#this is what I wrote for my seminar and it's three times as long as it's supposed to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

magicshopaholic · 1 year ago

Text

Aphrodite (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: You and Namjoon consider all the reasons you shouldn’t be together.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Fluff, some angst, some smut

Word count: 7.1 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, making out, fingering, allusions to sex

A/N: Wrote this in a word coma. Set over a period of three months, beginning a week after Voice of an Angel. Can be read standalone.

Special thanks to this anon who casually dropped this idea in my inbox and bounced, leaving me to be plagued with heart-stoppingly beautiful scenarios that I wrote on my phone in a full-day seminar because I was incapable of thinking about anything else. Well played, anon.

(The song rec is also one I've been waiting to use and one of Daniel Ricciardo's biggest contributions to my life; apropos in these turbulent times)

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: “wake up with you” by emerson leif

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

The first reason is brought up on the last night.

Seoul shouldn’t be this empty this time of night, thinks Namjoon. But they’re near the suburbs now, the apartment building mostly with families, so maybe it’s always like this? Either way, he should count himself lucky, for if Kaya’s last night here was punctuated with camera phones being secretly pointed at him and his manager hissing at him to be careful, he might have thrown something.

As it is, it’s peaceful. Their fingers linger next to each other as they walk back to her aunt’s house; Namjoon doesn’t know if she expects him to take her hand. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous, but after what they’ve just done at his penthouse, is this really where the line needs to be drawn?

“Good call to walk.” Kaya turns to him slightly and raises her eyebrows. “Instead of taking a car.”

“The weather’s too nice for it,” he lies, noting how his shirt is already sticking to his shoulders slightly and how she’s swept her long hair off her neck and tied it up, despite the light sundress she’s wearing.

It’s embarrassing to think that the reason he’d proposed to walk was so he’d have a little more time with her before she left forever. He feels ridiculous for even thinking this way - when did he become so dramatic?

“It is,” she agrees. “It's nicer than Amsterdam.”

Namjoon’s stomach settles slightly. At least he’s not the only one lying through his teeth.

“Do you need to pack tonight?” he asks hopefully, wondering if they can take another detour before he drops her back.

“A little,” she admits, “but mostly I just need to close out some stuff for work that’s due the day after tomorrow.”

Namjoon frowns. “Because… you’re preparing for jet lag?”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s a really long flight,” she adds, groaning softly in anticipation.

The sound makes his stomach flip and he tries not to think about the same sounds an hour ago, in his bed, against his skin.

“Tell me about it.” It occurs to Namjoon that unlike him, she won’t be flying business class. “Can’t blame you for not visiting more often. Jieun, I mean,” he adds quickly.

“Uh-huh.” Kaya gives him a small, knowing smile as they reach the building. “It’s also really expensive,” she says, turning around to face him.

“It is.” He swallows and puts his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been dreading this moment; nothing he wants to say would be appropriate for saying goodbye to a week-long summer fling.

She touches his elbow, holding the newspaper-wrapped package in the same hand. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not a book, she’d joked when he’d given it to her and asked her not to open it until he left.

“Namjoon.” Her voice is soft, the foreign accent making his name sound so special. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t visit that often.”

He presses his tongue into his chin and nods, hating that she’s right. It’s too far and it’s too expensive, so maybe a week-long summer fling was already the bonus that fate had given them. It takes him a moment but he takes a deep breath and looks up at her, thinking once again that she has such Disney princess eyes.

He silently steps forward to hug her for the last time.

—

The second reason is brought up nearly a month later, in the middle of the night in Amsterdam.

Kaya groans at the sound of her alarm, feeling distinctly as though she just fell asleep. She reaches for her phone and frowns when she sees the time: she did just fall asleep. It’s also not her alarm, but her phone ringing.

The call is from Namjoon, though; it makes her slightly less annoyed at being woken up. She clears her throat and answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” He sounds hurried, as though he’s on his way somewhere. “I’m so glad you answered.”

“Okay?” Kaya can hear her voice sound thick with sleep. “Uh… why?”

“Because of last night. Because - wait, were you asleep?”

“Was,” she can’t resist saying, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to hold onto some remaining sleep. Tomorrow’s schedule is chock-full of classes. “It’s two am, Namjoon.”

“It’s -” There’s a shuffle. “Did I calculate the time difference wrong? Why did I think I was ten hours ahead?”

“I dunno,” she mumbles into her pillow. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologise,” he says, sounding incredibly guilty. “For last night. I… I kind of fell asleep.”

Nothing he’s said makes any sense to Kaya. Sighing, she turns over slightly and frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Earlier,” he clarifies. “In the evening for you, I guess. We were talking and I…”

“You fell asleep.” She remembers now.

Despite parting in Seoul on a bittersweet note, with the mutual but unsaid knowledge of their dalliance ending, they hadn’t been able to cut ties fully. Namjoon had messaged her late the next day asking if she’d landed safely, she’d sent him a picture from her cab in response, and the conversation never ended.

It was still restrained, for the most part. Kaya, at least, was aware that an emotional connect had been built in Seoul - but they’d said goodbye and gone back to their lives. Anything further should be nothing more than friendly, like pen pals who kept each other updated on their lives.

Earlier this evening, they’d been talking on the phone about something extremely mundane. Kaya was in a pub with her friends, but knowing that Namjoon probably didn’t have a lot of time, she excused herself for a few minutes and went to a spot away from the music, near the washrooms. She was leaning back against the wooden wall and talking about her thesis but every time she tried to change the topic to something less boring, he asked her to continue, sounding genuinely interested in a very operational aspect of her work.

He was tired - that much she could hear. He still kept the conversation going, at first with questions and eventually progressing to occasional exclamations, until suddenly, he went completely silent. Kaya guessed he may have fallen asleep; a quick calculation reminded her it was three am in Seoul, so on some level she was actually glad he was finally resting.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she murmurs, brushing her hair off her face. “It was really late for you.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve said good night,” he points out. “Sorry about that. And… I’m sorry about waking you up right now,” he adds, audibly wincing. “For some reason I thought I was ten hours ahead.”

She chuckles sleepily. “Happens to the best of us. Timezones are always a pain.”

“Not something we need to worry about, right?” Namjoon says after a moment, and she thinks his half-chuckle sounds a little forced.

“Nope. Good thing we quit while we were ahead.”

There’s silence on the line for a few seconds while Kaya, in her half-asleep state, imagines what it might be like to fall asleep with him in person. She’d almost considered it on her last night in Seoul; they’d been under the covers, naked and talking about nothing in particular when he’d softly offered for her to stay the night.

Had she been a more impulsive person, she may have said yes, but it seemed too intimate to do with a person she’d technically known for a little more than a week. Now, she wonders idly if she’d been too hasty with her decision.

“You should sleep,” he says after a moment, still sounding a bit guilty.

“You woke me up, you put me back to sleep,” she retorts softly.

“Yeah? You want a bedtime story?”

“Sure, why not?”

Namjoon laughs, and the sound makes her toes curl inside her blanket. “Wait, are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” She pulls her covers up to her chin and curls up into a comfortable position. “Hit it, music producer.”

He chuckles a little disbelievingly. “Um, okay? Here goes nothing.” He takes a deep breath and starts, barely getting four words out before she interrupts him.

“Wait. Joon… you know I don’t understand Korean, right?”

The nickname is a first for her, and it sounds as though he’s picked up on it, too. “Yeah, I know. But you want to be put to sleep and I thought it might actually help.”

It’s genius. Kaya grins to herself, knowing somewhere deep down that she’s just setting herself up for heartbreak someday. She should stop this, quit while they’re ahead.

Instead, she hears herself tell him to continue.

—

The next reason comes up the day Namjoon learns about Damien Herjavec.

He’d made the executive decision to give Kaya his private Instagram handle a few days after she’d left Seoul. She’d never brought up following each other on social media until he did because despite how much he liked her, giving her access to something this personal required thought. It wasn’t until he went back to the bookstore where they’d bumped into each other for the first time, and he realised he wanted her to know that without him having to actually tell her, that he decided to do it.

He searched her name on Instagram and followed her, trying to restrain himself from checking if she’d followed him back. She did eventually, a couple of hours later, and to a genuinely embarrassing amount of delight, she commented on his picture: Careful in the English section.

Kaya didn’t seem to use Instagram very often other than to put up very random pictures on her story of ordinary city shots: a street outside her campus, her own legs in faded jeans, a unicycle in the park in the distance. It was whimsical and cute, but also highlighted the few times she did post something else - such as a picture of her and three other people, sitting at a table with name cards in front of them and smiling into the camera.

Namjoon doesn’t immediately register the male in the picture. His focus is on Kaya, in a blazer and slinky black trousers and beige heels, her long hair straight and framing her face as she smiles. His heart skips a beat at the thought of her like this earlier today, in real-time, and he suddenly feels closer to her than he has in weeks. It stays all day, the lingering feeling, as though she’s finally in reach and he hasn’t been imagining her all this time, that he realises it's longing. He’s missing her, and the discovery immediately terrifies him.

He decides it’s officially time to end this transatlantic pseudo-fling and resolves not to call her or text her anymore, knowing they need to phase this out of their lives for both their good. It lasts a whole five hours until she texts him, with nothing more than a Hey.

Namjoon swallows and closes his eyes, knowing he’s in so much trouble. Hey, his fingers type out, as though of their own accord.

I think God sent me an angel today.

Yeah? Wings and everything?

Chinos and Vans, but I’ll take it. As long as he gives me an extra set of hands on this research project, I’ll worship whoever sent him to me.

Oh, your professor finally brought in someone else? That’s great!

Yess, it is. Maybe now I’ll remember to eat a meal and get more than a couple hours of sleep. Oh, and focus on my actual job.

I get that. I’m happy for you. You should be getting more sleep.

I know, right? Damien might just be the answer to my problems. Even staying up late in the conference room and checking survey results is better now because at least I’m not alone. I shouldn’t be complaining to you though - I know you have a worse workload.

Not true. I was in the studio till dawn but at least it has a comfortable couch.

You’re right. I have it worse.

Not now that you have Damien. The reply is out and sent before Namjoon can stop himself and he immediately cringes.

Yeah, well. I don’t know how long he’s going to be around for. Once this project is over, maybe I’ll refer him to Professor Llyod so he doesn’t keep tapping me to grade his papers.

Sounds like a plan. I’m sure Professor Lloyd will be happy.

His happiness isn’t really my concern, if I’m being honest. I wouldn’t mind if Damien stays. He actually has more than a few braincells and - get this - showers.

Namjoon stares at his phone for a second. He sounds like the complete package.

You joke, but it’s a serious epidemic on a college campus. Having a colleague who smells good is a bigger bonus than you think.

How long do you think this project will be?

A couple of months? Hopefully? I don’t know - the professor heading it keeps adding problem statements constantly so it feels endless. I’m just really really tired.

Namjoon wants to offer words of comfort but he can’t think of any. In fact, all he can think about is how he, too, has a ridiculously long day ahead of photoshoots ahead of him tomorrow, where he won’t be allowed to eat much or drink any water, followed by filming.

He remembers about how he’s been thinking about her all day and knows he needs to at least try to nip this in the bud.

You know the worst thing about being a workaholic?

What?

Dating somebody who’s also a workaholic.

Kaya’s reply takes a few moments. Haha, point taken. Good thing that’s not a problem for us.

—

The next few reasons come up around the same time, and some of them are just downright silly.

Despite his best intentions to keep a distance, the moment he finds out he’s needed in Amsterdam for a collaboration, Namjoon not only says yes instantly but he also works his schedule to plan leaves and invent meetings around the same time, eventually extending his total trip to ten days.

He knows he’ll be working for some of that time; it’s the only reason he doesn’t feel desperate and clingy when he informs Kaya of the trip, asking as calmly as possible if she’d like to meet.

Kaya, for her part, feels like her heart might explode. It takes every bit of her willpower to suppress the smile on her face during the mid-term she’s invigilating; the undergrads, barely younger than her, don’t need to know anything about her personal life.

Oh, that’s great. Sure, we should catch up.

He’s coming for work and she already has a lot of it on her plate, but somehow it still feels as though every moment that can be squeezed out from their schedules is spent with each other. A lot of the deliberate distance that they tried to maintain while apart seems to have also gradually evaporated.

It starts on his first night with dinner at a riverside cafe, where they greet each other with a casual hug like they’re classmates from high school. They walk back to her apartment with a respectful distance between them where she invites him for a cup of horrid instant coffee, like it’s the end of a blind date.

It’s only when they’re actually indoors and alone and it’s dark because Kaya hasn’t even switched on the light yet that some of the pretence is dropped. She sees his tall silhouette come closer and smells his cologne; her hands go up automatically to rest on his shoulders as he kisses her, his hands large around her waist as he gently backs her up against the door.

They hang out in her apartment when they’re not outside; Namjoon says he’s sick of hotels and she can imagine (and she secretly doesn’t want him to leave), so she doesn’t mind much. Her apartment is small but the location is convenient and the sight of him in it, casual and comfortable, is something she feels she can’t get enough of.

“It’s an amazing view,” he says one morning, sitting sideways on the bench in her balcony. He’s got his glasses on and is sitting with a book, having woken up almost an hour before her. “I can even see the river from here.”

“It’s pretty great,” she admits, coming over and sitting next to him, leaning back against his legs. “The rent also takes a decent chunk out of my paycheck,” she adds dryly, shrugging, “but it’s worth it.”

“Don’t you get a place on campus? I thought all students do.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So why didn’t you take it? Wouldn’t you save a lot?” he asks curiously.

Kaya bites her lip, still looking at the view. “I don’t like living on campus.”

“Really? You’d live right there - you’d probably save a ton of time on commute and everything, no? Plus, it would be safer than returning in the middle of the -”

“It’s not really my thing,” she interrupts him. “Do you want to go to Stedelijk today? If you do, we should leave soon.”

Namjoon nods and she smiles, patting his leg and going back inside. They leave in an hour; it’s a Sunday and it’s beautiful outside. The museum is just as incredible as she remembers from the first time she visited it, except now Namjoon is here, too, his fingers lingering right next to hers and brushing them every few seconds.

They’ve had sex several times, they’ve fallen asleep together, they’ve even showered together once, but this - holding hands - still feels too soon. It feels like admitting something, something she knows by now that they’re both trying to deny because it just makes more sense that way. They can’t hold hands, for that’s the beginning of a very slippery slope.

“Hey, your view is so much better than mine,” says Kaya after a while, when they’re having lunch at a cafe near the museum. She’s looking at a picture on his phone of his gigantic window, the Han river flowing majestically outside it. “The river from my balcony is a speck in the distance.”

“I do have a good view,” he says fairly, taking back the phone. “But I mostly use my balcony for company. It feels too depressing otherwise. But yours honestly just feels like a bedroom with no roof,” he points out, something she’d never considered. “It has the mattress, the lights, the coasters. It’s like a haven in the middle of the city.”

“Really?” She’s both proud and slightly confused. “My mum’s been pestering me to get some plants in there but I just know I’m going to make a mess and forget about them and then they’ll eventually die. But, hey, who needs plants when I’ve got a whole haven?”

Namjoon grins. “You want me to help you pick out some plants? I have a ton.”

She pauses mid-bite, a little disbelieving at how he continues to surprise her. “Seriously? You - you plant stuff?”

“Yeah. Why is that surprising?”

“Oh, it’s not -” She doesn’t know how to say that she can’t quite reconcile the posters of him that Jae-lin has shown her and the music videos she’s watched here and there of him rapping in oversized clothes, with someone who could tend to a garden. “It’s just… unexpected.”

“I plant a lot of things,” he informs her, cutting his steak and dipping it in the sauce. “For example, right now, I’ve just planted an idea in your head.” He smiles, his dimple popping. “So? Want to go plant shopping with me?”

Kaya watches him wince as the piece of steak breaks and falls in the bowl of sauce and he fishes it out, swearing under his breath. This is about the plants, she decides, trying to subtly place her hand over her mouth and cover her smile. He’s perfect but he’s not hers, and that’s the way it should be.

“Sure. I’ll go plant shopping with you.”

They look up the closest nursery and head there after lunch, pulling their caps over their heads in the afternoon sun. The desire to slip her hand into his is getting stronger; she imagines how big it would be around her own, the pressure both comforting and playful. To save herself from the temptation, she hooks her fingers around the strap of her sling bag and settles for just feeling his bicep brush against her shoulder.

The nursery is quaint and unbelievably colourful, looking like a kaleidoscope on the side of the road. They step into the shade and begin examining the small pots, reading the description underneath each.

“Definitely the tabebuia, if I may suggest it,” says Namjoon, pointing to a pretty pink plant. “It blossoms in the summer and it’s just gorgeous. It’ll be the highlight of your balcony.”

“Duly noted. What about its support acts?”

“Well -” He walks slowly towards her and points at another sapling. “The poppy is always nice. And - oh, dude, they have orchids here,” he adds in wonder, peering at the card underneath it. “I have one just like it - hang on -” He pulls out his phone and begins tapping on it.

Kaya surveys a few more saplings and turns to him slightly. “What about this one? It says it’s conducive to warm weather and grows even in harsh conditions such as -” She sees a movement out of the corner of her eye and looks to see Namjoon turning around and walking away. For a moment she thinks he’s going towards another plant but he just keeps walking until he’s passed the nursery, head still bent low over his phone.

Something stings in her heart, insulted at being cut off mid-sentence and ignored. She’s about to call his name when she hears the gasps.

“It’s RM!”

There are two or three voices, accents foreign. Kaya freezes and turns away slightly, her mind working out why he abruptly walked away the way he did.

“I think it was him!”

“RM? Are you sure?”

“We can check…”

There’s some scuffling and words in a language Kaya can’t place in the moment, taken too off guard by the sudden interruption. She tries to breathe, willing the annoyance in her chest to go away. From a little way away, she spots what looks like a family with two teenage girls and a third one slightly older, gravitating towards the direction in which Namjoon left.

She tries to look casually; he’s much further away by now, ducking into a coffee shop. The girls, in their minor confusion, seem to have lost sight of him. As they trudge away, disappointment evident in their voices, Kaya begins walking in the same direction, passing by the coffee shop as well. She texts him and continues down the path, stopping after a few minutes and waiting for him in a less crowded area.

She spots him sooner than expected. Even from a distance, she can see his lips pursed and his forehead creased, looking apologetic.

“Oh, my God,” she gasps softly when he’s within earshot. “It’s RM.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, coming over and wrapping his arms around her waist before kissing her softly.

“M-hm.”

“I didn’t want them to see you. That’s all.” He takes a small step back and tilts his head. “All it takes is one picture on the internet and then…”

“I know,” she says finally, patting his arm comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah?”

Kaya nods. “It’s not your fault. Besides, I’m sure it would be way worse for your girlfriend. You know, if… whenever…”

It’s his turn to nod knowingly, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah. So you don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worrying. Not about you, not about your fans,” she lists as they resume walking. “Not about your girlfriend… none of it.”

“Good.” Namjoon bumps her shoulder gently.

She doesn’t say anything. After a moment, she slips her hand into his.

Later that night, Kaya’s forgotten all about it, the only coherent thoughts in her mind being the feel of her sheets underneath her, Namjoon’s lips at her neck and his fingers inside her, moving right at her g-spot.

“F-fuck,” she stutters, knowing she’s close. Namjoon is a wizard with his fingers, she’s discovered. They are long, slender and move with a grace she hadn’t expected, and his hands find ways to elicit pleasure that even she hasn’t been able to unearth yet.

“Your pussy is so pretty,” he murmurs in her ear, his deep voice making her moan softly. He nips gently at her earlobe. “Open your legs wider for me, baby?”

Kaya obeys; she can’t imagine not doing so. Her head is starting to spin. “I - I can’t,” she breathes, panting. “Oh, my God…”

“You want me to stop?” he asks, slowing down slightly.

“No!” she exclaims, eyes snapping open. “I just - oh, God - I can’t take this on a regular basis,” she explains tightly, fists clenching around the sheets. “I think I might die…” She flashes a dreamy smile, eyes fluttering shut. “Good thing you’re not my boyfriend, huh?”

Namjoon nods, coming up slightly and moving his fingers slightly faster. “Uh-huh. Lucky you,” he says, brushing his lips lightly over her nipple.

Kaya moans loudly at that; she’s got seconds before she probably passes out from the intensity of what he’s doing. At this very inopportune moment where it’s just her, him and their clammy, naked bodies against each other, her phone pings.

Namjoon swears softly in Korean but thankfully doesn’t stop. “Ignore it,” she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t care what it is.”

