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#Rachel actually is the sun so

radiorevenge · 1 year

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in honor of my copy of tsats arriving early here r some will & nico doodles from the past few days :]

plus bonus small rachel

#tsats #the sun and the star #will solace #nico di angelo #rachel elizabeth dare #im so excited guys #12 year old me is screaming and bouncing off of walls rn #CURRENT me is doing that actually #pjo #rrverse

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corujalesbica · 1 year

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Dude when did yall get the memo that there was a sun and the star teaser ?? Like I had to fuck around and find out, I read it just today and it's absolutely heartbreaking those are 5 chapters of pure sadness hsiaksnsbsjjsjsjssn

#lgbtq #solangelo #the sun and the star #rick riordan #book tumblr #nico di angelo #sad gay shit #he is so gay #will solace #rachel elizabeth dare #Quíron #mr d pjo #new books #ricks new book #im gonna cry so much when i read the actual thing

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fryingpan1234567 · 10 months

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some CHB headcanons

every cabin has LEDs around the inside, but there’s a constant battle over what color they are

Percy has his rippling back and forth from teal to blue and it looks like light dancing through water all over his walls and floor

the Apollo cabin can usually settle for orange and yellow as a common ground

the Aphrodite kids have a different color for each time of day and sleep with pink on the lowest brightness setting

the Hermes cabin has like ten different strips and they’re all constantly shifting

Demeter cabin’s shifts with the seasons

ANYWAYS MOVING AWAY FROM THE LEDS

they have movie nights, which I will talk about in a different post

before everybody goes back to school, the Aphrodite and Hecate cabins have a massive salon at the end of the summer with new haircuts and magic hair dye and outfit recommendations and fake but enchanted sturdy nails and a whole bunch of other stuff and basically it’s a week straight of spilling hot tea between everyone in camp

if someone asks where a camper got their hair done when they get back to school they just go “oh, um… summer camp.” and their friends will snort and be like bro isn’t summer camp the opposite of a makeover?? but they get no argument, just a shrug and a half smile

when I tell you pride month over there is a fucking riot

because Mr. D is in on it, right?? because he’s the god of gender?? and Chiron is aroace and has been raising dumbass gay heroes for literal centuries?? PLUS the sheer fucking amount of queer peeps up in there?? dude yeah

cabins competing for who shows the most pride

Demeter’s roof is covered in rainbow flowers

Hecate’s is enchanted to emit actual light in whatever flag colors of whoever uses the front door, even when they’re straight (it’s just a rainbow)

Percy collects a bunch of shed scales from the hippocampi at the bottom of the lake and then puts them all over his cabin

I could make a whole post about CHB pride but

every single Apollo kid is also a theater kid fight me

Rachel Elizabeth Dare painted a skateboard for Percy’s birthday and he brings it everywhere now, it even sits in his backpack at school

Leo, Annabeth, Percy, and Piper fucking love horror movies. Frank, Hazel, and Jason fucking hate them. They watch through their fingers, if at all

Piper loves the band Surfaces with all her heart, but she also is a die hard Green Day and P!ATD fan

Jake Mason is covered in burn scars up to his neck, just like Deadpool, just not bald lol

Hephaestus and Apollo kids faintly radiate warmth (like more so than a normal person)

the Stolls sometimes stay at camp year-round because their mom is off on international missions that are too high-risk for them to help with

the seven are AVID Smash Bros players

really everyone but

not as many people go to the Athena campers for help with homework as you might think, but whenever anyone does, they’re happy to help

the sun chariot blasts music at a frequency only the Apollo kids can hear, so their life kind of has a shitty soundtrack that consists of a mix of Broadway, Queen, modern stuff, and random bits of Beethoven every now and then

the Romans swear on few occasions

the Greeks know when to swear and when to be polite

the Valhalla peeps swear unbridled and all the time

the Egyptians never swear (in English)

for the longest time, Will Solace thinks the only gift from his dad is his healing prowess— which is obviously great, but he expresses being upset over the fact that he’s not very good at archery

well, considering this is the dumbass who didn’t bring a weapon to actual fucking Tartarus, Nico drags him to the weapon shack thing immediately afterwards and made him pick something out

he's immediately drawn to the Celestial Bronze shotgun.

Nico’s just like “what in the redneck shit did you just pick up” and Will jokingly aims it at his chest and grins and says “you know I’m from Texas, right?”

that’s how they find out Will is one of the damn best marksmen in Greek demigod history

some of the Disney nerds in the Apollo cabin sing What Once Was Mine to the little ones who need bandaids for knee scrapes and give them lollipops afterwards

Percy Jackson absolutely used to make poverty and struggle meal jokes all the time, but he got weird and concerned looks for it at CHB, so he kind of just stopped. But one day, aboard the Argo II, the PERFECT opportunity came up and he just HAD TO and as per usual— everyone else looked at him like he’s crazy— but Leo laughed so hard chocolate milk came out of his nose and that’s the story of how the two of them became Best Friends

#anyways idk what came over me #riordanverse #percy jackson #leo valdez #jason grace #Annabeth Chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #piper mclean #Will Solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #valgrace #Jake Mason #connor stoll

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dawn-moths · 3 months

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"Epitaph"

Undertaker x Female Reader

word count: 15,900+

(requested by @anxious-chick // After running into the mysterious guest known as “Undertaker” at several of Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive’s weekly parties, the two of you eventually take an interest in one another, even if your part in that begins as somewhat reluctant. However, over time, as you grow more comfortable around one another, you find perhaps there's a reason you two were destined to meet, starting with the fact that he's the first one to show you physical touch isn't something to be afraid of.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! plot heavy in the beginning (sort of slow burn) with smut at the end, loss of virginity, best way i can describe this is like a one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers lol, bittersweet ending, some mentions of drinking/alcohol.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The cemetery beyond the mortuary was empty at this time of night, the small, early morning hours just beginning to creep over the horizon, staining the dark velvets of night with a fine veil of ghostly greys, the moonlight breaking through the thick shield of clouds overhead. Through the latticed windows of the kitchenette, silver beams slipped through the glass to lay on the cool tile floor, the table by the sill where you used to sit and read your mystery novels now overgrown with houseplants.

It was all he had left of you— ferns and pothos and calatheas.

Houseplants, and the loop of your hair that was preserved behind the glass of his mourning lockets.

Out of the countless bodies he’d seen through death, tended to and prepared to be placed perfectly in their eternal resting place, you had been the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking.

It had been years since he’d shed even a single tear over one of the deceased— decades— maybe even over a century— but for you, after all this time, he guessed he still had a few lingering shreds of humanity left in his crypt of a heart after all. No matter how far he tried to bury his grief, his mourning, your passing had finally been the thing to unearth it.

Standing before your headstone beneath the kitchen window, facing the direction of the setting sun, your favorite time of day, tracing the letters of your name with his sullen chartreuse gaze, slivers of emerald slipping through the gaps of his curtain of silver bags, he just let the tears fall. If anyone else had been around to see, they would’ve never believed the funeral director was actually crying over one of his corpses.

But you had been so much more than just a body, once upon a time. It haunted him to think one day he might be the only soul left to remember you’d even existed at all. But then again, those were all memories he still held dear. He could recall them as if they’d occurred only yesterday, could see the curve of your profile from across the room, feel the way the dip of your waist fit perfectly into his palm, hear the lilt of your laugh, able to amuse you with anything he said if he really wanted to once he’d finally deciphered your sense of humor.

Those days were over for you now, but he could still relive pieces of them, their echo reverberating through his mind as soon as he plucked the first string on one. No matter how melancholy the tune, the melody was still just as sweet.

Strolling away from your resting place, venturing further into the garden of graves that lay beyond, he began to hum a quiet song to himself, one he’d heard time and time again back when you two had first fallen into each other’s orbit. Despite the sadness, it made him smile. He wished he would’ve asked to dance with you sooner, danced with you more, once he’d finally gotten the chance.

He could almost feel the waltz welling within him, doing a turn and imagining your hands clasped with his, twirling you gracefully, allowing you to unravel just far enough to give the illusion of breaking away only to return to him, wearing that mischievous smile he so adored.

How he longed to revisit those nights in more than just his memories— the mysterious gatherings, the lavish parties, no matter what menagerie of wealthy, well-bred guests were in attendance, his interest always locking in on you.

But even he couldn’t have guessed, back then, that he would’ve ever grown so attached as to weep for you once you were dead…

***

It had all began at one of the Phantomhive’s illustrious, notorious nighttime banquets, each and every guest hand picked and carefully curated, placed strategically within the mansion’s hosting perimeter, down to the seating arrangements at dinner and the order in which the carriages arrived to deliver you all home at the end of the event.

The first few times you’d been invited, you hadn’t a clue why you were there. Because what could Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive possibly want to do with a local news column writer such as yourself? They’d barely spoken to you upon your arrival, too busy mingling with the more important guests, but as you’d awkwardly skirted the corners of the room, the neglect had given you the opportunity to do what it was you were best at.

Survey the crowd.

People watch.

Discover the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow party-goers all while remaining anonymous and tucked away into the shadows.

It was how you’d quickly began to rise through the ranks of the journalists at your press department, sniffing out mysterious stories and the savage truths behind them before anyone else even had the chance to pick a direction to start in.

To yourself, you thought it just made you a good journalist. To others, it made you dangerous.

And if anyone besides the hosts of the evening knew just exactly how lethal you could become with a pen and notepad in your hand, they’d all be anxiously vying to convince you they weren’t like other arms dealers and black market traders or any other less-than-ethical variety of underworld rat skittering through London’s secret mazes.

But that had all been a part of Vincent and Rachel’s plan. Have you stir things up just enough to have the vermin scatter, then all they’d need to do would be to divert them towards the trap.

By the fifth time you’d accepted their ominous invitation— why you kept returning despite the uneasiness it all gave you, you weren’t sure, other than your innate curiosity and just so happening to have most nights free from your busy work schedule— your hosts had finally found it appropriate to introduce themselves to you personally.

Even before you’d begun attending the parties, seen the infamous Phantomhive’s with your own eyes, you’d heard the rumors— not just of their wealth, but of their beauty as well.

Rachel and Vincent both bore striking appearances. They had this air about them, something you just couldn’t put your finger on, that made you both weary and trusting of them on sight. Like a siren singing from a rock near the shore, they lured you in with their elegant charms, but get too close and you’d find yourself drowning.

“Ah, there she is,” Vincent had said as he and his wife gracefully approached you. “The woman of the hour. Welcome, welcome.” You gave them a respectful courtesy, bowing your head and clutching your skirts, hoping to hide how your hands had begun to shake, your nerves getting the better of you.

“Thank you for having me,” you replied, trying to sound actually grateful instead of skeptical. You were going to keep your confusion to yourself, just let it go and enjoy being able to attend while it lasted, but then something inside you decided against it and you asked, “But— and excuse me if this is out of turn— why, exactly, have I been invited…?”

Rachel and Vincent both laughed and, for a moment, all air of intimidation seemed to disappear from them. Until they’d looked at each other, then looked back at you, smiling like cats who’d just caught a mouse and intended on teasing the poor creature for a bit before sinking its fangs down into the rodent’s throat.

Vincent leaned in, close enough to make you flinch, close enough to raise a slight heat into your cheeks. “Because, my dear journalist…” he’d whispered, “Rachel and I have a very important favor to ask of you.”

The favor in question, as it turned out, was more so a job. The Phantomhive’s couldn’t be discovered as double agents or else their entire cover operation would be blown, so naturally they sought out second hand services. But your willingness to spy on their guests for them didn’t come for free. They’d never even dream of inferring that you work without compensation of some kind. So, in exchange for your services, they were willing to put in a good word for you at the top newspaper in all of London.

“Just take your pick of the columns,” Rachel had said with a sly wink. “Any one your heart desires, do this for us and it shall be yours.”

At first, it almost seemed, and felt, too good to be true. But you were tired of getting stuck with the inane, mundane, and oftentimes completely domestic stories handed off to you by the other men at the office. If you came in with a headline worthy story, it was always one of them who got to claim it, making you do all the work only to sign it off with their name, as if any one of them could ever even hope to be half the writer— half the detective— you’d been with half the time in the game.

It was tempting, though, what was it they said about temptation again? Something about surrending to it in case it never came your way again?

Perhaps that was the reason you’d been so inclined to accept their offer in the end. Because, if they really were the sirens you suspected them to be, this opportunity felt like a liferaft tossed out to sea. You’d already made the mistake of drawing too close to the beast. Now all you could do was grasp onto the first thing that could help you escape the icy waters unscathed.

So, from there on out, every event of theirs that you attended you made sure to stay diligent, deceptively demure as you shied away from the thickest crowds, wearing clothes that looked nice enough to blend in but not so extravagant as to be the center of attention, your hair fixed into an elegant, albeit modest updo, always seeming to be holding a glass of whatever alcohol was being served that night that never found itself empty. Although, unlike most of the other guests, that wasn’t because the servants kept coming around to refill it. You had to stay focused, so, raising the rim of the crystal to your lips, you merely pretended to drink, yet another way to blend in.

However, despite the fact your eye for booking someone as shady or salacious was a very sharp, very skilled one, there had been one guest that, no matter how hard you studied him, how carefully you watched, gave nothing— absolutely nothing— away as to why he belonged in the room among the rest of the guests.

You were supposed to be the secret outlier, you thought, and the man’s presence haunted you from one week into the next. By your second soiree as a spy, you’d already gathered ample information on the ones you’d deemed guilty, still keeping a watch on the others out of the corner of your eye while you continued trying to dig a deeper hole for the rats to fall in, but at the end of that night drifting around the manor like your own kind of phantom, you still came up empty on your mystery man.

Until the very end, just as you were about to head out to the carriage arranged to take you home.

“I must say, Vincent,” his gravelly voice sounded from a little further into the main foyer, the remnants of a laugh fading off the end of his words, “If the Queen knew her watchdog had such a sense of humor, I think she’d prefer to take you on as her personal entertainer instead.”

You stopped, pretending to search your purse for something as you listened in.

The Earl let out a devious chuckle of his own, going on to reply, “Yes, but if I did that, then who would be around to entertain you, Undertaker?”

You clasped your purse shut with a muted click and continued towards the carriage. For tonight, you had all you needed. And though it was just a title, barely even a name to know him by, the moment you got home and scribbled down the ten letters of Undertaker onto your growing web of information gathered from these parties, you could already sense that he was the key to the biggest mystery you’d been faced with yet.

***

Though you couldn’t see his eyes through the thick silver curtain of his hair, from across the room you knew— could practically feel it as a fresh wave of chills spiked up your spine— that Undertaker was staring straight at you. You stared back, lips slightly parted as your next breath caught halfway up your throat, his silent acknowledgment of you making you feel suddenly naked, vulnerable under his recognition.

He offered you a mischievous crack of a smile, all teeth, and a playful, waggling wave of his black-nailed fingers. You felt your cheeks heat, feeling startlingly self-conscious, though not entirely sure why, and turned to excuse yourself to the nearest washroom to collect yourself.

Staring down your reflection in the mirror, you reminded yourself why you were here. To investigate. To uncover. To expose. Not just for the promotion that had been generously promised to you, but for the sake of the common good as well. Or, at least, that’s one of the stories you’d started telling yourself to make your duplicity to all the people who you’d pretended to enjoy the company of a little less guilt-tripping.

Besides, the Phantomhive’s also knew you couldn’t resist a cause where injustice was being done, and while it sort of made you sick to watch this group of miscreants chatting and laughing like they’d never harmed the orphaned or the sick or the poor week after week, you knew, in the end, their evil would not prevail.

Resolute in your mission here once again, you exited the washroom, intending to migrate back into the lion’s den, when all of a sudden that familiar, bone-chilling voice sounded from behind you, making you flinch.

“You know…” Undertaker began, who’d been leaning against the nearest wall before pushing off with one shoulder to lessen the gap between you, the layers of black fabric he wore lightly billowing behind him with each heel-to-toe step. His arms were crossed, and his shadow began to creep over you, seeming as if it could swallow you up at any moment. But still he wore an amused grin like he was about to tell a charming joke and was simply awaiting the perfect moment to deliver the punchline. He continued, “The guest list of these parties changes every week, yet, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are only ever two who get invited every single time…”

You had noticed that actually, keeping the little tidbit of information close to your chest, sometimes purposely acting like it was your first time attending such a gathering if you noticed the roster was entirely fresh, but he was right.

The only other person besides yourself who graced the Phantomhive manor on a weekly basis, other than the Phantomhives themselves, of course, was the silver shadow known as Undertaker. The man had been nearly as elusive and calculating as you had thus far, but now, it seemed, he wished to show part of his hand.

Undertaker cocked his head to one side, seeming to study you through the shaggy fringe concealing half his face like a mask, and said, “Sort of odd, don’t you think?”

And it really wasn’t his sudden and unexpected presence that had caught you so off guard. You were used to potential targets confronting you, whether to try and scare you off from a possible story they were at the root of or convince you there was nothing to see here. This, however, was different. Because the increased pounding of your heart and the sudden loss for words didn’t seem to be out of fear, but, perhaps, out of the kind of flustered intrigue that comes with finding a stranger very, very attractive.

