#i am so unready for this trip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perlelune · 9 months ago

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Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | v. {END}

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: DUB-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

A deep breath flows from your lungs as you examine your reflection in the cracked, stained mirror. It’s been in your family for years and you never had the heart to rid yourself of it, despite the object’s sorry state. Like everything in the small house, it harbors a plethora of fond memories.

You arrange a few unruly strands of your hair. Though you immediately feel silly for doing so.

It’s not like he cares what you look like. It never bothered him before. He always seeks you out, even when you are worn and sweaty after working a long day at the factory.

As you tiptoe across the room, your gaze settles on Tilly’s tiny form. Soft breaths lift her chest up and down. She is fast asleep, thankfully. Words are amiss to explain where you’re sneaking off to tonight, who you’re planning on meeting up with…or perhaps there are words for that, some you are too terrified to even fathom. Two young people secretly wandering the streets of District 8 at night to find each other and…

Your cheeks flare with warmth.

This isn’t what Coriolanus is to you. He is your tormentor. That is all. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf in the dark, your stomach threatening to drop to your feet.

One of the moth-eaten, dusty floorboards squeaks below your feet as you reach the exit door and nudge it open.

“Are we going somewhere?”

Startled by your cousin’s drowsy voice, you turn around so fast that your head spins. She blinks at you curiously as she sits up in her bed. A heavy sigh peals from your lips. Smiling from ear to ear, you approach her.

You hunker down in front of her.

“I am. You’re not, sweetie.”

“Where?”

Your stomach coils. Still, your smile remains intact.

“Just gotta run an errand quickly,” you lie while cupping her cheek. “We’re running out of your medicine. We have to make sure you stay healthy past the winter.”

She yawns and glances at the twinkling stars through the window.

“But it’s so late.”

Excuses dwindle in your head. You retreat to the authoritative older sibling tone you sometimes use to get your cousin to do her chores.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

You tuck Tilly back into bed. Arranging the blanket over her gingerly, you drop a soft kiss on her forehead.

Your cousin nods and curls herself beneath her blanket. Relief swells within you. She is too little to hear about the purpose of your nightly trip. In fact, you plan on her never knowing a thing about it. With luck, all of it will end tonight. You’ll bow to the peacekeeper’s demands. One last time. Then you’ll bury the awful memory in the furthest, deepest recesses of your mind and never look back.

It’s what you hope will happen.

Cool winds skate across your skin when you step outside. The moon trails your quiet, anxious trek through the alleys of District 8, its silver beams lighting the cobblestoned path. Every time your feet hit the ground, the nervousness in the pit of your stomach grows. Perhaps you should have stayed home, risked his wrath. You are so painfully unready for whatever the peacekeeper has in store for you. Your wild, palpitating heart seems as if it’ll burst out of your chest any second now.

Suddenly, your tremulous walk is halted.

Familiar fingers snake around your wrist. You’re pulled into a dark corner and shoved against a wall. A stunned gasp hops from your throat.

Coriolanus smirks at your reaction.

“No need to be scared, birdie. It’s just me,” he whispers, balancing his arm above your head in a way that makes you feel caged.

“Coriolanus.”

He seizes your chin, cobalt eyes drinking you in. His voice is almost soft.

“You really thought I’d let you walk on your own at night? It’s not safe.”

He parts from the wall. His hand wraps around yours. He tugs you along and you have no choice but to follow.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll recognize it.”

Indeed, you do. To your utter despair. After strolling through a vertiginous amount of dank alleyways and narrow stairs, you and the peacekeeper end up in front of a place that bears a daunting familiarity.

As the neon lights of the brothel fill your sight, your apprehension skyrockets.

Snippets of memories of what occurred the last time you were here lurk inside your mind. Your insides clutch.

Coriolanus sighs. His thumb sweeps across your palm, almost tenderly.

“It won’t be like last time. I promise. You can trust me.”

The same beautiful woman welcomes the two of you. Once again, there’s a flirting lilt to her tone, one the peacekeeper ignores. Coriolanus asks about a room. His questions about it fade amidst the uproarious drumming of your heart inside your ears. You’re a jittery wreck behind him, your gaze bouncing from wall to wall.

His deep voice yanks your attention back to him.

“Birdie?”

“Y-Yes?”

The corner of his lips quirks upward.

“Come with me.”

You nod. Is it too late to make a run for it? Though you’d rather not find out how much worse this could get, how mean Coriolanus could turn. He didn’t even hesitate to have you on your knees before, simply to make a point. He’s in good spirits now, nicer than he’s ever been to you, even humming a light tune to himself. Maybe you should aim to keep it that way. Tread the path of least resistance, as much as you loathe yourself for surrendering to him so easily.

You enter the room. Your heart leaps when you hear him lock the door behind you. The inside is nicely decorated. Candles around the canopy bed at the center of the room provide a soft, intimate light.

Red and white rose petals are scattered over the silk sheets.

Your heart skips a beat when his breath ghosts over your neck.

“It’s pretty, right?” His hands settle over your hips, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I had it decorated specially for us.”

He shifts you so you’re facing him. Fingers sneak below your chin, tilting it upward. Your stomach flutters as you get lost in his blue eyes. They burn into you like coals in the swaying candlelight.

“Has anyone ever done something this nice for you?”

You remain silent for a while, fiddling with the scarf around your neck, the one he gave you.

“N-No,” you eke out after an eternity.

He starts pulling on your scarf. When it hits the floor, exposing your neck to his gaze, you already feel incredibly vulnerable. You tremble as Coriolanus begins to circle around you. As he does that, more articles of clothing join your scarf on the floor, turning into a growing heap at your feet.

First he unbuttons your shirt. When it’s loose on your frame, he pulls on it lightly until it slides off you. Next he unlaces your skirt. Coriolanus is slow, digits dragging over your quivering flesh as he peels every layer of fabric off you. Eventually, you are bare before him. Goosebumps peek under your skin as he spends a torturous minute simply appraising you. Lust swells his pupils, nearly drowning the blue in his eyes.

“Have you ever done this before?”

You shake your head. He seizes your jaw, angling your face upward.

“No miners? No factory worker? No one before me?”

Heat rushes to your face. Still, you shake your head again, faintly wishing you could sink inside the earth and disappear.

Satisfaction illuminates his features.

“So I’m your first.” He caresses your arm. You will yourself still, despite the itch to run away searing through you like a hot knife. His voice lowers to a husky whisper. “I wish you’d see I’m not your enemy, birdie.”

He then shocks you. Layer by layer, Coriolanus starts to shed every part of his peacekeeper uniform. Every piece of clothing falls into a heap on the floor that melds with yours.

When he peels off his boxers, your throat dries. He’s thick and long, just as you remember. Apprehension settles within you. His eyes lock with yours. “Do I look like your enemy right now?” he mumbles. Your pulse picks up as he approaches you. Your gaze drifts everywhere and nowhere, your breath caged in your lungs.

“I don’t know.”

“Do I scare you?”

“Yes.”

His mouth slants crookedly.

“But not in the way you wished, right?”

You gawk at him, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed.

The courage to answer never finds its way into your heart. Coriolanus’ lips however find their way onto yours. At first, the kiss is soft and firm. Cradling your face, he sweeps his mouth over yours without haste. Meticulously slow. As if he wishes to commit your taste to memory.

He nudges you backwards onto the bed. When your back collides with the mattress, his mouth turns more ravenous. His tongue explores the roof of your mouth while his hands wander lower, kneading at your curves. Your head spins. You keen against his tongue as a sick twinge of something you won’t name flickers in your core.

When his mouth parts from yours, you’re both equally breathless, his warm breath mingling with yours. You find yourself almost longing for the heady feeling. Almost. The blond smiles down at your dazed expression.

He traces your jaw with his thumb.

“You can scream as much as you like, you know? No one will come to your rescue.”

“I won’t scream,” you say, defiance igniting your gaze.

“Oh but you will,” he replies with confidence. His mouth ghosts over your earshell. “You’re all mine tonight, pretty bird.” His mouth tugs upwards. “And I plan on making you beg for it before the morning comes.”

As if to emphasize his point, he slithers down your body. The entire time, he corrals your gaze, his blue eyes shimmering in the darkness. He wedges himself between your thighs, meeting only meek resistance as he pushes them apart.

Coriolanus appraises your slick folds. He drags a finger alongside your slit, mirth lighting up his face.

“Already so wet for me, birdie,” he says.

Your face heats. You could try to contradict him but the evidence is right there between your legs. Impossible to escape or deny. You are sinfully, embarrassingly wet in front of the peacekeeper.

“I-”

Brazenness melts off your tongue when he presses his lips to your core. He feasts on your weeping folds, his unyielding fingers keeping you placid and open. His tongue teases your tender nub, drawing torturous patterns. Your muscles tighten. The air in your lungs rushes in and out faster as Coriolanus’ tragically skilled tongue sends zings of shameful pleasure through your spine.

Meticulous and slow, he takes his time to taste you. Every second he spends unraveling you is the most sensual torture.

Your trembling fingers claw at the sheets, your eyes rolling back. You glance down. A peculiar tingle dances through your belly when you catch sight of the blond’s head bobbing between your thighs. Despite your center aching for release, you fight the urge to buck your hips into his mouth and seek more of the delectable contact. He sucks your swollen clit between his lips, pushing his tongue between your folds. You gulp down a sharp scream. Waves of pleasures sweep through your frame. Your lids flutter as your stomach tightens. A painful tension settles in your limbs, heat gathering in your core.

For a long time, you try to stay quiet. You bite yourself hard enough to draw blood as you muffle every whimper and moan struggling to break past the confines of your lips.

Coriolanus makes his way up your body, his index and middle finger replacing his tongue. Quick exhales burst from your chest as you peer at him through your hazy vision.

“I want to hear you, birdie,” he rasps, his fingers catching on your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. He sinks a finger inside you. Your chest lifts, brushing against his. When the digit hooks between your slick walls, grazing against your sensitive spot, you unleash a loud squeal.

The blond smiles.

“There. So much better.”

He sneaks another finger inside your core, stretching you even more. Unused to the feeling, you whine and grip a fistful of the sheets. He pumps inside you, finding a steady rhythm that has you twitching beneath him. The broken moans spilling from your tongue mingle with the wet sounds your cunt makes as he explores you with his fingers.

Embarrassment is slowly nudged aside by the storm of delectable sensations growing inside you.

The heel of his hand keeps grazing against your swollen button, eliciting spikes of pleasure through your flesh.

His forehead rests against yours, his feathery lashes falling to half-mast as he whispers,

“Come for me, birdie.”

Your breathing accelerates, his words propelling you closer to your peak. You clench around his fingers. Your legs tense. Warm tingles swirl across your flesh as your back arches.

A lightning bolt of pleasure passes through you, quick and intense. For a few seconds, not a thought occupies your mind. You are nothing but a million nerve endings on fire.

Your boneless frame crashes over the sheets.

“Good girl,” he praises, his smile expanding. His fingers pull out of you and he brings them to his lips. You watch, sickly fascinated as he dips them into his mouth, reveling in your taste. He hums in appreciation. Your face warms. He then places those same digits over your own lips, forcing you to taste yourself. He bends over you, peppering sluggish kisses in the crook of your neck. His hand splays over your heaving chest, his thumb rubbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. His lips trail lower on your body.

He pauses, looming over you. Hands on each side of you, Coriolanus lines his tip with your entrance. Your eyes widen in surprise. You squirm and try to scoot away, panic rushing through you.

He yanks you back on the bed with ease, his body pinning yours onto the mattress. When you reach for his face, hoping to land a blow, he snatches your wrists and slams them above your head.

He scoffs, “So feisty, even to the bitter end.”

Your breath falters when his thick tip stretches you open. Even that single inch of him feels like too much. Rapid breaths burst from your fluttering chest.

Tears quiver beneath your lashes.

“It hurts…”

He pushes until he’s halfway inside you. Pain shoots through you as you sob.

The tears spill. He releases one of your wrists to fondle your cheek.

“Shh, it’s okay, pretty bird. I’ve got you.”

He shoves inside you until he grazes your hilt. Your lips part in a quiet scream, your vision flickering. For a while, Coriolanus remains still, giving you time to accommodate his thick girth. He starts moving, his thrusts slow and deep. The longer he fucks you, the more the pain morphs into something else. Something not entirely unpleasant, albeit a little terrifying. The aching stretch becomes tantalizing, your wet walls clinging to his length every time it drags against your soft spots. Little whimpers leave your throat as you cling to his bicep.

Coriolanus’ hand wraps around your jaw.

“Focus on me and only me,” he instructs.

Your eyes dive into his. Flames dance in his cobalt orbs. He smiles, his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip.

“Such an obedient girl.”

“How does it feel now?” he grunts. You note the sweat glistening over his bare muscles, dotting at his brow. His exhales are more strained now, matching yours.

You keen at a sharp snap of his pelvis into yours. He picks up the pace, bending one of your thighs against your chest to thrust as far as his cock will go. Your toes curl, blissful shivers creeping their way up your spine.

“Awful,” you wheeze out.

He snickers. “You’re a horrible liar, birdie.”

You sense him nearing the cusp of his pleasure. His cock twitches between your walls and you plead, panicked, “Corio…Coriolanus…not inside, please.”

A crooked grin spreads on his lips.

“But wouldn’t it be wonderful, if I left you something to remember me by.”

You shudder, shaking your head. “No…”

He slips his fingers between your joined bodies, drawing a long moan from you when he starts rubbing your pulsing clit. He plays with your tender bud until you cry out. You come apart around him, slick walls hugging him snugly as he shoots his thick seed inside you.

Dread settles in your bones, piercing through the haze of delight. You tremble as the stickiness trickles alongside your walls.

He lets out a throaty sigh, trapping you underneath him so you can’t move.

“Yes,” he breathes out, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Your mouth opens in shock as another tear traces a blazing path down your cheek. He scatters bruising kisses along the column of your neck. His cruel words sear into your flesh. “That way you can never forget you were mine before anyone else, birdie.”

You awake with a start, bruised and sore, in the massive bed. Your glance darts around, confusing filling you as you tuck the blanket against your frame. Your shoulders sag. You note faint sunlight pouring through the crimson curtains. All the candles from last night have been blown out.

It’s the next day. You are alone. You shiver at the sight of the rumpled sheets, glimpses from the night before seeping through your mind. Coriolanus kept true to his word and made you sing for him the entire night. He was relentless and didn’t stop until you passed out from pleasure. In fact, you were so exhausted, you can’t pinpoint the moment he left. You simply recall him cooing soft praises in your ear as he had his way with you for the last time.

For a moment, you held some fear that he would never leave, since he was so hellbent on making you come around him as many times in a row as he could.

What terrifies you most however, is that last night wasn’t terrible. Not entirely. Or not in the way you pictured at least. Heat creeps up in your cheeks at the thought.

You clamber off the bed, wincing at the aching stiffness of your limbs. You collect your clothes and begin to dress. You’re eager to leave the room. It stinks of sex and shameful mistakes.

As you climb down the stairs, the madam greets you with a wiggle of her fingers. You bristle, shame glowing inside your chest.

She bends over the wooden handrail, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her dress.

“He said you were free to stay in the room to rest for the entire day if you wished. Paid in full before he left.”

“I don’t want to stay.”

You hasten your pace to reach the exit faster.

She stops you in your tracks, a mischievous grin dancing on her lips.

“So the pretty boy didn’t tire you out then?” She tilts her head and pouts. “Pity. I imagined him to be a more…zealous lover.”

Your cheeks flame as you rush out of the brothel. You can’t get back home fast enough.

You need a shower expeditiously. Never before have you longed for the freezing cold spray to hit your skin so badly.

You return home to at least a month’s worth of supplies and medicine in several bags.

There’s even candy for your cousin, the same he brought her last time. Your cousin’s overjoyed, of course, but you remind her not to overindulge.

Nothing else accompanies them. No letter. No card. You should feel happy at that, you surmise. Finally, you are free to live life on your own terms, return to your routine.

Part of you is a little stunned by it however, and perhaps expect the peacekeeper to not be truly gone. For days, you keep wondering if he’ll materialize from a dark corner or surprise you as you stroll down a dank alleyway.

None of that occurs. Still, it takes weeks for your blood not to chill anymore at the sight of a peacekeeper. After a month of tranquil, humdrum days, you’re forced to admit it. Coriolanus has granted you the peace he promised.

Your chest is a little lighter as you head to the factory everyday. You even start smiling again, which Yara and Tilly keep teasing you about.

But you can’t help it. No more feeling scared or confused. No more eyes trailing your every move. You’re relieved, happy. Life in district 8 may sometimes be uncertain but, at least, you hold your destiny in your hands once more.

Blessed freedom. Finally.

So you let yourself relax. Over time, the terror gripping your gut melts away. The tightness in your chest eases.

Your mind is so at ease that you don’t notice the shadow creeping behind you on your way out of the factory. It’s too late when you do.

A black cloth is shoved over your head as you turn a street corner. You’re hauled off your feet and dragged into a dim alley. Your heart races, panic flooding you as you’re tossed into the back of a vehicle.

The engine roars to life. Every question you ask is ignored, your kidnappers frustratingly silent. You wonder if you’ll die or be sold off to traffickers. You’ve heard of district girls disappearing sometimes, the kind no one will miss or ask too many questions about.

They often end up in sordid places. You’ve heard the stories. Some could end up in the mines, in shady brothels or even wind up as an Avox maid with their tongues cut off. Chills swirl over your skin.

Is it to be your fate? Being carted off to some hellish place and worked to death?