“What if it’s something important?” he murmurs calmly, pressing kisses down her jaw. “You sure you don’t want to answer it?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, biting down on her lip now. “It’s probably just - just Damien texting to confirm if - oh, God!” Her mind goes blank the moment he flattens his hand and rubs his palm over her clit. “Oh, God, baby - don’t stop, don’t - oh, my -”

Unable to form words any longer, Kaya drops her head back on the pillow and moans loudly as her orgasm hits her, her back arching on the bed as Namjoon whispers low words of praise, voice so deep she can feel it in her stomach.

His fingers slide out slowly, her ears still ringing slightly. Her heart is going a mile a minute and she drops her head to the side into his neck as she tries to breathe normally before she opens her eyes and looks up at him.

Namjoon brushes her bangs off her face affectionately, his dimple appearing faintly. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “You were saying?”

But she shakes her head. “I don’t remember,” she mutters, heart skipping a beat at his satisfied grin.

—

The next day, three days before Namjoon is to leave, they decide to plant her saplings.

“Somehow, I expected this to be more technical.” Kaya steps back and tilts her head, observing her handiwork. She’s still potting the tabebuia, while Namjoon seems to have already finished two and is working on his third.

“What do you mean?” he asks, gently picking up the poppy plant and lowering it into the pot. He steadies it on the low ledge where five newly purchased pots sit, soil littered around them.

“Just.” She tosses a loose lock of hair out of her face, her hands muddy with dark soil. “You always see people with a ton of gardening tools and gloves and… you know. Outfits,” she adds.

“We’re just potting plants,” he points out. “Your outfit is cute.”

“It’s pajamas.”

“What’s your point?”

Kaya smiles but then groans. “I suck at this, though. All your plants look perfect and mine looks like something that got trampled by a herd of cows.”

Namjoon snickers, neatly finishing with his plant. “It’s always messy at first, but it’s worth it at the end.” He gathers the spilt soil into a small mound and moves it to the corner before coming up to her. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m holding the plant wrong or something because it keeps falling over,” she mutters, bending slightly to examine it. “Look, I think it’s - oh.” She breaks off when she suddenly feels his torso against her back and sees his arms come up in front of her, reaching for the tabebuia plant.

“Okay, so you need to hold it here,” he says calmly, as though the casual intimacy of their position isn’t causing explosions in his stomach like it is for her. “And then -” He pours a handful of soil into the pot. “- it stays still. Here, try it.”

If he notices her hands shaking, he doesn’t say anything. He takes them in his and places them in the correct position and they quietly pot the plant, the pale pink buds peeking through the leaves. Once they’re done, they stay there, and Kaya feels her chest start to contract, like she might suddenly cry.

She’s falling for him.

From behind her, Namjoon rests his hands on the ledge, encasing her. He gently bumps her head with his chin. “Should we name them?”

She nods like this was obvious, exhaling. “That one’s Fitzwilliam,” she declares, pointing to the one at the end.

“I’m sorry - what?”

“Fitzwilliam,” she repeats. “Like Fitzwilliam Darcy. Look at him - he’s right in the corner, not even on the same ledge as the others.”

“Yeah… because there’s no more space on this one.”

“It’s also the only plant that’s not a flower.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Fitzwilliam.”

“Fine. You freak,” he mutters, bumping her head again. “What about that one?”

They name the next three together, teasing each other with each one. Finally, they get to the tabebuia.

Kaya strokes one of the leaves. “This one’s easy. She’s Aphrodite.”

Namjoon nods. “I get that. A heavy name to live up to, though.”

“It makes complete sense. She’s the prettiest one here.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s probably a good thing we’re not together,” he says finally. “I don’t think I could handle not seeing her every day.”

Kaya swallows. Despite her heart feeling heavy again, she leans back against him, memorising his strong chest behind her. She wonders if she’s imagining his heartbeat. “You’re talking about…”

“Aphrodite,” he murmurs, partly against her hair. “Who else?”

She can feel his nose press against the side of her head. Don’t do it, she thinks desperately. Don’t do it, don’t do it. It would open up a pit of emotions she doesn’t want to face.

“Maybe we can share custody,” she suggests half-heartedly.

She can feel him smile slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. Don’t do it. But it doesn’t work; he takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to her hair, and the dread settles deep in her stomach.

—

Kaya knew this day would come. After all, the only reason they even got this week was because Namjoon had work in Amsterdam. If it weren’t for that, this would’ve ended in Seoul.

The last two days were spent largely apart; Namjoon had to fulfil his actual professional obligations and despite wanting to make the best of his time here, Kaya was glad to have some space for she wasn’t sure she was doing a good job hiding how she felt about his impending departure.

But the morning of his flight, she’s finally forced to face it.

It’s early, and Kaya has a class in two hours. She can’t think about that, though - which is worrying, because she always thinks about work. She sits on one of the dining chairs, the same one she sat on the first night he’d spent here, feet up and hugging her knees as she watches him speak to someone on the phone. In his hand is a shopping bag, half-filled with stuff he’s left here over the week.

“Yeah, okay,” he says vaguely, nodding. The phone is tucked between his shoulder and his ear as he ties his shoelaces. He replies in Korean before hanging up and slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“My cab will be at the hotel in an hour,” he tells her.

“Okay.” Now that his attention is on her, she finds she can’t look at him. It occurs to her that she might be sulking; it’s just another embarrassment on top of the stupidity at feeling this horrible about Namjoon leaving. “Sure you have everything?”

“Yeah.” When she still doesn’t look at him, focusing intently on a pattern on her tablecloth, he sighs. “Kaya? Are you okay?”

No. But she’d rather die than admit that.

“Yeah.” She swallows and forces herself to look at him. “This just… really sucks. That’s all.”

Namjoon nods, and she wonders if he really knows how much. It would be too good to be true if they actually ever see each other again. The reasons not to are plenty and they’ve been laid out, several times, but all that’s needed is a single distraction in one of their lives, and they will be strangers again. Her heart shouldn’t hurt this much over someone who’s going to be a stranger.

He clears his throat. “Imagine if we were -”

“Yeah. I know.” She holds his gaze this time until he looks away. “Good thing we’re not.”

His phone pings then and they’re snapped out of the moment. “I need to go,” says Namjoon in a low voice. “Can I…”

Kaya nods, because of course he can, and gets up from the chair to walk over to him. He looks a little relieved that she came at all and gives her a small smile.

One kiss. That’s all. She steels herself, determined not to go beyond a quick, nice kiss that would be appropriate for a one-week fling that turned into two weeks. Namjoon tilts her chin up slightly and presses his lips to hers, their mouths opening together for a simple last kiss.

But then her hand goes up to his face and his arm comes around her waist and before they know it, they’re locked together in her living room, desperate to keep the moment going a little longer.

—

Namjoon loves London. It reminds him of his favourite weather in Seoul; the rain, the grey tint, the cloudy sky. It’s thoughtful, inspiring and romantic, and he honestly doesn’t understand why everyone complains about it so much.

Today, however, the weather has been worrying him. Throughout their interview, the radio show, the live performance and the retakes, he’s had one eye on the window, hoping the rain will ease up so Kaya’s flight can finally land.

It feels like a miracle that she even said yes to coming. Ever since he’d left Amsterdam, he thought he could feel her becoming a bit distant. He wasn’t sure what it was; they still spoke, but topics stayed neutral and casual. She texted more than she called and one of their few common timeslots - her night and his morning - no longer worked because she said she was working late more often now. He tried not to think about it as Damien Herjavec stealing his time with Kaya away from him.

Maybe Namjoon was imagining it, or maybe it was everything he’d been dreading and they were finally, finally drifting apart. It hurt more than he expected it to and he was surprised at his reluctance to accept the fact, persevering in his efforts to stay in touch.

She didn’t even confirm this trip immediately, citing her calendar and other conflicts, the entire time leaving Namjoon to imagine every possible reason on earth that she wouldn’t want to meet him. Finally, after nearly a week, she agreed out of the blue.

Let’s do it, had been her message, curt and to the point.

“For God’s sake,” says Yoongi dryly, his eyes not leaving the television in their shared hotel room, “just call her and ask her where she is.”

It’s a thought and an obvious one at that, but Namjoon has his reasons for not doing so. Her shortened replies and guarded conversations continued even after she accepted his invite; it’s confusing and worrying all at once, for now he has no idea what to expect when she finally arrives.

Kaya’s been texting him en route, though, so he knows her plane landed a couple of hours late, after which it took her a long time to get a cab, followed by a ridiculous amount of traffic throughout London. Namjoon taps his foot impatiently on the floor until Hoseok stares at him from across the room, and he relents.

Not bothering to change or tell his manager where he’s going, Namjoon takes the elevator downstairs and jogs out of the lobby and outside the hotel. It’s almost ten pm and this particular street seems to be largely empty. He’s glad; he’s still in the suit he was wearing all day and the last thing he needs right now is to worry about being recognised.

Kaya hasn’t responded to his last message; he tries not to worry, for she’d told him that her phone would probably die soon. It’s cold - freezing, actually - but the anxiety is superseding it to the point where his hands are actually feeling clammy.

Namjoon doesn’t want to think about the other reason she could be pulling away. Ever since Amsterdam, their conversations have started including more and more mentions of Damien, Kaya’s research partner. They’re random and harmless on the surface, but the name jumps out at Namjoon each time.

He doesn’t know if it’s just that she’s working more with Damien now or if she’s doing it on purpose, trying to hint at a development and giving him a kind way out of this. Or maybe he’s overthinking it; from all accounts, Damien seems to have made her life easier and is a good colleague, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her to bring him up.

Then again, the possibility of it being something more is enormous. Kaya is beautiful and intelligent and thoughtful; Namjoon can’t imagine that if she were to send even the smallest signal, that she would remain single for long.

One night, with his self-respect somewhere around his ankles, Namjoon resorted to looking up Damien on Facebook (he wasn’t on Instagram), huddled in the dark under his blanket. Damien seemed to be in his late twenties at best, with reddish blond hair and a tall, lanky frame. The stalking exercise didn’t result in anything conclusive, except that Namjoon now had a face to put to the name of this individual who seemed likely to steal his girl.

His stomach twists. He hates how much he cares, hates how much mind space it’s taking up for him. But mostly, he hates that it might be true.

When Kaya had agreed to come to London, his nerves had eased slightly. But the curtness of her response still stayed in his mind, as though she had suddenly decided to do something. It’s occurred to him more than once that she might be coming just to end this in person. It doesn’t seem like something she would do, but he’s also been forced to admit that he doesn’t know her well enough to be sure of that.

The traffic is crazy.

Namjoon exhales shakily at her text and is about to reply when another message pops up.

Should be about twenty minutes now.

Damn there’s a road closure.

Might be quicker to walk.

Okay, I’m walking.

See you in a few.

The messages appear in rapid succession and Namjoon scans them quickly, realising that she’d probably lost signal somewhere along the way. Based on the time stamps, she should be arriving any minute now.

His head snaps up to look in both directions in front of the hotel. It’s started to drizzle now; Namjoon runs a hand through his hair and feels the hairspray having faded away, leaving damp strands of hair to fall on his forehead. He exhales; if she’s coming to end this, he’s not ready. If she isn’t, then he knows, finally, what he’s going to do.

It’s only about two minutes later, but it feels like a lifetime that he’s been waiting to see Kaya again. He spots her at the end of the street, dressed in jeans and a slim, grey blazer. Her boots splash softly in the tiny puddles as she walks and her head is tilted up at the buildings across the street, as though looking for a landmark. Behind her is a compact suitcase being pulled on wheels, rolling smoothly on the concrete.

Namjoon’s heart leaps at the sight of her. She’s frowning, though; he hopes it’s out of concentration and tiredness. As she gets closer, he notices her long hair slightly wavy, as though wet in the drizzle. She must be cold; he makes a mental note to offer a hot shower as soon as they go inside.

Kaya looks straight ahead then - and her face breaks into a smile. It lights up and Namjoon knows he isn’t imagining it. He tries to ignore the hope igniting inside of him and tugs at his tie to loosen it. It’s now or never; he can’t risk feeling like this for a moment longer or he’s afraid it might kill him.

Four feet away from him, she pauses momentarily to straighten her suitcase and let go of it, continuing her stride towards him. The smile has faded and her expression is blazing, Disney princess eyes locking onto his. She looks more determined than ever and all other thoughts leave Namjoon’s mind.

“Please tell me you’re not dating this Damien person,” he blurts out desperately, noting how she flashes him a breathless smile.

“No,” she answers, a moment before she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. Namjoon’s arms go around her automatically, memorising her exact shape and feel against him. It takes him a moment to remember to be relieved; it’s just her lips and her hair and her beautiful, familiar, incredible form back in his arms and in his life.

Kaya pulls away first, panting a bit and tossing her long hair out of her eyes, her arms still around him. “Why? You want to date me instead?”

“Yes,” he says instantly. His heart skips a beat at that smile again, almost blinding him, and he takes it. “Yes,” he repeats, bringing one hand to her face and kissing her again, murmuring the same word against her lips. “Yes, yes, yes…”

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

#namjoon x oc #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #bangtantheatrenet #bangtanbathhouse #micdropnet #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #wkcnet #hyunglinenetwork

78 notes · View notes

definitelynotshouting · 2 years ago

Note

hi tem!! 72, 77, 78!!

Ask me fanfic writer questions!

Omg hello!!! Eidnwjdjdj i shouldve guessed i'd get 77 immediately 😂😂😂😂

72.) what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Generally im almost always aiming for serious on some level, tbh-- thats my favorite thing to write about!! Even while writing comedy, i tend to go for more serious undertones; in the case that im going intentionally for pure humor, though, and the scene comes out a little more serious than intended, i try to dial it back by focusing on banter, adding a bit of humor to the narration itself, and essentially laying the scene out in a way that's intentionally meant to draw your attention to whats supposed to be funny.

On the whole, though, serious scenes are my JAM and i adore writing them, so its not often i run into this problem!!

77.) how do you write kissing scenes?

OH BOY. OKAY. this is the point, i suppose, where i mention the Kissing Seminar.

The Kissing Seminar is a very informal discussion i held in one of my discord servers and later transcribed to a google doc when the topic of how to write kisses came up. Full disclosure: i kiss a lot. I love kissing. Ive kissed a ton of people in my life and i kiss my partner constantly. So when im writing kisses, i am pulling DIRECTLY from my own experiences on how it feels and how i do it (and sometimes i do need refreshers; last time i wrote a kiss i had to pause, kiss my partner for a minute, and then go back to writing. Partner reported being INCREDIBLY confused by the abruptness but was pleased to receive smooches until the next day when i informed them of why, and then they hit me with a pillow SJDNEJDJEJJS 😂😂😂😂)

Anyway, the Kissing Seminar is something ive been meaning to pretty up and post for public consumption time and time again, but havent yet because its just so currently low on the priority list. But it details HOW to kiss, and what to expect, and some options for how to write it if you want to go for something more detailed rather than just saying "they smooched". As a tl;dr, its generally all about body placement, rhythm, and emotions-- and the intermingling between them. If you want to write good kisses, focus on all three of these things, and it'll help you out a lot

78.) how do you choose where to end a chapter?

I go off of instinct, mostly!!! Usually i try to keep my chapters all to a similar length (so for hunger au, im aiming for 4-5k each time), and because i know how long most of my scenes take (about 1-2k depending) im able to round off where things should stop after a certain amount of scenes have been written. Sometimes its not precise, though-- last chapter of litd was meant to have the Pearl conversation fully in it, but Tango ended up being the primary focus, and i couldnt really edit that out without sacrificing a lot. So as soon as i found a good stopping place, i went ahead and finished the chapter.

Good stopping places for me are where a scene naturally ends and begins to transition into a new one-- think like movie clips, or scenes in a play. To continue using hunger au chap 4 as an example, the final "clip" so to speak started with Tango and Grian on the couch, and ended with Tango leaving the set while Pearl took his place. I found this to be a really good natural stopping point for the chapter, because Pearl and Grian's convo is very different from the way Tango and Grian's went, so it requires a different tone and new atmosphere to fully delve into that. I find that when the tone of a scene changes, or something new is happening, or time is shown to have passed in some way, these are naturally good places to stop a chapter.

I think this is often why people will choose to end their chapters with their characters falling asleep-- its a natural transition that people instinctively recognize as moving things forward, so it acts as a way to separate one scene from the next. The problem with relying on that alone though is that it can become very repetitive, so its important to be able to start pinpointing all your transition sentences or paragraphs so you can find other places and ways to end chapters and add in some variety

As with all things, though, this isnt a hard and fast rule; i can think of several ways one might want to lean on that for thematic purposes, or using it as a motif, or just a particular expression of style. Really what it comes down to is what you want from your story, and the best ways to achieve that; a good editor in particular will help you find a way to do that. Wkdnwke sorry this became sort of a very extended ramble, but as a professional editor and a longtime writer i find the subject fascinating and feel like mechanics like this arent really talked about often enough. Anyway thank you for listening to my little soapbox if you read all the way through, and thank you so much for the questions!!!!! :DD

#shouting speaks #asks #ask game #THISS GOT SO LONGGGG IM SO SORRY #long post #writing #hunger au #figured i'd tag that since im discussing parts of it in depth here #anyway uhhhh if anyone ever wants to ask me questions on writing mechanics i will be so happy to ramble #i have saur many thoughts and i love analyzing how these things work #<- autism special interest is winning today fr fr #txt

16 notes · View notes

anghraine · 1 year ago

Note

I'm applying for a scholarship to the US and attempting to major in literature and literary criticism. They're asking for a writing sample of an essay 10 pages long, and I'm considering using Tolkien's works for the analysis. What would you advise me to do? Is Tolkien appreciated in the literature world and amongst scholars?

This is probably a question that's best put to an academic advisor of some kind, if you have access to one. There are a lot of variables that can affect what the best advice for you would be. Doing my best, though:

Tolkien studies is certainly a thing in US academia. I had a medievalist professor who adored Tolkien's translations and I took three different Tolkien courses throughout my undergrad. I got into my master's program with a Tolkien paper I'd delivered at a conference, for instance, and wrote another (related) Tolkien paper for one of my PhD seminars.

However, Tolkien studies is relatively young in academic terms. I think it took the academic world some time to warm up to Tolkien the fantasy writer (...in common with most fantasy writers tbh, though LOTR has accrued enough cachet at this point that it's better off than many). And it's been such an uphill battle for the field that the scholarship tended towards the very defensive for a long time (less so now than ten years ago, but it still inclines that way IMO). So, in my experience—and those who have passed beyond my current dissertation hell probably know better than I do—Tolkien himself is generally acknowledged as a major figure at this point and at least, worth writing about. But Tolkien studies is sometimes (often justifiably) seen as hit and miss when it comes to academic rigor.

In any case, the general advice I would give to most people in this kind of circumstance would be to submit your best literary criticism (the best you have written or the best you can see yourself writing) regardless of what it's on. It's been pretty overwhelmingly my experience that what they're looking for is the quality of the research, analysis, and writing, and they're less likely to be concerned with the respectability of your subject unless that's in some way pertinent to the application.

#anon replies #respuestas #ivory tower blogging #legendarium blogging #long post

9 notes · View notes

daughterofhecata · 1 year ago

Text

20 Questions For Fic Writers

I was tagged by @a-different-equation, thank you for that!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

...520, as of right now.

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

Right now it's 916,952 words. If I can get somewhat out of this writing slump, I should be able to crack the 1mil next year.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Drei Fragezeichen/Three Investigators pretty much exclusively (506/520) with the occasional Tatort (Berlin) fic thrown in.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Don't tell him! (DDF, Peter/Bob)

Eine Studie in Flurfunk (Tatort Saarbrücken, Leo/Adam)

comfort (Kingsman, Eggsy/Merlin)

Truth or Dare (Criminal Minds, Derek/Spencer) (don't look at this one. it's bad.)

the answering to every prayer i prayed (DDF, PB&J)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yep! Love it! Because fic writing is also about community and i love talking to people about fic!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

...probably 9mm, although some of the oneshots in the sometimes suffering is just suffering collection probably aren't much better (special mention for Kammerspiel, I guess.). If you go look at these, please mind the tags.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write a lot of fluffy shit and I do love my happy endings, two fics that specifically come to mind are Vegas Wedding (Peter/Skinny wedding) and weil dieses timing immer irgendwas gegen uns hat (Cotta/Victor, who meet five times over the years but the timing is only right the sixth time and they're so so relieved they finally get to be together).