“I, uh…” was all you had time to say before Vincent Phantomhive was approaching from down the hall, seemingly with something urgent to discuss with Undertaker, giving you a smile and a nod as if to say keep up the good work before he and his guest continued down the hall and disappeared around the next corner, all that black fabric fluttering in his wake.

You spent the remainder of the night distracted, off your game, growing frustrated with yourself and with him for having your thoughts interrupted by that shining scar that cut diagonally across his pale face, the lilting hum to his tone that had indicated something you didn’t even dare explore, even within the confines of your own imagination, and all those long strands of silver that looked like threads spun from moonlight.

Needless to say, you didn’t gather much intel that night, and you were honestly just counting down the hours until it would be time for you to go home. But as each guest departed, one after another, their carriages formally announced to be awaiting them, something else strange and rather off-script happened to you.

Normally, you were among the middle group to say your thank yous and goodbyes to the hosts before exiting through the grand entrance, heading down the curved double staircase before being whisked away back into the grey-toned city. But tonight, after watching the last of the guests thank the Phantomhives for their glittering hospitality and departing the manor, you found you were the final guest that remained.

You, and, much to your dismay, surprise, and general curiosity, Undertaker as well.

You were sure your carriage would be pulling up any moment now, and so you hung close to the doors to search out the horse pulling it through the dark. You hoped this served as an indicator you wished to be left alone with your own thoughts, but, alas, that looming shadow of a man who’d suddenly and quite unexplainably taken an interest in you was hovering by your side again like a crow waiting for you to drop some crumbs.

“Do you think it’s true?” he unceremoniously prompted, voice hushed to a low, sultry whisper, making the thin hairs on the back of your neck rise with suspense.

You cast him a glance over your shoulder, trying to act indifferent and completely unbothered. “Do I think what’s true?” you asked, an edge of irritation splicing through your forced boredom.

Undertaker breathed out a knowing chuckle, something from beneath his wide sleeves clinking and chiming together lightly before he applied more pressure to silence it. He then cleared his throat and said, “This place, they say it’s haunted, you know.”

“And?” you pressed, and though you were trying to make it seem like you couldn’t have cared less, your skin was crawling with the anticipation to know more, more, more.

“And,” he mimicked, leaning in a little closer to you, testing to see how far you’d let him invade your personal space, “do you think it’s true?”

You turned to face him, scrutinizing him now, a crooked mask to hide your true intrigue, wanting nothing more than to reach up and gently push his bangs away from his eyes just to discover what color they were beneath the curtain that so carefully protected that information. You wanted to trace the lines of his scars, especially the one wrapped around his neck like a collar, a chain, a reminder of something horrific he’d once endured, and learn the story behind every single mark.

You wanted to learn his name, his true one, not just his job description or whatever morbid title Vincent had given him as part of some kind of inside joke they shared.

You opened your mouth to say something— what, you weren’t entirely sure— but just then, the feeling in the air seemed to change, an energy charged in the small space between your bodies, the scent of a storm carrying on a breeze, an invisible electricity sparking through you, lacing through your bones and frizzling your brain.

“They say sometimes you can feel them touch you,” Undertaker continued, and for a moment, just a mere hair of a second, you swore you could see a glint of light shimmering from behind his bangs, a flash of emerald here and then gone again before your eyes could even register the color. “They say it’s heavy, and cold as ice, like a stone lifted from a freezing sea, the sensation coming and going as quick as a breath in a winter’s breeze…”

The first time his pale, cold hand had brushed against the dip of your waist it had already been too late. His long, lithe fingers had lingered there for but a moment, just long enough to allow the shape of his touch to drape itself upon your body, the memory of it a thrilling, frightening thing. But when you’d flinched away, drawn in a sudden, sharp gasp under your breath, he retracted. Still, despite the new distance put between you two, he wore that mischievous smile, his broad shoulders shivering with the containment of some kind of mean laughter.

It was then that your carriage arrived, the Phantomhives’ butler announcing this to you, but just before you could turn and leave, Undertaker said, “Remember, miss journalist, sometimes the answers to our biggest questions are found in the things we can’t see…” as he slinked back off into the dark, leaving you standing in the center of the foyer alone.

If you hadn’t seen Vincent interact directly with him just earlier that evening, you would’ve deduced that he was the very spirit he’d warned you of, but then, about halfway home as the carriage traveled over the country’s uneven terrain, you realized something even more terrifying.

You’d never told him you were a journalist. The Phantomhives had assured you that no one besides themselves were to know, lest your cover and this whole operation they’d gotten you involved with be blown.

It kept you up at night, his words, his scars, his touch. But now you had an entirely new mission, one that was all your own.

And that was to discover just exactly who, or perhaps, what, this man called Undertaker truly was.

***

Some time passed before there was another party, what with the celebration of the Phantomhives’ sons’ birthdays and the Christmas holiday falling a little under two weeks apart. But, with the arrival of the New Year of 1885 quickly approaching, you weren’t surprised when you received yet another one of the crisp, cream and gold colored invitation cards in the mail announcing a grand celebration event at the manor.

This would be the biggest crowd you’d hidden amongst thus far, though, surely, you thought, the Phantomhives didn’t intend for you to be working too hard on such an occasion? Besides, you’d already turned in the extent of information you’d been able to gather on their people of interest. As far as you were concerned, this case, or at least your part in it, was closed. They’d already assured you they’d hold up their end of the deal as soon as you chose your desired position at the new press company you’d be working at come the new year too. Now, all you had to do was sit back and relax as the hours ticked down until midnight.

At least, that’s what you would’ve been able to do if not for the incessant appearance of him.

All night, Undertaker seemed to trail you like a shadow. No matter how many times you tried to slip out of one room and into another unnoticed, tuck yourself within a new crowd, folded between different nobles, it was only a matter of minutes until you looked over and saw his pale figure swathed in layers of black. A few times, he even dared to give you one of those cheeky grins and teasing waves, as if tormenting you was his most favorite game, and every time you met the gesture with a huff of a frustrated sigh and a swift turning on your heel, heading off to pick at the many food options set up around the different rooms or grab another drink as a servant carrying a tray of them passed by, not pretending to sip this time but actually allowing yourself to indulge.

But you should’ve really known by now that showing your back and trying to ignore him was probably your worst bet at actually being left alone. He was like a naughty child, continuously doing that which would get him the most reaction or attention, despite the consequences. And, like the tired parent who would do just about anything to get the child to behave, you eventually caved in and gave him exactly what he wanted.

“What?” you asked, walking right up to him where he was leaning against a wall, your arms crossed and attempting to wrestle your features into a look of grim displeasure rather than fluster-fueled nervousness. It was like a spell had suddenly been released into the air once you two were standing face to face, your prior agitation slowly but surely melting away until all you could focus on was the way his silver hair caught the dim light and those scars that just barely peeked out from his collar and curtain of bangs as if too shy to properly say hello.

“Good evening to you too, miss journalist,” he sarcastically greeted, though you detected no hint of malice, merely an air of teasing charm. Instead of irking you that time, the sentiment made your cheeks heat. You pretended to cough and look away, hoping it wasn’t showing too clearly on your face. He gestured to the party encircling you both, an endless, overlapping barrage of laughter and conversation filling the room, and asked with a slight raise to his voice, “What a wonderful way to ring in the new year, don’t you agree?”

Frankly, you realized you were still far too sober to be in this situation right now, but when you searched the room for any more of those silver trays holding flutes of bubbling liquid, you found, for once, there were none in sight.

“Listen,” you said, lowering your voice despite the loud chatter that tried to drown it out, clearly still in the investigation mindset despite your earlier resolution to enjoy a night away from work, “let’s just stop with the smalltalk. Off the record, why don’t you just tell me what it is you want and why I have to be a part of it?”

When he found it appropriate to laugh at this notion, one of which you were sincerely serious about, you found yourself flaring more towards anger than intrigue. “What’s so funny?” you hissed, suddenly wanting nothing more than your own shadow to hide inside of when you glanced around and noticed a few other party-goers trying to listen in on your conversation. You were used to coveting and collecting gossip, not being the source of it.

But Undertaker seemed largely undisturbed by the growing sets of eyes landing upon your shared corner of the ballroom, flicking one black-nailed finger beneath the hem of his fringe to wipe away a tear of amusement before replying through a chuckle-laced breath, “You are, my dear. Simply hilarious.”

Wanting to turn and stalk away from him again, you resisted the urge, now determined to beat him at his own game, the rules of which you still weren’t entirely clear on. “Oh, so you like jokes then?” you baited, a smirk beginning to curve up on your lips now. “Well why didn’t you just say so? How about you and I make a deal then?” At this, Undertaker’s expression turned comically inquisitive, regarding you with a new kind of focus, his silence prompting you to continue. “If I can tell you something funny enough to make you laugh before the end of the night, you leave me alone after that.”

“And if you lose?” he posed, beginning to circle you until it was your back towards the wall instead, a hunter closing in on its prey. “What do I get if I win?”

You took a moment to think about that. You didn’t have much to give, if you were being honest. So you made the mistake of asking him, “What do you want?”

The smile that carved across his pale features then sent another one of those cold, electric shivers down your spine, and instantly you regretted allowing him so much freedom in choosing his prize. Tapping his chin with a finger as he pretended to sort through his options, he quickly and proudly settled on, “How about you have dinner with me?”

Aghast, you truly didn’t know what to say. Wanting to play it cool, not show how ridiculous the idea seemed to you when stated so shamelessly out of the blue, your throat bobbed with a particularly hard swallow and your voice shook slightly as you began to say, “That’s really what you want?”

Undertaker nodded, his smile not faltering. “That’s what I want.”

Not happy with the consequences but still clearly up for the challenge, you steeled your expression and agreed with a semi-confident, “Alright then. All I have to do is make you laugh before the clock strikes twelve,” and then I’ll never have to be bothered by you again. Should be easy, if he thought you were so hilarious without even trying.

However, as you searched the far corners of your mind for a joke or anecdote you thought would knock him out on the first try, you suddenly found your temporary confidence dying like an ember fading out in its hearth. You resided in the world of logic and facts, not entertainment and tomfoolery. You had a sense of humor, sure. Someone in your line of work had to, once in a while, lest they go mad when constantly being reintroduced to the bleakest parts of humanity.

Finally, you recalled a particular story that you’d nearly cried at upon hearing the first time, you’d laughed so hard. Surely, this was the one. You remembered it perfectly too, only, the further you ventured into telling it without so much as a twitch of a smirk appearing at the corner of Undertaker’s lips, the more you began to sense that you’d been lured right into a trap.

“Amusing,” he stated, monotone and mocking you. “But if you want to win, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

You stood there, staring at him, seething, knowing this had all been according to his plan all along. You figured you could always just find a moment to slip away from the party and into one of the carriages already lined up outside before the new year rang in, perhaps voiding this odd and informal little contract you two had entered into together, but a part of you also knew that, whether a week or a month or a year from now, you’d find yourself faced with him again some way or another. Perhaps it was better to just keep trying even if only to prove to yourself you’d fought instead of running away.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you taunted, some of your indignance slipping through the vengeful grin spreading across your lips, “I’m just warming up.”

Undertaker tapped his wrist, miming where a watch would be, if he wore one, and said, “Tick tock… Only five more hours till midnight.”

And thus the game began.

***

Every hour that passed, with every attempted joke that was told without the desired reaction, the more dejected you began to feel.

And now, with less than half an hour to go, you’d already accepted your imminent defeat.

There had been a few times you could tell he was seriously having to hold back, the promise of a chuckle choked out behind his teeth or a burst of a laugh strangled somewhere deep in his chest before it had time to rise from his lungs. He had a lot more self control than you would’ve originally given him credit for, that much you couldn’t deny, but it almost seemed the brunt of his amusement came from how each attempt you made became more desperate, some of the words leaving your mouth shameful enough to make your mother faint had she been around to hear you say them, digging up the darkest, most shocking lines you’d ever uttered in your entire life.

You were a few drinks over the limit of caring if any of the other ladies in attendance that night heard you saying such depraved things in public, and to a man you barely even knew on top of it all, but one thing was for certain.

Undertaker was cracking.

You’d nearly gotten him on a few of the last ones, suddenly grateful for all the horrid things you’d heard the men exchanging and laughing about in the press office— another place you were used to acting like a shadow within. Though, even if you felt like you were maybe getting closer to winning, your dignity would lose regardless. You felt as if you were stooping to some unacceptable level you’d normally turn your nose up at, behaving in such an undignified way, yet the itch to prove him wrong and reclaim your pride was hard not to scratch, and right now there was only one way to do so.

“You know,” Undertaker said, only fifteen minutes to midnight, “I will admit, you’re really starting to make me regret entering the mortuary field and wishing I’d gone into journalism instead. Do your colleagues truly say such audacious things?” Just then he nearly made himself laugh, though you figured that wouldn’t count.

By now, you had a few cards left to play, having saved your best ones for the final hour, just in case, though that bank had nearly run dry. You had one last ridiculous tale left up your sleeve before you’d truly have to hang your head and admit defeat, and for a moment, you let hope get the better of you. It truly seemed this would be the one to best him, and as you loudly and, thanks to the several glasses of champagne flowing through your veins, very confidently delivered the perfect punchline, you counted the seconds until he’d inevitably burst with laughter and be forced to forgo his mission to unexplainably irritate you.

But he swallowed it down, dousing it with his next and final gulp of champagne, having drank nearly as much as you throughout the night, probably more, yet somehow unaffected, and as he sighed out a satisfied exhale, sans the expected howl of laughter, your expression of victory crumbled down to forlorn.

“Are you kidding me?” you confronted, clearly fed up— with him, mostly, but also with yourself— before you began stammering out a mess of jumbled syllables proclaiming how this entire thing had been rigged in the first place.

“Technically there’s still a few minutes,” Undertaker reminded you, nodding towards the grand clock adorning the mansion’s foyer. “Though if I were you…” he leaned in, so close his lips were practically pressed against your ear, his breath tickling the side of your exposed neck, “I’d just count myself lucky you didn’t wager a kiss at midnight in the case of your defeat.”

Between the warmth of the alcohol and the dizziness those words had just washed over you, you feared for a moment you might faint, your posture suddenly swaying before Undertaker instinctively reached out to help steady you, both his palms pressed firmly to your waist, reminding you of the night he’d tried to spook you with ghost stories and gotten a little too close for your comfort.

Only this time, you didn’t flinch away instantly. Instead, you allowed his hands to stay there for a moment, staring up at him with perhaps the softest expression you’d worn all night. You felt your mouth opening, though again found yourself unsure what you would say, when suddenly, faster than you were ready for, the chorus of counting down the seconds until the new year filled the room and startled you back to reality.

You pulled away from his orbit, smoothing down your skirts with your sweaty palms, and turned your gaze to the smallest hand on the clock, barely mouthing the numbers of the countdown until it was only ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

“Happy New Year!” Undertaker chanted, shouting out with the crowd but looking straight at you, as if the celebratory words were meant for only one person in the room. He raised his empty glass your way, wearing one of those sinfully sly smiles, and said, now only loud enough for you to hear, “How’s next Friday at seven sound, hm?”

You could barely understand what he was talking about. You were already too far gone. All you could remember at that point was the sinking feeling of dread laced with a familiar sense of excitement, as if you’d just been the key witness to a very important event and now had the chance to give the first testimony of the case.

But isn’t this what you’d wanted all along? A way to get closer to him and uncover whatever it was he was hiding— because you knew he was hiding something.

Your initial intrigue had never really faded, no matter how much you’d tried to convince yourself you loathed him, that he was insufferable, more trouble than he was worth. But, then again, if it was answers you wanted, it should be easy for you to get them.

You’d always been good at solving mysterious events. How would solving a mysterious person really be any different?

***

You’d upheld your end of the bargain and joined Undertaker for dinner, which had been stranger than fiction but a rather good story to file away for your personal collection. Much to your surprise— and perhaps slightly to your disappointment— things had started and ended with dinner. Just dinner. You’d tried to pry, tried to get him to open up, learn more about him, but somehow he always found a way to seamlessly direct the topic of conversation back around to you.

You’d decided he maybe wasn’t so bad afterall, had even agreed to do it all again sometime.

But now, a year later, there were no more parties.

All that had been left in the wake of the once pristine and lively Phantomhive manor was ash and the crumbing, scorched remains that had outlasted the fire. Not even the children had survived, and though you’d only seen them a handful of times as their nanny had led them up the grand staircase by the hand to put them to bed just as the first batch of guests were beginning to arrive, it still made your heart twist with the tragedy of it all.

At least they’re together, you tried to console yourself as you stood before Rachel and Vincent’s graves, your previous hosts reduced to nothing but a matching set of stones sticking out from the cold earth. You wouldn’t exactly have considered them friends, per se, more so something closer to employers, but you couldn’t help it. You’d grown more attached to them than you’d originally intended.