The car stops. Your pulse soars. Quick breaths pour from your mouth as you’re roughly carried to some other place. You struggle, trying to kick your assailant. You land a blind strike and hear a curse. You make a run for it, your blood singing wildly.

It’s pathetic the swiftness with which you’re caught, as if your attempt meant nothing.

You’re shoved into a box. As the slamming of a hammer surrounds you, sealing your fate, you begin to sob. You used to think you were just born in the wrong place, unlucky, like so many others. Now you’re starting to believe you are cursed.

Shivers wrack your frame as the box is lifted. Your stomach lurches. The entire trip is a nightmare. Dread grips you tight as questions crowd your mind about who’s taking you and why. After a while, you realize you’re on a train. Your terror swells.

You’re being moved out of District 8. You haven’t left your district since birth. For better or worse, this was your home.

After an awful, rambunctious journey, the box is finally opened. You hear grunting above you as the lid of the box is pried open.

The bag over your head is removed and you take in a lungful of clean air. Strong arms hoist you out of the box. You clumsily stumble to your feet.

You whirl.

An audible breath skips off your tongue as you take in who stands before you. He looks so different. No more peacekeeper uniform. No more buzzcut.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He smiles. “Hi, birdie.” A wave of snow engulfs your veins.

He sweeps a hand over his silver curls, sounding almost bashful.

“Do you like it? I’m trying to grow it out again.”

Ignoring him, you peer at your surroundings. The white room has a vaulted glass ceiling that allows sunlight in. The pearly marble tiles are pristine. Other than that, you only find one opening. A small door on the other side. You scuttle across the room to reach it.

The door knob shakes but doesn’t give. Still, you insist, your desperation growing. Your heart sinks as you glance down at the tiny keyhole in the door.

Coriolanus’ deep voice approaches from behind you.

“This is a locked cell, pretty bird,” he explains. “And I’m the only one with the key. Dr. Gaul uses it for her more…feral experiments. But she’s granted me permission to use it for an experiment of my own.”

You whip around. “Dr. Gaul?”

You feign interest, hoping to distract him, having noted the tiny golden key dangling from his neck. Coriolanus catches you looking at it and smirks. “My mentor. Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through everything. I’m sure you’ll fit right in over time.”

He inches closer and you stagger backwards.

“W-Why am I here?”

Instead of being offended by your attempts to shy away from him, the blond seems mildly amused, studying you as he paces around the room.

“I couldn’t let my sweet bird wither away in a filthy district, of course. I belong in the Capitol, and you belong to me.”

You gape at him. While you knew him to be some entitled rich kid from the Capitol, you never imagined he’d take it this far. Steal you away like you’re some shiny object that struck his fancy at the marketplace. Not a person with a life and desires of their own.

“You’re insane,” you hiss.

His mouth twitches, marking the first hint of displeasure at your reaction.

“We’ll have to work on that coarse mouth of yours. It will not stand here.” His tone grows chillier. “Here in the Capitol, we have discipline, order.”

“Let me go,” you shout, lunging yourself at him. You attempt to tackle him and grab the key from his neck. Unleashing a sigh of annoyance, Coriolanus seizes your wrist and twists it with hardly any effort. The sickening sound of bones snapping lands in your ears. He throws you on the floor, kicking your side for good measure. You keel over the tiles, cradling your throbbing wrist against your chest.

Coriolanus shakes his head as he considers your curling frame on the floor.

“Look what you’re making me do, sweet bird. As I’ve said, your uncouth District wench ways will not stand here. You’re going to behave…” He hunkers down before whispering, “Unless you never want to see your cousin again.”

Your head snaps up, tears filling your eyes.

“She needs me. Coriolanus, please-”

“She will be cared for. There’s a very nice orphanage south of the Capitol, one for all the children who lost their homes in the war.” He beams at you. “She’s being transported there as we speak.”

“Oh my god…”

“You want to see her again? It’s all up to you, birdie.” A slow, wicked smirk blooms on his lips. “...Or perhaps she would fare well as the District 8 tribute for the 11th Hunger Games. She may be a little young…but at least she’d increase viewership.”

“You can’t do that,” you protest, your lip quaking as tears skip over your cheeks.

A dark chuckle leaves him.

“I can and I will. You see, birdie, the world isn’t fair.” He cocks his head. “No one cares about innocent children dying. Hell, I was kicked, beaten and starved so many times during the war, I lost count. No one cared.” His blue eyes turn icier as they meet yours. “The world…it’s an arena. You’re either a predator, or you’re prey.” He lifts his hand to cup your cheek. A gesture that’d be almost tender if the words spilling from his mouth weren’t so cruel. “It’s best to just embrace your role.”

He caresses your tear-stained cheek.

“So will you be my sweet, obedient girl?”

As you sink in his empty blue gaze, a sense of defeat cloaks your frame. You come to realize, you were never meant to come out unscathed from meeting Coriolanus Snow, never meant to win. The fire in his eyes is the kind that burns all standing in its path.

There is no getting away. If you survived him, you’d be lucky.

Your chin trembles as you reply meekly, “Y-Yes, Coriolanus.”

His lips brush over yours before he gets to his feet, satisfaction glowing on his handsome features.

“Wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone, birdie.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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winter-dayz · 1 year ago

Text

Betrayed

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader Gumiho AU; Korean Mythology AU Genre: Angst; Fluff; Horror Words: 2290 Warnings: dead dove: do not eat; implied organ-eating; major character death; murder; strong language; suggestive content; violence

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist: @soobin-chois

“You can’t be real.” He said, leaning back against the bar where I was seated.

I giggled, “And why is that?”

“Too pretty.” He sipped his drink with a smirk, “You’ve gotta be a goddess or something.”

“Something like that…” I hummed.

Yoongi won me over easily. He was charming and handsome. He seemed to always speak plainly with me, which I greatly appreciated.

I fell into his bed easily that night; I fell in love with him even easier.

🎃

It wasn’t hard being with Yoongi, but it was hard staying in my human form so much.

We were often together, sleeping over at one another’s homes, going out on dates, even spending our lunch breaks together.

I wasn’t opposed to spending a lot of our time together, but the longer I hid my secret from him—eventually refusing to transform into my true form at all, even in private just in case he dropped by suddenly—the stronger my instincts started to nag at me.

The first time my instincts started to break through, we had been cuddling during a late morning on the weekend. Neither of us had work, and we had stayed up late the night before bar-hopping with friends, so we decided to sleep in and have a lazy day together. It was relaxing; maybe a bit too relaxing… As we laid together, Yoongi’s scent curled around me. Subtle tangerine and heated spice wrapped me up like a hug during the holidays. Visions of oranges and clove in mulled cider made my mouth water. He was so sweet and warm; it made sense that his scent was too. I wanted to bask in it—maybe a bit too much—as I started nuzzling into his neck. He didn’t seem to mind or notice until I lightly nipped where the smell was strongest. Yoongi took it in stride, assuming I was feeling frisky, and groped my ass. I played along, unready to reveal that it was actually a scent he didn’t even know he had that was driving me crazy.

The second time my instincts got the better of me, I had been spending so much time at Yoongi’s apartment that I hadn’t noticed how much of his clothing I had… accumulated. Until there was a week he had to travel for work, and I found myself creating a den in my walk-in closet out of the hoodies and shirts I had stolen. It wouldn’t have been such a problem except Yoongi surprised me when he was back from his trip. I had gotten back to my apartment a bit late from work to find him chuckling in my bedroom. He had not only found my “den” but was sorting through the laundry to wash—lightly teasing me about getting behind on my chores while he was away, which of course I wasn’t going to correct.

The third time my instincts took over, I really fucked up. Yoongi and I were going a bit rougher than normal. He was taking great pleasure in holding me down, his strong hands tightening around my neck. When I had regained control, so to speak, straddling him and nipping at his neck, his scent and the moment once again overtook my sensibilities, and I bit him with my fangs. Yoongi had cried out, trying to pull away, and the predator in me didn’t want to release my prey… I growled at him. Then the taste of his blood filled my mouth, and I realized how I almost truly lost myself. Yoongi was understandably confused, but he was too distracted by cleaning up his wound and subduing my whining apologies to delve into why it even happened.

Then there was the time that I was truly almost caught as the… creature… that I am. It had been a long day. Everything had been extra exhausting. Coworkers a bit more annoying than usual. Clients a bit more demanding than usual. Friends a bit more dramatic than usual. The day had simply dragged on, and by the time I made it home, I was teetering the edge of losing all control. What pushed me over was the movie Yoongi decided we should watch. It was some horror film that we had in our list for weeks now and had been looking forward to; however, the day had simply been too overwhelming already. At the first jumpscare, I screamed and felt my transformation slip. My ears and tail popped out, and thankfully, Yoongi seemingly hadn’t noticed before I was able to toss a throw blanket over my body. He proceeded to tease me for being a coward, trying to tug the blanket off me, while I tried to calm myself enough to shift back.

That had been the final straw. I needed to come clean with him, but I was too scared of him being afraid of me and leaving. So instead, I took the coward’s route. I had long decided I loved him (and my human life) enough to give up my immortality. I would continue to keep my identity a secret momentarily while I worked out a plan to become human.

It was either to find the legendary Gumiho Pearl or eat one thousand human livers. The legends said that the pearl could be found in the mouth of fish hidden deep within a lake in the countryside. Only the bravest souls could retrieve it. And as… honestly, appetizing… as the livers sounded, I didn’t want to become the monster that the stories made me out to be. Not if I was going to be with him.

No, I would do it the hard way and find the pearl.

What I didn’t account for was Yoongi insisting he come with me on my “camping” trip…

🎃

“You really don’t need to come along…” I borderline-begged as we walked the trails away from the campsite.

Yoongi followed behind dutifully. He had never been one for camping and hiking so I had no clue why he was so insistent on coming with me on my “nature-walk” (to find the lake) or even the trip as a whole. He tried to reason that it would be good bonding time for us away from our normal routine, but something about his blasé explanation felt so weird to me.

“But what if something happened to you out here alone?” He questioned. “There aren’t many campers at the site this weekend as it is, and who even knows if these trails are regularly monitored by passersby or the rangers. You could get hurt… or lost.”

I knew all of this. It was precisely why I had chosen this weekend to go. I didn’t exactly know what the permanent transformation into a human would entail, and I didn’t want anyone to see any mystical shit happening. But Yoongi didn’t know that.

We walked in silence for quite a while, Yoongi always staying a few steps behind me for some reason. It was about two hours into our walk that I spotted the edges of the lake.

“Wow, look at this place…” Yoongi finally spoke up, coming to peer around the area with me.

It was enclosed in thick brush, even the path we came from was barely noticeable within the clearing, and the only sounds were of faint bird chirps and water trickling from a small creek waterfall into the far side of the lake.

I felt myself choke up, not only from the pure nature, untouched my humanity, but also from the deep, ancient magic I could sense emanating from the depths of the water. It was here. The fabled fish and pearl.

“Yeah…” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the mystical energy in the air, and stepped away from my boyfriend. I carefully approached the lake edge to peer into the crystalline water.

“It’s really just perfect, huh…” Yoongi spoke again. “A beautiful place to end everything.”

His words confused me, and I turned to find him poised with a gun aimed at my heart. My eyes widened, mouth dropping in a silent scream. I was stunned. Blindsided. Betrayed. “Wh– What are you doing?!”

“Like I said, ending things.” He stated it so simply. The smirk on his face felt out of place; it was normally for when he was riling me up, but there was no hint of teasing behind his eyes. They looked dead. Emotionless.

“I don’t… I don’t understand?”

“You thought I didn’t know what you are?”

He knew. He knew. He knew I was a gumiho. When? Did he figure it out? Put the pieces together? Catch me one of the times I was careless with my transformation? Or, had he known the whole time?

He must’ve seen the questions filtering through my flickering eyes as I was trying to read his impassible demeanor. “I’ve known all along. You couldn’t trick me with your fake, pretty smiles. I knew what kind of creature you were from the beginning.”

“Then why are you doing this?” I screamed, tears falling in desperation. I knew what kind of being I was; I knew my kind’s reputation, but I had always tried to do things the human way. Be better for him because I loved him… “I thought– I thought we loved each other…”

He laughed, but the sound was so cruel. So spiteful. I had never heard his sweet, low chuckle sound so hateful. “You think I could really love a thing like you? You aren’t even capable of love! You’re just a disgusting monster.”

“I did love you! I changed myself for you; I was going to become human for you!” I cried back.

Yoongi scoffed, “That is a legend, and we both know it. And even if you did, you’re delusional if you think any real human would want to be with a freak of nature.”

His words cut deep into my heart, my soul. But they weren’t new words. They were words I, and those like me, had heard for centuries. The words of a hunter and their propaganda.

Yoongi was a hunter.

And I fell into his trap.

I knew how they worked. He must’ve picked up my information and trail weeks before we ever met. He lured me in, used me for his pleasure, toyed with me, all so he could eventually corner me. He would kill me, and after I die and transform into my natural state, he would collect my paws as proof for a reward and my tail as a trophy.

I never meant anything to him.

Except for a dollar amount.

My eyes hardened, tears drying up, and my jaw clenched. I dropped the transformation as a heartbroken growl tore through me. “So you never cared about me? Months of spending time together, dates, sex… None of it mattered. I was just your next mark, huh?”

“Of course. Sex means nothing except you being easy and gullible. Everything else was a part to play.”

I hummed, lowering into a launchable position. I was trying to goad him into lowering his guard a bit, just enough that when he took the poison-laced shot, I would be able to dodge and counterattack.

Yoongi might have weapons, but I had time, skill, and practice on my side. He certainly wasn’t the first hunter I had ever encountered, and if I remained a gumiho, he wouldn’t be the last.

“So how much will you get for me? How much is my bounty?”

“Think you’re worth a lot?”

I chuckled, just as darkly as he had before. “I know my own history, as I’m sure your society does. Just because I’ve changed my ways the last decade or so, doesn’t mean anything in their eyes. I also know that they know my true age, which I’m sure factors into the trophy price.”

Yoongi nodded in concession. “You’re right. We don’t care about your false change of heart. You’ve done at least a century of harm; ten years of pretending to be a real person is nothing.”

He shifted, my eyes darted following the movement. He was prepping.

“Three hundred thousand.” He cocked the gun. “You have a pure white coat though so I might be able to bargain for more. Who knows.”

And then he shot.

I pounced.

It had been a while since I had exercised this form; it had been even longer—a decade at least, as mentioned—since I had attacked a human, especially a hunter.

My jump was high in the air but not high enough to avoid the bullet grazing my calf. I landed on top of Yoongi, ripping the gun away and tossing it back into the lake, and straddled him. My claws tightened around his neck, digging deep into his arteries and tearing forward.

Tears streamed my face as he gurgled and coughed blood. It splattered onto my face, but I paid no mind. I lifted him slightly, slamming his skull against the ground until the hatred faded from his eyes—along with the life.

I huffed and fell off of the corpse of my ex.

Heartbroken.

Shattered.

Betrayed.

And also in severe pain as the poison pulsed in my leg. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would be a bitch to clean out and would radiate pain until then.

No, what hurt more, was knowing that I had let a man make me feel this weak.

“Never again.” I vowed, rolling his body into the lake. “I will never allow a man to make me feel this low. And I will earn my humanity… But just for you, Min Yoongi, I’ll do it the fun way. I’ll be the monster you wanted me to be… Sorry to leave you without a proper burial, but I have a thousand male livers to devour.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #min yoongi #reader #min yoongi x reader #bangtan sonyeondan x reader #bts x reader #angst #fluff #horror #gumiho au #korean mythology au #oneshot #fictober

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leonhardt-simp · 2 years ago

Text

Special Delivery

[werewolf au] | oneshot

Pieck x f! reader

summary: Pieck has been feeling sick for the past few weeks and decided to take a trip to Hange for some advice on what it could be.

author’s note: I love werewolf au so much, I am also very happy that everyone else who still requests for it love it as well.

reblogs welcomed ! | requests : open !

Hange looked at their distressed leader, helping her to sit in the chair they provided for them.

“Are you sure you aren’t dying?” Hange wondered, a hand resting against their chin.

Pieck raised a brow, “Aren’t you supposed to know?” She held her stomach, still feeling that nausea. Perhaps the previous hunt really messed up her stomach?

Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to want to go away.

Hange, of course, was just joking.

Letting out a loud laugh, Hange motioned to Pieck to lift her shirt and with compliance, the pack leader unbuttoned her cardigan and lifted her shirt for the doctor.

A stinging cold hands begun to feel her stomach, some touches experimenting for any pain, however, Pieck didn’t flinch.

Hange knelt down soon after to lean an ear in and after a little bit, Hange whistled as if impressed, “Yep. I thought so.”

Pieck stayed quiet sitting in quiet curiosity, watching as the doctor stood up, stretching their limbs and cracking their knuckles in preparation to get back to work.

“What is it?” She finally questioned with slight annoyance.

Why weren’t they just telling her straight up? Was she supposed to know everything?

“You’re pregnant!” Hange belted out with a celebratory tone, one without much shame.

Hange, grabbing ahold of the new mother’s hands and guiding her to stand up, happily smiled to the new mother who was confused at the announcement.

“You’re gonna be a mother! Isn’t that something?” The brunette clapped their hands to the pack leader.

Pieck was dumbfounded, “What? No, that can’t be..” She was now looking back through her memories to see if she’s gotten her cycle yet.

Hange tilted their head, pushing up their glasses to look at the Pieck. “You mean you can’t sense it? I can sense it. There’s definitely a kid in there.” The shameless doctor pointed to Pieck’s stomach.

“Morning sickness is usually also a sign, late cycles… You know.. The common signs..” They explained, crossing their arms over their chest as they thought of the most obvious symptoms.