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

I got one weird comment a long time ago that boiled down to "trans!Cotta is unrealistic and not canon" (okay, chill?) and more recently (i think earlier this year or late last year) someone going "please block me so I don't have to see your fics anymore" (dude, just exclude me from the search???) but apart from that it's been quiet, although there do seem to be some people in the broader fandom that absolutely loathe me (or so I've been told xD).

9. Do you write smut?

*looks at the past two years' Kink January fills* *looks at the current Kink January fills I should be writing* ...sometimes? xD

10. Do you write crossovers?

Don't think I have yet. Although there is a poem in my drafts that I wrote for a Creative Writing seminar that parallels Lolita and Persephone, I guess that counts as a crossover in ao3 terms?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked me a long time ago on ff.net if they could translate one of my johnlock fics but idk if they ever posted it. Also my little brother used to translate my johnlock fic into german for english practice xD

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Well, we started something last year, but I've never finished/published a co-written fic.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

...you can't ask me that. I can't possibly answer that.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

...there are a lot of those. Let's all keep our fingers crossed I'll eventually finish the perfect part about it is: it's all that i've got because I'm actually still mad passionate about it.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Dialogue, I like to think.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Long fic, no discussion. I'm decent at oneshots and short-ish multi-chaps, but real actual long fic is a battle.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Sure! Love it! Currently it's mostly the occasional french phrase for Victor, but there is abandoned Inglourious Basterds fic on my hard drive where the dialogue switched between English, German, and French.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

It's still out of hell, I'm pretty sure. Necessary Tragedies is also up there tho.

Tagging (no pressure tho): @crazy-walls, @peppsta, @alintheshitposter, @manahiel, @lalalenii & @pointwhitmark.

#i was tagged #thanks again!#this was fun!#kaj rambles #my stories #seriously tho. don't go look at the criminal minds fic. you can read the kingsman fic although i'd advise against it.#also we all know why 'don't tell him!' is my most kudos'd fic don't we 🙃

3 notes · View notes

phlistopher · 7 months ago

Text

LIR-Arg!

I wrote a humor column in college for the Hofstra Chronicle under the pseudonym Silence Doless, a nod to Benjamin Franklin I didn't come up with.

I was very proud of this work at the time. It's all very Hofstra specific, and the mid 2000s. Against my better judgement, I've decided to republish the series here.

This is the second column, and I have noted that it was originally published September 17th, 2007, but that was when the first column was published, so who knows. Commentary at the end.

Over the long weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Sarah Lawrence College, an all around better school than Hofstra. Why, you may foolishly ask? Because they offer a seminar called “Lube It Up”, that’s why. Who doesn’t want to be a part of that? The only thing at Hofstra that comes close to being that slick is your local Dude-Guy’s hair, which is decidedly less appealing, especially in the current context.

However, this week’s column is not about Sarah Lawrence. Sure they have a beautiful campus, progressive classes, and a six-dollar buffet with everything from waffles you make yourself to real eggs, but what I really want to talk about is how I got there. Yes folks, I’m talking about the Long Island Railroad.

Everyone who goes to Hofstra has been on it, and if you haven’t there is a good chance you don’t go to New York City often, in which case you should stop being such a huge townie. But I digress. I don’t care what you do; your experience on the LIRR is always going to involve adventure. And by adventure I mean black holes of logic. Here’s how a typical LIRR riding day goes.

You’re all set to go, but for some reason you don’t have a ride (i.e. your car is in the shop, your roommate is away, and the cab is fifty dollars), so you take the blue beetle. After the pain in your ass subsides from being bounced two and a half feet in the air after every bump for twenty minutes, you quickly realize that you have to pee for much the same reason. So you waddle to the bathroom only to find that it’s closed after 1pm. Also, the train you were trying to catch departed five minutes ago, meaning you’ll have to wait almost an hour for the next one. For some reason, Hofstra decided it was in the best interest of their students to time the buses so that you always miss the train. So, squeezing your thighs and feeling like the victim of some elaborate Rabinowitzian conspiracy, you sit down to wait.

What happens in the time between when you sit down and when you get on the train largely depends on whether you’re in Minneola or Hempstead station. In these modern days, Hofstra is nice enough to send the blue beetle to Minneola. Nobody knows when, but if you’re lucky enough to stumble upon that magical time frame, you will doubtless spend your waiting period admiring the day, the people, and the surprising lack of chewing gum on the floor. If, however, you end up at Hempstead, not only will you wonder at the surprising amount of chewing gum on the floor, you will also see something weird. My first time at Hempstead station, I watched a full-grown man floss his teeth with his ticket for well over five minutes.

Finally you get on the train, and by this time you really have to pee. You sniff yourself after you sit at the window of a three-seater and no one sits next to you, then proceed to fall asleep. Later, you are invariably woken up by the automated stop announcer screaming, “Holis!” The auto announcer hates Holis, and every time he has to say it the fact just makes him angry. You can hear it in his voice. Holis must have done something awful to the auto announcer. I’d do an investigative report, but it’s probably some dirty Long Island Railroad secret and I’d end up getting whacked by the mob…come on pseudonym, protect me!

So anyway, you finally get off the train and rush to the public restroom in Penn Station. The stench is so overwhelming that it seems that of the thousands of people who use it daily, none of them hit the toilet, and so ends your odyssey. That is, until you have to come back.

Yet the Long Island Railroad needs our love, just like anything else. We need to care for it, nourish it, and push it on its way. Just a little something extra to make those wheels turn, to loosen those pumps, and to maybe make the auto announcer say a nice word or two about Holis. When you come right down to it, all the LIRR needs is a little lube.

Woof, I really loved run on sentences. Sounds like I was really stretching to find something to be pissed about. I had plenty of things, but I wasn’t touching the real stuff. “Rabinowitzian” is a reference to then Hofstra president Stuart Rabinowitz. The execution needs work, but I still like the concept of the “Holis” joke. The dude really does yell that stop and no others.

0 notes

moonlit-aura · 4 months ago

Text

This is pretty long, I'm really sorry, but I felt the need to write this as an academic who capital-S Struggled with writing in that mode. Maybe it'll help someone else with similar struggles. If it makes it better, it's a bit of a story time. Would put in Subway Surfers somewhere here if I could.

After I wrote my BA thesis, I wasn't happy with it. Yes, mostly because I procrastinated way too much and had like three weeks to write an incredibly dense academic text at least 30 pages long on academic discourse, mass media, Hegelian dialectics, Marxism and the timeline of the OceanGate incident - here's a tip, guys, don't leave things crucial to your degree for the nebulous later.

But here's the thing. I also wasn't happy because the parts I understood well, I felt like I had to obfuscate, make the language describing them more dense to be acceptable. It is what our Writing class entailed - making sure your text has all the important beats, what it says in that many arguments with that many points in each, in this specific way.

As a person who's dipped more than not into academic writing but also writes regular old creative writing-adjacent prose, it was pretty devastating for me to not like this stupid thesis that ended up being 70 pages long. I love writing and express myself through it but I kind of hated what I put so much effort into. My thesis statement was long. My title - even longer. I wanted to sigh every time I told someone what it is and they reacted with a 'geez' or a 'god' - because yes, I'll be the first to admit that 'Linguistic Image of Class Conflict in the Context of Reactions in Contemporary Mass Media to the OceanGate Titan Submersible Incident' is not the handiest of titles, but c'mon, it's about something interesting that can say a lot about many fields of study and our society as a whole. And it's not like I had a choice, since my thesis supervisor basically sat with me and polished it into this form, one of the only few contributions he actually made to help me.

When I started my MA, during our first thesis seminar class, my professor told us to forget everything we were told about academic writing - the proper, ivory towers one. She told us that our writing is by no means supposed to be flowery and descriptive like creative writing but that it's not meant to be mind-boggling to anyone not in-the-know, either - and maybe the ones in-the-know, too.

"When you write," she told us. "think of why you're doing this. You're not trying to show you know things. The goal of writing, and specifically of academic writing, is to convey information. We all agree on that, you know this."

This was true. Most of us studied English at the same university beforehand to get our BAs, which means that unless we took a gap year, we most likely would've attended her General Linguistics lectures during our first year. It was the only exam I approached with no fear because she was that good of a professor that I just remembered all those different facts even though I went to university to study English translation, not straight up linguistics. (I wasn't aware how closely related the two were at the time.)

Eventually, we all came to the conclusion that if the brain categorizes a text as something to decipher, it will focus on that instead of taking in any new information within it. We then went slide by slide through paragraphs of awfully dense academic writing and, using the list she familiarized us with, pointed out ways to improve it not by making it more fancy or complex, but by simplifying it - technically subtracting, but not taking away from it. It felt freeing, in a way - like tearing through every sentence in my stupid BA thesis that I want to be proud of but know no one would ever read for fun, that not even my thesis supervisor felt like looking through and helping me fix; like throwing to the ground all the arbitrary rules you're not allowed to break because BA students are meant to follow, not innovate but that make most give up by the time they get their BA; like tearing to shreds the fact that we were told by so many professors of the subject that there are simply too many essays to check closely, especially when it comes to exams, so they're just skimmed for all the important elements and fitting words, and proper word count. It was, overall, extremely cathartic.

Then my professor summed up the whole thing this class was leading up to.

"You get the privilege of being humanities students - language students." She didn't say translation students but she didn't really have to. We were used to the idea of having to adapt things from one mode to another and adjusting its tone appropriately, enough to pass the entrance exam anyway. "So you learn about this. Most disciplines don't. Medical academic writing is awful to read and that approach is seen as something you're supposed to do. Almost no one tells STEM students all this."

(She'd probably know, now that i think about it - a few months after that we'd uncover insane lore about her husband who is apparently a quantum physicist or something. A published one too.)

We discussed this. Most of it could be boiled down to classism and ostracism. Of perpetuating the attempts to keep your circle of expertise small, an elite. Some other parts of it to the fact that some discourse connected to specific fields - medical, legal, scientific - is way easier to twist like that with all of the vocabulary that's all big and important, and how it feels fitting to change verbs like 'mutating' to respective nouns like 'mutation', or have sentences do loop-de-loops and say the same thing three times in different words. How big scary chemicals or small but equally scary particles, and vaguely regular-sized body parts and the illnesses connected to them in very, very scary Latin make it really easy to make your writing veer into the area of incomprehensibility. Every single 'now say that in English' joke has its source here.

So here's a rule I thought of, for myself - would what I'm currently writing, my MA thesis, be understandable to my self from a few years ago, from when I started university, from when I was convinced you can translate without getting all messy with linguistics? Would she get what I'm trying to convey? Would she want to read it? I think that things like explaining the meaning of the word 'hypoalgesic' that I have to leave in because it's a part of a citation from the nefarious Stephens et al. 2009: 1056 and not leaving it unexplained because I'm soooo smart and know what it means but you - the recipient - don't (it means 'pain-relieving', by the way), or that the still a bit chunky title is softened by adding on "Double whammy:" at the beginning of it would help a lot.

Write something you can be seriously proud of. Write something you don't sigh about whenever you think about it. Remember why exactly you're doing it, for whom and for what. Think about explaining it to your family, or friends, or someone you care about, and write it like that. Understandable, not scary. Approachable. Maybe with a curve of understanding but isn't explaining why the sky is blue to a child the same? When you write a paper, you are, first and foremost, a guide weaving a story.

Remember: humanity invented written language to tell stories, and that's still what we're doing.

#academia #writing #walkie talkie #biiiiig walkie talkie #so sorry #long post #reblog #the horrors of reconciling with loving writing but hating writing but loving writing but hating writing but

23K notes · View notes

twistednuns · 2 years ago

Text

February 2023

Though your destination is not yet clear / You can trust the promise of this opening; / Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning / That is at one with your life's desire. / Awaken your spirit to adventure; / Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk; / Soon you will home in a new rhythm, / For your soul senses the world that awaits you. - JOHN O'DONOHUE

Solange Knowles' loft / interview for Apartamento.

24 hours of meditation. Which isn't all that much for 3 months (okay, more than 100 days by now) but imagining doing it all in one sitting is pretty cool. This whole "don't break the chain" thing just helps me to keep going so I haven't missed a day so far.

Petting the goats with Dorie. Talking to the birds. Matcha Latte, no sugar. Cheesecake with poppyseeds. Sketching. A quick escape due to overstimulation. Shopping. Ending up with a sports top as yellow as egg yolk. A yoga pad. And amaretti morbidi. Then we played three rounds of pool in a studio with starry, sparkly glitter walls. I pulled my coolest move and Do took a picture. She couldn't laugh after her wisdom teeth surgery so I taught her to hold up a finger each time she wanted to smile. Her stern face had made me feel too insecure.

Baking orange muffins with Lena and Sash. Grating the zest. Juicing. I'd arrived with a big basket full of art supplies so we just sat round the dining table for a few hours, painting. It felt like art therapy. I noticed how still I become. I can't really talk when I'm in the zone. I loved my results and the swirly, colourful technique I came up with that day. Afterwards we stole some of Christian's espresso and whiskey cheese and had patatas bravas for dinner. I drove Sash home and we talked about going on a little holiday together the following week.

The court employee telling me I could just give my brother a written mandate and immediately escape from here. Liberating.

Therapy. Twelve more gifted extension minutes. Sometimes it feels like she actually enjoys talking to me. She even wrote down the movie I'd mentioned, Girl, Interrupted, perhaps because I'd said that I see myself as the Angelina Jolie character in this story. Unsuccessful shopping. Dinner and (unsuccessful) pub quiz with Margit.

Another heartwarming short story by Robin Sloan. I simply adore this writer and his manifold hobbies and niche interests.

I decided to check out the pub quiz at the local Irish pub on my own. I just wanted to sit at the bar and hear the questions - but I noticed someone playing alone and asked him if I could support him! So we played together and talked about or lives and travels. I'm just kinda proud that I chatted up a random stranger and it was ok - nobody laughed at me or rudely refused to talk to me. All these fears and insecurities, the worst case scenarios I act out in my head... that's what's actually torturing me. Doing the thing rarely is. Fuck anxiety.

My tears left a beautiful salt stain on the black laptop.

Getting a chest massage. I've been having so many stress symptoms in this area, a lot of pain and tension... so this was just a really good idea.

Surviving two consecutive yoga classes. Interestingly, Vinyasa was easier for me than Moon Hatha because we had to hold difficult positions for a very long time. You know it's tough when you wanna kill your instructor for saying things like we stay here for five more breath cycles... Uh, the aggression. The theme that evening was digestion - both physical and emotional. And one of the ladies applied tiger balm to everyone's neck and give us a tiny massage! / Very chill Saturday Yin yoga, mostly with my eyes closed. But my knee is mad at me not and has started to hurt again.

A new business idea. I wanna open my very own "Heilanstalt". Something like a yoga centre with all kinds of classes and courses that are beneficial for a person's wellbeing and mental healt. Art classes, mediation, breathwork, seminars and lectures... a few therapy animals here and there. Everyone keeps saying that this would basically just be like continuing my mum's mission and I don't know how I feel about that.

Making giant eggplant/halloumi burgers for breakfast (and dinner). I even caramelised onions and bought mayo.

Vintage shopping at Hab&Gut (even though I wished for a regular clothing size once again, it's so sad to leave cool items at the store because they just don't fit you). Finding a very cool dark green trench coat... not sure if I should get it? But the other day I bought a cool zigzag blouse in my favourite colours and a brand new green fake fur jacket. I hope it'll keep me warm in Iceland.

Lena and Sash visited me for brunch and I made pancakes and tropical porridge for everyone. Then we walked to the city centre and got fancy chocolates (pistachio nougat) and cheeses (truffle pecorino and Mimolette). On our way home we stopped at the vegan café (where I wrote something magically uplifting in the toilet guestbook) and I managed to be back in time for yoga.

Reactivating my Netflix account for a Sunday on the sofa. I devoured all the available snacks and watched the new season of You. After the fifth episode I noticed disappointed that the second part won't be published until March.

Finding out that my mum's coins and jewellery are worth more than her car. Nice.

My magic wand broke on Valentine's Day. Just stopped working. Zap. I don't know why this is a good thing. Hm, probably because I find it very funny. The irony, eh?

Watching the entire second season of Kärlek & Anarki in one go. The Skandinavian fashion and design are excellent. Also, I'm not sure what kind of lover I want more: A femme fatale who just won the Nobel prize for literature or a young IT guy who's telling me what to do via post-it notes.

I finally finished writing my reviews for 2021 and 2022. Phew.

Journalling on the train to Merano. Looking out the window, seeing the mountains come closer. Listening to The Sugarcubes/Sykurmolarnir, Björk's old band (Sash told me about them; I really appreciate her cool taste - she keeps showing me new and interesting things). Björk has been a recurring theme ever since I bought a tote bag with her portrait in a feminist bookstore in Mexico City. She was mentioned in the book I'm reading. And in Bologna, I even saw a bus with an advertisement for her upcoming Cornucopia tour (I really wanna go).

Deep Talk over pizza and red wine in a vinoteca in Italy. We talked about my writing, lists, my dead mum.

The weather in Italy was so mild and sunny, almost like spring. I wanted to go outside without a jacket, hop on my imaginary Vespa and meet friends for Apéro.

Stucco clay. I love the warm atmosphere it gives a room.

The thermal pools in Merano. Jiggling all we got in a narrow infinity pool, checking our reflection in a glass wall. Falling asleep in the resting area. Sauna. Hot and cold salt water outside.

Losing my phone. Finding it again.

Leaning back in an armchair after meditation. Looking out the window behind me, the light hitting my face. Sunshine, a pretty apartment. Life is better than I tend to think.

Finding Ich bin dein Mensch in ARD Mediathek. I really liked the movie and Maren Eggert's acting/character.

A scenic trail up the hills surrounding Merano. A lovely view, meeting lizards and the grumpiest cat. I love the contrast of the palm trees in the sunshine against the snow covered mountains in the distance.

Italians call their train lines pop and rock. When I saw this I thought... hm, there should be jazz too, right? And indeed, one our way to Florence I actually saw a jazz train. Amusing.

Espresso con fior di latte - what a revelation. We also tried it with zabaione and vanilla custard with pine nuts.

Ice cream with salty roasted pistachios at Cremeria Santo Stefano in Bologna. Caffè Bianco was amazing, too.

Ordering a bunch of delicious Tigelle, a Pignoletto and a Green Spritz. I love finding new food and drinks I've never tasted before.

The beautiful wall art in that Brazilian Fusion restaurant we found by chance. I think the restaurant was in an old church and our table must have been in the altar room.

Staying at a super old-school hotel with chandeliers and velvet sofas. Carpet everywhere. Luggage carts and page boys. Opulent breakfast buffet.

My hunch for interesting exhibitions. I keep finding cool spots like that Spanish video installation in an old church in Bologna and the Gucci Archetypes gallery in Florence.

The Neptune statue at Piazza della Signoria. Surprisingly good butt.

Truffle Tagliolini. Just pasta, butter and fresh truffle. Delicious.

Visiting a cheese dairy in Parma where they make Parmigiano Reggiano. Mattia talked us through all the steps of cheesemaking and I fed and petted a few of the cows. I learned that they have surprisingly long tongues. And that these days a lot of Indian families are working in Italian dairies to take care of the cows (apparently because they treat the animals so much better since cows are sacred in India...) We bought half a kilo of 50-month old cheese to take home. I love it when the old cheese has already formed lots of little crystals.

We had a whole train compartment in first class to ourselves on the way from Bologna to Munich and folded out all the seats. We ended up with a comfy lounge area, ate all the snacks and actually fell asleep a few times in the dim light. When we stopped at Brennero for a while I woke up, it was warm and dark and I noticed some eerie sounds coming from the train. Very musical. Felt special.

And in general: Having a room all to myself. A cinema, a lane at the swimming pool, a sauna, a train compartment... I'm always so happy when that happens.

I guess 2023 is the year I'm turning into a sauna person. I used to hate it but the other day I sat through two "events" (someone pours water and aromatic oils on the hot stones to create more heat and steam) and kinda get the appeal. They even give you extras like honey for your face or cold towels. There's music and the guy fans the hot air all around you. I love jumping into the ice cold pond afterwards and when I get out my skin prickles. Or I pour a bucket of ice water over my head. I shouldn't be surprised. I mean... I'm a Taurus and I've always loved water so why wouldn't I like a place like that. Warmth, falling asleep in a pillow nest, getting coffee and snacks, back to the sauna - sounds like me.

Trying a new Frank smoothie that tastes like Almighurt with marzipan and poppy seeds. Yum.

Free dolmades in my veggie kebab.