“Do you think it’s true?” a familiar voice suddenly asked from right behind you, making you jolt and turn to face him. You’d already known it was Undertaker, yet, as you tried to meet the glimpse of green you’d once caught shielded behind all that silver, you still found a part of you was surprised to find him standing in the same graveyard, as if having completely forgotten he was, after all, a mortician.

“Do I think what’s true?” you asked, a slow wave of deja vu rolling through your mind.

“That humans really go to a better place after they die…?” The way he said it, gazing almost longingly down at the tombstones as they lay still and heavy on the frost-laced grass, made you start to see him in a new light. He was holding a shovel in one hand. You realized he’d probably been the one to dig the ditches and then bury the couple six feet deep.

Instead of giving him an answer though, you instead turned your view back to the graves, reading their names, their dates of birth and death, and then, carved beneath the proof that there were indeed people sleeping beneath the slabs, the matching epitaphs marking the smooth stones.

“Potentia Regere…” you repeated, more to yourself than anyone else. “What does it mean?”

Stabbing the shovel’s sharp tip down into the ground, Undertaker simply stated, “Power to rule…” It was the Phantomhive’s motto, in a sense, the latin words appearing on the family’s coat of arms. You were just about to make a comment about how surreal it all seemed, the fact that something that quickly had become so commonplace in your weekly schedule was now no more, but then the gentle clinking of a mysterious sound you’d heard before interrupted your reminiscence.

“What is that?” you asked, searching for the source. When Undertaker gave you a confused look, you clarified, “That sound? I’ve heard it around you before…”

“Ah…” he answered, a small, sad grin cracking on his lips. Then he pulled a brassy strand of several lockets from beneath his coat, the mementos chiming together more aggressively as he dangled them before you. “That would be these.”

As if requesting permission to take a closer look, you shyly cupped your hands out before you, allowing him to settle the chain into your palms for further investigation.

“They’re beautiful…” you sighed, inspecting each one individually, reading the names spelled out in neat cursive scrawl, the different shades of the hair tied into simple loops and pressed beneath the glass. Some of the dates engraved went back far before you were born, and, though his age often presented itself as ambiguous, definitely far before Undertaker could’ve been in this business. Though, instead of inquiring about this curious detail, the journalist part of you always hungry for answers, for the truth, you just swallowed and said, “There’s so many…”

In reply, Undertaker offered, “Well, I’ve known the Phantomhive family for a very long time.”

You handed the lockets back to him, watching as they disappeared back between the many folds of black fabric, and then the two of you stood in silence before the graves for what felt like a long time, the only sound the quiet whisper of the winter breeze.

Without even realizing, you found yourself crying, crystalline tears welling in your eyes, sparkling on the edge of your lashes, and then rolling down your cheeks in pairs. You tried to stay quiet, as if that alone could hide the emotion from the man standing directly beside you. And he wanted to reach out the moment he’d seen the tears welling, toss his shovel to the side and pull you into his chest, just let you cry into all his dark clothing until you had no more tears left.

But he remembered how you’d flinched the first time he’d tried to touch you, withdrawing from his proximity as if it were a plague. So instead, he settled for reaching for your hand, which was clenched into a fist and trembling by your side. That time, you didn’t pull away. Just shot him a sort of terror-struck look before your gaze softened and you used your free hand to cover your mouth, catching the first sobs that escaped through your lips, even giving his hand a squeeze as if to help ease your own pain.

Sensing that, perhaps this time, his touch was actually offering you some comfort, he decided to chance gently pulling you into his side, one long, slender arm snaking across your shoulders and back, hand rubbing up and down your arm as your body continued to shake with sorrow.

“I don’t even know—” you began, voice cracked and broken as you sucked in panicked, gasping breaths, “why I’m crying. I mean— they were— I was— it’s just—”

I know, he wanted to say, giving your shoulder a light squeeze, hoping the message was still delivered despite being unspoken. I know, you’re in pain right now.

And I’m sorry.

Human lives were so fragile. The only thing more delicate were their emotions.

Once you were finally able to catch your breath and calm down a little, you seemed to register his touch and quickly, albeit much more elegantly than before, distance yourself from it, clearing your throat as you settled your stance across from him, unable to meet his eyes— or at least the space that they should’ve been— that time around.

“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other quite as often anymore,” you noted, trying to force a smile, but it just came out crooked and sad. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot but…” You paused, feeling yourself wanting to hold the rest of your sentiment back but then forcing yourself to say it anyway. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m glad we both skirted the edges of those parties before.”

Now you allowed yourself to look up and offer him a new kind of smile, this one bittersweet and almost apologetic. And he could feel you already trying to sever the invisible tie that loosely stretched between you two, the purpose of your shared proximity suddenly gone and therefore pointless.

You were just about to turn and bid him farewell when he spoke, more urgent than you’d heard him yet. He said, “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

You considered him, as if this were another one of his games, a riddle to solve. “Wha— Now?” you asked, as if it were the most preposterous proposition anyone had ever presented you with.

“If now suits you,” he said, trying to regain some of his composure, pulling his coat tighter over his shoulders as the wind picked up. “I can’t say it’s as grand as the Phantomhive manor, but where I live isn’t too far from here.” He smiled again, soft and soothing, as he continued, “Though, I can promise the quality of the tea is just as refined.”

It was his last ditch attempt at making a joke in the current situation and, over the more personal time you’d spent with him, you’d come to gain a new appreciation for his dark sense of humor, so you gave a timid nod and said, “Alright then. Lead the way.”

He dropped the shovel and started walking, you trailing beside him over the stone spotted hills.

***

Undertaker’s living space was indeed a far cry from the luxurious, spanning halls of the Phantomhive manor. It couldn’t even really be considered a house, as far as you could tell. It was, in all honesty, a mortuary practice that just happened to have a small kitchenette and an even tinier bedroom hidden behind a curtain in the back. You supposed it made sense when he’d said he didn’t live far from the cemetery, when that was his workplace. But you didn’t care right now. The tea in the mug between your palms was hot, the aroma sweet as the steam rose from the surface of the liquid, Undertaker generously leaving the small jar of sugar cubes on the table before you to scoop in to your preference.

He was sitting across from you, your legs nearly intertwined under the cramped table, Undertaker more relaxed while you just tried to stay within your own personal space. Again it occurred to him, your aversion to physical touch, and he took a moment to study you, as if tracing the features of your face beneath the thin black netting of the mourning veil or the intricate lace detailing of the collar of your dress— black, to match him for once— could uncover your truth to him, your past.

“Been to a lot of funerals in your time, I imagine…” you commented, suddenly overwhelmed by the pressing silence, the steady ticking of the wall clock unbearably awkward. “If I may ask, what made you choose this line of work to begin with?”

Undertaker took a sip of his own tea, which tonight was bitter and black. It would’ve surprised you to learn he usually stirred several cubes of sugar into his tea, no matter the strength or blend of it. Looks could be misleading, this you knew first hand from all the undercover work you’d done, as well as the many apparently innocent faces that had turned out to be gruesomely guilty. But also, on the opposite hand, some people really did show you exactly who they were right from the start.

You were starting to think maybe he was nestled somewhere in between.

“It’s a solitary kind of life…” Undertaker replied, masking loneliness under a grin. “I suppose, at the time, I was suited to it.” He gave a shrug as he raised the cup to his lips again, like that answer didn’t pave way for a hundred more questions.

“At the time…” you repeated. “Meaning, not any longer?”

You weren’t even sure what the purpose of that inquiry was. Normally, every question you posed was carefully chosen, hand-picked in order to serve a specific purpose that would paint a broader picture of the overall story.

Undertaker’s picture had so far just been one big canvas filled in with black, a few streaks of silver, and a flicker of green. There was no clear shape, no clear narrative, but suddenly, by slipping into something a little more specific, something to fulfill your own personal curiosities rather than that of straightforward facts, it was like you’d decided to take your own brush to an artwork you’d only ever been an observer of.

You were not a painter, but sometimes even an inexperienced hand could craft a masterpiece.

Undertaker’s smile didn’t falter, but something in the lines of his figure tensed, as if you’d shone a light into all that darkness expecting a gruesome beast, only to find there was something vulnerable living inside after all. Something genuine. Something lonely. Something you could relate to.

“How about you answer me something…” he began, pitching his weight slightly forward to lean closer to you over the table, his chin now resting in his palm. “You don’t like being touched…” At first, he said it more as an observation than a question. Then, after allowing discomfort to fill you during the pause, he concluded with a curious and perhaps even slightly sympathetic, “Why?”

At this statement, you felt yourself stiffen. Undertaker didn’t so much as flinch, just continued to consider you as if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, working through every angle before making his first move. After a while, with you offering no answer or comment to this, he added, “If you’d rather not talk about it—”

Your throat bobbed with a thick, dry swallow, as if you’d just been caught for a crime you’d tried desperately to cover up, like the word GUILTY was branded into your forehead. Your mouth opened and closed and opened again, some excuse or alibi withering and dying on the tip of your tongue. Then you said, “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” You were absentmindedly toying with a piece of frayed lace off the hem of your sleeve, searching for a believable story to tell him that wasn’t a complete lie, but also wasn’t the entire truth either. But then you sighed, defeated, and looked him in the eyes, that glint of emerald peeking through, and admitted, “It’s just hard for me. I’m not used to it, it’s… complicated.”

The legs of his chair scraped softly against the uneven hardwood as he leaned in even closer, his arm draped over the surface, palm facing upwards, beckoning you to reach into it, to give him a chance. You glanced from his hand, a scar crossing over the love line etched into his alabaster skin, then back to his face, wishing you felt brave enough to take his invitation, wanting to, but finding the fear of physical contact swelling inside of you like a balloon that was one breath away from bursting.

It was so hard for you to trust. It always had been. Had only gotten harder since you’d entered into your current line of work, all of humanity’s ugliest sides revealed to you on a weekly, sometimes even daily basis. But what did you do when you got scared while chasing a story?

You felt the fear and you did it anyway.

So, hesitantly inching your hand closer to his open-faced palm, merely hovering there for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether this was some kind of trap or not, you finally allowed yourself to make contact, fighting the urge to pull back upon the first flinch of his fingers beginning to curl around your own.

Once his hand had completely closed around yours, it was as if all the tension gathered within your frame burst like a firework, the glittering embers giving way to something uncharted. Something new, and slightly nerve-wracking, but pleasant all the same, once you actually allowed yourself to enjoy it.

Undertaker stroked his thumb along the top of your hand, his long, cool fingers brushing delicately against your soft skin, and you felt your next exhale stutter, eyes threatening to well with tears for an entirely different reason now.

“Perhaps I can show you…” he said, the words merely a whisper on his pale lips, “that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

When you met his gaze then, it was like seeing him for the first time, both of his emerald eyes on full display, as if he’d just decided you were worthy of his trust, to know and keep his secrets the same as he seemed so intent on knowing and keeping yours.

There was still a small part of you that wanted to protest, that had the urge to pull away and put as much distance between you and him as possible. But that voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well now, distant and unintelligible. What took over was a voice you’d never heard before, one you didn’t even think you had, and all it was telling you was to allow yourself to fall. That he would be there to catch you when you did.

***

Your breath hitched before his fingers even made contact with your skin, eyes fluttering closed, like you thought not seeing would make accepting what was about to happen any easier.

“I’ve got you…” Undertaker murmured, the cold press of his palm finally reaching your cheek. He gave you a moment, patient with you while you allowed yourself to relax against his touch, your gaze slowly opening and glancing up to meet his eyes. Being this close, you came to realize they weren’t just green, like you’d originally thought, but laced through with a webbing of ambers and golds, a thin ring of teal rimming the edge of each iris. You’d never seen eyes like that before, dangerously entrancing, enticing, and it once again resurfaced the notion that the question wasn’t necessarily who he was, but what.

“See?” he smiled, not a hint of malice or mischief tucked into the corners of his mouth that time, only gentle reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

You placed your hand around his wrist, grip light, just to let him know you wanted a little more time to let this sink in. He was right. There was really nothing to be afraid of. Only, your quick-fire heartbeat still seemed to want to convince you otherwise.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, you kept repeating in your mind, nothing to be afraid of.

You let your view of him slip shut again as he slowly moved his fingers further back to lightly comb through your hair, finding the pin that had been holding it in place and pulling it free, your locks spilling down from the tightly wound coil of a bun that had been perched at the back of your head.

He’d never seen you with your hair completely down, every Phantomhive party that you’d attended making sure to tie it back, keep it out of your way, so you could stay focused on your job and not find yourself fiddling with it. He gently combed his fingers through it, disturbing a few loose knots, smoothing it down and laying it over your shoulders after removing the veiled hat from its place on your head.

“Such a shame…” he remarked, voice still low and soothing. “You’ve been hiding such beautiful hair all this time.” You remembered his mourning lockets, the different shades of strands that had been encapsulated behind the glass. You wondered if anyone would ever grow to love you so much as to always keep a lock of yours on their person. The notion made your lonely heart pulse with a dull ache.

Letting out a stuttering exhale, you now set your view upon the cascade of silver that framed all those black clothes of his, the strands almost sparkling under the low light as they shifted from white to grey and back again depending on how he moved. What you wouldn’t give to be able to carry a strand of it around, secured in a locket and resting against your heart, like capturing a sprinkle of stardust to call your own.

“Can I…” you began to ask, trying to swallow down the slight tremble in your voice as you gingerly reached one shaky hand forward. “Can I touch your hair as well?”

At this, Undertaker let out a silky hum of a chuckle, his long fingers finding the nape of your neck and resting there as he replied, “But of course.”

You let your fingertips brush against the silky silver, threading your fingers through and lightly dragging them down, not a single tangle or knot to be found. You wondered how long it had taken him to grow this much hair, how often he must have to brush it to keep it so pristine, how many others had admired or envied it the very same way you were now.

“Would you like to come closer?” he asked next, catching you a little off guard. You let your hand fall back to your lap, his returning to rest on his knee, and your eyes filled with uncertainty. Then he added, “Only if you’d like, of course.”

You scanned his form, unsure exactly what he meant by come closer, though, based on the way he was sitting, you could only really think of one possibility and the mere suggestion alone was enough to make your cheeks heat and your head spin.

The embarrassment must’ve shown on your face, because a quiet laugh trailed after his next exhale as he assured you, “If that’s too much for you you’re still welcome to sit by my side…” And then, knowing you had a habit of accepting challenges, he added on, voice sultry and only slightly sinister, “Though, if you’re worried about your skirts getting in the way, I’d gladly assist you in removing them and—”

“Oh, just hush for once, will you?” you cut him off, growing a little indignant and far more flustered than before. Even so, you still found yourself standing, eying his lap wearily as you approached, both hands curled into tight fists around your skirts, lifting them a little as you went to settle over the tops of his thighs, having to take purchase on his shoulders for balance halfway through assuming this position.

You’d never been this intimately close with another body before, not since you were very small and your mother had scooped you up in her arms and carried you off to bed, your little legs lightly wrapping around her waist and not wanting to let go, wishing she’d let you sleep in her bed to help keep the nightmares away.

But now, being at this age, in this body, and feeling the press of him as you relaxed with your legs straddling his hips, things were much, much different.

His hands brushed against your waist, hovering there before finally settling, giving you time to adjust to the foreign touch. “Is this alright?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “If you need more time, I can—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice also quiet, forcing your gaze back up to his, as if to defy your hesitance. “No, this is fine. I’m fine.”

“You know,” he murmured, his lips pressed close to your ear, his breath fanning featherlight over the shell of it, and you could practically hear the way he was suppressing a smirk, “I must say, it really is a surprise how a woman as striking as yourself has gone this long without being spoken for. So which is it? Too particular to find the right partner or too spoiled by being overwhelmed with choice?”

You coughed out an abashed chuckle. “No, nothing like that…” you said. Then, falling more somber, “It’s more like… Being alone has just always been so much easier. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I don’t have to pretend. I get to do as a please whenever I please and…” You flashed him a guilty look. “I guess I never saw myself as the marrying type, so…”

Undertaker stared at you, all that chartreuse alight as if finally seeming to uncover what he’d long been looking for. Then his expression softened and he said, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Before you had time to think up some kind of rebuttal or rebuke, his fingertips were tracing the hem running up the side of your funeral dress, the dulled touch registering on your hips, then your waist, through your clothes, sending a gentle, ebbing wave of chills over your flesh, a delicate ghost of a gasp just barely sighed through your lips. His other hand came up to caress your neck, thumb brushing tenderly across your jaw, your cheek, allowing you time to decide you enjoyed it and sink deeper into his palm, the cool touch of his skin helping to soothe you.

And then, before you knew it, he was kissing you, taking the rest of your breath away as the hand that had found your waist began to roam, the careful path of his contact curving around to the small of your back, up towards your shoulder blades, your collar bones, down your arm to find the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, brushing against the faint thumping of your wild pulse just to feel the life humming from inside of you.

What surprised you even more was that you were kissing him back, leaning into the warmth of his mouth, chasing his tongue when he playfully tried to pull away, testing to see if you’d follow, if you’d try to seek him out once you got a taste. He let out a low chuckle, putting only enough space between your lips to look you in the eyes, see the way your pupils had blown wide with lust all from some simple touching and kissing alone.

