hand reaches out to touch him.

Do you remember me? I remember you.

Something or someone pushes you down to the floor and you are hitting the pavement with a sickening force. You hear a gun cocking and cold metal presses against your forehead. Your stomach turns. This couldn't be happening. Not when he was so close. Blood rushes in your ears as you expect your world to comprise of pain but it never comes. Instead you hear shouting and then you are pulled to your feet. Fugo is in your face, his eyes twisted with concern and worry.

"_____?" He says and your heart twists, you've never known your name could sound so beautiful until this moment. "_____, are you alright?"

"Fugo…" You blinked, "i-it's you, it's really you."

"Well, duh, you idiot. What are you doing in this part of town?" At that, his eyes turn to whoever your mysterious assailant must be, his gaze is downright murderous. You turn hesitantly to see a man, he dons a cap, a cashmere sweater that barely covers him, and a pair of leather pants. There's an almost apologetic smile on the man's lips as other colorfully dressed people surround you. You can't help it, you cling on to the only person you know, twisting instincively behind Fugo.

"Who's this?" The man in white asks.

"Just an old friend," Fugo explains in an even tone, a sudden shift from his panicked tone from earlier. "I'll catch up later; do you mind?"

The man considers you before he nods and the colorful group follows him into a restaurant. Fugo takes this as his cue to lead you to a nearby cafe. You plop down awkwardly in a seat in front of him as he orders some tea and you ask for some cake. The waiter leaves and the two of you are plunged into an awkward silence. Not silence, he is observing you. Two can play at that game.

He chuckles as you pointedly glare at him. A fond look in his eyes as he leans back in his chair. Such a far cry from the stiff little boy you'd known in your childhood. In contrast, your back is tensed straight, your hands folded neatly on the table.

"You haven't changed," he notes, a nostalgic glimmer in his eyes, "you look better than before."

"O-of course naturally, I see you're looking, erm, healthy as well."

You avert your gaze awkwardly as you take a bite of your cake. You have a million questions you want to ask him. Why didn't you say goodbye? What did you do when they threw you out? Are you seeing anyone? But you force yourself to settle on one question. Because you need to take your time. You would see him again; you'd make sure of it.

You turn back to him, a small smile on your lips, "are you happy?"

He smiles back at you, a smile that sends you back to that afternoon in the library. .

"I am."

"That's great!"

At least one of us is.

Your secrets grow deeper and deeper. Before you leave, you hand him a scrap of paper. Your contact details are scrawled elegantly on it.

"Don't lose that, I hear my contact information goes for quite a large sum around here," you joke. "Shall we meet here again? It's not often I run into an old friend."

"That would be nice, I'll see you next week, same time, same place."

You stand up, a triumphant grin on your face, "don't miss me too much."

Whenever you meet up, you always make it a point to grab the check. He must have fallen on hard times; look at the holes in his clothes! So you dote on Fugo, you cherish the time you spend with him, and you hoard the memories of his smile to yourself. Because at least he is happy, at least he is smiling. It gives you hope that you can achieve this level of happiness as well, or perhaps, just being with him… Perhaps this was your happiness.

Maybe you had gotten complacent. Maybe you had been too greedy. You are on the ground again, your cheek stinging. Your father throws the stack of photos at you and you don’t even flinch. How could you think that they wouldn’t notice, that they wouldn’t come to know of your meetings with Fugo? How could you embarrass them like this? How foolish were you to think you could be anything like him?

Did you think you could be happy with him?

Yes. Your parents’ words hang heavy in your heart and you find yourself thinking back to that day in the library where he returned your feelings with an empty stare. You can’t find it in yourself to think about other pleasant things, like how he spent the rest of his afternoons with you, how he patiently taught you the more difficult concepts he had already grasped. You fixate on the thought that no matter how many afternoons he spent by your side, he still couldn’t find it in him to at least tell you that he was leaving.

“You are never to meet with him ever again, is that clear?”

When you take too long to respond, your father snatches you up by your collar. His hand hovering dangerously close to your face. Even with the threat of violence, you find it in yourself to try at the very least. No matter what, if you could at least say goodbye to him. You’d willingly resign yourself to whatever fate they had in store for you.