My therapist managed to sign me up for long-term therapy. 36 more sessions. Which is a good thing. Therapy is my hobby. AND she realised today that I didn't believe I could be cured. That I'm convinced I'm too broken. But she said I could be fixed! Healed! I just need to learn a few lessons I missed when I was a kid. Sounds promising.

Dopamine Nation was such an interesting read. I learned about the pleasure/pain balance so I'm seriously considering a dopamine fast now.

Learning many interesting things in Iceland. That they're running hot water pipes under the tarmac to melt the snow and ice (everything runs on geothermal energy). And the astronauts on the Apollo mission did their training for the moon on Iceland's lava fields. It's THAT otherworldly. And there are auroras on Jupiter! I loved learning about the science behind auroras in the planetarium.

And I actually saw a pretty spectacular Aurora Borealis one night. A moment later, the dude next to me got down on his knees and proposed to his girlfriend (she said yes).

The Icelandic countryside was amazing. We saw seals, a whale spine, ponies. All the waterfalls. A geysir. Lava fields, mountains and rivers. Cliffs, elf stones, black lava beaches. A crater lake and a large fissure between the Eurasian and American tectonic plates.

More random joy: Vintage stores. Taking pictures on rainbow street. Cool art. Writing postcards. Walking through an artificial ice cave. A super friendly feline Reykjavík resident. Zooming around on e-scooters for the first time. Discovering a tiny thermal foot bath during a walk to the lighthouse. Lounging in the warm water at SkyLagoon.

#february #2023 #february 2023 #personal #present perfect #things i love

0 notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Text

"Ist es zu viel verlangt in meinem eigenen Zimmer alleine sein zu wollen?" Madrigal drehte sich von dem Spiegel weg und zu der Ungewollten, die die Türe leise hinter sich schloss. "Du musst mir nicht überall hin folgen. Ob du es glaubst oder nicht, ich bin in der Lage meine Koffer selbst zu packen."

Die Ungewollte zog eine Augenbraue hoch und ließ den Blick demonstrativ über den Haufen von Kleidern, die auf Boden und Bett verstreut waren, den Fächer den Madrigal achtlos auf der Kommode abgelegt hatte und den Spiegel, über den sie hastig ein Tuch geworfen hatte, schweifen.

"Das sehe ich," sagte die Ungewollte trocken. "Aber Ihr wisst, dass ich nicht hier bin, um Euch bei solchen Kleinigkeiten zu helfen." Die Ungewollte kam näher, bedacht darauf, nicht auf die Kleider zu treten. Ihre unmenschlichen Augen waren unverwandt auf Madrigal geheftet, als wolle sie durch sie hindurch in ihr Innerstes Blicken. "Ihr solltet nicht alleine gehen. Man kann nie wissen, wer einem zur Bedrohung werden kann."

Die Stimme der Ungewollten war sanft, beinahe besorgt, doch ihre Worte ließen einen Schauder über Madrigals Rücken fahren. Ohne es zu wollen, wich sie zurück, bis sie mit dem Rücken direkt vor dem verdeckten Spiegel stand.

"Ich brauche dich nicht," sagte sie und reckte das Kinn trotzig nach oben. "Ich kann auf mich selbst aufpassen."

"Könnt Ihr das?" Die Ungewollte legte den Kopf zur Seite. "Es ist meine Aufgabe Euch zu beschützen."

Und es ist meine Aufgabe den König, dem du dienst zu stürzen.

Madrigal schnaubte und verzog ihre Lippen zu einem selbstsicheren Lächeln, obwohl ihr Herz raste und sie den Schweiß ihrer Hände an ihrem Kleid abwischen musste.

"Wenn dir meine Sicherheit so am Herzen liegt, dann gib mir eine Waffe und ich bin sicher."

Ein unlesbarer Ausdruck trat in die Augen der Ungewollten. Für einen unangenehm langen Moment, starrte sie Madrigal nur unbewegt an, dann griff sie an ihren Gürtel und zog den Dolch aus der Scheide, ohne den Madrigal sie noch nie gesehen hatte, auch wenn dies das erste Mal war, dass er in Madrigal Gegenwart gezogen wurde. Madrigal blinzelte verwirrt, als die Ungewollte ihr den Dolch zudrehte, vorsichtig darauf bedacht, die Klinge nicht zu berühren.

"Gut. Beweist mir, dass Ihr Euch verteidigen könnt."

Zögerlich nahm Madrigal den Dolch, der ungewohnt in ihrer Hand lag, die sich automatisch um ihn schloss, wie um ihren Geigenbogen.

"Das ist Eisen.” Sie starrte ungläubig auf Waffe. "Du vertraust mir mit einer eisernen Waffe?"

"Ich vertraue auf Eure Unfähigkeit." Die Mundwinkel der Ungewollten zuckten und ihr Blick haftete an Madrigals Halt an dem lederumwickelten Griff der Waffe. "Wenn Ihr es schafft, mich zu verletzen, dann habe ich die Wunde verdient und lasse Euch alleine gehen."

Madrigals Atem stockte. In keiner Welt würde sie es schaffen gegen ihre Wächterin anzukommen. Aber sie hatte keine Wahl. Sie umschloss den Dolch fester mit den Fingern und trat näher an die Ungewollte, den Dolch auf ihren Bauch gerichtet. Die Ungewollte schnaubte halb verächtlich, halb amüsiert. Mit einer unmenschlich schnellen Bewegung griff sie nach dem geschlossenen Fächer auf der Kommode und hielt ihn wie ein Messer vor sich. Ihr ganzer Körper war angespannt. Trotz ihrer lächerlichen Waffe wirkte sie wie eine Raubkatze, die sich bereit machte, sich auf ihre Beute zu stürzten. Ihre Nordlicht-Augen waren verengt zu Schlitzen, Entschlossenheit brannte in ihnen – der Blick eines Kämpfers, der keine Gnade kannte.

Madrigal verkrampfte sich, ihre Brust schnürte sich zusammen, sie konnte nicht mehr atmen. Sie war wieder ein Kind, zu klein um sich selbst zu schützen, zu ängstlich um zu wissen, wohin sie rannte, nur fort – fort von den Flammen, die ihr Haus zu Asche werden ließen, fort von den Schreien derer, die aus ihren Heimen gezerrt wurden, fort von ihren Eltern, die ihr versprochen hatten, dass sie zu ihr zurückkommen würden. Das einzige Versprechen, dass sie jemals gebrochen hatten.

Madrigal handelte ohne nachzudenken. Sie machte einen Ausfallschritt nach vorne, den Dolch in der zitternden Hand so fest umklammert, dass ihre Knöchel weiß hervortraten. Noch während sie auf den Bauch der Ungewollten zielte, bereute sie es. Sie wollte niemanden töten, selbst nicht die eine Person, die ihr mehr als alle anderen im Wege stand. Sie war nicht mehr das Kind, das sie damals gewesen war. Sie war nicht hilflos und sie war nicht in Gefahr – noch nicht. Nicht solange niemand herausfand, wer sie war. Dennoch schoss der Dolch nach vorne, unaufhaltsam. Tödlich.

Der Dolch glitt an der Lederrüstung der Ungewollten ab, die sich blitzschnell zur Seite drehte. Der Fächer fuhr auf Madrigal herab, traf sie zwischen Nacken und Schulter. Der Schlag ließ ein Gefühl wie Nadeln, die sich in ihre Haut bohrten, durch den Arm fahren. Dann verlor sie jegliches Gefühl im Arm. Sie konnte nichts dagegen tun, dass sich ihre betäubten Finger von dem Dolch lösten, der klappernd zu Boden viel. In einem aussichtslosen Versuch, die Ungewollte zu Fall zu bringen, griff Madrigal mit ihrer noch funktionierenden Hand nach dem Kragen der Ungewollten, doch diese ließ den Fächer wieder nach vorne schnellen und öffnete ihn in einer flüssigen Bewegung direkt vor Madrigals Gesicht.

Madrigal hatte keine Zeit zu realisieren, was geschah. Sie kniff die Augen zusammen, und bevor sie wusste, was passierte, verlor sie das Gleichgewicht. Sie ließ die Ungewollte los und klammerte sich stattdessen an das Nächstbeste, was sie zu fassen bekam. Das Tuch, das den Spiegel verdeckte. Sie riss es mit sich herunter, als sie zu Boden ging. Madrigals Hand ballte den Stoff zusammen. Ihr Blick war starr auf den Spiegel gerichtet. Ihr Herz klopfte ihr im Hals und sie flehte stumm, dass die Ungewollte nicht in den Spiegel blicken würde. Bevor Madrigal das Tuch erneut über den Spiegel werfen konnte, legte sich etwas Kaltes an ihre Kehle. Der Dolch, den Madrigal fallen gelassen hatte, lag ruhig in der Hand der Ungewollten, auf Madrigals Hals gerichtet. Langsam hob die Ungewollte Madrigals Kinn mit dem Dolch an, sodass Madrigal gezwungen war, den Blick vom Spiegel loszureißen und in ihr Gesicht zu blicken. Die Ungewollte schaute von oben auf sie herab mit der Andeutung eines Lächelns.

“Glaubt Ihr noch immer, dass Ihr euch selbst schützen könnt?” Die Ungewollte hob die Klinge von Madrigals Kehle und strich ihr damit stattdessen beinahe liebevoll über die Wange. “Misstrauen gegen andere könnt Ihr Euch nur leisten, wenn Ihr in eure eigenen Fähigkeiten vertrauen könnt, kleiner Frühlingsvogel.”

Madrigals Atem stockte. Der Name, der die Lippen der Ungewollten in einem Flüstern verließ, dröhnte in Madrigals Ohren wie Donnergrollen.

Sie kennt mich, schoss es ihr durch den Kopf und ihr Blut gefror ihr in den Adern. Sie weiß wer ich bin.

Eine Bewegung aus dem Augenwinkel, ließ ihren Blick wieder zu dem Spiegel huschen, in dem nur die Ungewollte zu sehen war, die ihren Dolch auf Nichts gerichtet zu haben schien. Und für einen Herzschlag, so kurz, dass niemand außer Madrigal es bemerkt hätte, erschien das missbilligende Gesicht von Aelrhy im Spiegel, wo Madrigal sein sollte.

#so apparently I'm writing orinigal stuff now #none of this makes sense without the context #and apparently I'm also writing in German #it feels so weird not to write in english #maybe I'll translate it later idk #if I figure out what to do with the 'Ihr/Euch'#anyways #this is what I wrote for my seminar and it's three times as long as it's supposed to be #my writing

12 notes · View notes

weaselandfriends · 2 years ago

Note

Three completely unrelated questions: ever heard of interactive fiction (parser games like Zork etc), and if you have, what's your opinion on it? Also, you mentioned a Pokemon fanfic ages ago and do you have plans to write that because Pokemon is my obsession and I would read the hell out of a Pokemon story if you wrote one. Also, is Sister from CxC and that Chateau de whatever vampire anime she keeps talking about inspired in any way by the Marquis de Sade?

Question 1: This blog, believe it or not, used to post exclusively about Homestuck, so yes, I have some familiarity with interactive fiction and parser games. I actually knew about Zork long before Homestuck, mainly because when I was 12 I was a huge Nintendo fan who would read books about the history of video games and Zork would always show up sooner or later. Now have I actually played a parser game? No.

In college I took a senior seminar on interactive fiction. This was a very funny course that included the David Cage classic Heavy Rain. I remember the professor bringing in a PlayStation and having us actually play the game; all the students made fun of the terrible voice acting and inhuman characters, and by the end the professor, looking genuinely hurt, said "I thought it was a good story..."

In this class, I wrote a paper that was actually about the original Super Mario Bros, arguing mainly that even in the complete absence of traditional narrative (text, video, etc.) any video game is actually interactive fiction, in which the player's phenomenological experience of the game shapes their understanding of the game's narrative. Consider the way a first time player would play Super Mario Bros, moving tepidly and carefully, stopping to hit every block, and dying frequently, and then compare that to an experience player or a speedrunner who will blaze through stages at full speed, ignoring most obstacles and reaching the end in a few moments. The understanding of who Mario is as a character is significantly different for these two players, and in fact the absence of traditional narrative elements makes this interactivity even more pronounced compared to a game like, say, The Last of Us, where character is much more strongly enforced by the authorial entity via traditional narrative elements.

Some time after I wrote this essay, Dark Souls would get popular and give everyone else the same idea I had, with its "environmental storytelling" that stripped out traditional narrative elements without sacrificing narrative itself. But I think you can see the precursor to Dark Souls' style in a lot of older games.

Question 2: Very odd coincidence, I actually started thinking about that Pokemon fanfic idea again recently, prompted by the ask I got in which I talked about my idea for a professional League of Legends sports story. Since Players stole my thunder in that regard, I started thinking of ways I could put my rather extensive esports knowledge to use for a story, and remembered my old Pokemon fanfic idea.

I always liked the near-future near-utopian world of Pokemon, where there seems to be little or no scarcity and 75% of the populace does nothing except pursue hobbies of interest. I'd like to do a serious exploration of what a world is like that encourages 10 year olds to drop out of school and attempt to become professional sports stars, without verging into edge. This is a world where it's *fine* for 10 year olds to do that, mainly because widespread, versatile, and even skilled Pokemon labor means there's less need for a large and robust human workforce. So what are these pros like, having left home at 10, spending their youths tromping through wilderness, their only significant social interaction being with what are essentially animals? All while training to excel in a competitive sport that requires an encyclopedic breadth of knowledge about all the diverse Pokemon species, movepools, statistical spreads, strategies, etc.? Obviously they're going to be total social weirdos. I think it'd be a great premise for a sports story to focus on a big, international tournament where these utter nerds come down from their mountaintops and are suddenly hoisted up as the exemplars of human society, imbued with instant celebrity despite their inability to function in any social setting.

So, to answer your question, it's back on the table. I'm pretty sure after CQ my next story will be a relatively short horror story set at a prestigious all-girls prep school in New England, but after that anything's possible.

Question 3: Sister's favorite anime, Le Chateau de Diodati, is primarily modeled on Le Portrait de Petit Cossette, a 2004 gothloli OVA directed by Madoka director Akiyuki Shinbo. Petit Cossette isn't hentai itself, but Shinbo was also directing several visually bizarre hentai OVAs around the same time, which I rolled into the Diodati fictional narrative. The name "Diodati" comes from the Villa Diodati, a Swiss manor once used by Lord Byron and the Shelleys, famous for being the location where Mary Shelley first created the story of Frankenstein. Diodati is also an Italian name; the Comtesse's full name, Marie von Diodati, is a nod to the tripartite cultural heritage of Switzerland (French, German, and Italian), and meant to contrast Marc Elmarghichi, who is of Moroccan descent. Sister/the Comtesse's appearance is modeled off Lambdadelta from Umineko and Shinobu Oshino from Monogatari (another Shinbo anime!).

The only work by de Sade I've read is Justine, and while the unabashed degeneracy of that work was in the back of my mind while writing CxC, it never manifested into any explicit or implicit reference. I have something of an aversion to de Sade, not because of anything he wrote, but because one of my least favorite novels, Thomas Pynchon's Vineland, has a horrible pun where a gardening business is called Marquis de Sod.

11 notes · View notes

mrdanielbond · 3 years ago

Text

Wild Nights, Wild Hearts (One-Shot?)

“Mystery man”

[Main characters: Mikael Blomkvist X Reader]

Plot: It is time to head back to work as a lecturer at your university after a successful first semester. Unfortunately for you, one of your guest lecturers is a familiar face from a wild night out…

[A/N: Wrote this ages ago and thought, hey why not? Okay, so I don’t know if this is going to be an actual thing. Like I assume it’s going to be a one-shot. Plus, in all fairness, Mikael is my favourite non-Bond character of Daniel’s, so I thought it’s time to appreciate this man in all his glory. I hope you enjoy this! Let me know what you think?]

Music continued to boom through the speakers. The flashing lights and smoke was intense, but you didn’t care. As long as you were still with your friends, celebrating a birthday amongst the group, that's all that mattered. What also helped was the fact your sultry look managed to get you quite a few free drinks from the bartender. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, often keeping a natural look. However, this was your friend and co-worker’s birthday. You wanted to spice things up and look incredible for her. Of course, when Maisie saw you for the first time, she was surprised. In fact, her jaw dropped at how glamorous you looked. “Girl what the HELL! After Florence Pugh, you are a woman I’d proudly fuck.” You remember her particularly saying and that was the start of an incredibly wild night.

“Javier, can I get another tequila please!” You scream with excitement at the bar, Javier proudly pours you your sixth tequila shot.

“This one’s on the house my darling, Y/N.” He pushed the shot glass in front of you and your eyes widen with excitement. You had to admit, you do have a thing for tequila so this man feeding you free drinks made the night all the better.

“You spoil me.” You winked as you took the shot and walked off to join the rest of your friends.

The night followed with more dancing and more drinks between your friends. At some point on the floor, you started to get tired and your craving for more drinks kicked in because you found yourself at the bar once again. This time you were looking for something more than a shot. “Okay, so it’s like a sex on the beach but like so much fruiter, like with strawberries!” You tried to explain but in your drunken state, Javier couldn’t help but laugh as he struggled listening to you.

“You know what? You tell me what to do and I’ll make it for you.” He said and a devious grin appeared on your face. So you watched, instructing him on how to make your special cocktail and when he finished, he threw a small umbrella inside it to serve you. You sipped it and couldn’t help but moan. It was glorious...Well maybe it would’ve been if you could taste it at all.

“Can I have what she’s having?” A baritone voice said beside you. You turned with your eyebrow raised. “And I’ll pay for hers.”

He reached into his wallet, still looking into your eyes as he handed Javier his card. You weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the fact you were practically pushed against each other with how packed the bar was but this man was...incredibly handsome. Rugged dirt blonde hair, bright blue eyes that gave you butterflies and his dark blue shirt didn’t help as you couldn’t help but stare at his chest from time to time. Javier turned back to make your drink for the stranger and handed it over to him. “If you’re going to have a cocktail, you’ve got to get it right. Strawberries with the ice.” He said with a smirk but you couldn’t hear him. Not with the music blasting over you...and his dreamy eyes. “What?” You tried to shout out. “I said-” He could barely get a word out in all the noise and you could see it. Quickly, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to a quieter table in the corner. “That’s better - wow.” He suddenly stopped himself when he took another look at you. “You’re really beautiful.” “Smooth.” You chuckled. Alright, so at this point, usually you would say thanks and dip to find your friends. However, this man, bless him, appeared mesmerized by you. He was in awe of you and not just looking at your chest or your figure as though he were some creep. You both hadn’t realised you were still holding hands, leaning into each other.

“Hey, that’s unfair! I’m not usually bold with women.” Something about the mystery man was telling you he was honest. “The strong and silent type is full of surprises.” He said and you swear to god, you could see even he knew what he was doing with that statement. To be honest, he was right. With those eyes, he wouldn’t have to say a single word to get you to go home with him. Throughout the night, you both kept rambling to each other about everything and nothing but you were both having fun, laughing together and putting each other at ease. Your friends must’ve noticed you because they were all staring at the two of you in awe, sharing drinks together, leaning into each other. Then ‘Someone New’ by Hozier began to play. Oh no. Any slow song that played while you were next to a man was a recipe for disaster. The mystery man ,on his high, pulled you closer. “Oh no, I can’t go out there!” You said. “Come on, what happened to that confidence I saw earlier?!” He laughed. “Listen, I can pick and choose when I want to be brave!” You snapped back. “Why are you so bold all of a sudden?!” “What can I say? You bring out a new side to me.” He laughed and before you could fight back, he managed to bring you to the floor. You couldn’t tell him why this was a bad idea but...maybe it wasn’t now you were in his arms, moving around the floor. He held you close and you didn’t want to leave. Not with the high of the drinks and after such a good night filled with laughter. Who knows? Maybe when you wake up the next day, you’d regret it. But for now, you were going to appreciate being here with him...but now you were filled with anticipation, you were craving something. Uh oh. You were craving him. Suddenly, a surge of confidence filled you and you looked up at him. He had already been looking at you. Quickly, he leaned in and you found yourselves kissing with a raw, fiery passion that remained unmatched. You could tell how much he wanted you. In fact, you could feel it as he pressed you against him. But you didn’t care. You ran your fingers through his hair, now the heated kiss becoming lazy until you bit his lip, catching him by surprise. When you pulled back breathlessly, he smirked. “Oh shut up, I know what you’re going to say.” You playfully pushed his chest.

The hangover the next day was going to be ridiculous but you didn’t care. The mystery man had you all over him, and he? All over you.