“Have you been feeling fatigue? Tenderness in the breast area?” Hange asked, getting a mixed reaction from Pieck.

It didn’t help that the longer Pieck thought about it… Yes… She was experiencing those..

“Wait, Are you sure?” Pieck watched as the playful doctor begun to make their way to their desk and sit down. She followed them, leaning her hands on the desk.

“Of course! I am a doctor after all.” Hange expressed as they began to look through one of their drawers. “If you’re doubting my word, just take a pregnancy test.” Hange advised, pulling out a folder to start on some other work they had planned for the day.

Without much left to question Pieck moved away from the desk, getting ready to leave. However, just before she left the room, Hange stopped her with a call of her name.

“Pieck!” The call made the new mother turn her head to the doctor.

“Make sure to start eating well, pregnancy can be a nightmare if you don’t properly care for yourself.” Hange waved as Pieck scoffed and left, those words not easing her anxieties.

The pregnant test came out positive.

She was staring at it with such an intense gaze as she stayed in the bathroom of your shared home, not knowing how to break this to you.

She was happy! Of course she was! She simply wondered about her duties.

Pieck needed to work out who would keep the pack structured while she worked through this, she feels unprepared. It was actually quite suffocating feeling this unready. Not that she wasn’t excited.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard that comforting voice call from the front of the house. Her head turned to the hallway, her hand slipping the test down into a drawer.

“I’m home!” You called out, slipping off your coat as you held bags in your hand. You had left earlier to get some things from the store, you remembered Pieck wasn’t feeling well.

You thought some medicines would be good for her, some snacks. You even got her some fuzzy socks ! They had cute little penguins on them.

“Welcome home,” Pieck greeted you, that beautiful face finally appearing from behind a wall. She was happy you were home, you could see it in her eyes. She was like a puppy sometimes, even when she felt sickly, she always would greet you at the door.

“Oh hello there, beautiful.” You held your arms out for her, her lips lifting into a smile as she walked into your embrace. Your felt her lips kiss against your cheek, her hand holding one side of your face to guide you into it.

“How are you feeling?” You asked her, slightly pulling away to look at her state. She didn’t seem to look terrible, but she rarely ever did.

“Still nauseous but I can live..” You nodded with feeling a little down to know it hadn’t gone away yet. You rose your hand holding up one of the three bags you had brought in, motioning for her to grab one.

“I got you some stuff to see if we could fix that.” You said.

You both brought the bags to the kitchen and place them on the counter, her eyes looking through items you brought. “Penguin socks?..” She wondered, your eyes meeting as you were placing the snacks you bought away.

“Ah! For you! I got those to keep you warm at night.” You said, kneeling down to reorganize some things in your pantry.

Pieck playfully scoffed, “I’m a leader of a pack, I don’t need to keep warm if I’m naturally warm.” She stated, watching as your head popped up from behind the counter. “Do you want me to take them back?” You asked.

“No, I’ll still wear them.” Pieck held them closer to her, the reaction getting a laugh out of you.

“Thought so.” You commented, standing back up and closing the pantry. Pieck was feeling that anxiety build up again, her eyes wanting to do nothing but stare at the socks.

You could sense it even without having to see her.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked, walking to stand just behind her to rub her arms and kiss her shoulder. The action melting just a bit off of Pieck’s shoulders, a little sigh falling from her lips.

“Yeah? I just don’t feel well..” Pieck tried to play it off however, you shook your head and moved away. She turned her head slightly to watch you, seeing you lean against the counter beside her.

“Yes but, somethings on your mind obviously.” You could tell something was wrong but you weren’t sure what.

Your eyes met and her eyebrows furrowed down a bit with slight discomfort, this nausea wasn’t helping. “I’m… So..” She looked away to find the words, her hands gently placing down those socks.

You stayed quiet to listen to her open up, your head tilting slightly as you watched her move to place her hands on her stomach.

“I went to see Hange today about my sickness.” She started to explain, her eyes looking down.

You felt your heart drop slightly, surely this wasn’t anything serious. “Yeah? Let me guess, it’s a small stomach bug?”You made a lighthearted guess, moving away from the island to go get something to drink from the fridge.

Pieck clasped her hands together and took a deep breathe, her head lifted to finally look to you. “Do you remember what I said about our future?” She asked, confidently.

With a glass of water, you sipped and nodded. She nodded with you, “Hange gave me a quick check up and…” She trailed off.

You turned to look at her, concern showing through those eyes of yours. Those eyes she absolutely loved.

She smiled, “I’m pregnant.”

You felt the world around you both completely stop, your eyes widening in shock. “Huh?” That’s all you could muster up.

“Hange… Stated I was and for confirmation… I took a test…” She pointed behind her in the direction of the bathroom.

“I’m… We’re gonna have a pup.” She could feel her eyes beginning to tear up. Your mouth fell agape from the news, your eyes falling down to her stomach. “You’re messing with me.” You tried to call her bluff but her head shook as she moved her hands to her eyes to cover her tears.

Your heart raced with joy, your face beginning to warm up at the idea of having a family with this absolute gem of a woman.

“WE’RE GONNA HAVE KIDS??” Your hand placed down the cup and with haste, you enveloped your wife in your arms lifting her into your embrace. Her hands reach to hold your shoulders as you hugged her tightly, her giggle ringing through the kitchen.

Your reaction melted her worries away, your kisses helping further as you pressed them all over her face and neck. You gently brought her down and held her face to press one loving kiss to her lips, which she reciprocated with just as much love.

“You scared me, I thought you were dying.” You revealed, kissing her nose.

That thought was put to rest.

Her smile brightened at your excitement, “I know a great shop for chew toys and we’ll need those safe baby locks. Maybe, get something to cover the outlets in the house and I should start smoothing corners of furniture..” You started to ramble, Pieck just watched you talk, her smile never fading at your ideas.

“What about a room for the child?” She asked, your eyes lighting up at the thought of a baby room.

“I am willing to move houses for you.” You stated, lifting her hands up to kiss them.

Pieck just wanted to fall in love with you all over again, she could remember every feeling before you both started dating.

Now, you both were going to have something that proved your love to one another. “You would?” She questioned, your head slightly bent back in disbelief that she would question your love.

“Of course. You’re everything to me, Pieck. I want you and our baby to be comfortable. I want our family to thrive and grow.” You held her hands close to your chest and you declared your future to her. She stared longingly into you as you drew out your future together.

“I want us to have holidays with all of us wearing matching sets, I want to come home and see you both sleeping on the couch together.” You wanted everything to do wit her, nothing without her was worth it. It was obvious to miss your love for her.

“Even if they end up like me?” Pieck asked, worried that you may not understand the hardships of having a pup.

“I want everything with you, Pieck. I don’t care if our kid comes out with two tails and a third arm. It’s ours.” You expressed with a smile.

“If it’s yours, I don’t care if our fences end up completely trashed.” You finally added and soon was met with Pieck throwing herself onto you to kiss you deeply.

You caught her and leaned back, hugging her waist to keep her pressed to you. Her hands held onto the sides of your head as she titled her head to return all the love you gave her from just your words. It was enough to almost knock you both over.

Once your lips parted from one another, she hugged your neck. Her nose nuzzled against yours as a sign of affection, her fingers combing through your hair. “I love you.” She whispered to you, tears slipping from her eyes from how overwhelming this was.

In a good way.

You giggled, kissing her nose.

“I love you, Pieck.”

#pieck x reader #pieck finger x reader #pieck finger #aot x reader #aot scenarios

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royaletiquette · 5 months ago

Note

If Nunnally could have chosen herself, she would have never go back to Hibiya to talk about his accident during the horse riding. Especially as she had witnessed how little information he had provided to his parents during the dinner that evening when it happened. But she was left with no choice. She had had a long conversation with the ambassador, who was encouraging (or actually forcing) her to take steps, and then there was her father’s letter, in which he simply demanded she talked some sense into her fiancé.

So that day, when Nunnally joined Hibiya for the afternoon tea, she was obviously worried, not to say nervous. The crown prince’s neck seemed to be still hurting; or perhaps it was only her wrong assumption. She poured herself (and him) a cup of tea (almost spilling it in a process; but did he notice?). There was some longer silence lingering between them until the princess finally spoke: --

“You made us all worried with that accident last week. When you fell down from your horse. You yourself admitted Alfred’s easily spooked…” – she stopped; she was talking as if she was one of his parents. And Nunnally knew she’d be so annoyed if anyone would be talking to her like that. It was not a big deal. She knew it. With some hesitation, she moved closer to him, covering his hand with hers – “I was really worried, Hibiya.” – she said plainly, suddenly decided not to follow demands enforced on her; after all she was talking with him; after all it was her life– “I still am…”

“Can you just promise me to be careful?”

“Does your neck still hurt?” – she asked still keeping her hand on his; it felt so warm. And so right. Wouldn’t he mind it, though? Wouldn’t he consider her too bold? But she wanted to be bold now. With him.

While he may not have been at his desk, Hibiya's mind was still very much stuck on the proposals he was hoping to finalize now that his parents left on another trip. He ignored it, but it was obvious Nunnally was tense about something, again. Though he wasn't quite in the mood for the forced break, nor the sudden reminder of his accident that he swore were words straight from his mother's mouth.

Criticism over the few sentences needed to be swallowed, reminding himself that it was out of concern, not judgment. Hibiya kept her stare, exercising self-control to not dismissively take his hand back. It was ridiculous: Alfred is reactive and Hibiya behaves accordingly, obviously he's already careful enough as is. She's concerned, but for what? He was transparent every morning since about how he felt and how he was recovering. So where the hell was this coming from?

"I can't be more careful than I've already been," disregarding any genuineness to the question. Hibiya didn't want to believe this was Nunnally, yet in the same breath, had to remind himself that it was. He couldn't completely ignore the conversation or bite back with the frustration that it gave him wanting to be on full display. This was the future queen, he needed to keep a base level of respect that the title deserved. Even still, no promise of a pretend level of added safety was given.

"No," plainly answered without a care of how believable it was or not. There was a bruise still on the back of his shoulder that still bothered him, mainly when getting ready and unready for the day. He wasn't sure how it looked or how big it was exactly, but he didn't exactly feel like sharing that information anymore.

Hibiya decided at that moment that her concern was baseless, or at least not meaningful. Why would she ask if she had been listening in the first place? "Like nothing happened. So I'd hope everyone else would act the same by now." Hibiya was ready for this to be behind them - behind everyone - like it already should be.

#v: reliving history }another nervous wreck #lured into wonderland #he might be a little :\\#if he finds out her father knows. he's absolutely going to blame Nun for that. and its going to totally kill his trust in her #im sorry nun. youre being so caring #but the moment he sensed someone else's words his her mouth it was over

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absorbedbutler · 2 years ago

Text

part 2 of things i imagine to cope with the fact i can’t be with austin butler

this is so sick of u guys to make a post i took 10 minutes on my most noted post.

anyways it’s 1 in the morning and i am yearning!!!!!!

1. based off that one reddit post 😭 whenever he has to wake up early for shooting he wakes up 5 minutes early so he can hold you as tight as possible before he’s gone for the whole day

2. watching his old shows with him and making a whole night out of it

3. HELPING YOU GET READY wahhh wahhh he loves hooking your bra for you, choosing one out of 2 shirts, tying your shoes, telling you to tilt your head up so he can apply your lipstick with his best effort

4. bro can literally never be close enough to you he wants to be in your skin he will nuzzle his head wherever it’s placed and replace where his arms are hooked for the peak position

5. he’s such a housewife omg walking into the kitchen to various breakfast foods made because his “body is used to his filming schedule” and he “couldn’t sleep longer”

6. in contrast to helping u get ready he will help you get unready! gently rubbing your makeup off, holding your jaw while he takes over in brushing your teeth, laying out your skincare, braiding your hair, etc. man lives to help you

7. king of aftercare and sorry i’m not talking about like running a bath for you and boring cliche aftercare things but more so making himself a weighted blanket and literally putting himself over you and holding onto you like a sloth.

8. mentioning you in interviews whenever he sees an opening HE IS SO HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT YOU he completely forgets the question about his wardrobe in the upcoming move and starts talking about how his gf loves his outfits

9. hands hands hands he knows u love them and will wear rings constantly & have his fingers wrapped around every part of you every second of every day holding hands, hands on your lower back, hands on your shoulders, hands on your neck and jaw. wtvr 😵‍💫

10. loves u being his passenger princess in his cars (plural), any road trip, late night drive, drive to a meeting, you’re on his right hand side, choosing music, kissing his knuckles, giving him details on every thought in your mind, or like. you know. road head.

11. i know he smells ssooooo good omg i wanna eat his ass up MM he’s a daily shower typa guy

#austin butler #elvis 2022 #elvis smut #austin butler smut #austin elvis x reader #sebastian kydd #the carrie diaries #austin butler imagine #austin elvis imagine #austin butler x reader

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compassionatereminders · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Kat!

I hope your trip to Amsterdam goes great!

My move to Japan is finally happening! In the second half of June most likely.

I've been waiting for this moment for just over two years now, and now that it's here I find myself nervous and unready, but also I am very happy!

Not really an ask just wanted to say it out loud.

You're moving to Japan?! Oh my, that sounds like a super exciting adventure and I'm really happy for you! Please keep me updated! I'm actually planning to visit Japan myself once they fully open their borders for regular tourism, so I'd love to hear about your experience!

#chat with kat

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sourbkg · 4 years ago

Text

𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜

[𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎]

➪ synopsis: a villain hits you with a quirk that makes you forget things.

➪ pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

➪ warnings: angst, cursing, reader & bkg are 3rd years!, for plot reasons: dadzawa/dadzashi, eri is ur lil sis bc i said so <3

➪ word count: 4k+

➪ a/n: i think this is the longest fic i’ve ever written. ty @bokunokangae + @a-boy-is-a-gun for being my beta reader ily guys.

No one would ever guess Bakugou Katsuki was a sucker for planning dates. Or maybe he’s just a sucker for you. Regardless, he’s good at anything he does, and this includes taking you on an unforgettable trip in the city for your belated one year anniversary.

You never thought you’d date Bakugou, having joined U.A. late in your first year and getting belittled by the blonde; claiming you’d fall behind quickly due to not being there from the start, and singling you out in an effort to wear down your will. You butted heads constantly, and when everyone found out who your parents were, things only escalated. You don’t know when, you don’t know why, and you definitely don’t know how, but by some miracle, the bickering simmered down and began to mold itself into something different.

Something entirely new that neither of you would expect.

By your second year, you’re dating, and that leads to where you stand now- in your third year, holding the blonde’s hand while walking to the next meticulously planned date spot. Bakugou gave no hints as to where your next location would be, despite your persistence in asking.

“Not even a hint?” You question, tilting your head to the side. The streets are empty, save for a couple stragglers who pay you no mind, and the warm night air keeps your spirits high.

“Nothing.” He replied, not looking at you. He can feel your pout.

“How about if I guess?”

“Nope.”

“Are we going to the record shop I like? Or maybe to the food truck with all the spicy noodles? Or maybe-”

“I’m not gonna tell you if you’re right, so you might as well stop.” He rolls his eyes. You huff.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let you keep your surprises-”

A yelp is drawn from your lips as you pass an alley; something- no, someone pulling you into the darkness. Your grip on Bakugou’s hand is lost at the sudden game of tug-o-war, and despite your training, it takes a moment for you to process what exactly is happening. Bakugou is quick to act, attempting to take you back from the offender's embrace, but the sight of metal being pressed against your neck makes him hesitate, before he’s stopping altogether.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice rough while his palms spark. His eyes continue to look over your form, to the person who has you hostage. An opening. All he needs is an opening.

You feel nothing but helpless, attempting the shy away from the blade that presses against your skin. The man holding you gives a laugh. You don’t find any of this funny.

“You may not know me, but I know you- Child of Aizawa.”

Everything clicks quickly as he continues to speak- over-explaining as villains do. How your father threw him in jail, how he fought tooth and nail to get break out, and how he planned on ruining one of his most important things in his life- you.

Villains who seek vengeance through others are nothing but cowards. Someone using you against your parents is truly the worst, especially now as it interferes with your date with Bakugou.

“Your bone to pick is with my father,” you can’t help but bite, wincing when the metal nips deeper into your skin, “I don’t have anything to do with his affairs.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but you’re buying yourself time. You can see the calculations running through Bakugou’s head, the possible ways he can go about this without you getting hurt- you just need to get him an opening. A time where you’re out of the way so he can give this guy hell.

“Maybe,” the villain's breath fans against your cheek, you hold in a gasp at the feeling, “but I’m sure you can imagine the look on his face when he sees his child, beaten and bloodied due to his own faults.”

You’re throwing your head back at the man’s face without a second thought, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose. The knife splices against your skin as you jerk away, but it’s not the worst injury you could’ve sustained through such a reckless move. You wrangle your body out of his grip just in time for Bakugou to whirl past you, unleashing a hellfire of punches while you press a hand to your neck.

There’s only a moment of reprieve, before Bakugou’s being thrown to the side like a ragdoll. You can only stare as he’s slammed into the wall of the alleyway, while the villain stands as if his punches did nothing. But you know your boyfriend. He’ll get up and finish this guy, he just needs a moment-

The villain's eyes settle on you. You make out a smirk forming under his hoodie.

“Now where were we?”

Your quirk is a simple one. It allows you to move through shadows, but there’s a couple rules; you must have a destination chosen to exit- if not, you’ll just be spit out in a random shadowed area. Your eyes always take a moment to adjust when you come back to the ‘real’ world, and you’re always so cold after going through the realm of shadows. It’s dark. It depletes a lot of your energy.

