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fishymom-art · 3 years ago

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Bendy and the Dark Revival: Trailer Review

Attention! This post contains spoilers for the new trailer of the game Bendy and the Dark Revival!

If you haven’t watched the trailer, do it first and then come back to read! I also advise you to check out the stream over on @halfusek ‘s YouTube channel, where we reacted to the trailer and discussed it too, but you can do it after you finish reading :))

LET’S START, SHALL WE!

Let’s begin with a huge WHAT THE HELL????? There is so much in this trailer and so many details! I rewatched it a few times already and noticed something new every time! So we have a looooot to unpack.

I will discuss the trailer and theorise about what might happen and what could some things mean. I will be more than happy to hear your own theories based on the trailer! I’ll make a separate hashtag for it, so I don’t lose all of it :). Maybe when the game comes out, we could go through some of those theories again and see, if we did guess something right.

Also sorry in advance if my screenshots aren’t very high quality, I’m working with what I have here, and what I have isn’t always good XD

Onto the trailer!

It starts with a short cutscene of Audrey at her drawing desk. A detail I noticed while making the screenshots, is that it seems to be dark outside and she’s either completely alone at the studio, or there aren’t that many people around for the purpose of making the player concentrate only on the main character, hahaha.

We also have a screenshot from the Bendy Store website showing more of her workplace. Well would you look at that! She has Henry’s picture hanging on her wall :))

(look at her. She’s so pretty with her cute cheeks and uh... Yellow-ish eyes, for some unknown reason)

I’m pretty sure this is how the game starts. And since we were told that the game is separated into chapters again, I assume that in the first chapter we will explore the layout of the place she works in more and play as the normal Audrey, before she gets covered in ink and shit hits the fan. I’ll stick with the theory that Audrey works for Nathan Arch and not in Joey’s Studio, because this place looks VERY different from what we’re used to.

I also assumed that she might be a replacement for Henry when he left, mainly because of his drawing on her wall. But it might also indicate that she’s either his relative or that little girl asking Joey to tell more stories at the end of the first game... hm. But it looks like the game finds itself a few years later after the events of the first game. Like, for example, we were shown that Audrey drew with colours, which means it’s the era of coloured animation. The first full-color animated film was released in 1930s and became frequent by 50s and her hairstyle and clothes seem to line up. MY PROBLEM IS THAT JDS WAS ESTABLISHED IN 1929 AND OPERATED FOR 30 YEARS. SO EITHER THE DEVELOPMENT OF CARTOON INDUSTRY IN THE BENDY UNIVERSE IS VERY SLOW, OR THEY ALL DECIDED TO STICK WITH THE OLD FASHIONED “DRAWING ONE MOVEMENT FOR 10 HOURS BY HAND ON PAPER WITHOUT ANY COLOR” TECHNIQUE FOR MUCH LONGER THAN THEY SHOULD’VE, BECAUSE THE CARTOONS WERE IN COLOR ALREADY LIKE 10 YEARS AFTER THE STUDIO WAS ESTABLISHED. AM I MISSING SOMETHING?????

khem. Anyway.

When the shot with the corridor appears, we hear a loud noise and Audrey saying “What was that?”. It sounds like something opened or turned on in the building. It doesn’t show what that was or what happened, but I guess she went to check it out, because it’s totally safe and a good idea to go towards scary loud noises [thumbs up].

We’re cut straight to a new character, who is probably either the main antagonist or one of the main antagonists alongside other characters that we’re more familiar with (Alice, Ink Demon, etc.).

WELCOME THE CREPPY OLD GUY AKA WILSON!

He is greasy, he is ugly, he looks like someone made a human version of Carver from Showdown Bandit that looks too much like Singed from Arcane. It seems like this is the Unknown guy that was talking to us in the Gameplay Trailer. I really hoped that it’ll be Nathan, but this dried out fig will do too.

Before I talk a little more about the zombification of Peter Capaldi, let’s look at this screenshot a little more. Behind him is something that looks like a mini version of the Ink Machine. It might be the thing that turned Audrey into the inky mess she’ll be for the rest of the game. But there are also some kind of posters about what seems to be... a movie? About Joey Drew? It’s called “Joey Drew: The Man and the Demon”, and is produced by the Arch Gate Pictures (HOORAY! MY ASSHOLE OF A BOY IS CANON IN THE GAME, HALLELUJAH!). Since the location we’re in still looks like the place we’re started off in, it supports my theory that Audrey works for Nathan.

Back to the human cotton swab aka Wilson. Since he refers to our main girl by her first name, it seems like he knows Audrey or was at least told about her.

After his appearance there are a couple of shots showing Audrey transforming into her inky form, so to say. This is what she will look like for the rest of the game. The way they cut to her panicking while turning into an ink creature right after introducing our new baddie, makes me think that Wilson turned her into an ink creature. Maybe he like... poured ink on her or smth?

Now let’s make a little stop here, because while I was writing, the official Bendy Twitter account shared this picture:

First of all, I want to assume that it’s not an only reference we will get. Maybe we will see one for Allison or maybe even our new ugly antagonist, Wilson! Let’s go through it first, shall we?

- They deliberately point out, that Audrey was unwillingly pulled into the cartoon world of Bendy. - She has unique mysterious powers. Something that Henry did not have. Which means I have no clue what she can and cannot do. - And there is a new evil at work in the studio. I’m pretty sure they mean Wilson, because there aren’t any new evil characters who could play a big role in the story, except that male version of Annabelle Doll.

And she’s working those hips, like damn girl, looking sharp!

Anyway, I don’t really have much to say about it yet. I will point out stuff about her design later in the review though!

Anyway, back to the trailer.

Now you can notice those familiar textures and the color scheme. We’re in the Joey Drew Studios, aka now “Bendy’s Cartoon World”, as referred to in Audrey’s bio. I have two options for why we’re suddenly in JDS. It’s either:

- Hidden under the Arch Gate Facility like the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaplace under the Pizzaplex in Security Breach or - Audrey’s tripping balls and sees everything like that because of her new shiny lightbulbs that replaced her eyes.

Both theories are standing on legs made out of cheap dry plasticine and have almost no points that could’ve supported them (except Wilson actually being supposedly present in the studio at all times), but oh well! Let’s put THAT nonsense aside and look at some new shiny shots of the JDS! Oh, wait, we’ll look at a crucified Lost One first.

It looks like this guy went through some... extreme bullcrap. But oh wait! Is that- Is that what I think it is?! The new weapon that I keep referring to as the Gold Blitz?!... are we going to just... rip it out of this guy?... Oof.

By the way, from now on, I will always refer to this mechanism as the Gold Blitz, because I’m used to it and I can’t really tell what it’s supposed to be in general. So until we get a clear explanation on what it is and what it’s called, you’ll have to deal with my creative choices.

Other than the obvious rehearsal of some biblical events, we have “Demon Follower” written on the wall next to the Lost One. I assume that being a Demon (pretty sure they mean Bendy) Follower here is strictly prohibited and... very creatively punished. Which is a pretty drastic difference from the first game, where the Lost Ones and Sammy were more known as Ink Demon’s followers. But the Ink Demon and support towards him being vilified is a pretty big deal here. During some other shots, we hear a monologue from no other than a less sexy Morty from Hello Puppets Wilson:

(I couldn’t understand some of the words he said, but the overall meaning is clear, I think) “[...] Children of the Machine. For 211 days you’ve lived without the Ink Demon haunting your [?]. I banished him away. In return, I ask just a little favour. There is a stranger. Bring her to me!” (I’ll come back to that last part later)

After some very VERY beautiful shots of the locations that I’ll show shortly after this, we have those posters, saying “Relax, Wilson Knows Your Purpose”. Wilson here is called “The Man Who Killed The Ink Demon”.

Now here’s a little spelling game! Can you spell “PROPAGANDA”? If you need a hint, I can give you a sentence where this word can be used: “This is a clear case of propaganda and manipulation that shows Wilson as the true hero and saviour, who supposedly got rid of the Ink Demon and freed everyone!”

Now, I can’t really say that the Ink Demon is good, because he clearly isn’t. But Wilson is lying, because we do get to see Ink Demon later in the trailer and we have others talking about him. Did this walking example of what lung cancer does to a person brainwashed the Lost Ones into thinking they are safe? It portrays him as a great leader who can easily manipulate other people into believing him, because “Oh, he saved us from this big threat we experienced! We owe him!”.

I think those are some obvious things and a pretty good introduction to a completely new character. I’ll be very surprised if I was wrong with my theory on who he is and what his motives are XD.

NOW LET’S LOOK AT THOSE PRETTY SHOTS OF THE STUDIO I TALKED ABOUT BEFORE!

Look at those details that aren’t distinguishable because of the poor quality of my screenshots!

Okay, jokes aside, it does look extremely pretty. I don’t really have anything else to say about this shot. It’s just. It’s just so much better. Here, have a screenshot of the same location in the first game. DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?

Although we’ve been waiting for a long LONG time, I am still glad that they took their time with the game. It has so much more to itself and the new design, graphics and overall look make the wait worth it. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this game when it comes out.

And here’s the other shot! There are... so many details. Clearly this is a cafeteria/canteen or something like that. Honestly looks even like a bar to me, which doesn’t really fit the fact that it’s a fricking studio, but there are many other things that make you question the definition of the word “studio” in this game, so we’ll look over it for now.

I can’t really recognise anything special here except maybe those 3 signs that look like licence plates.

One of them has 414 written on it, because of course it does. I dunno why it has 210 first, I didn’t find anything. The other says “OUTATIME” and the third is “SLW-287R”. Those reference the license plate of the DeLorean Time Machine from “Back to the Future” and Mr. Bean’s car. Nothing else, really, haha.

Of course we also have our beloved Little Miracle station standing in the background, as well as something called Dream Supply and Tasty Eats. I have little to no clue what those are, actually. I’m still confused why is a locker called Miracle Station. But I learned to never question the design choices the developers make, so we’ll just move on.

We also get a quick look at the Art Department or at least something that looks like it, as well as GOLD BLITZ WOOHOO!!! I still have NO idea what this thing is for.

But what I do know, is that we can CHARGE this bad boy! Yes, you heard me! Whatever this abomination of a MacGuffin is, it requires (and presumably emits) electricity. Watch Audrey put this baby in an oversized battery port!

And we actually see that being confirmed in this screenshot. Those lights on the device indicate that it runs on some power and has limited usage. I guess we’ll have to charge it from time to time... I just hope it lasts longer than Glamrock Freddy... also it kinda looks like she made it herself, because it just looks like a pipe with a battery slapped on it ahaha

ALSO LOOK AT MY BOY CHARLIE!!! HE LOOKS SO COOL!

But we actually have something else appear before Audrey gets to show off her new toy!

BOOM! THIS GUY!

He appeared in one of the trailers for a brief moment already. I assume he’ll be an annoying kind of enemy like the Butcher Gang. I have no idea what to call this son of a gun, so I’ll just refer to him as the Ink Brute if I’ll have to talk about him again. But honestly, he’s my son and I lowkey love him. Just look at him go! Even my boy’s better than the vacuum in a skin costume that calls itself Wilson.

But why would I talk about him separately? Because one of the thing that I love the most about this trailer is the unique designs of different new characters that we will be able to interact with! They are so cool! They are alive! They are PEOPLE!

LOOK AT THIS GUY! HE’S SO FUNKY! HE’S SO COOL! ROCKING HIS GOGGLES LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW (which is probably accurate, because time isn’t a concept the studio decided on following).

OR THIS MAPBOT FROM SECURITY BREACH DOLL!

Both of them even have their own voices and here’s something the doll girl says

Doll: “Almost everyone here either can’t speak or they’re completely mad.”

Considering that there are differences when it comes to living cartoons, it kinda makes sense. Perfect cartoons, like Boris, cannot speak, for example. And Alice, who was proven to be an imperfect version of her cartoon self, is uh... unwell, to say the least. It doesn’t really apply to the Lost Ones, as well as this Doll. They do speak, but don’t appear to be irrational, at least from what I’ve seen. The only mad characters in the trailer are the Butcher Gang, who are rabid from the get-go, Alice, who’s literally portrayed with a legit GUN later in the video, and the illegitimate son of William Afton and Bill Cipher aka Wilson.

Talking about the characters we already know and love (not counting Wilson). Allison is here, looking SHARP!

There is a short dialogue going on between Audrey and Allison. I assume it’s the first time they meet.

Allison: “I’m not gonna hurt you. Looks like you need some help”

Audrey: [pulls her hand away as soon as Allison touches it] “Don’t touch me!”