Rain violently bounced against the wall of your office. Across you sat Maisie, who happened to be an English lecturer. You were one of the lecturers, who had just finished your PHD in Media and Cultural Studies and when offered a job at the university, you couldn’t help yourself but stay. It was decent pay after all and after three years with the university, you realised your students loved you. There were wild lecturers in the school of arts department, who overshared and gladly you weren’t one of them but your students knew you well enough to seem relatable. However, you were hoping that today they would not quiz you on your hangover. Especially your seminar classes, they really loved hearing whatever you went through. Right now, you sat at the table, head against the desk of your office while Maisie watched you groan. “Oh my god.” Was all you could mumble. This was not how you wanted to spend your first week back of the second semester. Your head was pounding violently, you were nauseous, stomach turning. The only thing saving you was the cup of coffee you had in hand, after being forced to take an espresso shot, you were still practically dead. Maisie simply sat there shaking her head. God, she had no right to judge you after goading you into going out. “You should have known not to go hard on the drinks!” “But...free…” The words fell from your lips. “Javier gives free drinks all the time, I’m surprised it doesn’t get him fired. You should’ve known, he did this last time. Actually, that reminds me, where did you go last night?” And then you remembered. You went off with a mystery man, an incredibly handsome mystery man. That, you were fortunate enough to remember. With your head against the table, you smirked, so your friend wouldn’t see. “Don’t pretend as if we didn’t see you walking off and kissing that man, who by the way is a huge score! We spent all night fangirling about him.” Maisie said with excitement but all you could do was groan again, “Come on! You have to tell me! What happened?” “Nothing happened.” You mumbled into your arms. Okay something happened but you still didn’t want to say anything. “Don’t lie to me! You have to tell me, it was my birthday, meaning you have to tell me what YOU did on my day!”

You still refused to move. As your knight in shining armour, the Head of Faculty, Andrew stormed into the room, coffee mug and binder in hand. “Right! Who’s ready for a day full of learning ladies!” Maisie laughed as all you could let out was a groan. “Oh, not you too!” He let out an irritated huff. “This is ridiculous. Seems like there’s a lot of hangovers going around this morning.” “Really?” Maisie said, leaning forward with excitement. “Yeah, I just got off the phone with the guest lecturer. He is bloody hungover too. Could hear it in his voice.” Shit. Guest lecturer. One of the senior lecturers decided to go on a research leave mid-year, which didn’t help your cause as you were left with over one hundred students needing attention. That is when the head of faculty, Andrew, who you adored, decided to call in a guest lecturer, an industry expert in the field to provide you with support. Only thing is, Andrew was unpredictable, so you didn’t know who he had in store. You only knew he was a pretty popular journalist in Europe. Weren’t you supposed to be meeting him before the class? “He said he’s going to be running late.” Thank god for that. You didn’t need Andrew screaming at you about representing the university under a negative light. Before Andrew could get to scolding you, however, your alarm went off. Swiftly, you jumped up and swiped all your folders. “Class! Got to get to class!” Was all you could muster before leaving the room, and your colleagues, incredibly shocked.

Students filled the lecture hall for the first lesson of the semester, which didn’t surprise you. There were a lot of familiar faces as usual. A couple of new ones but most of the students knew when you were out of it and these were the ones present. Andrew followed you in, watching intently, hoping you wouldn’t screw this up. But everyone knew the rules. The moment your mug was placed against the desk, everyone was silent, eagerly listening to hear from you. “Morning everyone! Welcome back, I hope you have all had a wonderful Christmas break! Just know that for many of you who took my module last year, yes, I am currently in the process of grading your assignments and the results will be distributed next week. However, I am not here to talk about that. Right now, it is time to turn over a new page! So, for those of you that don’t know me, I am Dr. Y/N Y/LN. I am totally cool without the whole formal title and I am a lecturer in Media and Cultural studies and welcome to my module Introduction to Investigative Journalism. This is where we’ll be in touch with some of the world’s most notorious cases from the role investigative journalism played in the portrayal of criminals from the likes of Charles Ponzi, Pablo Escobar, Charles Bronson to female serial killers such as Velma Barfield and Judy Buenoano. We will be looking at cold cases such as the murder of Olof Palme to the story of D.B. Cooper and corruption amongst transnational and multinational companies such as the fall of Wennerstrom. I know this feels like a criminology course and having the stomach would be ideal, however this is incredibly interesting if you want to look into serious crimes and learn about political corruption. I mean I didn’t have the stomach at first but you learn to live with it.” The students laughed. Andrew was in awe of how professional you managed to be but then again that is why the university needed you. They knew you were the young voice they needed to liven things up and get students intrigued, no matter how hungover or ill you were. “ Now, as you know, Dr. Woodbridge has taken a research leave so today, I believe that Andrew has called in a guest lecturer who will be here throughout the second half of the module to provide support and as an industry expert will hopefully be able to answer the questions you all will have.”

Andrew stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear as he headed to the centre. He gave you a wink to praise the way you pulled yourself together and turned to the rest of the class. “Thank you very much, Y/N. Couldn’t have introduced the module better myself, you have me excited and I’m not even taking it! Anyway, without further ado, I am honoured to introduce to you all your guest lecturer today, he is an investigative journalist and co-owner of Swedish magazine, Millennium, Mikael Blomkvist!” The class gave an applause and so did you as the man walked through the door. Then your applause slowed...hang on a minute. Why did the name Mikael sound familiar? Mikael walked in with a smile, waving at the glass, sporting glasses and a warm cardigan, smiling but then he turned to you and then it hit you. This was YOUR mystery man!

#mikael blomkvist #daniel craig #mikael blomkvist x reader #the girl with the dragon tattoo #crime #fan fiction #romance #daniel craig x reader #james bond #James Bond 007

81 notes · View notes

theasstour · 4 years ago

Photo

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟕.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged and sent me an ask after last chapter ❣️ I might not have gotten through all the asks yet, but know that I see all of you and I appreciate you more than I will ever find the right words to articulate 🌟 Thank you for the kind words and for reminding me of how fun it is to post my stories on here! Love you sm sm sm 🥰

Tuesday, 4 November 2017

One of the worst things Y/N knew of was seeing someone she cared about go through something troubling. If she knew them well enough, it would be written out on their face and in their gestures, making it so that she could not ever look past it and pretend everything was alright. Her ability to read people, to understand their wants and to see when something was off, was something she had crafted over many years of being a people pleaser. Now, it came naturally to her to study a person’s way of acting, talking, being, and then make them happy accordingly.

She realised when she grew older that the reason she did this was so people would look past her body and like her for who she actually was. She hated herself sometimes for still giving in to this need to please people all the time. She hated the things it had made her do in the past, how she had bent herself over backwards for people who did not, and would never, give a single shit about her. Though she felt at home in her body, she felt content in it, these tendencies to constantly make up for how she looked, to make light of it or make people feel comfortable around her, still hung around. With absolutely everything she was, Y/N hated that part of herself. She did not have to make up for anything. What did she have to apologise for? For existing? It did not make sense to her, but it had made sense to those that bullied her in school and those skinny people whose worst fear was becoming fat. Y/N’s worst fear, because of this, was not being liked. She realised how it all connected now.

Y/N realised how this need to please people came into play as she was sitting in a seminar room with Hayden, Chloe, Thian, Annalise, and three others from the International Society that Annalise often went to. Annalise was whispering in Dutch to the other Dutch girl she had met, while the rest of the room was relatively silent. Hayden had put on some music to lighten the mood, but it was evident that they were unsatisfied and sad. They were eight people; a single game of Uno was being played in a room that had been made so that at least 20 people would show up. Hayden had bought five decks of Uno, only for the one they brought with them to London to be the one the group ended up using. Their eyes drifted to the door every so often, silently begging for anyone else to show up to what looked to be a disastrous start to their Uno Society.

After two hours, they had to get out of the seminar room and go back home. As they were cleaning up, Y/N walked over to Hayden and helped them put their Uno decks and everything else they brought, back in their bag.

“More people will show up next time,” Y/N assured them.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I genuinely think more people will show up at one point.”

Hayden smiled at Y/N, though it did not reach their eyes. “If we don’t have at least 15 people by the third meeting, this won’t be considered a society by Helmond standards and we won’t be allowed to meet on campus grounds.”

Y/N felt a small tinge of panic at that. This was not usually the society people would jump to be part of, it would take a little while for people to want to show up to an Uno Society on a Tuesday every fortnight.

“We can hope more people will come, but I doubt they will,” Hayden said.

“There aren’t a lot of people our age who play Uno, though,” Chloe said as Hayden and Y/N made their way to the door.

Y/N furrowed her brows at Chloe’s comment, but did not say a word.

“No, but I love Uno, and it’s a very social game. It’ll be fun if a lot of people show up, you know?” Hayden said, closing the door behind them before they walked down the corridor for the exit.

“Obviously, people just don’t know what they’re missing,” Thian chimed in, showing off his usually wide, happy beam. “It’s a great idea, Hay.”

“Really? It’s not bound to flop?” Hayden asked, scrunching up their nose as if they could not quite believe what Thian was saying.

“Of course not,” Annalise said.

“It’s a nice break from all the assignments,” Y/N said.

“By the way, speaking of assignments,” Chloe groaned. “Y/N, have you started on the Othello presentation yet?”

“You haven’t had the presentation yet?” Thian asked.

“No, different Introduction to English Studies seminar groups have presentations at different dates,” Chloe said. “Since Y/N and I are seminar group E, we have it last. Monday, 4th of December.”

“That’s still a while away, though,” Hayden pointed out. “You still got a month.”

“Yeah, but the presentation’s 40% of the final grade. I know I’ll ace the essay, but we only get to have a five-minute presentation on Othello.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “How am I supposed to talk about how Othello’s a sexist play in just five minutes?”

“Easy,” Thian said. “You talk about how it’s a sexist play for just five minutes. You love to talk, it’ll be easy peasy.”

“I love to gossip, this is entirely different,” Chloe complained.

“Not really,” Y/N said, cocking her head a little to the side as the group rounded a corner. “You’re essentially just gonna gossip about Othello and what’s wrong with him and the way Shakespeare wrote the play.”

Chloe stared at Y/N for a few seconds, pursing her lips as she thought. A grin spread out across her lips and she nudged Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Annalise smiled.

“And by the time that happens, the Uno society will be history,” Hayden mumbled, making Thian pout his bottom lip and wrap an arm around Hayden’s shoulders. They all made their way back to Dinwiddy, Lancaster Complex, and Fleming Hall, three of the seven different campus accommodations. Dinwiddy was definitely of a bit better standard than Lancaster and Fleming, but Y/N was sure that, had she decided to live on campus, she would have gone for either Lancaster or Fleming like Annalise, Thian, and Hayden. She said goodbye to all of them and went on her way, walking back to Haggerston while talking to her parents on the phone. They always insisted she call them if she walked out alone at night, no matter how many people were around.

The shops she strolled by were starting to put up Christmas decorations and sales, making Y/N long for holiday. She just wanted a few days off uni. Though it was only the first year, the amount of work they were getting was ridiculous, and Y/N felt like she either spent most of her time in the library with her Literature gang, or at a café with Nathan, doing uni work. The fact that Christmas lights and decorations were already making an appearance, gave her some hope.

Getting to Orsman Road was no problem, and Y/N hung up with her parents when she reached the flat building. The mere thought of her bed made her knees buckle, she could not wait to be snuggled up in a blanket and watching the newest true crime series on Netflix. Once inside, she got her shoes and outwear off, then walked straight for the kitchen. She halted.

In a pair of worn-out black rugby shorts and a black hoodie, Harry stood pouring water into the kettle. The muscles in his legs flexed and unflexed as he moved, making it impossible to look away from his thighs. Y/N could not find the right words to express just how much she hated those tiny shorts. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Except he didn’t. He was very much just trying to wear something comfortable at home and Y/N was ogling him. He looked up as she entered.

“Hi,” Y/N said, walking over to the fridge where she kept her oat and banana milk.

“Hi,” Harry answered, watching her as she walked before putting the kettle on. “Been out shagging old men?”

Y/N blinked a few times before looking over at Harry as he put a teabag into his mug. “You’re very obsessed with my sex life.”

“I’m just nosy.”

Y/N sighed, knowing this was true from experience, and went back to getting her milk out of the fridge. “No, I was at a society meeting. The first one, actually.”

“Oh?” She could see in her peripheral vision that he turned around to watch her. “What kind of society?”

“Uno.”

Silence settled in the kitchen, and Y/N could hear Nathan and Mason in the living room next door playing something on the PlayStation. Y/N could feel Harry continue to just look at her as she poured herself a glass of the oat and banana milk. It was not until the milk was back in the fridge and Y/N met his eyes, that Harry spoke again.

“Uno?”

“Like the card game.”

“That’s… a niche interest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And you’re being judgemental.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no! I-“ He stopped himself, taking a grip of the kettle and quickly pouring himself a cuppa before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, something frantic shining within his own. “It’s just a very specific interest and society.”

She raised one of her shoulders. “Which is what makes it so amazing.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Harry said quickly, gesturing at her with his hand as if he completely agreed. Y/N wanted to laugh at how fast he was talking, as if he was desperate for her to understand that he was not being judgemental. “How was it?”

“Barely anyone showed up,” Y/N explained, sipping her milk.

Harry frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, and at least 15 people total have to show up for it to be considered a society, or else Hayden, my course mate, can’t continue hosting on campus grounds.” Y/N sighed, looking at the ground. “Basically, if Hayden doesn’t find, like, twelve more people to join within the next two times, we won’t have a society any longer.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but just then, the sound of quick footsteps could be heard, and then Nathan’s face appeared in the doorway. A grin spread out on his face as he met Y/N’s eyes.

“Thought I heard you come in!” he exclaimed. “We’re playing GTA, wanna come drive some people over?”

Y/N smiled at that, scrunching up her nose. “As appealing as that sounds, I’m gonna have to decline.”

Nathan pouted his lips and Harry stood watching quietly. “Why?” Nathan asked.

“Have an essay that I need to finish.”

Nathan sighed heavily. “Fine. Guess I’ll let you write that bloody essay.”

“Excuse you? ‘Let me’?” Y/N rolled her eyes and Nathan laughed. She gave him and then Harry a smile, making her way out of the kitchen.

“Have a good night,” she heard Harry say as she walked through the doorway. She gave him another smile before walking up the stairs and to her room. She quickly got out of her clothes and into loungewear, taking all her make-up off and finding a fluffy blanket she could sit under in bed as she started writing her Introduction to English Studies essay. She could hear the boys shouting and playing downstairs and drowned it out by putting her earbuds in and shutting them out.

She ended up reading academic articles and writing down an essay plan until she felt her eyelids get heavy a few hours later. Putting her laptop away and finishing her oat and banana milk, Y/N took her contacts off and started getting ready for bed. The door to the room beside hers opened and closed, she could hear Harry rummaging in his room, though the sound was not disturbing in any way. The only disturbing thing about it was the fact that it was Harry, but Y/N was learning to accept that. It had only taken her two months, but she was coming to terms with the fact that Harry Styles, an ex-good friend of hers and person she had sex with once, was living and sleeping in the room right next to hers.

Friday, 17 November 2017

The pizza at Domino’s was absolutely amazing, but working for them was anything but. This was only Y/N’s first shift, and she was already dreading her next. Not only would she be bringing home with her the memories of a horrible first day on her new job, but she would also be bringing the smell of greasy pizza. She would have to do a deep clean in the shower before going to bed, she was not rubbing that smell onto her bedsheets.

With some experience working for Pizza Express before, Y/N was already well-versed working for a pizza chain. Pizza Express had been her job from 15 until she moved off to uni at 19, which she knew was what must have given her this new job at Domino’s rather quickly. As much experience as she had working at Pizza Express serving people, she had never been the one to drive around delivering pizzas. After all, she had not gotten her license until sometime last year, so it had never been a possibility. However, in the job description for this position at Domino’s, it had clearly stated that Y/N would be working mostly as a delivery driver, something that sounded chill at first, until she realised she would have to go deliver pizza to people that would be anything but friendly. Or maybe a little too friendly. Because of her inexperience in this particular field of the job, she had another employer join her for her first shift.

Isla was very quiet, maybe even a little too quiet for Y/N’s taste. She would mostly just stare out the window, sometimes chime in to help Y/N pick a quicker route, or help her make out how much she owed the customer if they paid a few quid too many. Other than that, Isla did not really offer much conversation wise. Even when the two of them picked up the pizzas for their first drive, the first time they spent together, Isla did not say much.

“Have you worked here long?” Y/N asked, giving Isla a smile so she would know that she was actually asking out of curiosity and not because she felt obliged to.

“A year.”

Y/N nodded as she sat down behind the wheel, Isla sitting down in the passenger seat. “I worked in Pizza Express at home in Nottingham before I moved here. Dunno why, I’ve always preferred Domino’s to Pizza Express. Though, Zizzi is top tier.”

Isla only nodded slightly.

Y/N had waited for a response, but realising she would not be getting one, she started the Domino’s car and started driving in the direction out of the parking spot on the street beside the tiny restaurant on Homefield Street. Y/N almost drove right into the Domino’s mopeds that all stood on the spot in front of the car. She just knew that at one point, she would be driving one of those. She followed the instructions on the GPS, up Hoxton Street, in the direction of Lavender Grove. Without any radio on, the car was very quiet. Too quiet. It made Y/N break out in sweat.

“Do you drive around with deliveries often?” Y/N asked.

Isla shook her head. “No.”

Y/N whipped her head back in the direction of the street in front of her, trying to produce spit so she could nervously swallow. Her mouth was too dry. “You work by the till then?”

“Mostly.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s the best place to work, isn’t it? Don’t have to drive around, don’t have to actually make the food.”

Isla gave a feeble smile. “I suppose.”

God, all Y/N wanted as an okay day. All she wanted was for one single day to be alright.

Isla would twine a single piece of her brown, bushy hair around her finger sometimes, then put it behind her ear, only to go back to fidgeting with it. Y/N was unsure if she was nervous to be in a car with someone she did not know, or if she was just deep in thought. Y/N wanted to get to know Isla, to make a friend at her new workplace, but she did not want to harass Isla if it meant it would make her uncomfortable. It was clear that she did not like being this close to Y/N considering the two had never met before and would now be spending a good six hours together. Therefore, to not push away what she hoped to be a future mate, she only made occasional conversation and then left Isla mostly to herself. She could sense that was what her companion wanted most of all.

In a particularly dodgy part of Lea Bridge, Y/N was delivering three pizzas to what she knew even before knocking on the door, would be to a rather creepy encounter. The man that opened the door was bald with glassy eyes and a blue tee shirt tucked into his grey joggers. At the sight of Y/N, he grinned.

“Three pepperonis?” she asked, wondering if this man just really loved pepperoni pizzas or if he was hosting a party.

“That’s me, yeah.”

“Alright.” Y/N handed him the three pizzas just as another man emerged from behind him, and it was then that Y/N noticed the incredible stench of alcohol and cigarettes. Some 80s rock was playing from a stereo and there did not seem to be much light on inside the flat. Y/N suddenly felt very sick.

“You pre-paid,” she stated, more to reassure herself that she could just leave than to make them aware that she knew they did not have to go get any money to pay her. “Have a nice night.”

“Wouldn’t be nice if you didn’t stick around,” the bald one holding the pizzas said.

“Yeah, why don’t you come inside? Have a bite with us?” the other one offered. “You look like a hard-working girl, why don’t you take a few minutes off with us?”

Y/N could feel her heart begin to beat faster, her hands begin to sweat. “No, I have to get back to work,” she said, giving them a smile before walking off.

“Wait, we didn’t give you a tip!”

“Come back, love!”

Y/N tuned them out as she walked down the stairs, keeping an eye over her shoulder and her ears on alert as she made her way back to the car. Isla was sat on her phone when Y/N sat back down in the driver’s seat, putting her seatbelt on a little too fast and gripping the steering wheel harder than she had previously. She just wanted to get away from those men, she just wanted that shift to be over.

“You okay?” Isla asked. The first question she ever asked Y/N. First time she ever took initiative to start a conversation. Y/N really appreciated it in that moment.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, sighing heavily. “Just hate men.”

Isla must have understood what Y/N was talking about because she nodded, looking straight ahead at the road in front of them. “I’m sorry you met the worst type of customers on your first night.”

“Had to meet them at one point, though,” Y/N said.

“You shouldn’t have to meet them at all.”