You are the only thing. The only thing in that terrible world that made me happy.

The café is as silent and idyllic as ever. But today, you ask him if he wants to do something different. Today, you walk with him, hand in hand as he tells you a little bit more about his friends, his life. He tells you that he looks forward to your little rendezvous every other week. And your heart twists, you want to commit every little detail with him to memory. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. To know what you want but be told you can’t have it. To love someone so deeply, so wholly. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t spend anymore time with him. Because it will shake your resolve, because it will make you want more and more and more.

“I- I have to tell you something, Fugo.”

I love you.

“I can’t see you anymore. It-it’s not right for me to be with you.”

“Fuck what’s right or wrong,” he hisses, his hold on your hands tightening. “What do you want to do?”

“I-I…” I want to be with you. “I want to say goodbye.”

Goodbye, to the only one who could ever understand you. Goodbye to your happiness.

Goodbye, my only friend.

The words are barely out of your mouth when he takes it upon himself to silence you. You can’t say it; he won’t let you say it. He pushes you against the alley, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pushes his kisses on you.

“I won’t let them take you away,” he says in between kisses and then even softer. “You’re mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Please,” you whimper tears in your eyes, because your heart is so full it’s about to burst. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

“No,” he snaps, “you’re the one who’s making this difficult.”

“F-Fugo, stop. It hurts…”

“You love me too, don’t you?”

It is in this moment that Fugo frightens you. There was something in his tone that just didn’t sit right with you, the way he had you caged in his arms, pressed against the alley. You remember the bloody book tucked under your bed and you wonder if perhaps, you had chosen to blind yourself to certain things about him. There had always been little things in the way he phrased his words with you that unsettled you but you never spoke up about it. You feared that speaking up would drive a wedge between the two of you, and you had been so lonely for companionship. Besides, Fugo would never hurt you. You were his dearest friend, the only one from his childhood who he didn’t actively dislike, right? Right?

“Choose me,” he says and when he leans forward for another kiss you push him away.

It’s an instinctive thing, not meant to hurt his feelings. You are about to explain when he grabs you by your shoulders and slams you against the alley. Hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough for inky darkness to sweep past your vision.

It wasn’t your fault, he thinks. If you couldn’t choose, then he would pick for you. He understands how difficult it is to go against family. He understands that well. After all, you are his dearest childhood friend. You were a bright spot in his childhood. You were a breath of fresh air in his suffocating home. You are the only one he considers his intellectual equal. Always, you were always chasing after him, looking up to him. You were the only one who spoke to him. You were the closest thing he had to a friend.

He apologizes, over and over again. He didn’t mean to hit you that hard. He just wanted you to understand and you just weren’t getting it. Perhaps if he showed you an example, you would understand. Yes, that was right. He’d teach you the right answer.

Perhaps, his first example would be that hateful family of yours that tried to keep the two of you apart.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #pannacotta fugo #pannacotta fugo x reader #vento aureo #golden wind #play #side b

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avid-author-activist · 4 years

Text

The Princess Andromeda (1): I Crash A Date

(read it on ao3!)

Blackjack’s wings skimmed the waves below as we dipped towards the Atlantic. The salty sea spray filled the air, dissipating a little of the anxiety curdling in my stomach. I glanced at my pocket, where I kept a picture of my girlfriend, Silena. She’d seemed nervous before I’d left camp today, but these days, everyone was jumpy.

“You don’t have to do this, Charlie,” she’d told me. “Let someone else go instead of you.”

I pulled her in for a hug. “It’ll all be okay,” I reassured her. “It’s just another routine mission.”

“No… no, it won’t,” she sniffled against my chest. “I have a bad feeling about this, Charlie.”

“Hey, you’ll see. I’ll come back, just you wait,” I promised. “But I have to go now.”

As she pulled away, I saw a silver bracelet glinting on her wrist. There was only one charm on it, like a moon or something. I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but—“Stay safe,” Silena said, and I was alarmed to see tears shining in her eyes. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

I felt a lump in my throat. “Bye, Lena.” The words stuck in my mouth.

