#why do people only ever give correspondence tables and never reasons for them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hermannsthumb · 3 years

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I have a fun prompt I've been thinking about I hope you have time for one day! When Newt and Hermann meet actually things go really really well and they even get together. It's just they bicker so much and have huge science-based arguments that everyone assumed they must have hated each other on sight.

sure thing! i had fun with this one

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"So," Newt says. "I was talking to Tendo today."

Across the mess table, Hermann hums in feigned interest. Newt knows it's feigned 'cause Hermann doesn't stop either thing he's doing: using his left hand to wind noodles around a fork, and using his right hand to scribble away a series of lengthy equations on the back of a paper napkin. His full attention has been hopping between both for about ten minutes now—no room for Newt to slip in there. He's testing his limits enough as it. Half of the last equation ended up scratched into the tabletop, and the last time he lifted his fork to his mouth, it was empty. And then he swallowed anyway. Newt kinda loves the guy.

"Yeah," Newt says, deciding to continue like Hermann responded the way he was actually supposed to respond, which would've been something along the lines of what an utterly fascinating story, Newton, do tell me more. I love hearing you talk, Newton. How marvelously smart you are, Newton, and how melodic and breathtaking your voice is. Now watch me bite down on an empty fork again. "Kinda funny. He was asking how we met."

Hermann finally looks up at Newt suspiciously over the rims of his glasses, which are slipping slowly down his nose. He stills them with the tip of his index finger before they land in his dinner. "Why?"

"I don't know, man," Newt says. "He just was. It was like, small talk, you wouldn't get it. He dropped by the lab when you were out this morning to let me know that there was extra space if we wanted it. Like, lab space." Hermann resumes scratching an equation into the table absently. Newt rolls his eyes. "As in, we could have separate labs if we wanted now."

Hermann knits his eyebrows together. "Separate laboratories?"

When Newt and Hermann first started at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, the k-scientist team was pre-existing and significantly bigger, and anyone who joined on later—like, you know, them—basically got shoved in wherever they fit. For Newt and Hermann, that happened to be Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1 (the only basement level), along with a former marine biologist who was killed on a research excursion a month later when a kaiju made unexpected landfall, like, right on top of their chosen shelter. Bad luck. Anyway, Newt's known about the existence of other Hong Kong Shatterdome lab spaces in the vague and absent sort of way that you would an urban legend, but (similarly so) he never thought he and Hermann would actually ever lay eyes on one. And then Tendo stopped by to dangle it in front of Newt on a stick.

"The other labs were being used as storage for ages after everyone else—" Newt searches for a word tasteful enough to encapsulate got stomped by a kaiju and wised up and decided to live out what are probably our last few days before the world ends with their families instead of alone in a military bunker. "—left. Anyway, Tendo told me they've been going through shit like crazy this month, I think to see if they can salvage any old tech, and that the other labs are basically totally emptied out now. We just have to ask and they're ours."

Hermann sets down both his pen and fork, twisting his mouth contemplatively. He finally loses the battle against gravity with his glasses, and they miss his plate by an inch, swinging back on their chain and bouncing harmlessly against his chest instead. Newt briefly wonders if getting a chain for his own glasses would save them from their frequent fatal falls into kaiju organ cavities and buckets of non-neutralized kaiju blood, but decides not even the money he'd save on replacement pairs would make a fashion faux pas like that worth it. "You know I don't much fancy the basement," Hermann says.

"Your joints," Newt agrees. The damp of the basement sets Hermann's joint pain off frequently, something Hermann talks about just as frequently. Newt's not really a fan of the basement either, though for different reasons—he would kill to get some windows and natural, non-fluorescent light in there. Sun lamps can only do so much. He's pretty sure he'd fucking glow if he stepped outside right now. Also, it's cold down here.

"And it might be nice to be closer to LOCCENT, in case of an emergency," Hermann continues. "And closer to—oh, hang on. What has this got to do with us?"

"Huh?"

"How we met," Hermann says. "You said, that Tendo asked—"

"Oh," Newt says. It's his turn to play coy. He stirs his chopsticks through his own dinner, accidentally flicking a piece of tofu to the table. It lands on top of Hermann's etched equations. Hermann scowls, because that's how their routine goes: Newt gets Hermann's stuff dirty, and Hermann gets mad. "Well. It was just that Tendo was like you can finally be out of each other's hair, how the hell did you guys get stuck together anyway when you obviously can't stand each other, that kind of stuff."

"Ah," Hermann says.

"And I said that it was because we knew each other before," Newt says, "and that we transferred here together. And that's when he asked."

"And what did you say?" Hermann says.

"That we used to correspond professionally," Newt says, "and met at a conference way back in 2017." He adds, with a grin, "Also professionally."

This was technically true. Newt and Hermann did write to each other, professionally, and they did meet at a conference, professionally, but what went down after a long and public shouting match in the events hall of a very nice hotel—in Hermann's room, five floors up in that very nice hotel—was not very professional. The events of the week that followed—spent, intermittently, between Hermann's hotel room, several coffee shops, a bench under a tree in Newt's favorite park, a rotation sushi restaurant, brushing knees shyly on the tram, and, finally, clasping hands on the staircase of Newt's apartment and gazing deeply into each other's eyes—weren't very professional, either, but Newt likes to think that they were very romantic. Rom-com level shit. Newt revealed none of this to Tendo, who referred to the 2017 conference as that Infamous Day for the rest of their conversation. "Well, it was professional," Hermann sniffs.

But he reaches across the table, and, very timidly, crosses his pinkie over top of Newt's. It's the most blatant form of PDA Hermann ever willingly engages Newt in. Newt thinks if he ever tried to touch two fingers at once in anywhere but the lab, or God forbid, hold his whole hand, Hermann's ears might start emitting steam like something out of a cartoon. "It might be nice," he says again.

Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1, is unique—Newt knows—in that Newt and Hermann's quarters are connected to it directly. None of the other labs have that luxury (and Newt has a feeling it's because Lab Space D wasn't actually intended as a lab space). He remembers being told that when they were shoved into it. Yeah, you have the darkest and tiniest lab space on base, but your rooms are right there! When Newt wants to go to Hermann's room, or if he's in Hermann's room and needs a sweatshirt or something from his own, he just has to step the three feet between their two doors. Moving labs could throw a wrench in that—they might be asked to move quarters, too, and might be shuttled to opposite sides of the Shatterdome, and though they could just bite the bullet and request couple's quarters already, it's nice to have their own spaces when they need it. That would never work. And, well, besides—the lab, their lab, feels like home to them at this point. Newt shrugs.

"On the other hand," Hermann says, and he taps Newt's pinkie lightly, "I quite like how things are. I can live with the damp, really."

"We can get a dehumidifier," Newt offers.

Hermann nods, and he gives Newt the barest hint of a smile.

Their monthly delivery of lab supplies—whatever they can afford with their shoestring budget, which, these days, mostly means chalk, rubber gloves, and nice instant ramen—comes three weeks later. Newt wouldn't exactly call the Shatterdome delivery guy a friend, seeing as he has yet to divulge his name to Newt (and also Newt's pretty sure he has a thing for Hermann, since he always seems to wait until Hermann is in the lab to stroll by with his package trolley and always calls him Dr. Gottlieb with big stupid heart eyes, oh, Dr. Gottlieb, that new sweater looks soooo nice on you!, so anyway, that makes him Newt's rival by default), but he, at least, recognizes and acknowledges Newt at this point. That's more than Newt can say for most people on the base. After his usual greeting to the two of them (hey, Newt, oh, hellllooo, Dr. Gottlieb, did you do something new with your hair?), he starts to unload their packages, also like usual.

"I was surprised to see that you guys are still down here," he tells Newt, not like usual. "Tendo mentioned something about you getting your own labs."

"He did?" Newt says, meaning to frown, but grinning instead. It's kind of fun to be the subject of gossip. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in the trash to help with their supplies—the dehumidifier he requested should be in there, and it's fancy and definitely on the bigger side.

"Yeah," their delivery guy continues. He hands Newt a fuckin' massive brick of a package. Hermann's stupid chalk. The amount that Hermann tears through in a month really is astounding: Newt has a private theory that Hermann is an undercover space alien from a planet where chalk constitutes all of the primary food groups, and he secretly sneaks out here and eats it in the dead of night when Newt is asleep. "Anyway, sorry I'm late," the delivery guy says, as Newt imagines Hermann crunching on a piece of chalk like a carrot stick, "I went to all the other labs first."

"No worries, dude," Newt says. "Sorry for the confusion."

He lugs the package over to Hermann's desk, and drops it down on the only spot not over-cluttered with papers and books. Hermann complains about Newt's messiness a lot for a guy who is just as bad, if not worse. "Need any now?" Newt asks Hermann.

Hermann, scribbling away at his chalkboard, grunts. Newt decides that's a no.

"Hard at work, Dr. Gottlieb?" the delivery guy says, practically fluttering his eyelashes.

Another grunt. Newt snorts.

"I thought you guys would've moved right away," the delivery guy (obviously disappointed at Hermann's lack of attention) tells Newt. "Tendo mentioned you've been stuck together for a while, ever since some sort of dramatic confrontation at a conference ten years ago." he adds eagerly, "Did you really get thrown out? I don't know how you haven't killed each other yet."

"It's taken a lot of hard work," Newt says. Yeah, the whole being-ejected-from-the-conference-and-barred-from-all-future-ones-forever thing is technically true too, but everyone there was too stuffy and serious for Newt's fun vibes anyway, so he thinks it's their loss. The most important part of the scientific breakthrough process, Newt frequently thinks, was having someone there to challenge you and push back at you. Sometimes loudly. And in public. In the conference hall of a very expensive hotel, in front of all of your scientific peers, some hotel security guards, and a poor graduate student who made the mistake of asking you and your penpal-colleague for your joint opinion on something and got caught in the crosshairs. Besides—out of everyone at that stupid conference, Newt and Hermann were the only ones snapped up by the PPDC, so it's doubly their loss. "And, yeah, we got thrown out. Me and Hermann fight a lot, but we always make up eventually. It's no big deal. It's, like, our thing."

"Make up?"

Newt waggles his eyebrows and doesn't elaborate. The making up part is the best part of arguing with Hermann, honestly, but he's not about to go giving private details about stuff like that to his rival.

By the time Hermann finally descends his ladder, three hours have passed, and Newt is frowning over an email he's just gotten from Shatterdome HR. Hermann will probably see it in a second when he checks his own email—it was sent to both of them, after all—but Newt waves him over to his desk anyway. "Look," he says.

He draws out the spare chair he keeps by his desk (for Hermann), and Hermann drops into it gratefully, propping his cane up against the arm. Then Hermann pushes his glasses up onto his nose and scans the email with a frown of his own. Newt reads it aloud for him anyway. "'Subject: Quarters Reassignment,'" he says. "Dear Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb: It has recently come to our attention that you will be transferring to Laboratories A&B. Should you wish to transfer quarters as well, you will find the necessary paperwork..."

"By Jove," Hermann groans, and pulls his glasses off again, smudging a bit of chalk on his cheek, "can't they just leave us alone?"

Newt laughs. "I'll tell them we're not interested. Wait, listen to this bit at the end: Congratulations—this must be a relief! Guess they were getting your complaint forms after all, Hermann." Both Newt and Hermann had long-since assumed that any and all official complaint forms stamped with a k-sci lab return address are filed right into the garbage. It's never deterred Hermann from sending them in, though.

"Hmph," Hermann says.

Newt carefully rolls his shirtcuff back down to his wrist and uses it to rub off Hermann's chalk smudge. When it's gone, or at least, mostly gone, he brushes his fingers back through Hermann's short hair. Hermann's eyelids flutter shut, and as he leans into Newt's touch, his creased forehead smooths just a little. "Mm. You're lovely," he murmurs. "We really ought to tell them we're married. It's gone on long enough."

"I guess," Newt says. "But it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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bleachhaven · 3 years

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Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) — Part 5/6

Author’s Note:

It should be noted that this story is almost coming to a close...I’m sad to stop writing about Shunsui but it’s time to wrap this one up. So there’s maybe 1 or 2 more parts left.

Warning: A bit of smut ahead. One can only be seduced endlessly for so long without something happening about it.

–

Read Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 and Part 4 first!

Uncharacteristically, Shunsui was late to arrive at the office. It was almost ten in the morning when he finally strolled in. Nanao would have admonished him without a thought but the dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had already had a terrible night. She didn’t want to make it a terrible morning as well.

Shunsui didn’t have the excuse of drunken debauchery at some late night party for his tardiness. The last party he’d been to had been Lisa-chan’s Valentine’s Day celebration and that was over two weeks ago.

It was more or less about how his loneliness and melancholy had kept him up late into the night. Something he definitely didn’t want to burden sweet Nanao-chan about.

He had found himself strolling randomly in seireitei at around three in the goddamn morning because simply staying in his bed staring at his ceiling felt impossible. He didn’t have these kind of difficult nights too often but when he did have them, they were quite terrible.

Sure, he missed Juu. But his loneliness was a bit more than that this time.

It has been over two weeks since he had received anything from his beloved Secret Admirer. Fourteen whole days of complete silence from her was quite unusual, and he felt it acutely. Where was she?

The darkest of thoughts had plagued him at night. What if she was sent on a dangerous mission? What if she had been injured? He hated to think it...but what if she was never coming back? Hadn’t he honestly lost enough?

The thoughts spiraled as the evening progressed into the wee hours of the morning, growing darker and more melancholy.

He knew he was not the greatest catch in the Soul Society. That title fell to Byakuya, uncontested. Shunsui was older than everyone in seireitei - a thousand years too old, he’d say. He was nobility too but he wasn’t one to truly fit into that mould, which deterred most noblewomen from considering him.

He wasn’t what one would call conventionally handsome either. He knew he wasn’t ugly...but he wasn’t exactly...whole. Not anymore. Maybe once he would have held some appeal and he had many lovers who thought him handsome enough to have a tumble with him... but the eyepatch never failed to remind him that he was never going to be good looking, by anyone’s standards, with a goddamn hole in his face.

Most days, none of this would honestly bother him. But last night it did.

His beloved Secret Admirer probably came to the conclusion that he wasn’t worth all the trouble after all. Surely, there had to be a reason why he had never been able to have a long term relationship. He blamed it on his job but...was that all it was? Maybe he was just not meant to have a happily ever after with someone.

As romantic as he was, he didn’t really believe in the concept of happily ever after. He knew relationships were work. It was a commitment between two people who cared about each other to work on staying together through whatever. With time, he had put any thoughts of a relationship on the back burner. With his duty to the Gotei 13, and his responsibilities as well as the added burden of maintaining his reputation as the Soutaicho...it was a practical choice.

But his Secret Admirer had made him want. Had made him yearn for a happily ever after for himself in a way he never had before.

He wanted to be loved and cherished as much as he wanted to love and cherish that one special person in his life. But did he really deserve it?

He knew it was her silence that had his latent insecurities rising to the surface keeping him up at night.

So as sleep deprived as he was, he came to the office with a plan. He couldn’t bear her silence anymore so he was not going to. With everything that had come up in the office, he hadn’t been able to finish up the letter he had started to write to her. At that time, it had felt futile considering there was no way to send it to her.

But he had a brilliant idea. He would have it published in the next installment of the Seireitei Communication including just enough information so that she would know it’s him while withholding enough details to still keep it anonymous. He could trust Hisagi-kun to be discreet.

He had a plan, and it could actually work!

If only he could actually find that bit of lavender paper he had left on his desk.

“Nanao-chan, did you remove anything from my desk by any chance?” he asked, opening up drawers and bending down to check under the desk.

Nanao looked up from the training schedule she was working on. “Nothing more than the usual paperwork. Why what have you lost now?” she asked with an overexaggerated sigh.

“My, my, Nanao-chan. You make it sound like I lose things on a daily basis.”

“The only thing lost on a daily basis around here is my sanity,” she said, rolling her eyes. Still she relented. A distressed Taicho always meant a distressed Nanao. “Fine. Describe it to me and I will tell you if I saw it anywhere.”

“It was nothing official. Just a bit of lavender paper I had been writing on…” he trailed off seeing the look on her face. “What? Did you see it?”

“You lost the letter you were writing to you Secret Admirer?” she asked.

“Nanao-chan! How did you…?”

“You forget, Taicho,” she said quite matter of factly. “There’s nothing that goes on here I don’t know about. But I haven’t seen it. Maybe it got mixed up in some paperwork and got sent to another division. I don’t think anyone would recognize your flowery handwriting which you reserve for your personal correspondence anyway. So nothing to worry about.”

Shunsui simply stared at her. He has known his little fuktaicho for too long to not notice that something was off. All this time, he thought she was just laughing at his expense because he was mooning over someone he didn’t even know. But now...that look...the way she said it without even having to think about it...it all felt fishy somehow. Nanao-chan was up to something.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she huffed, correcting the papers on her desk that didn’t need correcting. A nervous habit that always gave her away. “If you don’t have any serious work, I have a pile of forms…”

“You know perfectly well who it is, don’t you, Nanao-chan?” he interrupted her attempts to distract him.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Please, Nanao-chan. It’s perfectly obvious you know exactly what I am talking about. Just...tell me…” he said.

He was so serious and intent. Nanao had only ever seen him like that in the heat of the worst kind of battle. She dropped her pretenses as well.

“She and I have both left enough breadcrumbs for you as it is. So if you’re so desperate to know who she is, why don’t you do the work to actually find out?” she asked him. “Clearly the girl cares about you but is terrified to approach you. Who wouldn’t be considering who you are and the position you hold. She is a nice girl, Taicho. But as things stand, she wouldn’t be the one to approach you so maybe you should find out for yourself who she is and do the approaching.”

So Nanao did indeed know who his Secret Admirer was. He understood her reasons why she couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t really her secret to divulge. Shunsui had to respect that despite his desperation.

“Is my sweet Nanao-chan giving her taicho dating advice?” he teased instead.

“Yes, I am,” she declared with a raised brow. “For even I can see how far you’ve fallen that you need advice from me to get yourself a date!”

Shunsui gasped, buying into the friendly teasing. “Nanao-chan is so mean to her taicho!”

Finally, they both got back to work, but Shunsui’s mind was still thinking about what Nanao had said. Apparently breadcrumbs were laid out and he hadn’t even noticed! He clearly had to pay more attention.

He tried to outline the facts in his mind.

The letters were always lemon scented. It could be a shampoo or some kind of scented cream...but it smelled fresh, almost as if unintentional. Something to further ponder upon.

The gifts were always elaborate but simple and he hadn’t been able to trace it through any vendor. The chocolates were handmade so his little Secret Admirer was probably very good with cooking and baking.

The handwriting was very distinctive as well. Especially the way she looped all her Ls and Bs with a distinctive flowy curve.

So far, the facts didn’t fit well into place to identify her as anyone he knew...but somehow, it felt like it was just barely within reach now. As if it’s only missing one final puzzle piece for the whole thing to come together.

That night, sleep evaded him once more. He couldn’t deny it. He missed her! He couldn’t help but wishing that she was right next to him, romancing him with more than just her words. He wished he could cherish her in all the ways he desperately yearned to.

He took the letters he kept at hand in the drawer of his bedside table. He found that he liked to read them sometimes, and no matter how many times he read her words, they still managed to make him feel things. The shape of her words, the texture of the paper...it comforted him.

However, the sensual seductive ones were his downfall.

With all the time he has been alive, and all the experience he’s had, one would think he would be able to resist the temptation. But he often couldn’t.

Reading those letters, describing how she wanted to make love under the moonlight or how she yearned to taste him...it had him imagining soft feminine hands touching him. His hand would unconsciously reach into his hakama of its own volition and grasp his manhood, wondering what it would feel like to be touched by someone who ardently wanted to please him.

It wouldn’t take him too long at all. He would cum, gasping into the empty bedroom, wishing he had a name he could moan. Wishing she was here for him to hold.

Sated, he’d finally fall asleep. Yet though his body was satisfied, his mind wasn’t. He couldn’t help but feel alone on this big empty bed.

That coveted final piece of the puzzle arrived as, of all things, more paperwork. He was mindlessly flipping through some reports after lunch the next day when it popped out at him like well-lit beacon.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a request for more funds to be allocated for a better training ground for the 13th division. Except it was filled out by his beloved Secret Admirer. The handwriting screamed her identity at him, looping Ls and Bs and all.

“_____-san,” he whispered to himself, wondering how he could have missed it.

Suddenly, everything was perfectly crystal clear.

Everyone knew that while Kuchiki Rukia settled in enough to pick her own fuktaicho, the 3rd seat of the 13th was acting in that role in an unofficial capacity, putting her in-charge of all the paperwork coming and going from that division. A reason why she was always showing up at the 1st...giving her ample opportunities to learn his habits well enough to leave behind those delightful missives without ever getting caught.

The lemon scent was from all the lemonade he knew she made for her division and for some special occasions in the seireitei. It was her specialty, a way of creating comfort and homeliness for her subordinates. He had tasted her chocolates twice - once at the Valentine’s Day party itself and then when she gifted them to him specifically. Both facts which had been pointed out by Nanao-chan while _____-san stood right next to him. No wonder she had flushed red then. It hadn’t been out of embarrassment but possibly from thinking she might get caught. The little minx.

He couldn’t help but remember every encounter he had with her in the recent past. Her cute blushes...the way she gasped out “Soutaicho!” Come to think of it, every time he saw her, he felt like she almost called him Shunsui out of habit only to change it to his official title at the last minute. He even recalled the twinkle in her eyes every time she looked up at him.