Bakugou still isn’t moving.

Your eyes flicker to your boyfriend, then you feel yourself being swallowed by the shadows. Your chosen point of exit is right behind the villain, in hopes of knocking him unconscious before he can do anymore damage. It seems he’s done his research on you, on your quirk, because he’s prepared. You’re unready for his retaliation, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you against the ground.

Clawing at his wrist does nothing, kicking at him does nothing. He’s unaffected by any weak attempt you have at fighting back, grip on your neck only increasing. There’s no shadows for you to disappear into, there’s nothing in the alley to aid you, and your struggling is just getting weaker and weaker the longer his hands cover your windpipe.

He holds one hand over your face, letting you watch as his fingertips glow a dark red color. His quirk. You know nothing about his quirk. He grins as you struggle with new vigor.

“My quirk is nothing special,” he turns his hand so his palm faces up, examining his own fingers, “but the backlash is extraordinary. How would you feel about forgetting the people you care about? How will you parents feel, knowing they’re the cause for this sudden amnesia?”

He presses the tips of his fingers against your temple. You don’t feel anything at first, before you’re feeling it all at once. Memories flash in front your eyes, only to disappear into a blank slate seconds later. There’s an explosion going off that feels like it’s miles away, but the pressure being removed from your neck tells you it’s Bakugou. Your mind goes white, then you’re unconscious.

When you wake up, your adrenaline is spiked. Sitting up and looking around hurts like a bitch, but you’d be damned if you weren’t ready to fight again. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights above you, and the blurred voice of someone telling you to calm down brings your attention to the right.

“Oh my god, we didn’t know when you’d-”

It’s Hizashi, you can make out the blonde hair falling over his shoulders from his loose bun. Blinking a few times helps your eyes, and you rub at them with the heel of your palm, looking around the room once more.

A hospital. You’re in a hospital. But why? You don’t….. Oh. Oh.

The villain really did some damage to you and Bakugou, huh?

Why were you with Bakugou in the first place?

“-an you hear me? Do I need to go get the doctor? Sho just left to get some coffee, I wish he w-”

“I’m okay.” You say, voice rough and throat dry. Hizashi offers a bottle of water that you take gratefully.

“‘M gonna go get the doctor, let them know you’re-”

You’re reaching out to grab his arm without realizing, grip weak, but it’s enough to make him falter and look at you.

“Please don’t leave me.”

It’s a whispered request, yet he hears it loud and clear. With a nod, he’s sitting back down and pressing a button beside your bed to call for a nurse. Your mind is still frazzled, but you find enough sense to ask a few questions.

How long you’ve been unconscious, if they caught the villain, what happened after you passed out.

Three days, no, Bakugou called an ambulance before he passed out himself were the answers you received. You open your mouth to ask another question, maybe why you were with the blonde, before a doctor steps in with Shouta.

Shouta looks tired. Both of them do, but he gives a small smile when he realizes you’re awake.

The doctor introduces herself, and explains what they believe is wrong with you. They think you have a concussion and ask you simple questions. The year, what school you go to, what year you’re in, what class, and if you can name some people for her.

She starts with the two men sitting beside your bed.

“Do you know who these two are?”

You nod, “Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa.”

“And their relationship to you?” She prompts.

“My parents.”

“Good, okay, that’s good.”

She has Shouta and Hizashi show you pictures of your 3-B classmates and people who you should know. Eri, Kendo, Tetsu, Shinsou, everyone has a name to their face, and the doctor seems satisfied with each response.

Then, Hizashi’s pulling out his phone and showing you a photo. It has your brows furrowing and eyes glancing over to your parents.

“Do you know who this is?” Hizashi asks, shaking the device lightly.

You nod, “Yeah, that’s Bakugou but… why am I kissing him?”

The photo is very clearly you, taken from a mirror in your dorm. You stand on your toes while Bakugou stands with his arms crossed, your lips pressing against his cheek.

Hizashi and Shouta share a glance between each other before looking back at you.

“Do you know what he is to you?” Aizawa asks.

“An acquaintance?” You feel bare as they stare at you, “Right?”

“May I speak with one of you outside, please?” The doctor asks, writing something on her clipboard and stepping out the door. Hizashi stays, squeezing your hand in his own.

He talks about things you’ve missed. How Eri says she can’t wait to visit, but seems to enjoy being babysat by Mirio and Tamaki. How Nezu’s promised to waive any tests or assignments you may have missed, but that doesn’t mean you can slack off. He stays away from the topic you’re itching to talk about- what you're missing. You aren’t stupid. You know their reaction to whatever you don’t remember isn’t good, and you doubt they’ll tell you until they know how you are mentally.

You jump when the door swings open, followed by Bakugou stumbling in while a nurse and your dad try to keep him out.

“You’re okay…” he breathes out, heaving a laugh, “they told me you were but I just had to-to make sure…”

His right arm is bandaged from wrist to elbow and his lip is busted, but he looks fine otherwise. You spare a glance to Hizashi, who’s now standing from his seat.

“What’re you doing here, Bakugou?” You ask, pulling the blankets closer to yourself. Your mind flashes to the picture your dad showed you previously, and you shake your head. There’s no way…

“What am I… Bakugou?” He seems more surprised you use his surname than anything, “What’s up with you, (y/n)?”

You make a face at him using your given name, scrunching your nose but offer no other rebuttal.

He sputters, looking to his teacher and the doctor, “Why are they acting so weird?”

You have half a mind to ask why he’s acting so weird, but Shouta…

“It seems they don’t remember you’re… dating.”

Dating. You? With Bakugou Katsuki? Dating?

Bakugou’s eyes cut to you and you flinch under his stare. “No. No, no, no, no, no, come on (y/n), tell me they’re lying-” He’s stepping towards your bed, but Hizashi stands in front of him before he can get too close, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“I-I… I have no idea what you’re… we were dating?”

He visibly deflates, giving another glance towards your parents and the doctor, before Hizashi’s leading him out the door.

A week passes, and you learn Bakugou’s been discharged while the doctor requests you stay a couple days longer so they can monitor your ‘amnesia’. Hizashi and Shouta promise they’ll bring Eri by, and you’re pleasantly surprised when Hizashi opens the door with the little girl in his arms. She fights against his hold until she’s being placed down, not stopping for a second to clamber her way up your bed and embrace you in the biggest hug. You laugh.

“Eri, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you more.” She says, face burrowed in your neck. The two of you stayed like this for a moment, Eri content with sitting in your embrace, before she’s pulling away and messing with your tangled hair.

“I miss you and Bakugou playing with me,” she says after a pause, pulling her hands to herself and looking down.

You only force a smile and rub her cheek, “I miss playing with you too.” Is all you can come up with.

There’s no speaking on Bakugou’s behalf, hell, it’s hard to believe he’d even have the patience to sit and play some dorky princess games with Eri and you. But, it seems he managed some amount of tolerance, since Eri’s able to recall fond memories. You wonder if there’s really anything to miss about Bakugou. Everytime you dwell on the thought, or try to remember any semblance of a memory, you end up with nothing but a headache.

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, Eri wears herself out and falls asleep on your chest. You don’t mind, used to her using you as her personal pillow. Running your fingers through her hair, you look over to your parents. They speak in hushed tones next to your bed. You look away, instead focusing on the wall directly in front of you.

“Did I really love him?” You can’t help but ask, voice soft. The two adults pause, glancing over to you in time for you to catch their eyes. “Bakugou,” you clarify, though you’re not sure why, “did I really love him?”

They hesitate, looking to each other. Hizashi opens his mouth to answer, but Aizawa beats him to the punch.

“We don’t know that you’re ready to discuss that yet.” His tone is in no way harsh or demeaning, and yet it feels like a slap in the face. This was your life you were asking about- the least they could do was tell you about it.

“I think I deserve to know,” you can’t help but snap. Eri shifts in her sleep, and you take in a small breath, looking away from your parents, “I just… I wanna understand…”

You see them share a look from the corner of your eye, before Hizashi gives a soft sigh. They both sit up straighter- well, Hizashi sits up straighter. Shouta leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a vacant look coming across his features.

“You started dating about a year ago,” Hizashi starts, pulling out his phone and scrolling through some apps, “you told us about a month and a half after- you were scared Sho would string Bakugou up by his toes if he found out.” The blonde can’t help but snicker at the thought, sparing a glance to his husband.

“I would’ve, too,” Shouta adds nonchalantly, clasping his hands together, “if you hadn’t been so adamant about us ‘playing nice’.”

Hizashi hands you his phone and you see he’s opened a photo album called ‘The Love Birds’. You make a face at the cringey name, but begin scrolling through it nonetheless. It’s filled with pictures of you and Bakugou; holding hands, going on what you can assume are dates, and even some of you kissing (though it’s mostly just small pecks on the cheek).

“Those are all photos you’ve either sent us or that we’ve taken ourselves. Bakugou wanted them to make a scrapbook or something.”

Your heart honestly hurts at the sight. These are all photos of you, and yet you have no recollection of any of them. You look so happy in each of them, too, gazing at Bakugou with such an adoration that you don’t think you could ever muster right now. You lock the phone and pass it back to Hizashi.

The doctor releases you the next day, having been convinced fairly easily by Shouta. You’re back at home with them for a full day, before they allow you back at the dorms. While they’d prefer you to just be home, the villain is still loose. They know you’re better off constantly around your peers than sitting at home alone, however, they make it a point to stop by when time allows it.

Everyone in class B gives you a warm welcome back, and no one asks about your situation. Kendo helps keep you distracted by planning game nights and offering to do face masks when she can. Testu tells you jokes that keep a smile on your face when he’s around, and sometimes joins you and Kendo on your game nights. Monoma helps you catch up on any assignments you may be confused with, seeing as you’re being thrown back into classes after missing about two weeks. Shinsou makes sure you’re never alone, and is a shoulder for you to cry on or a face to complain to.

Things are relatively normal, you’re slowly getting back into the swing of things, and yet…

Something still feels off.

Deep down, you know what it is. Your relationship, well- lack thereof, with Bakugou. You feel like a piece of you is missing, but it’s just… hard to really believe you dated him. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you were in a relationship with the Bakugou Katsuki.

Staying up at night becomes your new norm. It isn’t too bothersome, Shinsou taking after your father in the fact that he rarely sleeps at night, and is more than happy to keep you company. Some nights, he falls asleep before you, or doesn’t have the time to stop by. On these nights, you try to keep yourself busy. Catch up on homework, getting ahead on assignments, maybe throw in a few exercises if you’re feeling especially motivated, but tonight…

Tonight just feels different. Your room feels cramped yet too big at the same time, so you do the one thing you can think of in the moment and leave. It may not be the best decision, walking outside in just pajama shorts and a t-shirt, but it seems like the most plausible choice given the time.

U.A.’s campus is pretty at night, you discover. The air around you is cold, biting at your skin, but it’s not something you’re unused to due to your quirk. It makes you realize that more time passed than you thought. Stars twinkle in the sky and you smile to yourself at the fact that despite everything changing, the world has stayed the same. Walking around aimlessly does good at helping clear your head, regardless of the frigid air surrounding your frame. You jump at the feeling of something being draped around your shoulders, whirling around to face the sudden intruder.

It’s Bakugou, who holds his hands up in surrender and ensures there’s some semblance of distance between you while he speaks, “Just thought someone should tell you to not be a dumbass and come out with no jacket.”

Even though what he says has an edge, his tone holds no malice. His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid speaking any louder would scare you away. It’s the first time you’ve interacted with Bakugou since the hospital, and you genuinely wonder for a moment what he’s thinking.

You pull the jacket closer around you and look away, mumbling a small, “thanks.”

The two of you begin walking together with no particular destination in mind, mostly content with one another's company. Bakugou asks why you’re awake and you give the simple reply of not being able to sleep. He mutters out a short same and soon, you find yourselves sitting on a hill that has the perfect view overlooking the city. It’s then you notice Bakugou isn’t wearing a jacket himself, clad in only a dark tank top and sweatpants. You wonder if he realized he was being hypocritical in giving you his own.

“Do you want this back?” You find yourself asking, gesturing to the jacket, “I remember you… don’t really like the cold.”

“Nah, I don’t need it.” He waves you off with a shake of his head. Truthfully, he’s freezing his ass off, but he knows you despise the cold more than anything. He knows it’s all you feel when you use your quirk, and made a promise to himself to do whatever he can to help you avoid feeling this way.

The silence that surrounds you is nothing unwelcome, but you’re itching to ask the question everyone has been avoiding. You bite the bullet.

“What was our relationship like?”

He isn’t as surprised as he should be by the question, but it still makes him falter. It takes him a moment to regain his thoughts, and you wonder if maybe you’ve crossed some unknown boundary-

“It was nice,” he starts, looking up at the stars. You pull your legs to your chest and rest your cheek on your knees, keeping your eyes on him to let him know that you’re listening.

“I asked you out on a whim,” he continues, “Denki said if I didn’t, he’d ask you out for himself, and I couldn’t be one-upped by that idiot- even then, it wasn’t really me asking you out. It was moreso a challenge.”

You laugh a little at the thought, because that’s such a Bakugou thing to do. He smiles at the sound. He looks so soft, so tired, so worn out from what life has thrown his way as he’s bathed in the light of the moon, not pausing as his gaze remains on the sky.

“I told you were gonna wrestle- no quirks, and if I won, I’d get to take you on a date.”

“What’d I ask for if I won?” You ask, only for him to shake his head and scrunch his nose.

“In the moment you didn’t say and I didn’t care to ask. I wasn’t thinking far enough for what you could’ve wanted. I was hellbent on winning, anyways. But,” he goes on, “we fought. I had the upper hand, you were pinned down while Kiri counted the seconds and you…”

He pauses, closing his eyes as if the memory was still fresh in his mind. Maybe it was.

“... you leaned up and kissed me. It threw me off, and you used that to flip us over. You ended up winning.”

Bakugou opens his eyes and looks over at you for the first time since beginning the story. You can make out the pink dusting his cheeks under the moonlight, and you never thought you’d think of Bakugou as something akin to angelic, but here you are. Fantasizing about a memory you don’t even remember.

You wonder if his lips are as soft as they look now.

“What happened next?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. You must sound like a child, asking a parent to finish a bedtime story, but you don’t care.

“You laughed at me,” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh of his own, “you rubbed it in my face that I lost, and I threw it in your face that you cheated.”

You can’t help but grin, “But I won.”

“Yeah,” he looks down for a moment, forming a soft smile of his own, before looking back at you, “yeah, you won.”

“And after that?” You can’t help but press on, wanting to know more about the story that was more than just a story.

“You finally told me what you wanted for winning.”

“Which was?”

You don’t realize you’re slowly leaning towards each other, or that his breath is lightly fanning against your cheek until it’s happening- you can pick out every freckle he has and see how his eyes aren’t just red, but the color of a ruby.

“A kiss.”

He feels your own breath hitch against his lips and he…

Fuck...

He’s about to close what little distance is left when someone calling your name draws you out of it. You pull back like you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to, and hell, you might be with how late it is and how deep in the campus you are. With a glance behind you, you realize it’s only Shinsou. He remains a distance away, arms crossed over his chest.

“Saw your dorm door was open and couldn’t find you in the building. Got worried.”

You and Bakugou remain on the ground a moment longer. Then, Bakugou’s standing and offering a hand to help you up.

“You should go to bed,” he says low enough for only you to hear, “it’s late.”

You give a small nod, “You should too…”

There’s a pause, as if he has more to say, but decides against it, then he’s walking off in the direction of the dorms without another word.

“Your jacket-” you begin to take the item off, but he shakes his head without a second thought, not bothering to stop and retrieve his clothing. He knocks shoulders with Shinsou as he passes.

“Keep it, it was one of your favorites.” He doesn’t turn around as he speaks, gives a wave of dismissal.

You hug the jacket closer to yourself in return.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamia #my hero acadamia x reader #dad!aizawa #dadzawa #dadzashi #dad!hizashi #angst

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bad-at-names-and-faces · 4 years ago

Text

Another Secret

Chapter 25

Chapter Index

As Frederick walked toward the family's wing of the castle, he saw Nanny carrying Baby Linne toward the nursery.

"Hi!" Frederick called out, then put his hand to his mouth when he realized the baby was sleeping. He managed a stage whisper. "Are Mother and Father in their room?"

"Yes, dear," she told him. "Be sure to knock first."

Frederick approached his parents’ bedroom, and realized that Nanny must not have closed the door all the way. There was hushed talk between his parents, and as he approached, he began to hear what they were saying.

"...but there's no way. We have to do something about him," he heard his mother say.

"But why?" his father insisted. "It's not his fault, and besides, people like him. You're the one who wanted to avoid a scandal. Sending him away-"

"Might be better than trying to pretend everything is perfectly normal when you know it’s not… not now."

"You're right, I know. We need to figure something out. But-"

Frederick had the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be hearing any of this, and as much as he thought they might be talking about him, he didn’t feel comfortable eavesdropping, so he loudly knocked on the door and cleared his throat somewhat dramatically.

His father opened the door a crack. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed in relief. “What is it, Frederick?”

“Is Mother there?” Frederick asked, already knowing she was inside the room.

“Yes,” Kristoff opened the door to let his son in. “What’s the matter?”

“Sorry,” he walked over to his mother sitting on the bed. “Our Ambassador to America quit to get himself a farm out west. I guess they're giving them out free?"

"Wait," his mother began, "What are you talking about?"

"Inga said you need to meet the council yourself to pick a new ambassador," Frederick explained. “Also we were wondering how much longer you’d be leaving us on our own.”