With an effort, I pulled myself back to the present. We were spiralling higher over the Atlantic, flying parallel to a couple seagulls. Some part of me wanted to put out my hand and touch one, but the glint in its eyes gave me pause. Blackjack shook his mane and flew higher, like he wanted to get away from the birds too. Man, even the horse knew seagulls were evil.

“There they are,” I said. As the mainland came into view, I could see a Prius parked right on the ridge above the ocean. If I squinted, I thought I could make out the outline of Percy in the driver’s seat. Blackjack tossed his head again, as if in acknowledgement. Not for the first time, I wondered if he was able to understand me.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said aloud.

The pegasus snorted.

As we got closer, I finally recognized the girl sitting in the passenger seat. Frizzy red hair pulled back into a ponytail, freckles, peeling sunburn. That could only be Rachel Dare, the girl Percy might or might not have a crush on. I said might not because I’d seen the way he and Annabeth looked at each other. Silena gushed about those two all the time:

“When are they going to start dating? If Percy doesn’t ask her out soon, I think I’ll die!”

“Alright, Lena,” I always said. If it happened, it happened, and if it didn’t, it didn’t. That was my philosophy on couples. But Silena always listened to my rambles about armor and smelting, so I listened to her attempts at matchmaking.

I fought the urge to reach for the photo of her in the pocket of my shorts.

Then—WUMP-WUMP-CRUNCH! Blackjack stomped across the hood of Percy’s car, leaving horse hoof indents in the metal and almost throwing me off in the process. Way to make an entrance.

“Blackjack!” I groaned. If a horse could shrug, Blackjack would have.

I sighed and put my head in my hands. Percy hadn’t turned sixteen yet, so that Prius had to belong to his parents. They were going to kill him… if he survived our mission. Maybe they’d be mad enough to dig him up and kill him again.

“Blackjack, what are you–” Percy looked up. His eyes met mine. Act natural!

“‘Sup, Percy.” I nodded and waved, trying not to look concerned about the fact that I was sitting on a pegasus that had just trampled the hood of his car. Not that natural!

“Time?” Percy asked, trying and failing to look upbeat. Rachel pursed her lips. I looked back and forth between the two of them. It looked like they had been on a date… had they been on a date? I took a mental note to tell Silena later.

Rachel looked up at me. “Hi.” Her startling green eyes reflected the sunlight. She wore a white blouse, bird-shaped earrings, and... mascara? According to Percy, Rachel never wore makeup.

Yep, I had definitely been that guy that interrupted your normal date by landing a pegasus on your car.

I waved, trying to ignore the heat rising in my face. “Oh, hey, I’m Beckendorf.” I almost expected her to snicker at my last name. A ton of people did, mostly the immature rich kids at my old middle school. “You must be Rachel. Percy’s told me… uh, I mean he mentioned you.”

“Really? Good,” Rachel said, quirking an eyebrow. The expression reminded me of Silena for the third time in probably five minutes. I tried to block her face out of my mind, just temporarily. If I lost focus like that on the cruise ship… well. That wouldn’t end happily for Percy, me, or Western civilization.

Blackjack pawed at the hood, which flattened alarmingly. Not for the first time, I wished he came with reins and a saddle. What was I supposed to do in this situation, talk to the horse? “Whoa,” I said under my breath. The pegasus ignored me and kept beating up the car.

“So I guess you guys have to go save the world now,” Rachel said, glancing at Blackjack. She seemed incredibly calm about the entire thing. I remembered Percy mentioning she could see through the Mist.

“Pretty much,” I said.

Percy looked at Rachel. “Would you tell my mom–”

“I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’s used to it. And I’ll explain to Paul about the hood.” I could see what Percy saw in Rachel now. She was mortal, yeah, but she also kept an incredibly cool head in weird mythological situations. And she was really pretty in her own way.

“Good luck.” Rachel leaned in and kissed Percy on the mouth. He turned brick red. I managed to turn my laugh into a cough as he glared at me. “Now, get going, half-blood. Go kill some monsters for me,” she said.

Percy clambered onto Blackjack’s back with a last wave to his date. The pegasus spread his wings and launched us into the sky. I swallowed, watching the ground recede beneath us, replaced by glittering blue waves. Pegasus takeoff always made me a little sick.