He couldn’t believe it. He finally knew who his Secret Admirer was and she’d been right before his eyes, had he only known where to look. He couldn’t help smiling, thinking about all the ways he would get back at her for running him around in circles. He would torture her so, so deliciously…

“You have that dopey smile on your face. Should I be worried?” Nanao asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm…? Of course not, Nanao-chan,” he said, not really reassuring her at all. “I am heading out. Be back soon!”

“Taicho!” she called out but he was already gone.

...to be continued.

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jameui · 3 years

Text

GUILTY MISTAKE

PAIRING: Kang Yeosang x M!Reader

GENRE: Angst, Fluff

WARNINGS: M!reader bullying sweet baby Yeosang, bad friends

SUMMARY: You've made a huge mistake once when you were a child and it's been in your head for the rest of your life, haunting you unless you've done something about it.

Just last month, you had turned six years old and you couldn't be more happier. For some unknown reasons, you liked how you grew older after every year, mostly because you receive gifts from your mom and dad and, of course, your friends who were about a year older than you.

Every year, on your birthday, you'd get expensive items and presents that you have been wanting for so long and foods that you get to eat with your family and friends. Loud music booming through the speakers, giggling while you made jokes with your friends laughing at almost everything due to the excitement and adrenaline that rushed through your bodies.

But, once everything was over and you know that everyone had to leave, you just keep on wishing that it was your birthday everyday. That way, everyone could still have fun and be happy with you, but then again, where's the thrill in that? They'd probably grow tired of it.

Right now, you were playing with your toys that you received creating specific sounds that corresponds to the action you controlled them to do, when you heard the doorbell ring making you gasp with joy at the thought of having a guest paying a visit.

You stood up from your position, your short legs running towards the door as you reached for the knob and turned it to open the door for the person behind it. The door moves wide open and reveals a woman who didn't look quite older than your mother, while you smiled and looked up at her. "Good morning!" You greeted her.

The woman's eyes fell down to you, beaming with glee at your politeness. "A very good morning to you, too, deary." She replied. "Is your mom or dad around? We're actually new to the neighborhood. We just moved from Busan."

You nod your head to answer her as you walked up to your mother who was in the kitchen cooking lunch. "Mom, someone's at the door for you."

"Really? Who is it?" Your mother asked you, wiping her newly washed hands on her apron.

You shrugged your shoulder, holding onto your mom's hand. "Neighbor said she was new." You and your mom was now in front of the door and the two women greeted each other as the other woman handed out a basket to your mom while you waited patiently for your mom to give it to you.

As soon as she did, you waggled your small feet towards the table before you caught a glimpse of a kid, not much taller than you, peeking from behind his mother's pants. He looked scared and shy, but it seemed to you that he wanted to approach you, but he was just too timid to do so.

You gave him your million dollar smile that made the small boy giggle at your friendliness, you jumping down from where you sat with a small groan when you hit the floor. You ran back towards the door, now seeing the chubby boy whose tummy was curving like a small hill on his stomach.

He wore a blue tiny jumper that fit perfectly onto his body, with a striped long sleeves under his jumper, white socks and shoes that almost looked worn out. You approached the boy a comfortable distance away and looked behind the woman that looked to be like his mother, a wide smile still present on your face as you waved a hand at him hello.

The boy bashfully hid, only leaving his arm to be left seen while waving back at you hesitantly. You could see how much the boy struggled to make friends with you so you decided to close in on the distance leading your feet towards the boy and poked your head out that made the boy flinch. "Heya there!" You said, now standing in front of him as the little boy hid his eyes away from you. "Don't be scared. People tell me I'm kind." You giggled softly, the other boy glancing up at you before quickly looking away once again. "I'm M/n, by the way. How about you? What's your name?"

He looked up at you shyly and stammered. "I-I'm Yeothang."

"Yeothang? What a unique name." You beamed, but he shook his head to correct you.

"No, no. Yeothang."

"Oh, you got a lisp." You said at the sudden realization and he nodded his head. "So, Yeosang?" He nodded again. "Yeosang. You have a pretty name." You said, finally noticing the birth mark that decorated the side of his left eye. You gasped and pointed at it. "Wowza! You have a cool looking tattoo!"

"It'th... It'th not a tattoo, M/n." Small Yeosang said, hesitating to call you by your name. "Mommy told me it'th a birth mark."

"Ooh, a birth mark. I wish I had one just like yours." You pouted. "I've got nothing."

Yeosang giggles at you making you smile. "That'th okay, M/n." He said and looks at you with his small brown orbs. "You look great even without them." He said, before he sniffed due to his runny nose that caused a snot to fall from his nose.

You were able to see this and pulled the hem of your shirt to wipe it from his nose and smiled brightly at him, which in turn, earned you a face of shock from Yeosang. "There."

"But, I dirtied your shirt." He furrowed his brows.

You waved it off and gave him assurance. "Don't you worry. My clothes get cleaned pretty well, so it's alright." You told him. "Oh, hey, wanna eat the snack your mom gave us? I saw cookies there. I bet you love cookies."

He nods his head once and immediately, you took his wrist into your small hands that barely closed around it as you pulled him inside and to your kitchen table. You let Yeosang take a seat first, since he needed a little help from his small size. You were next to take seat, settling on the seat beside him. You opened the basket that was wrapped with a cling wrap to secure it properly.

You let yourself drool at the sight of all the delicious delicacies that was inside the basket. "That is a lot." You chuckled cutely, unable to decide which baked goods to eat first. Throughout your process of thinking, your mother and Yeosang's mother had finished their conversation and the latter was called over. Yeosang gave his mother a small 'coming', before climbing down the seat as you pouted. "You're leaving already."

"I'm afraid tho, M/n." Yeosang replied sadly as you thought.

You pondered for a moment before you hastily took a bunch of the delicacies from the basket and went down to give it to Yeosang. "Here. I want you to take this with you. Eat them, or else."

Yeosang nodded and gave you a look of delight at your kind and cute gesture. "I will, M/n." He said before he jogged off to his mother showing her what you gave to him.

"Bye, Sangie!"

"Bye, M/n."

The following day, you were with your friends by the children's playground playing a round of tag, you being the tagger. "Tag, you're it!" You yelled on top of your lungs once you were able to catch up with the smallest of your group of friends, who whined in protest and stomped his foot.

"I'm always 'it'! Why can't it be—"

"Can I play, too?" That all too familiar sweet, honey like voice came from behind him, taking all of your attentions as your head all turned to him and revealed the very shy Yeosang. "I know how to play the game. We uthed to play that back at home."

"Yeosang, of cour—" You were about to reply, but your friends' rejection to his action of joining cut you off.

"Ew, no way. We don't want your boogers and sticky green nose liquid on us. Get away!"

"Yeah, go away! We don't want you playing with us."

"Booger boy!"

"Go play in another playground!"

Those were the words that your friends threw at him that got you shocked from hearing what your friends were saying to Yeosang. Your eyes had widened in shock while you could clearly see the hurt in his eyes that was now glossy with his forming tears from the mean comments he received from your friends. You clearly didn't know there was something going on with your friends and Yeosang.

Yeosang's pleading eyes was placed onto you as he waited for your answer, fiddling with his fingers. Your friends were the best people you could ever have and losing them never crossed your thought, so to avoid this situation from happening, you did what you thought was going to keep them as your friends. "Sure. You can play with us." You said, which made Yeosang hopefully smile, but he immediately took it back from what he heard next from you. "If you weren't so disgusting."

At that, you smirked and all your friends bursted out laughing giving you a clap at the back, the dejected Yeosang hanging his head low, feeling embarrassed. Although he was shamed upon, he still knew you had that kindness inside you and guessed you might have done that for a reason, so he gleamed and looked back at you. "Alright. Maybe next time? When I'm not snot booger rocket anymore." He snorted while laughing that made you all look at him like he's a weirdo.

"Go away! We never want to play with you, again."

And what you thought was just a one time thing, became a permanent bullying towards the poor little boy who only wanted to make friends and play with you. Before they left Busan, he had promised his mom that he wouldn't be the shy boy his parents knew him as, and become friends with the children at their new home, but it looked it was 'friends' that didn't want him.

Their first day, the day he met you, he was so excited and happy that he was able to make a friend, even if it were you who was the first one to approach him. He admired how you were so brave to befriend him and your politeness was one of the things he praised you for. He also thought you were a really kind and friendly kid, but looking at it now, it looked like he was wrong as he was once again rejected to play with you, seating on one of the swings that were a far distance away from where you and your friends played tag.

He sighed, but he didn't want to give up that easily so he ran to you while giggling repeating the words, 'I wanna play' over and over again which got to your friends' nerves, to the point where one of them pushed Yeosang to the ground which got your mouth gaping at the shock, while Yeosang stared up the person who pushed him, eyes starting to swell with tears. As though the fact that he was pushed to the ground wasn't enough, the same person kicked him by the leg which got Yeosang shouting in pain, before standing back up crying and ran home.

You made your way to your friends and glared at them. "Hey, that was too much."

"Why do you care so much?" He sassed at you. "He deserved it."

Your glare didn't falter, but softened when your eyes caught sight of a crying Yeosang. While your friends started to pile up in the middle of the place, you were still caught up in your thoughts, wishing you had just been nice to Yeosang and left your friends for treating Yeosang like that.

Yeosang didn't deserve it. He was a sweet, innocent and kind-hearted boy. He was too pure for this world. He didn't even give up once on trying to be friends with you, but all you ever did was tease him and mock him, call him names like 'booger boy' as you all called him as, 'weirdo', and all sorts of things. Finally realizing your fault, you sighed and regretted the treatment you gave Yeosang. "Sangie..."

A month or so after, you heard about the Kang family moving to another neighborhood which made you feel so bad and hate yourself totally. You didn't even get to say your sorry to Yeosang properly. The little boy never again showed up at the playground and only did when he was asked to throw the trash, all bundled up under so much clothings, since it was winter. That was the only moment you could ever see him.

You rushed out of your house and saw that they were now entering their car, you zoomed across the street and called Yeosang. "Yeosag, Yeosang! Wait!"

This got his attention, snapping his head towards you with a big smile. "M/n! You came to thee me off?" He giggled, making you feel guilty.

You shook your head and knitted your brows. "Why are you leaving? Where are you going?" You asked all in one go.

"We're moving back to Buthan, thince mom wath able to find a plathe there where it'th rent free and could all fit uth in." Then, he leaned in close to your ear to whisper. "Don't worry. I never told mom that your friendth hated me." He giggled secretly.

"Sangie... I also did bad things to you.." You told him sadly.

"I know." Yeosang smiled. "But, I know you didn't do it on purpothe."

"Yeosang, the car's about to leave."

"Oh, I gotta go now. Bye, M/n." He said and waved you goodbye while entering the cab and rolled the windows down while he smiled up at you. "Hope to thee you thoon again, M/n." He said one last time before the car drove off to their destination.

And there it goes. Your last chance to say sorry. Lost. Now, you're left with a lingering feeling of pure guilt and regret.

-------

Years after and you have disbanded with your friends, you are still living with the regret that you made from when you were young. You had just turned 18 years old last month and you were even sadder than the last. Instead of wishing gifts and presents from your new found friends and families, you were only wishing for Yeosang to come back so you could just tell him how much you were sorry and hug him so tightly that he wouldn't be able to breathe.

Your sullen look was noticed by your mother, who by the way, already knew your sin towards Yeosang since you had told her about it already. The first time you told her, she was aggravated with you for not being the child she had raised you to be. You told her the purpose of your action, thus the reason why you left your friend group and boy was your mom right to have let you leave them. What once was playful, turned harsh and violent and you didn't want to be a part of that. "What's wrong, honey? Don't you like your gifts?" Your mother asked you in concern.

You shook your head and sighed. "It's not that. I'm just... feeling like a total jerk."

Your mother sighed at you sadly and sat down beside you, patting you lightly on the back. "Honey, what you've done was wrong, but trust me when I say that Yeosang has a kind heart and if you ever tell him you're sorry, he'd forgive you right away."

"Thanks, mom." You said. "But, people change as they grow."

"Not Yeosang."

You rolled your eyes at your mom with a smirk. "Sure mom. Not Yeosang." You shook your head in disbelief. "I just wish you're right, mom."

You stood up from your seat, as your mother did and walked your way out the door taking in the fresh air of the morning during spring season, when all the trees stood straight and tall, the flowers blooming with all their beauty. You smiled at the sight and took the camera that was hanging by your neck, over a sling and took a picture of the ethereal scenery.

You walked past your porch and started heading to the park to get some takes on your camera to post on your Instagram to entertain your million followers. As you did, you were able to pass by an ice cream stall, so you took a quick stop and bought three scoops of (favorite ice cream flavor) with chocolate syrup and sprinkles to top it off.

You were wearing a smile, happily licking your ice cream away. You let your eyes explore the world around you, finding everything interesting. All these years, the place had been making a lot of changes. From buildings to parks and work towers, everything just felt new, as if you never got to spend time, at least once visiting these places throughout you're whole eighteen years of existence.

You finally arrived at the park, everything from your childhood flashing back through your head. The once only a children's playground is now a family park, but rather than being reminded by the joyous memories, you were able to remember the memory that's been haunting you for life.

You couldn't believe yourself that you had the ability to bully such an innocent kid, while you kept blaming yourself for their sudden moving away. If you had the power to turn back time, you'd make things right with Yeosang and be a better friend to him, which you couldn't do because you wanted to be with the 'cool kids' when all they ever did was make a person's life miserable.

You found a bench to seat on and checked through the pictures you took on your camera, laughing at a video of Mingi getting drunk with Yunho, carrying him like he was a puppy. You just missed those two so bad. You never got another chance to meet them, not even once, since they're both now busy with their job and you're still here trying to find a way to pass the college entrance examination.

Whenever they're around, you three would always be loud as fuck and wouldn't care a thing about the world, just as long as you three are happy. Of course, you didn't go too far just to be happy, unlike the friends you once had.

You still had the smile on as you sighed satisfied and rested your camera back down to let it hang on your neck. You looked around you and saw children playing by the fountain, their parents watching with glee at the sight of their children playing happily. You grabbed your camera and took a picture of the wonderful scene.

You took a few more shots, satisfied, you were finally about to leave with not much else to do, when in a distance you heard a gruff voice call out to you. "M/n? Didn't expect to see you here."

You looked behind you to see Mingi who was in his suit holding a case, his golden wrist watch shining brightly under the sun's light. You smirked and scoffed. "I could tell you the same thing." You said all the while crossing your arms over your chest. "Mingi, are you slacking off?"

Mingi rolled his eyes at your teasing. "I take my job seriously, M/n. I'm not the same person who cuts classes."

"Sure. Sure." You mocked him, while he glared at you. "Anyways, how are you and Yunho doing?"

The brown haired male smiled at the thought of the taller male and sighed. "Oh, you know. The usual. Us missing you and wanting to baby you."

This time, it was you who rolled your eyes, the smirk on your face growing wider, if possible. "You both still on that?"

"Well, you're pretty much the reason how we got together. So, it's just a way of us showing our gratitude for having you in our life." Mingi patted your head making you giggle at the simple contact.

"I just hated how you two were so dense with all the signs you both tried so hard to make the other notice. I had to do something, at least." You said.

"But, weren't you the one who told me you had feelings for Yunho?" He teasingly wiggled his brows at you, making you blush profusely.

"Shut up. There are pasts that should be forgotten and it includes that." You huffed, puffing up your cheeks making you look like a little squirrel. "And you promised we would never speak of this ever again." You pulled your brows in disappointment, looking up at him. "All you do is lie."

"Hey, hey. I don't go that far." Mingi defended himself, before pulling you into his arms to hug you. "But, if you're so embarrassed about it, it'll be just our little secret."

"Don't even promise me if you're just going to break them in the end." You deadpanned making Mingi let out a deep voiced chuckle.

"Alright."

Soon, the two of you parted ways, waving your hands to each other to say goodbye. You were making your way back home, when you noticed a moving truck from the house next door. A new neighbor? You walked up to the truck driver to greet her and do some important interview. "Good morning, ma'am. Did someone just move in?"

"Oh, nice to see friendly faces up in here." She chuckled. "It's not everyday you get the luck to meet one." She sighs from her aching back, before exhaling deeply. "Yeah. Rich families, to be exact. Paid me a good tip." She said making you giggle.

"I see." You laughed lightly. "Well, have a great day, ma'am. Hope to see you, again." You waved her goodbye, the woman doing the same to you.

You hummed to a song as you finished your walk, now in front of your porch, your mom tending with her flowers. "Had a good day, honey?"

"Better than great." You replied. "I met Mingi on his way to his job. Thought he was slacking off like he usually does." You chortled, earning a playful slap on the back from your mom.

"Oh, you." She told you before she led you inside and went straight to the kitchen. "Oh, by the way, have you met the new neighbors next door?"

"Nope." You answered, popping the 'p' with a purse of your lips at the end, then sat down on a seat excited to eat the apple pie your mother made while you were away. Once, it got placed down on the table, you hurriedly dug in with your barehands, but before you could, your mother slapped your hand making you pout as she folded her gardening apron.

"That's for the neighbors." She informed you, your mouth opening in understanding while nodding your head. "And I'm letting you do the honors to give this to them, since I believe, the new neighbors' son was a friend of yours."

"A friend? Who?" You asked with a raised brow, but your mother only gave you a wink and carefully hands you the apple pie. With no other choice, you stood up and wore your bunny slippers, too lazy to put your shoes back on, as you headed to the house next door.

You walked up the small stairs that led up to the house's front door and knocked three times. You waited for a reply, but you received nothing, so you waited before knocking on the door, once again just in case they didn't hear you.

Alas, a male's voice was heard, shouting a loud 'coming' to inform you that someone was finally coming for the door. You stood there patiently with a smile, practicing in your head what you will have to say to the male. The door soon flew open and appeared a tall man, who looked freakishly handsome, his features flawless that it's making it hard for you to look away. He was so surreal. Like a character pulled straight out from a comic.

You tried to utter a word, but the lines you prepared in your head was long forgotten. "Uh..." Was the only word you could ever stable.

"Er.. Is that for us?" The male asked you, snapping you from your thoughts and nodding your head, taking notice of the small lisp he had with the letter 's'.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. It's for you and your family." You said. "It's actually a tradition, so we make the new neighbors feel welcome." You added and slowly gave it to the male infront of you, a smile gracing upon his features. Goodness, his smile is so stunning.

He accepted the gift and took it into his hands. You bowed curtly and had decided to make your way back, when the male had caught your attention. "Wait, don't go just yet. Why don't you come inside and have a bite?"

And who were you to turn down an offer from a cute guy? "Uhm, er, sure. Yeah, I'd love to." He lets you walk inside first as he closes the door, a small creak and click coming from it.

"Hol'up, you're not a pedophile, are you?" You suddenly asked out of fear. "There's been a lot of news going on around the world and I've prepared my whole life, so I can fight you."

"No, no. For sure, I'm not." He said as he walked by past you, leading the way to the kitchen to guide you. Once you two made it to the kitchen, the things on the table were cleared, the car keys hiding it in his pockets. "Take a seat. I'll go grab some plates."

"Your mom and dad?" You asked out of the blue, making him chuckle.

"You're so full of questions." He told you. "They're buying groceries."

"Oh." You let out silently, sitting down while fiddling with your fingers since you got nothing else to do.

The male came back with what he intended to get and placed one on your side, then one on his, moving to the kitchen isle to get a knife to cut the pie. "So, how's your life going?"

You thought for while taking a long deep breathe. "Well, I guess you could pretty much say, complicated." You answered and when he didn't speak back to let you keep on talking, you continued. "There's days where I feel so happy, then there are days where I feel miserable." You looked up at him while he cuts the pie. "I just wish... I..." You trailed off once you were able to catch a glimpse of the discoloration of a certain area on the side of his head. Wait a minute. That birthmark...

The moment you were able to figure it out, you jumped up from your seat and widened your eyes in shock. "Yeo.. Yeosang..?"

He let out a small chuckle, before stopping his actions and looking up at you. "So, you saw my tattoo, huh?"

You couldn't believe it. He was back, but different. He's no longer the chubby little boy with snot running down his nose, he's now a total hottie and he's even taller than you already. "O-oh my gosh.. Yeosang.. You look so.. different."

"Well, I wanted to be your friend badly, I decided to change for you, but it was also a self-decision, so don't feel so bad, M/n." Yeosang said. He did change, but his personality is still the same old Yeosang.

"Yeosang, I was your friend. I was just a coward." You sadly said, your guilt even growing bigger. "I'm so sorry."

Yeosang moved to your side and pulled you into his arms, the strong scent of something sweet and musky all at the same time, tickling your nose. His embrace was so warm and caring that you never wanted him to pull away. "M/n, I have forgiven you a long time ago, already. You don't have to say sorry, anymore."

"Just let me do it, Sang. The thought of not being able to see you again keeps plaguing me for days." You admitted. "I kept on blaming myself that I was the reason why you moved away."

"No, M/n, you're not. Please, don't be hard on yourself." He said, caressing your hair. "It was a family business, so we had to move to a place near dad's work place."

You gave him a light punch and stifled a laugh. "You should have told me sooner."

You both got into a comfortable silence, before Yeosang decided to break it. "Well, how about we eat and catch up on each others' lives, yeah?"

"That sounds lovely."

#x male reader #bottom male reader #bxb #idol x male reader #male reader #ateez x male reader #kpop #ateez #fanfiction #yeosang #yeosang x male reader #kang yeosang #kang yeosang x male reader

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 3 years

Note

omg I love your work very much! You write really great and it's a pleasure to read you. I have a small request, if it's possible. I've never read this before so why write a one-shot (or series?) with a reader pregnant with chishiya ? (pleassse) With this news, it becomes extremely protective with the reader. Thank you so much !!