“I wonder…” he murmured, that lilt of mischief stitched back into his tone, “if the other men who attended those parties ever fantasized about having you like this…” He then lightly took your chin between his lithe grip, slowly turning your view to face an old, dusty mirror perched against the wall, exposing the reflection of you straddling his lap, his hands touching you in a way you’d never let another man touch you before, and you felt your entire body catch flame, molten embarrassment welling from within the pit of your stomach and flooding up towards your head, the sudden, stifling heat making you dizzy with desire.

Undertaker sighed a puff of a laugh against the side of your neck before his lips found your throat, sucking a light bruise there, making something within you flutter, arousal flaring to life before settling to a slow, steady roll. And despite wanting to look away, shame halfway to choking you, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the view of your two bodies intertwined like this.

All this time, you’d thought it would be scary, being this vulnerable with someone, giving up that kind of control, but it wasn’t. It was like floating, rising from your body and leaving all the worry behind, allowing your world to become merely yourself, him, and the small, dimly lit room.

It was simple.

It was nice.

And, for once, everything just felt right.

But as his kisses became more messy, more urgent, and his hands were reaching under your skirts to knead at the bit of bare skin available on your upper thigh, his eager fingers hooking under the hem of your stockings, you felt yourself tensing, slipping from the moment as the fear of moving too fast flashed across your thoughts like a lighthouse beacon— just quick enough to warn of the oncoming danger that would befall you if you ventured too close to the rocky shore.

“Is this alright?” he asked, slowing down a little then, and you swore you heard something almost insecure flicker in his voice.

You took in a deep, grounding breath, nodded, and said, “It’s alright… I’ll tell you if it’s not,” and that was all the validation he needed to continue, his cool palms a relief against your heating skin, hands continuing to knead at the plush of your upper thigh, though a little more gently this time, fingertips nearly brushing against where you ran most hot and needy for him, causing a broken whine to escape your throat. Undertaker wondered if you’d ever heard yourself make those kinds of involuntary, beautifully obscene sounds before, if you’d ever pleasured yourself late at night once you finally found yourself alone, or if even the idea of that had been too much for you to bear.

He intended to introduce you to each and every one of your lovely, lustful notes tonight, wanting to discover just exactly what he could do to elicit specific moans or whines. You’d be upset with him if he told you his plan, surely, yet still, he couldn’t help himself.

Similar to how you couldn’t deny yourself a challenge, he had a habit of overindulging himself with his games.

“Wait…” you murmured, pulling away from the cradle of his chest just a fraction. “I want you to…” You swallowed, finding a lump in your throat that stuck like a dry pill, afraid to say what rested on the tip of your tongue. You looked at him through your thick curtain of lashes, almost feeling like you could cry again, so many intense emotions to face in a single day mixing together in your head. “I want you to take my clothes off…” The last half of your request all but withered and died into a pathetic whisper by the time it left your mouth, averting your gaze then.

Part of you expected Undertaker to tease you for your request, to try and rile you just to see the adorable look your face made whenever you were mad at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he hummed out a satisfied note, beginning to strip you of the many layers of your funeral attire one by one until all you were left wearing was your silky underclothes and stockings. He went to remove those as well, but you stopped him before he could, growing bolder in asking for what you wanted when you suggested he let you undress him first.

Unlike you, this was not Undertaker’s first experience with sex. It was, however, the first time he’d allowed someone to see all his scars in the fading daylight, usually preferring to hide them behind the shadows herded in by nightfall and the dimly candle lit rooms of London’s most high-end pleasure houses.

But he supposed this put you both on more equal ground, so he didn’t mind. Plus, he hardly thought you’d find them newsworthy enough to go around sharing to anyone who might ask. He also supposed, like you, he had some things that were complicated to explain too…

“Kiss me…” you sighed, your hands lightly settling back on his shoulders as you now stood mere inches apart, breathing in each other’s oxygen like the thick opium smoke that wastfed though the East End.

That time, neither of you seemed to hesitate. Hitching one of your legs up, a big palm splayed under the back of your thigh to keep it in place over his hip, Undertaker had your back pressed to the wall, the hard length of him that seemed to be growing more impatient by the minute nudging further into you until he couldn’t help but grind against your lace-clad core, pulling one of those delicate, delicious whines from your throat, swallowing it down into his own mouth and trading it for one of his choked-out groans as he pressed his erection even harder against you, both of you hungry— starving— for one another’s bodies by now.

You hadn’t even realized your hand had migrated down between his legs, just barely beginning to cup the bulge of him in your inexperienced little palm, until you felt him twitch beneath his underwear, suddenly gasping and going a little rigid with uncertainty again.

He was kissing you deep, the fervor of it all dying down a little once he sensed your hesitation. “Go ahead,” he panted, holding your chin between his fingers, searching your gaze, pleading with it. “Touch me. It’s ok…”

So you did.

You attempted to stroke what strained through the thin fabric until he just couldn’t take it anymore and reached under the waistband himself to free his cock from its confines, hissing through clenched teeth once it was in his hand, soon passed off into yours.

Truthfully, you were only half sure of what you were supposed to do. You’d heard some of the few ladies you’d grown close to occasionally share— or perhaps overshare— some of the details of their marriages, sex lives included, and whether they were bragging or complaining or just making a comment in jest, you’d picked up bits and pieces here and there throughout the years.

Whatever you were doing though, you seemed to be doing it right, because before long, Undertaker seemed to be losing any composure or control he had left. He braced himself against the wall with his forearm, hunched over you as a thin sheen of sweat began to break out over his pale skin like glazed alabaster, grunts and growls and groans slipping from his lips while you gripped him in your palm, hand sliding easily along his velvety length as more and more of his pearly pre-cum gathered and began to drip down the shaft.

“Fuck—” he swore, and for a moment, you feared you’d hurt him in some way, pausing and looking up at him with an apologetic worry tugging at your features. But then he was smiling at you, chest still heaving with labored breaths, but wearing a glow of pride. He’d meant it earlier when he’d said you kept finding ways to surprise him, but this was on an entirely different level. If he hadn’t already known what you did for a living, he would’ve guessed you hailed from one of London’s aforementioned brothels, the ones that only served the elite or those tied to them.

Though he was sure you still had some things to learn, he was glad he was laying claim to you first.

He’d be lying if he said he’d ever be willing to share you with anyone else after this.

“Don’t look so afraid, my dear,” he cooed, slowly beginning to guide you towards his tiny bedroom nook, your eyes locked on him, trusting he wouldn’t let you trip as you walked backwards, holding his hands to help steady you. “We’re only just getting started…”

Before you knew it, the backs of your knees were hitting the edge of the bed, you collapsing back to the mattress as Undertaker climbed atop you, all that silky silver hair creating a canopy around you as he admired the way you looked splayed out beneath him. It was too bad you were a fragile human, your years so numbered when compared to the countless ones he’d already lived and the countless more he’d experience long after you were gone. He wished there were a way he could keep you like this forever— so beautiful, so his— but he knew that living souls weren’t as easily frozen in time as things like mementos and photographs.

If only he’d met you a few decades from now. Perhaps by then, he’d have found a way…

Before he could dwell on it for too long though, he became distracted with removing more of your clothes, the last shred of his lost somewhere along the short distance from the kitchen to the bed, and seeing you fully exposed to him now, presented in your rawest, ravishing state, it took his breath away.

He’d seen many bodies in his life, living and dead, only a handful of them on both sides that he’d truly considered stunning. But yours…

Yours was nothing short of divine.

He wanted to touch every inch of you, learn your figure in a way he’d never forget. He wanted to know that, even long after you were gone someday, he’d still be able to remember the exact shape of your breasts, the raise of your ribs as you drew in breath and the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your tummy and the plushness of your thighs.

He wanted to be able to rewatch this night over and over again in his head, rewinding the film reel until it frayed, each and every frame already burned into his memory.

“Hey…” you spoke, quiet and concerned as you reached up to cup your little palm to his jaw, tracing the line of the scar that cut diagonally across his face by his cheek. “Is something…?”

Before you could utter the word “wrong”, Undertaker cradled his hand over your own, sinking closer into your touch now, soaking in its human warmth, and smiled for a moment, attempting to mask the melancholy behind amusement. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asked you, and it was then that any and all lingering uncertainty you had went out like candle flame swallowed by a strong breeze. You nodded, told him you were sure.

A part of you was still scared, but not of him. Just of the unknown.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

You were choosing to trust him, but once you’d made up your mind about it, there was no going back. That’s just the kind of person you were, the kind of person he’d discovered you to be.

So, trying to help you further relax, he continued to reintroduce you to his touch, discovering the places you liked best and paying special attention there, earning more of those sweet, lilting mewls and whimpers that he’d quickly become so addicted to, until it came time for him to explore the most intimate parts of you, preparing you for what was to come.

“You’re beautiful…” you swore you heard him sigh, your pounding heartbeat drumming in your ears and drowning out the quieter sounds. As soon as he so much as brushed a teasing finger through your soaked folds, still careful to be gentle with you, you let out a choked cry, gripping his biceps for support, needing something— anything— to anchor yourself to.

“Just relax…” he said, voice low and soothing as he applied a little more pressure, spreading your growing slick further around, marveling at the way your sensitive little bud was already pulsing in pleasure, tight hole fluttering in anticipation. But you took a deep breath and tried to follow his instruction, allowing your body to sink further into the mattress. Praising you as he began to massage slow, skillful circles onto your clit, he said, “Just like that… So good, my beautiful girl…”

And then that thick, sticky heat was filling you from the inside again, threatening to spill out. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you didn’t want it to stop. For a moment, you wondered if this was all somehow some sort of very vivid dream, a fantasy, fearing you’d wake up to find you’d never even gone to visit the graves at all. But the way the sensation gripped you, body and mind and soul, was telling you otherwise, every nerve alight with the intensity of it all.

Warning you what he was about to do next might be a little uncomfortable at first, Undertaker slipped one of his slender fingers inside of you, causing you to wince at the slight soreness the sensation provided, but as he slowly pumped it in and out of you, helping you get used to the feeling, eventually you were wet enough that he could insert two, the stretch from his fingers alone causing a small squeak of pain to escape your throat, but still you didn’t want him to stop.

As he began to carefully scissor his digits inside your tight cunt he continued working on stimulating your clit to distract you from the discomfort. The mix of pleasure and pain was almost enough to put you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your neck craning as you felt the coil winding tight within your core threatening to snap. Gasping out a curse, legs trembling as the crescendo crashed over every nerve in your body, you came undone for the first time that night, the high that filled your veins mixed with the fading adrenaline making your brain melt into a hazy, sated state.

He was whispering something to you then, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead, your temples, your nose, your jaw, as his sweet sentiments were lost amidst the thumping of your pulse between your ears. You exhaled a shuddering sigh, eyes fluttering closed, feeling as if you could drift right off to sleep. But there would be plenty of time for rest later.

Undertaker still wasn’t done with you yet.

Sliding his thick cock between the dewy petals of your folds, he guided you back to the waking world, being the most tender he had with you yet. “Are you still doing alright?” he murmured, brushing a few stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. He was gazing down at you like he couldn’t even believe you were there, with him, like this, the angel he’d lured into his underworld.

You gave a feeble nod, gasping when you felt the tip of his cock catch on your fluttering little hole. In all truth, you weren’t sure how he was going to fit. You just hoped he’d prepared you well enough, though knew the first time would be the most trying.

“Just breathe…” he instructed, interlocking his fingers with yours, your hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. “Take as much time as you need. Just relax…”

As the first inch or two fought its way into your tight entrance, your body reflexively tensed to combat the pain. The stretch of him took your breath away, fragile, sensitive skin feeling as if it were about to tear to allow him more room, teetering on a razor’s edge of arousal and agony. But he was talking you through it, whispering reassuring praises into your ear, waiting until he felt your body adjust to him, rigidity melting away as he continued to pepper featherlight kisses across your skin, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to until the sensation subsided.

Inch by inch, he worked his way deeper, and when you needed him closer, needed his chest pressed to yours to feel the stuttering beat of his heart, he obliged, scooping you up to straddle him again, both of you upright, face to face, him helping you begin to bounce lightly on his cock.

As the pace began to pick up speed, nearly every thrust into you had one of those melodic moans or lilting whines clawing their way up your throat, mouth remaining agape with silent cries as you felt yourself once again approaching that steep edge. With your head thrown back, neck exposed to him, Undertaker took the opportunity to suck a few more bruises into the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse, choking on his next growl as your cunt clenched around him painfully tight.

He gave one more harsh thrust upward into your wet heat, feeling you come undone, glistening arousal staining you both, before forcing himself to pull out, finishing no more than two seconds later as his warm, sticky seed spilled over your stomach and thighs, mingling with the sheen of your pleasure as it mixed between both your bodies.

Both of you were panting, shallow, ragged huffs fanning against each other’s skin as you slumped over him, completely spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close, never wanting to let you go.

He’d have to, eventually, but for now, he allowed himself to pretend you couldn’t be touched by things like disease or disaster or death, erasing your mortality from his mind, even if it were just for the duration he’d have you in his arms.

Suddenly, he was speaking your name, a gentle breeze of syllables leaving his lips as he rubbed soothing circles against your spine, coaxing you back to consciousness. Without lifting your head from his shoulder, all your limbs heavy, blood flowing slow and sweet as if your veins had been filled with honey, you nuzzled further into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent.

His question barely registered to you, causing you to mutter out a sleepy, “What…?” which caused him to quietly chuckle, feeling the light mirth rumble through his scarred chest.

“I said,” he repeated, “Are you feeling alright?”

You felt more than alright. You felt fantastic, but not in the loud, excited, energetic kind of way.

More like waking up after a long, much-needed sleep, still floating off the edge of your dreams, feeling tired but fulfilled.

Once the high faded, you were sure you’d feel the soreness, a dull ache already beginning to pulse between your legs, but you didn’t necessarily mind.

It would just be another reminder of him and the time you’d spent together.

And, truthfully, there was so much you wanted to say then. Like how you’d never thought you’d be able to connect with someone in this way, feel completely safe in their hands, even feel— dare you say it— loved.

But instead, all you managed in reply was, “I’m ok…” before you felt sleep swooping back in to claim you.

As you drifted off that time, you briefly wondered what a life with him would be like. If you’d eventually have to learn to call this curious place home, a cemetery sprawled across your backyard, a closet full of funeral clothing. Or if perhaps he’d be willing to trade some of his darkness for the pale light of your apartment, if he’d remember to water your flowers while you were at work and leave scraps out for the stray cats that came begging by your front door.

And if those within your circle— the ones who were always badgering you about when you were getting married or if anyone was currently courting you— would be surprised if you told them that, yes, you’d started seeing someone despite the numerous occasions you’d written off such partnerships as just not for you…

They’d surely have some opinions on the matter, and that would even be before they saw him standing at your side.

But let them gossip, let them talk, you figured.

You didn’t care what people said, what they thought. You just wanted to be able to see him again, to be with him again, and for a little while, at least, discover all the things fear had once convinced you that you’d never get to experience for yourself.

***

A few years after your first night spent with him, having had many more in all the time between, fate had called you away, choosing to relocate further up north once your mother grew ill, spending her remaining days by her side. Once she was gone and you found yourself back in funeral blacks, for some reason, you’d decided to stay. You’d written Undertaker, of course, and for that first year apart the back and forth correspondence had been quite regular.

You awaited his letters with a childlike giddiness, excitement unfurling its wings within your heart whenever a black envelope sealed with shining silver wax appeared among your mail, already beginning to tear it open before you’d even gone back inside from retrieving that day’s delivery from the mailbox down the hill from your late mother’s home, the house you now called your own.

You’d sit down to write him back the moment you finished reading the last word of his looping cursive scrawl, elegance and sharpness somehow occupying the same space.

But then, after so much time away from London, away from the life you’d grown so accustomed to, you’d found yourself growing lonely. Only, this time, instead of the dull ache your former solitary life had nurtured within you, the pain was now a knife’s stabbing edge, carving a hole out in your heart until it nearly became too much to bear.

Until you’d eventually met someone. Another man whose hair was just beginning to grey at the temples, yet nothing like Undertaker’s silver shine, and whose eyes were a deep forest green, not the startling chartreuse of your former lover’s gaze.

Six months later, you wrote back to London to inform Undertaker of the wedding that would be held in the spring. He’d congratulated you, though was glad it was only on paper— if he’d been forced to fake a smile and sweeten his words to you in person you would’ve known it was a lie, seen the heartbreak etched onto his face as obviously as one of those jagged, shining scars— and after that, the flow of the letters slowly came to a halt.

You had ten beautiful years with your husband until death’s kiss touched him, leaving you a widow and, once again, alone.

By then, the north had become so small, its claws closing around you until it began to resemble a prison, a cage.

You fled, returning to London, unsure whether you were running from things you wanted to forget or towards a flame you thought you might rekindle.

But in all that time away, you’d gotten married. Perhaps it was unfair to assume Undertaker hadn’t done the same.