Y/N felt that statement reverberate through the car, lay in the air between them for quite some time after it was said. She could not stop thinking about it as she drove to the next destination, feeling disgusted and angry. Had she stayed there a second longer, she would have had to resist the urge to knee them both in the space between their legs. This was just one of the stupid encounters that night, though the rest were more so on the scale of weird than disgusting. Like a man that was clearly high thanking Y/N for his frozen milk when he had ordered three Ben and Jerry’s, or a woman with her hair a mess, make-up completely destroyed, and just her dress robes on, snatching the pizza out of Y/N’s hand before hurrying back inside. It was a strange few hours, and as she drove the car back to Domino’s Homefield Street, Y/N felt absolutely drained of energy.

Walking home after her shift at 3:30am was next to torture, she just wanted to be in bed, cosy underneath the covers, and forget about the fact that she was working tomorrow night as well. Though the Hoxton Street was washed in the yellow lights from the streetlamps and the occasional car driving by, it was anything but empty. Drunk people were walking home from pubs, while others, like her, walked home from another nightshift, and some were just out for a night stroll. She walked without listening to music, not feeling comfortable with not being completely aware of her surroundings when it was dark out. Besides, she was so tired as well, listening to music would probably put her to sleep.

Orsman Road was completely deserted, only a few people walking home from The Stag’s Head passed her smelling of beer and cigarettes. This street was darker, smaller, and less busy than Hoxton Street, so Y/N opted to walk in the middle of the road instead of in the shadows. She felt less vulnerable that way. As she reached the flat building, she got her keys out of her purse and went to unlock the door.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

She jumped, keys falling onto the asphalt. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Harry standing there with the smuggest, most infuriating look on his face. God, how she wanted to slap him until his teeth fell out. While she contemplated how to physically hurt him, Harry bent down, picked up Y/N’s keys, and put them back in her hand.

“Don’t lose those,” he said. “50 quid to get a new pair.”

Y/N only narrowed her eyes, unlocking the door for them both and striding on to the next floor. After opening the door to the flat, she got her shoes off, and walked straight for the kitchen. She needed strawberries, especially after the shift she just had. The door closed behind Harry and she heard him lock it before taking his shoes and jacket off, too. As she turned around after closing the fridge door, Harry stood by the kettle, filling it up with water.

“Didn’t know you worked at Domino’s,” he said, looking over at her briefly, nodding at her black Domino’s fleece jacket before turning his attention back to the kettle.

“Just started.”

“How’re you finding it?” he asked.

Y/N sighed, leaning her hip against the counter. “Considering this was my first shift and I have to show up again to work another nightshift tomorrow…” She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “I’d say shite.”

Harry laughed, stopping the tap. “Tea?”

“No, I bought myself some banana and oat milk from M&S earlier, I’ll just have that. Thank you, though.” She gestured at what she had placed on the counter while he was busy with the kettle.

Harry watched her as she got herself a glass for the milk. “Can’t for the life of me remember you being a Tory.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, you don’t remember me hating the poor?” she said, putting on a posh accent, Harry could not hold back his own laughter. “Quite a big part of my personality, don’t know how you missed it. Now-“ She put the milk back in the fridge. “-If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go spend five weeks at my £1.000.000 18 century holiday house in Surrey.”

Harry’s laughter echoed through the kitchen as he put the kettle on, shaking his head at her. “No, but how’d you like your first shift? Anything like Pizza Express?”

Why the fuck did he remember that? Why did he have to remember everything? Bloody hell…

“Not for me. There were just a lot of creepy men, and some very dodgy neighbourhoods. I’m sure that’s not all there is to the job as a delivery driver, I’m sure I was just unlucky my first time, but I can’t really afford to quit unless I have a backup.”

Harry frowned at that. “If you don’t like it and you feel unsafe, you don’t have to continue doing it.”

She nodded her head. “No, I know, but it’s still the only job I could find and that I could get at the moment. I’ll apply to others later.”

Harry’s frown deepened, crossing his arms over his black, tee-shirt covered chest. No tattoos on display. She wondered why he only had tattoos on his chest and torso.

“Yeah, alright…” he said, voice a little darker than before. “But if you feel unsafe-“

“-Harry, I practiced capoeira when I was younger, remember?”

At that, as if he was slowly unveiling a memory he had not thought about in a little too long, Harry smiled. A small, fond smile that Y/N remembered from a previous life; a life with far less troubles, far less complications than this one.

“Of course I do.”

Not “yes”. Not just “I do”. “Of course”. He had said “of course”, as if remembering was a privilege. As if not remembering would be the strangest thing in the world. Y/N hated that this man did not forget a single thing. Never had, never would.

“Well,” she said, trying to act normal after that. “Well, I can hold my own.”

“Good to know,” Harry smiled, getting a teabag from his cupboard. As he turned his body and face away from her, she saw something glisten in the lights of the kitchen. Two earrings. Two gold earrings right next to one another. In his ear. Y/N would never admit to it out loud, the sight made her mouth salivate. “But I still think you should quit if you don’t like your work.”

Y/N opened the strawberry container and took one out, taking a bite. She needed to look away from Harry, away from his two earrings, and away from him because he was making some points. She knew where Harry was coming from, she really did, but she could not go on living in London, using money every single day, and not have an income. Until something better came along, this would be her job. “How’s the pub?”

“Alright,” Harry said, pouring hot water into his mug. “I’m having my last shift there December 15th.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re quitting?”

“Yeah, I’m starting a new job in January.”

She raised her eyebrows, meeting his gaze again. “Okay, good for you. What one?”

“Tattoo artist.”

He had to be fucking kidding at this point. Y/N had to do everything to keep her eye from twitching.

“Just got my tattoo license, so I’m ready to go come January.”

Y/N did not want to admit it. She could not admit it. She physically could not. But… everything about Harry… everything he did, everything he said… It all hit different. And it did not help that Y/N, who loved tattoos, getting them, having them on her body, and seeing them on someone else’s, was now made aware that Harry could legally give people tattoos. He was going to become a tattoo artist in January. Y/N wanted to eat chalk.

Harry just looked at her, studying her face. “You okay?”

She swallowed the strawberry bite she had just taken. “Fantastic.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Did you draw your own tattoos then?”

For the second time that night, Y/N was witness to Harry’s smug smile. He raised his cuppa, cocking his head a little to the side as he said, “You’ve seen my tattoos?”

Y/N wanted to die.

“You’ve been sneaking into my room to watch me sleep, that it?” Harry asked. “You’ve probably seen the tattoo I have by my crotch then, too-“

“-Oi!” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Piss off. I saw them when you were wearing that low-neck top at Footprint.”

Harry took a sip of his tea. “If you say so.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and Harry laughed.

“It’s jokes, Y/N.”

“Good. I’m genuinely scared you think I fancy you.”

Harry smiled. “You mean you don’t? Really?”

She took a hold of her strawberries and milk. “Goodnight, wanker.”

“I’m a dreamboat, what about this-“ Harry gestured at himself, flexing his arm muscles that weren’t really there. “-Doesn’t give you the fanny flutters?”

“You’re disgusting.”

Harry laughed.

“I was just interested to know about your job as a tattoo artist ‘cause I love tattoos,” Y/N explained.

Harry’s eyes travelled down to Y/N’s hand where the ‘M’ was tattooed, it lingered there for a moment too long. For some unknown reason, a tingle started up in Y/N’s thumb, making its way up her arm and to her breasts, then her stomach. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to her ribs where he must have seen her ‘saudade’ tattoo. Though it was not visible right then, it seemed as if Harry was seeing it all the same, sensing it somehow. At last, his eyes met hers, and Y/N felt something in her throat stop working. The tingle that had laid in her stomach just seconds earlier exploded, slithering all throughout her body and making her hyper aware of how knowledgeable Harry was of the tattoos on her body; of her. He must have paid more attention to her than she thought he had. Something about that made it hard to breathe. Bloody hell, she hated how fucking fit he was. She hated how she reacted to his glance, to his attention.

“I can tell,” he said, voice a tinge darker than before.

She was surely about to explode. Blinking a few times, she held her strawberries up, nodding her head to Harry in a silent goodbye, then made her way towards the door.

“Oh, Y/N,” Harry said, making her look over her shoulder at him. “Do you want some Ginger Nuts? I’m having some with my tea-“

“-No thanks. Goodnight.” Y/N walked straight out of the door and to her room, needing to stick her head out her window to cool down in the Regent’s Canal breeze before sitting down in her bed again. How could he be considerate, respectful, smart, pretty, and sexy at the same time? Some otherworldly powers had truly been at work these last few years to make Harry Styles into everything Y/N was attracted to.

She did not even want him as a boyfriend, she never had, there had never been any romantic feelings between them before and there never would be, but he was just so… so… frustrating. In every single sense of the word. He was just… very attractive. Very pleasing to look at. Everything that got to Y/N. And Y/N wanted to scream at Harry for making it so hard to ignore him, and at herself for falling for it.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Y/N was originally going to travel home to Nottingham that Friday so she could stay home that weekend. She had not been home since September, and though they only had two weeks of uni left before Christmas break, she wanted to go home this weekend. She missed her parents terribly and wanted to see them so badly, she could simply not wait until Christmas. So, because it was the last Wednesday of the month, Y/N travelled back up to Nottingham.

Every last Wednesday of every month, Davi would invite all of his Brazilian family who had settled in Nottingham after he had, as well as Lottie’s parents, over for feijoada. Brazil has many region-specific dishes, yet the one that best translates into a nationwide dish is the beloved feijoada. The name stems from the word feijão, which is Portuguese for bean, and also the key ingredient of feijoada, which is essentially a bean stew mixed with beef and pork. Though, depending on what region of Brazil you are in, you will find different ingredients added to the feijoada.

In Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais, feijoada is almost always cooked with black beans, while in Bahia, red or brown beans are preferred. In Bahia and Sergipe, they also usually add extra vegetables to the feijoada such as plantain, kale, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and pumpkin. However, in the rest of Brazil, feijoada is simply beans and meat with no additional vegetables. It is served with white rice, shredded kale with bits of fried bacon, crispy pork crackling, and slices of oranges that are meant to aid the digestion of the heavy meal. Which is what Y/N had grown up eating.

Typically, it is served at noon on Wednesdays and Saturdays, as this hearty meal is a thick mixture that will have you full in no time. The only activity Y/N would recommend after it, is bed and a good book. Maybe even a little nap. Their big family often used to eat it during the weekend as it meant more time spent with the family, more time spent chatting and being social, but Davi who worked in a bakery, had often worked Saturday and Sunday afternoons, meaning that it would fit best for the family to keep the tradition of hosting the meal on Wednesdays at Davi and Lottie’s house. Which was why Y/N was on her way home that Wednesday at the end of November.

Closing Vidas Secas by Graciliano Ramos that she had just been reading, Y/N got up from her seat to get off the train. Graciliano Ramos was Y/N’s favourite writer of all time. Though she loved English Literature and especially loved studying it, she always found his works to be better than most. He was the only modernist writer she could stand. São Bernardo was her favourite of his novels. A story about a man who, having been born poor, gets rich using any ruthless means he can and ends up utterly alone. It had stuck with Y/N her entire life. The main character’s ability to love others, his selfishness, and arrogance, make up one of the most complex characters of world literature, in Y/N’s opinion.

In the last chapter of São Bernardo when Paulo Honório reflects on his life alone at night, Y/N found some of the best few pages she had ever read. The closing words ‘I ruined my life stupidly’ express the agony of a man whom Y/N learned to despise throughout the book, but who, thanks to the mastery of the author, leads us with him through his tragic life choices towards self-destruction. Y/N got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Stepping off the train with her small bag and book under her arm, Y/N walked straight for the train station exit. She recognised her mother’s brown hair in a bun at the top of her head, a pair of colourful flare trousers on along with a white buffer jacket. Lottie jumped up and down at the sight of Y/N and ran for her daughter, throwing her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“My baby,” she said, kissing Y/N’s cheeks and forehead. “Oh, my Y/N.”

Y/N hugged her mother back, burying her face in her mother’s neck. She did not care that she could hear Vidas Secas fall into the tiled floor or that her bag would get dirty where it lay, all she cared about was her mother’s embrace and the smell of home around her. She was fluent in two languages, yet Y/N could not find a word that could quite capture how happy she was to be home just now.

“Okay, my dove,” Lotte said, taking Y/N’s bag off the floor. Y/N bent down and picked up her book, bringing it to her chest. “Let’s go home.”

The two of them walked out to the car park, and Lottie quickly started driving them in the direction of Y/N’s childhood home. The familiar ride and the familiar city outside the car windows made her relax, sinking far into the seat until she felt enveloped in safeness and contentment. It didn’t take them long to reach the semi-detached brick house, all their family members’ cars parked out front and visible in the windows overlooking the street. Y/N took her own bag this time, and her mother led the way up the stairs to the house so she could open the door for her.

There was no time for Y/N to go upstairs with her bag and book, because she was bombarded with hugs and kisses the second she stepped inside. Her grandfather, avô, her grandmother, avó, her papai’s two sisters and her aunties, tia Gilma and tia Lara, their husbands and her uncles, tio Jaren and uncle Finnley – who was British and had met Lara after she moved here -, and her seven cousins, or primos. They all came rushing to her, with her British grandmother and grandfather grinning and waiting for her to be done hugging and kissing everyone. Being with them and smelling feijoada everywhere, made Y/N almost tear up. Blimey, ever since moving away to University, she had become so incredibly sappy.

“Amorinzho!” came like a scream from the kitchen. Davi came out into the foyer with his apron still on and the biggest grin on his face. He threw his arms around Y/N. “Eu tenho saudade de você.”

She had missed him, too. So much. She felt safer, more at ease, almost more herself now that she was reunited with her parents close.

So, she told him that as she whispered, “Eu também senti sua falta,” back. Her papai hugged her a little tighter at that, grinning at her with tears in his eyes as he squeezed her shoulders.

“Y/N!” avó shouted from where she now sat in the living room, her grey hair in a long braid down her back and a big knitted cardigan wrapped tightly around her small frame. “Venha comer!”

“I’ll come eat in a second,” Y/N said. “I just need to put my bag in my room.”

“I’ll do that for you, my sausage,” Y/N’s grandfather said, stroking her cheek before he bent down and brought the bag with him up the stairs to her room. Since her mother had been an only child, her parents, Y/N’s grandparents, had always been very caring and constantly present as Y/N and Marcela had been their only grandchildren. Not that her avós had not been present, because they really had, her entire family had, but her grandparents’ life had no meaning if it were not for Lottie, Y/N and Marcela.

Y/N walked past all her family and to the kitchen where her papai stood making her a plate of feijoada. He handed it to her and she smiled at him before helping herself to some rice. Just then, Lottie walked into the kitchen as well, hugging Y/N from behind before she walked over to make her daughter something to drink. Silence stretched out in the kitchen as conversation started back up again in the living room, everyone talking about everything and nothing, in English and Portuguese. But, something that was unusual for her parents, they did not say a single thing. Though this might not be unusual for some, it was extremely unusual for someone who came from a generally very talkative family.

“Charlotte,” Davi said, looking over at Lottie. “We should…”

“Not yet.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder at her parents. “What?”

“We should tell her.”

“She just got home, Davi,” Lottie reasoned. “We can tell her later. Let her enjoy her feijoada.”

“No, what’s going on?” Y/N asked again, turning her body to face them now.

“No, amorinzha,” Davi said, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Your mother is right; we can talk about it later. It’s not appropriate to do it now.”

“What’s going on? What’re you talking about?” Y/N looked at her papai, then at her mum, both of them sharing a look with one another that Y/N did not understand. Over the years, she had become a master at deciphering what her parents were discussing when they shared looks, though she never managed to quite understand the proper subject of discussion, she could detect the mood. She understood this was more of a serious matter.

“Tell me,” Y/N said, feeling her heart begin to beat a little harder, a little faster, the more time went by without any of them saying anything.

“Fine,” Lottie sighed. “Put your plate down first.”

Y/N did so reluctantly, not taking her eyes off of her parents. If it was serious enough for her mother to want her to put her food down so she would not drop her plate, then Y/N was on the fence if she even wanted to know what was going on or if she wanted to live in blissful ignorance of it.

“Your pai and I have decided to sell the cabin.”

Y/N’s heart stopped beating. Her body felt numb, the chatter in the living room deceased to exist as she just looked at her mother, and then at her papai. Her mum, and then pai. Suddenly, as if slapped with a brick, Y/N’s brain roared to life and her body came as hot as coal. She looked at her mother who had been the one to speak, her mouth falling open and shutting again as she continued to process what she had just been told.

“You’re… you’re going to sell the cabin?” Y/N asked them, just to be completely sure that what she heard was correct.

“Yes,” Davi answered.

“You’re selling the cabin?” She could not believe it.

“Y/N-“

“-You’re selling our Newport cabin? The one in Wales?” she asked again, her voice rising now. They did not have any other cabins, but Y/N just had to know she was not mistaken. They couldn’t… They couldn’t just…

“Y/N, we never go there anymore,” Lottie reasoned. “We want to spend the money we use on the cabin on something else, we don’t know what yet.”

“So, you’re just going to sell the cabin where your daughter was murdered?” Y/N asked, voice filled with so much rage she barely recognised herself when she spoke. “Where Marcela was most likely stabbed? You’re selling that cabin?”

“We’re never there because she was… she was killed…” Davi cleared his throat. “Spending time inside that cabin when we know what happened inside it, does not feel right.”

“No, selling it isn’t right,” Y/N said. “What if there’s more evidence inside? What if there’s somewhere they haven’t looked?”

“Baby, they have cleaned out the cabin and there’s nowhere they haven’t looked. There’s nothing more they can investigate,” Lottie explained. “We don’t want to own that cabin anymore.”

“Kit murdered Marcela in there,” Y/N said. “Her murderous ex-boyfriend is running around somewhere because no one investigated that cabin thoroughly enough.”

“Selling it doesn’t mean they are going to stop investigating Marcela’s case, amorzinho,” Davi pointed out.

“We don’t… We still don’t know if Kit did it,” Lottie mumbled. “It was most likely him, but there could have been someone else who killed Marcela, Y/N.”

“Marcela’s body hasn’t been found, there’s no trace of Kit’s blood or remains on that property. That murderer is on the loose, something inside that cabin can tell us he killed her, I am sure of it.”

“Y/N, Kit hasn’t been seen since the murder either. Maybe he was killed, too,” Lottie said.

“Mum, Kit was a rubbish person, why are you sticking up for him?” Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face.

“We decided, Y/N,” Davi mumbled, rubbing his daughter’s back. “It’s happening.”

That was all Y/N needed to hear. She took her plate in one hand and the glass with water her mother had made her in another, and she walked straight past everyone in the living room and up to her room. She felt like a child stomping past everyone like that, but she just needed to be with her thoughts. There was absolutely no way they were selling that cabin. Not that cabin. Y/N was sure there was evidence in there somewhere, the police and the investigators had just not looked thoroughly enough. That was all. And if they had done a shite job, well… that just meant Y/N had to do it for them. She had to go to that cabin and look for herself once and for all. After all, who else would? It did not seem like anyone cared anymore.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 21th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #1dff #:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD COME TALK PLSSSS :DDDDDDDDDDDDDD

231 notes · View notes

danniburgh · 4 years ago

Link

Before the sun shines onto us

I wrote a Pedro Pascal fic, I’m aware I’m sick, I have therapy tomorrow

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!reader

Summary: It's been a long time since they saw each other, they lived so many things together that neither of them could change not forget, yet for her, returning to the house that they shared for so long, while the world was ending, was way more necessary than she had expected. or Pedro didn't expect to see his ex-wife standing on the front door, he didn't expect her to ask about the recent news or to compliment his home decour style just as if nothing had happened. But given the fact that the world was ending, he let her in anyway.

Word count: +6.2k

Warnings: real people fiction!!!!, narrated in third person basically the end of the world, angst, mentions of ch*ld de*ath (tw at the beginning of the scene), science, made up space shit

A/N: i made myself cry like four times writing this, im not sorry, this was mainly inspired by “rocks that bleed” a short film that lives in my mind rent free since the first time i saw it

Masterlist // Read in ao3

She came out of the door of the hotel salon, her big handbag was hanging from her right arm, her small suitcase was being rolled with the left one, she encountered one of her colleagues that was also getting out and the man waved at her with a smile.

"Hey, you wanna grab a coffee with the rest of us?" He kind of screamed the question, trying to make himself heard over the voiced of all the people that were getting out and gathering at the entrance of the salon, he smiled back at him and shook her head.

"I have to go back home, Ben, but I'll grab that coffee next time, for sure" The man laughed.

"See you next year, then" She waved at him as she walked down the corridor towards the elevators, she rushed to the only one open despite her high heels and one of the people already inside held the door for her.