Yeah sure! Here you go! ❤

Trying My Best | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Ann, OC)

Summary: You tell Chishiya that you’re pregnant and his change in behaviour from the news is hard not to notice

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, murder, swearing, graphic violence (guns), heavy angst, vomiting, panicking, blood

Word Count: 3.3k

*reader is female

Chishiya gif credit

“Chishiya, I think I’m pregnant.”

The statement hit the young man like a thousand knives. He stood up on the roof of the hotel, the moon reflecting off his glowing skin. You stared at his side profile, waiting for his reaction to the news, but he merely sighed and tucked a piece of his bleached hair behind his ears. “How do you know?”

“I’ve been throwing up a lot, without even feeling nauseated at first. It just suddenly hits and I have to run to the bathroom,” you began listing your symptoms to back your claim. “I also have been a lot more tired, going to bed super early and waking up super late. As well as my period hasn’t come yet, and it’s been a week since it was due.”

You still kept your eyes on Chishiya, trying to figure out how he was feeling. His emotions hardly ever come through his body language. He seemed too calm for your liking, but you couldn’t exactly tell because you weren’t able to see his eyes.

“It is mine?” he asked, turning to you with a serious expression. Your eyes widened in shock. “Whose else would it be Chishiya?” you exclaimed, shoving his shoulder in disbelief.

Chishiya smirked and looked away from you again. “Just making sure.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

The question took Chishiya off guard. “That’s not my choice to make,” he said.

“Yeah but if it were?” you pressed, sliding along the railing until your sides were touching. Chishiya went quiet for a few minutes, thinking about his answer. “I would hate to bring a baby into this world if I’m being totally honest,” he started. “But it’s not like we have a choice.”

You nodded and laid your head on his shoulder, feeling safe and sound against his warmth and scent. He laid his cheek on top of your head and sighed heavily.

“What are we going to do Chishiya? We’re too young to be parents, let alone in a world like this.” You felt your eyes start to water but tried your best to hold in your cries. You were terrified. Not only would you have to go through nine months of pregnancy, you would also have to play games in order to keep your visa valid.

“Hey,” you heard Chishiya say. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll push through this together. And I’ll make sure I’m here with you every step of the way.”

His words made you smile sadly, and droop your head down into your hands. You cried softly as Chishiya rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

It would be tough, impossible even. But the both of you had each other, and that’s all you needed to push through.

***********

Ever since that evening on the roof with Chishiya when you told him about the baby, he had acted strangely since.

He had lost his cocky and smug personality, being replaced by a cautious and anxious type of behaviour. You began to feel worried about him, because it was so out of character.

It didn’t go unnoticed by other members of The Beach either. Although you hadn’t told anyone else about the news (wanting to keep it between you and Chishiya), you found yourself being confronted by a lot of people asking if Chishiya was okay.

Ann mentioned that during a meeting he rushed out suddenly, not even stopping to say where he was going or why. You reassured her that he was fine, and that the stress of the games may have just started getting to his head a bit.

It was like you were suddenly dating a whole different person. There wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t by your side, always asking if you needed anything or that you were okay. He’d refuse to let you do the smallest of things, liking lifting heavy objects or even dancing in the crowd at night. There were times you would have to reason with him and remind him that you weren’t helpless, and you were basically only a few weeks pregnant, and he was acting like you were eight months. He always shrugged it off though and argued back that he just felt overwhelmed, so he wanted to try his best to be the best partner he could be during the stressful time.

But when push came to shove and you had to participate in games to renew your visa, Chishiya always insisted that he went with you. Even if you said no and tried to convince him that you would be fine, he refused to listen. You didn’t have a chance when trying to reason with his stubbornness.

*************

You had decided to participate in a game a few days earlier than when your visa would expire so you wouldn’t have the stress of having to rush to one on the night it expired. As well as you had been feeling okay for the past few hours and you didn’t want to lose the opportunity of clearing a game when you were at your best instead of being forced to play one on one of your worse days.

When you told Chishiya your plan, you ended up having a small argument. Chishiya thought it was unreasonable for you to put yourself in danger when it could be prevented, as well as he felt anxious due to you not being able to perform to the best of your ability because you were holding your child.

But after you both calmed down after realizing that arguing would get you nowhere, you both decided to go to the game that night, as long as Chishiya was able to come with you.

The game was simple enough. It was a six of clubs. Each player had to find an area of the building to stay put in no more than groups of three. You were able to move around these small areas, but once the game started and you were inside one, you were not permitted to leave your area. There were four seekers, each with a different animal mask on their heads. Each area in the building also represented one of the seeker’s animals. The goal was to kill the seeker that had the animal corresponding to your area. So the players would have to create a way to lure the seeker’s to their position, but if they lure the wrong one, they would have to hide until they left.

To clear the game, players would have to kill all four of the seekers. But if they failed to do so in the time limit, flames would emerge from the ground of all areas, killing all the remaining players.

In the registration room, Chishiya kept a firm grip on your arm, making you stay close to him. There were two tables, one holding the usual phones for the players, but the other was covered with a variety of hand-held weapons, scattered across the top of it.

Chishiya strolled over to the weapon table and scanned the dangerous objects. He reached to a moderately sized blade and felt it in his hand before turning to you and holding it out, wanting you to take it.

“Here, you have this one. If we happen to get separated and you come across one of the seekers, give them a short jab to the throat with this. I have my taser to defend me.”

“We won’t get separated, we have designated areas.”

Chishiya looked directly in your eyes and sighed, placing a hand on your head. “You know what I mean.”

You hung your head low. He was meaning if he was to die. “Don’t you dare die on me now Chishiya. If you do anything reckless, you bet your stupid ass I will make sure you survive this game just so I can kill you later.”

Chishiya chuckled at your threat, allowing you to see his shiny teeth in a smile. He knew that if there would be a point that you were in any kind of potential danger, he would throw himself in front of you. His life wasn’t worth as much as yours or his child’s, to him at least.

Around ten minutes later, you both sat in a dark room that had a large painting of a wedge-tailed eagle across one of the walls. You both already assumed that was the seeker you were trying to attract. You came up with the plan to wait a short while before starting to attract the eagle’s attention, because then other people may have already killed their seeker, making it less of a chance for a different animal to come find you.

You both sat in silence on the uncomfortable couch that had springs and stuffing pouring out of it. It was the only piece of furniture in the room, so there wasn’t really anywhere else to wait.

You groaned as a short stab of pain shot through your lower abdomen, making Chishiya snap his head to you and place a soft hand over your arm that held your stomach area. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You waved your hand in front of you. “It’s fine, just a cramp.”

Chishiya sighed in relief and rubbed your back soothingly. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest, thumping against his ribcage rapidly. He was terrified, but he sure knew how to hide it from you.

You both sat in silent together, your head leaning against Chishiya’s chest as he stroked your head softly, trying to keep your nerves down. “How are we going to keep this up Chishiya?” you asked out of the blue. Chishiya hummed in acknowledgement. “I don’t know, we’ll just take one step at a time.”

The situation was overwhelming for you. With the mix of the fear of dying, your stomach cramps, Chishiya’s comforting voice and the eerie atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel tears of stress start developing in your eyes. Before you could even get the chance to wipe them away, a sudden sob erupted from your throat, making you cover your mouth and push your face further into Chishiya’s chest.

“Aw no, don’t cry,” Chishiya cooed, wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me,” Chishiya pulled back and held your teary face in his palms. “As long as I’m here, nothing’s going to hurt you.”

You smiled at his promise, leaning into his touch on your cheek, making his face glow slightly pink.

As you and Chishiya stayed huddled close together and spoke in whispered tones, you froze as you began to hear a small noise just outside the door of the room.

Chishiya didn’t seem to hear it, and he kept talking. “Shh!” you said, cutting him off. He frowned at you and followed your gaze to the large, grey door that stood opposite to your position on the couch.

Silence filled the air as you both tried hard to listen. The tension in the room was making you almost suffocate.

“I think there’s someone outside.” you stated, standing up from your position and slowly beginning to shuffle along the floor towards the door. But Chishiya rushed after you and pulled you back before your hand could touch the door handle.

“What are you doing?!” he whisper-yelled, turning you towards him by moving your shoulders. You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean? We need to kill it!”

“But we don’t know if it’s the eagle or not. It’s better if we hide until we’re sure it’s the one we have to kill.”

“We haven’t got time! We have less than five minutes to finish the game, so the chance of the eagle being the only one left is quite likely.”

“You don’t know that. And we aren’t even sure whether they carry weapons or not. It’s too high of a risk, and I’m not letting you put yourself in danger like that, especially when you’re pregnant with our child.”

“For fucks sake Chishiya! I’m not defenseless!”

Your yells became louder and louder with each argumentative statement, which eventually gave away your position to the seeker that stood just outside the door.

Just as you were about to rip away from Chishiya’s grip on your shoulder when you heard the large door creak open. You both turned around abruptly at the sound and laid on your eyes on a tall figure with an eagle mask covering his face. In his hand he held a small machine gun, making Chishiya’s stomach drop at the sight of it.

“Y/N!”

He grabbed your shoulders once again as you stood there in shock, not being able to move. Chishiya yelled as he pulled you roughly further into the room towards another small door that led to a closet. A few rounds of bullets shot around the room, illuminating the small space for a few short milliseconds and making the both of you develop a piercing ringing noise in your ears.

Chishiya pulled you against him as you struggled, pushing you against the wall with him in front of you, shielding you from the seeker. As he did so, he ripped the small closet door open beside you and shoved you inside, panicking and trying to get you to safety as soon as possible.

You fell to the floor of the closet, a small groan leaving your mouth as you hit the ground harshly. You were about to stand up again to push yourself out to help Chishiya, but he kicked you down before you had the chance. Your eyes landed on his, filled with frustration, but they softened as they saw the waterfalls cascading down his face.

“Please,” he choked out, putting the door behind him so the seeker can’t shoot him from the back. “For once in your life just listen to me and stay in here. Please don’t come out.”

That’s all he said before he stepped around the closet door and slammed it shut. The absolute fear and sadness on his face was burnt into your mind. You had never seen Chishiya hold such dreadful emotion on his features. It made you feel awfully guilty for picking a fight with him.

You finally came to your senses, the ringing in your ears faded and the gunshots just outside the door made your head spin. You sobbed and covered your ears with your hands, trying to block out the sounds. Your stomach churned and groaned, and you suddenly felt the urge to throw up.

You lunged forward from your sitting position on the floor and emptied the contents of your stomach on the tiled ground, coughing and gagging on the putrid smell and taste of it in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled out, rubbing your eyes to clear the tears dripping from them.

Something shifted in the pocket of your jeans, making you turn your head and place a hand over the object. Reaching in, you hissed as a sharp blade slightly cut your finger. You pulled it out gently and held it in front of you.

It was the blade Chishiya gave you at the start of the game.

“I can’t abandon him. My last words to him can’t be an argument,” you rasped out, putting a hand to your chest to recover your breathing. “I’m not going to let him die. He can’t escape being a father that easily.”

Slowly you lifted yourself up onto your feet, using the shelves in the closet as leverage. You shuffled towards the door, holding your blade out in front of you, ready to attack if you needed. You weren’t thinking straight, at that moment you didn’t even think about the fact that the seeker had a gun, all you could think about was Chishiya.

You slowly pressed down on the door handle, opening it carefully in case the seeker was still in the room. It was back to it’s darkness, making your heart drop lower.

You stepped out around the door. It was eerily quiet, making you become anxious. Something must have happened. It wouldn’t be this quiet if Chishiya and the seeker were still fighting.

A sudden wet feeling on your foot broke you from your thoughts and you glanced down to see a dark liquid seeping into your shoe. You leaned down to look at it more closely, noticing how a strong metallic smell filled your nostrils as you did so.

It was blood, but whose blood was it?

Your breathing began to quicken as you started panicking. It was a large puddle, there was no way Chishiya would survive if he got injured that badly.

“Chishiya!” you yelled out, hearing nothing but your own echo answering you. You held no care for being heard by the potentially still alive seeker at that moment. All you wanted was to find Chishiya.

“Chishiya, please!” You lifted your feet and rushed to the grey door where the seeker originally came from. It was slightly ajar and a light from the hallway outside was shining through into the room.

You pushed through the door, almost tripping over in the process. Further up the hall, two people laid on the ground. One was on their back with no movement while the other was leant up against the wall clutching their shoulder.

The injured one wore a white hoodie, making you immediately recognize them as your partner.

“Oh my god, Chishiya.” you whispered as you approached him, eyes locking on the large blood stain on his white hoodie. “Y/N, I told you to stay in the room,” he groaned out.

You placed a hand against his that held his wound, trying to keep pressure on it to lessen the bleeding. “I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to let you die that easy.”

He smiled up at you, a pained expression on his face as he hissed and whimpered at the pain of his wound. “They got me in the shoulder, but that was it.”

“You should be fine. If we get back to The Beach and get Ann to remove the bullet, it’ll heal fine.”

He knew you didn’t really know that. You were trying to reassure yourself that he would live. But either way, he wasn’t planning on dying on you anytime soon.

You looked away from him, glancing over at the figure lying on the ground motionless. The eagle mask was still lazily placed on their face. Chishiya probably didn’t want to remove it out of respect for the individual.

“How’d you kill them?” you asked, locking eyes with him once again.

“A few shocks around the ears to knock them out. But I didn’t take any sharp blades with me so I had to get creative,” he explained, nodding over towards a small slab of metal that laid a few metres away. “After a few hits with that to their head, they were gone.”

You cringed at the thought, but you appreciated Chishiya having the bravery to do that.

You felt a soft hand pressing itself against your stomach, rubbing the spot up and down. “Are they okay?”

A smile spread across your face. “I think so. They didn’t help much by making me throw up in the closet,” you laughed, making Chishiya grin.

“Causing mum trouble already.”

A happy tune being played from each of your pockets caught your attention.

“Game Clear. Congratulations.”

The reality suddenly hit you. You were alive and so was Chishiya. And although you would have to go through many more traumatic and harsh events such as the one you had just experienced, you would at least be there for each other, whether the outcome was bad or not.

“Come on. Let’s go home,” Chishiya groaned, using his good arm to push himself up. You helped him by lifting him by his shoulders.

You were alive today, and that’s all that mattered. You would worry about tomorrow when it comes round to it.

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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

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Golden II (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: hello. This is the second part of the Kakashi amnesia fic. I was so conflicted on what to do in this one and admittedly, I am not satisfied with this. Not completely. I really struggle writing the second part of a trio, and it's evident here.

Part three is up!

Word count: 4200

_______

Kakashi struggled to maintain his normal persona after Y/N got into the incident. He just couldn’t shake off that desperate need to be around her. At this point, it was just instinctual to look for her in the crowds, and expect to see her waiting for him each time he got home from a mission. He missed her laugh and her smile, and the people in the village did not help.

His only solace was on missions where he could forget about it all. It was an impossible struggle, especially when everyone and their mother was consoling him every time he stepped outside to do literally anything. He didn’t want people in his business, especially something so sensitive.

The mornings were now cold and depressing. Each time he rolled over in an attempt to throw his arm around his girlfriend, he was only met with the hollow space where she used to be. He would bury his face in his pillows and shut his eyes, just trying to drown out her voice from his mind. But her scent still lingered on his linens and buried deep into the pillows.

He imagined her groggy eyes opening just a peek to see if he was awake before her, and he usually was. She would smile and scoot close to his body, curling up and hugging him around the waist, her head resting against his chest. He missed wrapping her up in a cuddly hug, peppering the top of her head with kisses.

He missed going to get breakfast with her, and her ranting to him about this new novel the store had in shipment, comparing the plot to that of other books she had read and gushing over the character development or the vocabulary or a plot twist she'd never seen. She was always such a nerd, it was adorable.

And he missed meeting up with her each night as she closed the store, her hugging him so tight he could feel her heart beating against his. She'd attack his face with kisses and giggles, pulling down his mask in between the bookshelves where no one could see and gracing his lips with a kiss, or a dozen, depending on the day.

He just missed her. But he knew it was for the best-not knowing her anymore, not getting attached all over again, or letting her get close to him again. He thought of her amnesia as a fresh start, a way to break up with her without crushing her emotionally. She would never know what she was missing.

He would be the only one suffering, and that was better to him than the other way around.

For Kakashi, it was always hard to imagine he would get to a place in life where he felt comfortable enough with someone to maintain such a relationship. He didn’t think he would grow to have these moments with someone he loved. He worked through so many walls he had built up over the years, fought against all his paranoia and superstitions, and for what? To feel his heart break?

He felt betrayed, by whom, he had no idea. He just felt like the stars had aligned perfectly in favor of screwing him over the moment he was comfortable, the moment someone was able to squeeze into his heart and share their love. It would take time to get over his feelings for her, he knew that. The memories would always linger, but they wouldn’t cut through him like they did now.

For now, the only thing he could do was lie in his bed until his next mission the following day. Without her, he didn’t see any reason to get out of bed anyway.

______

Y/N returned to her apartment after being discharged from the hospital, and did as she was instructed to do. Each day she would look through her belongings, pictures, trinkets, anything that had emotional value, hoping it would bring out some of her old memories. Nothing really changed. Sometimes she could see flashes of people in her head that lived in the village. Kakashi, that guy in the green suit, Yamato, the sweet girl that took care of her all her days in the hospital. All of them appeared in her mind at one point or another, but nothing strong enough to give her any knowledge.

Tsunade told her to just keep trying and hopefully, something would fix itself. It seemed like a shot in the dark, but anything was worth a try.

It wasn’t until a few hours into the cleaning process, scrapping blood and ink out of carpets and stocking her shelves of the store, that she found something of real importance. Deep in the back of her front counter, hidden in a drawer, sat a small shoebox, filled with stacks of papers.

At first, she assumed they were probably just old receipts, but that was not the case.

Inside she found many things. Photos, notes, letters, and little trinkets all stacked carefully in the box like her previous self took extra special care of them. For this reason, she took the box to the table to sit down and go through everything one by one. Anything was worth a try, and maybe this would propel her recovery in motion..

First she examined the letters. They were very short, but full of information about her past self, and she found herself more intrigued and surprised with every word. Each one was from Kakashi, she noted that immediately. Out of all people, she could not imagine that man sitting and writing out anything nice or thoughtful to her.

But she was wrong.

They stated things about how he was on missions and wouldn't be back for a month or so at a time. He often stated how badly he wished to come back home and visit her bookstore again. How he was sorry for being gone so long that he couldn’t help around the store.

The first few, dated as far back as 7 years, were very friendly, nothing out of the ordinary for a correspondence between friends. It still seemed sketchy to her that Kakashi took time out of his day to send her letters, but not unbelievable. It wasn’t until they progressed right in front of her eyes that she was taking in every word with awe.

They detailed how much he missed seeing her face, which he often described as beautiful and precious. She was his motivator that kept him going each morning and through the long nights, he said. The man proclaimed his love over and over in the letters starting four years ago until the very last which was from a few months ago. He was never very descriptive or detailed, but he got across what needed to be said and what was on his mind very effectively.

She had no idea Kakashi felt that way about her. He really didn't act like they had any relationship at all. He actually spent most days avoiding her at all costs. Of course, she would see him walking down the street, and wave through the glass panels of her bookstore, not that he ever cared. He would usually take one look over at her, and then walk faster in the opposite direction.

To say her first impression of him was a bit off putting was an understatement. Where other people like Yamato treated her with kindness and humility, he seemed to think he was too good to try and reconnect. Although, he was certainly a handsome man and very courageous. She could vaguely see why her old self was at least physically attracted to him. Even if he wasn’t acting the nicest now, the letters led her to believe he was possibly a hopeless romantic.

She scanned through the other things in the box. The photos were ones of her with all her friends, but the majority were just Kakashi. The first few photos, the oldest, with the most damage around the frayed edges, were of them when they were much younger. He didn't have on the jounin vest he wore, and she had such a baby face to match a toothy grin. Maybe they were teenagers, 20 somethings? She couldn’t tell for sure.

The photos were just of them together. Sitting by certain sights or buildings, hugging, eating, on every kind of date you could imagine. It looked like she documented each one. Time stamps on the backs in whatever pen color she had at the time, scribbled details here and there.

It made sense now, why she had a pile of disposable cameras in her room. Dozens of photos of Kakashi, decades of memories all piled up in this box between the pair. It felt surreal, seeing herself in places she couldn’t recognize, in the arms of a man she barely knew.

She must have really loved him before. Their relationship was one of quite a few years from the looks of the things in this box, and obviously she cherished even the little moments. She felt guilt pang in her chest, and her stomach to turn over painfully. How he must have felt when she told him she didn't remember him. How it must feel walking past her in the street and knowing what they had was gone. She couldn't imagine the pain he had to be going through.

And he said that the entire thing was his fault. That day he walked into her hospital room, he apologized for what he did to her, saying that his family was the cause for this, and that he should have come to the store earlier to make sure something like that never happened. He wasn’t a superhero, despite what everyone thought of him. He was merely a man, a shinobi with a love for porn novels and dogs and one girl he desperately wanted to protect. Now that was gone.

Needless to say, she felt awful. It wasn’t her fault for not remembering him, but it sure felt that way.

She set everything back into the box and put it in its place under the counter before flipping the open sign to closed and heading out into the street. She knew where he lived, only because of the return addresses on the envelopes of the letters. She was still quite familiar with Konoha and it's workings, some of the street names hazy but there. She was now determined to make it to his apartment, even if she had to ask everyone in town to help navigate.

If he was on a mission, so be it, but if he was home, she wanted to see the man.

Thankfully, she realized that he lived only a few streets away from her when a street vendor pointed her in the right direction, but damn, he lived on the fourth floor and she inwardly cursed him. Her legs were still a bit shaky from the incident, and she hadn't healed completely. Stairs were a pain for her. This entire man seemed like a real pain, honestly.