“Oh…” Anna sighed, looking up at Kristoff. Frederick wondered what he’d done wrong, since he wasn't sure who else they might have been talking about.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick apologized, “Inga’s the one who told me to come here. I can go. I didn’t mean… whatever is wrong. I’ll go now.”

“No, wait,” Kristoff told him, walking over. “Is that the letter?”

“Yes,” Frederick replied, realizing he was almost eye level with his father. He slouched a bit. For all the times during the summer that he had tried to act more grown up, he suddenly felt unready.

“Can you leave it with us?” his father asked.

“Of course,” Frederick said, handing it over. “It’s not like I can really do anything with it.”

“Thanks,” Kristoff sighed. “Why don’t you go take a break now?”

“No, really, it’s fine,” he insisted. “And Inga will be expecting me, anyway.”

“Thank you, Frederick,” his mother smiled. “Do you need anything else?”

"Um, if it helps," Frederick spoke before getting to the door. "Admiral Sorensen told me he'd like to take me out on the training ship this spring. I told him I'd have to ask you first."

"That's fine, I guess," his mother replied, seeming somewhat distracted.

"Great, thanks!" Frederick replied, making sure to close the door completely and latch it as he left.

***

With Frederick out of the room, Inga pulled out the envelope she had grabbed a few minutes earlier. She realized she didn’t know what Henry’s handwriting looked like, and hoped the letter wasn’t going to be some generic official thank you for attending the coronation, especially after going to the trouble of hiding it from her brother. Opening the letter, she wasn’t disappointed.

Corona, September 4th, 1864 Dear Inga,

Thank you for the letter you gave me before you left Corona. I hope your trip home was uneventful, and that it was as quick as you said it would be. You still need to tell me what you meant.

I won’t be able to answer most of the questions from your letter just yet. I’ll need to find a chance to talk to my parents alone, since I get the feeling there might be things best discussed in private. Forgive me if I’m jumping to conclusions. As far as the other part of your letter, don’t worry, you didn’t offend me at all. I’d like to think I have a thicker skin than that. I hope you’ll write back. I promise I’ll write more when I can. If we can’t talk, this will be the next best thing.

Sincerely, Henry

Inga stared at the letter, very glad that she’d kept it away from the official correspondence, even if there wasn’t anything that could actually be evidence for any rumors. She realized she wanted a more private place to write a reply. Folding up the letter, she placed it in her pocket, and got up to leave the room. Just then, Frederick was returning.

“Finished already?” he asked her.

“I need a break,” she told him. “It’s getting late. Let’s go into town and get dinner.”

***

“I’m a little cold,” Elizabeth told Lars. He wrapped his arms around her as they looked at the fire.

“It does get cold earlier here,” he admitted, “especially up here in the mountains.”

“I think I’ll get used to it,” she smiled, leaning into him.

“So,” he began, “you really don’t mind that my mother will be so close?”

“I’m the one who suggested it,” she insisted. “I just hope that you don’t mind. I…I know not everyone gets along with their parents.”

He kissed her head. “No, it’s fine. More than fine, in fact. I love that you get along so well with her, and… there might be times when I’ll be busy, and I don’t want you to feel lonely, or overwhelmed. We can’t always count on having help.”

“Thank goodness you seem to have learned to cook,” she laughed, “or else we might all starve!”

“You’re much more talented than I am,” he assured her.

“I can bake some fancy pastries and cakes,” she told him. “That will hardly feed a family. Your mother taught you how to make broth. Our cook always did that, and she liked to keep us out of the kitchen when she was making dinner.”

“Well, it works out nicely, doesn’t it?” He kissed her again. “It’s all worked out rather nicely.”

***

Inga was up early walking down the hall, meaning to get something from the kitchen before heading to the study. Turning the corner, she heard someone playing the piano in the corner of the ballroom. It hardly ever got used, especially since she had stopped playing a few years back. The twins preferred violin, and Sofia wasn’t yet old enough to sit down for anything formal for very long. Frederick never put in much effort, but even then he seemed to play better than she did. Every so often someone in the family would say that they should try to find a way to fit the piano into the library so they could actually play it, or find a smaller piano for a corner of the library, but it never felt urgent enough to change anything.

Frederick was, in fact, the one playing. Inga stood by the door so she didn’t interrupt him, then walked over when he was finished.

“That was nice. What was it?”

Frederick startled a bit. “Inga, I didn’t hear you coming in. It’s just… some piece my friend Edvard sent from Bergen.”

“Well, it’s nice. I didn’t know you were still practicing,” she smiled.

“I hadn’t been, not really. This morning I just decided I would try again.” Frederick shuffled around the sheet music. “It’s a break from the correspondence. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind helping you with that. I’m just happy that I remember how to play.”

“You know that’s annoying, right?” Inga teased. “Being able to just sit down after the better part of a year and just play like that?”

Frederick gave a satisfied smile. “I played at Christmas last year, so I guess you’re right.” He shuffled through the stack of music on top of the piano. “Here, this one has something to sing. Why don’t you join me?”

“You know I hate singing,” she protested.

“No you don’t, you just hated the voice teacher you had maybe a total of three lessons with,” Frederick insisted. “Besides, I can’t sing this high anymore.” Frederick gave her a pitiful looking frown.

“Fine, but I can’t promise I’ll sing it well,” she conceded, and Frederick began playing.

They needed to start over once or twice, but eventually Inga had to admit it sounded nice, especially if Frederick played loud enough to overpower herself. He insisted she sounded fine, and made her sing a second song.

At the end of the second piece, they heard someone clapping from across the room. Inga swung around, nearly knocking the music off the piano, and Frederick caught the pages, making sure they were secure before standing up and looking toward the far door.

“Very nice,” said the man standing there. He was perfectly groomed and clean shaven, tall and tan, with jet black hair in the latest style from Paris, and what looked like a fashion house’s take on a military uniform. “I had no idea the prince and princess of Arendelle would be so talented.”

“And you are…?” Inga looked at him skeptically.

“Oh! I had thought you had been advised of my presence,” he replied. “I had informed Her Majesty of my interest in meeting you.”

Inga looked back blankly.

“Prince Tarkan of Maldonia.” He gave a ceremonious bow as Frederick and Inga looked at each other trying not to laugh.

“Prince Agnarr Kristoff Frederick of Arendelle,” Frederick replied, giving a very spot-on recreation of the Maldonian prince’s bow. Inga was finding it hard to control her expression now, but quickly lost the desire to laugh when the prince was still looking expectantly at her, having barely acknowledged her brother’s reply.

“Your Highness,” she curtseyed. “Princess Anna Idunna Ingeborg of Arendelle. And I’m afraid that I must excuse myself, I was on my way… elsewhere.”

“Where were you going?” Frederick whispered at her.

“Anywhere,” she whispered back, hurrying to the side door toward the kitchen.

***

“Your Highness,” Prince Tarkan bowed to Frederick after his sister had left the room.

“So,” Frederick hemmed, “have you had time to see the countryside?”

“I cannot say that I have,” replied Prince Tarkan, “and I did not come here to make idle conversation.”

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but there’s a lot you can do around here,” Frederick insisted. “Just because my sister isn’t interested, doesn’t mean your trip needs to be a waste.”

“You seem very certain that she isn’t interested,” Prince Tarkan sneered.

“Well,” Frederick laughed, “usually if someone starts the conversation by telling her they want to meet her, that’s the end of it.”

“Perhaps in ten years she will regret being so quick to judge,” Prince Tarkan sniffed. “I’m surprised that your mother is not more active in getting her children settled. I, for one, will be glad to have forged an alliance so that I may get on with the rest of my life.”

“Um, I thought we were talking about getting married, what are you talking about?” Frederick stared at the other prince in confusion.

“Surely, someone in your position understands the importance, and isn’t blinded by romantic notions.”

“Well, I guess maybe for you?”

“I’m not sure what rumors about me have traveled this way, but I assure you they are all false,” the Maldonian prince huffed.

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I had to dance with your sister when I was in Corona, but I don’t think she mentioned anything.” Frederick frowned as he tried to remember any conversations he’d had at that party.

“Well, my sister knows when to hold her tongue. Still, I thought your family might be more amenable when the ambassador was explaining…certain things.”

“Certain things?” Frederick was confused.

“I am sure you are aware, there were irregularities? That is, irregularities with the marriage of your parents.”

“Why are you trying to sound so mysterious?” Frederick asked. “They got married by the trolls first, sure, and then they got married in the cathedral by the bishop because everyone expects that. So?”

“You’ll beg my pardon, Your Highness, I did not mean to be rude. Apparently all is explained.” Prince Tarkan bowed and left the way he had come in.

Frederick shook his head and sat back down at the piano.

***

“I think this is where you tell us congratulations.” Anna told the silent council. “I’ve certainly been hearing enough whispers about the impending succession crisis for the last few years.”

The council sat silently for another moment. The Bishop spoke up first.

“Your Majesty,” he began hesitantly, “it truly pains me to say this, and no offense is meant, but as far as the law is concerned, you are not legally married.”

“Well, you could vote to change the law,” Kristoff interjected. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“Sir,” the Bishop said, giving a small bow to Kirstoff, “I’m afraid that changing the law would introduce… complications.

“Complications?” Anna asked.

“Yes, you see…” the Bishop sighed. “Legally, if your recent ceremony were recognized, the entire thing could be annulled due to bigamy laws.”

“Wait, what?”

Anna could feel Kristoff’s hand squeezing hers painfully tight.

“If everyone would excuse me,” Anna spoke slowly and deliberately, “I would like to speak privately with the Bishop for a few minutes. The rest of you are dismissed. Thank you.”

With much grumbling, the remainder of the council pulled together any papers they had brought in, and left the room. Anna placed her free hand on top of Kristoff’s hand, and he relaxed his grip on her hand slightly.

“Your Majesty,” the Bishop began once the door had closed and he was alone with Anna and Kristoff. “It would be very difficult to write the law allowing other ceremonies but not… claims of private exchange of vows. Your sister changed the law for exactly that reason. It’s been the practice to look the other way for ordinary citizens, but in your case... I know you roundly denied having exchanged such vows at the time, but if, God forbid, anything were to happen to you, Prince Hans might bring up this marriage claim again.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “There could be bigamy claims, making any children Kristoff and I have illegitimate, and no living witnesses to deny it, and if there are no legitimate heirs, the legal spouse takes the throne. And they have… more warships than we have, even with Corona’s navy.”

“I am afraid so,” the Bishop nodded. “I can perform the ceremony first thing in the morning, if you wish.”

“That would be good,” Anna looked up at Kristoff, who nodded quietly in agreement.

***

Inga grabbed herself a pastry from the kitchen following her escape from the ballroom, and ate it slowly on her way up to the study. She walked in without knocking, in the middle of a bite.

“Good morning,” her mother greeted her. “Did you bring any for me?”

“You’re back?” Inga spoke with a full mouth, swallowing a little too quickly. “And you might have warned me about that prince from Maldonia, you know.”

“Who? Oh…sorry,” Anna laughed a little. “He was definitely obvious about his intentions. He asked directly if you were attached, and as upset as you seemed to be about those rumors last week, I had to be honest. Did he… behave himself?”

“I suppose he was fine, just… rude, I guess?" Inga sighed. "I left Frederick alone with him before I came up here just now.”

“How is Frederick doing?” Anna asked with some concern.

“Fine. He was playing piano this morning.”

"That's nice to hear. He seemed to think he had done something wrong yesterday," she sighed. "I'm sorry about the past few days."

"Is everything okay?" Inga asked.

"I think everything will work out," Anna replied, standing up to leave. "If you'll check the schedule, there should be a few meetings that don't require me to be present. Would you be able to attend those?"

Inga glanced at the book. "Ugh. You won't make me meet with Maldonia, will you?"

"Oh! No, I'll take care of that one. Thank you for reminding me. Now, your father is expecting me to join him for breakfast. Don't forget to eat a proper meal, please!"

***

Anna sat in the garden, a newspaper open on the bench next to her. She stared off absentmindedly, not wanting to read the paper she’d brought with her. She was happy for the headline she read, but it had awoken memories she thought she had put behind her. It had been two months since her twenty-first birthday, a little more than two months, in fact. It was almost September. Olaf wandered over and looked at the headlines. “Oh! The Crown Princess and Prince from Corona! I remember them! They had twins? Wasn’t she the one you and Elsa were traveling with? And her husband, I remember he stayed here for a while. Anna?”

“Sorry, Olaf, what was that? I was a bit distracted. Hey, let’s go for a walk!”

***

Kristoff was sitting at the table by the window with the breakfast set out when Anna came into the bedroom without knocking. Nanny had taken Baby Linne to the nursery for the morning. As she sat down, Anna pulled out a stack of papers she had hidden in the folds of her skirt.

“Inga came in just as I was finishing copying out the page from the law book,” she told him. “She was focused on running into the prince from Maldonia, anyway, so I don’t think she would have asked questions, anyway.”

“Anna,” Kristoff began, taking her hand. “Shouldn’t we tell her? She’s going to ask questions.”

“But when?” she sighed.

“Maybe now?”

“Somehow, I had always imagined it being some kind of deathbed confession…”

“Really?” He looked at her.

“No, of course not,” she told him. “It’s just, you know, we lucked out not having any rumors about this. Our children aren’t exactly good at keeping secrets, either. It would just take one of them saying something to Olaf and pretty soon every kingdom would know, and even if we’ve fixed the legal danger, we still don’t need that kind of talk.” Anna took a breath. “Maybe Inga could be careful now.”

“I think she would be.”

“But how do we tell her? It was a shock enough for you and me, and we knew… part of it.”

“It was a shock enough the first time you told me.”

“I kept questioning when I was going to tell you. Even after I told you, I second guessed myself. You seemed…angry.”

“I was never angry at you, I hope you know it was only…him.”

“Hans.” Anna said it as if it were a curse.

Kristoff bristled at the name, closing his eyes. “And I don’t think there would have been a perfect time.” He looked across the table with a slight smirk. “Well, I suppose I’m glad I’m not just learning about it now. I have to say, a lot of things suddenly made sense after you told me.”

“Honestly, I’m amazed there were never any rumors about the real reason for the trip to Corona."

"Trust me," Kristoff sighed, "everyone was convinced that you were going to be set up with a prince, it was only a question of which one. I almost believed it..."

"That still amazes me. It was the last thing on my mind during that trip,” she paused.

Kristoff smiled a little. "That's what Elsa said when she returned the first time, before she disappeared again. I have to admit, it was hard to believe, since she didn’t tell me why you would be hanging around in Corona for that long if you hadn’t… met someone else."

"Sorry, I know it must have been confusing, not knowing anything…" she looked at him sadly. “At any rate, I wasn’t just talking about what they were saying here. I suppose Elsa made sure that we never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to catch on that my dresses kept needing to be let out. And a princess getting new dresses certainly doesn’t raise any eyebrows. But even in Corona, we only stayed in the capital for three weeks, and that was the longest we stayed anywhere, and then they were joking that the food was too good for me. Elsa and Rapunzel didn’t say anything, of course, they kept quiet. And then Rapunzel found the house in the countryside not long after that. The story was that we needed a break from court life.”

Kristoff sat silently the entire time Anna was talking. Twenty years after the fact, this was the most he had heard her talk about that time. He was still holding her hand, and the other one was nervously gesturing as she reminisced. “How much did Rapunzel have a hand in all this?”

“She knew how to keep us away from rumors in Corona. And she obviously has kept an eye on Mrs. Nilsen all this time. I hadn’t realized when Elsa told me they had found someone that it was someone from Arendelle. I figured it would be someone from Corona, or maybe somewhere near Corona. It makes sense, though. She didn’t need to explain a pregnancy that nobody had seen, and her husband was dead, so she didn’t need to explain why the boy looked so different from his brother, and so much like-”

“He takes after you more.”

#kristanna #my fic #frozen fanfiction #frozen fic #chapter 25

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secret-engima · 5 years ago

Note

You mentioned once that Nox and Noctis end up being summoned to Dissidia together and Nox takes great glee in playing the ‘evil sib.’ How does Noctis take playing the ‘good one’ and does anyone set off Nox’s big brother instincts so he swats them down *hard* and everyone else is left, so confused?

I’m working on that as an HC style ficlet actually! So most of your ask I’ll keep under spoilers for now, but I WILL give you a snippet :D:

...

-Nox had … honestly forgotten about how genuinely weird and random parts of his life during the Road Trip had gotten by the time he’d time-travelled and grown past his Road Trip age. There were so many strange things that had happened in his life that the ones that hadn’t left permanent marks on his psyche or body just tended to get … forgotten.

-Until one day, less than three months before he was set to turn 24 and Noctis to turn 17 when he opens the door to his library, steps through the entryway-

-Stumbles as he almost trips on dry, dusty red rocks.

-He looks up and around in confusion, taking in the desolate wasteland stretching in every direction where moments ago he’d been in the heart of the Citadel, about to grab a nice book to read. For a moment he doesn’t understand what’s happened. Doesn’t REMEMBER it from the Road Trip. Then he spots a red tower glowing in the near distance, feels the limp, tired whisper of a world struggling to survive without enough magical energy to sustain it and OH.

-He remembers this.

-Except … not quite. He is 23 where before he was only 20, and he had woken up in the near proximity to Materia’s tower that glowed of blue. So why is he here now?

-Near SPIRITUS’S tower?

-His kukri are in his hands before he is consciously aware of another’s approach, his magic rising to his skin and burning in deadly warning to the person who dared approach him from behind. Cat slit eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise at the power Nox is exuding. Then the man smiles and respectfully takes a half step back, “Interesting. You are strong for someone so new.” The man examines him with a curious, almost greedy gaze, his outrageously long sword —Nox remembers that sword, remembers how fast it had been wielded and how sharp it had felt as it cut the air millimeters from his face— held in an unthreatening position —but not an unready one—. The man makes a tiny gesture of greeting, “I am Sephiroth. What would your name be?”