I wanted to add, that Audrey doesn’t say “Don’t touch me!” in a scared voice. More like warning Allison, that it’s not safe to touch her. Although maybe it’s just me looking too much into voice acting hahah. I guess Allison here helps Audrey to adapt around the studio. She takes her hand and points out that our girl needs help just by looking at it. Maybe she realised that Audrey is new to all of this. But she could also be pointing it out because of this distinctive feature of hers:

I’m actually surprised they didn’t really say anything about her arm and I didn’t even think about it until I watched the trailer again. I don’t really have anything else to say though. I hope Allison will answer this question, because it looks like she knows what that could mean. At least I hope she does, because if she doesn’t, we’ll have to interview the old melted wax figure that is Wilson. Or like... ask Alice, or smth. She did pick up a hobby of going through cartoons’ guts, she might know a thing or two- [gets shot with a tommy gun]

Well, anyway, let’s see, what else we have in that trailer. Except the canteen and some random rooms, we get a hallway!

What’s interesting is that it has an almost identical layout as the hallway I showed in the beginning, but it might just be me looking at the floor tiles and thinking I connected the dots, when in reality I didn’t connect shit. But it does work with that “Audrey’s tripping balls” theory I talked about earlier. Although I am leaning more towards the Security Breach comparison at the moment.

And then we have something interesting, which is just a shadow, but it belongs to my boy, my love, my beautiful bean, my favourite creature Nature created while she was drunk on bacon soup. THE INK DEMON!

There is a short dialogue between Allison and Audrey when he appears.

Allison: “Above everything else, stay away from the Ink Demon.” Audrey: “What’s an Ink Demon?” Allison: “He likes to smile. And he kills anything that moves.”

We already heard the last sentence in a different trailer out of context, but now we know that it’s Allison explaining Audrey who the Ink Demon is. Which makes me think that we won’t see our favourite boy for a while. At least not until Allison and Audrey meet.

Bendy also seems to be a little upgraded. His horns are bigger and the head isn’t as smooth and round. And if you look closely when the shadow rises, you can see that he has some kind of spikes on his back. He did have something similar in his old model, but it was more subtle, while the new model seems to be more detailed and “exaggerated”, so to say. Also it seems like he’s not a twink anymore - [gets shot again]

After that we get a better look at Audrey’s model and may I say, she looks pretty badass. Slay, queen! SLAY YOUR ENEMIES! SLAY THE DEMON!

I honestly really enjoy her design. And am... kind of confused why everything around her as well as she herself change their color. Guess it has something to do with the whole “Bendy’s Cartoon World” thing? I never really think about it usually, but the people in the studio don’t really... have that many normal human features. Like, their skin color is orange/brown-ish and all the clothes grey and black (maybe a little white here and there + golden stuff like Audrey’s eyes). It seemed like a design choice in the first game, but now that we were shown a different place that is more colourful and we know that Audrey’s skin and clothes don’t actually look like that in the beginning, it gets a little confusing.

I don’t really know what else to say. A part of me suggests that maybe it means that she’s dead, but that Joker with no make up on (Wilson) is also there and I’m pretty confident that he is alive. Plus, there’s no indication that it might be a purgatory of some sort or that there’s no way out. Even the description of the game that we get on the official Bendy Store website states, that our mission is to leave the studio. Although considering the ending of the first game, that wants us to think that Henry might be dead, it’s a question that will stay open for quite a while. As far as I’m concerned, we might never get a clear answer to what the hell this studio is. I know those Indi developers. They never give a clear answer to the biggest questions, especially BatIM. So I guess we could theorise about it without ever being sure X). Let’s just move on, we could talk about it the whole day.

Btw, the sign behind Audrey says “Unsafe Area” and asks for the workers’ ID cards.

There was another location that requires an ID card to enter with the subtitle “Be Drawn to Fear.”

I guess all the locations reserved for Gent workers may require an Identification to enter... LET’S STEAL WALLY’S ID!

//I wrote a shit ton of stuff here and it got deleted, so from now on it will be a little rushed, probably//

///It got deleted twice. I am suffering right now///

Welp, let’s talk more locations! Here we have a... uh... [looks through the notes] a city street. Yep. A city street.

At first I thought it was the Lost Ones harbour/town/haven/whatever. But look at it again and you realise that there’s no fucking way it could be that. I TOLD YOU THE DEFINITION OF THE WORD “STUDIO” IN THIS UNIVERSE IS THE MOST CONFUSING SHIT IN THE WORLD. This place has a grocery store, a pharmacy, a residential building EVEN A SUBWAY STATION. IT HAS A GODDAMN SUBWAY STATION????

This place makes my head hurt as much as Tumblr deleting half of this review every time I’m trying to save it as a draft. I have only one explanation that comes to mind and makes the most sense. The locations from the cartoons/comics become real, just like the characters. It’s the most realistic option in my opinion. We did see city backgrounds in comics and cartoons after all (reference Cheap Seats).

Otherwise it makes absolutely no sense and if I’m wrong here, I will lose all my marbles and I don’t have many left. This just adds like... 50 bucks to the “Put a dollar every time the JDS makes no sense” jar.

Let’s move on before I lose my mind. We do have another screenshot that seems to be taken in the same location, but I’ll leave it for later ;)

NOW WE HAVE THIS!

IN THE VENTS! IN THE VENTS! WE WILL GO INTO THE VENTS ANd I am not going to make an Among Us joke.

NEXT!

OOH, SOME QUICK GRABBERS WE HAVE HERE! And it clearly belongs to our beloved Ink Demon - his left hand has four fingers and a glove.

Although it does seem like he went through much more changes than I thought. Because this looks much better than whatever the hell it used to be:

Fear the ones you bullied in middle school, so to say.

Although he does lack basic level of intelligence if he thinks that he can reach and grab Audrey through that little hole in the wall. Well, at least one thing they didn’t change about him X) /lh

And here’s something... big. I missed it the first time I watched it and I didn’t really look that deep into it. A table a with a writing on the wall behind it saying “She was the FOURTH”.

But then a friend pointed out that it might have something to do with a thing Meatly said once that left all fans go completely badonkers 2 years ago (yes, it’s been 2 years).

This CLEARLY means that Audrey (or some other female character who we haven’t seen before. Although I’m pretty sure it’s about Audrey) is supposed to represent the fourth member of The Butcher Gang. And this is a pretty huge deal. If it IS Audrey, it could explain why that wet old sock of a person aka Wilson wants to find Audrey so bad. Maybe he tried to turn her into that character, but she managed to escape before he could finish his work. And maybe it’s the reason why she has those unique powers that Allison seems to be familiar with - maybe, all cartoons have this feature?

But we still can’t really say who that character is. Clearly they came up with it pretty late. The comic book already came out when he said it and neither that nor the cartoons acknowledge this character or their existence. Which leads me to the only conclusion I’m able to make right now - that fourth member was a thing at FIRST, but then was scraped by the artists and never made it to the screens/in the comics. If I’m wrong again, I’ll just stick with the joke that Edgar’s toy duck is the fourth member and shut my mouth.

Let’s move on then, because I have nothing else to say about this and I’m very tired and have been writing this part for over 3 hours or something like that.

WHY NOT TALK ABOUT ANOTHER MUCH BETTER (sorry XD) FEMALE CHARACTER THAT IS MY BELOVED ALICE ANGEL?! Because guess what!

THEY GAVE HER A GUN! I REPEAT, THEY GAVE ALICE A FUCKING GUN! BENDY ROYALE IS REAL MWAHAHAHHAHAH

But for real now, this moment made my day when I first saw that XD.

Well, for the last, but not least (although pretty much the littlest)...

PERFECT BENDY IS HERE! HE’S CANON AND HE’S BABY! LOOK AT THIS PRECIOUS LITTLE BEAN!

Look at him in his little vest! What an adorable little gentleman!

This is that other screenshot from the city location I mentioned! Which means that Bendy might accompany us in some of the locations. Which I’m all for! IF I GET TO SEE THIS PRECIOUS LITTLE CREATURE MORE THAN ONCE, I WILL BE THE HAPPIEST FISH ALIVE!

Also it makes me think that the Perfect Bendy might actually be Henry. Now, this is a pretty popular theory and I actually agree with it in some parts. For example, that scene in Chapter 5, where Sammy attacks Henry, saying that he betrayed and abandoned him and that he trusted him, etc. He mistakes Henry for Bendy there and it would only make sense if he did so because Henry looks like his Lord. + Our man had ink splashed in his face on multiple occasions throughout the game, it should’ve affected him somehow. And lastly, every living cartoon was a normal person at first, and it doesn’t exclude Bendy over here. And who fits the role more than Henry? (Except maybe Joey, but I highly doubt it) Plus, he does look like he’s been in the studio for quite some time, because of his messy clothes and messed up face. And we all know by now that Henry went through a lot of loopty loops in this studio, he’s seen some shit.

Of course, I haven’t talked about a couple of other things (like that ball with someone’s name), but mainly because I honestly have nothing to say about that. There is so much in this new trailer and I am extremely happy.

November 15th. Less then two weeks left.

I know I said that I won’t be doing anything bendy related anymore. But I also said that this will be a case only if batdr doesn’t awaken anything in me and boy did it awaken a lot. I can’t wait to play this game and watch other people play and theorise about it. I also can’t wait for you guys to send me your comments, ideas and theories about this game and my review, so we can all talk about it a little more.

I do still think that the developers are assholes. They aren’t good people. But it doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the everloving hell out of this game. Plus, I am the (self-proclaimed) Owner of Bendy and the Ink Machine ;).

In conclusion... I am happy. I truly am. And I can’t wait to see more when the game comes out.

With love,

FishyMom.

#bendy and the dark review #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #batdr trailer #batdr spoilers

79 notes · View notes

milflewis · 3 years ago

Note

dantteri + christmas gifts

ah. ok. so. it got sad? sorry 😔😔 i started writing and then the pacific rim fic took over my brain so here you go. some dantteri in this au

“Here.”

Valtteri looks up from his mashed potatoes and beans. Daniel is standing in front of him in the most obnoxious Christmas jumper that Valtteri had ever seen. It’s giant, pushed up at his elbows, gaping at the neck, fire truck red and neon green and it has lights. It vaguely resembles a reindeer. The present he’s holding is badly wrapped too. There’s a strip of sellotape that looks like it’s wrapped completely around and around the middle with no stopping.

“I didn’t get you anything.” It’s been years since Valtteri had last felt nervous and off balance around Daniel, not since at least, basic training, but the feeling is familiar and sour on his skin. He can feel the back of his neck heating.

“Ah,” Daniel grins, shoulders loosening. Valtteri unclenches his fingers from around his fork. This he can do — Daniel making fun of him is just as familiar as how anxious he shouldn’t still be able to make him. “Guess I’m just a better person than you are, Valtteri.”

Valtteri hates how Daniel says his name — the ‘Val’ short and dragging out the ‘-tteri’ like it’s a song.

“I’m better sure that people who are better than someone don’t have to say that they are.”

Daniel shrugs, giving the present a little shake. It doesn’t rattle or make any kind of sound. Valtteri takes it. “Not everyone can be perfect, mate. I’m just a man, you know? Only human.”

“Right. Thank you,” Valtteri says, putting the present down next to his plate, picking back up his fork. He eats a mouthful of lukewarm beany potatoes, raising his eyebrows at Daniel, a silent is that it?

Daniel stares back at him, smile slipping slightly. He opens his mouth and closes it, narrowing his eyes. The tension is back in his shoulders when he walks away, hands in his pockets, the line of his back just barely curved.

Valtteri rolls his eyes, mouth dry. He’s too tired these days, too busy, to indulge Daniel’s irritating need to take the piss out of everything. He can fuck off with his joke present or whatever — Valtteri isn’t going to play into it.

—

It takes Valtteri four years to open the present. He had forgotten about it, tucked away in one of his drawers, lost amongst Lewis’s shit with Nico and the never ending Kaiju attacks and training.

Daniel has been dead three years when Valtteri finds the present again, looking for his spare spare phone charger. It still had the unending strip of sellotape, the corners torn and curling. It’s squishy in his hands, the wrapping crinkling.

He laughs when he opens it, head falling into his hands, the wool soft against his cheek. It’s the first time he cries since Lewis has left.

Sebastian finds him like that, hours later, when Valtteri doesn’t turn up for dinner. He doesn’t say anything, only drags him out of his chair and into the medical ward, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks. Kimi raises his eyebrows at the sight of them when they take over his office couch, Sebastian shoving a tray of food into Valtteri’s lap. He doesn’t even lecture them which tells Valtteri more about what a state he looks than anything else. Kimi isn’t one to break out the sympathy for anyone who isn’t dead or under six years old, and even then, it’s a close call.

Sebastian very deliberately does not ask, in the same way that he very deliberately does not talk about Daniel, and they eat in silence, and it’s not nice, but it’s not awful either.