However, once you found him, grateful the funeral parlor was still right where you’d left it nearly fifteen years ago, you entered the shop, expecting to be greeted by a man who was all at once familiar to you and also not, surprised to find him just as you’d left him like an image out of an old photograph.

You’d expected time to have touched him, run its fingers through his hair, turning silver to ivory, leaving the first signs of laugh lines cupping his smile and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, similar to the ways it had begun to touch you. The sight should’ve brought you comfort but instead you found yourself feeling…

Uneasy.

The years had passed for Undertaker as quickly as the season’s had changed for you. But as you inched, slowly but surely, towards the winter of your life, there wasn’t even so much as a veil of frost creeping in to cover him.

Somehow, he had remained exactly the same, no matter how many days, weeks, months, or years went by.

You’d planned to smile and say something like, “It’s been a while, so I understand if you don’t recognize me,” but what came out of your mouth instead was a gasp and, “You’re—” before Undertaker stopped you.

“—Just about to sit down for some afternoon tea,” he filled in, his grin widening as if he’d been expecting you. And then, before you even had a chance to process the theories that were beginning to blossom in your brain, each one more ridiculous and paranormal than the last, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”

Your mouth hung open, any and all remaining questions dying on your tongue, a few sputtering squeaks catching in your throat before you closed your lips, cleared your throat and said, “Alright then.”

The time you spent sitting at that little table, legs nearly intertwined once more as you sipped at your cup of Earl Grey, two cubes of sugar stirred in, made you feel like no time— not years or over a decade— had passed at all since you’d seen him last.

Nothing had changed— truly nothing. Not his looks or his humor or the way being around him just made you feel calm.

He’d been in the middle of regaling some amusing tale to you from while you’d been away when all of a sudden you realized your eyes were welling with tears. His bout of laughter died down to a stark stoicism once he noticed, leaning forward, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, the familiarity of his cool touch only making more tears race down your cheeks in shimmering pairs. He asked, “My love, whatever is the matter?”

You choked on a sob, gave his hand a squeeze. “I just missed you…” you admitted, trying to smile, though it just came out crooked and sad.

With his other hand, fingers partially warmed from holding his cup of tea, he lightly brushed away your tears, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, soothing you until your sobbing subsided.

Then he said, “I’ve missed you, too… In more ways than you can even imagine.”

You felt a new wave of sorrow threaten to wrack through you. Something akin to guilt. To shame. To mourning the life you could’ve had if only you’d come back sooner. If only you’d stayed.

“But please,” he continued, gazing upon you with concern now. “If you’re weeping on my behalf, don’t. Now that you’re here, we can just pick up where we left off… A human life is only so long, after all…”

You looked at him, half confused, half afraid, and he almost told you then. Told you that he wasn’t like you, wasn’t burdened with the fragile shortness of a mortal life. But he didn’t.

He wanted you to ask first. Wanted to hear you say the words you’d been wondering since the very first night you met.

And you would, eventually.

But for now you just wanted him to hold you while you finished your tea and try and make up for so much lost time.

***

Twenty years later, you were unmarried, plagued by the illness that had claimed your mother, and had long given up tracking down shocking stories to fuel your own morbid curiosities.

But you were not alone.

You’d remained in the funeral shop, though made several more cozy additions to its decor over the years— a couple little houseplants dotting the windowsills, your mother’s cookbook placed up in the cabinets of the little kitchenette, lace hems and embroidery on the pillowcases fluffed upon the freshly made bed.

This place had become home before you’d ever even made the decision to stay, though perhaps that was more due to Undertaker’s proximity than anything else.

Even as your joints grew stiff and your movement became sluggish, your hair greying and your eyesight failing, Undertaker still remembered to remind you how beautiful he thought you were, how much he loved you, how you’d always be his most favorite girl. He’d dance with you by the light of the moon, leading you in a lulling waltz as he hummed out a melancholy tune. He’d carry you to bed when he found you sleeping in a chair, whatever mystery novel you were reading open face-down on your lap.

To experience love in this way was the greatest gift either of you had ever received, the devotion binding at times, yet there was still one last secret you had to uncover before you didn’t have the chance to anymore.

It wasn’t until you were nearing your life’s end that you finally asked him, “What are you?” and he actually gave you the truth.

“So you’re the dark cloaked figure who comes to guide souls into the afterlife, are you?” you joked after he’d given a surprisingly detailed explanation of what he was— what he’d been, before he’d defected— and what he’d continue to be no matter how long he tried to hide behind the mask of the eccentric funeral director. You coughed out a weak chuckle from where you lay tucked into bed, reaching out to run your rigid, wrinkled fingers through his long silver locks. Dreamily, quietly, as if only to yourself, you muttered, “I should’ve known…”

“I wanted to tell you…” he admitted, “Before, I mean…”

“No,” you said, “it’s better you didn’t. I don’t think I would’ve understood back then. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

Now, with your death so imminent, learning his identity actually made the thought of your final breaths more comforting. Because you now knew dying would feel like falling asleep in the arms of a lover, gentle and safe. Protected. Cared for.

And when that fateful day finally came to pass, it was Undertaker who claimed your soul, wanting to be the first and last person to lay their hands on it, not intent on allowing any of those dispatch drones to touch it with their sharp tools and sterile indifference.

He dressed your body, laid you in your coffin, and dug your grave. Though it wasn’t in the cemetery among all the other headstones. It was right outside the kitchen window, where your houseplants continued to grow, the sun rising to shed its soft golden light upon the room through the eastern window and bathing the place in deep amber as it lowered below the horizon in the west, your favorite place to sit and drink your morning tea and read in evenings.

Losing you was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but whenever he was feeling lonely, he’d wander out and look down at your name etched into the smooth, pale stone, read your dates to himself, reciting them like a prayer.

You had been so much more than just an epitaph, once upon a time, but at least now Undertaker could come visit you as often as he liked, and tucked beneath his coat, pressed safe behind the glass of his lockets, was a strand of your hair, a piece of you he could carry with him for the rest of his days.

***

(A big thank you to @anxious-chick for your request! I hope it’s ok I sort of took your concept and ran a marathon with it lol, but once I started developing some plot I just got really into it and couldn’t help myself haha. Thank you for being so patient with me as well, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait.

Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading. I’ve been wanting to write for Undertaker again for a long time and I’m glad this opportunity presented itself. Hope everyone has a good day and remembers to be kind to themselves. See you next time <3)

#kodis requests #undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n #kuroshitsuji undertaker #undertaker black butler #black butler undertaker #black butler #black butler fanfiction #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji fanfic #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n

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zeldasnotes · 1 year

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LILITH NOTES PART. 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

These are my personal observations and not facts!

Check out my MASTERLIST for more posts about Lilith and other asteroids.

•Barack Obama got Lilith conjunct Mercury 0° orb and he is so incredibly funny and videos of his speeches always go viral and leaves people in shock (in a positive way). The way he introduced himself as ”Michelles husband”. I think Lilith conjunct Mercury is a sign of high intelligence and people reacting strongly to what you say.

•People with Lilith in hard aspect to Sun can get into a lot of conflicts in their lifes because they feel a strong need to express their honest feelings. Its a part of who they are and they wont back down.

•Lilith trine/sextile Mars makes someone very strategic.

•People with conjunctions/squares to Lilith might become mean at one point in their life because people always saw them as bad anyways so why not? People are gonna hate anyways you might aswell give them a reason.

•Most Lilith dominants I know are super independent, and from a young age. Like started working early in their life, doing stuff on their own, having their own company etc.

•Lilith dominant women experience a lot of complicated love/hate situations with men because men find them intriguing but at the same time finds it hard to genuinely ”like” the Lilith woman since he feels threathened by her. Which leads to being mean to her while being obsessed with her.

•Biggie Smalls having Lilith in the 8th house and being not only accused of his best friends death but also being killed himself.😔

•Lilith just like Pluto can turn out differently in a chart based on how you use that power and what other aspects you have in your chart. Just like Pluto you NEED to take control where your Lilith is OR you will be controlled. With Lilith in hard aspect to Sun or Ascendant you need to show dominance bc people will want to put you down otherwise. With Moon conjunct Lilith you might need to be a b*tch towards other women or they will victimize YOU. Moon conjunct Lilith is common in peoples chart who gets hated on by other women but its also common in people like Beyonce, she got Moon conjunct Lilith and women worship her because she got that dominant powerwoman persona.

•Lilith Square/Opposite/Conjunct Moon can also show that you subconsciously got a bad view on women but as you grew up it changes when you learn how its actually society pitting us against eachother. Look at how Beyonce used to behave towards other women 20 years ago when she was in Destinys Child and made the song ”n*sty girl”. Well she was young but anyways she wasnt always a powerwoman. (all women are powerwomen in my eyes btw but you get what I mean)

•Rachel McAdams have played sooo many bitchy popular girl roles and in the movie Passion she plays a psychopath. She got Lilith conjunct Midheaven Square Ascendant so it makes sense that she got a raw look that works perfectly for roles like that.

•Angelina Jolie got Lilith in the 8th house Square Sun and I cant help but laugh because she doesnt even care when people call her creepy and scary. Like she be unbothered as hell💀

•Sad Observation: If a guys Lilith is conjunct your Moon he might not show as much interest in you when he is single but be hell bent on sleeping with you when he is in a relationship. He might like the idea of you being his side piece. But in a lot of cases if he is not a disgusting guy like the ones i just describe it can be the opposite, that he is the one who finally sees you for who you really are and loves you and understands the pain you go through like with pluto/moon.

•Ive never met a Lilith dominant person, no matter age that were not super intelligent.

•Also with Moon harshly aspecting Lilith there is a sense of having to fight hard for everything they got. Leading to them always being emotionally ready for a battle and having to suppress their emotions. Just like with Moon/Pluto.

•If you are someone whos usually not intense, not into sex outside of a relationship etc that will change when you meet someone whos planets aspects your Lilith. Especially if its their Venus/Moon. Read more about Lilith in synastry on @corvoideas post HERE

•I was friends with two girls who had Moon conjunct Lilith in Libra. Their moms borrowed their clothes, got involved in their petty teendrama, were obsessive and rude towards their friends. Very weird relationship to their moms. Their moms also had them very young which explains some of the competition.

•If you have Lilith in the 2nd house be careful with people who will try to use you for your money you give off the impression of being financially stable even if you are not. I have friends with this aspect and they all attract men with huge debts. One of them were with a man who had half a million in debt and no job. He wanted my friend to take care of him. People want to take from you and could feel a right to do so.

•When you have Lilith in the 2nd house people view you as someone who got too much. Too much beauty, too much money, too much fame. People are obsessed with what you have so they get close to you to either take it or ruin it for you. Be picky because this is a placement that attracts crazy amounts of envy.

•I know so many men with Lilith in the 10th house who have a reputation for being a douchebag/promiscuous etc. Might also be falsely accused of s*xual assault. I know of a guy with this aspect who is known in our town for sleeping with over 100 guys.

•I know of another guy who got Lilith conjunct his Sun and he got accused of being a ”snitch” and outcasted by the men in his neighbourhood because of this. Lilith dominants really gets to see the worst side of society.

•I know Ive said it before but damn Lilith in the 12th house people are sooo good at hiding their Lilith side. They can come across as so unknowing and ”Eve” like.

•Lilith conjunct/square Sun or Ascendant might be that kid in the neighbourhood that parents dont want their children to play with.

•If you are a s*xworker and you meet a client whos Lilith conjuncts your Venus/Moon be ready to make money 🤑💰

SIDENOTE: Sometimes when I post about how men respond to Lilith dominant women I get comments like ”Not everything is about men,women can exist without male validation you know” . Absolutely! not everything is about male validation thats true but men being uncomfortable in your presence WILL affect your life when you are young w no education because in a lot of places men got the power. If a you are someone who intimidates men it WILL affect you because men like that will make damn sure to put you in your place. Lilith is not only about sexiness and confidence but also about the pain of being a woman. The pain of being considered ”the 2nd gender”. Being punished for being sexual, having a bad reputation because you offended the wrong MAN. Remember that the whole thing with Lilith was that she refused to lay under Adam. So yes Lilith got a lot to do with men. Its also easy for us living in the westworld saying stuff like ”Not everything is about men”. We dont need men like that but how about women in less developed countries? Women who are seen as disgusting for being divorced, women who have to marry someone who r*ped them bc nobody else will marry now that they are not a virgin anymore, divorced women who arent allowed to shake hands with ppl because people think it brings bad luck to touch a divorced woman, women who are in jail for leaving a man. Imagine telling those women to stop thinking that everything is about men.😔

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #lilith aspects #lilith #ascendant #asteroids #lilith square ascendant #lilith conjunct sun

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spiritually-a-blorb · 8 months

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headcannons for Apollo and Meg after all the books beacuse all I've been doing for the past days are spinning these scrunkly guys around in my head at terminal velocity <3

- Meg always carries a pack of sunflower seeds with her when she goes to school.

- Whenever Meg takes ancient history and they cover Greece, she manages the worst grade beacuse Apollo tells her facts that the book literally dosent know and he thinks it's blasphemy that's she's failing.

- Apollo will literally never shut up about his kids now. he hears literally the smallest detail that reminds him of them and he talks for hours about them

- Artemis is around Apollo a lot more, and she's definitely more protective/worried about him. Apollo likes the extra time he gets with her.

- Apollo returned Paolo's bandanna, but definitely not before finding one for himself. he wears it everywhere, Artemis has tried to burn it like 20 times, but somehow it always returns to Apollo in one piece.

- Apollo cannot physically hear or look anything in a shakesperian accent without wanting to commit mass destruction/cry

- Meg never gets sunburnt. like ever. plus, her crops always manage to get the right balance of sun without her help.

- One day, Meg manages to teleport directly to Apollo. As it turns out, since Apollo got himself up out of Chaos, no one ever really broke the master/servant bond. Apollo conveniently does not mention this until the last moment possible, beacuse he likes feeling connected to Meg, even when he's away.

- Apollo kept his scars. In doing so, older scars seem to pop up, that he was definitely sure he didn't get while he was mortal. They cover his body, and he can't seem to get rid of them without the ones he got while being mortal going away too. So, he hides them, and only shows off the ones he got as a mortal.

- Apollo is allowed to visit Rachel, beacuse he wants to prevent something like Python from happening to his oracles again.Zeus buys this, but only beacuse he weighs in with Athena first. Athena was totally not bribed into this by Apollo with actual intellectual discussions, no sir.

- On a totally unrelated note, he tries to connect with Athena more. They have little discussions about different topics every week or two.

- Apollo likes trying to connect with all his Olympian family. He realizes that they all suffered under Zeus, and if they are closer, like an actual family, maybe it will lessen the blows.

- Meg somehow never gets sick. it is both a blessing and a curse, since she always has to care for her siblings when they are sick

- For some odd, very mysterious reason, whenever Apollo visits Rachel, his kids or Meg are ever-present, and after he visits for some time (some days he visits longer, others it is shorter) they just pop in. weird, but since he's here visiting his Pythia, and technically not his kids, Zeus isn't gonna pay that much attention to mortals

- Since Apollo's sacred animal (one of them, anyway) is a red cow, it's totally not far fetched that it falls within his duties to check on the herd at the Waystation. After all, what God wouldn't check on their sacred animal! some mortals might mistreat them, after all!! and since he needs to talk to the owners,, he might as well catch up with them, right?

- Camp Jupiter is totally in need of more renovations, right? and it makes sense that such a devoted group should deserve some kind of reward. plus, since Apollo made the mess with the whole war thing, it makes the most sense for him to go and help! and later, he needs to check that his work is top notch!

- Apollo always visits Meg on Sundays. Technically, he's visiting Herophile, since he needs to check on her too! she's an important oracle! but Meg lives there, so they are bound to run into each other, and it's totally not weird that these meetings take a day (or two) beacuse that's a mere blink in the eye, for a god, anyways.

#toa #meg mccaffrey #lester papadopoulos #pjo apollo #sunflower siblings

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pumpkinbxtch · 1 month

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ok so like I just requested so please take your time on this next one, I’m over here asking again alr because you’re response was so nice to my last one it made me feel ok asking again 😭❤️❤️❤️ I’ll be a little more specific with this one <3

Apollo x Fem!Reader, where the reader is a mortal who keeps reincarnating every hundred or so years and Apollo falls in love every single time 🤭 and once again it’s been a 100 or so years, and suddenly he meets her again!!! this can be god!apollo or Lester!apollo bcs honestly there’s so many possibilities with both so I’ll leave that up to you :3

Again take your time with this one and feel free not to even accept it right away!!! Thank you for the last one again and pls have a great day!! YOURE THE BEST ❤️❤️

• ° . ☆ “Free coupons, take one and cry all afternoon”

— apollo x mortal!reader

part ii

Summary: Apollo has literally loved you for years and years and lifetimes. Now that you return to him, that time his crossroads will not be long, but at least he was able to see you and fall in love with you once again. warnings: bad words, yea umm. Haha a/n: I'm so happy you liked what I wrote. It's really very important to me. AND SORRY if I'm late, it's just inspiration. The gods refused to give it to me, but it is here. Kisses.- From the other side of the milky way, María.