-“Nox.” He finds himself replying as he sheaths his kukri in their harnesses at the small of his back, more so that he does not look unarmed than for speed if a fight breaks out —which it will, he remembers this place, just not being on this side—, “I’m going to guess and say that if I want more information, I need to go to that tower over there?” Sephiroth nods, one graceful tip of his chin, and they walk together to Spiritus’s tower.

-Spiritus isn’t like Nox’s memories of Materia. Spiritus is energy and power and wild instinct that breeds immeasurable confidence rather than Materia’s naive attempts at calm and order. Spiritus tells his assembled cast madmen and madwomen —and Nox, who isn’t entirely sure why he’s Spiritus’s champion instead of Materia’s this time— that they will need to fight each other to give power to the realm. None of the assorted crazies and murderers —and Nox, who is self aware enough to know he probably counts under the crazy criteria— are at all perturbed with the thought of having to stab each other to survive, but before any stabbing can start, Sephiroth takes a half step forward and interjects smoothly with a question about the Champions of the other ruler of this world. Spiritus gets all of three seconds to be puzzled by that question before the other, more experienced crazies all pipe up with tales of Materia’s predecessor, who was constantly at odds with Spiritus’s predecessor. That she’d had a tower on the opposite end of the continent and if Spiritus was here, then there was probably another woman over there playing ruler too.

-Nox watches in something akin to morbid fascination as Spiritus figures out how to contact the other tower just in time to hear the tail end of Materia’s speech on how she is the ruler and protector of the world, charged with its order and harmony. Like in his memories, Spiritus jumps in, angry and arrogant all at once, arguing with Materia without even bothering to think about it. As the two rulers argue, Nox stares through the magic view screen at Materia’s Champions, all the people who had become his friends during his timeline that now will no doubt be his enemies, at least until the world-eater is revealed. Then, right before the magical Skype call ends, Nox sees-

-Noctis. Lurking in the back near Cloud Strife with a vaguely nervous expression on his face.

-Oh.

-Oh-ah.

-That explains a lot.

-As quickly as his surprise comes, it fades, and Nox finds himself slowly grinning instead. He is, of course, a little bit worried about his 16 year old little brother being caught up in this, but he knows the other Champions will keep an eye on him and this entire issue won’t last that long. Which means, in the midterm between now and when both sides will unite to fight the world-eater, Nox and Noctis are on opposite sides. Somehow they’ve both been called, and Nox has been called by Spiritus instead of Materia. Which, essentially, makes him the bad guy from Noctis’s universe just like Sephiroth and the Strange Clown and all the others in this tower are the villains from their’s.

-Which means he has free rein to track down his little brother and use this entire situation as a training exercise.

-Nobody looks at him oddly when Nox starts cackling at the top of his lungs, but Sephiroth does give him an inquisitive look that Nox waves away with a snigger and a vague comment on looking forward to meeting someone in particular. Sephiroth smiles thinly at that, and Nox can’t bring himself to worry about the implications when he says that he understand Nox’s feelings perfectly.

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Nox verse #Melodies and Manuscripts #dissidia!

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dweemeister · 4 years ago

Photo

The Haunting (1963)

Why do people like being scared? I am not one to answer this question, but even a non-thrill seeker like myself can appreciate a decent fright. For centuries, humans have been imparting to others stories of haunted places, ghastly monsters, the occult. That storytelling tradition has long endured and, of course, it would someday touch cinema. As film matures as a medium, there are certain films that produce experiences that are uniquely cinematic, unconstrained by older mediums. One of those movies is The Haunting – released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) and directed by Robert Wise in between his work on West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965). Though the film may no longer be scary to those expecting machete-wielding murderers and torture-happy mannequins, The Haunting boasts a suffocating eeriness in what initially appears to be just another haunted house film. Its disturbing visuals break it from its source material’s (Shirley Jackson’s novel The Haunting of Hill House) prose, embedding itself into the imaginations of its viewers. No less significantly, The Haunting is a striking validation of the beauty and necessity of black-and-white film – it is impossible to imagine it as a color film.

In the prologue, Dr. John Markway (Richard Johnson) introduces our primary setting before telling of its violent history:

…Hill House had stood for ninety years and might stand for ninety more. Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there… walked alone.

Dr. Markway is an anthropologist with research interests in the paranormal. To determine whether or not Hill House is haunted, he invites six individuals with extrasensory perception (ESP) or past history with paranormal events. Only two of those invitees arrive at this Massachusetts mansion: Eleanor (Julie Harris; whose character is often called “Nell”) and Theodora (Claire Bloom; whose character, heavily coded as queer, is often called “Theo”). Heir-to-the-house apparent Luke Sanderson (Russ Tamblyn) is also here. Following the opening narration, The Haunting shifts its perspective from Dr. Markway to Nell. What the four main characters find at Hill House is an estate with off-center perspectives; numerous rooms and ceilings without right angles; stylistically-clashing art and furnishings; and isolation from humanity (the house is far from the next town and is staffed by two individuals, who leave before sunset).

This is barely a spoiler, but let it be clear that Hill House is indeed haunted. What happens is no ruse, and there is no living being orchestrating the abnormalities that occur. Much is left to the viewer’s imagination – neither discovered by the characters nor explained by the filmmaking. Whatever lurks down the hall or the floor above is beyond any explanation The Haunting provides. Davis Boulton’s cinematography provides few comforts. Boulton, whose career was defined by still photography and not cinematic work, liberally employs low-angled shots and film noir-influenced chiaroscuro to highlight the house’s unusual structure and to intensify the contrasts between lit and unlit areas. Color film would make Hill House seem too inviting, too sunny, too earthly. Viewers may notice some spatial distortions along the left and right-hand side of the frame during scenes within Hill House. The effect is caused by the fact that Wise and Boulton used a technically unready 30mm wide-angle Panavision lens to shoot this film. But Wise and Boulton lean into their imperfect lens by keeping the camera moving as characters move, in addition to the unsettling Dutch angles and unusual tracking shots in the film’s second half. The widescreen Panavision format appears to be ill-suited for haunted house films, when a filmmaker may want the audience to feel as trapped as the characters. But in this exceptional case, it (perhaps unintentionally) benefits Hill House’s quietly spooky atmosphere.

Production designer Elliot Scott (1958’s Tom Thumb, 1989’s Who Framed Roger Rabbit) and set decorator John Jarvis (1953’s Knights of the Round Table, 1972’s Sleuth) have crafted a frightening set to accompany with Boulton’s cinematography. Hill House’s exterior were shot on the grounds of Ettington Park in Warwickshire, England; the interiors housing Scott and Jarvis’ work were shot at MGM-British Studios near London. The dark wood-paneled walls; the heaving large doors; dearth of right-angled corners; the creepily-placed and sad-eyed statues, limited light sources (a motley assortment of candles, gas lights, and electricity); and excessive dark-wooded furniture contribute to the house’s oppressive dread. In daylight, these rooms appear curious, eccentric. By night, the environment of the house is – at best – unnerving. The two most terrifying interior scenes during The Haunting involve interactions with the set itself. The first instance occurs in stillness, with a view of a bas relief bedroom wall. The second features a door moving in ways impossible.

The Haunting merges the paranormal and the psychological to the point where the two become indistinguishable. That may alienate some viewers, but it will certainly keep one on tenterhooks. This merger of the paranormal and psychological is mostly thanks to Julie Harris as Nell. We are not given Nell’s entire biography. Yet, the viewer can surmise that she has lived a sheltered life. Nell claims that her trip to Hill House is an opportunity for adventure, a departure from a homebound existence where she mostly spent caring for her late, bedridden mother. Harris also expresses her character’s noticeable sexual repression and need for nurture – no other actor in this film is doing as much (or as brilliantly) as she is. Nell’s tendencies and desires are sometimes articulated aggressively, without tact and consideration for the feelings of others. She can be downright loathsome as her grip on reality crumbles, with no apologies to give after a horrible remark. As Nell, Harris pushes hard against the audience’s desire to find a relatable, sympathetic central character – and thus makes the viewer question about which scenes presented from her viewpoint might be believed (days after watching this film, I am still having difficulty grappling with Nell’s unreliable perceptions).

In 114 minutes, Nell’s relationships with Theo and Dr. Markway (not so much the smarmy Luke) become more turbulent. We sense that Nell has had little interaction with people outside her household. For what might be the first time in her life, she finds comfort in both Theo and Dr. Markway. But her frustration with her family life is never far behind. Her idealization of human connection beyond the family sees her lash out at the slightest violation of said idealization. There is some mutual attraction between Nell and Theo, but the former cannot bring about herself to say anything (Nell also ineptly flirts with Dr. Markway, who thinks nothing of these advances). On occasion via voiceover, Nell reveals her inner thoughts. This is a clumsy device when first utilized, but as the film progresses, it accentuates Nell’s madness. Her thoughts become incomprehensible, contradictory, hypocritical, and divorced from observable reality.

The use of sound in The Haunting is deeply strategic. I can not write much on this without revealing much of what makes this film scary. But on multiple occasions throughout, there are wonderfully-timed sound effects – some as soft as a whisper; others as loud as thunder – that will jolt the audience from its sense of complacency and safety. Wise’s sense of timing in this regard originates from his work as director on The Curse of the Cat People (1944), the sequel to Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People (1942). Both those films shared a producer in RKO’s Val Lewton, a low-budget horror specialist. Both those films innovated the “Lewton bus” – the gradual buildup of tension, culminating in abrupt aural and/or visual terror. The Lewton bus is the progenitor of the modern jumpscare, which became de rigueur sometime in the late 1970s or early ‘80s. Compared to modern horror films, let’s just say that this Lewton bus does not mind taking its time to pull up to the station – the influence of Cat People and The Curse of the Cat People on this film is unmistakable. Through its use of its own versions of Lewton buses, The Haunting twists the terror into its viewers’ stomachs slowly, agonizingly.

English composer Humphrey Searle’s soundtrack has never been released commercially. Searle, an expert of serial music (a form of contemporary music; in brief, it is a reaction against atonalism through a form of fixed-order chromaticism), composes an uncharacteristic tonal score here. Yet, it is just barely tonal. The score mostly disappears after the opening few minutes, but it is colored by high string tremolos and runs, foreboding brass triplets, and tinny bells that are a valuable contribution the sound mix. It flirts with atonalism, but there is always some melodic sense to this score. Searle’s score is unorthodox without being experimental for its time. There appears to be no sign of motifs in Searle’s score, but the horror genre tends to resist such musical construction anyways.

Upon release, audiences and critics did not know what to make of The Haunting. Most detractors were hostile to its plot (or lack thereof). In the years since, the film has been reevaluated on how Hill House itself is a character – shrouded in the darkness, its worst secrets unknowable. Robert Wise, the cast, and the numerous technicians working on this film all contribute to one of the greatest, most spine-tingling haunted house films ever made. The paucity of its special effects and dependence on a superb acting ensemble – Julie Harris especially – have shielded The Haunting from aging.

The house or whatever is haunting it is the star of this film. It is actively searching to kill. It does so biding its time, wearing down the psychological defenses of those who, seeking excitement or a deathly fright, dare spend a night within its walls. One will see how quickly such barriers, created over a lifetime of traumas and broken dreams, can be breached. In the moody shadows that could never be created on color film, therein lies the suggestion – functionally similar to, but artistically dissimilar from Jackson’s original novel – of something sinister, calculating, and cold.

My rating: 9.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Haunting #Robert Wise #Julie Harris #Claire Bloom #Richard Johnson #Russ Tamblyn #Fay Compton #Rosalie Crutchley #Lois Maxwell #Valentine Dyall #Shirley Jackson #Nelson Gidding #Davis Boulton #Ernest Walter #Humphrey Searle #Elliot Scott #John Jarvis #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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seanfalco · 5 years ago

Text

More Mistakes Were Made (Part II)

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Valdo Marx x OC [ Aevryn Swift ] Word Count: 2668 Rating: E a/n: Another installment of the Punk!AU ft. my oc & Valdo. I am aware how incredibly self-indulgent and tbqh niche this fic is, so I’m not really expecting much, but I’m fully sailing this disaster ship now and there’s no stopping it. Takes place before Road Trip series. Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats

[ Part I ]

——

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jaskier muttered under his breath.

Aevryn frowned at her friend’s tone and craned her head as she set the amp she was lugging down heavily, curious to see just what had pissed him off.

“Oh.”

Jaskier swore under his breath, realizing his mistake in calling attention to what he’d seen, as Aevryn’s face fell, the change in her demeanor instant as Valdo Marx sauntered by, no doubt deliberately, seeing as the stage he was set to play at was on the complete other end of the packed field; a girl that looked suspiciously similar to Aevryn on his arm. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear and she laughed before glancing over.

“Nope, that’s it, I’m gunna kill him,” Jaskier muttered, setting his guitar down before Aevryn grabbed his arm as he charged forward, holding him back.

“Just leave it Jask. Please?”

The way her voice cracked only made his anger flare hotter and he scowled. “I’m not just gunna let him get away with this bullshit. He’s deliberately trying to get under your skin and that’s not okay.”

He knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later after the way Valdo had been acting the last time they met -- the prick seemed particularly obsessed with Aevryn as of late and Jaskier was determined to keep him away from her.

“Jaskier, please. It’s okay,” she repeated. “We have to finish setting up.”

Jaskier threw one last glare at Valdo, growling under his breath before shaking Aev’s hand off his shoulder and turning away to do as she asked. Heaving a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to break up a fist fight, Aevryn glanced over at Valdo, who was nearly past now and her breath caught as his emerald eyes found hers. His pretentious smirk fell away and for a moment Aev saw the vulnerable look he’d given her a couple weeks ago as she’d laid in his arms and he told her how he missed her.

The moment passed and his smirk returned as he threw his arm around the girl’s shoulders and they were swallowed by the crowd, leaving Aevryn staring after, her stomach twisted in knots.

——

She’d made it through all of Vicious Mockery’s set and tear down, telling herself to let it be, but once everyone was just sitting around and she had nothing left to occupy her mind or her hands, Aevryn found herself weaving through the crowd in search of Valdo’s tent.

A queue of teenagers and twenty-somethings waiting for autographs and photos wrapped around the brightly coloured tent, and standing there Aevryn suddenly felt incredibly foolish. She knew she was playing right into his hand and she really had no plan for what she was going to say to him, but anger and hurt coursed through her afresh as she thought of his arm around that two-bit Aevryn knock-off he’d found just to, what, make her jealous?

Well it was working.

Valdo was in the midst of taking a photo with a couple of fans when he noticed her, shooting her a cheeky wink as he smiled for the camera; white teeth flashing.

He has no right to have such a beautiful smile, Aevryn grumped as she waited, crossing her arms over her chest. She could remember all too well how many times that fucking smile had gotten him out of hot water, and even more infuriatingly how many times it had made her traitorous heart skip a beat.

Once he was finished Valdo leaned in close to his manager and whispered something, his gaze flicking to her momentarily. The next thing Aevryn knew Valdo already had his arm around her shoulder, leading her away from the prying eyes as his manager was announcing to the waiting queue, amongst groans and protests that Valdo was taking a short break and would be back in an hour.

“Aevryn, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Valdo asked as he led her under the canopy of trees near the blessedly desolate outskirts of the festival perimeter.

“You know very well why I’m here,” she snapped back, spinning to face him.

He merely cocked an amused eyebrow at her and leaned nonchalantly against the trunk of a nearby tree. “Can’t say as I do,” he quipped, shrugging; his green eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Valdo.” The warning in her tone was clear, but the smug look on his face only deepened.

“Oh, that?” He asked, as if just remembering his very deliberate pass by earlier. “I was just taking a stroll around the festival with a fan. I don’t even remember her name.”

Aevryn couldn’t stop the violent urge to roll her eyes, which was all too familiar to her in Valdo’s company. “Oh, I believe that part of it, but I’m sure her appearance was intentional.”

“What do you mean?” Valdo asked, his faux innocence infuriating.

“I mean the fact that she was basically a dollar store knock off version of me. What the fuck are you doing, trying to make me jealous, Valdo?”

He merely shrugged again, his gaze studying her. “Is it working?”

Yes.

Aevryn managed to bite that knee-jerk response back, instead considering him while she fought to control her breathing.

“You know, if memory serves me, we slept together not long ago,” Valdo said as he pushed off the tree to circle her. “And yet I’ve seen you looking pretty intimate with that groupie on Vicious Mockery’s instagram page. What am I supposed to take from that?” he asked, the amusement disappearing from his eyes though his lips still turned up in a cruel grin.

Aevryn swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Just because we slept together doesn’t mean anything,” she shot back, hating the words as they left her lips, flinching at the way Valdo nodded, as if accepting them.

“Is that why you left without a word while I was still sleeping?” he asked, the tiny tremor in his voice nearly undetectable. Except Aevryn was waiting for it.

“I left a note,” she replied, rounding on him, trying to explain. “I panicked, okay? But like you also follow me on social media, I know you do, so you could have gotten ahold of me any time since then, but you didn’t!” she cried, advancing, her finger jabbing him in the chest. “You made it seem like you wanted to change, but you’re still acting like the same selfish arsehole you were when you lost me the first time.”

Valdo opened his mouth, no doubt to defend himself, but Aevryn didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m so tired of these fucking head games Valdo,” she growled, backing him up against the tree he’d been leaning against earlier and his dark rimmed eyes widened. “I-I refuse to be treated like that again. I have more self respect than that. So if you just expect to fuck me and tell me you miss me and I’ll just come running back to you, don’t fucking count on it.”