—

He ignores George beside him. He’s bouncing on his toes, chattering, sleeves buttoned close to his wrists, ink just barely peeking over the back of his hands. The tattoos on his arms are different than Daniel’s were, less colourful, more lined blueprints of anatomy than paintings. Valtteri hunches more into his raincoat, hand clenching around his umbrella.

Lewis looks tired when he steps off the helicopter, bruises under his eyes even darker than they were when Valtteri saw him three days ago. He’s wearing the same coat, heavy and solid and grey. It fits him along the shoulders, cuffed at the wrists, too long at the waist. There is a faint patch on his back where SCHUMACHER used to be printed on.

Someone trips coming out behind Lewis, tall, weird facial hair, big eyes. He’s holding his arms close to his chest like Lewis is. He looks very French, even in the pissing rain. Pierre Gasly, Valtteri thinks, picturing the background check that he had ran two years ago when Lewis mentioned, in that soft bewildered way that he does when he doesn’t quite know what to do with someone but refuses to admit it, that this kid started following him around and doesn’t seem to be stopping.

Valtteri wonders if the kid even knows what he has done, what he has done for Valtteri in saving Lewis from himself. If he even knows the depth of the debt that Valtteri owes him.

Valtteri bites his cheek when Lewis spots him, eyes lighting up, something in his face loosening. He presses in close when Valtteri throws an arm around his shoulder. The collar of Lewis’s coat is soaked through.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” Valtteri says and it’s a lie and they both know it. Lewis was never going to do anything else when Valtteri asked him to come back. You are terrible for my ego, Valtteri thinks and the thought is so fond he could choke on it.

Lewis grins, bumping his hip against Valtteri’s. “Well, you know. Mark told me I wouldn’t be able to do it and fuck me, but I couldn’t let him be right.”

Valtteri laughs, lifting the umbrella to cover the two of them. Lewis flutters wet eyelashes at him in thanks and Valtteri rolls his eyes, nearly missing the look on Lewis’s face when he spots Valtteri’s hands.

I helped him knit them, Lewis will tell him, hours later, when they’re alone in the kitchens together, ice cream cold on their knees, the blue light of the fridge hollowing out Lewis’s cheeks. He was so nervous. He. He wanted. He.

Stop, Valtteri will say, eyes open only because he’s afraid if he closes them then Lewis will disappear again. And Lewis will stop. And they won’t talk about it until years later when the Kaiju attacks are more manageable and Lewis is teaching more often than he is fighting and Valtteri can bring himself to complain about how the gloves unravel at the ends and the fingers are all different lengths without feeling like he’s going to throw up.

But for now, Lewis just looks at them for a beat, swallowing hard, and then, his coat meows and he winces. “So,” he starts, already doing his wounded eyes and smile soft at the corners that gets him away with nearly everything. It’s all Sebastian. “You know how I was telling you that I started minding these two cats.”

“Yes,” Valtteri says, trying not to laugh. George is not as successful, bursting out in laughter as Gasly’s coat meows in unison.

#ok . yeah. here u go #character death warning #btw. he doesn’t die in this bit of writing but there is another character reacting to it #also. this might not make much sense idk. hmm. be grand #pacific rim au #dantteri #fran tag #niamh.asks

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alexisaflop · 3 years ago

Note

heard that AF requests were open?

if that's still true then i have a proposition for you:

Artemis gets sick, tries to hide it and keep working, but in doing that he just makes it way worse, and the gang figures it out and takes care of him.

perferably no ship, but if there is one then alexmis? (alex rider x artemis fowl)

have a great day!

i dont know how to see dates of submissions but i know this was ages ago i am so sorry!!

should mention there is no alexmis because i mised that trend and know nothing about alex rider lmao

but here it is! enjoy

Artemis sat, slouched, over his desk in his darkened study, lit only by the harsh, biting light of the computer monitor. He rattled out a cough before sighing, and rubbing his temples. He was working on a project with Foaly. Foaly would have said that Artemis was working for him, and Artemis that Foaly was working for him. Both were reluctant to admit their mutual respect for the other.

The light of the computer screen began to bite at Artemis’ eyes, making reading the calculations upon it almost impossible. So, he reached out towards his stack of printer paper, and began to write down his ideas. They came out in a near incomprehensible scrawl.

The discarded packets of Lemsips and many a cough sweet had done little to lessen the insistent pounding of his headache, like his skull was holding his brain prisoner and it was trying to break out. Yet again, Artemis reached up and began to massage the headache away, which did nothing, but the acknowledgment of the pain was appreciated by his body. The action also led to a smear of ink staining itself across his forehead.

Something about the number 4 lol ig

Artemis stared at the page, willing himself to be able to concentrate for just a little bit longer, just enough to make this work. All the numbers on the page swirled together in an intricate pattern of meaninglessness and then a sea of fours. Shortly after he began inventing new numbers in his head as a result of slight deliriousness, he inched closer to the desk, before slumping into a rather uncomfortable sleep.

In the black abyss of sleeping, numbers and calculations were unwanted interruptions of streaks of colour as if the screen he had been staring at in his waking areas had bleached itself into his brain.

A few hours later, it was Juliet who found him, he looked freezing and frankly uncomfortable. But Juliet decided against waking him up because she knew that he was guaranteed to be frustratingly stubborn about going back to sleep in a more conventional and comfortable manner. Not that Artemis Fowl was especially known for being either.

Instead, she opted to drape a blanket around him, and went to find Butler who, less afraid of the stubborn nature of Artemis, picked him up and carefully maneuvered him to the bed. They also left a glass of water on his bedside, hoping it would encourage him to sit and look after himself for a while longer.

***

Artemis woke to the tone of a communicator he shared with Foaly. There wasn’t meant to be any communication between him, and well anyone else below ground, but the needs of the project had felt like they could work around it. Artemis now regretted this. He coughed and picked up.

“Foaly?” it came out as more of a crunchy croak than a composed young man but it was the best he could do.

“Mud-boy! Have you finished your calculations? I got all the materials we need, and made some fun things whilst I wait for you. But you didn't send anything over last night.”

Crap. Artemis could almost hear the ticked off flicking of Foaly’s tail. Last night. That’s why he had been so insistent on staying up. If only it was finished, Artemis could have stayed asleep.

Artemis cleared his throat, “right, yes. I’ll send them ov-” He was cut off by his own tumble into the floor after both trying and failing to stealthily go to his computer. Cursing he used the bed to pull himself upright and then into his desk chair.

“What was that?”

“Mud-boy, you, okay?” Holly’s voice, her tone was mostly joking but there was a healthy smattering of concern in there.

“I’m fine,” Artemis said, not risking a more detailed response giving his current weakness away whilst typing a meticulously pedantic password.

“You most certainly are not!” exclaimed Butler, who having heard the commotion made his way into the room, “Artemis get back in bed, they can figure this out later you need rest.”

“But I need to finish this, we’re so close to getting a func-”

“If you’re all really so desperate then Short can get up here and give you some healing, in the meantime, back to resting,” Butler stated curtly, ending the call with the others.

Butler had brought some breakfast for Artemis, who was reluctantly relieved to have a proper break from the project which had started to become rather all consuming.

“Thank you, Butler,” he said, “it can wait, I’m sure they will understand.”

***

“Ugh humans, so inconsistent” complained Foaly.

“Butler's right though, I can just go topside and fix him, it is my day off,” said Holly, the thought of getting the freedom to fly being enough of a reason without the benefit of helping Artemis – not to mention having to listen to Foaly go on about how inconvenienced he was by the delay.

“Well we probably should make sure he’s okay”

….

“Arty, Arty!” exclaimed Beckett as he barreled into the room, “look what we made you”

Myles followed him with a cup of hot chocolate, Beckett not yet entirely trusted with hot liquids. This led to Artemis propping himself upright and sitting with the twins. One sat on either side, ad Artemis realised he hadn’t been as available as he maybe would have liked. As they sat there, Myles excitedly rattled off an impressive – yet also slightly intimidating – list of his most recent experiments. Meanwhile, Becket tried to guess their outcomes, which he wanted to be explosions. Originally these explosions were hand gestures, but this slowly became hm being more and mor fidgety until each prediction of a fireball became a delighted star jump.

Although spending time like this was exhausting in his current state, Artemis couldn't help but smile at the antics of his brothers and the time spent without feeling guilty for being way from numerous projects.

“We’re sorry for getting you sick arty,” said Beckett, referring to how both the twins had been ill the week before.

Artemis sighed and ruffled his younger brother’s hair, “that’s not your fault, everyone gets sick sometimes. I'm just glad you're both okay now. But I might need some more sleep now Beck,” added Artemis, spotting a slight shimmer near the door.

“Okay arty” Beckett said. Both boys hugged Artemis before leaving the room. The door closed quietly behind them.

“Hello Holly”

Holly fizzled into view, “you look great” she said, a slight curl to her lips as she regarded the disheveled Artemis in front of her. He was paler than usual, with his black hair sticking with sweat in some places, even though as she placed her hand on his, he was cold.

Now familiar blue sparks danced from her fingertips and across Artemis, targeting his chest and throat and calming the pounding in his head. The thinly veiled mask that had been hiding the pain disappeared as he relaxed properly, no longer having anything to hide.

“Now, I know technically you’re better. But don’t do anything for foaly until tomorrow. You guys looked like you were having a nice time. You shouldn’t have to be bedbound just for that to happen”

“Thanks Holly. You didn’t have to come all the way out here”

#artemis fowl #fowl twins #holly short #eoin colfer #foaly #writing requests #alex writes stuff

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kassandras-one-braincell · 4 years ago

Text

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

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lovedthestars-toofondly · 2 years ago

Note

For the OC asks, could you please do Fragrance, Interiors, and Hobby?

Thank you so much for the ask!!

fragrance: what do your OCs smell like?

I mean they all smell like saltwater and woodsmoke, because that just sort of comes with life at sea

Thorne also smells like gunpowder, like well-conditioned leather and beeswax and clean metal - like a man who keeps his possessions in good order, and most of those possessions are weapons.

Nicholas smells like orris root and camphor wood and bergamot, an under it all, unexpectedly, freshly laundered linen.

Lilian smells like ink and parchment and oil lamps shining down on late-night cartography

interiors: describe your OC(s) bedroom/home/or a place they consider "theirs". what's in it? do certain items have a special significance to your OC?

I actually have an in-text description of Nicholas' cabin, so I'm just going to copy-paste that here:

The cabin was outfitted to the tastes of its owner: the stern windows swathed by lengths of fine blue silk, the bed, which was held in place by some sort of hinged mechanism, piled high with velvet cushions, and an intricately patterned Turkey rug on the floor. A barred shelf on the portside wall held filigreed silver cups, a snuffbox with multi-coloured pearl inlay and, she noted with incredulousness, a delicately painted porcelain shepherdess.

Lilian prefers to spend time in the dining cabin where he has a desk and a bunch of lockers full of maps and navigational charts and sextants and chronometers, spyglasses and compasses, ink, parchment - all of which would lend itself to clutter, but since a lot of it is very valuable and/or fragile, it's actually pretty tidy. the one bit of clutter are the things he uses to weigh down the corners of maps - mostly little gifts from the crew, a pretty rock, a shell, a small knife, a fruit. he usually slings a hammock in a corner rather than sleep in the other room with the bed.

Thorne, as the first mate, has his own cabin as well, though it's fairly small. he does have a cot because at his age you don't sleep in a hammock if you don't have to. one chest holds weapons and clothing, a second one books and some private items that are none of your gotdamn business, thank you very much. a lot of the wood in his cabin has intricate patterns carved into it, which a lot of people are surprised by when they first see it.

hobby: what do they love? what captivates them? what are their passions?

Nicholas surrounds himself with all these riches and the trappings of a genteel life, but one thing that he loves, he really does, is music. playing and listening and dancing to it. his grandmother singing to him in Irish was the one thing that always got him to calm down as a small child. first ever pay he received, he went and bought a fiddle, and was utterly heartbroken when it got smashed, not even in battle but because someone was careless with the stowing, a year and a half later, he'd just gotten the hang of it properly

Lilian actually honestly loves cartography and navigation. Celestial diagrams and tide charts and equations, the complex elegance of it and the clean, tidy conclusions, the satisfaction of working one's way through a difficult calculation. One day he's going to learn about Marshallese navigation stick charts and he's going to utterly lose his mind

Thorne enjoys working with his hands, even in his off hours. wood carving and leather care and needlework. he likes allowing himself the luxury of making something that is not just useful, but beautiful. give him two sticks and a piece of string and thirty minutes, and he'll gift you a small wonder.

#heart of gold #ask meme #crow talks #thank you these were really fun!