“So,” I joked, once my stomach had settled. “I guess you don’t want me to mention that little scene to Annabeth.”

Percy groaned. “Oh, gods. Don’t even think about it,” he said.

I grinned. “Just pulling your leg, Jackson—wouldn’t dream of it.”

To pass the time, I studied Blackjack’s wings as we soared in circles over the ocean. They seemed way too brittle to get a horse and two armored demigods into the air, but somehow they did. If I could copy and modify the design, I could build a sweet war chariot. Sure, the chariot would have wings, but that just added to the cool factor.

The sun sank slowly over the horizon, turning the sky and sea to gold. The only sounds now were those of the ocean waves below us and Blackjack’s steady wingbeats. I breathed in the salty air, grounding myself in the moment. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it was the last sunset I would ever see.

As the sky purpled into twilight and the first stars came out, the Princess Andromeda appeared over the horizon. The ship gleamed gold and silver in the night, bobbing gently in the waves. Suddenly, it seemed like a large and flashy piece of bait, waiting to trap unsuspecting demigods—us—with the larger and scarier monsters aboard. It was so bright that whenever I glanced away from it, spots appeared in my vision. Even so, I noted that the craftsmanship was perfect, and I felt a twinge of regret that we had to destroy such a beautiful work of art.

In my head, I ran through the countless dry runs we’d done over the last few weeks. Get in, plant the explosives, get out as soon as possible. It was a simple plan, but it had every chance of going wrong.

Blackjack dove parallel to the ship, and I thanked the gods that he wasn’t a white pegasus, or we would’ve been spotted for sure. As we sped pasrt, I glimpsed decks stuffed with countless monsters—telekhines and dracaenae, for the most part. If Kronos had his way, they would all be in New York by tomorrow. My blood ran cold at the thought. We have to stop them.

The lowest stern deck was deserted. Blackjack spread his wings and landed gently. I slid off his back, a hand on the hilt of my sword. Part of me tensed, expecting the alarm to be raised any time now, but everything was silent.

"I think we're clear," Percy whispered. I nodded in agreement, checking to make sure the explosives were secure in my bag.

Blackjack took off into the night, leaving us alone in enemy territory. I watched him disappear on the horizon, praying that we would both live to see him again.

I told myself to stop being morbid. Percy and I would both be fine. No one knew we were here.

But what if they did? What if they were expecting us, and this was all just one big trap?

Stop thinking about the what-ifs, I scolded myself. What was it that the Athena campers always said? Anything can and will happen. Worrying about it won’t change the outcome.

I took the picture of Silena from my pocket. She seemed more beautiful than ever, even by the dim light of Percy’s sword. I decided to ignore my earlier resolution to keep her from my mind. If anything were to happen, I wanted to have her in my thoughts.

“We’ll get back to camp,” Percy said, coming up behind me. I almost jumped a foot into the air. I tucked away the picture, part of me embarrassed that he had seen.

“You bet.” I tried to bury my fears. I couldn't let them mess with my head on this mission. “Let’s go blow Kronos back into a million pieces.”

#percy jackson #pjo #charles beckendorf #pjo fanfic #Percy Jackson and the Olympians

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ambersky0319 · 5 years

Text

Sinking Fate

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Masterpost

Very Basic Summary : A fairly popular photographer known for his more... disturbing photos, is sent an invitation to come to the beaches of Tione, Angeles to possibly bring light to the recent disappearances in the town that no one else seems to bother with, with the locals switching back and forth between the causes, either a mass murderer among them, a siren... or perhaps both? Either way, he accepts, because what could ever go wrong?

Story Warnings : Gore, Death, Drownings, Sympathetic Remus and Logan

Thank you @themelodeeartz for sending in the idea! I’m honestly really excited for it XD I’ll answer the asks with a link to this chapter ^^

No one knew how, not even Remus himself, but he somehow suddenly got really popular.

He was a photographer, that occasionally wrote books. However his photos weren't quite... 'normal' photographs. A lot of people would probably find them horrific. Normally. But something about the way he took photos and described them seem to intrigue people, draw them in, and send them down a spiral of thoughts as they saw more.