“Aev…” he began, trying to get a word in, giving up when it was evident she wouldn’t let him. When she finally paused to breathe Valdo heaved a sigh, “finally,” before leaning in to capture her unready lips in a kiss, taking her completely by surprise.

After that split second of hesitation her body reacted of its own accord, pulling him closer, her hands balling in his loose shirt as if he might disappear into thin air if she let go; her mouth moving against his almost frantically. Every time she kissed him it brought it all back and she was nearly swept away by ache of it -- he, her favourite drug and she, a relapsing addict.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered as they broke for air, still clutching him close to her, her nose brushing his as she gasped for breath, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks.

“What’s not fair?” Valdo whispered back, tilting his face to try to steal another quick kiss.

“Kissing me like that, when I wasn’t expecting it,” she pouted, fighting the urge to push him up against the tree and ravage him. She had some shred of self control, after all.

“All’s fair in love and war babe,” he purred in her ear, his dark curls brushing her face and he spun her; her back landing against the hard bark of the wide tree trunk, his hands cradling her face as he tilted her chin up to plant another breathtaking kiss to her tender lips.

“What are we even doing Valdo?” Aevryn managed to breathe in between the meeting of their lips.

“Obviously we’re making out in the woods.” His snarky response made her snort and she pushed him back.

“You know what I mean,” she insisted; the flash of his grin making her knees weak before his mouth was at her neck and a tiny broken moan escaped her lips. Her breath hitched as his mouth traveled lower, his hand following suit until Aevryn was arching into his palm, her body playing traitor and falling back into the familiar dance, yearning to be touched, to be played like an instrument under his deft musican’s fingers.

“Valdo,” she moaned, biting her lip as her hand slipped behind his head, fingers tangling in the thick curls at the base of his neck while her other hand lingered at his waist, slipping under the hem of his shirt, her fingers brushing skin.

Valdo’s muscles twitched at the featherlight touch, and as her hand splayed further against the warmth of him under his shirt he moaned in turn, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of her neck, exposed so trustingly to him.

Aevryn’s sharp cry was soothed with a swipe of his expert tongue and their mouths found each other’s again, the kiss deepening with a crescendo of low moans and sighs.

“Do you want this?” Valdo asked suddenly, just barely pulling away, emerald eyes flicking to hers, dark with want and the promises of all he could do to her — of all he wanted to do to her.

This man could be her undoing if she let him.

Breathing heavily her gaze met his and she knew she was done for.

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart trilling at the grin that split his lips and his hand moved lower, brushing the skin at her waistline, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake before deftly tugging at the button there and slipping beneath the elastic of her panties.

A shuddering breath left her lips as Aevryn clutched at him, her knees nearly buckling as his fingers spread her folds teasingly, dipping into her as if testing the waters, his other hand lingering at her throat, thumb tracing the arch of her neck as she pressed her lips to his, arching against him.

“Do you remember our safe word?” Valdo whispered against her lips and Aevryn wordlessly nodded, wanting more, desire filling her with each movement his beautiful slim fingers made inside her; stretching and filling her, driving all sense from her.

“You have to say it,” he insisted, so I know you remember.”

A frustrated sigh left her lips as he stopped, the word springing to her tongue as if they’d only used it yesterday.

“Limerick,” she said, eyes flashing to his to drive it home that she did remember.

“Good girl.” Valdo’s drawl sent a shiver racing through her and Aevryn moaned loudly as his fingers resumed their task. Moments later her moan was silenced as Valdo’s hand tightened at her throat, fingers squeezing gently, just enough to leave her gasping as a third finger filled her, curling to strum her g-spot like the delicate instrument she was.

Fingers tightened in Valdo’s hair, tugging as she writhed beneath his touch, her other hand clutching hard at his shirt to anchor herself as he increased the pressure around her neck.

“Fuck, Aev,” Valdo purred in her ear. “You’re so goddamn hot like this. Such a naughty girl. Do you let just anyone do this to you—finger fuck you in public where anyone might pass by?” The inflection in his voice changed slightly and he wet his lips, loosening his grip on her neck so she could speak, his fingers not ceasing their rapid building of her climax, nearing by the feel of her shuddering muscles.

“No,” she gasped, searching his eyes, his long flashes brushing his cheeks. Insecurity painted his features and Aevryn could practically feel the desperation in his gaze, his need to know that he was still special to her. “Only you,” she managed before a halting moan bubbled from her gut, her body tensing as her orgasm took her.

Squeezing again, he rested his forehead to hers, curls falling to frame her face as she clenched around his digits slick with her essence, her arms pulling him to her desperately.

When she was finally spent, knees weak and body satiated Valdo pulled his hand free and gave a start as Aevryn guided it to her lips, sucking his fingers clean as he gaped at her in shock.

Eyes flicking up to his as though she knew exactly what she was doing Valdo groaned, and once she’d licked his fingers clean the smirk she wore only confirmed it.

Buttoning up her jeans her hand slid against the front of his, hand seeking the growing bulge trapped within, but Valdo quickly caught her, pulling her hand away and placing a kiss to her palm.

“No, love,” he murmured at her puzzled expression. “This was about you. I wanted to make you feel good.”

“Valdo…” Aev whispered, confliction warring within her.

“Next time you can return the favour,” he insisted, tilting her chin up to place a chaste kiss to her swollen lips.

“Who said there’ll be a next time?” Aevryn asked, unsure if she should want that or not. Though right then she knew her logic had fled as soon as he’d kissed her that first time, so any thing she thought she wanted was automatically tainted.

“I hope there'll be a next time,” Valdo admitted, his bravado hollow and the desperation in his emerald eyes twisted Aevryn’s stomach. “I know you probably don’t believe a word I say, but I meant it,” he admitted softly, voice sober. “About… missing you, and not just the sex,” he added quickly. “About… us.” He said the word hopefully.

Aevryn swallowed, his words washing over her.

Us.

“I was serious too,” she murmured, not quite able to look him in the eye. “No more stupid games like you played earlier, Valdo. Prove to me things’ll be different.”

Looking up, her breath shuddered at the stillness of his face. The vulnerability in his clear green gaze was almost too much for Aev to handle, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.

“I—“ quickly closing her mouth before she admitted something she might regret, she straightened Valdo’s shirt. “There, now your fans won’t suspect a thing,” she murmured shyly. “I better get back before the others start wondering where I am.”

“Right,” he said, catching her cheek in his hand, thumb brushing lightly over skin once more; he admired her, half afraid it might be the last time before nodding and stepping away.

Unable to keep herself from looking back over her shoulder at him as she walked away, her shoulders shuddered with silent sobs.

——

“Hey, where’d you go?” Jaskier asked, worry lacing his tone as Aevryn walked back into their tent.

“Just went for a walk… to clear my head,” she lied.

“Did it work?” he asked, pulling up a lawn chair for her to plop into.

“No,” she sighed, this time being truthful, her stomach unsettled the more she thought about it.

Across the tent Yennefer’s violet eyes caught hers and the level stare she directed at her was far too knowing for comfort and Aevryn looked quickly away, her thoughts still roiling at the way Valdo had said Us.

#punk!au #punk!valdo x oc #valdryn #punk!valdo #punk!aevryn #oc: aevryn swift

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supershiny-raven · 5 years ago

Note

I have an idea! How would the mafia boys (mt, ms, and mf) react to seeing their s/o flirtatiously smiling at them while getting all comfortable in a hot tub? ;> Just some spice to add to your day/night!

*opens inbox* gasp :D its a spicy! Thanks! Let me kniw how good i am at this pleas :")

Pistol[mt sans]: "ooohh boy, baby you best watch yourself." *eyeborw wiggles* waters probably boiling now that youre in there, dont know if i shoild get in heh ;)" hes the guy who cant handle the fact he gets a boner despite best attempts, hes a gentleman! Youre gonna have to do something to get him in or make him compliant. Just take your top off, always works~

Sniper[mt papyrus]: Most sensual of the two and very romantic and if for somereason still dressed, he will trip trying to get his clothes off. Yes he is fine just give him a minute. He wears whitey tighties and the fact his magic is manifested already shows what your getting yourself into.

Calliber[ms sans]: This is about to get erotic. The hot water, your pretty face, your cute butt. Its just like those animes alphys had with the girls all bathing, except its just him an his girl! Most likeley he was already in trunks but once he got in and the kisses started getting heated and your top came off and his hands got every--- he took them off when you were kissing.

[I forgot what i called ms pap oh my god]: He was already in there when you got in and when you did his hands were instantly on you. You decided that you didnt want to get the hottub all nasty so instead you teased. Oh he knows what game your playing, youre gonna get as riled up as he is amd not care about the hottub.

Shotgun[mf sans]: "okay stop stopstop. What are you doing?" You nod to the water and smile back up at him. "YES, YOU CRETIN NOW TAKE OF YOUR SHIRT AND GET IN!-- but boss! NO BUTS WE ARE HAVING A NICE EVENING WITH ALPHYS AND UNDYNE AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR SUCH BEHAVIOUR!" You really think you need a hottub to get heated with this guy? You had to stop yourselves from getting unready for dinner, only god knows what you could do to a hottub. He'll grumble the entire night about some tease and pray theres alchohol at the end of this. #cockblocked

RPG[mf papyrus]: hhhhnnnggg this isnt gonna end well because the only way you would get yoir hands on a hottub was from alphys and undyne or from some hoteo for a vacation. And its not the former! You will both be kicked out of said establishment for exposure of indecent behaviour. Only way he will get some is in the private of his house... or car ... mabey the shower. He has plenty more chances to rough you up!

I am so sorry if this isnt your cup of tea. I can only write spice for a solid prompt and working in multiples gave me a headache... it was still fun tho i just wish i didnt think i did bad

#Mafiatale #mafiaswap #mafiafell #undertale #underswap #underfell #ask #imagines #spicy

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timekeeper42 · 4 years ago

Text

instructions: tag ten people you’d like to know better

I was tagged by @thedevildinosaur

name: Andrea or Drea

starsign: Cancer and unready for another cancer season

hogwarts house: slytherin

height: 5′10″ I think. I know I have grown but I never get measured anymore even when I see a doctor

favorite animal: penguins

dogs or cats: both (ง'̀-'́)ง

when you made your blog: 2010

why you made your blog: @themagicalari kept showing me stuff from tumblr so I made one so I could see stuff too and follow her. also Glee I’m pretty sure

reason for your url: a few months to a year before I made my blog I was the timekeeper for a high school museum trip to keep us on task because I had a watch. the museum employee would only call me the timekeeper. 42 is a Hitcher’s Guide to the Galaxy reference and I have still only watched the movie. also the last time i tried to change it the only url i wanted is taken by one of those empty blogs with no posts

what i am wearing: my wild wild pussycats shirt and floral pants because I don’t know what the temperature is or will be anymore

dream vacation: normally I say sleeping, but with quarantine I really just want to see my friends and maybe go to a con. I also like the idea of exploring somewhere new, but I get stupidly anxious when I am anywhere alone

instruments: piano and flute, but i haven’t played in years. I intend to start relearning mostly so I have an excuse to learn another instrument

celebrity crushes: i keep pulling up a blank because like i think some celebrities are attractive, but I also don’t really follow celebrities anymore. like i like someone for what they do in a show or media or what they present themselves as and i will notice them in other media but I don’t think i really seek out other things they’ve done

random facts:

what’s your job: i work in a call center for a utility company

if you could go back to school would you: this is complicated because I have been considering it for a more useful degree, but I also just don’t know what I want. I also didn’t realize how genuinely unhappy I was in school until I finally got out and I am not sure I am willing to go back through that again. I might just try to commit to self study things so I can learn but don’t have to be in a school environment

a job you had that would surprise people: I haven’t had a lot of jobs and most people are aware of them. uh I worked as a teaching assistant teaching English in college and I was a German tutor for the same college but at different times. I was terrible and both and did not like either job

do you think aliens are real: yes

what’s your guilty pleasure: i’ve been thinking about this for a little while but sincerely foods that I am not allergic to but do make me feel physically bad. specifically instant ramen and fast food. I crave both something awful but they usually make my stomach hurt

tattoos: not yet. but I want some.

any phobias: heights and drowning. also specifically drowning in a car

do you talk to yourself: yes a lot

what movie do you adore: My Hero Academia Heroes Rising, Four Brothers, Tokyo Godfathers, i know there are more but i can’t think of any other that I adore rather than just got weirdly obsessed with

the first thing that you remember you wanted to be when you grew up: I had a lot of anxiety growing up because I never knew what I wanted to be or how to figure that out, but the first thing I remember thinking I would like to be and didn’t just say because i needed an answer was probably an author

And I'm gonna tag @bamwv @radbot-69 @coolprius @birdscience @itemfinder @thatrowdyboi @the-goldsmith @screamqueenbee and anyone else who would like to

#im sorry it took so long #i couldn't get it done on mobile cause i kept messing up #and i haven't been on tumblr on a computer in years

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ultinath · 6 years ago

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Still Life in the Red Room

This is another one of our collaborative writings. @Minddiver and I enoyed writing this one a lot.

Jeff rushed into the gallery. The day had flown past with classes and studying and hastily getting some food. He had almost ran past the front desk, just barely remembering to stop and flash his student ID to the receptionist. Then he started running down the main hallway, glasses almost flung from his face, as his head had whipped back and forth, trying to decide where to start. After turning in a circle a few times, he had trotted towards the wing where the Renaissance works were kept, past the sculptures that guarded the doorway.

He was oblivious to the woman who had noticed him come in. Her long blonde hair almost obscured her face and she wore a shapeless, oversized sweater dress. She grinned and licked her lips as she got up from her couch in the modern art section and stalked after him into the Renaissance section, where he stood before one of those Dutch masters with dark skies and a ship at sea. Though his feet were shuffling ever so slightly, his eyes were locked in place as he drank in the composition in front of him. He didn't notice how the woman drew up next to him, as if the painting would interest her, but she was watching him the whole time, from the corner of her eyes.

Unaware of the presence beside him, he brushed hair that was almost as dark as the sky in the painting back and away from his glasses. Behind them, brown eyes were now gradually working their way up and down every inch of the canvas. A hand reached out, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might touch the painting. Instead, his hand began moving in midair, following the brushwork. He seemed to be trying to copy the waves of the ocean in his imagination.

"You're an artist." Her voice was breathy as she made the observation, little louder than a whisper, but there was no one else in this section at this time of night. There was only an hour left before closing time. Her eyes searched the room, and the hall beyond. The rest of her was as still as he was energetic.

“...if only…” he murmured, and then straightened suddenly. He looked over and almost did a double-take as he realized someone was beside him. “Oh! Pardon me… do you need me to move over…?”

She smiled and made eye-contact for the first time. Her eyes were cold and grey and they seemed to look all the way into his soul. She smiled, white teeth and burgundy lipstick. "No no, I don't want you to move away…" She nodded at the painting. "You like this brushwork? The colours are so depressing. That and the colonialism…"

His brow furrowed as she trailed off. “I mean, yeah, it’s a bit dark, but it makes the waves stick out that much better...it’s like you can see just where they’re going to go. Every time I try to do them, they look flat and still, like I crumpled up some plastic wrap, or something.”

The woman chuckled and turned to face him, with her back to the painting. "Do you think the painter was satisfied with these waves? With these clouds? Do you think he didn't feel inadequate about his inability to paint portraits? The painter is the worst critic…" As she grinned at him, she put her arm around his shoulders. "We are always too hard on ourselves."

“...yeah...I guess we are…” His cheeks grew red, and warmth radiated from him. He made a nervous sound that wasn’t quite a laugh as he glanced at the title card near the painting. “I guess that’s why this guy spent six months on this one…” His eyes widened a bit and met hers for a second. “Oh! Do you paint?”

Modestly, she cast her eyes to the floor. "Some of mine are over in the modern section, new arrivals. But I could never do any of this shit…" She wandered away from him past another seascape towards portraits and medical scenes. "People and landscapes…"

“Not your thing?” He took one more glance at the ship at sea, then tore himself away to follow her.

She stopped to stare at a painting with men in dark clothes surrounding a corpse for an anatomy lesson. "Look at those limbs, at those ribs… When I paint people, they look like rag dolls with empty eyes and empty heads." She turned to give him a piercing look. "What's your name?"

He shrunk at her sudden gaze and managed to stammer out: “Jeff. I’m majoring in art here.” He vaguely gestured around him, the gallery being part of the college campus.

"Would you like to model for me, Jeff?" She blinked slowly at him and smiled.

“Sure.” Again, there was that pause as if the question only registered after he had answered. He brightened and began to bounce on his heels. “Wait, really? You would want to paint me?”

She looked around the room again and then turned to stare out the window. She sighed. "I would love to paint you. My studio is just around the corner from here. I could show you some things, let you try some things…"

“...do...you think we could swing by the Carvaggio on the way out…?” He made a fist and pounded his leg. “What am I saying? Yes! Please, lead on.”

With quiet steps, the woman made her way to the main hall. She stopped and waited next to a sculpture, looking into the hall. When Jeff caught up with her, she touched his arm. "Are you sure it's wise to go home with a stranger like this? Are you sure this is even real? Meeting an artist in the gallery and getting an offer to pose? Pose as what, Jeff? If you stay here, will I disappear, as if this was all a dream?" She didn't wait for an answer. She made a beeline for the exit and slipped through the entrance doors onto the dark pavement outside.

Jeff paused for a moment. What if this was a dream? Since when did anyone notice him, let alone want him to come with? There was something about her eyes, the way they would be miles away and then immediately locked on him...