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theasstour · 4 years ago

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟐.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE! ARCHITECT!HARRY! 🏛️❣️✨ It’s been ages since I posted writing on here and it feels good to be back! Believe me when I say that though nothing much happens in this chapter, something will go down in absolutely every chapter, so you’ll hopefully be entertained at one point AOIJFOIREJ! I absolutely adore architect!harry (yearly as much as I adore you lot), I hope you lot will too! Now, let’s start this journey, shall we? 🥰🌟

Friday, 15 September 2017

Monday September 8th 2014. Y/N had spent an abnormal amount of time thinking about that day over the last three years. Sometimes, even if she were in the middle of something else or thinking about a topic completely unrelated, it would just come back to her. Like a flash, as if someone turned on the dim light inside a dark room, she would be taken back to a time, a moment, that would be burned into her brain forever. It would paralyse her for a few seconds, making her unable to do or think or be anything besides that memory. It was almost like, at this point, she thought the ghost of her sister would never quite leave her.

The countless times she had recounted this specific memory, Y/N could never remember exactly what it was that had woken her that late Monday night, or morning rather, in September 2014. One second she was asleep, and then the next, she was awake. She remembered herself looking at the blinds of the window, how they weren’t fully closed that night for some reason, so the orange light from the streetlamp outside shone through the small slits, her room completely silent. This must have been what woke her up from her trance. The blinds were always closed, and the window was always open, letting in fresh air and the noises of Nottingham into her room. It was like her conscious had done it for her, alerted her that something was off and she needed to check her surroundings.

Y/N blinked, realising that the only sound in the room was her eyelids meeting and parting, and the rustling of her bedsheets as she made to sit up in bed. That was when she noticed a flicker of movement in the shadow beside her door. Something unexpected, something unlike what normally was.

“Hello?” Y/N asked, voice hoarse as she sat up completely in bed.

The room was quiet save for the sound of a trainer against Y/N’s carpeted floor. It was faint, and had Y/N’s window been open, she probably would not have heard it. She didn’t remember how she felt in that moment, it was like all emotion was stripped from that memory in order for her to objectively pick it apart over and over and over again. She could therefore not remember how she had felt when she recognised her sister, but she knew she must have been shocked.

“Marcela?” Y/N asked when she recognised the short brown hair of her sister in the shadow on the wall.

A small sigh and Y/N’s older sister stepped forward, letting the dim light of the outside streetlamp wash over her. Y/N had always envied her older sister for right about anything. The colour of her brown eyes, the way her hair looked almost bronze-coloured if the sun hit it just right on late summer afternoons, her wide and pretty smile, charming personality, and slim body were some of the many things that Y/N was jealous of. It just seemed like her sister lived a better, more eventful and meaningful life than Y/N ever would.

Even standing there, wearing a white and lilac floral summer dress, dungaree jacket and white Vans, in the middle of the night or early morning, Y/N thought Marcela had everything together. But whatever happened next to Y/N’s sister, Marcela could never have had it fully together, Y/N realised that now. Nothing that gruesome, that unknowable, could happen to someone who had it all figured out.

“Mari, what’re you doing here?” Y/N asked, reaching for her glasses on the nightstand and pushing them onto her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Newport?”

“Yeah,” Marcela answered, smiling at Y/N as if her being in her little sister’s room that late at night, when the world was asleep, was completely normal.

“What’re you doing here?” Y/N asked again.

“I forgot some things. Kit and I are on the way back. He’s waiting in the car.”

In that moment, Y/N did not think to ask Marcela of what exactly her sister had forgotten in Y/N’s room, which was again something she had beaten herself up for since.

“Y/N,” Marcela said, cocking her head to the side and smiling ever so slightly. “You should be asleep.”

Y/N forgot how to speak, just looking at her older sister as her still slow and sleepy brain tried to comprehend what was going on.

“It’s late, you’ve got school tomorrow.” Marcela walked backward towards the door, still directing that same reassuring smile at Y/N on the way there. “You know how grumpy you’re gonna be tomorrow morning if you don’t get your eight hours.”

“When will you be back?”

Marcela smiled. “Next weekend. I told you this.”

Y/N nodded again, feeling like this was all some sort of hallucination. Maybe it was just a dream.

Marcela held up her right hand and showed off the tattoo just below her thumb. One letter, for Y/N. Y/N’s hand immediately fell to the M just below her own right thumb. A M for Marcela. They had gotten it four months earlier for Y/N’s 16th. Y/N still remembered how scared she was, she did not want to be in pain. Marcela had informed her that it would hurt, but it would all be worth it in the end. Her sister had gotten a few tattoos, most of them up and down her arms, but Y/N knew she wanted even more of them. Y/N supposed her love for tattoos had started because of her sister. After her sister died, Y/N had just gone on to get more and more tattoos. She supposed it had been a coping mechanism in the beginning, to somehow feel close to Marcela, yet forget about her and everything for a little while as the smell of fresh ink, the sound of the needle, and the feel of a tingling pain took over all she knew.

“I’ll be back next weekend. Promise. Just let me have this week with Kit, yeah?”

Y/N swore she could hear a slight tremor to her sister’s voice. However, Marcela was not shaking as she took a hold of the door handle, and she did not look the slightest bit scared or like she was crying for help. No, she just looked like the Marcela Y/N had always known. And that was the problem. Nothing had been out of the ordinary. Something had to have been out of the ordinary.

“Y/N?”

She blinked, realising that she had been fixated on the M tattoo by her thumb again. She would sometimes drift off like this, thrown back to that moment in time that haunted her still, three years later.

“Amorzinho?”

Y/N looked up at her father who glanced over his shoulder at her, a slight furrow to his brows as if he knew exactly where she had just been. Davi and Y/N had always understood each other like that, especially after everything with Marcela happened three years ago. They would sometimes just find the other one staring out into thin air, or at something significant to Marcela, and the other would know right away where the other one had gone. Y/N did not know what memory her papai went back to, she never asked and, quite frankly, did not want to know. That whole experience was hard enough as it was, she had enough with her own memories and regrets.

“Y/N, you alright?” Davi asked, reaching for his daughter’s knee and squeezing it lightly. His positioning was a bit awkward from where he sat in the passenger seat and she sat right behind him in the car, but she felt reassured by his tender action nevertheless.

“Alright, pai,” Y/N answered, laying her hand on top of his.

Her father had always been the affectionate type. He would always go around touching the people that meant the most to him, whether it was a light caress to their cheek, a squeeze to their shoulder, a long hug, or a kiss to their cheek. Having grown up with a single mother and an older sister, he had learned from the best, and had not changed, even for his wife who had never been huge on showing affection. Y/N guessed that, in the case of her parents, opposites really did attract.

Where her father was loud, welcoming, and vulnerable, her mother was a bit more reserved, quiet, and tough. However, when Lottie had, at the ripe age of 24, travelled around South America with her mates after finishing her business degree, she had met Davi in Santos in Southern Brazil, the state of São Paulo, and they had fallen in love right away. It took a year for Lottie to leave Santos after that, bringing her then fiancé with her home to meet her family in Nottingham. Since then, the two of them had been together, and had brought Marcela and Y/N into this world.

It would be weird to not spend every single day with her parents. Everything was about to change drastically. The last time abrupt and extreme change had happened was that morning when Y/N’s parents realised Marcela hadn’t made it home from their cabin in Newport, Wales in time. It had been the day she disappeared. When they had gotten the news that she was murdered.

Y/N hoped her papai couldn’t tell that she was shaking.

“It’s not far now,” Lottie said from the driver’s seat. “Just a few minutes.”

Y/N nodded, looking out at the busy streets of North London as they drove on.

“You know what?” Davi said.

“What?”

“I think this is gonna be amazing.”

Y/N smiled at that, squeezing her father’s hand. “Yeah… I think it might be, too.”

“You will meet so many new people and learn so much. It will be the best time of your life.”

“I’ve told you, love. University was the absolute best time of my life.”

Davi looked at his wife.

Lottie clicked her tongue. “Oh, you know what I mean!”

“I do not. You say the best thing to ever happen to you is me, and yet-“

“-Darling, uni was the best time of my life, but meeting you was the best thing to happen to me.”

Davi threw his hands up in the air in exaggerated frustration, muttering something in Portuguese that Y/N did not catch. However, she couldn’t help her slight chuckle, and the grin on her face only widened when she saw her mother smiling, and then her father taking her hand, planting a lingering kiss to her skin before putting it back on the steering wheel. It was nice to witness casual affection between them like this. It was normal for Y/N to see it at this point, they had been like this her entire time growing up, but it was nice to be reminded that her parents loved each other.

“We’ll be on Orsman Road in five minutes tops,” Lottie said, looking back at Y/N as she stopped at a red light. “Nathan’s gonna meet you outside with your flat keys and such, yeah?”

“Yeah, he said he’d pick them up for me at the letting firm before I arrived.”

“Good,” Davi said.

“It’s nice that you get to move into an actual flat your first year of uni so that you get to be with someone you already know,” Lottie said. “As long as the uni’s got your address and knows you’ve got someplace to live, not living in uni accommodation is alright, if I understand correctly.”

“That’s what they said, anyway,” Y/N said.

“You just need a home. You’ll be home with Nathan.”

Y/N nodded, looking out at Hackney as they drove on. “Yeah.”

“He’ll take you to campus after, yes? So you can register and everything?”

Though Y/N had gone over this plan with her parents countless of times these last three hours, as well as the days leading up to departure, it seemed that her mum needed to be reminded one too many times. Taking a deep breath, Y/N said, “Yes.”

“Good. It’s important that you make it there by your time slot at 5. Reckon there’s heaps of students that are going to register at Helmond today.”

“Probs.”

“It’s important to be on time.”

“We will be.”

“Yeah, remember-“

“-Charlotte,” Davi said, putting his hand on his wife’s thigh. “Y/N’s got it under control.”

Lottie chanced a look at Davi as she turned off the main road and onto a smaller one. Y/N recognised this street from the FaceTime calls with Nathan where he had shown her around the street and flat. Though Y/N had been looking forward to this day for what felt like centuries, parts of her were still nervous, and Nathan’s video guides around her new flat and new neighbourhood had calmed her nerves considerably. She felt like she had already been here, but she could not wait to explore the areas of Hoxton and Hackney that she had yet to see.

As they drove down Orsman Road, Y/N could make out a figure in the distance that she felt like she had not seen in ages. A grin was instantly planted on her face and she fidgeted in her seat, wanting to jump out of the car and in Nathan’s direction. Her tall, lanky, slim, red-haired best friend stood by the entrance to what Y/N assumed would be 36 Orsman Road, squinting in the direction of Y/N’s car. At the sight of it, he started jumping up and down, waving enthusiastically as if he was stranded on a deserted island and a plane was flying by over him. Davi laughed, recognising his daughter’s best friend from the countless sleepovers, dinner parties, and drives home drunk from house parties on the other side of town.

Nathan banged on the window as Lottie parked the car by the side of the road, walking as the car was reversed into place, grinning at Y/N the entire time.

“Oh, my life,” Nathan said through the window, hands pressed against it. Y/N pressed her own against his. “I swear, you’ve taken ages. Thought you were gonna stand me up there.”

“Mate,” Y/N said, opening the car and throwing herself into Nathan’s arms. “Couldn’t miss going to uni with you, could I?”

Nathan squealed and hugged Y/N back, though he had to bend at an unnatural angle in order to do so.

“Nate, how are you?” Lottie asked as her and Davi started unloading the boot of the car, putting bags and boxes on the pavement to be carried upstairs.

“Can’t complain, Lottie, I really can’t. Just moved into a flat with me mates, we might go out tonight, and I have the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face today.”

Lottie laughed, squeezing Nathan’s arm before putting one of Y/N’s bags on her shoulder.

“Right, it’s the first and second floor,” Nathan explained, and upon seeing Davi’s confused expression, added, “It’s split-level.”

“Ahh!”

“Right.” Nathan bent down, taking one of the cardboard boxes. “I’ll show the way.”

“Stay behind, will you, darling?” Lottie asked Davi. “Just so we don’t leave anything on the pavement for anyone to nick.”

“Yes, you go ahead,” Davi answered, waving them off.

Nathan opened the front door and let Y/N and Lottie enter first. From the video calls, Y/N knew that once she arrived at the first story landing, the door to the left would be her and Nathan’s flat. Her new home. She was unsure if it would really dawn on her that she was going to be living on her own, without her parents, for the next three years, two of which were spent with Nathan in this flat. Living without her parents seemed liberating, but also terrifying. How was she going to survive without her papai’s cooking? Without the sound of her mother’s sewing machine? Without hearing their laughter as they watched something on the telly in the living room right below her room? How would she just go on living normally without them being close, like they had been all her life?