Remus' pieces often contained much darker themes. Bones, burnt flesh, death, gore... and much more. Sometimes, a mix of what he photographed. He created collages that told morbid stories or tragic tales, most if not all true ones.

And that seemed to be what drew people in. Lured them to Remus, encouraged him to continue with his art.

And people loved his writing as well, the tales he told seemed so far-fetched, so unrealistic, until you found out he based them on past news reports he found, hidden deep within the web. And then you were reminded that this could happen to you.

But his stories weren't what he was known for, not completely. His photographs were more well-known. He didn't mind.

Remus opened up one of the letters on his desk, reading the neatly written letter. Fanmail, he originally thought it to be. Until he realized it didn't have a return address. A plane ticket slipped out from the pages, and he continued further down, unsure if it was excitement, curiosity, or worry that bubbled in his stomach.

Perhaps it was them all.

Dear Remus King,

You will not have heard of me, of that I am certain. I do hope this letter isn't lost in the undoubtedly large amount of other mail you receive. My name is... well, it doesn't really matter what my name is, it's not important.

Your work has made a lot of people think, and a lot of people worry, and become far more cautious of the world around them. And I've taken note that some of your written works contain a few more fantastical themes, that are illustrated to be a reality. Which, now that I think about it, they very well may be.

If you have the time amongst your own projects, I would greatly appreciate it if you could come to Tione, Angeles (making up a fake place). I think there's a case here you'd greatly love to see, and maybe look to the beaches?

Most are saying it's the handiwork of a siren, but then there are those that just believe mass murder. Every day there are more and more disappearances, leaving a gruesome beach behind. I feel it would fit in well with the theme of your... style, I suppose. And, it might finally draw some attention to our crisis /thank you Tione police for absolutely nothing!/

Whatever your choice, I hope you have a splendid day! And I cannot wait to see your next line of work. If you do decide to see what's been happening, feel free to stay at the hotel of our dwindling town. If you just give them your name, they'll let you stay for free, expenses payed by me! Safe travels!

Oh, and I suppose my name not being known might be bothering you? I suppose you can know what most call me. When you arrive at the hotel and if you need a tour or something, just grab someone off the street and ask for Aki /aka me!/.

Remus regarded the letter carefully.

Disappearances? Caused by a siren? That did definitely catch his interest. But Tione he knew was quite a ways away. But then again... He did have a plane ticket, practically for free.

Remus hummed quietly, placing the letter back on his desk and pulling his laptop closer. If he was to make a decision, he'd need at least some information about this place other than its location.

Remus rubbed his eyes, slouching over a notebook he had opened to take down certain notes. His handwriting, which was already quite messy, steadily grew more and more ineligible as the night drew on.

He read articles dating back at least a hundred years ago. That's when the disappearances began, as far as he could tell. With the murder of Taylor Smithings. The rumor about a siren drawing people in only came in around the twentieth murder.

However if he was going there to photograph the beach, he needed to look into the most recent disappearances. So their names and supposed causes of death. Most of the drowning cases were thought to be the work of a siren.

Megan Tannings - Drowning, blunt force to head

Jack Carter - Blood loss, stab-like wounds

Peter Harper - Drowning

Katherine Jake - Drowning or suffocation

Bobby Carson - Hasn't been found

Lilith Carson - Drowning

Tabitha Jenkins - Drowning or suffocation

Zeke Henson - Hasn't been found

Pepper Kord - Hasn't been found

Joanne Larson - Drowning

William Peterson - Unconfirmed

Remus also had various notes of things about sirens, so that he had a basic idea of what he'd be getting into. How they lured people in, how they came to be. Why they might draw people in to kill them.

The lore surrounding the creatures was simply fascinating.

His phone rang, and Remus groaned quietly, glancing at the clock before picking up his phone. It was far too late for anyone he personally knew to be calling him.

Except maybe Virgil.

"Remus King, wondering who the fuck calls at three in the morning, how may I help you?"

"Remus!" Ah, so it was Virgil. "Have you checked the news at all tonight? There's something you've gotta see!"

Remus groaned again, rubbing his eyes. He felt exhausted. He didn't feel that often.

"Can it wait until later in the morning?"

"Dude!"