Thinking about her eyes made his pulse quicken and his breath catch. There was fear, and then wonder. He shook himself. She had moved so fast, if he stayed and thought any more, she might very well turn into a dream! As fast as he had skittered towards the Renaissance wing, now he rushed towards the exit. He saw the Modern wing out of the corner of his eye. He could see her work… Had she even told him her name? Never mind, he thought, if he took this chance, surely he’d see for himself…

When he arrived outside, he could hear a haunting melody. The woman was leaning against a lamppost, humming a song. The lamp cast a stark shadow around her feet, and her face was obscured by her hair. Jeff drifted towards the ring of light, as if led by her song.

"You chose the dream…" She took his hand and led him down the block. As she walked just a little in front of him, her face was turned up at the clouded sky. "I'm a fountain of blood, in the shape of a girl. You're the bird on the brim, hypnotised by the whirl." She continued singing as they walked.

Jeff trotted behind her, watching the clouds as she did, or at least trying to. He kept tripping over irregularities on the sidewalk. She seemed to be gliding over them as if they weren’t even there. “Is this a dream? I can feel a breeze…”

"I have certainly dreamed of this…" She stopped at the corner of a building and pulled him closer, holding onto his arm. She leaned in to smell him. Jeff felt and heard a faint rumbling. Did she just purr? Her oversized, black and white striped sweater felt warm, but he could swear her hand was cool to the touch.

The woman's eyes roamed the street for a second. Then she inclined her head to the stairs leading down to the souterrain studio around the corner. She let go of him to go down the stairs and disappeared into the shadows. Jeff stood, unsure of what to do. Everything still seemed unreal to him. The way she had pulled him in, the way she had come to him in the museum. He felt… wanted? The thought brought him down the stairs, into the darkness; eyes unready, it took a change in the air around him and the feel of carpet under his shoes to let him know he had come through a door.

"Stop. Don't move…" Her voice commanded from across the room. A few seconds passed and then a lamp was turned on, aimed at a canvas depicting a rough stone wall in crude brush strokes. The studio was a mess of unfinished paintings, sketches, pencils and paint. The wall to his right was lined with shelves, supplies tossed on them with little rhyme or reason, while the opposite had a few raised work surfaces. There were so many canvasses and pieces of plywood leaned against them that it was impossible to tell whether they were desks or tables. The floor was littered with sketches and lined paper covered in regular blocks of text that Jeff assumed must be songs or poetry. A deep carmine carpet was just visible through the layer of papers. She stood in a doorway and the carpet continued in that dark room. She shed her shoes, socks and leggings on the floor and said: "Close the door behind you, will you?"

It took a few seconds for Jeff to respond. Her tone when she had told him to stop had all but frozen him in place. But he managed to reach behind him and gently close the door. “Should I take my shoes off, too?” He tried not to stare, but he was stealing glances at her pale, bare feet.

She rummaged through the canvasses to find a fresh one. A stack of papers fell over as she tried to move an easel. She stood there, for a moment, canvass in one hand, and a sad look came over her. "Well, shit…"

Without thinking, Jeff moved forward to help her pick them up. Both of them were crouching down, picking up sketches and pages of poetry, until instead of grabbing the paper off the floor, she grabbed his hand. "You are so sweet…" She murmured, staring at him.

Jeff tried to stammer out a thank-you, but his voice caught in his throat as her eyes drew him in.

Without breaking eye-contact, she took his stack of papers, combined it with hers and placed them on the floor. Then, slow and silent, she leaned towards him and removed his glasses. She smiled and tilted her head at him. "Is the world all blurry now?" Jeff nodded meekly.

For a second, it seemed like she leaned in even closer, but she was rising to her feet. She chuckled softly as she took the glasses and the canvass into the other room. "Bring the easel." Silently, Jeff complied, carefully picking up the old, dark wood and bringing it into the next room.

The lighting was soft, from tiffany lamps on the nightstands on either side of the bed. The wallpaper depicted gigantic red roses against a dark background and the bedsheets where a tangle of black and burgundy at the foot of the bed. There were still pencils and brushes everywhere, but a lot less artwork. The floor was littered with lingerie and hosiery. She placed the glasses on a nightstand turned around to look at Jeff. "Have you ever done this before?"

Jeff looked at the bed and the lace garments next to it. “I almost did just after graduating high school, but her… oh…” She had meant modelling. His cheeks matched the roses on the walls for a moment.

She stepped up to him, took the easel and placed it near the foot of the bed, with the canvass on it. Then she stared at him once more, taking him in from head to toe, his hair, his checkered shirt, his old jeans, his sneakers. She stroked his cheek and grinned at him. "Is there anything you need?"

“Just… tell me where you’d like me?” His voice rasped a bit. “And maybe a glass of water?”

Her mouth opened and she slowly licked her lips and her teeth. "Where I'd like you…" Her fingers flexed in the air, grasping at nothing. Her eyes strayed to his throat. "What a tempting dream…" Jeff’s eyes flicked towards the soft bedspread, a slightly disappointed look crossing his face. Her hand stroked his cheek, coaxing him to look at her. "Yeah, I think I know where I'd like you…" Suddenly embracing him, she leaned in for a long kiss with a hint of teeth on the lower lip. A soft moan escaped him, and his hands began to come up to caress her back. His erection made his jeans feel too tight.

She sighed and stepped away, pointing at the bed. Her voice was strangely distant. "Sit. Look at the wall. I want to draw your jawline."

Dazed, Jeff slowly climbed onto the bed. He folded his legs into a cross-legged position, facing the wall. Though he kept his head pointed forward, his eyes strained to maintain contact with her.

She found a pencil somewhere on the floor, after carelessly flinging a pair of black panties away. She sketched for a few minutes and then her lips moved silently. She shook her head and gave Jeff an impatient look. "At the wall!" Jeff made a startled, chirping noise, and fixed his eyes on one of the large, dark roses in front of him.

"I'm sorry, pet. I'll help…" She spoke softly. "Just look at the rose petals. Look at how they form this concentric circle with a beautiful dark centre. Follow those lines with your eyes. You'll find it's easy to relax and just sit there, fascinated and still. It's easy. I'll tell you when to move, if I need you to. For now, just sit and stare."

Jeff’s shoulders began to relax and his face softened. He began to follow the curves of the roses as instructed, starting with the outlines. As he did, he began to notice little gradations in the color of each petal which hadn’t been immediately noticeable in the soft light. The shadowy outlines and the refracted light from the glass lampshades intersected each petal at intervals, and he found himself trying to notice each point of intersection, how the change in light affected the shade of each red brushstroke.

"Good…" Only her voice and the rose petals. "There is no need to move at all. Perhaps the chin inches up a little. Effortlessly, just like that. That body is so still now. Petrified. Statuesque. Very good. Transfixed. As if the rose's dark centre is drawing you in." Her words guided his eyes in swirls around each petal, and his entire consciousness seemed to move in swirls with his eyes. As his eyes and mind turned over and over, his body… no… the body… remained where it had been placed, unneeded.

Time passed, but it was impossible to measure. Until finally, she spoke again, her voice much closer now. "So good. Good, good boy. So deliciously still…" Her hands touched the shoulders, opened the top buttons of the shirt, and caressed the arms. Jeff felt cool hands somewhere, but they were far away, affecting somewhere else. The body was still, where it needed to be. He was in the roses, where he needed to be.

A soft growl. Her hands pulled the shirt open, urgently now, until the shoulders were naked. Claws dug into the skin. "Thank you, delicious boy… " And then a kiss on the neck, again with a hint of teeth, a long, wet, hungry kiss. From far away, the body felt a cold breath, a sharp pain, and then a cascade of heat that poured from the neck down through the body, past a cock which jumped and strained against a pair of jeans, leg muscles that would normally writhe and thrash, but instead stayed locked in place. Two sets of breathing could be heard, two deep moans, one masculine and one feminine. The heat then rushed into his mind, sending him tumbling faster through the roses, mind going end over end, consumed by heat and pleasure. The color of the roses’ petals flared an intense and vivid red, and then it was as if the lights dimmed and the room faded away.

The room where Jeff woke up was strangely bright. Spotlights shone on modern paintings against the white walls. Vivid colours and thick lines, cartoonish and grotesk. He was sprawled out on a couch against one of those white walls, and there was a mixed media display in the middle of the room. He took a deep breath and got up from the couch. He felt a little dizzy. Then, he saw the painting hanging above the couch.

A painting of a young man, sitting cross-legged on a bed, staring at the roses on the wallpaper. The man looked vaguely familiar… it was probably just the look in his eye, lost in the wall before him. The sign beside it said the painting was called Still Life in the Red Room by Audrey Stark.

A bell resounded through the halls of the gallery, indicating closing time. Jeff smiled, feeling so much more relaxed then when he'd ran into the gallery an hour or so ago. He had all the time in the world to study art. Maybe he'd just come back to the gallery again tomorrow.

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sedonalace · 6 years ago

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shitty dates on Valentine’s Day

It's been idk how many months since I've written anything. But here is this really short and cheesy and terrible thing I wrote all today. And I hope you have a great Valentine's Day 💖

Prompt used for this fic is listed in here

Luna has never been a huge fan of Valentine's day. Not because she hasn't had anyone to celebrate it with. Usually, she just eats a nice dinner at her parent's house where they give her a box of chocolates and watch movies together, all while dodging her grandfather's questions of when she'll get a boyfriend while her parents assure him it'll happen when she's ready. Not her favorite holiday to say the least.

And this year was no exception. Even if she finally had a date to celebrate properly with this time, it didn't really change her feelings about it. And it'll take a while before it does probably.

Right now she is at this very fancy as fuck restaurant, one of the most expensive places in all of Buenos Aires in a very uncomfortable dress and impossibly high heels she instantly regretted wearing the moment she put them on. This is her only her third date with this guy Michel.

The first date wasn't all that bad; it was enough to go on a second. But her feelings definitely shifted by the second. And now by the third, she realizes she has zero interest in this guy who has no spark with her and just wants this date to end as quickly as possible.

All evening he has been yapping all about his exclusive job and all these business trips he's been on and ones he's going to go on and not once has he asked anything to her this evening and she doesn't know how much wine she'll be able to drown in before she might just burst in his face over his obnoxiousness.

As the guy is telling her about a new business deal he signed onto that she pretends she's listening to, she can't help but look across the room at the guy alone by himself at a table, pacing and looking at his watch every three seconds while nervously bouncing his leg up and down. The waiter comes to his table to probably take an order but sends him away looking unsure and unready. Luna feels bad for him being stood up. But it honestly can't be any worse than her date only talking about himself.

"Luna?" she turns her head to see Michel patiently waiting for her. Even though she has no clue what he asked her. "What?" she asks slightly annoyed but trying to not let it slip into her tone. Luckily he doesn't notice. Maybe he'll finally ask how her day was or something.

He motions behind her. "The food's here," he states. Luna huffs a little trying to not roll her eyes. But at least she won't be starving anymore.

The server puts down their plates and refills their wine before leaving them be. Michel continues to talk while cutting his steak up making Luna even madder than before. She really just wants to end things with this guy. She normally isn't one to cause a scene and burst but in this case, she might have to.

"Michel-", she starts, accidentally clanking her fork a little too loudly against the plate, before getting cut off by the buzzing of his cell phone. She glares at him with an insulted look of disgust on her face as he pulls out his phone from his pocket without hesitation. "I'm sorry I really have to take this," he says to her, with no actual remorse of being sorry. He even answers it at the table, with no decency to take it outside. Seriously, what did Luna even see with this dude?

Luna just sits there, completely bothered with folded arms, looking at the other guy who was stood up. Still sitting patiently with his cocktail a little sullen. Now she really feels for him, being in a somewhat similar situation.

As soon as she notices Michel getting up and putting his coat on, she's at a loss for words. "What are you-" "I am so sorry I have to do this to you, really," He pulls his wallet out and lays a couple of hundreds on the table. "But apparently there's been a new breakthrough on my project and they need me in the office."

Luna is completely dumbfounded at this point. "Dinner's on me. I'm really sorry. I'll call you later, okay?" he says last before leaving her stranded at the table on Valentine's Day, not even waiting to hear a response from her. She continues to sit there accepting reality as it is and just orders more wine. At least he paid for her dinner, she's not gonna waste an opportunity for free food even after a shitty date. Even if he follows through and calls her back later, which she already doubts, he won't be hearing her voice at the other end of a call anytime soon.

Just as she is about to eat, she looks back over at the other guy who now is probably at his fourth server visit. Feeling more hopeful and encouraging, she walks over to his table quietly and casually to not interfere if he didn't wish.

He looks up at her standing beside him with a hard grin and feeling defeated. "Hi," He manages to greet her feeling a bit embarrassed. "Hi," she greets back. "Do you mind if I sit here?" she asks sheepishly. pointing to the empty chair across him. He motions for her to join him, letting her fill the empty spot. "Be my guest.... since mine's not here," he mutters the last part. Luna smiles at him sadly.

"Got stood up?" He nods silently. "I thought she would be different after giving her god knows how many chances. Yet here I am, not having learned anything. I still have Ámbar's location sharing on my phone but she's at her side piece Simón's house now, so yeah. Truly amazing night."

Luna feels pity for him. Cheating girlfriends and broken relationships are always heartbreaking to watch. She can't imagine his feelings. "And you? Where did your Mr. CEO run off to? Seemed like you were having such a grand old time with him." He says dramatically earning a soft laugh out of her.

"He had some business project thing that just had to get done according to him. Being the VP of operations of a fitness app company really has a lot going for him apparently. It was only our third date anyways, I was gonna end things with him sooner or later. "

The guy nods somewhat sympathetically yet understandingly upon hearing her dumped date. "Oh, I'm so sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Luna." she leans across the table offering his hand to him. He takes it and shakes it smiling more apparent at her. "I'm Matteo."

"Well Matteo, since I noticed you seemed to have a very sad solo party over here, I was wondering if you would accompany me to my table and have dinner with me. My date left right before he could take a bite of anything and left enough money to probably make another few rounds of alcohol so I'd love to treat you to a free dinner if that's okay?" she asks hopefully.

Matteo smiles a bit more and picks up his drink. "Well, if my dinner is already being paid for by an asshole rich dude, I guess I can't say no to that," he remarks as they both laugh.

She leads them back to her table, where she feels his eyes burning into her backside making her blush and trying to cover it with her loose hair.

He pulls out her chair for her before sitting right in front of her. He looks down at the plate, a bit frazzled at the sight of a precut steak, which makes Luna giggle a bit. "I promise he didn't touch it. But you could probably ask for a new plate if you want instead," she reassures him. Although he waves off her suggestion. "No, I believe you it's fine. But seriously what kind of guy just cuts up a steak and runs for it?" Luna laughs hardly able to contain herself. "The kind that has 20 Rolex watches and wouldn't care if he lost one somewhere," she bites back. Her refute definitely won him over within the first few minutes of a turned around disaster date.

All night they talked and talked and talked. Staying for hours longer than she expected. After more drinks and even dessert (All complimentary of dickface Michel), this date turned out way better than expected, even if they weren't really each other's dates, to begin with.

Neither of them was afraid to get flirty either. Whenever he had his hand on the table she would touch and hold at his wrist very caressingly yet in such a casual way he wouldn't even have noticed if she wasn't looking at it so often. Although he definitely dominated at their immature yet truly entertaining game of footsies under the table. With her every time sitting a little bit straighter and blushing wildly whenever she would feel something. Sparks were definitely flying around here.

Just as she asked for the check and their waitress scrambles away, he gazes at her to have her attention. "You know surprisingly, I'm really happy my date got canceled," he admits. She looks at him with a weird face but holds a hand up. "What I meant was, not only did I realize I needed to move on from her, but I met another really great person out of it. Who just so happens to think the same," Luna holds one side of her cheek in her hand, trying to cover the other blushed side with her hair, smiling brightly back. "I'm very happy about that too. It wasn't that terrible after all. And I'm glad we got free food out of it." Of course not being able to leave that part out of it. "Thank god for that," he agrees. "Thank you, Michel the dickface." Calling upon the new nickname they penned for him.

She pays and the waitress hands her back a bunch of change leftover. Matteo looks at it warily. "Are you gonna give him the rest back?" Luna looks at it for a few moments before putting the cash back into the bill holder. "Nah, he won't notice or care. That woman deserves a good tip anyway," Matteo smiles widely at her gesture and decides to leave a couple more bills over to his old table. "So does mine for having to come back about thirty-seven times,"

They walk outside together, greeted by the surprisingly crisp summer breeze air floating through the atmosphere. Luna having her jacket tightly wrapped around her."I had a really good night," Matteo bids as he holds her hand in between his own. Pressing a kiss onto it. The darkness the redness of her cheeks really well thankfully. Suddenly she feels something slip into her hand as he closes it int a fist with hers.

She's more than sure it's his number. That she will definitely text once she's home. "I would love to see you again, only if that's okay with you of course," he asks shyly. Thankfully Luna nods. "I would love to actually,"

"So. uh, how are you getting home?" he asks awkwardly. Luna looks around and then back to her phone. "Oh yeah, I forgot to order an Uber, let me just do that really quick." "You know I can wait with you if you'd like," he adds. "That'd be nice, thanks."

"Or you know, I only live about a three-minute walk away from here. You can come to wait at my place since it's getting cold outside and all, and I'm sure those heels must be hurting a lot..." he keeps rambling on. And the more he does the more Luna is enamored by him. "Yeah, yeah that's cool with me sure," she tries to reply casually. And she can just feel Matteo beaming with excitement from inside him.

"Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

My place is this way."

#lutteo #soy luna #sl #luna valente #matteo balsano #sl ff #mywrittenworks #valentine's day #v day fic

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