The first time, Apollo saw you and without hesitation passed his heart towards you. Oh gods, he had the best weeks of his life, but then he had to let you go. You were a mortal, he couldn't be with you for long without exposing you to danger.

And since he loved you so much, he decided to give up, he forced himself to see more for you than for his need to be with you.

He had already calculated it, it was about 100 years or so to see you again, but throughout those, he changed completely, he had to face a great battle against his father's ego and that of himself. He almost forgot how old and ageless he was, when you spend more than six months fighting for your life, that's how it is. Until that day when he accompanied his now friends to an amusement park, the same ones as always; Will, Nico, Rachel, Meg, and the seven. Ten young adults, one teenager and ONE “apparent” young adult. They were having a great time, actually.

The roller coasters, the ice cream, the sun (him), the kiddie rides that Meg insisted on riding. But Apollo had gotten tired, can a god get tired? Well, he's trying to keep up with so many demigods with ADHD at a fun fair.

He took a seat on one of those wooden benches with faded rainbow paint. The others looked for him and gathered around.

— Apollo! I want to go to the water attraction — Percy said, holding Annabeth's hand, who was apparently analyzing the map of the place.

— Yes, and then we go to the flying chairs — said Jason, his practically brother. A smile that he had never seen adorned his face, next to him, Leo hung from the blonde's neck.

—Yes, come on, sunny.

—Don't be lazy, I want to go to the carousel.— Meg said, squeezing the dolphin plushie that he had won for her in the shooting game.

Frank handed him his ice cream, and Hazel looked at him for any injuries.

Will and Nico seemed to have moved on, they were very lovey-dovey lately.

—Thank you, Frank. I'm fine —

— If you don't like sharing, I can go get one for you.

Apollo smiled and brushed his brown hair out of his face.

—I'm fine, man. Don't worry.

But he knew that wasn't the case, he felt something in his stomach that wouldn't leave him alone.

Piper and Rachel looked at each other, both seeming to read each other's minds as they discussed something.

—How about we walk Meg to the carousel and come back for you? It sounds fun, a bunch of us riding metal animals going up and down — Piper said, taking Meg's hand. Rachel nodded and smiled at Apollo.

— Yes, I think it will be enough for you to rest.

No one had any objections, but Apollo had sensed a certain charm in the words of Aphrodite's daughter. Was he missing something?

Everyone advanced and Rachel was the last to set off, she looked at the god knowingly.

— Good luck.

Apollo did not know what those words meant, and he waved goodbye. A remorse for not accompanying them invaded him, but he stayed sitting on the bench. He ruffled his curls anxiously and leaned on his thighs, taking in the great view of the concrete with a cooler of ants carrying breadcrumbs. Then, he felt a hit on the head and an apology.

— Sorry! Are you ok?

He looked up and oh, fuck. It was you? He could feel his heart crushing and feeling on fire. Apollo stood up from the bench.

— I-I'm fine, don't worry.

The last time he had seen you, your eyes were the color of olive, now they were brown, but the look was the same. You gave him a warm smile and placed your hands on your chest.

— Really? —

He nodded and smiled, too. For you, Apollo's blue eyes became familiar within seconds of seeing them.

— We know each other?

“We've met thousands of times,” he wanted to say, but he couldn't. In other lives, he had told you that he was a god, and you believed him. But the situation in how you had met that day, the hurried manner of your meeting, told him that the meeting with you would not last at all. Even so, seconds or glances were enough for him, he was already in love with you, again.

His heart was immersed in melancholy, and he wanted to hug you.

— Maybe…

You opened your eyes a little and approached him curiously, you smelled like lavender and sunshine, that last one made his stomach flip. You were almost invading his personal space, which made him push his chin back to avoid bumping into your nose.

— I thought that, too. Do you come here often? It's just that I work at one of those food islands. — You told him and stepped back smiling to show him your uniform. You had a cap with the company logo embroidered on it.

— Ahm yes, with… — He thought of Meg and the others. He made a silent apology to Artemis — My sister and my friends.

You widened your smile and dug something into your pants pockets.

Apollo wanted to kiss you.

You hummed and finally took out some papers. Would you give him your number?

You held them out to him.

— Coupons!

Apollo took them gently, your fingers collided with his, and you felt a kind of electricity in your stomach. You let out a nervous laugh.

— Well, see you…— The boy came out of his trance. A name, he wouldn't say Apollo, would he?, but…

—Lester! — You smiled again and waved your hand goodbye.

— See you, Lester.

And you walked away from him, leaving him empty and wanting to take you with him to spend the rest of the afternoon at the fair, to be happy, to be together.

He spread the coupons in the palm of his hand and looked at them. He was able to gain something from his misfortune, at least. Of course, why not? Burgers for everyone.

— Apollo! — Meg's voice made him turn, and he smiled when he saw everyone. It seemed that Will and Nico had found their way back to the others.

Rachel met his gaze, she seemed slightly worried. So at that moment it all became obvious, she knew he would meet you.

Apollo sighed and held up the coupons in his hand.

— are you hungry?

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#apollo x you #apollo x reader #apollo x y/n #pjo hoo toa #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x you #lester x you #trials of apollo

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genericpuff · 6 months

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saw this pop up on /r/UnpopularLoreOlympus and I-

Full analysis post that inspired this post can be read here, it's a good read, go check it out!

Now my natural reaction to not assume the worst (shocking, I know) is that what Rachel's actual intention behind making Leto a sun god was due to her being Apollo's mother and her clearly having a stronger relationship with him rather than Artemis. I'm abiding by Occam's Razor here, it's the simplest answer and it keeps my brain from getting too riled up right off the bat LMAO

There's a lot of emphasis put on Apollo being the god of the sun in LO, despite the fact that Apollo is one of the MOST prolific gods in the Greek pantheon, Rachel only ever really focuses on him being god of the sun with some loose references to him also being the god of music (as we see with him playing his lyre). There's really no real referencing to him being the god of medicine though (aside from that scene of him condom-bandaging Persephone's hand in Episode 22 ?? which is silly now in hindsight because she's a fertility goddess who can heal herself but ok lmao and the fact that Rachel established him as a LITERAL DAD with his doctor son Asclepius which ... just feels weird to have in LO tbh) and there's absolutely no referencing (from what I can find or recall) of him being a protector of the young, god of prophecy (for some reason he just magically gives Kassandra the ability to read prophecies... just so she can read his prophecy ??) or archery. Like, he's shown doing a lot of these things but they come across more as just side hobbies or extensions of him being Artemis' brother (like his archery) rather than aspects of his godliness or domains that he presides over. It's just like yeah, Apollo can shoot arrows and bandage people's hands I guess LMAO

All that said, I can see Rachel deciding to make him primarily the god of the sun and then going "oh! let's make his mom a sun god! then she could be a common enemy for both Persephone and Hades!" because Hades doesn't like sun gods yadda yadda.

But... we know Rachel has used front page Google sourcing in her comic before.

(literally the 'source' was copy pasted from a 2004 study guide for Princeton.edu. And we KNOW this was taken right from the first result because it just says 'www.princeton.edu' with no slug attached, which is what showed up back when we first looked into this, the princeton version was deadass the first result with this definition word for word. She didn't even remove the typo where there's no space between Xenios:"Zeus !!!).

And while a bit more into sus territory rather than outright confirmed like the xenia thing above, there's the whole Metis / Métis theory, that has us wondering if Rachel seriously googled "Metis" on its own and accidentally used Indigenous Métis cultural depictions in her version of Metis, the Greek God.

The fringe in her outfit, finger wings, and dark orange/red color really got my attention the first time I saw her design years ago, because she set off so many, "Wait a minute, is that an Indigenous woman???" bells in my Mi'kmaq/Cree brain LMAO And not even in a bad way, but now it feels a little :/ because of how much her character has been assassinated and how clearly accidental it was for her to look like that.

Of course, there's still a more likely explanation that her design was based on this vase:

But IDK y'all. That vase is very distinctly orange while the character itself is depicted in dark garbs and with light skin, so Metis being distinctly red-toned with finger wings and fringe?

While the Xenia thing is definitively copy pasted from the first search result on Google (literally there's no denying that at this point, Rachel's REALLY bad at doing research and then pretending like she was being smart by sourcing it from a university website... completely ignoring the fact that that website literally hasn't been updated since Rachel was working on The Doctor Pepper Show) the Metis and Leto depictions are definitely a lot more up for debate as to what 'research' Rachel did and whether or not they got confused with something else during her searching.

And really, the whole thing with Leto being a "sun god" doesn't make sense really when you think about it. Why is Leto a sun god? It's not even like you could argue there are "some versions" of the myths where she's a god of the sun, or other translations out there, or whatever vague source that could be used like what has been used for other gods like Hades and Persephone. Leto is not affiliated with the sun in any shape or form. Remove Apollo, her eventual son, who didn't exist when she was born and given the title of 'sun god', and it quickly falls apart as to why she would be a sun god in the first place.

She is a goddess of motherhood though, and that's NEVER mentioned in LO. If anything, Rachel makes her a terrible mom on purpose. Because god knows we can't have anyone in this comic be a good mom except for Persephone and Rhea (who are literally just carbon copies of one another). Basically the only thing Rachel gets right with Leto is the fact that she's a Titan and that she had Apollo and Artemis after sleeping with Zeus. That's it.

Unfortunately, unlike the xenia thing, there's no outright proof of what Rachel's reasoning was behind these designs or sources. So I'm not gonna accuse or outright state it as fact that Rachel confused Metis for Métis or ripped the idea for Leto being a sun god from an anime, because the odds of that being true in any way are fairly low.

But they're never zero.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus

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gatzbright · 7 months

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[october] one year of togetherness.

@/dreamsecretclub: dteam Christmas won’t be happening unfortunately, thought I’d say before that way Christmas can still be great :) totally out of our control unfortunately, can’t wait for the future still :)) 2022 incoming ♥️♥️

Dream: I'm gonna expose George's feelings on his behalf ... He was just saying, he was like, 'I think I'm depressed', and we were like 'What do you mean?' and he was like, 'I don't know. I don't do anything, and no one's here, and I just wanna come to the US'. And Sapnap was like, 'Well, what if I came to the UK?' and George was like, 'You should'. And then Sapnap went and filed for his passport the next day.

Dream: Because George hasn't got his visa yet, Sapnap's going to the UK. Sapnap: Fine. I'll go. [Dream Team laughs] Dream: So, unfortunately, Sapnap's getting the first George hug. [George Laughs] Sapnap: I'm getting the first George hug.

Dream: I feel like if George isn't here by, like—I wanna be like, 'Well, next month'. I feel like if George isn't here by September, my like, mental health will take a dive. Massively. And that sounds like, fucked, but it's one-hundred percent true.

Dream: You will see the fact that George, um—George's reaction to seeing me ... We said when he got his visa he could FaceTime me, so, stuck to the plan. Not saying anymore because you have to wait for the meetup video.

Dream: You sure you don't want to wait to see me in person? George: I'm ready. I've got my camera set up—I'm all ready to go! Dream: I guess I just, I wasn't expecting this. I'm gonna go look in a mirror and make sure I don't look like trash. I'll be right back! George: [laughs] Okay ... Oh my god.

George: After years of waiting, I was finally going to America.

Sapnap: Dream? Dream: Yeah? Sapnap: Clay? Dream: Oh god. Sapnap: I brought him. He's here. You excited? Dream: I am ... very nervous. Sapnap: Nervous but excited. Dream: I'm nervous, but I'm excited! I'm doing excited hops. Sapnap: It's a big day—an exciting day! ... Take your time. This is big stuff. He's going to be living here forever.

@/GeorgeNotFound: Just met Dream!! :)

“This doesn’t even feel real,” George says in the video — a sentiment he reiterates to Variety when asked about how he felt in the moment. “The sun was directly behind him, and it was blinding me, and he had an aura about him.”

George: It's so bright, I can't even see you. You're like a—you're like a god with the sun behind you!

George: I guess I gotta go get my bags in, and time to live in the Dream House. Dream: The Dream Team House!

@/GeorgeNotFound: why didnt you post the one where you actually kissed me?

dream @/dreamwastaken: just felt better leaving things up for larger interpretation

George: Look it's Dream, and Sapnap. It's all of us!

Dream: [softly to George] Rise and shine. We're home.

Hypnotised, Delta Goodrem | Dream's secret George photos in smile hoodie, Deleted @/dreamwastaken Tweet | Dream Priv Tweet,@/dreamsecretclub | The Collector, John Fowles | Dream Team Minecraft Skins | Dream Discord Podcast, Dream Merch Server | Our first selfie :], @/GeorgeNotFound Tweet | Sapnap Tiktok with George, @/Sapnapvids | Fortnite w/Dream and George, SapnapAlt VOD | Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett [Used Many Times] | You Laugh You Lose With George, Sapnap VOD | Dream Discord Podcast, Dream Merch Server | The Trial, Franz Kafka | George Visa Tweet, @/GeorgeNotFound | Dream Twitter Space, @/dreamwastaken | October Passed Me By, girl in red | George Visa Selfie, @/GeorgeNotFound | I Met Dream In Real Life, GeorgeNotFound [Used Many Times] | There It Goes, Maisie Peters | Dandelion Wine, Gregory Alan Isakov | Electric Touch (feat. Fall Out Boy) (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault), Taylor Swift | Coastline, Hollow Coves | George Tweet, @/GeorgeNotFound | Dream and George Interview, Rachel Seo, Variety | Dream Deleted Tweet Photos, @/Dream | George Tweet Reply,@/GeorgeNotFound | Dreamland, Glass Animals | Photograph of Dream and George during the Foodbeast's Panel at Twitchcon San Diego, @/itsjusttai_ | Dream Team Christmas – Baking Cookies, Sapnap VOD | fallingforyou, The 1975 | Dream Team Christmas – Gingerbread Houses, GeorgeNotFound VOD | Dream Tweet Reply, @/dreamwastaken | It's Not Living (If It's Not With You), The 1975 | just got back from hospital..., GeorgeNotFound VOD | Home, Gabrielle Aplin | Dream and George on set: Everest – Dream & Yung Gravy BEHIND THE SCENES, Dream Music | Dream Snapchat Video, @/Dream | Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

#WAAAAAAAH HAPPY ANNIVERSARY OF MEET UP AND FACE REVEAL GEORGE IN FLORIDA DREAM TURNS ONE YEAR OLD DAY !!!!!!!!!#ijust spent four hours on this holyfuckdbdhf my brain rn #I WANNA FINSIH A FIC FOR TOMROROW/TODAY TOO. it is 3:30am i thinki should Sleep thoand sdothat tomorrow #mygod #this iss o satisfying to look at now #the references are always so god damn long but i LOVE DOING THEM no matter how much of a pain they are bc its like hey. h ey look dnf real #dnf is R eal bc LOOK. LOOK LOOOOOK. (also we're gonna ignore the formatting of the referencing bc it fucked up Many times IM NOT FIXINGAGA #ok thanksfor ur attention enjoy goonight mwah <3333333 #dnf #dreamnotfound #web weaving #compilations #my webs

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sadlynojellybeans · 3 months

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So I am re-reading TOA and i have decided to write some things i noticed now that I know what is going to happen next.

THE HIDDEN ORACLE

Meg was about do develop a crush on Percy, and Apollo noticed. It was immediatly curbed by Percy mentioning his girlfriend. He did not even notice XD

Apollo actually got out of the three legged death race unscathed O.o Scared to death but unharmed

Lester is being surprisingly not pathetic??? I mean, he can't remember shit and has the constutution of a limp noodle, but he has not fainted in several chapters!!! Maybe it's because Camp Half Blood is a relatively safe space for them...

THE FORESHADOWING IN CHAPTER 26 IS DEVASTATING - he gets confirmation it is the emperors behind everything and he thinks "i would have rather tangled with Tartarus or Ouranos or Primordial Chaos" APOLLO PLEASE

Speaking of foreshadowing, Rhea?!??!? "Find your center. Enlightenment has to come from within" HELLO??!?!??

Apollo mentioning he caused an earthquake that wiped out most of Sparta and that he never liked the Spartans much??? What about HYACINTHUS???????

"I busted out some footwork the Nine Muses and I had been working on" please I want so bad to see Apollo dance. Especially Apollo as Lester

Apollo being absolutely convinced that he will never have a proper partner is tragic. "It was not in my destiny" bro

The Germani appear and the absolute first thing Apollo does is move in front of Meg. "Instinctively". This is the same guy that at the beginning of the book was evaluating which demigods would be best to keep on hand to throw at quests. I can't. Just how much exactly did he repress his protective instincts through the years and centuries?

I find so fascinating that Apollo wants to strike Nero down immediately after meeting him. Like, yes. Apollo is a god. And he would not allow anyone to threaten what he cares about. Even after his trials, he might be kinder and more attentive to demigods, but I think that anybody who crosses him (really crosses him) will have to start praying for mercy.

If there is one thing I can say about TOA is that it is certainly expanding my musical horizons, with all the songs I have to check out on youtube just to have an idea of what Apollo is singing about.