"Fine, fine..." Remus grumbled as he turned his computer back on, looking to the news platform he and Virgil often checked. His eyes widened as he leaned in closer to get a better look at the article, his heart suddenly gaining speed.

"Oh my fucking god, Emile?!"

"I know right! A lot of people have already started getting really mad, considering Emile's just a sweet therapist who's helped more people than anybody else. But dude, look further into this, something doesn't feel right about it."

Remus glanced at the envelope on his desk. He bit his lip. "Actually, maybe you can take this one? Emile's a friend and all, but my plans just suddenly got full for the month."

He heard Virgil sigh, could imagine Virgil rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, I get it. I'll do this one. It's horrible that it happened to Emile of all people though."

"I know. Call Remy for me and ask how he's doing? He can't be doing all too good..."

"I know, will do. Mind if I ask what new project you just took up before you go to bed?"

"Something in Tione, Angelas. Night V."

"See ya whenever you get back."

Virgil hung up, and Remus set his phone down, leaning back in his chair. He would've loved to handle this case, but he knew Virgil could handle it, back in their hometown. Poor Emile and Remy though, he thought, slowly getting out of his chair to go to bed.

They deserved better, honestly.

He sighed as he flopped onto bed, burying himself in the mess of sheets, old stuffed animals, and random papers he never had the motivation to clean up.

At around 11pm, Remus pulled himself out of bed and started to pack.

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entwinedmoon · 4 years

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John Torrington: A Star Is Born

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)

John Torrington was just a boy from Manchester who had the unlucky fate of dying first in an expedition that would have no survivors. The names of the men buried on Beechey Island ended up in newspapers after the discovery of their graves in 1850, one of the first traces of Franklin’s men, and an omen of what would later be realized. For people studying the Franklin mystery, Torrington was a breadcrumb, the first hint of a trail to the answer of what happened to the ships and crew. But beyond that, he wasn’t an officer with a list of accomplishments, he wasn’t a noteworthy member of the crew, he had no one coming forward to tell of his great exploits and achievements. To the many people wondering what happened to the expedition, he was just a name on a headboard.

In 1984, the world finally put a face to that name. A face that defied the passage of time but had become distorted, twisted in a death grimace by the ice. A face that could give grown adults nightmares.

A face that the media slapped onto every newspaper and magazine they could find.

(WARNING: Pictures of pictures of mummies under the cut. Yes, pictures of pictures.)

The level of preservation of Torrington (and Hartnell, but he didn’t get as much attention) was truly remarkable, unlike any mummy people had seen before. It makes sense why this discovery would be shared around the world, but there was often a sense of morbid curiosity in the way it was presented.

ABC World News Tonight had Peter Jennings introduce a brief news story about Torrington’s exhumation by describing it as “like something from a Science Fiction movie” and “a bizarre story with images to match.” Torrington landed in the Science section of Time, a black and white version of his soon-to-be-famous photograph displayed prominently next to a short article title “Trapped in Time,” as if Torrington had been frozen alive and was now released, free to walk the earth again like the undead.

The same week Time published their short article, Newsweek published an article, “Answers from an Icy Grave,” three times as long as the piece in Time and with a color photograph to boot. Torrington’s picture was captioned “Sailor Torrington: Doomed expedition,” as if the macabre image of his frozen face didn’t properly convey the sense of doom by itself.

Then, of course, there was People.

At the end of each year, the popular magazine names 25 of the most intriguing people of the year. In 1984, John Torrington was granted the honor of being on that list. Flipping through pages filled with celebrities such as Bruce Springsteen, Richard Gere, Tina Turner, and even Bill Murray, you’ll find, just after a lovely picture of Vanessa Williams, the now famous black and white photo of Torrington’s frozen grimace staring back at you. His article gets two pages while poor Vanessa only gets one.

Looking at the media in late 1984, there was definitely a trend.

(Yes, I did buy all three of those. Apparently, there are plenty of people out there selling 35-year-old magazines—and enough of us weirdos willing to buy them.)