Nathan used his elbow to open the door and walked on in first this time to hold the door open for Y/N and her mum. Now, with her own two eyes, Y/N took in the place she would be living in over the next year, maybe two. The foyer they entered wasn’t long, but it had no particular furniture in it except for a painting on the wall opposite the stairs. Y/N suspected the landlord had printed out the popular painting and put it in a frame.

To her left was a slim white door – which matched the rest of the walls of the flat – that she knew to be the very spacious wardrobe. She would put her cardboard boxes and bags there once she was done unpacking, at least that was what Nathan had told her over FaceTime because he had done just that himself. To the right was another white door, this one with a window over it, and yet again, she knew this was where the kitchen would be. The door was open as she walked by, so she sneaked a look at it. The European Oak parquet stood in nice, warm contrast to the white cupboards and black countertops that went along the right wall and the wall right opposite to the door. Above the counter to the right, along the white tiled wall, was a long and small window. The view was nothing to brag about, just a greyish brick building and the pub on the other side of the road, The Stag’s Head.

Further along, the door into the living room stood open. As Lottie studied the kitchen, Y/N stood in the doorway to the shared space to just take a good look with her own two eyes. This, along with the bedrooms upstairs, was the only place in the flat with carpeted floor. The grey carpeted floor looked worn, as if it had been stepped on and used for countless of years prior, there were stains some places from what Y/N could only assume to be red wine and coffee. The left wall had four sets of windows; two smaller ones on the side and two bigger ones in the middle, where the smaller ones were the only ones it seemed that the tenants could open. The windows overlooked Regent’s Canal and the dark brown brick buildings on the other side. Not the prettiest view, but then, they were students and there weren’t many places in Haggerston, London that offered something pretty to look at.

Right underneath the windows, there was a radiator, and right beside that, positioned with its back against the wall opposite to the door where Y/N stood, was a blue sofa. In front of it, positioned against the wall facing it, was a table where a small telly was propped. A PlayStation was already plugged in and Y/N hoped it would be possible for her to somehow play Mario Kart on it as any other games did not interest her. Beside the sofa and the wooden coffee table in front of it, stood a red Poäng Ikea armchair with a footrest to match. That one also looked as worn as the rest of the living room. Y/N was sure that if she sat down, the chair would simply give out and turn to dust under her.

“Up we go,” Nathan said, walking straight past Y/N and up the stairs that leaned against the wall opposite to the living room and kitchen.

Before following her best friend, Y/N looked out through the windowed door, leading out to a mini terrace. You could barely fit two people out there, but she reckoned it would be a lush way to start her mornings. A fresh cuppa and the dreary sight of Haggerston.

“Y/N, you coming?!” Nathan called, making Y/N jump.

She looked back at her mum who just flashed a tight-lipped smile her way. Taking that as a good enough sign, Y/N followed Nathan upstairs. The hallway she was then presented with looked exactly like the one downstairs. However, right in front of her were two doors; the one to the left leading to the small toilet room, and the one beside it to the sink and shower. There was a door to her right as she came upstairs, two to her left, and another one right above where the terrace would be downstairs. That was the room Nathan was in now, putting down Y/N’s cardboard box.

“I’ll run downstairs and let Davi up so he can have a look,” Nathan smiled, walking past Y/N and Lottie to run down to the ground floor again.

The only things the room had to offer were a queen-sized bed, which at 204cm, took up all the space from wall to wall, but luckily enough, there was a drawer behind the door where Y/N could at least put all her clothes. This was the smallest room she had ever lived in.

“This is… rather spacious,” Lottie said, walking over to the windows above the bed and opening them both to let some fresh air in.

“Can’t really expect much if I’m gonna live in London, though. And I’m a student.”

“Precisely.” Lottie took her hands on her hips, looking out at the view from Y/N’s window. It was the same one as from the terrace just under them. The weather that day had been just as nice as Y/N had suspected of the South; a little-too-hot early autumn afternoon, partly cloudy, with busy pavements and crowded parks. She knew that the weather would soon match what she was used to from the Midlands. Even though she would now live farther south, she knew lousy weather was just as likely in London as it was in Nottingham. Y/N was suddenly very happy her mother had opened the windows to let in some of the canal wind.

A small sniffle sounded, and Y/N immediately looked to Lottie who still had her face turned away from her daughter.

“Mum?”

“Look at that!” Davi exclaimed, entering the room with a massive grin on his face.

The different reactions her parents had to the flat just reminded Y/N of how different they were.

“I know, pai,” Y/N said, looking around her room. “A wee bit small, but I’ve never needed much, have I?”

“With all those clothes you’ve brought?!” Lottie asked, looking down at the bag where Y/N’s clothes were, still not meeting anyone’s gaze. “You have too much clothes for your own good. When do you even use most of it?”

“Well, I don’t usually bring out the crop tops and see-through shirts for family gatherings, mum. Might be it.”

“Thank God.”

Y/N watched her mum for a few seconds, knowing something was wrong the moment she started fussing over the bare bed in front of her.

“You need a nightstand,” Davi pointed out, walking over to stand by the bed, indicating with his hand where the nightstand would go. “And a desk.”

“Nathan and I talked about popping by an Ikea. Nearest one’s in Greenwich, I think. Or Wembley.”

“Good! Nathan hasn’t brought his car down, has he?” Davi asked.

“No, he left it-“

“-Speaking of Nathan, I’ll go downstairs and let him carry the last box upstairs.” Before either Davi or Y/N could say anything else, Lottie was out the door and down the stairs, walking down to the car again.

Y/N looked at her papai, seeing a slight furrow to his brows as he regarded his wife retreating downstairs.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked in a low voice, listening to the sound of her mother’s footsteps down the stairs.

Davi met Y/N’s eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “Think she’s a little sad.”

Y/N bit the side of her mouth, sighing slowly.

“It’s a weird day. You’re moving away to University, and last time… last time we drove one of our daughters away like this, she didn’t come home.”

For some reason, Y/N had seen something like this happening. Though her mother had a weird way of showing it, she was constantly terrified after what happened to Marcela, and she was especially protective of Y/N. It had been hard for Lottie to let Y/N have any sort of social life that first year after Marcela. She would want to know everything about where Y/N was heading, who would be there, what they were going to do, and when Lottie could come and pick her up. Though this had been alright in the beginning - Y/N had known even then that it must be her mother’s way of coping with everything – it got a bit much as months, and then years went on. Y/N loved her mother, she really did, but she acted as if Y/N could not protect or take care of herself, something she was more than capable of.

“Pai, I won’t die at uni.”

“I know,” Davi said, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “But your mother still has a hard time taking it all in. You won’t be home, and she won’t have you near anymore. It’ll be a lot.”

Y/N nodded, resting her head back against her papai’s arm.

“Cosy moment,” Nathan smiled as he entered the room with the last box, placing it down on the floor beside the other ones.

“Is mum downstairs?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, she’s by the car. Think she’s waiting for you two.”

Y/N and Davi nodded, Davi then taking a last look around his daughter’s room, smiling as he already knew she would make the bleak setting one many would envy. Y/N, after all, had always had a sense for these kinds of things.

“I’ll wait in my room, which is the one by the toilet,” Nathan informed, pointing to the open door behind him. “Just come knock when you’re ready to head for the uni, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll only be a minute.”

“No worries, babes, take all the time you need.”

Y/N smiled, walking past Nathan while Davi gave him a hug, wishing him good luck to come in the approaching first semester of University. It would be Nathan’s second year, so he knew what he was going into compared to her, but she knew Nathan appreciated Davi’s encouraging words regardless.

Y/N walked down towards the ground floor, her papai right behind her as they exited the flat building. Lottie stood by the car, arms crossed and eyes on something further up the street. It was as if she was looking for something, making sure it was safe for her Y/N to live there without her mother’s supervision.

“Mum,” Y/N said, now recognising the worry on her mother’s face. “Mum, it’ll be alright.”

She walked straight for her mother, wrapping her arms around her in a tight embrace. Though it would normally have been the other way around, the parents reassuring their kid they would be fine on their own, Y/N now patted her mother on the back and felt her bury her face into her daughter’s shoulder. Davi walked over as well, placing a hand on Lottie’s arm, squeezing her lightly. Some time went by without any one of them saying anything, just feeling and processing the words left unsaid.

Soon, Davi let out a small sigh, hugging the back of Y/N’s frame and mumbling her name against the top of his daughter’s head.

“We’re going to miss you,” he said, leaving a kiss against her hair.

Too caught up in her mother’s sadness, Y/N did not realise until just then that this was the moment she had been dreading. This one, where she stood by her parents’ car, saying goodbye to them and watching them start on their drive back home to Nottingham without her.

It was a complex state of being. Going away to University, starting a new life for herself, was something Y/N had dreamed of for as long as she could remember. She wanted to experience new things and to study something she was passionate about. But part of her was still pulling her back towards Nottingham, home. It would feel wrong, maybe even like being abandoned, thrust into adult reality, when she watched her parents drive off.

The thought of her living in the biggest city in the country by herself, did not sit right with her in that second. She was suddenly six again, her papai teaching her how to ride a bike. She was eleven, getting her period for the first time and her mother showing her how to use a pad. She was sixteen, having forgotten she had an important maths exam the next day, resulting in her and Davi sitting up for hours until she knew what she was doing. She lived at home, where her parents could protect her, help her, guide her, and provide for her at any given second. They would always be there whenever she needed them, always close and ready to pour every ounce of love onto her.

But now, even though she knew her parents would still love her the same and always be at her service whenever she needed them, now they would live separate lives. She would still be part of their lives and they would be part of hers, but they would not intermingle, get stuck, and weave themselves together like they had done since Y/N’s day of birth and until now. Y/N had not lived a single day in her life where she had not physically been close to her parents in one form or another. She had known it would be hard to watch them leave, she knew she would hate herself for this once she sat in her room all alone that same night or when researching information for an essay in a month’s time. Even though part of her was looking forward to what was to come, another part did not want to be left. She wanted a new life, but she was terrified of letting the old one, the safe one, go.

“Oh, my baby,” Lottie said as she pulled away, taking Y/N’s face in her hands. “My wee Y/N.”

Y/N went back in for another hug just so her mother wouldn’t see how glassy her eyes were. She felt them stinging and knew she would shed a tear soon.

“You will have no problems at uni,” Davi said, squeezing his daughter.

“How do you know that?” Y/N mumbled into her mother’s shoulder, closing her eyes as to make sure no tears escaped. She felt pathetic, but the overwhelming realisation that her parents would leave her in a few minutes had hit her like a brick.

“Because we know you. We know you’ll make friends; we know you’ll excel.” Davi took a step away, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Deep down, you know that, too.”

“As much as I hate the fact that I won’t get to see you every single day or know what you’re doing, I know you’re going to love being at University and you’re going to love London,” Lottie said, rubbing Y/N’s back.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Y/N sounded like a wee child, refusing to let her parents leave her at kindergarten for seven hours.

Davi squeezed Y/N’s shoulders again. “It’ll be alright, querida.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do. You feel like this now because this is a huge change. University is the beginning of adult life, it’s scary, but you’ll love it.”

Y/N chose not to argue with her papai as she knew he was only trying to make her feel better. And also, though she did not want them to leave, she knew that the longer she stayed there with them, the higher the risk was for her to bawl her eyes out into her mum’s shoulders. Slowly, making sure to wipe her eyes discreetly against her mother’s shoulder, Y/N stepped away from her parents, trying to smile at them both. She knew they could tell she was about to cry, but was grateful that neither one of them pointed it out.

“Goodbye, my baby,” Lottie said, stroking Y/N’s cheek. “Please call us tonight or tomorrow, we want to see your room when it’s all finished.”

Y/N nodded. She always kept her mouth shut when she was about to cry, it was as if speaking made all emotion float out of her through her open mouth, and she started crying uncontrollably.

“We’ll see you soon,” Davi smiled. “Remember to have fun, yes? This is going to be so much better than you think.”

She smiled, watching her father sit down in the passenger side and her mother climb into the driver’s side.

“Remember your time slot, Y/N. Remember to get to the uni on time to register-“

“-Lotts,” Davi warned.

“Right, alright,” Lottie sighed, getting the car going. She turned back to Y/N one last time blowing her a kiss. “Love you.”

“Te amo!” Davi shouted, waving and grinning at his daughter.

Y/N was left standing there looking after the car as her parents drove off. She was unable to move for a moment, the only thing she managed to do was stare after the car until it was out of sight. When it was, Y/N felt an instant sort of empty feeling in her stomach. She was on her own. Her parents were on their way back to Nottingham, and she was here. In London. Alone. Momentarily, Y/N’s excitement about uni and everything she would experience these next three years, was all insignificant. The lack of her parents’ presence was like stripping reality of warm colour, replacing them with the dreary and cold.