He did not suck during the confrontation with Nero?! Burst of godly strength saved the day and his dignity

"Just because she had lied about being my friend did not mean I wasn't hers. She was in danger. I was not going to leave her" man. He cares so fucking much. No wonder he never let anybody get close to him in the last years.

Didn't they say a sonnet was worse than a limerick in the next book?

"BLESS HIS CONNIVING LITTLE HEART". "Children of Hermes cannot rap". "[Cecil] was demoted to dancer" skjsjskansnkzbsnsmmsnzm

It's kind of ... sad? How happy Apollo is when flying on the giant ants. He is used to being a god who can fly whenever he wants, and a part of him is usually in the sky every day as he drives the sun chariot. And instead he has been stranded on earth, away from what is both his duty and something he greatly enjoys. "It felt so good to fly again. [...] For two or three seconds I was exhilarated".

AND THE ARROW OF DODONA IS FINALLY HERE AND TALKING FRIENDS!!!!

I cannot believe I am so happy because of a talking arrow

The arrow QUIVERED kjsnsksjsnsnzjxndnsk i love them so much

Not Apollo asking where Jason Grace is 💀

I genuinely cannot understand if this is foreshadowing or really lucky wording on Riordan's part. Rachel asks about Meg and Apollo thinks "She might as well have plunged the Arrow of Dodona into my chest". RICK. RICK DID YOU KNOW? HAD YOU ALREADY THOUGTH ABOUT THAT SCENE IN TBM OR WAS IT PURE CHANCE????

WE WERE ROBBED. I have been wondering for a few days if in TOA we ever see Apollo sing for fun (not to confuse enemies, not to open doors, not for any practical purpose. Just for the fun of it). The depressing answer seems to be no, although I might have forgotten. At the end of THO it is implied that Apollo, Leo and Calypso join the sing-along at CHB, but the fact that the books end before we actually see him sing is a travesty.

#trials of apollo #toa #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #meg mccaffrey #the hidden oracle

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trickster-archangel · 7 months

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During my h50 fast-forward rewatch I couldn't help but stopping on this very scene, because I'm sure the subtext is powerful here. It's all about subtext. It actually gives you the chills to read, now, comments written on fanfics dealing with this specific episode, because so many of us were damn sure Steve was foreshadowing his death because of radiation poisoning (which, honestly? Would've made sense, so damn sense, considering the framing of this scene. And it wouldn't have left such a HUGE plotline open. Not that I want Steve dead at the end of s10, but you know....consistency...).

Anyway I tried to read this scene in a different light, knowing that Steve already knew he was thinking about taking a leave, going away from Hawai’i, finding himself, and he didn’t know how to tell Danny. Danny who already KNEW something was wrong, something was afoot, and Steve was definitely fucked up.

Don't focus on Steve, here, nor on his words — because now it's clear, so damn clear and painfully obvious he's not talking about sunsets: you get sunsets everywhere (even in Montana, while your father-figure is dying in your arms...and fuck you all if now sunsets will always be a cliche metaphor for death), so it's not really like you'll miss these specific Hawaiian sunsets. The only sun, the only sunshine he's ever had in his life is Danny. His Danno. So the only thing he'll miss, truly miss, while he searches for answers around the globe, will be his Danno. And that’s why he's so ready to agree when Danny tells him to visit New Jersey. He's basically telling Danny that even if he's the constant in his life, he's never taken him for granted, and that he's the thing he'll miss the most.

No. I'm not focusing on the obvious, here.

I'm seeing only this: Danny's face in the third gif. That's not a relaxed, tired, maybe annoyed-at-the-impromptu-feelings-dumping face you'd expect. He's just told Steve he's there for him, whatever he needs to say or talk about. Dammit, he's asked Steve to confess what's tormenting him!

No. Look at the strained lines around his eyes. Look at his furrowed brow. Look at his grimace, barely restrained.

Don't forget Danny's a detective. A hell of a good detective. By those seemingly innocent words alone, he's already understood Steve is going away. Maybe he only feels it in his guts — but he knows he's going to lose Steve. And that’s exactly why, in answer to Steve's heartfelt, gloomy words, all Danny can do is draw from his most reliable coping mechanism: joke. He jokes about squirrels and dinner. Because he doesn't known, literally has no clues, how to cope with the idea that his main dude is leaving him.

Danny knew Rachel was going to divorce him the day they married. He knows.

#h50 #h50 10x19 #mcdanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #yes I'm suffering so you have to suffer too #mcdanno meta #mtmcd

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therealtsk · 4 months

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What Your Favorite Worm Ship Says About You

some people have found my crusty, old ass tumblr post on this very topic, so im making a new one with my updated opinions! Cause those are, in fact, allowed to change. Enjoy! Taylor x Lisa: you're into relationships that could be dysfunctional or healthy with one push in either direction. also something something sun lesbian moon lesbian. Taylor x Rachel: You love dogs, and you want a girlfriend who can kick your ass. You're also into bomber jackets. I respect you. Taylor x Alec: Sadly, you do exist, and you did make it weird. Go away! Taylor x Amy: You read altpowers on the daily and complain about canon worm being too grimdark. Solid odds on you having never read worm. To be clear, it's worse if you have. also something something FBI OPEN UP Taylor x Victoria: You like the vibes of Lisa and Taylor's dynamic, but you want them to be a little more heroic and a little less dysfunctional. But only a little. Taylor x Clockblocker: You're straight and liked that one joke that cropped up. I also haven't seen any of you in a hot minute, thank god. No offense but this ship is mad boring.

Taylor x Sophia: You've come to realize that Sophia is a great character who gets done extremely dirty by the rest of the fandom. Also, rivals to lovers. Taylor x Emma: This can go one of two ways. Either you adore childhood friends to lovers, or you love enemies to lovers. Either way, you're obsessed with hurt and/or comfort fics. Taylor x Theo: You actually read Worm and recognize that Theo is criminally underrated in the fandom. Now just stop shipping him with Taylor and you'll complete the next step on your journey to enlightenment.

Taylor x Simurgh: I can't say for sure you're a anime fan, but you're definitely at least a little bit of a monsterfucker. also something something inherent eroticism of being world-destroying power couple. Taylor x Greg. You read Worm SI's unironically and get really defensive when people say that Greg is an incel. Completely unrelated, you haven't spoken to a woman other then your mother in five years. Taylor x Cherie: I've been informed this is a ship. I've yet to be informed as of a reason why I should like it. Cherie likers stay mad!

Lisa x Rachel: I don't remember the last time I saw this ship that wasn't also tagged as a polycule with Taylor, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're an OT3 enjoyer.

Lisa x Victoria: You’re into the “enemies to lovers” trope, but more of the "Spiderman x Black Cat" type then the "you murdered my entire home town but i can't help but find you sexy" type. Also you have a thing for blondes

Lisa x Faultline: Your ideal relationship dynamic is bickering married couple. You're also into heist movies.

Lisa x Simurgh: You have a thing for smart girls... who hate you. Also, you really liked Part of the Whole. Contessa x Alexandria: You're fucking based. Also something something inherent eroticism of girlbosses winning Contessa x Numberman: you're friends with Peri and enjoy memes about pants and math Numberman x Jack Slash: You think serial killers are hot and are starved for m/m ships. Danny x Eidolon: You're losersexual and are starved for m/m ships. Also you frequent r/wormemes Danny x Miss Militia: Honestly, i think you all died out. I couldn't be happier, this ship is fucking dumb. Amy x Literally Anyone Besides Taylor: listen, there's like a hundred different jokes i could make here, but all of them boil down to amy defenders always defending the rapist for some reason so let's just agree amy defenders are fucking cringe and move on Dragon x Defiant: You understand that this is unironically the only healthy relationship in worm with some of the best character growth and romance in the entire story, and a majority of all of it happens off screen. You're extremely bitter that so many fanfics do both of them so dirty they get beaten into different characters. Alec x Aisha: You like the idea of this ship, cause two pranksters making everyone miserable is the kinda vibe you enjoy, but constantly run into the issue that Alec is...well. Alec. That or you're into Alec's brand of shit, in which case, FBI OPEN UP Aisha x Missy: You read It's Cold Out There Every Day. I did too. Fuck, this fic is so good. I'm going to go cry about the ending again. Lily x Sabah: Yes, you know the age gap is a little problematic, you just want to be happy with your relatively healthy canon lesbians goddamn it Purity x Literally Anyone: You don't understand why people keep calling you racist. You're not! You're just weirdly defensive of the hot milf who murders people of color and seem to constantly bring up that Kaiser didn't actually believe the nazi propaganda he was peddling. You are racist btw Taylor x Brian: You...are Wildbow

#worm #parahumans #wormblr #shipping #all of my opinions are objectively correct btw #if you disagree with me you are wrong and must improve yourself #@ everyone reading this and being upset i didn't include your incredibly niche ship: stay mad #jokes aside im only including stuff i've actually seen in like.#more then one or two fics

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destinywitch · 1 year

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That Way- Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson x reader, no use of Y/N

That way (percy jackson)

Percy Jackson is everything. He is a hero, a fighter and a savior. But most importantly, he is your best friend. Your loyal, kind, funny and reckless best friend, who would do anything for you. He carried the sky because of you, fought Kronos with you and risked his life for you. Because you are friends.

Oh how that word hurt. The world thinks that you are friends. They do not know about the dimples when he smiles, or about the slight freckles on his face in the sun, or how he always become more vivid around the sea. They don’t know about the boy who shows up at your cabin in need of comfort after a nightmare, or how he calms you down when anxiety hits. How he noticed every single habit and pet peeve you had. How you both looked at each other with so much love.

And they also do not know about the Percy that sneaks out just to see you in your cabin so he can listen to you. The same Percy who was there with you, being a good friend.

“You are so wrong! They loved each other, seaweed brain! That’s why it was so hard for her to let go” You explained.

“But it didn’t matter if they were on a break! He cheated, she should have slapped him in the face!!” Percy whined. “It’s ridiculous, why would she put herself in that position?”

He complained.

“You really don’t know anything about love do you?” You laughed at his antics. Rachel loved Ross, that is why she couldn’t seem to leave him, but Percy refused to understand. It was completely immature, but you felt proud of his little feminist moment. And you couldn’t help noticing how passionate his face become when he started to talk about how Rachel deserved better. You smiled at Percy, feeling your heart flutter a little bit every time he looked at you. You gazed into his ocean eyes, noticing how they had waves, just like the actual ocean.

Suddenly, a white pillow hits your face.

“Ouch” You whine. “You are sooo dead Jackson”

“Sorry, but you were starring”

“I was gazing!”

“It’s creepy”

“It’s romantic”

You blushed, trying to see his reaction. Why wasn’t he acting like you flirted with him, were your feelings not returned, did he think of you in a platonic way? You felt the tears start burning, but before you could even move, he said

“You call that romantic? No wonder why your crush doesn’t take a hint” Your crush didn’t take hint, because if he did, he would know you talked about him every time that you mentioned that your crush made you feel like home, or when you talked about his beautiful eyes and smile, or even when you attempted to flirt. Your heart sank a bit with his answer. Why didn’t he love you the way you love him?

“What would you do if you wanted your crush to notice?” You asked, trying to hide the heartbreak.

“Well, for starters, I would look them in the eye.” He said, turning to face you. “Then, I would do this” He said, leaning in. Before you could process what happened, his lips were already touching yours. He tasted like saltwater, but his soft lips felt like home.

“That is a terrible strategy” You said, blushing while trying to hide a smile.

“Do one better then” He teased.

“Alright, I would simply be direct. Percy, i like you”

“Really? That’s it?” He smirked.

“No, then I would kiss him” I said, pulling him in again.

“Okay your strategy is definitely better” He smiled. “But I don’t think you appreciated my strategy enough. I have to do it one more time so you can really absorve it”

“Yeah I agree, I should definitely try again” You smiled at his antics, while pulling him in again.

The world didn’t know about that Percy, your Percy.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #percy jackon and the olympians #friends to lovers #percy jackson fandom #rick riordan #riordanverse #that way #imagine #x reader

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tryingtodotheright-thing · 3 months

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Hello Sunset - 3

AN: I actually managed to write this chapter quite quickly. It was originally longer but I've decided to break them into two chapters so it flowed better. The pacing of the story is still slow for now as we slowly get to know Y/N and the history of her relationship with S.Coups. There likely won't be an update this weekend and the next update won't be till the weekend after. As always, I would love to hear people's thoughts on the story. Anything you'd like to see?

PAIRING: Seungcheol x fem!reader GENRE: exes to lovers, idol verse, angst WORD COUNT: 2,918 WARNINGS: reader has anxiety and depression, swearing, mentions of alcohol

PREVIOUS / NEXT

After texting Rachel to not bother and that she’s going straight to bed, Y/N draped herself over the couch in her living room. She felt like she’d aged 10 years after this one day and couldn’t quite bring the energy to wash up and change into her pyjamas yet.

“Alexa, dim the lights.”

The brightness decreased and the dullness of the light eased the onset of a migraine Y/N had sensed since she’d left Sian’s office. The office was a scenic walk from her apartment in Central London and any other day, Y/N would have walked the 50 mins from Kensington Arcade but today, she couldn’t fathom an extra minute outside the safety of her flat. This was her safe place. She wasn’t so famous that the paps cared about her and she definitely wasn’t the richest or even the most famous person on her street. The place gave her a sense of calm she couldn’t quite get at home and it’s why she hadn’t made her way back to the house in Kingston, especially with her parents there. She couldn’t even imagine going back to the house and facing the questions from her parents. She didn’t have the fight left in her to hear their accusations and the emotionally charged words that pierced her confidence till it all seeped out.

She’d been planning to admire the sunset tonight, enjoying a drink on a rooftop bar whilst basking in the dying embers of the evening sun. Instead, she was drowning in her misfortune and wishing she could spin the clock backwards by two years to the summer of 2023. Maybe she was better off with music just as her hobby. Sure, she wouldn’t have experienced so much of the joy she’d come to know, the love of strangers bonded with her music, the luxuries she’d become accustomed to including the very flat she was currently and much more. But she also wouldn't have experienced the heartbreak she’d felt and was still left keeling over.

With strict parents who cared more about success and reputation more than their children living and learning from life, she’d never really encountered love or interacted with the opposite sex in a romantic manner till she’d escaped the clutches of her parents and landed in university. The men she met were at the beginning of their youth and weren’t looking for the commitment and the same things she’d wanted in a relationship. She’d cried tears in frustration then but now looks back and laughs at her younger self, so naive in thinking she had everything figured out. It wasn’t all bad. She’d experienced butterflies at first sight, library dates like the ones she’d admired in books, the passion of her youth with every emotion fully felt and overwhelming and so very wonderful. She’d learnt a lot about herself, learnt what she wanted out of a bad partner, which habits grated on her nerves, especially in a boyfriend, and she’d also unlearnt some of her own bad traits.

After the short courtships and immature versions of a relationship, Y/N had turned her focus to her career. Entering the working world was when she truly began to feel like an adult. At first, it didn’t seem so different from when she would pretend as a child that she was a grown up, wearing her mother’s heels that were too big for her child-sized feet and dragging her handbag, shouting I’m off to work like she’d seen on TV. She’d felt small in the workplace, a cog in the machine and until she’d started to witness the impact of her work, she’d felt unsure of her place. Just when she’d started to feel comfortable in her own shoes, the pandemic had happened. The first year was horrible; there was no other way to put it. Y/N was sure many had felt the same as her then. Being in lockdown with no social life and just her parents for company didn’t help. Her relationship with her parents got worse. Every little thing was exacerbated and she was ready to pull her hair out. The only thing that gave her peace was music. It was a way to relax at the beginning. She’d recorded songs for fun, just like she had when she was young, only this time they were songs of her own creation. She’d gathered a small following on YouTube by the end. She started by playing small gigs on the weekends and people would actually pay to see her. Her time had been limited and she had been too scared to take the leap until Sian reached out. Since then, her life has been a rollercoaster. Meeting Seungcheol in the midst of all of this wasn’t in Y/N’s plans. She hadn’t been looking for a relationship. She definitely hadn’t thought she would be someone he would be interested in. Everything had moved fast in a whirlwind. It fit the theme of her life for the past two years.

Y/N wasn’t new to the South Korean entertainment world. She’d been an avid k-pop fan when she was younger, having been introduced to the music by Rachel when they’d first met each other in secondary school at the age of 11. In fact, the interest spurred her on to study languages, particularly Chinese, Japanese and Korean as her chosen course for her university degree. She’d dipped in and out of the music genre, keeping tabs on the groups she’d liked and her music taste broadening as she grew older, preferring solo artists more. She hadn’t quite kept on top of the new generations of idols and only knew some of them by name. SEVENTEEN was one she was familiar with and funnily enough, she’d only gotten introduced to them earlier that year by her friend, Eun Ji. Choi Eun Ji, Rachel and Y/N had been the eccentric trio back in secondary school, at least until Eun Ji moved back half way through to complete her studies in Seoul. Eun Ji had shared a clip of an episode on Going Seventeen and Y/N was trapped. She’d worked her way through their discography and found herself shaking with giggles every time she watched an episode of them on a variety show. She’d never had a big group of friends to rely on, Rachel, Eun Ji and a couple more being the ones she would call her true friends. It was healing to watch the band together, their bond settled her soul and she truly believed that you could find love and peace from strangers. The beginning of 2023 had been so unsettling and Y/N didn’t handle changes well. Having an extra set of friends, as she called them, who would always readily cheer her up and take her mind off the doubts that plagued her at night, was something she treasured. So, imagine her surprise when she met one of the people she admired.