She finally made it to the fourth floor after hobbling up like an old man, and knocked on the second door. She was going to have a conversation with this man, the same man who was keeping their history a secret this entire time without trying to make a connection again.

No one in this town wanted to explain anything to her. Yamato was nice but he always beat around the bush and left when things started getting informative. Sakura just fawned over her broken limbs and injuries. And the man in the green jumpsuit was too loud, she usually had to kick him out once she felt a headache coming on. Other than that, she didn’t have many friends. They’d told her her family died in a “jinchuriki” attack, whatever that meant, so she didn’t have any family to ask either.

As she waited at the door, she felt her stomach churn. Part of her was genuinely curious how her younger self fell for him and what they were like together. Like, what was the appeal? He seemed kinda strange and distant, and she couldn’t help but want cuddles and love constantly. It seemed like an odd match, and Y/N couldn’t help but question it.

Opposites attract, I guess.

After a couple seconds, the door opened a crack, and a half dressed man answered the door. She found her face heating up a bit. He wasn’t even exposed in any way, he just wasn’t wearing his headband, nor did he have his jacket on, revealing toned arms and fluffy, messy hair that she had to admit was pretty adorable. Okay, so she could definitely see herself falling for someone so handsome, but regardless, she was on a mission.

He looked startled to see her standing there in all her glory, out of breath and bent over like she’d run the whole way here. She held onto the doorway to balance herself. Perhaps she was just a tiny little bit out of breath from climbing the stairs still. Y/N apologized quickly, “Sorry, give me a second. Going up the stairs is really hard to do and you live on the fourth floor so, yeah.”

“Who told you where I live?” He questioned, scanning the walkway to make sure no one else was around to be listening.

“You did, actually,” she answered after taking a deep breath. “I found an old box of letters from you, and I just went to the return address.”

The letters. How could he forget about them? He had tried to rid her place of all signs of him, taking out pictures of the two of them together save for a few with other people included. He took out every single belonging he had. The only thing he missed was the letters, ones he didn’t even know Y/N had kept in the first place. He cursed himself.

Her reading the letters made him feel violated. Even if the letters were for her, it felt like a stranger had just read some of his deepest and most pathetic thoughts, the ones of love and adoration and depression all piled up in a few letters addressed to a Y/N he used to know. He felt sick thinking about what this woman now knew.

“Okay. Well, listen, you really shouldn’t just come to my apartment like this. I’m not fond of drop in visits.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I want, Kakashi Hatake, or should I say, my lover,” she laughed, resting one of her hands on her hip proudly. He felt himself wince at the sound of those words coming from her lips, seeing her childish grin. It reminded him too much of before, how they used to be, and he couldn’t handle that. Suddenly, he felt that familiar sickness rolling in his stomach. “How come you never said anything about it?”

“Because, I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“Why? Obviously you were a very big part of my life and I, yours,” she asked.

He sighed and leant on the doorframe, his eyes never leaving the village over her shoulder, anything other than meeting her eyes. He really did not want to have this conversation with her. He would have talked her ear off about a month before when she actually had her memories and knew who she was, but today, with the way she was, he might as well be speaking to a stranger.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

“It’s because I was going to leave you after the accident either way” he confessed, and she could only nod. It wasn’t like she was gonna get offended by his words, she didn’t even know him. He continued, “It makes me sick knowing that all this was my fault in the first place.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The reason that man and his lackeys kidnapped you is because of my father’s mistakes,” he sighed, “That bastard wanted to get revenge by hurting you, since you and I were close.”

She nodded, tapping the floor with her foot as she absorbed everything he’d said. That is what he alluded to before when they met in the hospital. She replied calmly, her tone so understanding it made him feel nauseous.“I see. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call that your fault. You definitely didn’t directly cause anything to happen, if anything it was your father. I’m not offended at all.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. It doesn’t make this anyone's fault but mine.”

“Really, it’s not your fault. You could have never predicted this,” she tried to say, but he just went on, words flowing out faster than she could argue against them.

“It doesn’t matter. I knew that it was wrong to let you into my life. You would have lived just as happily if I’d have ignored you and let you meet some son of a baker, get married after a year, have a bunch of kids, shit, I don’t know,” he cursed. She could tell he was breaking down feelings he had been harboring for a while, and she pushed past him into his apartment, walking right under the arm he was resting on. This wasn’t something to talk about in public, out in the open. “I knew that if you were with me that you would never live a normal life, and I still let you fall in love with me, all because I was too selfish to put my own feelings aside.”

“Love shouldn’t be suppressed like that. You did what was natural.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us. Look where that got you, Y/N.” He waved to her bandaged legs. “You’re never going to remember me again, so it doesn’t matter if I rekindle our relationship, does it?”

She took a seat on the edge of his bed to rest her tired legs. He seemed so angry with himself, so much self hate radiating from his person. He was hurting so badly, and she just wished he would let her comfort him.

For a moment, she wondered if he would let her hold him like before, so he could pretend that things hadn’t gone wrong, even for a short time. Put his mind at ease if only for a short while. Y/N refrained from saying anything, though. Physical touch was probably one of the worst things for him right now, especially from her.

Instead, she meditated on what he said. She sat there fiddling with her fingers, trying to figure out what to say to him, anything that would make the situation easier for him. All she ever wanted was to make life easier for others, and if her way of doing so was being kind and thoughtful toward these worn shinobi, then that is what she would do.

She leaned back on her hands and let out a soft sigh, words surfacing in her brain that might just do the trick. “Kakashi, do you want to hear something that might bring you hope?”

“Whatever,” he brushed off, not thinking anything she could say would make the situation better. He’d tried for a month to make things better and nothing was working.

“I’ve been having dreams. Dreams of the past, dreams of memories that I have forgotten. When I look through photos, new images appear of people that I used to know,” she told him softly. “Tsunade says that means I’ll regain my memories with time, it’s just taking a bit longer than we had hoped. She thinks I can get everything back. The girl that you used to know.”

He stood there for a moment, just processing what she said. He could feel his heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he lifted his eyes slowly to meet her own. She always had such soft, gentle eyes, even now. “Do you have any dreams of me?” He was hesitant to ask, but she gladly nodded. “What do you remember?”

“Well, it’s mostly just snapshots here and there of you and everyone else. Short little tibbits of what life used to be like. I know Yamato has wood nature jutsu because in one of my dreams he had summoned this ginormous tree. I know there is a younger guy with the most yellow hair I’ve ever seen. I know that you have a red eye under the headband, but I don’t know what it’s for,” she explained, listing off some examples of things shehad dreamed of.

He hummed. “Firstly, you’re right about Yamato. He’s actually the only one alive who can use that jutsu.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Is that why he’s head of the...uh, that group? The ones with the animal masks?” she asked, feeling foolish at her lack of knowledge.

He let out the tiniest of chuckles, just a hint of one. “It’s actually ANBU, but good on you for knowing about them. And it’s not just because of his wood jutsu, he is also a very skilled and strong shinobi. He is a good team leader,” he explained. For a moment, he almost found it fun to listen to her struggle to remember things and then help her out. He noticed the way her nose crinkled when she was thinking especially hard about something, and god, it reminded him of before. He felt his heart thawing with each look her way.

Kakashi shut his front door and walked over to the other side of his bed. He took a seat against the wall, kicking out his legs. He was beginning to relax. “And about the yellow haired kid? That’s one of my students, Naruto Uzumaki. He’s a handful, but also a very talented, determined shinobi.”

She mouthed the name to herself a couple times, trying to memorize it. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t be too sure. A lot of things sounded like she should remember them, and she couldn’t exactly figure out which were right.

“And your red eye?”

“It’s a long story, and we won’t go into it. Simply put, this eye is called the sharingan. It’s a special dojutsu that only members of the Uchiha clan possess.”

“So you’re part Uchiha?”

“No. That’s the part I’m not gonna get into,” he brushed off her question. That was something that he really did not want to discuss again. He’d already told her the story once, he didn’t need to do it a second time, even if she had amnesia. When he looked over at her, she looked so familiar. Her eyes were filled with happiness, and he noticed that her lips were curled up into a sweet smile. “What are you happy about?”

She shook her head and turned her head to hide the upward curl of her lips. She was just so glad, her whole body felt warmer because of it. “Because you are being nice to me and explaining things. No one really explains things to me, they just skip around stuff usually,” she confessed as she tapped her heels together.

He could only shake his head at that. “You deserve to know at least the basic stuff, just until you get your memory back.”

“Hmm? You’ll explain any of my memories? Like any of them?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Oh, yeah, well explain this dream I had.”

“Shoot.”

Her smile took a mischievous turn, and he definitely noticed the change. He could only imagine what she was about to ask. “I’ll give you a hint...I know what you look like completely naked,” she giggled, falling back on the bed and covering her face with her hands.

“And you call me the pervert…” he sighed, crossing his arms behind his neck. Her laugh, it was like music to his ears. No matter what she could say, he was just relieved to feel her beside him, gleaming with a happiness he missed for nearly a month now.

“I really had a sex dream about you the other night, but you can imagine my confusion. I was like, what the hell, I don’t even know the guy,” Y/N laughed, “It all makes sense now.”

He rolled his eyes at her sense of humor. Things felt so normal, like before. He felt his chest grow warm at the feeling. Kakashi’s lips cracked into a grin under his mask, not that it mattered to wear the mask. She already saw his face in a dream, it seemed kinda pointless if they were alone.

Maybe he would let things go back to normal. Maybe he would talk to her more, and let her visit when he was home. Maybe he could go to her store when she waved to him instead of running away like a coward. Maybe he could let himself be happy, despite his faults, despite what happened to her. The wounds could be mended, he decided.

He just couldn’t help but be selfish and let her back in.

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi imagine #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #naruto x reader #naruto imagine #naruto one shot #i really love reader in this #i would marry her if i could #steal her from kakashi lol

203 notes · View notes

hanjizung · 4 years

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♡ Vet's Kitten. ♡

Lee Minho x Reader.

Word count: 4.2k

♡ Warnings ♡: smut, fingering, penetrative sex, clothed sex (kinda) protected sex, pet name, and a little bit of aftercare, cockwarming & praising.

A/n: i was supposed to post this yesterday but my internet went out ayhubdnjka im sorry. i hope you enjoy this! ♡

You had always loved animals, all kinds of animals. Be it a cat, a dog, a lizard or a turtle, you were always fascinated by it.

That's why you decided to major as a veterinarian, because your biggest wish was to help them, you couldn't spare to see them suffer. And luckily for you, when you were in your last semester of college, life was looking promising.

You sent your resume to some pet hospitals around the city, a few of them called you and asked you to have an interview, and after the interview you had to choose between two places.

You ended up choosing the one closest to your house, because you could go walking there.

That, and because your new boss besides looking like a cold man, he showed that he really cared about animals. That's what really convinced you to work there. He seemed like he didn't care about anyone, but when he interviewed you he was actually nice. He was incredibly handsome too, but that was only a bonus because you wouldn't dare to make a move on him.

"I'm Lee Minho, the owner" he said, taking your hand to shake it as a formal greeting and with a smile.

Shaking your head, you came back to the real world. You dozed off to the memories of when you started working a few weeks ago.

Right now, you were ordered to do the inventory of the store. The day hadn't been as busy as others, a few people coming in to their pet's shot appointments.

You observed carefully as Minho took the needle and injected the cute puppy shaking in the metal table, your eyebrows furrowed analyzing the process and looking at your boss maneuver with the filled needle.

He smiled and closed the door behind the customer when they left, sighing in satisfaction as the day came to an end.

He crossed his look with your, the smile never leaving his face.

"Y/N, I need you to do something else before we close" he talked, approaching you and taking your hand in his. You couldn’t help the blush growing in your cheeks at the contact Minho made with you, making you stare at his hold in your hand to hide your burning face from him.

Your boss cleared his throat, then continued what he was saying: "I know it's late, but we need to get the inventory done before tomorrow at 10 am, and then you can leave. I promise that you can take the day tomorrow if it takes a lot of time…"

You simply nodded at his request, taking your clipboard to count the inventory more comfortably. He smiled at you and waited for you to walk out of his office before him, like a true gentleman, and then he turned off the light and closed the door behind him.

...Something you found quite strange, because he always made sure to close the door before closing.

You shrugged it off, maybe he was going to bring something from another room to his office and check it more carefully.

You made your way to the storage room, feeling your boss's eyes following you. You resisted the urge to look back at him, tightening your grip on the clipboard. You didn't know when Minho left, but when you turned to close the door he wasn't there looking at you anymore.

You stayed in silence, concentrating on the outside noise. There he was. He told the rest of customers and staff that they could leave home, that he would clean for a bit before closing.

One of the friends you made, Hyunjin, asked if you already went home, but Minho told her that he needed you to do something before closing that couldn't wait. He assured your tall friend that he would walk you home to make sure you arrived safely.

Deciding you had heard enough, you finally started counting everything in the cellar.

Time passed, you didn't know how long you were in there counting and moving things, a thin layer of sweat covered your forehead, but after counting and writing down the results you sighed tiredly, walking out of the cellar to the reception of the store.

The place was empty, you could see the dark streets being illuminated by the moonlight through the glass doors. It looked peaceful, but for some reason you couldn't help but shiver at the thought of walking alone with Minho to your house.

You turned and walked through the 'staff only' door that allowed you to go to Minho's office. Outside, you could see the light still on through the closed window and from under the door. You stood outside the door doubting if you should knock to let him know you were done.

After inhaling and exhaling, getting mentally ready to let your boss know you wanted to go home and sleep peacefully, your first came in contact with the door softly, one, two times.

"Ah, Y/N. Come on in" you heard him.

You did as he told, clipboard still in hand pressed to your chest.

There he was, reading some documents you believed were all the diagnosis made through the week.

He placed the folder on the desk, looking at you through his reading glasses and signaling you to sit on the chair in front of him. You plopped down tiredly and gave him the clipboard, sighing quietly.

"Thank you, Y/N. You have no idea how thankful I am that you managed to finish this in time for tomorrow" Minho commented, leaving the object you had just handed him behind, after looking at it quickly and standing up.

Your gaze was fixed on the clipboard resting alone on the desk, annoyed that all the hard work you put into the paper was being ignored, but your train of thought got lost when Minho's hands found place on your shoulders, squeezing gently and making your head fall back slightly.

"I'm sorry you're so tired after doing the inventory…" your boss murmured, looking at you through his glasses, his beautiful brown eyes hiding a glint of something unknown to you.

"It's okay, I was just doing what I was asked to do" you cleared your throat to talk, but you couldn't recognize your voice, the volume in which you had said that was low and shy, as if your voice was shaking and betraying you.

You couldn't help the blush in your cheeks when Minho smirked, his hands massaging your shoulders and making you sigh in satisfaction at the sensation.

"Poor Y/N, working until late at night because her boss asked her, and as the little good girl that she is she didn't complain, that's an excellent girl. I think she deserves a reward for doing a great job" the words he was using made you blush, his hands working on your shoulders, squeezing and moving around weren't helping you get rid of the burning in your face.

"What do you say, Y/N? Would you like me to reward you for the good job you've been doing or do you wanna go straight home?" he stopped his motions, walking to his chair behind the desk, sitting in front of you, his face with a mysterious smile. You knew there was something else behind those words, but the way he was talking to you, his eyes and his smile… You wanted to say yes, without thinking about it.

You had needs, that you did for sure. And since you started working your intimate life was somewhat… lacking.

It didn't help that you had the most handsome boss in the world. The man was sexy, he did things to you, and you couldn't keep lying to yourself anymore. Even when he was doing the simplest thing he managed to look ethereally gorgeous.

He could be sitting in his office, typing something on his computer, legs crossed and your mind would wander, asking how nice it must feel to sit on his lap and maybe kiss him, or to straddle him and grind against his cock. But then he would look at you and smile, bringing you out of your trance with innumerable fantasies about him, your face hot and tones darker in your cheeks in embarrassment.

Yes, Minho did things to you, most days of the week you had to take care of yourself and the insufferable wetness between your legs.

Swallowing, you blinked and nodded your head.

"Yes, please. I want a reward, I've been doing a great job lately…" your voice got lost at the ending of the sentence, but it seemed like Minho perfectly understood what you said, his smile grew bigger and his eyebrows furrowed, looking like he was pitying you for being neglected so far.

"It's okay, kitten. I'll give you the best reward" he said. He indicated you to walk to him, and like you got so used to doing, you followed his orders.

He tugged your arm gently for you to sit on his lap, hugging your waist to keep you in place while his other hand wandered along your leg, his fingers sending a tingling sensation to your back.

Your lips parted, he was looking intensely at you, making you feel small and shy in a way you hadn't ever felt before. Your body relaxed, a signal that he could do whatever he wanted to you.

Slowly, Minho's hand rested on your thigh, the hand on your waist abandoned its spot and he held your face gently as he made you look at him, your eyes focused on Minho's and your breath trapped in your throat. This was the only opportunity you had to be this close to him. Closing the distance, you kissed him sweetly, one of your hands on his shoulder and the other on his chest playing with the buttons on his shirt. You sighed in your head when you felt him correspond to your kiss, his lips moving against yours.

You separated from him when you felt the lack of oxygen in your lungs, a thread of saliva connecting you both. Your eyes opened to see his own, they looked darker, a flame of something shining in them.

The hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck and pulled you so he could kiss you again, harsher this time, like if he were starving for your lips only. The still hand placed on your thigh started moving up and down your skirt, raking his nails on your exposed skin and making you shiver.

Minho separated from you, making you whimper for the loss of warmth on your lips, he smiled and pulled you close, biting your lower lip playfully, you smiled when you felt his teeth biting you, your eyes closed. And then he started kissing down your jaw to your neck, pulling your hair back to expose more of your neck to him.

The hand on your neck crawled to the roots of your hair, grabbing a fist of it and yanking your head backwards, a moan escaping from your lips at the sudden motion. His other hand made you separate your thighs, which you happily did as you anticipated what was about to come next.

His fingers came in contact with your aching sex, the friction of his digits rubbing your clit made you moan loudly, trembling on his lap as he bit another hickey in your neck.

Minho was driving you crazy, you had to hold onto his shoulders to not fall from your position on his lap, he noticed you struggling and handled you so your back was against his chest, each of your legs hanging from the sides of the chair, all spread for his fingers to work on you just like you wanted.

He pushed your panties to the side with one hand, his other one caressing the inside of your thigh, keeping it in place just in case you felt the need to close your legs.

Minho touched carefully, his fingers separating your folds and touching you where you needed him the most. A quiet moan was heard inside the room, and your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop all the sounds coming from you.

Minho stopped what he was doing, taking your hand from your mouth and guiding it to your nether regions, where he was working.

"Is my kitten shy? Don't be, baby, I wanna hear you… I wanna hear you scream my name when I make you cum" Minho said, his voice in a low tone as he spoke against your ear so you could hear him clearly. You couldn't help the wetness growing between your legs, this side of Minho was something you would've never imagined, and you were living for it, for everything.

Your finger shyly played with your folds just like his had done before, but you looked up to him, a disappointed look obvious in your eyes.

"What's the problem, kitten? Are your fingers not enough to please you? You want me to do it for you, hmm?* He said, taking your hand with his left one and holding it in place against your chest, his right hand continuing to work on you, passing his finger through your slit, massaging your bud and teasing your entrance.

"M-Minho… Please…" you cried out, your free hand tugging the right sleeve of his shirt as you sighed in frustration when he slapped your pussy gently, making you squeal.

"Please what, kitten?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Your fingers… I need them, no– I need to have you inside me, Minho…" you whimpered. You left out a choked moan when you felt him push his middle finger inside you, your warm walls embracing his lonely digit.

You moved your hips looking for some action, but he hugged your waist to keep you still above him.

At this point you were squirming, the way his finger worked inside you, looking for your most sensitive spot and his thumb massaging your clit in circles, helping you reach your high more and more.

Minho inserted a second finger inside your warm insides, your back arching against his chest when his fingers started moving in scissoring motions, until it was too much sensations for you to take in and your walls started to clench around his fingers, making him moan about how tight you were hugging him and you started shaking slightly.

"Minho a-ah…" you closed your eyes, breathing heavily "I'm gonna come" you cried out, your hands grabbing the armrests of the chair, your knuckles turning white due to the force you were employing.

"Cum for me, kitten" he commanded, increasing the speed of his fingers thrusting into you and playing with your sensitive clit when you finally released around his fingers, him still torturing your bundle through your climax.

Taking his fingers out of you, he stared at the liquid covering his hand for a moment and then he liked his fingers clean. When he saw you looking at him, he took one of his fingers from his mouth and caressed your lower lip, spreading the mixture of your cum and his saliva. You shyly opened your mouth to surround his fingers with your wet tongue and finish his task of kicking his fingers clean, the small action making you more aroused.

Minho loved how your tongue played with his fingers, groaning and shutting his eyes. You felt his boner twitch, caged in Minho's tight pants and you moved your hips backwards to feel more of him.

But Minho didn't like that.

He grumbled and removed his fingers from your mouth, his saliva coated hand pushing everything on his desk to the floor making you jump in surprise. He clearly had a mission, and you knew he was determined to finish that task.

He grabbed your hips with more force than needed, making you leave the spot on his lap to bend you over his now empty desk. He stood up behind you, manhandling you in the position he needed, pushing the small of your back with his big hand to have your chest against the cold surface of the desk, then widening your legs with his knee to appreciate your glistening sex.

Minho stepped back to appreciate the view in front of him, you looked so vulnerable in that moment, he wasn't sure that he could control himself any longer.