She felt her eyes begin to sting and let one tear roll down her cheek. Then, wiping the next few off her face, she started making her way up to her new flat. She closed the ground door behind her, and then the front door of the flat when she reached it. Nathan was out on the balcony with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. He did not notice Y/N as she walked up to her room again and she was very happy he did not.

Walking straight for the bathroom, the door right in front of the stairs once you reached the first storey of the split flat, Y/N closed and locked the door afterwards. She turned water on, scooped some coldness into her hands and splashed it over her face. Without hesitating, she did it again, turning the tap off before looking at herself in the mirror above the sink. She wiped the water off her face with the sleeves of her jumper, cursing herself for not having brought a towel in with her.

“You’re a bad bitch,” she hissed at her reflection. “Why’re you crying?”

A small gasp left Y/N’s lips and she turned the tap on again, splashing her face with more cold water. She had no idea if it was helping any, but she had a strange sense that by doing it, she would feel better afterwards. However, looking at herself in the mirror again, she did not feel the least bit better.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked herself in a whisper. “Can you stop crying? There’s literally no need to cry.”

But there was, her brain retorted, and that alone brought more tears to her eyes. Y/N knew that had she been driven down here by her parents to be on holiday for a week or two, she would not have cried. Maybe she would have cried the day before going home because she would rather be in London than Nottingham because she loved it so much, but she would not have cried when her parents drove off. In fact, she was sure she would have loved to see them go and known she was free to do whatever she wanted, when she wanted.

But this was different. She lived in London now. Her mother couldn’t just come whenever Y/N needed her, and her papai couldn’t stop whatever he was doing to help her with whatever she was struggling with. It was a new life. A new beginning. And she had to do it all alone. She was used to being alone by choice, she didn’t like this feeling of alone.

“Y/N?!” Nathan called as he walked up the stairs. “Y/N, you in your room?!”

Taking a deep breath and wiping a little excess water off her cheek, she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped outside just as Nathan stood in the doorway of her room. Nathan took one look at her and said, in a quiet and low tone, “They left?”

Y/N inhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Nathan walked over to her, bringing her in for a hug. Y/N hugged him back tightly, appreciating the reassurance. She knew she wasn’t alone, she had Nathan after all, but it was still strange to be here without her parents.

All her time throughout school, Y/N had looked forward to moving away to University. Her and Nathan had planned out their lives once they got to uni, in detail, and could spend hours on end just making plans for Freshers Week and the parties they would attend. Having been friends since year three of school, the two of them had made a lot of plans throughout the years. Most of the plans, they had never gone through with, but it was still fun to imagine. Neither could remember what exactly had gotten them to talk to one another that first time, but they had always suspected it was their mutual friend, Ella, who had gotten them talking. Since then, Nathan and Y/N had been inseparable.

They always did the stupidest things together, annoying all their friends and family. They got their license on the same day, would often sleep out in one of their gardens just because they could, always made the other a Build-a-Bear for their birthday, knew each other’s favourite scents, tastes, turn ons and turn offs, and everything in between. It was a friendship that was seen as maybe a little too close, but once you found your soulmate, there were no boundaries anymore. At least that was how Y/N and Nathan saw it. Besides, there was a sense of bond between them that only people identifying as queer could understand. Though neither of them had known at the age of seven when they met that they would grow up to identify as gay and bisexual, they knew now that their bodies, on some level, had known, and therefore drawn them to one another.

When you’re around other people from the LGBT community, there is not only a sense of understanding between you, but also undeniable, immeasurable comfort and support. No matter what. It’s a home, someplace to be completely you, without feeling like you need to tone it down or be ashamed, something the outer world sometimes could make you think you needed to. Y/N was therefore incredibly happy that her, as a bisexual, had found Nathan, who was himself with his whole heart, and who encouraged her to be the same.

“You ready to go to uni?” Nathan asked.

“Yeah, I’ll just change into a tee shirt.”

Nathan let go of her and followed her into her room.

Having always been plus size, Y/N broke a sweat rather easily. She therefore knew that she might freeze a bit in the beginning, but if her and Nathan were supposed to walk up and down stairs at tube stations and walk indoors at Helmond, she would need to wear a tee shirt to cool herself down some.

She took her jumper off, lobbing it on the still empty bed before she opened her bag filled with tops. She dragged a tee shirt out at random, taking a look at the black tee shirt with a white half moon embroidered onto the chest. Dragging it over her head, she walked to the full-body mirror that her mother had insisted on her bringing. She said there were rarely mirrors in student houses, and she was right. Looking at herself, Y/N ran a hand over her black denim shorts, studying how her faux leather sock boots went with the rest of her outfit. The chunky soles were amazing for walking, and she knew her feet would be aching by the time they got back home.

“Hmm,” Y/N said. “Might change into jeans, actually.”

“Why?” Nathan asked, furrowing his brows. “You look good in that.”

“I know, but the chafing.”

Nathan, who had heard this before, only nodded. With his noodle legs, he had never experienced chafing, and therefore did not say anything. Y/N knew this and appreciated him not trying to relate to her problems as a plus size woman. He could understand many of her problems, but never that.

Bringing her trouser bag forth, she got a pair of black jeans out, putting them on, making sure the sock boots were on the outside of the tight-fitted denim, and then the two of them were on their way. Y/N brought a tote bag, putting her phone, purse, and flat keys in it.

They arrived at Haggerston tube station on Lee Street, and once they were there, Nathan helped Y/N set up her Oyster card. The card would be an easier payment method for public transport around London, and though she could easily just tap her bank card, an Oyster card was, according to Nathan, a better way of doing it.

“You can use it for right about anything,” Nathan explained as they stood by the Overground platform, waiting for the Crystal Palace / New Cross / West Croydon train to arrive. “We’re talking Underground, Overground, Tramlink, all buses, River Services, you name it.”

“You always take the tube to uni.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Nate, you literally send a snapchat every single day before you go to uni of you sitting on the Overground.”

Nathan tutted, shaking his head. “I also walk.”

“When?”

“Blimey, I can walk. I do have legs, have you seen them?”

“Pretty hard to miss when they take up 80% of your body.”

Nathan gasped, nudging Y/N before the two of them laughed. The train arrived, and they got onboard, sitting down on one of them orange seats along the walls. They got off at Whitechapel, weaving past people to get to the Underground this time. They took an escalator down to the District and Hammersmith & City lines, Y/N following Nathan as he made a right turn for the Eastbound route.

“I know that exact walk, from the Overground to the District Line, like the back of my hand,” Nathan said, grinning proudly as they stepped aboard the train, holding onto the pole in between two doors. The doors closed, and Y/N had to hold on tight as not to faceplant onto the tube floor. That would not have been an ideal way of starting her conversion into a proper Londoner.

“Thought you said you walked to uni as well.”

“Well, I still do!”

“Alright.” Y/N nodded. “When’re we getting off?”

“Stepney Green.”

“This is Stepney Green. Change here for Hammersmith & City-“

Y/N raised her eyebrows at Nathan. “Really? Not even one stop?”

“Leave off, you hag.”

“Please, mind the gap between the train and the platform edge.”

The two walked up to the surface again and started on their ten-minute walk to Helmond from there. Y/N thought it would take them longer to get there considering she was a slow walker, something Nathan always had to consider when walking around with her, but it did not. The lack of her parents’ presence still hung in the air around her, it was still thick as fog, and she knew the longing for their closeness would not clear away within the next few days, but the moment she set her eyes on her University, she forgot about everything for just a little bit.

Helmond, University of London rose up before them in beautiful red and white bricks, shining in the late September sun like a lone castle in the middle of a vast and dark forest. It felt like Y/N had been without food and water for days, and the sign of the castle, the sign of life, brought a new sense of meaning to her. The massive University took up an entire 175-acre rectangle in London, enrolling a total of 20 thousand students, and being the second biggest London University for that reason alone, only barely beaten by Battersea, University of London, who hosted 35 thousand. Regardless, Helmond was the oldest uni in London, the first one to be established in the capital in 1817. Y/N felt very small looking at it, even though it wasn’t a particularly tall building, but she knew how big it was from the Open Day she had spent walking around campus grounds with her parents.

Nathan led Y/N over to the stairs and the two walked on in. It was like stepping right into a Renaissance painting. The ceilings were tall and vaulted, grand pillars against the walls up and down the halls. This hall was white, but Y/N knew that in other places in Helmond, the ceilings were painted, making it look like a sort of Versailles rip-off.

Immediately as you walked in, you stepped into the entry hall that was filled with first years trying to find their way around the uni. Right ahead was the reception area and a statue of Victor Helmond, the founder of the school and the first headmaster. To Y/N, he looked right about just like those old statues from the 1800s did, he was no different with his medium height, messy hair, and beard. Through the tall French windows behind the reception and statue, Y/N glimpsed one of the two massive courtyards in the middle of the University.

The uni was built around two quads, separating them was another quad just behind a red and white brick bridge, making it easier for students to get to lectures on time instead of walking their way through the long hallways, past lecture halls, cafeteria, and shops. Y/N could envision herself walking that bridge quite a few times over the next few years. There was another statue in the middle of the courtyard Y/N could see now, red and white tiled paths leading up to the fountain it stood on from each of the four walls facing it. The other courtyard was a replica of this one, only the statue was different. The one Y/N could see was Victor Helmond’s wife, Maud, and she knew that in the other courtyard, there was a statue of Queen Victoria. She had been told all of this on her Open Day months ago.

People were sitting in the grass of the quads, either with books in their hands or surrounded by friends. No one looked to have a care in the world, not even another oncoming year at uni. Y/N wished she could be as relaxed as them, and told herself that at one point, when she felt more at home here, she would.

“Coming?” Nathan asked after a little while, walking backwards while keeping his eyes on Y/N.

“Yeah.”

She followed him and the two walked further down the hall where there was a queue. Nathan stopped there and smiled at Y/N, nodding in the direction of the open door.

“Won’t be too long, there are tons of student representatives standing there, so it’ll take us ten minutes,” Nathan explained.

And he was right, it did not take them long to get to the front of the queue. They were stood in what Y/N could only assume to be a room specifically used for meetings. The table was fixed to look like a horse shoe, right about ten student representatives standing there, helping to register those that were there to start their first year.

“Next!” a woman called, and with one last look at Nathan, Y/N walked in her direction, giving her, what she hoped to be, a friendly smile as she approached.

“What’s your surname?” the student representative asked.

“Montes.”

She looked behind her, taking some time to find a M. She walked up and down the row of tables behind her, but once she finally came back to Y/N, she placed a manila folder on the table in front of her.

“Y/N Montes, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Studying English Literature?”

“Yup.”

“Brilliant,” the woman said, bending down to retrieve something more Y/N had to bring with her. “Just sign your name, date of birth, and the student halls you’re living in on the paper in front of you, please.”

“I don’t live in halls.”

“Ah, well, then you just write your address down. The uni just wants to know where you live, really. Especially if you’ve moved here to attend uni.”

Y/N nodded, taking the pen laid before her and writing under Jack Williams that had been before her.

“English Lit?”

After only having signed her name, Y/N looked up at the girl to her left who had just talked. She was looking straight at Y/N with a small smile on her face.

“I’m doing English Lit, too,” the girl said, her smile growing.

Y/N smiled back. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she blonde said, grinning now. “I’m Chloe.”

“Y/N.”

Chloe made a small bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours.” Y/N cursed herself for not being funnier. This girl would not want to be her friend if she wasn’t funny.

“Not to be like this,” the bloke helping Chloe out said. “But could you do this outside? We need to register more people.”

“Of course,” Chloe said, sounding a little too charming for her own good. She glanced back at Y/N, hugging her manila folder to her chest. “See you around, Y/N.”

“And you.”

Y/N’s entire chest burst with a sort of contentment only strange encounters could bring forth. It was a sort of reminder that Y/N was appreciated and seen by someone she barely knew; someone she appreciated and saw in return. Knowing that, even though they might not stay friends for their entire time at uni, they would at least lean on each other as lectures began. She could find Chloe and sit down next to her, and it would not be weird.

“Wicked,” Nathan said as Y/N came walking in his direction with the Helmond folder in her hands. “Now, let’s go for dinner. I’m famished.”

And so they did. They stopped by a pub on the way home, staying there for two hours just talking, eating and drinking. It was nice to finally be with Nathan again. He had been in London for well over a month, and as much as Y/N wanted to come down there, she needed all those hours of work to earn money for uni. New Look did not pay well, but at least she had a bit of money to use right off the bat. She’d need a new job, though. And fast.