27 September 2023

Y/N felt self-conscious in front of the cameras. This wasn’t her first press event, especially after the past two weeks of radio shows, tv guest appearances and live performances. She’d already been invited to Paris Fashion Week to view Marni Women’s SS 2024 show before everything had blown up. Sian had said maybe they had moved her up front a few rows, but that’s all it was so she had nothing to fret over. Y/N disagreed. She was sure she’d pissed off whoever it was that had been bumped off their seat at the very least.

Y/N knew nothing about fashion. She wore what made her feel good and she tried her best to support the right brands. She also didn’t know anyone here so she felt like the sole prey in front of a room full of predators. Despite all of that, she tried to put on her best smile as she posed in her Marni yellow stretch-crepe midi dress. As the flashes began to dwindle, she took that as her sign to move off towards the building when she heard her name called by someone.

“Y/N! Y/N, hold up!”

Her black boots came to a stop and she twisted her face to look behind her. It was Issa Rae. Issa Rae knew her and was calling her name. The actress was also dressed in yellow and looked stunning. She waved Y/N over saying, “The girls in yellow need a picture together. Come on!”

Y/N walked back over, trying not to stumble and embarrass herself in front of everyone. It felt like everyone was watching her now. After posing together for a few pictures, she graciously thanked the actress and stepped away, trying her best not to run away and hide in a bathroom stall somewhere. As they took the pictures, Issa had shared how much she’d enjoyed listening to Y/N’s music and how she’d been familiar with her song as it had been recommended to her by a friend when she’d visited London for the UK promotions for Barbie. She wasn’t used to the attention, let alone praise from famous people she’d only seen on TV or the internet and her face felt as if it was on fire. Thankfully, the make up and her skin colour hid most of this reaction.

Emma Stanley, Sian’s assistant and the person to usually join her at these events, joined Y/N and directed her inside to her seat.

“That picture was a great shout. Have you met Issa Rae before?” Emma asked as she walked in step with Y/N and handed her a bottle of chilled water. Y/N shook her head in response as she took the bottle and took a sip. The coolness helped hush the tension in her gut and she tried her best to breathe normally, focusing on the inhales and exhales. When she found her seat, she took her place and Emma sat beside her. The seating was arranged in one row so Y/N was relieved to realise Sian had been joking.

Emma browsed through the Calendar on her phone as she reminded Y/N of their plans for the rest of the day and the next few days in Paris. She was due to also be at the Victoria Beckham show on Friday and perform at the after party. She’d then attend the Vivienne Westwood show the next day before taking the Eurostar back to London. In between, she had interviews with magazines and would be working in between. Y/N had been taking unpaid leave to meet the demands of her schedules after she suddenly rose in popularity. Her manager and company had accepted things with grace, especially when she’d topped the UK Charts, ranking number 1 on the Sunday that had just passed.

A few moments passed as Y/N continued to take small sips of her water and restore her composure. A buzz in the air began as she saw more celebrities walk inside and she could hear the garbled shouts of fans outside. Usher walked in and a throng of people followed behind him. He walked in her direction and she realised he was most likely seated in the centre of the long walkway, which was a few seats away. As he neared her seat, she hesitated on what to do. What did people normally do in these situations? Should she get up and greet him? Should she pretend to be busy with something? Before she could decide, Usher’s long strides got him to her and he came to a stop, saying, “Y/N right?”

She half jumped up from her seat at his acknowledgment.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m a huge fan of your music!” Usher reached out for a hug that was slightly restricted by his outfit. He said he’d been really enjoying her latest song. To her surprise, he mentioned that he had checked out a few of her YouTube videos from when she was younger but hadn’t known that Y/N had made a return. He said he would love to speak to her more about her upcoming album plans. Emma, who had been listening at a distance, quickly slipped her card to Y/N.

“That would be my honour! I’ve actually been working on an album since the summer. I would love to get your thoughts on it. I think you might know my agent, Sian Doyle. She’s been talking about getting someone to co-produce it as some of the songs were written a while ago and need tweaking in style.”

Usher’s grin grew wider at Sian’s name and chimed that he knew Sian very well and that he knew her parents even better. He’d taken Emma’s card and passed it to his assistant but then proceeded to grab his phone and asked for Y/N’s number. She tried to keep her voice steady as she gave the information. After final pleasantries, Y/N thought he would keep walking to his seat but he had asked if she’d met the person sat next to her.

As she turned to her right to the direction Usher was looking at, she realised someone had arrived to take the seat next to her and it was Joshua Hong of SEVENTEEN. Her lungs had run out of oxygen and her mind had gone blank. What were the chances?! Emma subtly elbowed Y/N as Usher waited for a response.

“No, we’ve not met but I do know of him.” Usher turned to Joshua and waited for Y/N to say something but when she didn’t, he introduced himself.

Joshua had gotten up from his seat, realising the conversation was coming his way. He enthusiastically returned Usher’s greeting and chatted about the show.

“And this is Y/N. She said she knows you.”

Y/N broke out of her daze at the sound of her name and quickly collected herself. She stuck her hand out for a handshake and said, “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I love SEVENTEEN’s music and really respect your work as an artist.”

Joshua smiled at this and thanked Y/N. The three of them continued speaking for a few minutes before they all received the signal to take their seats.

Y/N sat back down at her seat, playing nonplussed at being at close proximity to one of Kpop’s most handsome idols. She admired the colourful patterns of the show and made note of clothes she could see herself wearing, chatting to Emma about them. Joshua leaned over a couple of times to ask her thoughts. At the end of the show, they naturally gravitated towards each other as they moved towards the post show reception.

Feeling more relaxed now, Y/N loosened up and was chirpier.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Usher earlier, but I’m actually a CARAT, albeit a baby one, so I’m pretty proud of myself for keeping it together!”

Joshua laughed at this and returned the compliments saying he'd really liked Y/N’s song ‘Stripes’ but he was too shy to say anything. The two stayed close to each other in a room full of strangers but made the effort to network and speak to others before returning to each other and swapping notes. By the time they were ready to leave, the two felt like this was the beginning of a good friendship. The two swapped numbers and Joshua was pleasantly surprised that Y/N had the LINE app so they could easily stay in touch. Y/N explained that one of her best friends was based in Seoul. They promised to stay in touch as they parted ways.

Current

Y/N recalled how she had taken the words as a polite offering from Joshua and hadn’t banked on him reaching out after that day. How wrong she had been! Joshua had sent a picture of her on a billboard in Korea a few days later and she’d returned the text by sending him a screencap of the new album’s trailer, saying she couldn’t wait to hear it. The two continued exchanging messages every few days, their friendship growing closer every few days. Y/N found a kindred spirit in Joshua and saw him as the older brother she’d wished she had growing up. Y/N was one of the first to congratulate him upon the release of the new album and he was the same when her first full length album was released on the first day of November.

When Joshua had found out that she was visiting Seoul at the end of November, he’d extended an invitation for her to see one of the concerts and for them to at least meet for a meal. She’d readily agreed and had made plans to watch the show on 30 November in Nagoya. However, fate had made it that they’d actually meet the day before at the second and final night of the 2023 MAMA Awards. Fate had almost been a third person in her relationship with Choi Seungcheol.

Y/N sighed and picked herself off the couch, taking a break from the reminiscing to refresh herself for bed. She left her phone laying on the couch. As she walked away to the bath to have a soak with a glass of red, her phone began to blink as the contact name Joshie 🦌 continued to flash on her screen as she received a call.

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt fic #seventeen fanfic #svt #seungcheol #s.coups #s.coups x reader #s.coups imagines #s.coups scenarios #my writing #hello sunset

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months

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Timeline Part 3: May 2017 - June 2017

Previously: 2015 - April 2017 | Update to April 2015 - April 2017

As I mentioned before, I'll be doing these in smaller chunks because Tumblr keeps crashing when I do longer posts. In this edition, we'll look at Sussex PR from May 2017 to June 2017.

A quick note first. There isn't as many pieces from Meghan's mouthpieces during this window as there were earlier in the year. I suspect either a) Harry caught on to how much Meghan talked to the press so she scaled back to keep working him or b) the articles were handled when Meghan's team was scrubbing the internet.

This is also when we start seeing the Daily Mail start dripping hints about Meghan's dossier.

Here we go!

And as always, if you have updates, corrections, additions, please share!

5/2/2017: Meghan gives an interview to Good Housekeeping. This is the first known "roast chicken" reference.

5/3/2017: Meghan teases that Harry uses caviar pills to cure his male pattern baldness. "He" credits Meghan's holistic wellness.

5/4/2017: Buckingham Palace announces that Prince Philip is retiring after the summer and will stand down from royal duties. Anna Wintour is made a Dame by The Queen.

5/6/2017: The BBC claims that Harry's father is actually James Hewitt.

5/6/2017 - 5/7/2017: Audi Polo Challenge 2017 at Coworth Park. Meghan attends to watch Harry play polo and she is photographed with Mark Dyer. On Day 1 (May 6th), paparazzi catch Harry and Meghan kissing in the car park. On Day 2 (May 7th), William also plays polo and allegedly has Meghan thrown out of Coworth Park for stalking. Also on May 7th, Meghan leaks that she will be attending Pippa's wedding.

5/8/2017: Meghan wears a wedding dress for a movie.

5/9/2017: It's revealed that Meghan ditched Serena William's baby shower to go to London to see Harry.

5/10/2017: Mark Dyer sells his pubs to move out of London. The article is the first confirmation that he/his pubs had hosted Harry and Meghan for dates in the early days of their relationship. Speculation begins that Dyer doesn't like Meghan at all.

5/12/2017: Risque photos from a production Meghan did in 2011 resurface.

5/16/2017: Meghan flies into London for Pippa's wedding, although it isn't reported until May 17th and it isn't confirmed until May 18th.

5/18/2017: Meghan confirms she is in London to attend Pippa's wedding.

5/19/2017: Meghan does a pap walk in leggings and shows off her bum. The photos lead to the headline "Wedding of the Rears" and a front page photo by The Sun. Eugenie gives a tone-deaf interview about her "career" and mentions that she loves "The Crown."

5/20/2017: Pippa's Wedding. Meghan is not invited to the ceremony but is allowed at the after-party. Harry leaves the wedding midday to drive 3 hours round-trip to pick Meghan up from Nottingham Cottage. Rumors begin that Meghan wasn't allowed at all to Pippa's wedding, making Meghan angry, so to keep the peace, Harry left the wedding early and picked Meghan up so they could drive past local press to pretend they were going to the wedding.

5/21/2017: Meghan is papped leaving Kensington Palace early in the morning to fly back to Toronto.

5/22/2017:

Meghan gives an interview to Glamour UK about her fashion sense and style. She gives an infamous quote about how she likes to wear monochromatic neutrals (which later bites her in the butt when she says the royals made her wear only neutrals).

The Daily Mail reveals that Meghan's legal first name is actually Rachel.

Risque photos from Meghan's 2013 film resurface.

Meghan claims she was given rooms at the hotel where Pippa's wedding breakfast was being held and that she stayed away from the service out of respect to the bride. This completely contradicts her earlier story that she had stayed at Kensington Palace and that Harry left the wedding early to collect her for the after-party.

5/24/2017:

Priyanka Chopra gives an interview in which she speaks about Meghan and hints that she and Harry are engaged, saying she hopes for an invite to the wedding.

Meghan leaks that Harry plans to take her to Lesotho.

Sentebale's financial report is published.

5/28/2017: Meghan teases that she and Harry are house-hunting in Norfolk to be near William, Kate, and the children.

5/29/2017: William's GQ issue is published, in which he gives an intervew speaking about Diana's death and new photographs of the Cambridge family (in black and white!) are released.

5/31/2017: Camilla Thurlow (of Love Island) gives an interview about having dated Harry back in 2014 when they were photographed at a nightclub together.

6/4/2017: Harry travels to Singapore for four days to play polo in a fundraiser for Sentebale. He also does AIDS awareness work. The polo game is where he meets and befriends Nacho Figueroa.

6/7/2017: Harry travels to Sydney to promote the 2018 Invictus Games, merching his Meghan bracelet. Also, Pippa and James Matthews are in Perth for their honeymoon at the same time.

6/8/2017: Andrew applies to the UK Intellectual Property Office to trademark his Pitch@Palace initiative.

6/9/2017: Meghan is just like Queen Letizia!

6/10/2017: Meghan the yoga influencer. Meghan gives an airport papwalk in Texas ahead of the ATX Festival, merching her Panama hat, The Economist, and Chanel. Patrick Adams gives an interview to ATX about Meghan's relationship and speculates Harry ought to make a cameo on Suits.

6/11/2017: US Weekly speculates that Harry and Meghan could be getting married soon.

6/14/2017: The Sun recaps Harry's past relationships. They also reveal that Meghan had been invited to the 2016 Invictus Games in Orlando. The Sun claims that Meghan accepted the invitation and attended the games, but she and Harry didn't meet.

(June 14, 2017, is also the Grenfell Tower fire.)

6/16/2017: The Daily Express speculate on what Harry and Meghan's children could like.

6/17/2017:

The royal family celebrates The Queen's Birthday Parade, Trooping the Colour. (Kate and Charlotte wear pink.)

Meghan merches a gold and diamond thumb ring that she claims is from Harry. She also claims that Harry gave her a Cartier Love Bracelet (which we know now is actually from Trevor).

E News reports that Harry flies to Toronto after Trooping festivities to visit Meghan. E News also claims that Harry will propose by the end of the year and that Meghan is preparing to move to London. They later update the article to say Harry's camp denied that he went to Toronto and instead went directly to Malawi/Africa.

6/20/2017:

William and Kate make their first Royal Ascot appearance.

Meghan puts Beatrice and Eugenie on notice that she knows they're trying to take her down.

Rumors of Meghan's attitude/behavior causing problems on the Suits set begin. She brushes it off in an interview saying the cast is upset she keeps ditching them to spend time with Harry and that it'll blow over when she introduces Harry to them.

According to unverified claims by E News, Harry leaves Toronto and flies to Malawi for conservation charity work.

Meghan's character arrives on "The Windsors."

6/21/2017: Harry's Newsweek interview to commemorate the 20th anniversary of Diana's passing, and is part of his Hero Harry PR drive. Infamous snippets:

He's in no rush to get married or propose (clapback to all of Meghan's PR trying to hustle him down the aisle).

No one wants to be king or queen.

He wanted to quit the royal family at one point.

Meghan "communed with the dinosaurs" date night at the Natural History Museum.

"Small window of when people are interested in me before George and Charlotte take over."

6/22/2017: Fleet Street criticism of Harry's Newsweek interview begins. It lasts for about a week.

6/25/2017: Sexy photos from Meghan's 2014 model shoot resurface. Meghan leaks that Harry is making her engagement ring with diamonds and emeralds from Diana's collection and that he is collaborating with the royal jeweller, Harry Collins. She also says that Harry wants to marry sooner rather than later while Philip is still around to attend. (This comes after news that Philip was hospitalized for an infection and immediately causes speculation that Philip is seriously unwell/knocking at death's door.)

6/26/2017: E News claims that Harry's discussion about modernizing the monarchy and his role in the modernized monarchy is him preparing for marriage. This immediately causes speculation amongst royal watchers that he and Meghan had fought about the monarchy's way of charitywork (versus her issues-based campaigning) and Harry's sudden discussions about how the monarchy was modernizing was his attempts to fix it.

Also on 6/26/2017, the Court Circular confirms Harry is in Malawai. It is his only Court Circular appearance between 6/17/2017 (Trooping) and 7/6/2017.

6/27/2017: Meghan flies to London. Harry merches Sandals' Grande St. Lucian resort in a promo article. He stayed at the resort during his Caribbean tour in November 2016.

6/28/2017: Meghan merches her clothes and Channel 4 announces a "Meet the Markles" reality show/docuseries about Meghan's family.

6/29/2017: Meghan merches her clothes again and again tries to be a fashion influencer by plugging the "Meghan Effect." The trailer for Suits Season 7 drops and Charles and Camilla travel to Canada for a 3-day tour.

6/30/2017: Meghan leaks that she and Harry are very private homebodies and prefer to stay at home.

7/1/2017: The Cambridges, Harry, and the Spencers attend a private memorial service at the Althorp estate for Diana. (Meghan is in Toronto filming the 100th episode of Suits, courtesy of Patrick Adams' instagram.) Meghan's relationship history is published. Charles announces plans to throw an enormous 70th birthday party for Camilla.

#timeline #brf #sussexes #pr stunts

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