"Oh, kitten… You look so good like this…" he mumbled. You saw him biting his lip from the corner of your eyes, you were unsure that your still shaky legs could support you, so you grabbed the edges of the desk with your delicate hands, your sweaty cheek sticking to the cold material of the desk.

You blinked lazily, realizing Minho had moved when you opened your eyes. Trying to agudyze your sense of hearing to find him, the noise of drawers opening grabbed your full attention, the sound proveniente from behind you, so you supposed that he was there.

And when his fingers passed again through your dripping folds once and made you whimper, you knew that you were right, the sensation making you shiver. You couldn't see him in that moment, but by the sounds coming from your behind, he was unbuckling his belt. Then, a noise of something unwrapping was heard, it was a particular noise you missed hearing since you started working.

You gasped when Minho's cock teased you, your hole throbbing to have something inside. You needed him, and he did nothing but keep teasing your entrance and playing with your still sensitive clit.

"M-Minho, please…" you turned your head to look at him, clear lust showing in your eyes and your mouth partially open. He wasn't even paying attention to you, instead he was focused on not giving you what you wanted right away.

But after a moment he finally returned your look, his cock pressing against your entrance and slowly entering you, never removing his eyes from yours. You tried to keep your eyes open, but the sensation of Minho filling you up was so satisfactory that you couldn't help the pornographic moan coming out of you, trying to keep still for him to enter you at his pace and not rush things.

You tried to tell him how good he felt inside you, but you couldn't form any coherent sentences, opting for biting your lip and arching your back. Minho grunted at the sensation of being finally inside you, your walls were hugging him so tightly he thought your pussy was the best thing he ever tried.

"You're doing so good for me, kitten" he mumbled, pulling out of you in the same slow pace he entered you. He was moving so slowly the seconds he spent getting out of you felt like hours, a delicious torture that you would pay any time to experience again. He thrusted agonizingly slowly into you one more time, his member stretching you out nicely, Minho observing how his dick disappeared when he entered you fully again, your pussy embracing him so warmly he couldn’t remove his eyes from the view.

Slowly and as his thrust increased, the room was filled with the obscene sounds of your moans mixed with Minho’s groaning and wet noises of skin slapping against skin, the position you were in wasn’t much to Minho’s liking, so he took you by the arm and held you with it, separating you from the desk that was now warm because of your body heath, your other hand supporting you by resting flat on the desk, one of your shaky knees moving to rest on the edge of the desk, permitting Minho to hit deeper into you, the new position making you throw your head backwards, almost reaching Minho’s right shoulder.

“R-right there!” you screamed when he hit your g spot, pushing your hips back when Minho moved and lost the angle.

And he hit it again, holding your arm tighter when the strength of your other arm supporting you above the desk weakened and you almost collapsed on the now probably cold surface of it, the pleasure Minho was providing you with making your whole body shake, your eyes shut and moaning uncontrollably.

The hand that Minho was holding your hips in place with left its spot, snaking around your waist looking for your sensitive bundle and massaging to provide you even more satisfaction.

It became too much for you to handle, the knowing feeling of your orgasm approaching becoming stronger and your velvety walls embraced Minho even more, making him moan and thrusting faster in you. Both your heavy breathing warning you of the ending of this intimate moment.

"Minho… I'm gonna cum" you babbled to him, turning your head slightly to let him know that you were close. You couldn't catch the full view of him, but he looked so beautiful, his forehead shining with sweat just like his toned chest, his mouth parted open and moving quickly as he penetrated you.

"Scream my name, kitten. Cum for me" Minho ordered you, triggering your climax with those simple words, and you came undone around him.

He kept playing with your clit and moving his hips against yours, looking for his own release. It didn't take much longer for him to reach his own high, staying still inside you when a final wave of pleasure found him.

You and him stayed silent, trying to regain your breath again. Minho finally pulled out of you, tying the full condom and throwing it to the trash can next to the desk, meanwhile you pulled your skirt down and looked for something to clean the mess between your legs.

"How are you feeling Y/N? Are you okay?" Minho asked, looking at you with concern on his face as he opened a drawer and pulled and took a shirt from it. He made you sit on the desk and opened your legs to clean the evidence of what you two were doing.

You smiled sweetly to him from your seat on the desk.

"I'm good, don't worry about me. You should worry more about all the papers on the floor. Do you need help with that?" Minho chuckled at your response to his previous questions, picking up his own clothes and putting them on in front of you. Beside what he did to you, your face grew hot when you looked at him dress up, biting your lip and playing with your fingers.

"I could use some help to re organize this, thank you" the man said once he was dressed, noticing the look you were giving him. Luckily, he didn't say anything about it.

"Maybe after we're done here we can continue our activities at my place" he offered, handing you some of the things he picked up for you to place on the desk.

"Oh, then let's hurry up" you said excitedly, kneeling to pick more things up under Minho's eyes.

It was in that moment that he decided to be direct and tell you the reasons behind his actions. He had to do it. So he kneeled next to you, taking your hands and making you look at him.

"Y/N, I like you. I like working with you, a lot. I don't know why but I get a similar feeling of being at home when you're around… It's something I can't really describe, but thanks to that I started seeing you as more than another employee" you listened to him carefully, taking in and processing each of his words. You were a little shocked, but a small smile was found in your face when you realized that he also felt something for you.

"I hope that you can accept my feelings for you, and if you reciprocate them I'll know that I'm the luckiest man on earth" he sighed, closing his eyes briefly and caressing your hand with his thumb.

When he was done talking, you removed your hands from his bigger one and took his face, closing the distance between you and kissing him softly.

"I like you too, Minho. And if you're the luckiest man on earth then I guess that means I'm the luckiest woman for getting to be with someone like you" you giggled, your words making Minho smile and pull you close to kiss you again.

"Let's get out of here then. This seems like a problem for future Minho, I'm sure he'll hate me for it but being with you is more worth it. Come one" he stood up and helped you stand up as well. You made your way to the door while he looked for his keys.

A few moments later, the place was securely closed and you were walking hand in hand to Minho's car, mentally thanking God for choosing that pet hospital instead of the other.

Because you had gotten so used to working there, taking care of the little animals, learning new things everyday and talking with Minho and your other friends. It was now impossible for you to imagine a life without that place, and even worse; without Minho by your side.

#stayverse #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #minho x reader #szk lee know #skz minho #lee know x reader #minho smut #hhhh #One day I'll know how to properly tag #im lazy to keep tagging im sorry #anyway please enjoy this

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“...By the 1920s, only the very poorest Danish families had to depend on the economic contributions of adolescent children for survival, but in most households daughters were still expected to help supplement the household income by handing over their pay. Especially in their first years as wage earners, parental control over children's income was considerable. Mothers in charge of the family budget generally kept most of the wages, permitting adolescent wage earners only a limited weekly allowance for personal expenses. Young women's family responsibilities continued in other ways as well.

While sons were given much more leeway, daughters were generally expected to contribute their labor to the household after they arrived home from work. "In my family, all the children were sent out to work after their [Christian] confirmation [at the age of thirteen or fourteen], and we all had to give mother some of the money we earned for housekeeping," Gerda Eriksen recalled of her working class youth in the early 1920s. "But," she continued, "the girls also had their chores—running errands, peeling potatoes, setting and cleaning the table, doing the dishes, bringing up coal from the basement. My brothers never had to do any of that. That was women's work."

But if contributing wages and labor to the household continued to be the unquestioned norm, young women's sense of their rights and obligations vis-a-vis the family was nevertheless changing in other ways in the early decades of the twentieth century. When earnings were sufficient, some daughters decided to strike out on their own and live independently in rented rooms, small apartments, or boarding houses, but given their low wages this was a possibility for the very few. More frequently, young working women sought to use their earnings as leverage to negotiate a stronger position within the family. Especially after World War I, when most families were able to place themselves safely beyond the poverty line, the necessity of individual sacrifice for household survival began to fade.

This allowed even working-class daughters to assert their right to new privileges in exchange for their economic contributions, and in the 1920s they did so in increasing numbers. Young women's sense of what they could legitimately demand from their families clearly sprang from their status and experiences as wage earners outside the home. In the labor market, and particularly in jobs other than domestic service, young women learned a rhythm of time and labor that divided daily life into paid work and one's "own" time. This was a rhythm already familiar to most men, whose lives had long been split into realms of work and leisure. Therefore, (male) wage earners were the obvious beneficiaries when Danish government regulations in 1919 limited the work day to eight hours, allowing working men more free time than ever before.

Married women, on the other hand, did not experience a similar shortening of the workday. Whether they worked outside the home or not, housework, child-rearing, cooking, and cleaning were never ending tasks, and unlike their husbands, they had to snatch their few leisured moments in between domestic responsibilities. As working women, daughters were precariously positioned between these different patterns of daily life. Even though they took on wage labor much like their fathers and brothers, young women were simultaneously expected to share the steady burdens of domestic work with their mothers and to devote their nonworking time to household labor.

It was this discrepancy between expectations fostered by labor market participation in the context of increasing standards of living, and the realities of family life that became increasingly intolerable for many young women in the 1910s and 1920s. In their minds, earning a living and bringing home money positioned them on a par with male members of the family, entitling them to at least some of the same prerogatives. Consequently, while they did not resist having to hand over a substantial part of their earnings, they more and more openly resented that their financial contribution did not always earn them what they considered its reasonable counterpart, namely the right to free time. As a result, families with adolescent daughters were plunged into conflicts about the degree of personal autonomy that labor market participation and wages ought to bestow.

Intrafamilial conflicts are often difficult for historians to document, but in this case tensions between parents and children are easily discernible. They surface, for instance, in the immensely popular advice columns of the 1910s and 1920s. Convinced of their right as wage earners to at least some free time and exasperated by their parents' unwillingness to grant them this privilege, some young women turned to advice columnists, hoping for replies that would affirm the legitimacy of their demands.

Among the correspondents was "Betty" who openly questioned her parents' authority. "I work from 8 A.M. to 6 P.M. every day," she explained. "When I come home, I am tired, but I still have to fix dinner and look after my younger sister. In the evenings my parents say I have to do needle-work, but I would rather read or go for a walk. Can they really demand that I stay at home? I am seventeen and a half years old, and I pay my mother Dkr. 8 every week."

Similarly, "a Copenhagen girl" found the relationship between rights and duties in her life unreasonable. "Before I leave in the morning," she complained, "I have to light the fire, make coffee and pack lunches. When I come home, the dishes are still sitting there, and there are errands to be run. Sometimes I want to meet my girlfriend at night, but my parents will almost never let me go. They say there is no reason to 'gad about,' but I don't understand what is wrong with having a little bit of fun at night when you work all day." Other evidence also suggests that many young women openly struggled to obtain the right to leisure and independent activities they thought they deserved.

Personal narratives often reveal both the intensity of such conflicts and the ingenuity of young women bent on getting their way. Emilie Johansen, who grew up in a middle-class family in a suburb of Aarhus recalled, for example, how she and her sister enlisted the help of an older aunt in their conflicts with an authoritarian father. "He was so strict. He would never allow us to have any fun, never allow us to go anywhere. It was hopeless. But then my aunt—I guess she was feeling sorry for us— we talked to her, and she hired us to do some cleaning and stuff. And we would get there and she would say, 'Why don't you girls run off to see a movie?' I don't remember if we ever actually did any work."

Equally resourceful, Copenhagen native Anna Eriksen depended on the backing of an older brother, who, in exchange for small favors, would promise to act as her chaperon outside the home only to vanish as soon as the siblings were out of their parents' sight. In addition to such evidence, numerous magazine articles and newspaper columns from the 1910s and 1920s chronicle the anger and bewilderment of parents who found themselves in constant conflict with their daughters. For mothers, this seemed particularly difficult. Not only did their daughters' desire for a "modern" life seem a rejection of their own norms and values, which in itself was hard to bear, but on top of that, some girls directly flaunted their disrespect of maternal authority, especially if fathers were absent, indulgent, or merely lackadaisical.

"When my daughter is not at the office, she thinks life has to be lived in a cafe, or in other places where people are judged according to their dress and style," "Ninka's mother" wrote to a women's magazine in 1921. "If I tell her to stay home even a few nights a week, she acts as if I've just imposed a life sentence on her." "She doesn't listen to me," another mother complained of her seventeen-year-old daughter. "When I tell her to stay home, she just laughs and says that you are only young once, that this is the twentieth century and not the Middle Ages, and that she is already wasting too much of her youth in a dirty factory. Besides that, she has her own money."

Even more desperate, the mother of one of the much maligned Langelinie girls told a newspaper journalist that she had "begged and pleaded with [her daughter] not to go there, but it doesn't help. I have to go to work, and my neighbor tells me that as soon as I am out the door, she takes off." Using whatever means it took, many young working women who came of age in the late 1910s and 1920s thus pushed for new personal freedoms and especially the right to free time. While some parents never gave in to their pressure, most young women seemed gradually to succeed in carving out of daily life at least some uninterrupted time devoted to relaxation and their own enjoyment.

From the mid-1920s, the frequency of daughters' publicly voiced complaints declined dramatically, and coming-of-age stories no longer featured such conflicts. Apparently, Ernestine P. Poulsen, born in 1902, described a phenomenon that extended beyond her family when she explained that "I fought a lot of battles with my parents [over the right to leisure]. Perhaps I cleared the way because when my [younger] sisters came along, they did not have to do the same. My parents had kind of accepted that girls also needed time of their own."

This did not mean, however, that conflicts between parents and daughters faded. Rather, the grounds of conflict merely shifted. Much resistance to giving young women free time derived from the material conditions of daily life—the practical assistance of grown daughters was still important for the well-being of many working-class households—and from a more general reluctance to give up control over children. But parents' reluctance also stemmed from their misgivings about young women's actual use of their leisure time.

Had daughters simply demanded more time to pursue leisure activities within the home, had they insisted on participating in cooking classes and sewing circles, or had they wanted to attend lectures on hygiene and housewifery, they would probably have been met with more understanding. But these were not the kinds of activities young women longed to engage in, and therefore the question of female leisure remained a contentious issue throughout the postwar decade.

Working-class and middle-class daughters had of course not been entirely without time of their own prior to the 1920s. Nor had they been completely confined to the home. Girls from the countryside had always been allowed to participate in regional fairs, celebrations, and local get-togethers of young people. Urban working-class daughters had long socialized outside the home on staircase landings and front steps, in backyards, and on city streets or in neighborhood parks, and many middle-class daughters belonged to women's clubs and organizations.

What constituted the major departure from convention in the 1910s and 1920s was young women's insistence on their right to "go out," an activity significantly different from the kind of casual socializing that took place outside their parents' windows or in clubs and organizations under adult supervision. "Going out," Regitze Nielsen recalled, "that was when we got dressed up and went somewhere." More specifically, "going out" meant pursuing pleasures that took young women away from home and family, into the public, and, in particular, toward new forms of commercial recreation, including movie theaters, cafes, dance places, and amusement parks. As a social practice, this form of "going out" challenged older norms for female behavior in several ways.

First, it obviously entailed their deliberate desertion from the domestic world, if only momentarily. Second, "going out" meant young women venturing outside familiar neighborhoods and beyond the realm of adult control and surveillance, claiming for themselves the right to an independent, unsupervised social life distinct from familial traditions. Third, as opposed to more traditional forms of leisure for women, "going out" was a strictly peer-oriented activity in which kinship ties had much less significance than freely chosen and carefully cultivated friendships among girls and young women who usually met in school, at work, in clubs and organizations, or in the neighborhood where they lived.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, "going out" meant women's entrance into public spaces traditionally defined as male territory and often imagined as sites of immoral activity where men and women freely mingled, potentially transgressing social and sexual boundaries. Because each of these four aspects seemed to pose a fundamental threat to the social and sexual status quo, intense controversies between parents and children over young women's new leisure activities reverberated throughout the postwar decade. Years after families had conceded to daughters' demands for more time of their own, parents struggled to control or at least influence their use of that time.

By dictating curfews, prohibiting particular activities and specific locations, insisting on being introduced to friends and companions, and demanding the chaperonage of brothers, parents sought not only to protect their daughters against potential dangers but also to maintain at least some authority. Consequently, when young women ventured out into the public sphere, they generally did so under the intense scrutiny of parents who continued to hold some power to revoke their newly won privileges. Thus, even as "going out" gradually became a regular part of young women's lives, treading carefully remained an often perplexing prerequisite.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#1920s #history #danish #birgitte soland #becoming modern

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itisannak · 3 years

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V-A-L-N-T-Y-N-E (Calum Hood Fluff)

Summary: Calum meets (Y/N) while shooting the music video for Valentine. Past relationships make it kind of difficult for them to be completely comfortable with each other. Past relationships, and the fact (Y/N) is trans. (Words: 8.4k) (Request)

My Uber leaves me right in front of the house that corresponds to the address the driver has been given. My day started with a delivery of fresh coffee and pastries to my door and then continued with an Uber hauling me straight to the client's door. It has been a while since I have done a house visit for a client, I am way past doing people's makeup for a living now, but the client seemed like a big deal; first, I was contacted by his management, then he called himself so we could talk about the aesthetic. And the money he offered for just a day's worth of working, really couldn't be turned down. To my understanding, this will be some sort of video production, so I can only hope for some extra exposure. I ring the bell, shifting my weight from leg to leg as I try to forget how heavy my makeup carrier is today. The door is answered by the man I talked to on FaceTime just a week ago. "Good morning, (Y/N). Come on in. Did you find the house with ease?" He asks, smiling charmingly. "Good morning. The driver didn't even have to look at the GPS to find the house. Thanks for the Uber and the breakfast, by the way. It was very kind of you." I walk into the house; the first thing I notice is how serene the house is, how quiet, how simplistic yet elegant. Then I notice the art-covered walls, the vibrant but subtle pieces that give character to the place without being too loud. I gotta admit, I am surprised by his taste. "No problem. Can I take that for you?" He asks me, pointing at the makeup carrier. "Do you mind if I carry it? The contains can be pretty fragile, I have to be careful." I comment and he nods. "Of course. Where do you want to set up?" He asks me. "Where do you want me to?" "Whenever you are comfortable to. I don't really know about the lighting you prefer." He states. "Can I see where you will be filming? It will help me get an understanding of what light you will be having." I ask and he nods. "Of course, follow me." He heads ahead, walking past the entrance and the kitchen until we are in the back of the house, heading towards the basement of it.

"It is pretty dark in here..." I say, suddenly turning a bit nervous. This could possibly end in a murder... I am in a stranger's house, heading toward a bad-lit basement, I have seen that shit in movies. "Sorry about that. We are going to film on a dark background, so we have covered the windows to avoid getting light in. We will have the filming lights open, of course. And if you need extra lighting, just let me know." He says, showing me the setup. There is another man in here, setting up the lights and camera. "This is Andy. He is my co-director for the day. Andy, this is (Y/N), the makeup artist." Ashton introduces us. The man stands up from crouching before the tripod, extending his hand for me to shake. "It is nice to meet you, (Y/N). I hope you enjoy working with us." "It is nice to meet you too. It has been nothing less of a treat this far." I smile, shaking his hand. "Ok, so. Where do you want to set up?" Ashton asks me. "I prefer here if it is ok. That way we get to see the makeup in the actual filming light and test how it shows on camera easily." I reply and Ashton claps his hands together. "Let's make that happen then. I will bring a table and a mirror for you. Will you need anything else to set up?" He asks me. "A chair and a bowl of water. I can help you carry all that here." "Oh, no. You don't have to. My friend is already here, he will help." Ashton assures me. "Ok then." I smile and move a bit away from the setting so I won't get in the way of Andy setting things up.

"Now, why didn't we move those things downstairs last night?" I hear chatter coming from the stairs. "Be careful here. One dent on the wall and I can kiss my deposit goodbye." "Ashton, you should stop riding my dick like that. A dent is fixable, and I wasn't even grazing the wall." The other man states. They make it down the stairs, caring a folded table and chair. "I am sorry if this was an inconvenience..." I mumble as Ashton unfolds the table. "Nonsense. Just grumps over there complaining for no reason. I am Calum." The man extends one hand. He has a very charming, warm smile, a full head of messy curls, and gives off cool guy vibes as he stands before me with one hand resting in his pocket. "I am (Y/N). Nice to meet you." I smile back at him. "I'll bring the bowl of water. (Y/N), please feel free to start setting up." Ashton announces, pointing at the table. "I better go bring the mirror." Calum says, pointing up the stairs. "Oh, no. You sit here, Hood. I nearly had a heart attack from you carrying a simple chair. I'll bring the mirror." Ashton groans, making Calum roll his eyes at the comment as Andy chuckles. "Ashton is a bit of a grump when stressed." Calum explains as I move to set up the makeup station. "Why is he stressed?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "It's his first time directing. He wants this to work." "I thought he was a director... He was so confident about this project." I state. "No, he is a drummer. But always had an eye for photography and videography. He has a truly artistic vein in him." Calum chuckles. "Wait... Is this an MV?" I ask. "You didn't know?" He asks me back, looking at me confused. "I knew it was for a video, not for a music one." I mumble. "We are in a band. He is the drummer, I am the bassist, we have Michael and Luke on guitar. We all have vocals. I am surprised you didn't know. I thought our management contacted you." "They did. But I thought it was Ashton's management and he is some director..." "Did I freak you out?" Calum asks. "No, no. I just didn't think he has never done this before. He sounded so confident when we were talking about what he had in mind..." I comment, lining up my brushes. "He has a way of faking it. Can I help you with that?" He asks me, pointing at my makeup case. "I like organizing my items my way. It is easier for me to be more efficient and not spend time fumbling around for my items." I explain and he hums. "If you need any help, I will be right there. Don't hesitate to call for me." He offers, pointing to the set, where Andy is just about turning on the lights.