"Thanks" She took out her phone from her bag and dialed the most recent number on her calls history, her assistant picked up in the first tone. "Hey Jessi, is the ticket ready?" she asked, looking at the small screen on top of the elevator, impatient to reach the first floor.

"Yes misses Balmaceda, ready for you to pick it up and the flight is at seven thirty" the girl on the other side of the line said, the elevator door opened and she was the first one to walk out of it.

"Thank you, see you in the morning" She said, hanging up, while she was walking towards the hotel main entrance she dialed her husband's phone number, she heard his voice while giving her suitcase to one of the bellboys, who was holding the door open for her to get out.

"Taxi?" the boy said, and she nodded.

"Hey, babe, just got out of the seminar" On the other side of the line she could hear some giggles and on the background she heard a children's song that she immediately recognized.

"Oh finally, how was it?" She smiled at her husband's response, she noticed his agitated voice. A taxi pulled over next to her and the driver got out to help the bellboy with the suitcase.

"Well, you know, doctor stuff" She said, teasingly "They amazingly discovered yet another protein that produces cerebral cancer, but now I'm on my way home" He let out a sigh and she got inside the car.

"You okay, Pedro?" The taxi driver got inside as well and looked at her "Airport, please" The man nodded and started the engine.

"Ash please stop changing the channels" She smiled at the mention of their daughter "Yeah I'm fine, just tired, what time you're arriving?"

"Around ten, how's my baby?" She asked.

"She's being a torment right now, she didn't let me read the script I received" Pedro said with a laugh "She has bedtime in two minutes" he raised his voice, more to the little girl that was running around the living room than to his wife, She smiled and the taxi made a turn.

"Awe, I miss my baby" She murmured while looking out the window.

"And your baby missed you, we both do" Pedro said back, she didn't respond, a bright light outside caught her attention.

"The moon looks very shiny" She whispered, surprised.

"What?"

"The moon, it looks very, very shiny" She emphasized "Way more than normal"

"Amor, it's the moon, it's always shiny"

"No, Pedro, it looks... Shinier than usual"

"What do you even mean?"

"Go look at it"

"I'm not gonna look at it" He laughed "It's just the goddamn moon."

"Honey please, it looks odd, just indulge me" She insisted.

"It does look weird" The taxi driver said while making another turn, leaving the moon behind them.

"See? even the driver thinks so" She giggled, turning on the seat to see it again through the back windshield

"I mean I guess it looks kind of unusual" Pedro said.

"Told you" She said, he laughed at her cocky voicetone. The taxi made yet another turn and she could see the airport. "Okay babe, gotta go, see you later, give Ashley a kiss from me"

"Can't wait to see you, love you"

"Love you too"

****

She turned off the car's ignition and looked at the town house through the copilot's window, she hadn't been inside in so long it almost looked... Unknown to her.

She hesitated to open the car door and get out but she did it anyway. She stopped and looked down at that specific patch of concrete on the street, and had to force herself to look away from it, as she could feel her throat getting clogged already.

She walked slowly to the end of the steps and stopped again to look at the front door, it was worn down and a bit darker than she recalled, she walked up the steps one by one until she got to the front door, it was there where she noticed how the street was oddly quiet, dark, only lightened by the street lights and the overshiny moon, very calm, the only noise that she could hear was the wind playing with the few leaves left on the trees and the muffled sound that came from inside the house.

She hesitated to knock on the door for a second but she did it anyway. One, two, three small hits with her knuckles.

The door opened and there he was, tall as ever, handsome as ever.

"Hi" She said, he looked surprised, she didn't know if it was because she was there or not, she noticed his beard and her stomach made a turn because of how much she liked it, she also noticed the bag below his eyes and she wanted to cry because his damn eyes were as warm and deep as she remembered.

"Hi" Pedro responded.

"Did you hear?" She asked, he tilted his head, implicitly telling her to elaborate on her question "About the sun?"

He stood there, looking at her, she then had that sensation on her chest she hadn't felt in so much, the expectation, the tension, she wanted to know so bad what was going on inside his head, she had seen so many brains in her career but with his, she just wanted to read his thoughts so she could know if she wanted her there or if she had to leave and be alone while everything happened.

He then nodded slightly and stepped to the side to let her in.

She hesitated to go inside for a split second, but she did it anyway, she walked slowly, taking in all the changes he had made to the place, new paint, some new furniture, it even smelled different.

She jumped, startled, when he reached her shoulders from behind to take off her jacket, not because he scared her, but because she hadn't felt his touch in way too long.

****

The taxi pulled over in front of her house, she paid while opening the car door, getting out and taking out the suitcase from inside the car.

"Keep the change" She sad, closing the taxi door, she rushed over to the end of the steps and walked them up as fast as her heels allowed her to, already with the key on her hand.

She opened the door and got inside, the house was silent and the only light on was a lamp on the living room, she took out her shoes and dropped them on the entrance, she walked to the kitchen, lifting some of Ashley's toys in the way, on top of the counter was a tinfoil covered dish, and she smiled at the small note stuck to it that had a smiley face drawn on.

She felt two hands on her waist that startled her, and then a soft pair of lips on her cheek.

"You scared me" She said laughing, she turned around on his embrace and faced Pedro, already in his pajamas.

"Good" He smiled at her and hugged her tighter, she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, using her hands to caress his biceps and go all the way to the nape of his neck.

"Hi, movie star"

"How was your flight, Doctor?" He asked softly on her lips, then he put his forehead on hers.

"Flight-ey" She smiled, he nodded softly as he left his hands wander on her waist, her hip and her lower back "I'm wrecked"

"Me and you both" He gave her another kiss, this one hungrier than the last one, but also slower.

"Where's my baby?"

"Already asleep"

"I wanna see her" He nodded and kissed her one last time before breaking the tight embrace, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the kitchen.

"Vamos"

They got up the stairs in silence, she holding his left hand and he holding her suitcase with his right one, she made a turn to Ashley's room while Pedro walked to their bedroom, she opened the door trying not to be loud, and walked towards the girl's bed, sitting on it beside her.

Pedro left the suitcase and came back to his daughter's room, watching as his wife was caressing softly the little girl's soft brown hair while whispering to her words he couldn't listen, he smiled and leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms, she turned to see him.

"Can you believe we made this wonder?" She murmured, pointing at the little girl fast asleep on the bed.

****

Pedro didn't like how he was feeling about her being there, he knew he was supposed to be angry, if not, maybe a bit offended, but he wasn't. He liked her being there, in the place that was theirs, in the house that belonged to her.

"I like the color" She said, pointing at the wall and looked at him for a brief moment. "It doesn't even look like the same house" She sounded amazed.

"Yeah, I had it painted last year" He walked past her, still with her jacket on his hands, he left it on the armchair near the hallway "You wanna sit down?" She nodded and sat on the couch near the window. He stood there, just trying to figure out what to say or what to do, he scratched his beard and then sat down on the other armchair, next to the couch she was sitting on.

Pedro looked at her as her eyes wandered across everything that was within her sight but him, he noticed rather quickly that she was avoiding looking at him. He was astonished by just her mere presence there.

She was stift, she didn't know what to say to him or even if she should even speak at all, while she was looking at the new coat of paint, she noticed a big painting of a beach hanging on the wall near the dining table, it looked cold, it looked out of place.

"How's your dad?" She asked, looking down at her hands, or her shoes, he couldn't tell.

"He's okay" He responded, she fidgeted her fingers, he knew what she was really asking "He's gonna spend it with my brothers, Nico flew to Chile when the rumors started" She nodded.

"And Javi?" Pedro sighed, he knew why she was asking about his family, he knew she cared about them, but he also knew that she was making time, she didn't want to tell him yet why she was there.

"She's at home, she's with the in-laws"

Then the silence fell on them once again, she was just sitting there, and he knew she could feel her gaze on her, she always could, and he didn't think her body had already forgotten how his stare felt.

She tried to control herself, she didn't want to break more, then she realized why the beach painting looked so out of place. That wall used to be the place where half a dozen pictures of Ashley were hung. She felt the clogging in her throat again and she felt the familiar stinging on the back of her eyes, for a moment she wanted to yell at him and ask him where all of her pictures went, but she couldn't, she wasn't ready.

"I wanted to go back home" She mentioned in a hushed-tone, still looking down "But then they announced the state borders were closing so I had to stay"

Pedro didn't say anything, he wanted her to speak more, he wanted her to tell him what was she doing there after three years, he wanted her to explain to him why she did what she did without him having to ask her for answers.

She then lifted his head and looked at him, she was crying.

****

She felt a tiny, cold pair of hands on her cheeks, then a small pair of lips kissing her forehead, she smiled without opening her eyes as the tiny hands caressed her hair.

"Mommy" She heard near her ear "Are you awake?" She smiled at the question and then shook her head. She heard giggles. "Yes you are."

"Wake up papi" She whispered while opening one of her eyes to see her little girl kneeling on the edge of the bed, with her big brown eyes small, her hair all rowdy and her pajamas wrinkled. Ashley wineded her grin and she helped her cross her to get to the middle of the bed. Pedro was on his tummy, hugging the pillow, and Ashley sat on his back.

"Papi, despierta, wake up" She started screaming and jumping in his back, Pedro growled and reached to the girl with one arm to hug her off his back and down to the bed.

"Papá tiene la espalda muy jodida, niña" He said with a laugh while Ashley was laughing as he tickled her. (Daddy's back is very fucked, girly)

"It's my cumpleaños" Ashley screamed, wanting her father to free her from his tickly fingers. (It's my birthday) Pedro stopped the tickle assault and looked at his wife, that was enjoying the show from the comfort of the other side of the bed.

"Why do you let her hurt me like this?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"It's her cumpleaños" She shrugged, Pedro laughed at the response.

"I turn this many" The girl, still in her father's arms, raised up a hand with three lifted fingers.

"You're getting old" Pedro screamed while resuming his tickle attack.

"¡Para, papá!" Ashley screamed again (Stop, dad) and giggled out of his arms, crawling to her laughing mom and sitting on her lap. "Mommy, I love you, can we have ice cream for breakfast?" Her mom laughed at the attempted bribe.

"What if we have it after breakfast?" Ashley shook her head. "No? Maybe with the breakfast?" Pedro laughed and sat on the bed while the girl nodded effusively, then she opened her arms and Ashley fell into them "Happy birthday, my sunshine"

Pedro saw his two girls with a smile on his face and got closer to hug them both, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek and then one to his daughter on the head.

"Feliz cumpleaños, pulga" (Happy birthday, flea [i swear it's endearingly in spanish])

****

"I called my mom" She said, wiping off a tear that was beginning to fall on her cheek and looking away, still trying to look for pictures of Ashley, Pedro shifted on the chair "I actually spoke to her for almost four hours" He nodded, not knowing where she was going on with this, but wanting to hear more "And we talked about us, and about how much we love each other" She left out more tears as she spoke "She asked me to forgive her for all the things she did wrong" Pedro was absort on how much it hurt him to see her like that, and didn't even tried to hide it, "We just wanted closure" she said, and then he saw her rubbing her hands together as if they were cold "She's gonna be alone, y'know, for this?" She gestured with her hand, making a circle "But she didn't want me to be alone"

Pedro then looked at her more intensely, trying to analize her as she wiped her tears away and looked around the house, searching for something. He didn't know if he wanted her to elaborate more on what she talked about with her mom, but he did know what she was looking for.

He stood up and walked towards her, she felt a shiver down her spine as he kneeled on the other side of the couch and opened the curtain. She turned on her seat and saw three small picture frames put neatly on the edge of the window. She felt her shoulders drop as he sat next to her and grabbed the first one and gave it to her.

"Her first steps" He said, she nodded, looking at the picture through the wetness of her eyes. She blinked and a tear fell on the glass, she wiped it and saw him grab the next one.

"That's on her third birthday" He said, softly, she took the picture and left out a sob, she covered her mouth with her free hand and then looked up to the ceiling.

"I thought-"

"I know" He interrupted her, standing up and taking a deep breath and turning his back to her "I just don't like to see them all the time" He said, she nodded even though he didn't see her.

"She has your eyes" She whispered, he looked at her and she did the same, she saw his eyes fill with tears and then he said something she wish she didn't hear.

"Had"

****

[tw]

She was writing a report on her laptop when she heard a knock on the door, then she heard Pedro's voice from outside.

"Can you help us with the groceries, please" He yelled, she let out a laugh and closed the computer, walked towards the front door and opened it to see her husband carrying more groceries than he could handle on the doorstep and her daughter trying to help with three others on the sidewalk, she moved to let Pedro inside and got out to carry the ones left.

"Honey get inside, please, it's freezing" She said, grabbing two bags and waiting for the girl to walk up the stairs.

"I wanna help" Ashley said, trying to lift a heavy bag.

"I think I over-bought" Pedro said behind her, walking down the stairs, she turned to see him.

"Oh do you?" She laughed, her husband took the bags she was holding and gave her a kiss. "I'm gonna grab the other one" Pedro nodded and turned to leave the bags inside. "C'mon Ash, inside" She said as she turned around to grab the bag that was left.

The bag was tilted to the side, there were two tuna cans on the floor and she saw Ashley walking towards the street to pick up another can that was rolling away. She saw everything in slow motion when in fact it happened within a minute.

"¡Ashley leave that!" She screamed at her daughter, rushing to grab her, the child stopped in the middle of the street and showed the can to her mom with a victory smile on her face. She tried to run to Ashley that hadn't seen the suv that was already a feet away from her.

Pedro only heard a long scream, the sound of car breaks, then a deep sob.

He rushed out of the house, the first thing that he saw was the suv, stopped in the middle of the street, then whom he assumed was the driver, talking desperately into the phone, then he saw his wife crouched on the asphalt, holding... Ashley.

Pedro tried to walk towards them but his legs didn't respond, he dropped to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk while he saw his wife sitting in the middle of the street holding their little girl to her chest screaming her name as loud as she could. He felt more cold than he had ever felt in his life, he felt his eyes wanting to pop out of his head, he felt like sticking his hand into his chest to squish out his heart, he wanted to stop looking at the scene, he didn't want to see Ashley's blood on the concrete anymore, he didn't want to hear his wife screaming her lungs out calling for her baby, he didn't want to see his little girls body being ripped away from her mother. But there he was, seeing it all, hearing it all, feeling it all.

Pedro sat there while his wife sat on the street, the ambulance came, the police did too, their neighbours showed up as well and they just sat there, seeing without seeing, hearing without hearing.

By the time the paramedics made the call, pronounced Ashley and took her away, his wife had stopped crying, was being helped by a police officer to stand up and then Pedro did too. He walked towards her and slowly reached for her face, she didn't say anything, he didn't say anything. She leaned into his chest and he held her as tight as his body responded him. They stood there for a while, the sun went down and then the moon lighted up, she looked down and the bag of groceries was put into the edge of the stairs.

"The moon" Pedro said, she looked up "It looks unusual again"

****

"Had" She corrected.

He stood there in silence, she was holding the picture to her chest, that image reminded him of so much that he closed his eyes instictevly.

"Are you gonna tell me why you're here?" He asked softly. She looked at him, astounded that he wasn't angry, or exasperated, astounded that he was just... sad, she looked at him, wondering why she could still read him as well as she did back when they were together.

"I..." She started, he looked at her and saw her face, puffy and red from crying and her eyes, even so watery, expecting and hopeful. "I don't wanna be alone" She let out a sob and then hid her face into her hands, feeling stupid, pathetic, feeling lonely, as well as sad, so very sad, because she knew he had all the right to make her leave, she knew that if he wanted, he could tell her to fuck off and throw her out to spend the last time alone.

"Okay" He said, she looked at him, thanking him with one look, he stared at her for what it seemed hours and then nodded. "I'll bring you some water"

She saw him walking to the kitchen, she heard him grab a cup, opening the fridge and pouring water into it, then he came back and handed it to her.

"It's filtered, don't worry" He told her, sitting on the chair again, she nodded and took a sip, then left it on the floor, by the end of the couch.

"Do they have any idea when it's gonna start?" She asked, more out loud than directly to him, he shrugged.

"They have no fucking idea of anything" He answered.

"Are you mad?" She asked him "About how's gonna end?" He frowned at the way she asked, and actually thought of it because he didn't know.

"I guess I am" He said "There was so much I wanted to do, y'know" He scratched his beard and moved to lean on his hand, putting his elbow on his knee "You heard they closed the movie business when the news broke?" She lifted her eyebrows in surprised, she was so out of the loop "Everything was shut down, it was fucking unbelievable" He said.

"When was the last time you filmed anything?" She asked, he grinned.

"About eight months ago, when they announce the exact date." He said, looking at her, he felt how they were starting to loosen up a bit, and so he didn't want to waste any more of the short amount of time they had, either together or alive. "Why did you leave?"

****

When he entered the kitchen there was smoke coming out of the oven, he quickly turned it off and opened it along with the stractor to try to get rid of most of the smoke. She was standing next to the fridge, looking at nothing, holding an oven mitt close to her chest.

"Are you ok?" He asked, he knew it was the most stupid question he could ask at the moment, and he understood when she didn't even acknowledge it. He stood there for a second, wondering and pondering if he could walk towards her and hug her, wondering and pondering if she would take the hug or push him away once again as she had done for the past few months.

He decided to give it a chance and walked towards her, though he didn't hug her, he just stood next to her.

She let out a sob and slowly shoved the oven mitt into his chest, walking away.

Pedro held the mitt and he recognized the drawing it had, it was one of many projects Ashley had made in school. He went after her, she was standing in the middle of the living room, looking at all the pictures of Ashley the had on the wall. He went for it and tried to hug her waist from behind, she let out a sigh and took his arms and unmade the embrace. He closed his eyes just wanting to know what was going on. She turned to see him with her eyes filled with tears.

"I need to leave" She said, he felt the air leaving his chest.

"What?"

"I can't be here anymore" She sobbed out, he walked towards her again and she stopped hi with a hand on his chest "I'm sorry, I can't" He frowned, he needed an explanation and she knew she was entitled to one but she didn't have the strength to do it.

"I'll go" He said, grabbing her from the arms, she shook her head and let out two thick tears.

"I'm the one leaving" She said, slowly.

"But why" He cried, he didn't realize he was crying as well until he said that. "Please talk to me."

"I can't be in this house anymore, Pedro, I can't be here anymore" She said through her sobs, he tried to hug her again and she refused.

"Let's go together, let's leave together" He pleaded. She shook her head. "Please don't leave"

"I don't wanna be here anymore"

"You don't want to be with me?" He asked, hoping and praying for the answer to be yes.

"No"

He sobbed, she then hugged him and he held her as tight as he had strength to.

"You have her eyes" She sobbed "I can't look at your eyes because all I can see it's her and I can't bear it anymore" He let out a sob all the way from his chest, she wanted to break the hug.

"Please don't leave" He begged "I need you"

"I'm so sorry" She looked at him, grabbed his face and they there were, his damn eyes, the same she had, the same eyes she had stared into when she was holding her body when she left. "I want you to know that I do love you" She said, he closed his eyes and shook his head "And I will never stop, you hear me? I will always love you"

Then she walked up the stairs and left him in the living room, knowing she was packing, knowing she was leaving, knowing then and there that he would be alone.

And when she got down with a suitcase on her hand, he stood there, crying his eyes out, begging her with his eyes not to leave, wanting her to stay, promising it would get better.

But she opened the door, gave him one last stare and wiped a tear away.

"I'll come back for the rest of my things when you're at set" And walked out.

He sat on the couch wondering what he did wrong, while she stood in the doorstep for a while, looking at the very unusual, evergrowingly shiny moon.

****

The question took her by surprise, she knew he wanted to know, she still knew, after three years, he was entitled to an explanation, she owed her one.

"I know it won't make sense" She started "But I saw her in you" He saw her jaw starting to tremble.

"That's the thing" He said, trying to remain calm, trying to forget all those nights he spent screaming into his pillows, trying to forget all the times different directors had to cut scenes because he was inexplicably crying. "I saw her in you, too" She looked down, embarrassed "And I still loved you, I worshiped you" He said, his voice breaking at the last sentence "I fucking died inside a second time when you left"

"Pedro" It was the first time she'd said his name since she arrived, and he didn't like what it made him feel, he had worked hard to try to forget her and keep the happy memories of his little girl intact that he felt like an incredible failure when he felt his heart pounding at the sound of his name on her lips. "I know it wasn't fair-"

"Of fucking course it wasn't fair" He cut her "You left me here, to grieve alone, do you think I didn't suffer after Ashley died?"

"Be both did, you know that, each of us in a different way" She sobbed out.