This time around they walked back to the flat, taking the hour it took to just take in the stroll that Y/N knew she would take more than she would take the tube. There was just a lot to look at, and no hills, meaning that the stroll would not kill her. Another bonus was the time she would get to spend just listening to music, something she adored. Once again, she completely forgot about her parents and them leaving, until they reached the flat an hour later. Remembering brought a white-hot ball of aching to Y/N’s stomach, making it hard for her to swallow properly. She assumed it would be like this for a few days, if not weeks. She’d have to find her place and her people before the feeling of longing for her parents and life back home in Nottingham, would dissipate.

It was very dark in the flat when they finally got home around 8. Nathan stumbled a bit when they walked through the door, making Y/N laugh her ass off. Nathan only flipped her off before urging her to walk on in. She did, taking her shoes off and leaving them by the door. The light in the kitchen was on, and because Y/N assumed they must have left it on before they left, she did not bother to take a proper sweeping look over the room before reaching for the light switch. She stopped.

Nathan was busy closing and locking the front door, humming to that Tinie Tempah song that was always played in any sort of club setting. He must have been clubbing the night before, she reckoned. The rest of the flat was quiet. It was left in darkness. It was therefore weird to Y/N that she saw a hallucination in the middle of the lit-up kitchen. Would it not have been wiser of her brain, a bit scarier also perhaps, to put that hallucination in the corner of her dark room? Why was she seeing it right there, in the kitchen, in vivid detail? She wouldn’t remember ever having hallucinated… him. Her sister sometimes showed up, but Y/N never saw her in detail, only as she remembered her from that last time she saw her. But this… this was different. Y/N fucking hated it.

“Y/N,” he said, voice darker than she remembered it.

Blinking a few times to get the sight of him out of her head, she turned the lights off and turned to Nathan who struggled taking his shoes off, now humming to another song.

“Nate, literally shut up. Chainsmokers is rank.”

“Oi! Closer is a fucking belter!”

“Y/N, could you turn the lights back on, please?”

There it was again. His voice. She closed her eyes and shook her head forcefully, as she did to get rid of Marcela’s image. With a hand on the strap of her tote bag, Y/N started on her journey towards the stairs.

“Oi, Y/N, why’re you leaving the man in the dark?” Nathan asked, frowning over at Y/N as she stopped moving. What… What did Nathan just say? Had he seen Y/N’s hallucination as well? Were they both hallucinating? What had been in the two pints they’d just had? Nathan wasn’t drunk, was he?

She could tell by the yellow light that flooded into the hallway from the kitchen that Nathan had turned the lights back on. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at Nathan, meeting his gaze right away. Nathan glanced into the kitchen, giving the hallucination a smile before asking, a little too casually, “You’re home early.”

“Work was slow. Let me off early so I could get a few extra hours sleep in before uni starts.”

Y/N shook her head again, walking over and putting a hand on Nathan’s shoulder to check if he was real and not just another hallucination. Nathan looked to Y/N right away, a deep furrow to his brows as Y/N felt his neck and cheek.

“Have you cracked your skull? What’re you doing?” Nathan asked.

“You can see him?” Y/N blinked at Nathan, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

“Of course, I can see Harry. I’m not blind and I did develop the ability to sense another human beings’ presence when they’re in the same room as me. He’s standing right there, isn’t he?”

“No, he… he’s not…”

Y/N looked at the hallucination again then. Harry Styles. She had not thought about him in months, had not seen him in years. They had not been in each other’s proximity since he lived in Nottingham with his father three years ago. Had not spoken properly since that day in late August 2014 when they spent the night together. And there he was, standing in the kitchen of her new uni flat. She could not believe it. There were so many questions running through Y/N’s head in that second that she did not know which one to ask Nathan, who, it seemed, had no problem with Harry Styles being in their kitchen.

“Yes, he is,” Harry answered slowly, looking at Y/N with his eyebrows raised. They rose even higher up his forehead once he caught Nathan’s eye. “You didn’t tell her.”

“What?” Y/N looked at Nathan. “Didn’t tell me what?”

Nathan raised his shoulders in a shrug that Y/N knew was only done to buy her best friend some time. He pursed his lips, refusing to meet either of their eyes. “Might’ve slipped my mind.”

Harry cocked his head, putting the glass of milk he was holding back onto the counter. “Slipped… your mind?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?!”

“Y/N’s blind, you’re deaf. What’s next?”

“Nate, please, for the love of fuck, tell me you told her.”

“Nate?” That made Y/N retreat, two lines etched between her brows as she looked to Harry again, then back at Nathan. “You only let your mates call you that.”

Harry let out a short, high-pitched laugh. “Brilliant. You didn’t even tell her about me in general. What’s that about? You ashamed of me?”

“Oh, don’t take the piss, you wank-stain.” Nathan rolled his eyes. “I knew it would not go down very well.”

Harry crossed his arms. “And this way it would?”

“I was gonna sit her down and tell her, but I never got around to it. Alcohol called, she wanted us to have two pints at a pub.”

“Don’t blame this on a pint, you could’ve told her ages ago.”

“Can someone please,” Y/N called, making Nathan stop whatever he was about to say. “Tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

Nathan and Harry looked at one another, exchanging a sort of glance Y/N could almost decipher, but in her confused state was too dizzy to try and comprehend. They stood like that for a few seconds, making grimaces at one another, having a telepathic argument that Y/N wanted in on.

“Hello?!” she called, making both boys jump and look at her again.

“Nathan,” Harry said, picking his glass of milk up again and taking a sip.

“Right,” Nathan sighed, turning his body in Y/N’s direction. “Y/N, Harry’s gonna be living with you for the rest of the year.”

Harry huffed. “Want me to move out next year, do you? Don’t wanna live with me our third year?”

“Oh, you know I do, but one year at a time, yeah? Don’t need to traumatise her more than necessary.”

Y/N did not know what to do. Out of all possible scenarios, out of all horrible happenings at University, she had not seen this one coming. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this would ever happen. She quite frankly thought she had left Harry Styles behind her in her past, never to be in contact with or meet him again. But he was one of her new flatmates. She would be living with him for at least a year, two if she did not decide to move out. They had been each other’s first time, and then never spoke to each other again, despite everything else. That was three years ago, and now what? Were they supposed to talk it through? Were they supposed to ignore it? Ignore each other?

Y/N’s head was spinning, and it seemed the rest of the flat was spinning with her. Taking one last look at Harry and Nathan, she started walking in the direction of the stairs. Whatever the two were arguing about, they stopped the second they saw her strolling away.

“Oi, what’re you doing?” asked Nathan.

“I’m fucking going to my room to get away from you,” Y/N asked, voice razor sharp. “Unless you forgot to tell me there’s a corpse hidden inside my wardrobe?”

“It’s just 8. The night’s still young.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mate-“

“-Is there a corpse in my room? Or lice in my mattress? Or any other rather big news you’d like to tell me?”

Nathan must have known this would happen, but he still looked nervous as he shook his head, indicating that there was nothing else he was supposed to have told her but hadn’t.

“Good,” Y/N said. “I’ll deal with whatever kind of situation this is, tomorrow.” She paused. “Or maybe the day after that.” Another pause. “Fuck this. Fuck you.” She pointed at Nathan.

“I’m just trying to make us all be friends here,” he said. “Besides, don’t fuck me, I’m gay. And…” Nathan nodded in the direction of the kitchen where Harry stood. “You’ve already fucked him-“

“-I’ll literally murder you, Nathan,” Y/N hissed, and she swore she could hear a grunt of disapproval from Harry’s end as well, not having appreciated Nathan’s comment.

Without another look at them, she walked up the stairs and to her room, locking herself in there. It was then that she realised she hadn’t gotten her bed ready for the night. However, in her infuriated state, Y/N did not care. She got her pillow out from one of her bags along with her duvet, opening the windows to let some fresh air in and pulled the curtains close. She wasn’t really about to go to bed, but she knew that she would cry in not too long because she missed home, and her anger at Nathan and Harry did not help. If she got angry enough, she’d cry. Hard.

She could not believe this. It did not feel real. Ever since that night in August, she had not talked to Harry, and she did not think she ever would again. However, here she was, living in the same flat as him. It wasn’t as if their time together had been more awkward than they had anticipated, but the reason why she could not stand him was because, even though had kept every single other promise he’d ever made, he had not even done as much as look at her after they had sex. He had not called like he promised he would. Had not kept in contact with her after moving away. Had not been what he had promised he would be: different. A mate.

They had promised each other at the time that this would not be awkward, they would just get it over with, be awkward with one another, and then forget it ever happened. They would go back to being mates. But then Harry had shut her out, and they had not talked since. At times, when Y/N thought about this not too long after it had happened, she was scared that the entire reason why Harry had even been friendly in the first place was so they’d fuck and forget about one another. Sometimes it was easier to tell herself that than to remember all the lovely times. Y/N chose to repress those. He was not worth it.

She heard Nathan’s voice and then Harry’s along with footsteps. They were walking up the stairs, talking in hushed voices as if scared to wake anyone up. Y/N supposed it was the last flatmate that she had yet to meet, and considering how Nathan had not told her she would be living with Harry for the next year, she was scared to think who the last flatmate would be.

There was a knock at her door.

Y/N rubbed a hand over her face. “Drink piss.”

“Y/N, I just wanna talk.”

“No, Nathan.”

He jiggled the door handle. “Please.”

“Nathan, I need to be alone or else I’m sure I’m gonna fucking choke you till your eyes pop,” Y/N said. “Harry Styles, Nathan!”

“Yes, Y/N, I know!” Nathan said, sounding genuinely conflicted as well. “I know I should have told you he goes to Helmond! And that we’re mates here! I know!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“’Cause I knew you wouldn’t live with me if I told you,” Nathan admitted. “I had been looking forward to you coming here for so long, and Harry, Mason, and I kind of agreed to move in together. I told Harry, but he never had a problem with it, but I knew you would, because… well… everything that happened in Notts.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“But believe me that I didn’t do this as a way for you and Harry to, like, start talking again-“

“-‘Cause if you did-“

“-Oh, I know I would’ve been dead by now if that was the case, I know.” Nathan sighed. “Y/N, he’s not as much of a knob-“

“-He is a knobhead. Now, then, forever. Now, leave me alone.”

Nathan knew there was no way for him to make this any better. Once Y/N had made her mind up, it was hard to change her perspective on things. Getting her used to Harry, to living with him, to accepting this fate of hers, would take a very long fucking time.

Nathan said a small, “Later” from down the hall, and Harry replied with a “Have a good one” that seemed a bit closer somehow. Before she knew it, the door just beside hers opened, a small creak to it as Harry stepped in. It closed just after Nathan’s did, and Y/N heard the sound of footsteps from the room just beside hers. Not only was Harry Styles, the person who took her virginity, and Y/N Montes, the person who took Harry Styles’ virginity, living in the same flat. No, their rooms were also right next to one another. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. Not only had she cried an abnormal amount today, sprained her ankle some on her walk home, and been uncharacteristically awkward when meeting new people, but she had also moved into the same house as her ex-friend.

Y/N turned her face, burying it into her pillow, and screamed.

Monday, 18 September 2017

There were people everywhere. Y/N was used to there being heaps of people everywhere she looked and did not mind crowds. She liked the company of people around her, the sounds of civilisation. In fact, it relaxed her much more than a calm countryside ever could. When walking through Canada Water, she did not mind people bumping into her or them walking right past her. It just showed signs of people and she loved that. She hated being alone, hated the sound of her own breathing and nothing to accompany her.

That was one of the reasons why she had looked forward to moving to London in the first place. She wanted the comfort of never being alone, of always having someone around, which she knew she would appreciate about London. Of course, she knew there were places in London she could go to be on her own, but she liked the idea of never, truly, being alone. The prospect of being alone, terrified her. She was never lonely, she had a lot of friends, she was close with her parents, but being alone, with no one else around, was something else entirely.

She did not feel lonely, even though she did not know any of the people around her at this precise moment in the tube station, she was surrounded by people and there was a comfort in that. Years & Years blasted from her earbuds and it was hard not to sing along when Desire went as hard as it did. So, instead of singing with her whole chest in the middle of the tube station, Y/N settled for miming the words with her mouth. She loved Years & Years more than she could articulate, so it was hard for her not to go crazy while listening to them. She could not wait for their second album to drop sometime next year.

Y/N walked towards the Eastbound platform as she reached the Jubilee line level. Nathan would be waiting for her at Ikea in Greenwich, as he had gone for a few other errands in the area, which ones Y/N did not know, but she had no problem meeting him there. However, she would have much more preferred it if he could have gone there with her, as she much more preferred to hang out with her friends than getting to places by herself. She just needed to take the Jubilee line to North Greenwich, and then take the 161 bus to Millennium Leisure Park East, and there Nathan would be waiting for her. That was all she had to do on her own, then she would have company.