Calum is the last to sit on my chair since the golden paint would probably irritate him had it stayed so long on his skin. "You know, I actually kinda liked what you did with Michael's eyes." Calum comments as I mix the pigment with a dash of duraline. "Thank you." I chuckle, taking a sample of the mixture. "And it looked good on camera too. It really showed." He continues. "Yeah, I didn't want to do something heavy. He has very bright eyes and I wanted to keep the sparkle. I am glad you liked it." I reply, picking up my application brush. "Will I be able to talk with this on?" He asks me as I apply the first stroke. "Hm, you will be able to talk, it is not like a clay mask, but try not to, because the pigment might crack from the facial movement. That's why Ashton and I decided to leave you last, so you would be able to talk and eat without having to worry about the makeup." I explain. "Oh... And I thought you left me last because I have a difficult face." "First of all, rule of the thumb is that you work on the difficult faces first, so it doesn't end up ruined by the time you shoot. And then, you have a gorgeous face. Very pretty edges, plump and fresh skin, your face is not difficult at all..." I reply, squinting to see if the paint has any streaks this far.

The invite to the Christmas party found me totally unprepared; after the video release and the credit the band gave me for the looks on it, there has been silence between us. I assured myself that this is a typicality, that I have been mistakenly invited to Ashton's Christmas party. But my manager insisted that I have to attend, to network with people from their industry. To my surprise, the party is way less crowded than I expected it; fuck, I wish I had brought my friend along, so I could chat with her and soothe myself from the anxiety; I feel like everyone is wondering who I am and what I am doing here. I pick a drink from the bar and take a quick sip, before the idea of going outside crosses my mind. I try to be as discreet as I can, not cause anyone to stare as I creep my way out. Ashton gasps as I pass by him, smiling brightly as he moves closer. "(Y/N), you made it. I am so glad to see you again. Merry Christmas." He greets me. "Hi, Happy Holidays. I am glad to see you too. Thank you for inviting me." I cheer, smiling at him as well. "Did you just arrive?" He asks me and I nod. "Yes, I have been here for 5 minutes most." "You came a bit early. We are expecting a few more people over... Come, come... Let me introduce you to a few friends. I am afraid only Calum is here now, from the people you have already met. But Michael and Luke are on their way over." Ashton motions for me to follow him. I do, taking a small sip from my drink as we walk closer to his group of friends. "(Y/N), this is my girlfriend Katelin, my friend Roy, my friend Mitchy, and of course, you have already met Calum. Guys, this is (Y/N), the amazing makeup artist that brought my vision into light for the Valentine video." "Hello everyone, it is nice to meet you. Calum, it is lovely to see you again. I think Ashton is really overselling me. All I did was do my job. The video was marvelous, by the way, I never got the chance to tell you in person." I turn to Ashton, who chuckles and brushes me off. "Please, you did an amazing job." He assures me and I nod my head politely. "Thank you. It was a beautiful project and I am glad I got to be part of it." I comment. "Any latest projects? I have been following your work ever since the video, and I got to say I am impressed. The way you do makeup, your videos, your posts, they make me feel warm and calm." Kaitlin comments, making me press my hand against my chest in gratitude. "I did a couple of shoots for Savage x Fenty for their Christmas promos. I got to say, this year has been amazing for me career-wise. I am glad you like my work. I want to keep a very zen vibe around my work." I reply, smiling at the woman. "Oh, there they are. Michael ad his girlfriend have just arrived. I will go call them over really quick." Ashton excuses himself. "So, (Y/N)... Did you come alone to the party?" Roy asks me. "I thought of inviting my friend along, but I ended up coming solo." I state, making the man hum.

I found an excuse after Luke and Michael arrived with their girlfriends to part from the group, and ended up in the small patio outside. It is a nice change from the crowdedness inside, a way to decompress from the awkwardness I felt while I was talking with Ashton's friends. I pick out my phone, checking the texts my friend sent me to ask if I need an out. "There you are." I hear someone call. I turn around, finding Calum walking towards me. I smile, stashing my phone in my purse before shrugging. "Busted." I chuckle. "We were all wondering where you went." He replies, pointing to the inside with his thumb. "I wanted some air. It is very hot inside, I felt a bit suffocated." I explain and Calum nods. "Ashton has been having the heating on almost all day." "Why? It is way too warm for late-December..." I furrow my eyebrows together. "We are from Australia. We are used to extremely warm weather in December, this is like we are staying in a freezer..." Calum explains and I shake my head from side to side. "I would have never guessed you are not from here. You barely have accents." "Yeah, comes with the years. Anyway, how are you liking the party?" He asks me, changing the talk to me. I sigh, my chest puffing from how long the draw of breath has been. "If I am completely honest, I feel a little awkward..." I admit, biting my bottom lip. "Awkward, why?" The tall man asks me, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. I run my hand over my shoulder, soothing the chills rising from the chilliness of the Californian night. "I had this feeling before coming here that Ashton only invited me as a typicality. I wouldn't have come if my manager didn't insist this would be a good opportunity to network further. And I felt as if I was forcing your friends to talk to me because I came alone." I explain and Calum nods. "Well, my friends are actually nice people, and genuinely wanted to get to know you better. Especially Kaitlin, she was so hyped when Ashton told her he was inviting you. And second, Ashton doesn't invite people for typicalities... He wanted you here, he is in awe of the work you did on our video, we all are, to be honest. But I get that being in a place you don't know anyone can be weird. It feels like you don't have a safety net." "Exactly. If I had my friend over, I could just pull her over and chat with her. But now I feel a little exposed." I sigh, rolling my eyes at how stupid this sounds. "Well, I am here. If you feel uncomfortable at any moment, just pull me over and chat with me." He offers. "Why are you doing this?" I ask him, earning a shrug from him. "I don't know. I just... I feel how you are feeling. I don't like it when I don't have a safety net with me." He explains, making me smile sympathetically. "You seem very easygoing, I cannot imagine you being in my shoes." "It comes with experience in this industry, you learn to mask everything. But if I am being honest, it is torture, always having to look so at ease." He states. I run my hands over my arms even harder, trying to warm up a little. I curse myself for not bringing a coat... "Are you cold?" He asks me. I nod my head. "I don't have a coat to offer you... Let's get in. It is way warmer..." He chuckles softly. "I like talking with you. I wish we could stay here..." I sigh in disappointment; he makes it seem easy talking to someone I barely know, and being inside at the party just seems so hard right now. "Don't worry, I know a corner in the house we can continue this conversation..." He lets me walk in first, but once inside he is the one to show the way and push through the crowd of attendees.

We make our way to the kitchen, which is surprisingly empty, despite the food on the marble countertop. Calum grabs a platter, offering me a slider before taking one for himself. "The good thing about Aston's parties is that there is always plenty of food. Which mostly goes untouched." "Why?" "No one really eats in LA..." He sighs, placing the platter on the counter before hopping to sit on top of it. "This is sad..." I stuff the mini-burger in my mouth, leaning against the countertop opposite of Calum "Are you doing anything on Christmas day?" He asks me. "Not really. It will be a lonely Christmas." "How come?" "Well, it is the first year that I have accomplished all my goals and I want to celebrate it in peace. And my family can be... quite loud..." I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "I get it..." "What about you? How are you spending your Christmas?" "Kinda like you... I usually visit my family or they visit me for the holidays, but this year it's none of it. There is always next year." He shrugs, but I can see the sadness on his face. "I am sorry for that. You are spending Christmas alone?" I ask, putting my hand on top of his sympathetically. "Yeah, but it is fine. I'll be fine." "Well, you are welcome at my house tomorrow for lunch. There will be food, drinks, desserts. Let's not be alone on Christmas Day." I offer, smiling at the man who looks at me with a newly-found sparkle. "Really?" He asks me. "Of course... That is if you feel comfortable coming." "Why are you doing this?" He asks me, furrowing his eyebrows softly. "Safety Net." I shrug, smiling at him.

I rush to open the door the second time my doorbell rings, knowing that behind it can be only my guest for the day. Calum appears behind the door, holding a pot of a beautiful red plant. "Hi, Merry Christmas..." I greet him, moving from the door to let him in. "Merry Christmas. Thank you for inviting me today. I didn't have enough time to get you a gift, and the lady in the flower shop told me this is the most popular Christmas plant, so here." "You didn't have to bring anything. But thank you, it is lovely. What's its name?" I ask, taking the pot as he passes it to me. "I don't know. You should name it. But Reddie sounds like a fitting name." He replies. I burst into laughter, pressing my hand to my mouth to stop myself from snorting. "I meant how is the plant called..." I manage to say. Calum groans and his face morphs into an awkward expression. "You must think I am a dumbass..." He throws his head back, looking at the ceiling before pressing the bridge of his nose. "No, it was just a miscommunication... I'll image search it later. Come on, I have made a light snack in the kitchen for us while we wait for the main to be ready." I motion him to follow me, walking ahead to the kitchen. "You have a lovely house." He comments as he takes a seat on the island in the middle of the kitchen. "Thanks. I pretty much renovated it myself. You should have seen the place when I first moved in." I sigh, remembering the dumpster my house was when I purchased it. "Do you have pictures?" He asks me. "Yeah, I also have a video on my channel if you'd like to see the before and after." I offer, picking up my phone. "Please, I am curious about it." I open the app, quickly searching for my video before handing the device to Calum. While he is watching the video, I plate the snacks and take a quick look at the main course in the oven. "Oh, wow... I can't believe this used to be what this place looked like. And you did it by yourself?" He asks me, handing me my phone back. "Pretty much. I wanted this place to be my dream home. Of course, the place had a good foundation, so I didn't need to intervene, but the remodeling and decoration were pretty much my doing." "It must have taken you a lot of time and money to do that..." "Well, it did take time, but I was able to turn this project into a series of videos for my youtube and monetize it from ads." "It is incredible. You are quite good at this, I should hire you to do mine..." He chuckles softly. "Thank you. So, would you like some wine with the snacks? I have white and red." I ask him. "Red is fine. Seriously, you should consider doing this professionally. You have a great talent." "I don't think it would work." "Why? Your house is the best advertisement." "I mean... It was my dream house. I have been imagining it and planning it for as long as I can remember. I don't think it would be the same, doing this for someone else." I explain, reaching for the glasses in my cabinet. "I guess you are right." "So, I have prepared a few canapes to pair with our wine. And I have made roast chicken with a side of stuffing. And for dessert, I bought this amazing Sticky Toffee Truffle. I hope you like the menu." I list, handing him a glass of wine. "It sounds lovely. The fact that you even invited me is enough. What would you have cooked if I hadn't come?" He asks me. "Pretty much the same, then I would eat leftovers until New Year's day." I giggle, clinging my glass with his. "Thank you again for inviting me." "I hope next year you spend Christmas with your family, the way you like it." I smile at him, taking a sip from my wine.

My phone rings, startling me awake from my mid-day nap. I grab it from the coffee table, rubbing my eyes to wake myself up. "Hello?" I ask as I pick it up. "Hi, (Y/N)... It's Calum." "Hey, Calum. What's up?" I ask, stretching my body as I stand up from the couch. "Are you ok? You sound a bit weird..." "I just woke up. I am fine." "Oh shit... I am sorry I woke you up." "It is fine, don't worry. What's up?" "I wanted to invite you to join me at a New Year's Day party I am going to. Well, starts New Year's Eve, but you get it." "Oh, that is lovely. But I already got plans. I am sorry. Raincheck?" "Do you really have plans or you are afraid you are not going to have a safety net?" He asks me with a soft chuckle. "No, I really have plans. My friend is throwing this fancy dinner party for New Year's Eve. Thank you for inviting me, though. I love that you thought of me." I coo, smiling to myself as I hear him chuckle. "How are you spending New Year's Day?" He asks me. "Same as I would have spent Christmas Day if you hadn't come over." "Then you should come over with me. Ashton is hosting a lunch, and I would love if you were my plus one." "I don't want to impose..." "No, no, you are very welcome. I am sure Ashton will be delighted." "If you are doing this to repay me for Christmas day..." "I am doing this because I like your company, and I want you on the New Year's table. Now, do you want me to come pick you up?" He asks me. His tone sounds overconfident, which leaves me no room to dispute him; either way, I have nothing better to do on New Year's Day. "I can come over by myself. Thank you for inviting me, I am sure it will be lovely." "You are very welcome. See you next year I guess." He cheers, causing me to giggle softly. "See you next year, Calum." I have this stupid smirk on my face as I hang up the phone, which I honestly cannot explain. I lean my head against the back of my couch, thinking of what I should wear for lunch.

(Calum's POV) "Are you sure you don't mind (Y/N) coming over today?" I ask Ashton as I help him set the table. "For the millionth time, I don't. I am happy to have her over. You two seem to get along really well." He states, cocking an eyebrow at me. "Yeah, she is a great person, very talented, very passionate, very kind." "Yeah, yeah... She is all that. And then some..." Ashton chuckles. "What do you mean?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows together as I look for an explanation. "I mean that it is obvious that you like her." "What? No." I scoff. "Come on, dude. You kept looking over at her during the shoot, then you disappeared from my party to hang out with her, you spend Christmas day with her, then you invite her to the party you didn't even want to go to, and now you invite her over to spend New Year's day with us. You keep finding excuses to see her, it is adorable." He looks at me with a bright glance, making me sigh. "Well..." "Well, what? As far as I know, she is single, right?" He asks. "Yeah, she is... You know she is trans, right?" I ask him, looking at my hands as I fidget with my thumbs. "I know. She never kept it a secret." "I mean... I don't know. Fuck, Ashton, this is frustrating. I don't know what to do." I admit, sighing deeply. He stays quiet for a moment. "Look, man... She is a gorgeous woman, there is obvious chemistry between you two. You really like her, I think she does too. I don't know why you are holding back from admitting it, or what mental boundary you are having, but you have to take a step back and deal with your feelings and thoughts. There is not much advice I can give you, but I can tell you the more you try to bury it, the worse it will get." He shrugs his shoulders, making me nod at him. I pick up a pair of glasses, placing them by the plates.

"Look who I found outside..." KayKay cheers as she unlocks the door and enters the house, accompanied by (Y/N). "What were you doing outside?" Ashton asks, walking towards her with open arms. "I was about to ring the bell. Happy New Year." (Y/N) cheers, hugging Ashton while she smiles. "Happy New Year. I hope 2019 brings you all the best." Ashton replies, letting go of her. "I brought some wine and a dessert. I got chocolate eclairs... Get it?" She laughs softly, handing the bags to Ashton, who laughs, throwing his head back. "Of course. You didn't have to bring anything, but thank you. Calum, would you like to show our guest where to put the things she brought?" Ashton turns to me. I sigh and roll my eyes at him; he could not have been more obvious. "Sure. Come on, (Y/N)." I smile at her, motioning to follow me. I take her to the kitchen, where she places the bags on top of the island. "Happy New Year, Calum. We didn't have the chance to wish each other." (Y/N) states, smiling at me. "Yeah, we didn't. Happy New Year." I hug her; she smells amazing, I cannot help but take in her scent. "Thank you for inviting me over. I really don't know if I wanted to be alone today." She mumbles. "You are very welcome. You are gorgeous today." I compliment her, taking a step back to let her image sink in. "Thank you. I didn't know what the dress code was for the day." She laughs softly, making her whole face light up. "It is fine, you look perfect." I reply, picking up the bottle of wine to put it in the fridge along with the box of chocolate eclairs. "Thank you. You don't look bad yourself either..." "Well, thank you very much. How was the dinner party last night?" I ask her, leaning against the countertop. "It was fine, there was a lot of food, we watched the fireworks and then I slept over at my friend's. It was nothing unusual. How was the party?" "I didn't go." I shrug. "You didn't? Why?" "I spent the Eve here. I stayed the night and I am going home after lunch." I explain and she hums. "At least you weren't alone. Did you have a good time?" She asks me, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she relaxes against the counter. "I did. Nights at Ashton's place are always great." "Are you two planning to join us? We are nearly starting..." Ashton announces as he enters the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?" (Y/N) asks, moving from the way to let Ashton take the food out of the oven. "No, no... Just go wash up and take a seat at the table. Calum, will you show her to the bathroom, please?" Ashton winks at me. All I do is nod my head, gesturing for (Y/N) to follow me.

"The food was delicious. I didn't have you as much of a cook..." (Y/N) states as we all help clear the table. "Oh, you didn't? Calum, tell her about my glorious meals." Ashton elbows me playfully. "He is a freaking masterchef, there is no use in lying..." I reply, causing Ashton to smirk triumphantly. "I had to feed all those morons, they would have been dead of starvation if it wasn't for me feeding them." Ashton says cockily. "So, you are like the mother of the group... Nice." "(Y/N), would you like some coffee with your dessert?" Kaitlin asks her, and (Y/N) shakes her head no. "I actually was thinking that I imposed way too long on you and that I should actually call an Uber to go home." (Y/N) replies, making Ashton gasp. "Imposed? No, sweetheart, we want you here. You are always welcome." Ashton assures her, taking his most comforting look. "Uber? You didn't drive here?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "Yeah, I took an Uber here. I don't like driving after drinking, and I am also kinda tired from last night, so I didn't want to have to drive today." (Y/N) explains. "Stay for coffee and dessert, I will drive you home after." I almost beg her; just a little more time with her. "Are you sure? I would hate to get you out of your way." She looks at me as if she is trying to reach inside me for an honest answer. "Please, stay." I plead, smiling at her a half-smirk.

(Y/N's POV) "Can I ask you a question?" Calum asks as he drives towards my house. "Of course." "It is a bit personal..." He informs me, pausing to see if my grant is still valid. "It is fine. Just ask me whatever you want." I state, but I am actually anxious about what he is going to ask me. "How come you are single?" He asks, turning his head to look at me. I shrug my shoulders, biting the inside of my cheek. "Well, I guess it is hard for me to keep a relationship. I don't know. I haven't met anyone that was worth my time until now." I reply, dragging in a deep breath. "Why is it hard to keep a relationship?" He asks me. "You know I am trans, right?" "I do. What does it have to do with anything?" He asks me, earning a chuckle from me. "Not everyone thinks like you, Calum. So many of the guys I have gone out with freaked out the moment they found out about it. Full disclosure from the first date, so there is rarely ever a second. If they decide that dating a trans woman does not minimize their masculinity, then they start treating me like shit. They think I am lucky to even be with them. And this is where I leave them. I am a proud woman. I deserve the world, and nothing else. If being with someone means I have to put up with abusive behavior, then I'd rather be alone." I explain, turning to study his reaction. He nods his head, pressing his lips together without turning to look at me. "Why are you asking me?" I ask, staring at him and hoping he feels my gaze to shift his attention. "Well... I don't know. I guess... Fuck. I really like you. Like, really really like you, and I was just... It has nothing to do with you. In my previous relationships, I ended up hurting myself, and when I realized I started getting feelings for you, I started looking for reasons to discourage myself from admitting. I was really hoping your answer would give me some..." He chuckles, turning to look at me. I feel my face heating up and my hands are trembling as I hear him let the words out. "Me being..." I begin but he interrupts me. "It is not. I like you, you are a gorgeous woman, a very smart, passionate person, and I liked you since the moment I met you." He replies. "I don't know what to say, Cal..." "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to let it out of my chest. What you do with this information is up to you. I owe it to myself, to be honest..." He replies, focusing back on the road.

Sooner than I realized, Calum pulls up to the front of my house. I turn to look at him, finding him already staring. "Look, Calum... I really like you. Really, really like you. But I cannot risk getting hurt. I need you to take some time, think about what you want. I cannot have you looking for reasons to get out, none of us deserve that. So, take your time, talk with yourself, and if you decide that you want to..." "I did enough thinking. I like you. Once I am in, I am never out, unless you want me out. I don't have more thinking to do, I know what I want." "Are you sure about that? Think of the impact, think of what your friends are going to say..." "Screw what anyone is going to say, (Y/N)." He groans; I feel my chest heaving, warmth running down my spine. "Well, in that case... Are you going to kiss me?" I smile at him, making him chuckle. "Isn't it well overdue?" He asks, undoing his seatbelt as he leans in for a kiss.

He goes slow, taking his time to set the pace while his hands rest softly against my cheek. I am at a loss of breath; his lips are so soft and warm, and I just adore the way his fingers are slowly tracing my cheek. I cannot help but sigh into the kiss, earning a smile from Calum as he deepens it. I am without breath as we part, a need to hide my face with my hands punching me in my gut suddenly. "You have very soft lips..." Calum mumbles, smiling at me as he leans his head against the headrest of his seat. "Do I?" I ask with a grin. "Mm... And you taste so sweet..." He brushes his thumb over my cheek, causing me to bite the inside of my cheek as I feel heat crawling up my face. "Wanna come inside for a drink?" I ask him. "I do. But I have to say no. But what about you come over to my place tomorrow night? Let's have a proper first date..." "A date?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow as I look at him. "A date..." He smiles softly, leaning in for one last peck.