Not everyone was so supportive of the exhumation, however. In a letter to the editor in The Times in London, a man claimed to be “appalled” by the disturbance of the graves on Beechey. But he seemed to be in the minority. When Owen Beattie and his research team returned to Beechey Island in 1986 to autopsy Hartnell and Braine, they were accompanied by a documentary crew from Nova. Torrington’s image had captivated the world, and that meant the world wanted to see what else the permafrost of Beechey had to offer. Nova would air its documentary on the autopsies of Hartnell and Braine, “Buried in Ice,” in 1988. A picture of Torrington made a brief cameo, but Hartnell and Braine got to be the stars in this one.

And then there was the book, the book, the one that many a Franklin fan admits was the spark that lit the fire of obsession and that would inspire authors, artists, and even musicians. Frozen in Time, written by Owen Beattie and John Geiger, was first published in 1987, and it became a bestseller. It would later be revised, complete with an introduction by author Margaret Atwood, in 2004, and again in 2017, with bonus material about the discovery of Franklin’s ships. I have three different copies, which is a normal amount to have.

Interestingly, in an article from the Associated Press after the second round of exhumations, it was reported that two books would be published about the findings, and that there were thousands of photographs to be released. If there’s a place where I could find these thousands of photographs, I would be thrilled, but I’ve never stumbled across so many. And there was never a second book published, at least not about the Franklin Expedition. Beattie and Geiger would write about a different Arctic tragedy, the 1719 expedition of Captain James Knight. That book, Dead Silence, did not go on to have the same level of fame as Frozen in Time, but then again, it didn’t feature mummies and lead poisoning.

Okay, I know I just said there wasn’t a second book about the Franklin Expedition from Beattie and Geiger, but that’s not exactly true. There wasn’t a second book—unless you count the children’s book, Buried in Ice.

Buried in Ice wasn’t really a new book. It didn’t present any new information, it was basically just the condensed version of Frozen in Time for kids, because you know how kids love dark, morbid stuff. No, seriously, they do. Most books about mummies that I’ve found are geared toward kids, and, of course, who didn’t go through a dinosaur phase at some point in their youth? Kids love creepy stuff, so of course John Torrington graced the cover of a book meant to be read by middle schoolers, including one middle schooler who would bring the book home to show his younger sister, who would completely freak out and then many years later write a series of blog posts about the scary dead guy on the cover.

Oh yeah, and he’s on the back cover too:

Don’t worry, I don’t have three copies of this one. I only have two.

What? The hardcover came with a poster!

It’s not just kids who love creepy stuff. The morbidity of the topic has attracted many adults, too. The Franklin Expedition is a subject filled with darkness—two ships vanishing into the Arctic, a crew with no survivors, desperate men resorting to cannibalism after being driven mad by lead poisoning, bones lying scattered across desolate ground where men fell as they walked, and yes, the ice mummies. In her introduction to Frozen in Time, Margaret Atwood described Torrington as looking “neither fully dead nor entirely alive.” His half-open eyes suggest that he’s seconds away from opening them all the way, but the exposed teeth suggest that he’ll be lunging for your throat when he does. In the book Arthur C. Clarke’s Chronicles of the Strange and Mysterious, the Franklin Expedition gets treated as a bizarre mystery alongside the likes of spontaneous human combustion, and it’s a picture of Torrington that introduces the topic, an obvious attempt at playing up the spookiness of the subject. Many online articles and websites today also use the pictures of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine to lure in viewers with the creep factor.

But Torrington didn’t solely become creepy, undead-looking, reader-bait—although there are those who have used him as such—he also became the poster boy for the expedition itself. Sure, it was Sir John Franklin’s expedition, but it was an ordinary, working-class sailor who managed to withstand the ravages of time and came to represent what the crew looked like to the modern world. In various documentaries, books, and articles about Franklin’s expedition, Torrington and the Beechey Boys usually get at least a brief shoutout, and whenever a picture is used of them, more often than not it’s Torrington. His frozen face—young yet somehow aged, alive yet dead—came to represent the tragedy of the story. He stood in for every sailor who left Britain, thinking they’d come home triumphant, but instead met their untimely fate far from the ones they loved. It literally put a face on the crewmen who ventured into the Arctic with Franklin, never to return. In a way, Torrington gained a second life, his story finally heard, his name not forgotten.

Next: Torrington’s influence on the arts, starting with the songs inspired by his exhumation.

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Torrington Series Masterlist

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