She had not yet forgiven him for not telling her about Harry, but she didn’t have anyone else to take to Ikea, so she’d just have to ignore it until she had the energy to talk it through. Until then, she’d be passive aggressive and make Nathan feel bad for keeping it from her. Not the best way to go about it, she knew, but it would do for now.

The train arrived and Y/N waited patiently before she boarded it, letting the passengers that were already aboard get off before she started making her way on. Too anxious to sit down, Y/N took to standing by the pole just by the door she just entered, holding onto it with two other business men, neither who paid anyone on that train any attention as all of it were on the phone in front of them. Y/N reached for her phone then, typing out a message to Nathan that she was on her way. Or… at least she hoped she was.

“This is a Jubilee line train to Stratford; the next station is Canary Warf.”

Y/N let out a small sigh of relief, mentally patting herself on the back for managing to make it this far on her journey to Ikea Greenwich without getting completely lost. She felt her phone vibrate in her hand, and she immediately raised it to look at her new notification.

Nathan

Glad you’re finding your way around London, can be quite challenging

Nathan

Especially when you have a pea brain

Nathan

Like you do

Y/N snorted, started typing a text out right away as she held onto the blue pole for dear life.

Y/N

Scientists have been working for years to find a brain inside your gigantic head, seems it’s too small to be found, even under a magnifying glass

Because of poor reception, the text did not send, and the thought of being so low underground that she had trouble reaching her loved ones, suddenly scared her a bit. Y/N closed her phone and looked up at the tube map as the speaker overhead announced their arrival at Canary Wharf, people milling on and off the train.

Y/N saw something just before the door closed. She stopped breathing. It was only for a split-second, but she could swear she had seen something. She recognised the denim jacket, the hair, the smile. No matter the scenario, where she was, what was happening, Y/N would remember and make out her sister. She would recognise her anywhere. This was no different.

However, it had only been for a single second, not even that. The doors had closed before Y/N got to take a proper look. Right away, she closed her eyes tightly, willing her violently beating heart and pulse to slow down. It had just been a hallucination; it had not been real. I had just been a hallucination; it had not been real, and she continued to tell herself that until the train started driving away from the platform. Once she finally opened her eyes and looked out of the train windows, the darkness of the underground tunnels had surrounded them. Marcela was nowhere in sight.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the blue pole, feeling a slight layer of sweat over her cupid’s bow and forehead. The Marcela hallucination had affected her more than she thought it would have. Taking a deep breath, Y/N kept her eyes shut and her mind closed until she reached North Greenwich. Then, forcing the image of her sister away, Y/N walked off the train the second it stopped and almost ran for the exit and fresh air. Marcela was not alive; she had been dead for three years. She had been murdered three years ago. Neither hallucinations nor will would bring her back, it was time Y/N made her brain believe that as well.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 28th February, 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 you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #1dff #super super super unsure about the cover art i'm most likely gonna change it #BUTTTTT HERE IT IS WOHOOOO

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spindlebeforesunset · 4 years ago

Text

Pranksters and the Pranked

(because it is April Fools at my place already)

Ace Trappola - prankster

• got their other two roommates to participate in pranking Deuce

• set the room clock 3 hours later than usual

• while the two roommates were "busy preparing for the school day" at 2 am, Ace flicks open the lights and starts turning them on and off and shouts "OI DEUCE WAKE UP, WE'RE LATE"

• he finally yeets a pillow at Deuce's face to wake him up

Deuce Spade - pranked

• a very confused Deuce wakes up, sees that the three of them are already dressed, looks at the clock, and panic dresses himself

• "wheresmyhomeworkwheresmyhomework-"

• only when he runs out in the rose garden does he finally see that, it's still nighttime, no he isn't late, and yes, his sleep was ruined

• trudges back to the dorm room where he finds them all cracking up

• he chucks a pillow at Ace before promptly flopping back on his bed

• with his shoes on (n a s t y)

---

Cater Diamond - prankster

• has a plastic cockroach toy in his pocket as he is to serve Riddle tea again on this fine day

• Riddle is having a nice time admiring the roses and often sticks his teacup out for Cater to fill

• while Riddle is inspecting a rose, Cater pours the tea and slips the plastic cockroach inside the teacup as well

• he doesn't change his expression when he hands back the teacup

Riddle Rosehearts - pranked

• Riddle sips the warm tea and feels something solid touching his lips

• he looks down

• immediately drops the teacup starts screaming there's a fucking cockroach in the teacup

• he realizes that Cater is doubled over laughing so he takes the opportunity to whoop Cater's head before storming off

---

Trey Clover - pranked

• he's bored and decides to make cookies

• he double checks the chocolate chips bag to ensure that they were not replaced with chocolate covered raisins like what Che'nya did last year

• no raisins, so he shrugs his shoulders that Che'nya had really ran out of ideas after many years

• takes out the ingredients necessary for the cookies and starts to mix the ingredients

• the process is going fine until he cracks an egg

• there's no liquid yolk pouring out

• he looks at the insides and finds that the egg has been fully hardboiled

• "... I should've known better," he sighs

• somewhere in the kitchen, an invisible RSA student laughs

---

Ruggie Bucchi - prankster

• gives Leona a package that appears to be from Cheka as there is a letter written in crayon and with childish handwriting

• stands near Leona's bed when he opens it

Leona Kingscholar - pranked

• he doesn't expect anything except maybe a small zebra toy

• but when he shakes the package and heard nothing he immediately thinks it is sus AF

• he glares at Ruggie, but even Ruggie doesn't appear to know anything

• he tears the wrapper, opens the box, and reads the words written ddirectly at the bottom: when will I get paid :(

• "Nice try Ruggie, I'll think about it."

• before he crashes back to his pillow, he sees Ruggie face droop along with his ears

Jack Howl - the only safe one

• by some miracle, the only student in school who did not fall into a prank

---

Floyd Leech - prankster

• beware Floyd and his pranks, because he will prank just about anybody

• he started with Azul, sneaking in Azul's bedroom (with the latter still asleep) and replacing Azul's glasses with glasses with lens he colored in black marker

• next, while Jade is in the bathroom, he replaces Jade's usual school tie with one that shifts colour and pattern every hour or so (now, it currently looks like the regular school tie)

• set up buckets full of water in the first year classrooms (Epel was dowsed in one, Sebek too, the last being Grim)

• handed Divus a blank assignment (written in invisible ink), but before Divus can even scold him, he passes the paper near a fire where the answers finally appear where Divus takes it with a huff

Azul Ashengrotto - pranked

• he wakes up and puts on his glasses by the bedside table

• how come he can't see

• it takes his sort of sleepy self two minutes to put two and two together

• instantly groans, knowing that Floyd definitely has his real glasses

Jade Leech - pranked

• he puts on his tie as he normally would and walks out the room

• when Ruggie asks him why his tie looked so funky in the middle of the day, he takes it off and finds that it has a silly banana pattern

• facepalms

• h a r d

• that he walked around with who-knows-a-probably-weirder-pattern around the school

---

Kalim Al-Asim - prankster & pranked

• harmlessly pranked by Jamil when he believed the milk was coconut juice (was kinda disappointed though)

• has slapped whoopee cushions everywhere underneath all the seats in Scarabia just for the heck of it to the chagrin of practically everyone

• asks Silver what's up with his blazer because what even is that

Jamil Viper - prankster

• he started with Kalim and the cocount juice

• knew full well that the seats were full of whoopee cushions and avoids sitting on all of them

• managed to trick Grim that he had tuna cans and when he gave Grim one, he excused himself that he had somewhere to go

• he watches hidden behind a pillar as Grim opens the tuna can and finds nothing but sand inside

• has to kick himself to stop his laughter from seeing Grim's disappointed face

---

Rook Hunt - prankster

• he was going to prank both Vil and Epel, but after hearing how the latter was dowsed in water for first period, decides to just prank Vil

• slaps cake icing inside an empty and expensive lotion bottle and wraps it with a ribbon

• he runs to Vil in the dormitory after classes and says it was left near his doorstep so tue sender must've mixed the rooms up

• unfortunately, Vil's door is closed on him

Vil Schoenheit - pranked

• after deciding not to scold Epel with the water fiasco, he takes the lotion bottle from Rook and takes it to his room, not seeing the "and I oop" face

• he squirts out a small amount of lotion on his palm and finds that it smells... weirdly fruity

• suspicious now, he rubs it with his palms and (despite all what he knew about beauty products) licks a tiny bit of it to confirm what it was

• blueberry icing

• "... well, it could have been worse."

• ends up tripping where he uses his hands to break the fall and realizes what a big mistake he's made with his sticky palms

• internally groans

Epel Felmier - pranked (can we get an F)

• as soon as he feels his clothes get wet and the bucket land on his head, he knew he was fucked for the whole day and goes through classes with a sheepish expression

---

Idia Shroud - pranked

• he decides to go outside and get something from the vending machine for once

• takes one step out and slides on a rug by his doorstep that was never there before

• "This is a warning, so maybe I'll just stay inside as always."

• gets back to his room where Ortho asks if he was just pranked as today was April Fools

• "...yep, I'm staying here the whole day."

• "Brother, no."

• unfortunately, they don't know who set up that rug

---

Lilia Vanrouge - prankster

• the only person who can and will prank Malleus Draconia

• he hides a small and cheap speaker at full blast (connected to his phone) inside Malleus' closet the day prior

• plays the end part of In the Hall of the Mountain King in a loop at exactly 3 am and everyone hears it in the halls

• tricks Sebek to believe that his crappily made cake would give whoever ate it additional strength, claiming the recipe was well-known back in his day

• swaps the black coffee powder with powdered chocolate milk just because

• swaps Silver's blazer with a seemingly normal one, but the back reads: If lost, return to Malleus

Malleus Draconia - pranked

• that music is straight up panic inducing and hurries to find it

• ends up finding it half an hour and yeets it out the window because he can't turn it off

• he's annoyed but goes back to sleep

• is huffy that he can't have coffee

• promptly confused why Silver is brought to him near lunch break until he sees what's at Silver's blazer at the back

• "Did he just..."

Sebek Zigvolt - pranked

• additional strength from the cake you say? THE BETTER TO SERVE WAKA-SAMA

• does not see the already facepalming Silver preparing the morning coffee

• takes a mouthful of it and starts chewing it before realizing something was not right

• "Sebek, I didn't think you would actually eat it. I made it bad on purpose."

• now that's a way to add insult to injury

• if he thought his morning was not already humiliating enough, he gets dowsed in water by Floyd's bucket

• him the whole day be like (;*△*;)

Silver

• poor Silver already knew full well of Lilia's antics, yet he still has no way out of it

• he puts on his blazer, not expecting anything wrong

• the powdered milk instead of coffee did annoy him though

• however, when Kalim shoves him to Malleus near lunch, he's shook

• until Kalim tells him to take off his blazer to show the both of them what was embroidered at the back

• "You mean I went out like this?"

• "It appears so," says Malleus

• "Oof," from Kalim

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

stay gold.

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. blond!jk being a good boy? idk. that’s literally it. wc. 3k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, ofc. author note. this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun. Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.

Sure, there are the downsides. All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone. There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office; the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though. He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes. He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless. Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you. Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.” It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door. Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch. Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”

Did you? Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond. He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair. Brown, red, orange, blue. You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely. (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters. It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck. He looks so good you want to devour him. (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place. Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused. “That’s a yes?”

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap. Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple? You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug. You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,” you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth. You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air.

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you. Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair. Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue. That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek. This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,” he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine. Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions.

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on. Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel. (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to. (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them: soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper. He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep; you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips. You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed.

Knowing each other was easy; loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different. New. Special.

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin. Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal.

“Baby,” he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box. (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips. (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.) It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz. “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.” It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get. It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek. You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome. Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered. That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do. I just—” The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit. He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail. The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants. “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,” you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.” He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness. Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops. A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though. Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?” An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat. Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth. There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you. You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king. This is just fun, different and exciting.

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck. “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful; his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still. As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much. The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch. He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine; every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked. Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.

“Good?” Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico. Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,” you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls. So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.

There’s something happening. A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him. It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional. It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils. It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much. He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger. When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth. Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love; know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be. Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him.

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin. It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth. It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him. It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.

“Baby,” he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock. Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,” you grumble, searing his insides with just one look. (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—” A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles. He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now. He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face. It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him. You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?” It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,” he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch. It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be. The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant; he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit.

“R-really?” Of course you don’t believe him. He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks. (He deserves that.)

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first. The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck; he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in. “Really.”

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does. In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful. In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips. In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun.

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