And with the blink of an eye, Calum and I are a thing. Calum gets in his bedroom, with just a towel fixed on his hips. I lower my glasses, letting the book I am reading on my lap. "You should really get new books..." I state, making Calum furrow his eyebrows together. "Why?" He asks me, crawling onto the bed and sitting by my side. He leaves a soft peck on my shoulder, making me giggle from the tickling his stubble causes to my skin. "I have read all of the books beside your bed..." I sigh and he gasps. "Already?" "You keep me waiting for way too long, I have to entertain myself somehow..." I pout my bottom lip, earning a coo from Calum. "I should be ashamed of keeping you waiting..." He mumbles, cupping my chin as he looks at me with his infamous gaze. "You should..." I mumble, seconds before I am found on my back, pinned on the mattress with Calum hovering over me. The brotherhood necklace sways in front of my face as Calum supports his weight on his elbows. He leans in to kiss me, placing his hands on my hips to make sure I won't squirm underneath him. "You smell so good." I moan as his lips leave mine and focus on my neck. "I do?" He asks hazily. "So good." I whine, tangling my fingers into his hair. "You are going to pull my hair, baby?" He teases me; the soft silver locks have given place to a short buzz, much to my dismay. He knows I love pulling on his hair when he is inside me, he knows I love to stroke it slowly as we cuddle on the couch, and now he is taking revenge on me, depriving me of the thing I love. Of course, he says he only cut it because bleaching has made his hair weak... "I would if you weren't bald..." I jab at him, earning a laugh. "You are in love with a bald man..." He kisses the spot connecting my jaw to my ear, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps. "Who told you I am in love with you..." I ask, but the breakage of my voice disallows me to mask the playfulness. "I know, you hate me..." He shakes his head, resting his hand on my thigh. I move the dangling necklace so it rests on his back before my hand grazes his face softly.

Before anything, Calum's phone rings, making Calum sigh in frustration. "I'll be right back..." He huffs, moving to the bedside table to pick up his phone, but only leaving it back on the furniture once he takes a look at the caller ID. "Aren't you going to answer that?" I ask and he shakes his head no. "It's the management. They have been busting my balls all week..." "About what?" I ask him. "We have this red carpet event. The guys want to bring their girlfriends, and management has been trying to get me to agree to go to the event with this new artist they have signed... You know, stupid PR stunt." He huffs, plopping back on top of the bed. I press my lips together, staring at him with tension as I try to understand why the fuck he didn't even think of suggesting I go to the show with him. I get up from the bed, grabbing my clothes from the armchair across from it. "What are you doing?" He asks as I slip off my nightgown. "I am getting dressed." I reply, keeping straight eye contact with him. "Why?" He asks in confusion. "I am going home." "I thought you were staying the night..." "I was. But now I want to go home." "Why?" He asks, knitting his eyebrows together as he tries to understand what is going on. "Because I don't want to be here anymore." "Did I do something?" "Yes, you did..." "What did I do?" He asks, standing up from the bed to walk closer to me. He is confused but seems to be really caring right now. "Are you ashamed of me, Cal?" I ask, slipping into my jeans. "What are you talking about?" "I am going to ask you again. Are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed you are dating a trans woman?" I ask him, staring straight into his eyes. "Of course not. What has gotten into you?" He asks me, taking a step forward and placing his hand on my shoulder. I dodge him, moving aside to distance myself from him. "(Y/N), what is the matter?" "I don't know, Calum. Look at your friends... They want to bring their girlfriends to the event. I wonder why you haven't thought of doing the same." I finish dressing up, pushing him aside to walk out of the room.

A day goes by and I have no news from Calum, not a call, nor a text. I lie to myself, saying that it is fine, but it really isn't. I cannot bear the thought I spent six months of my life falling for someone who is not proud to be with me. I take my grilled cheese out of my grill, cutting it in half before hopping on top of one of the stools. Before I could take a bite my doorbell rings. I know it is Calum, I just know it. I leave my plate on the island, standing up and walking to my door. I take a quick look at the entrance camera, just to make sure it is him. I buzz him in, not taking my eyes off the screen as he gets inside. Calum is behind my door in record time, knocking on it softly. I waste no time opening the door, gesturing for him to get in. "Hi." I greet him. "Hi. Is it a bad time?" He asks me, scratching the back of his neck. "No, I was having dinner. Come on..." I motion towards the kitchen, followed by a quiet Calum. "Can I offer you something? I made myself a grilled cheese, would you like to split?" I ask him, taking a sit on my stool. Calum does the same, sitting across from me. "No, thank you. You forgot your phone yesterday, you left in a rush." He reaches inside his pocket, taking my phone out and sliding it across the marble top. "Thanks. I didn't realize I forgot my phone." "I tried calling you in the morning, of course, no answer, and I thought you were mad at me." He rests his hands on the counter, looking at me as if he is trying to read me. "You weren't wrong. I was mad." I reply, looking at my plate, suddenly losing my appetite. "Are you still?" He asks me, his slight lisp coming out; he only gets that when he is upset, or stressed, so I get why it appeared now. "Kinda. I am more disappointed than angry, to be honest." I admit. Calum sighs, running his hand over his face. "We had a meeting today with management. I told them I will not be having anyone else but my girlfriend at the show. That's it if you want to come with me." "What if I am not coming with you?" "Then I will be going alone. I don't want anyone else with me." He smiles softly reaching to stroke his thumb over my hand. "I guess you will be going alone, then." I reply; I am careful with my voice, not raising it a bit. This isn't an angry response, nor a payback. "(Y/N), please..." "No, Calum. I don't want you taking me along just because I asked for it. Nor as a compromise. You didn't want me with you in the first place, so I am not coming." I reply. Calum looks at the ceiling, taking in a deep breath. "There is a reason I didn't..." He begins. "Yeah, I know. Calum, I am a proud woman. I told you that from the very beginning. I want someone who will be proud of me. I want someone who will love me enough to take me places. I offered you time when you told me you like me. And you said you don't need any. Now what, Calum?" "The reason I didn't think of taking you with me is because I don't want people messing up with my personal life. There is a reason why there are only rumors about my exes. I don't want people to lose sight of what I am doing with my music. I don't want to minimize what we have to some yellow-page article about cheating rumors." "Why are you inviting me now, then?" "Because I love you. And I know this is important for you. And I want to make you happy." I stay quiet for a moment, letting everything sink in. "Look, the show is in 2 weeks. Take your time, no pressure." He breaks the silence, picking the invitation out of his pocket. "I don't want us to break up over this..." "I don't want us either." I sigh. "I think we need a break..." I admit, looking at my fingers to avoid Calum's gaze. "Are you breaking up with me?" He asks me, sounding shocked over my suggestion. "No. Of course not, Calum. I am leaving for New York in a couple of days, for the Savage x Fenty and the Fenty Beauty promo shoot. I think we should use the time apart to reflect. Again, I am giving you time to think about what our relationship means to you, and how being with me affects you. But this time, I am taking time myself to do the same." I explain, placing my hand on top of his. "I don't have anything to think of." He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You do. And I do too. And this trip is what we need after this..." I assure him. "(Y/N), I love you..." He looks me in the eye, softening his face. "I know, Calum. And I love you too." "A break doesn't mean we are breaking up..." Calum utters, nodding his head as he finally gives up. "It doesn't." I nod my head, smiling at him; my smile is not a happy one, it is covered with my sorrow, a sorrow that comes from knowing that nothing will be the same between us. Calum stands up, walking around the island slowly. He leans down, planting a kiss on my forehead. "I will see you after New York..." He mutters and I nod. "Yeah." "We can still call each other during the break, right?" He asks me. "Of course. This isn't goodbye, Calum." "This isn't goodbye." He repeats.

(Calum's POV) "Any news from (Y/N)?" Ashton asks as he helps me with the cufflinks of the shirt. "She is fine, working lots in New York. We haven't spoken in days." I sigh, tilting my head back. "When is she coming home?" He asks me. "I wish I knew. I feel like I am losing her, Ash... Stupid, stupid me..." I press my palm against my head, a headache already forming between my eyes. "No, Calum. I am sure everything will be alright. When she gets back home, you will sit down and have a talk, and you will figure things out. But you should really stop worrying for now. It is doing you no good..." He pats my back softly. "I guess you are right." I sigh, picking up my jacket. "Are you sure you will be fine walking the carpet alone? You are always welcome to join me and Kaitlin." He offers but I shake my head. "I told (Y/N) I wouldn't be walking the carpet with anyone else but her, and I plan on keeping that promise." I assure him.

I am the last of my group to walk the carpet, leaving the couples to have the spotlight on them for a while. My stomach is tied in a knot and I cannot help but feel alone tonight. I hoped, I truly hoped she would show up to my hotel room, knock on my door and tell me she is here, but it never happened, so the emptiness inside me grows. I smile at the cameras flashing, waving politely towards a couple of people trying to get my attention. I move forward, hoping this walk of flashes is nearing an end soon. I cannot wait to go inside and scowl all I want, without fear of it being captured by the stupid press at the event. I feel a tap on my shoulder, making me turn around in a snap. It's her. She is here. She is looking at me as she waits to see my response, but I am frozen on my spot, my heartbeat ringing in my ears. "Hi." She says, her glare changing to a worried one as it has taken me way too long to respond. I hug her to my chest, tightening my arms around her to fully feel her against my body. "What are you doing here?" I ask, resting my chin on top of her head. "You said you would walk the carpet alone if I didn't come. I didn't want you being through this alone, I know you are not very comfortable with red carpet events." She mumbles, tilting her head back to look at me. "I missed you." "I missed you too." She admits, smiling at me. My headache is gone and my body feels warm as I look at her, flesh and bones before me. "Please, don't leave me alone again..." I plead and she nods her head. "I am not planning to." She assures me. I place my arm on her waist, pulling her to my body before I lean in to kiss her. I have missed her taste and her soft lips, and the way she feels against me, and how softly she kisses me back. Oh, I have missed her. "There will be pictures of us kissing everywhere..." She giggles as we part, hiding her face in her hands. "I guess there will be." I plant a kiss on her forehead, placing my hand on the small of her back to guide her further down the red carpet.

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vodkassassin · 3 years

Text

of skin and masterpieces

—

Peak Lord Shang is an old client of hers, one that San Xiu has worked with many times over the years — decades, actually.

One would not typically credit her to be among the population of immortal masters or long-lived practitioners of cultivation, simply because she isn’t actually a cultivator. And yet, San Xiu is going into her eighty-ninth year of life, still looking as if she’s only in her late twenties. Peak Lord Shang likes to comment dramatically on this, always telling her how she ages just like the finest of wines.

He always has been her favorite customer. And not just because of the flattery (Though, it does get him anywhere. And he knows it, too).

San Xiu is an artist, see. She knows what to look for to find the beauty in anything. Even in people. San Xiu knows a true masterpiece when she sees one. She knows what would make a perfect canvas for the most breathtaking paintings to ever grace the land, and she is unique about it, too.

San Xiu likes to be original. Her canvases come from what nature blesses her with, be it a full-scale landscape carved into the leftover healthy bark of a tree far past it’s lifetime, artful pastels glazed into ceramic baked from the clay straight out of the local riverbed, or even the soft and unblemished skin of one of the most powerful men this side of China.

That’s right. San Xiu considers Peak Lord Shang Qinghua to be her greatest masterpiece, of all the work of her entire career. He is exquisite, beautiful, miles and miles of soft and perfect canvas for her ink and her needles to paint all of her very best work into.

Peak Lord Shang Qinghua had come into San Xiu’s life when she was still only a teenager, just starting out in her chosen craft. Her parents had raised her correctly for a young miss, strictly tested on etiquette and drilled in the practices of the Six Arts. San Xiu had taken a liking to painting, when it had been shown to her as a little girl, and she had made it her own dream.

Her parents were proud of their daughter, a skilled artist. They might have been a little less proud and more scandalized, had they ever found out that San Xiu’s favorite canvas was the bare skin of a man.

Tattoos are a very contemporary art, viewed as lesser than painting and other mediums by some simply because they are only as long lived as the person they’re inked into, gone whenever the canvas dies. It’s one of the reasons why tattoo art isn’t taken as seriously. Another reason is because it is often very personal to the person whose skin bears it. In polite society, it’s not as if a person can take off their robes just to show off their tattoos. That would be such a scandal. Which is why, most of the time, paintings of the skin are not seen by anyone other than the artist and the canvas.

Not many artists tend to delve into tattooing for this very reason. Aside from the fact that it is far, far more difficult to master, mistakes cannot be discarded for a fresh canvas to try again. It is the medium of a perfectionist.

San Xiu had first encountered tattooing in an admittedly less-than savory establishment. An artist, she can’t remember the name of him now, had a parlour out of the back of a brothel. She honestly wouldn’t have been there in the first place, had she not heard the rumors and developed the gut feeling that she just had to track this artist down and see what exactly their work entailed.

She packed a few examples of her own work, rolled canvases slid into oiled tubes of leather that she strung over her back, and journeyed off into the night when her parents were occupied with some banquet or other that a lord a few towns over had been hosting.

That’s where she had first met Peak Lord Shang Qinghua.

He hadn’t been a peak lord then, not yet. He was, however, head disciple of a Cang Qiong Mountain Peak, which was already incredibly impressive. San Xiu can recall experiencing unfathomable awe and, even to this day, she had never really gotten over the feeling.

Truth to be told, Lord Shang’s power and standing wasn’t the only reason fifteen year old San Xiu had been so taken and impressed with him. It wasn’t even the biggest reason. No, the reason that Lord Shang had captured San Xiu’s attention, and had never lost it even in the decades after —

He's a masterpiece. Not even San Xiu’s, but a naturally occurring work of art. He’d been radiant and alluring even before San Xiu had ever dreamed of being allowed to put her hands on him.

She’d met him, head disciple Shang Fei, who would later become the much-lauded Master of Cang Qiong’s very own An Ding Peak, in an admittedly very shady tattoo artist’s workshop in the back of a brothel.

The artist had become jaded due to years of unappreciation for their art. It’s the biggest fear of any artist come to life. He had been on his last legs of his profession, all passion drained from him until he was sallow and indifferent to the world. He hadn’t even been interested in meeting with her, something that would have likely crushed a young San Xiu’s spirits by a significant amount if her fate hadn’t been written to lead someone else to her that night.

Shang Fei had held a faint look of disappointment on his face when she first saw him, stepping half into the door of the workshop. She had watched him as he surveyed the room and immediately seemed to realize that this wasn’t what he was looking for. She’d felt the same, herself, but had been struck speechless by the wave of sunset gold that tumbled down his back, shining a russet gold in the warm light of the fire lamps of the parlour. The top twirled neatly into a bun at the crown of his head, held together by two needles that gleamed their sharp danger when he tilted his face downward. The arch of his brow captivated her, the line of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the fold of his nondescript and yet obviously high-quality robes—

He’d looked like a painting of the most revered masters, come to life.

San Xiu knew instantly that she had to speak with him. He was a masterpiece, of the kind that an artist would spend their entire life in search of, and in that moment her most ardent wish was to show him her own. To have him gaze upon her paintings and give his verdict, one work of art judging his own kind.

It had been embarrassing in hindsight, but she’d stumbled up to him and asked if he’d go to a tea shop with her.

However mortifying her actions were, she is eternally glad that she had committed them.

Shang Fei had been so very taken with her paintings, perhaps just as taken as San Xiu was with his everything. He’d bought one off of her then and there, and they had spent three hours drinking tea in companionable conversation when he’d finally asked her what, exactly, she’d been doing in the back of the brothel.

Despite never having received the chance to interrogate the tattoo artist on his craft, San Xiu had still been able to catch a glimpse of his works, sitting sketched out and planned on his work table, and pinned to the walls of the shop. The gorgeous twists of the designs, the very real and tangible proof of a living art right in front of her — it had sparked a hunger in the center of San Xiu’s very being. So she told Shang Fei, she had approached the tattoo parlour because she wanted to join the practice herself.

Gods forbid her parents ever finding out.

Luckily, they never did.

Shang Fei had been even more interested in this bit of information than he had even over the painting he’d purchased. He’d told her she had a gift. That she had talent. That, if she learned the right methods and had the right materials and opportunities, he knew that she could become the best.

Such flattery, even back then. Lord Shang is a master of it. San Xiu still blushes, faintly, when she thinks of that night in the tea shop.

That might be, of course, because of the next thing that Shang Fei had said to her. He had reached across the table, taken her hand in his, looked her in the eye, and offered his body to her with all the seriousness of a man proposing marriage.

Oh, San Xiu had nearly died that night.

Shang Fei himself had seemed to immediately realize, as well, that his words could possibly be misconstrued. He’d turned a little pink in the face, a lovely color splashing lightly over his cheeks, and had quickly amended his offer, saying that he would make a good canvas for San Xiu to practice on until she masters the skills she yearns for.

Shang Fei, he said, was a cultivator well beyond his core formation. Any mistakes she made, he could remove himself and heal over so that it was like they’d never even existed.

And then, he said, “Wouldn’t it make it easier, if you knew some cultivation yourself?”

San Xiu had left for home again in the very early morning, a permanent correspondence address for An Ding peak tucked privately away into her robes, and head held high in excitement as the very first disciple of Peak Lord Shang Qinghua.

Of course, seeing as how he wasn’t actually Peak Lord yet, or even Qinghua, no one could ever know.

That was fine with San Xiu. She had no interest in joining a sect and training for a soulsword.

She is an artist.

Years have passed, rolling into decades. Shang Fei met her secretly, in the time between his duties as head disciple — and other obligations over which he was much more secretive about — as if it were some sort of affair, and San Xiu would work on his skin.

He’d been correct. He was the perfect canvas. Soft, supple, clear and pale. A pure expanse of unblemished emptiness for her to practice on. And, one day, she was promised the sole right to permanently leave her mark on that canvas, as soon as her skills met both of their standards.

By the time Shang Qinghua ascended into his position as Peak Lord, San Xiu met that standard. In celebration for both their achievements, Shang Fei (now Qinghua) and San Xiu had sat down together and planned out the first of San Xiu’s best works.

It winds gorgeously around his forearm, a beautiful Phoenix of gold and red pigments, of which she’d likely never have been able to acquire if not for Shang Qinghua’s benefaction. It’s wings bound to its body by a thorny vine, a rose clutched in its talons, tail feathers curled elegantly to end on the back of his hand. She has never been more proud of anything else in her life.

Decades followed, new masterpieces joining the phoenix on Peak Lord Shang’s flesh. Each and every one turns out breathtakingly gorgeous, almost as if they are made twice more beautiful than they would have otherwise, just for his skin being their canvas. As if Shang Qinghua blesses them, being a natural vision of true art himself, and makes it more.

San Xiu is an artist. And Shang Qinghua is her most beloved life’s work.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #scum villain's self saving system #airplane bro #airplane shooting toward the sky #outsider POV #tattoos #tattoo artist #vodkassassin fanfiction

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arahul-abyssia · 3 years

Text

Festive

Writing number 4 for Nintember (@starprincesshlc , @jklantern )! To hopefully escape the pit of Emotions™ that was the first three stories, here's some hopefully much much much lighter, more slice-of-life-ish fare.

This does correspond to prompts 16-20, but I got caught up in Real Life for a while, so it's going up mega-late, and also it's kinda... abridged from its original concept, and less polished. 'Tis the way the cookie hath crumbled this year...

~~ Horse, Color, Hats, World, Music ~~

Layna awoke to a loud and repetitive hooting in her ear. She blearily turned her head to the side to find a pair of black-framed bright red eyes staring at her with interest. It took several moments of staring before she was mentally present enough to avert her gaze, sit up, and look out the window at the horizon. As she had expected, the sun had only barely risen fully above it.

She turned back to her greeter. “Relos! How many times do I have to tell you not to wake me up?”

Relos merely, and quite literally, hooted with laughter and flew off out of her room. Layna knew it was futile to keep telling him not to wake her, not because of any obligation or the masterful internal clock of his, but because he knew she didn’t like it and he was a mischief-mongering imp.

Normally, she’d roll over and try to get a few more minutes of sleep, but that day was the first of one of the best weeks of the entire year, and she didn’t want to miss a single moment. She quickly pulled herself from her bed, cleaned and dressed herself, grabbed the pack she had prepared the night before, and hurried downstairs, hoping to get through the delightfully aromatic kitchen and out the door before--

“Aaaalwaaaalrwaaa!”

Standing between Layna and the door was the soft pink-and-cream form of Infra, who was gazing up at her with strikingly accusatory eyes, her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Infra, I know I haven’t eaten.”

“Laaalruuwaar!”

“It’s the first day of the festival and I want to do as much as I can! I’ll get something from one of the vendors.”

“Luulrwarraalyaaa!”

“Ugh…! Fine, if it’ll make you happy.”

Begrudgingly, she returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, as Infra went to the stove, gingerly placed an assortment of breakfast foods onto a plate, and set it before Layna, smiling at her with fairy-pink eyes that had nary a semblance of her previous visage. Unlike the rest of Pokémon in her family’s home, who were all quite content to leave the human part of the family to do as they pleased, the Audino practically operated like another mother to her, as if she needed a third one on top of her human two (who also were often subject to Infra’s mothering). Somehow, she had learned how to do a whole plethora of human home tasks and chores, and she never let Layna leave home in the morning without ensuring that she’d eaten. An outside observer might wonder why a Pokémon was apparently her morning caretaker, and not either or both of her mothers, but with both of them having jobs that began long before dawn, it was simply how things were in their house.

She had to admit that Infra was a surprisingly good cook. This evaluation, however, was not based upon the food that she was at that moment rapidly stuffing into her mouth, but rather upon the numerous meals from days where she wasn’t dead-set on going elsewhere as soon as possible. That morning’s breakfast, while certainly of Infra’s normal calibre, was given no time to rest upon Layna’s taste buds, and may as well have been tasteless for all she cared.

As soon as the last bite of egg left her fork, she jumped to her feet, practically threw the plate and silverware into the sink, and darted for the door, calling out as she left, “‘Kthankyoubyyyyeeeeee!”

Infra was not impressed with her, as projectile kitchenware was dangerous and eating that quickly would likely give her a stomachache, but she’d have time later to worry about such things. Her next task was to prepare food for the rest of the Pokémon scattered about the house, who all were beginning to come to consciousness, probably due to the clatter of cutlery, and she set about with the same dutifulness and joy she always did.