"And yet, when I needed your support you left" He said, she could hear a tone of irony.

"And what about me?" She said, frowning, realizing that maybe it had been a mistake to knock on his door "Did you actually think I would be grieving just with hugs? And kisses? I needed to talk about it, Pedro, I fucking needed to talk about it, our little girl died, and you just wanted to cuddle up in bed and stay there"

He opened his mouth trying to respond but he couldn't, because it was true. He knew it was his mistake and then and there he realized that he couldn't do anything to repair it.

A blast was heard outside, they both jumped, she looked out the window and saw absolutely nothing. He reached for the tv remote and turned it on.

He put on the news channel while wiping his tears, and sat next to her on the couch, there was a coverage on what they were calling "The Outburst", for them, it was just an announced chronicle of the end of the world, they were talking about the flares of the sun getting increasingly hotter, higher and dangerous.

"Ugh, as if we didn't know" Pedro said, then they ran a simulation of what would happen once the earth reached what, once again, they were calling "Blast Wave Point", the point where the earth and the sun would be closer to each other, the earth would heat up and everything will start catching in flames, then the "Last Flare" would reach and light everything on fire. She reached and grabbed Pedro's hand as the images on the tv showed a render of the end of humanity. He turned off the tv. "Apparently it was just a flare reaching the atmosphere" He said, she nodded and looked at him.

"Are you still mad at me?" She asked, he gripped her hand and shook his head.

"We're past that" He said "Time did its thing" She gave him a soft smile and nodded. "Are you hungry?"

They had dinner together, they talked about what they had done the last three years, he had heard about her new investigation reaching the scientific community before the colleges shut down, she had watched him receive an oscar way before they announced the exact date of The Outburst.

They had laughed at how they actually weren't the first people to notice the increasing reflection of the sun on the moon as the huge star heated to the point of no return, they had reminisce at how they looked at the moon every time they missed each other or every time they missed Ashley.

They cried again, holding each other hands, and asked for forgiveness and forgave one another. They remembered the good times they spent together in over eight years of relationship and the rough times as well.

They watched the president's final address to the people of America, the doomsday goodbye, and laughed at the stiffness of it all, spent hours talking and talking about their childhoods and how they imagine Ashley would be like now, hearing once every few hours the blasts of the sun flares reaching the atmosphere.

"I'm actually glad she's not here to see this shit" She said, Pedro nodded in agreement, they had moved to sit on the floor, the temperature outside was rising and they had started to break a sweat, he lend her one of his t-shirts so she could remove the sweater she was wearing before.

"Don't you wonder how our lives would be if things didn't go as they did?" He asked her, she looked at him and grabbed his hand.

"Maybe I could've learned more español" She teased, he laughed "I do, but when I catch myself doing it I force myself to stop" He looked at her, interested "Because I know it's not healthy, y'know, to live that way in the past" He nodded with a nostalgic smile. And they listened carefully as another flare tried to reach the planet.

"Sounds ominous" He said, she laughed.

"Do you think it'll let us know?" She asked, he moved his body to face hers and shrugged.

"I don't know I've never lived this before" He teased "Why don't you know?" He asked her.

"I'm a neurologist not an astronomer" She answered with a smile, and went on to lean her head on his shoulder. "I really hope it doesn't"

"Why?"

"I don't wanna know, I wanna burn to death without it in my mind" She said, looking at his eyes, making him feel ever so transparent, making him feel like she could read him like an open book.

"What do you wanna have in your mind?" He asked, knowing full well why.

"Ashley" She said, he smiled endearingly "I wanna burn to death while I look into your eyes" She let out. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"God, how did I miss you" He spat. She smiled and lifted a hand to cup his face. They could hear two blasts going off at the same time, and the power went down.

"Shit" She said, scared, he pulled her into him, even though the air was hot and thick and they were sweaty and messy, he held her. Another two blasts went off. "Is it time?" She asked, he didn't respond because he didn't know. A set of four blasts were heard, one after the other "It's letting us know" She cried into his chest.

Pedro loosened his grip on her and grabbed her face with both hands, making her see him.

"It's gonna be okay" He said, trying to wipe off her tears with his thumbs "We're together, you're with me now" She nodded as the blasts started to get more frequent and the heat started to get almost unbearable.

"Why the fuck is this happening so fast?" She said, blinking fast to let the tears fall, Pedro shook his head, not knowing what to say, about to burst into tears as well, he would've been lying if he had said he wasn't scared "I need more time" She spat, while trying to cling to him "I need more time with you" He started crying as he heard her saying those words. Somehow made him feel the warmest he had felt in years, even in the middle of the apocalypse. "I love you, Pedro, I never stopped loving you"

"I know, I love you too, I fucking love you" He felt his skin wet with sweat and she finally closed the little distance they had left between them, she kissed him eagerly and clumsily, she kissed him like she hadn't kiss any human being in three years, and as he grabbed her face as close as he could, opening his lips for her to consume the little air he still had inside his chest, he thought there was nowhere else he wanted to be, right there, as the world was lighting up in flames, as the whole human race was being wiped from the planet, there was nothing else he wanted to do, no one else he wanted to embrace, no other thing he wanted to do, than to kiss the love of his life, after so long of not feeling her touch.

If the end of the world had to happen for them to feel each other again, so be it.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ao3 tags #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the end of the world #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x female reader

153 notes · View notes

jackson--t · 3 years ago

Note

Hi ! I hope you're doing well. I've had an idea for a one shot and though I could write it myself I don't think it could ever come out as beautiful as if you would write it so here it is.

I was thinking of Ivar and Heahmund as a couple. They haven't really had to spend too much time away from each other because whenever ine traveled with work the other would come along so maybe this time Ivar has to go alone because it's urgent and Heahmund can't come along cause he's stuck at work and unable to take a few days off. I was thinking Ivar would be so homesick. Like unable to sleep and stuff. And though he would have had to spend around a week away he won't be able to stay away for so long and return 3 days later and surprises Heahmund and they cuddle q lot and Ivar barely let's Heahmund go anywhere because he's touch starved.

You don't have to write it. It's just an idea but if you fancy it and want to I would feel honored to have my idea written by you and also very happy. Thank you ! Love ya!

Hello my dear, and I feel so honored that you want me to write this idea of yours! ❤️ As I already told you, it was a huge pleasure for me as I can identify myself with that situation very well, and I really hope that you like what I wrote and it turned maybe a little bit out the way you wanted it. Thank you so much! ❤️

Three days

Words: ~ 3k.

It's all pure fluff and stuff, and a bit of missing, obviously. xD

Ivar clenched his hand lightly around Heahmund's; he had been afraid, damned afraid of this day that was coming anyway - and it had just been there far too quickly, far too fleetingly, and most of all - far too hard.

He could feel Heahmund squeezing his hand a little tighter as well, but the big man only smiled slightly, while Ivar could already feel the tears in his eyes.

"I can't do that, no. I'd rather be out of a job." he snarled tensely, while Heahmund let out a soft snort. They had arrived at the final departure lounge, where he would soon be leaving - and where Ivar would have to say a final goodbye to Heahmund.

They had been a couple for maybe two years, had been through many ups and downs together - but they had never been apart for long. The longest they had spent without each other was one day. And that was only because Ivar had been far too offended at the time and had missed his bus when he had changed his mind after all. In that night, Ivar had sworn to himself that he would never again spend even one night apart from Heahmund - which had generally worked out well. When one of the two had to travel, they had taken each other with them. One had taken time off, the other was working; in this way they had been able to discover many places together. But this time it had been different. Since Heahmund had an important job to do, he couldn't take time off - just when Ivar had to fly away for a week for his job.

It was the first time Ivar had seriously considered just quitting; it was one thing to go to work and have your partner back in bed with you in the evening; but something completely different to have to go to sleep without him. The thought of it sent deep goosebumps down Ivar's body, and he sighed deeply.

"Honey, you're hurting me. It's only a week.", Heahmund said in a relaxed manner, trying to lightly release his hand from the clamp-like grip of Ivar's warm fingers; however, Ivar shook his head. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself; but his eyes betrayed him. It wasn't really a tear that ran lightly from the corner of his eye, but Heahmund saw it anyway.

He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue and wrapped his arms tightly around the middle of Ivar's body; Ivar buried his face deep in Heahmund's black jacket, breathing in deeply the smell of his boyfriend. God, how he would miss him. Already his body felt drained, and his heart area became terribly heavy.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Heahmund. What are you going to do without me? Who's going to cook for you? And don't you dare meet anyone else.", Ivar mumbled dully into Heahmund's jacket, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Heahmund as he laughed softly and melodically.

"Babe, I'm not seeing anyone else. And besides, I'll probably survive a week without you! What are delivery services for, huh?" Heahmund replied, lifting Ivar's chin with a slight movement; Ivar blinked.

"Still. I should stay here." he grumbled, and Heahmund laughed softly.

"I have something for you that will comfort you a little. I know you always claim you don't like these things and are too old for them - but you always hug your bear very fiercely for that when I come home at night. That's why...", Heahmund said and pulled something out of his jacket pocket; it was a small stuffed animal, a small, soft hyena, wearing a dark blue ribbon around its neck. Ivar had to swallow; he took the stuffed animal carefully in his hands and then blinked very gently up at Heahmund, who looked at him with a smile.

"A hyena! You remember I was particularly fond of those?" he murmured softly, and Heahmund nodded as his hand went lightly to the back of Ivar's neck.

"Sure. You took about 200 pictures, and you kept stressing how much you'd like one yourself, and that you'd keep it in the bedroom."

"In the bathroom, so it could have a tub!"

"Of course!" Heahmund snorted in amusement; through the hall came the distinct and final call for Ivar's Gate, and the voice again sent a terrible shiver down Ivar's spine. He pressed himself as tightly as he could against Heahmund and sobbed slightly; Heahmund's warm fingers stroked through his hair, which for once he had not braided today, and which was just wildly disheveled. Who else was he going to make himself pretty for when his future husband wasn't around?

"Shhht, it's going to be okay, Ivar. You have to go now.", Heahmund said softly; Ivar knew it was time, but he found it extremely difficult to let go of the warm and familiar body and the familiar, beloved smell.

They kissed firmly and as long as they could; before Heahmund softly broke the kiss and smiled at Ivar once more. "You call me as soon as you land, okay? And no cell phone on the plane!" he said with a wink, and Ivar rolled his eyes.

He wiped away the last of his tears and hugged the hyena tightly before shuffling towards his gate with infinitely heavy feet. He looked after Heahmund for as long as he could - and when his dearly beloved guy disappeared behind him, the whole feeling in his body became really crushing. He tried to calm himself down the aisles to the plane and not show his tears - which worked well as long as he kept chewing his lower lip and answering all questions from stewardesses and staff only with a dull nod.

But it wasn't until he was sitting in his seat on the plane that all his emotions suddenly came rushing up - especially when he put the little hyena down on his lap and squeezed it tightly. He knew it was Heahmund's way of letting him know he was there - but the takeoff still sucked. Normally, during airplane takeoffs, Ivar always held Heahmund's hand, and always huddled slightly against Heahmund's shoulder out of fear; now that he wasn't there, the plane takeoff was a thousand times worse for Ivar.

The flight itself went by quickly, it was also only two hours. But the first day in his seminar from work was not great. Ivar found it awful to keep in touch with Heahmund only through his cell phone. Every two minutes he glanced at the screen, waiting to receive another heart, or an "I love you, I miss you." He knew Heahmund was working, too - but his inner, offended side most wanted Heahmund to text him every second.

The distraction of the seminar made the day go by quickly, even though Ivar shut down easily; he barely listened, and when he fell into his bed at night, all the fierce violence of missing him came crashing down. It took him a few seconds, a few seconds and his little hyena, before he could breathe reasonably again and pull out his cell phone to call Heahmund.

"Hey, little guy. Are you okay?" Heahmund said; he sounded tired and exhausted, but tears immediately started to flow on Ivar's face.

"I want to go home, I don't feel like it anymore! I'm homesick as hell, and I already know I can't sleep in this shitty bed! Heahmund, come get me. You can work from here too!" Ivar grumbled, sniffling as Heahmund laughed softly.

"Babe, you know I can't do that. I've really had a lot of conversations today, and I'm really, really knackered. I'm about to go to sleep too."

"You sound really tired too. But still... How am I supposed to sleep without you?" Ivar whined softly as Heahmund tossed and turned, Ivar heard it clearly. "And you're not supposed to sleep on the couch, Heahmund."

"I'm about to go to bed. Are you stalking me?"

"No, but I know our couch." Ivar said, smiling slightly; although tears were running slightly from his eyes, he could not hide the smile. He hugged the hyena a little more to his chest, imagining for a moment that it was Heahmund's warm hand; it helped a little.

"You are unique, at least your ears are. Which, after all, only hear what they want to hear. I miss you, Ivar."

Ivar swallowed hard. "I miss you too."

"We can talk on the phone with video tomorrow, I'm really too tired today."

"All right. Sleep well, and don't touch yourself too much! I want the full load when I get back.", Ivar grinned slightly, and he heard Heahmund snort exactly: it was the snort that Ivar knew quite well he was imagining him naked, with Ivar lying underneath him, moaning and whimpering.

"Of course. The same goes for you. I want you trembling and fucking starved with me," Heahmund replied; "...I love you. If there's anything, get in touch!"

"I love you, too. Will do."

As soon as he hung up, Ivar's heart grew heavy again, terribly heavy. He felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, almost crushing him. It was such a sickening feeling to be lying alone in this bed, so many miles from Heahmund.

"You're 20, you can do it," Ivar whispered to himself as he tucked himself in and snuggled comfortably. But no matter what he did, he couldn't sleep.

His thoughts kept circling around Heahmund, and his body and soul missed the man next to him just terribly. Ivar had the feeling that his body was in severe withdrawal, that he simply needed Heahmund to function at all. He remembered the smell, the so familiar smell of Heahmund's neck and chin as they lay over Ivar's head, taking him in; he remembered his fingers always sliding over Heahmund's chest, sometimes on shaved, smooth, skin, sometimes on something hairier... but either way, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world to sleep in Heahmund's warm embrace.

For as long as Ivar could remember, he had always slept with his head on Heahmund's chest or shoulder; he couldn't think of an evening when they hadn't somehow fallen asleep without physical contact. Even on the hottest summer nights, Ivar would always curl up against Heahmund's back like a little hedgehog, holding at least his one arm, no matter how much Heahmund grumbled in his half-sleep.

It was simply his means of falling asleep, of waking up, of feeling good all around. But now, so alone in this hotel room, he felt completely lost and abandoned. The pain after Heahmund's closeness was so gravely real that Ivar found it difficult to breathe normally at all; again and again small sobs interrupted his breathing, and he pressed the hyena very tightly against him; unfortunately, it no longer bore any traces of Heahmund's scent, and only now did Ivar remember that he had forgotten to pack a worn shirt of Heahmund's - and it was so bad for him in those seconds that he burst into sheer tears, which only subsided when he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.

The next two days were an absolute nightmare for Ivar. He didn't want to and couldn't eat anything, hardly felt like doing anything with the others even though the weather was wonderful - and he cried so terribly after every phone call with Heahmund that he always had to calm down before he could do anything else.

This feeling didn't go away either, and it got worse. This terrible feeling that a very primary part of him was missing, that his better and more beautiful half was simply missing. This missing squeezed all the nice feelings out of him and took over almost his entire daily life - so much so, that on the third day he was fed up and pretended to be sick so he could fly home.

He didn't tell Heahmund about all the action, because he would have just said, "You can't do that," and put on his dad look, along with his glasses, which he needed to work. But Ivar didn't care what he would think; he wrote to a work colleague of Heahmund's beforehand and asked her if he was in the office - when she answered in the affirmative, Ivar decided that he would wait for him at home as a surprise.

It was like a warm hug when Ivar unlocked the door to their apartment and smelled the scent of Heahmund still in the air; his heart was still burning, and he could hardly breathe with excitement - but finally he was home again.

Ivar felt a little bad that he had lasted such a short time and had only managed three days without Heahmund. But he knew that he would not have been able to stand it any other way, and no matter what Heahmund would say - he would just be glad to hold the man in his arms again. It would take away all the pain, and finally the endless burdensome pressure from his chest.

As he wandered through the apartment and looked around, he discovered slight chaos in some corners; but he was not angry. Rather, he smiled from the bottom of his heart, because he saw exactly that Heahmund seemed to need him in everyday life as much as Ivar needed him. As he was already unpacking his suitcase in the bedroom, he discovered the photo album of all their travels on Heahmund's bedside table; it was still open, and Ivar carefully took the book in his hands.

It showed a page with four pictures where they had been together in Egypt; there were pyramids in the background, and Ivar kissed Heahmund on the cheek while the older man grabbed his butt. It was a wonderful photo, and Ivar had to hold back his tears hard. It touched him more than anything that Heahmund had apparently looked at these pictures, even though he had seemed so tough on the phone. It was a moment that was so precious to Ivar - even though it was just a small, hidden detail in their otherwise great relationship.

As the evening approached, Ivar had almost prepared Heahmund's favorite meal; he had placed the little hyena in the hallway so that it would be the first thing the older man would see when he came into the apartment. And indeed - after a little while Ivar heard the lock of the door open, and someone standing in the hallway, puzzled. For a moment, nothing was heard - Ivar bit his lower lip in gleeful excitement before quietly sneaking around the corner of the hallway. He lurked around the corner and saw Heahmund perplexedly picking up the hyena and eyeing it in his hand, and once he had his eyes on this beautiful man, Ivar could wait no longer.

He jumped around the corner and threw himself into Heahmund's arms; the older man was a little startled, but he caught Ivar effortlessly and immediately took him deep and tight in his arms. He even lifted him up slightly with the embrace, and Ivar smiled broadly as Heahmund kissed him breathlessly, demanding.

"Oh fuck, I missed you so much, my little burglar." he murmured against Ivar's cheek, and Ivar took his face in both hands and kissed him again, firmly and intimately. Although tears were running down his cheek, he finally let go of that terribly heavy feeling of missing him, and he could finally breathe freely again. His arms wrapped around Heahmund's neck as tightly as he could, and the older man held him effortlessly in his strong arms.

"I escaped." Ivar admitted dryly, and Heahmund laughed softly.

"How did you do that again, huh?"

"I said I was too sick, and I just flew. Heahmund, I couldn't go on without you, I'm so damn starved and it hurt so much and... oh, the food!", Ivar groaned and pressed one last kiss on Heahmund before breaking free from the hug and running to the kitchen.

They spent a wonderful dinner together, and Ivar talked an incredible amount, though he didn't actually catch that much; but he was immensely satisfied when he was finally able to lie down in Heahmund's arms in the evening, and the older man pulled him into an intimate embrace on the sofa.

Ivar inhaled the smell of Heahmund deeply and firmly and swore to himself that he would never let him go - at most when he had to go to the bathroom. But that was it. Far too much had he missed the pressure of strong arms around him, and didn't want to be left alone for another minute.

When Heahmund wanted to get something to snack on from the kitchen, Ivar grumbled; but he clung with his arms around Heahmund's broad shoulders and let himself be carried like a little monkey all the way to the kitchen, where Heahmund finally had to laugh.

"What are you doing, huh? Are you my little spider monkey again?" he said, amused, and pushed Ivar onto the kitchen table; Ivar chuckled lightly and wrapped his arms around Heahmund again, even though he actually wanted to go to the freezer to get some ice cream. But Ivar kept a tight grip on him, and additionally clamped his legs around Heahmund's hips.

The big man raised an eyebrow, slightly enraptured, and leaned down to Ivar; they kissed intimately, and Ivar felt Heahmund's warm hands slide under his shirt with a slight pleasant hum.

"Are you a little starved?" he murmured softly, and slowly began kissing Ivar's sensitive right side of his neck; a thousand butterflies raced through Ivar's body, and he opened his full lips slightly to let out a soft moan.

"Yes - starved for touch. After all, we have three days to make up, my big guy."

Heahmund's eyebrow rose again in rapture, and not a second passed before the two strong arms had Ivar firmly in their grasp once more, and they were kissing fiercely. And even as Heahmund pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, he knew for sure that he never wanted to be without this man for even one more day. Fuck the job - he didn't need money.

He just needed the full love and absolute closeness of this incredible man with him, forever.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

@youbloodymadgenius @jadelynlace @punkrocknpearls (Uh, I don't remember if it was you who wanted to be tagged in stuff like this? xD Otherwise, I'm so sorry! <3)

#vikings #request #fluff #heavar #ivar x heahmund

26 notes · View notes