Layna, of course, hadn’t even a single neuron focused upon Infra’s judgment, as she was far more concerned with sprinting down a steep road with wanton abandon, the countless colors and lights and tents and tarps of the festival visible in the distance. It had already entered full swing, always beginning with the dawn, and she wanted to explore as much as she could. She had considered bringing along some of the Pokémon, but not long later decided to bring them along later in the day instead. She did not know why she made this decision, nor did she care.

The streets that had been blocked off for the festival were already bustling with people and Pokémon alike, almost each and every one nearly as energized as Layna was. She promptly began to wander the streets, turning and spinning and looking about enough that she ought to have made herself sick, but this had not lasted for even five minutes before she was drawn to a larger vendor stall by an overpowering floral and fruity aroma.

As should be expected, an impossibly wide variety of flowers and fruits were on display, some having been made presentory and others still being attached to their plants, with countless more options upon the boards hanging from the awning.

“Well, hello there, young miss!” said one of the farmers behind the stand. “How can we help ya?”

“Oh, I’m just looking right now, sir.” She paused a moment, then was overtaken by a rather sudden curiosity. “There are so many flowers and berries here, how do you manage to pick and move them all?”

The farmer chuckled. “We have a lot of help, ‘specially around this time of year. Lot of it comes from extra hands, but it would still be impossible without the help of all our Pokémon, like ol’ Sitrus here.”

At this, he gestured to a Mudsdale beside him, which Layna had somehow managed to miss entirely.

“She’s lovely! And so… big…! I’ll bet she must be really strong, too!”

“More ‘n any of us could’ve expected! And she’s friendly, too; wanna pet her?”

Layna’s eyes immediately lit up. “Would I?!! I mean, uh, if she’ll let me…!”

The farmer laughed and brought the horse forward, and Layna tentatively reached up and placed a hand on her face. Sitrus took a moment to consider her latest contact, then, judging her satisfactory in that esoteric way few can ever decipher, leaned in to her touch. She giggled and stroked her a few times more, noting her fur’s strange combination of roughness and softness, before pulling her hand away. Sitrus, in turn, snorted a puff of hot air at Layna’s face before backing into the shade again.

“Aw, that means she likes you! Well, let me or any one of us know if ya want anything.”

“Will do, thank you!” Layna had no intention to buy anything at that time, not when there were countless other things to do and find and see at the festival. She proceeded to bury her face in several of the flowers around the stall, enveloping herself in their different, yet undeniably pleasant, scents, before scampering off to find some other point of interest.

She could have easily checked the maps of the festival area, which were scattered on boards and holographic signs all about the city and even available online, but this sounded boring and unfun, so she did not. Upon her winding, meandering, unfocused path through the streets were innumerable stalls and stands and attractions to take note of--more fruits and vegetables, tickets to special shows on later days, a ferris wheel to ride with someone else later, foreign cuisine and sweets--but it was not until she overheard the faint but unmistakable sound of music that she was drawn in once again.

Upon the boardwalk was a small stage with a frighteningly energetic group of musicians, surrounded by an even more enthusiastic crowd. They seemed to be in the middle of a rendition of a song Layna heard on the radio nearly every day, an anthem for Trainers detailing their goal to “Catch ‘em All.” She never saw the appeal--both of the song and of the objective--but it apparently spoke quite well to most others.

As they finished their performance--and on a much more somber note than the original song did--their main singer pulled the microphone from its stand and began pacing the stage. “I hope you folks are enjoying the show! Now, however, I’d like to take a break from the hype, and sing something a bit slower, something that’s… rather close to my heart.”

Layna watched as a Toxtricity--which had evidently been playing with the rest of the band, but which, just like the Mudsdale, she had failed at first to notice--stepped forward and began playing a slow guitar piece. The lead singer waited a moment, then began to sing a ballad in a tongue Layna could not understand. It was one she was certain she had heard before, but could not manage to identify it any way beyond that it was not the common tongue known by almost everyone across the world.

She tried to stay and listen, but immediately found that, beautiful though his singing was, she was not in the mood for slow music. Along with a small chunk of the band’s crowd, she turned and left, and returned to her aimless wandering and exploration.

Eventually, she found herself in a quarter rife with food vendors, most of whom had one or two individuals calling out and offering free samples. By the smells and descriptions alone, she was greatly tempted to take every single one she could. Of course, her mothers would likely have tried to limit how many she took so that she wouldn’t spoil her appetite for lunch, and Infra would surely have balked at the notion for the same reasons; also, most of the food in the area was rather far from being healthy. Indeed, she had significant reason to not do what she wanted to do.

However, none of those individuals were here to remind her, and as it turned out, the aromas were very persuasive. Layna marched forward and nabbed every sample in sight, only barely stopping to enjoy them before moving on to the next, and only doing so because of the crowds and lines slowing her down.

Her frenzy ended not fifteen minutes later, and as she looked about to find her next target of interest, she realized she had wound up on the very same street she had started on. Obviously, this would not do, as there were so many other, more interesting circles to walk in the festival’s streets.

However, with home being so near once again, she had half a mind to return to grab something to combat the rapidly rising sun, whose rays were just beginning to take too much precedence over the comfortable morning breeze…

“Twee-tweeoo-twrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Or maybe I won’t have to after all!

A black-and-brown blur was barrelling toward her from the sky, making a frankly obscene level of noise. She stood firm and faced it, staring unblinking at the rapidly encroaching avian, before ducking at a perfect, precise, and repeatedly practiced moment. Like clockwork, Layna’s vision was shaded by an off-kilter hat (which she quickly adjusted), and the feathery form of a Taillow alighted upon her shoulder, whose face she began to delicately stroke.

“Thank you for bringing me my hat, Lond! Wherever would I be without you?”

“Twrrrt-t-twiii!”

“Wait, no, don’t tell me: Infra wanted me to not burn in the sun and you wanted to not be stuck inside with Relos.”

“Twrr-twrr-twrr!”

“I thought so… well, now that you’re here, how about sticking with me for a bit of exploration? I’m sure there'll be plenty of stuff to try!”

Lond pretended to think for a moment, then gave another enthusiastic chirp.

Layna giggled. “In that case, we mustn’t waste any more time! Onward!”

And with no decay to her exuberance, she sprinted off into the festival once more.

#nintember #fun note: i don't really like the whole 'pokemon say their names thing' so i went with Other Sounds instead

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oohnoniall · 3 years

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The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter Three (Anastasia)

Warnings: cursing, fantasy violence, family drama

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Her head pounded from the night before. Vasily had been too drunk to stop her from getting into the spirits. Nikolai would have given her small sips from his glass throughout the night. She wouldn't have gotten nearly so messed up had that been the case. He was irresponsible but somehow, he knew what he was doing. At least, that's what Anastasia had been certain of for the majority of her life.

Her head felt as though it were filled with pounding hammers and Nikolai's favorite revolvers. Every bump of her spoon in her porridge bowl made her want to wince. The only reason she wasn't was the fact that both of her parents were at breakfast. It was such a rare occurrence that she knew something was bound to be wrong.

She and Vasily had stayed silent for a majority of the meal. Waiting for their father to say something. Anything. Anastasia thought about screaming in order to cause something to happen.

"The Fjerdan's will be sending an emissary in less than a week," her father's voice was strong, not showing a sign of last night having any effect on him.

Anastasia clutched her spoon slightly tighter.

"I suppose they're anxious to see what our Sun Summoner can do," Vasily drawled, his voice raking against her ears and making her feel sick.

The whole thing made her feel sick. She was being sold like cattle. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it either. Not even Nikolai would have been able to save her from this fate.

"Yes," Pytor nodded his head once. "They'll want to make sure your sister is a proper lady as well."

He spoke as though she was not sitting just on Vasily's left. She understood that she didn't mean nearly as much as either of the princes and yet, it still managed to hurt. She wasn't seen as anything but a hassle. Something he needed to sell off in order to rid Ravka of debt or hopefully bring more peace. Even if his own marriage had done nothing.

She tried to bite down on her anger as she focused on her breakfast. Her head was pounding too hard for her to make up some sort of melody. She was too angry to turn the beating of her heart into one of the waltzes that she adored. Her life was a game and she was not the player. That much was clear.

The side door opened nearly silently. She would not have normally heard it. The hangover had made her far too sensitive to sounds. She doubted that she would ever again drink as much as she had the night before. She had not thought it was a lot. Apparently, Anastasia had no idea how much liquor she could actually hold.

A messenger slipped into the room, rushing toward the long table as quickly as he could. Anastasia straightened in her chair, her eyes following the messenger as he made his way towards the table. Her parents had not noticed him yet. She doubted they would unless the message was for them.

The man made his way over to her. She felt as though he was moving slowly, as though his legs were encased in molasses. It was just her hope for Nikolai's letter that made her want time to move faster. For him to run forward and drop whatever note might be in his hand. She was almost angry at how long it was taking.

"Your Highness," he murmured softly to her, a slight smile gracing his lips. The smile made him look younger, the lines by his eyes seemed to disappear. "A message from your brother."

The letter seemed smaller than others she had received but she would not complain. It held his pale blue double eagle, it held that scent of sea breeze and salt. She thanked the messenger before quickly excusing herself from the meal.

Vasily said nothing, but she noticed how his grip had tightened just slightly on his butter knife. Anastasia would not pretend to know what was wrong with him, but she assumed it was jealousy. She was allowed to leave when she pleased. He wasn't. Crown Prince was a blessing and a curse it seemed.

She hurried to her rooms, nearly running down the corridors. The guards would say nothing. No one would reprimand her for not acting like a lady. Not when most of the other ladies who resided in the Great Palace were nursing hangovers or worrying about what mood the Queen would be in. She was free to run about the castle, chasing the eight-sixteenths rhythm of her heartbeat.

A guard opened the door to her chambers for her, not bothering to smile at her. She nodded her head once at him before she slipped inside.

Her rooms were the smallest of the three siblings. A large four-poster bed set in the middle of the room, a small nightstand beside it of imported cherry wood, and a matching desk on the left side of the room. Her vanity sat at the right, next to her balcony. The large window made the glass and crystals bottles sparkle and created small rainbows in the height of summer. The walls were painted a pale pink color, with Ravkan blue along the borders of the walls. She felt as though she lived in the middle of a summer day.

Anastasia did not bother to note any of her furnishings as she slid into the plush leather chair that sat at her desk. She tore open the letter, using the golden letter opener that Nikolai had given her. He had told her she needed some form of protection in her room.

He wasn't fond of trusting her safety to people he didn't know. They'd only had each other for so long that Nikolai had become a protector as much as he had been a brother. He'd kept her out of trouble while he spent his days getting into it. He kept her away from their parents as much as he could. If only to have her avoid their disappointment.

She hadn't realized how much she had needed him until he was gone.

My dearest Stacie. Her heart ached at the nickname. It had been so long since she had heard it from anyone. She could hear the low timbre of his voice, drawing out the 'sta' and ending it with the soft sound of the 'sea'. She was going to murder Nikolai when he returned. How dare he leave her to miss him.

Ketterdam is dull, the university life is not one for me. Daily, my classmates are tempted by the Barrel and I alone must stop them from giving in to the temptation. Tell mother that at the very least. She worries enough about me being gone, although I'm certain that you're having a rougher go of it. I apologize for my letters being irregular. Life has become a hassle. It seems as though fate wishes for me to suffer greatly. I wonder if I could tempt fate into giving me a break?

Anastasia rolled her eyes. Nikolai was ridiculous in front of most people. She was certain that he was at his absolute worst around her. But that had been what she needed as a child. Someone to protect her, to make her laugh. He'd always been a good big brother. He deserved more credit for it.

Giving you updates on my courtship with fate is sadly not the reason for this letter. I've heard that we have a new Saint in our home. One that summons the sun? Stacie, send word if this is true. I'd love to see the birth of a Saint with my own eyes. I've come to realize it's a remarkable affair.

Of course, that was why he had written to her. The Sun Summoner. She did not blame the girl. Nor did she even blame Nikolai. It just hurt to realize it had not been because he had missed her. Maybe the ache that she felt was not the same to him. They did not have the same bond as the Shu's kebben, but she had always thought they would at least always be together. Until she was sold off.

I'll be home soon. Vasily will have someone else to throw his anger at. We'll speak about your training too. Some of the guards have told me your aim is remarkably horrible. Really, Ana, you would embarrass me like that?

I love you, little sister,

Nikolai Lantsov.

She traced his name with her pointer finger. It had been three years since she had seen her brother. Three years of wondering if he was alright, of hoping that he would come home soon. She hated to admit that she missed him. She hated to admit she was beginning to forget what he looked like. She doubted he'd ever come home. She didn't trust the letters, didn't trust that he would find it within himself to come back.

Anastasia knew how easy it would be to leave Ravka and never return. She dreamed of it sometimes. Though it was not something she'd ever truly do. When she left Ravka, it would be to wed a man that she did not know. A man she didn't want to know.

She wiped her eyes once, the burn of fresh tears blurring her sight, before stuffing the letter into her desk. She wouldn't dare try to write a reply until her hangover had vanished. Until she was certain that she would not embarrass herself by leaving tear stains on the parchment. As far as Nikolai was aware, Anastasia had taken his absence well. She refused to tell him how alone she felt. How it seemed as though she were floating alone, in the middle of an island in the depths of the True Sea. He would have called her dramatic and then pretended that he was the only one who had any right to dramatics.

A knock on her door quickly cleared her of her thoughts while making the pounding in her head worsen. She wouldn't call for a tonic, it would only make things worse in the long run.

"Come in," her voice was soft as she fumbled for a piece of parchment and a pen. Pretending to work on her correspondence would at least give her a reason for sitting aimlessly.

Vasily strolled into her bedroom as though he was already the king of Ravka. She wondered how he could be so self-assured. It wasn't exactly something that she would ask him about. She watched as he perched on her bed, his arms casually crossed across his chest as he stared at her.

"Did our brother have anything interesting to say?" She swore venom was in his tone.

"He's curious about the Sun Summoner," Anastasia stated as she looked up at him. "And he says he'll be home soon."

"He's been telling you that for three years, Annie."

Anastasia glared at him. He knew just how much she hated that name. It made her feel as though she were a child. Someone who was reprimanded easily. "Vasily, I'd rather not talk about what Nikolai plans on doing or when he plans on returning home."

The corner of his lips twitched, as though he were about to smile but had thought better of it. Vasily often hid his smiles, unless it served a purpose. Her brother had been raised to be a man who wore many masks. It was one of the reasons why he liked cards so much. Vasily did not think Anastasia knew about his vice, but she did. She had followed him once.

Nikolai had only been gone three months at that point. She had been bored and lonely. She had seen Vasily sneaking across the grounds as though he had something scandalous to hide. She had thought that it would be worth it to share a secret with him. Maybe then they could become nearly as close as she and Nikolai.

Had it just been a girl, she would have left instantly. But no. Vasily had slipped into a Lordling's home, she had watched him from behind bushes as he played a game of cards in front of the large dining room windows. She had assumed he would go after a game, but she had given up long before he had.

Vasily had lost more money than she had ever dreamed he would that night. He had been red-faced the next morning at breakfast. Anastasia had thought it best not to tell him that she had watched him. She didn't wish to bring more shame to her oldest brother.

She'd allow him to think he kept this secret to himself. Even if she knew that others must be well aware.

"There seems to be an issue with our Sun Summoner," he admitted to her, falling back on her bed. His hands covered his face, she did not ignore how they were as soft and smooth as her own. "Not that anyone save Kirigin knows about it."

"What is it, Vas?" Anastasia hated knowing that he knew more than she did. Even if it was a common occurrence.

"Don't let father find out," it wasn't the pleading tone of a boy. It was the exasperation of a man who was tired of living in shadows. "But our Saint has disappeared. I heard two of Kirigin's men speaking about it on the way to your room. It seems last night's party brought a tracker to our midst."

She instantly thought of the guard she had not known. Nikolai Vanzin. It had felt like a false name that night. He hadn't noticed her at first. Not to mention he looked both too hard to be a guard and far too pretty. None of her father's men had looked as though they could cut a diamond with their stare nor their cheekbones. She left that to the Grisha of the Second Army.

"There was a guard last night," she spoke softly, fingers tapping on her desk as though she was gently tapping the keys of a piano. "I had never seen him before."

"How many of the guards do you know?" Vasily did not look at her as he spoke.

"All of them."

Vasily was not aware of Anastasia's training. Nikolai had told her it was a secret between the two of them and the guards. He had made damn sure those men knew what it would mean to betray their trust. It would mean losing his friendship. Nikolai was definitely the nicest of the royal family when it came to things of that nature. Not even Anastasia would have been that kind.

"You're not doing what I think, are you Annie?" Vasily pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes boring into her.

"Of course not," she gave him an annoyed glare. "I wouldn't put my marriage at risk like that. I just needed someone to talk to with Nikki gone. He likes being updated on them."

Vasily continued to stare at her, though the look was less annoyed, less ready to pounce if she was doing something she shouldn't. He looked tired. He looked hurt. She did not know why he would be. She had never been close enough to Vasily to be able to tell the reasons behind his moods. She had enough trouble figuring out Nikolai's.

"You could've talked to me," his voice was tense, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. "I'm your brother too, Annie."

"You've had more pressing matters at hand," she knew the words were not enough. She felt guilty almost. Had he been just as lonely as she and Nikolai? Had he craved a companion? He had been raised to be the King of Ravka since they were children. While she and Nikolai were running about the grounds with wooden swords, he was trapped in meetings that he did not care about.

She felt as though she should have noticed. Should have tried to bring him in on their games. Nikolai had always wanted Vasily's attention as a child. She had thought one brother was enough. Anastasia could not help but to blame herself for whatever he had gone through. She knew she wasn't at fault but that did not assuage her guilt.

"That doesn't matter," Vasily moved to stand then, wiping his palms on his pants. "Tell me about this guard you didn't know."

"He said his name was Nikolai Vanzin," she was glad for the change in topic. "He had these eyes that were like diamonds. They could kill you if he looked at you too long. Beautiful really."

She felt the flush on her cheeks before she noted the look in Vasily's eye. She couldn't tell if he was amused or if he was pissed about her description of the man. It didn't matter. She had to press on.

"Sharp features, it was very noticeable. His accent though ... It was strange. He spoke Ravkan as though he wasn't quite used to it. But I couldn't place the accent. It wasn't rough enough for Fjerda, he didn't have the complexion for Fjerda either. I don't think he was from Ravka at the very least."

"Is there anything beyond pretty eyes and a pretty face, Annie?" His eyebrow rose, watching her closely enough to cause her to grow somewhat embarrassed. She didn't know why. It wasn't like he hadn't had his own dalliances.

"I think he'd been injured at some point in time," she said, thinking back to the guard that had so amused her the night before. She wondered if he had thought of her at all that morning. Considering he was probably on the run with their Sun Summoner by now, she highly doubted it. "He walked with a limp. Otherwise, he was perfectly normal. I just ... I had assumed he'd been hired before the fete."

"I would have been told if there had been any additional security hired," he almost spat out the words. She could see that there was something brewing in his mind. A plan taking form.

She highly doubted it would be anything good.

"Did you make any sort of connection with this man?" Vasily asked as he began to pace the room. "Did he say where he was going or what he was doing there?"

"No," she sighed as she shook her head. "Vasily, I spoke with him for about two minutes before the presentation. I got his name, that was it. He said his mother thought he'd had luck being named after a prince."

"Probably a lie." Vasily stared at the same spot on the floor as he paced. She worried he would create a rut in her rug.

"I'm sure of it," she worried her lip as she began to think. Straining her memory for anything that might help. "I told him I would see him today. You could check in on the training field. Ask if anyone's seen him?"

Vasily nodded his head once as he began to leave her bedroom, his head once again up and his focus back on the world around him. He paused in her doorway, his left hand resting on the oak wood of her door frame. He lightly tapped the wood with his index finger, hesitating for a moment before turning his head to look at her.

"Stay here," he told her, his eyes searching her face. "I ... I don't want to see you getting hurt. I don't trust anything that's going on here."

It was the most brotherly he had ever seemed in her entire life. Her heart wanted to sing a ballad of sorrow at the lateness of it. She knew that nothing he said or did would stop her. Nikolai Vanzin had lied to her. He had given her a false story and had a false narrative. He could have been stopped that night. She could have been the one to stop him.

She'd been blinded by pretty eyes. A dangerous smile. She wouldn't let that happen ever again. She would find Nikolai Vanzin and discover the truth. She was unsure how she would end up finding him. She couldn't exactly use the resources at hand without alerting her brother or her parents. She had to have permission to leave the Grand Palace. She was too precious a commodity to let leave without a guard. But she would find a way.

If Nikolai had taught her one thing it was to be resourceful. She knew that finding things out would be difficult while trapped in the walls of the Grand Palace but she also knew that she had access to certain documents. She could at least find out how false the name was. How many laws this asshole had broken.

She buried down these thoughts, buried down and locked behind iron bars that would only open upon her soul singing a soft melody. Or if Nikolai showed up and just looked at her once. She had a very hard time not telling her brother anything. At least with Vasily, it was easier for her to lie.

Anastasia looked him in the eye, the portrait of a serene young woman. "I'll stay right here, Vasily," she gave him a gentle smile. "I promise."

#Kaz Brekker #kaz x oc #kaz steals an emerald #kaz brekker x oc #kaz x princess #anastasia lantsov #ana x kaz #nikolai lantsov #lantsov emerald #Vasily Lantsov #i ship them so much #mobster x princess #nikolai sister oc #are they soulmates or are they both just depressed

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Never Alone

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder) ft. The Keating 5

Warnings: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Swearing, Trauma, Description of Injury

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: While working on a particularly tough case in the ungodly hours of the night, whether it’s due to the lack of sleep or the sudden need to confide in another human being, Michaela admits some truths to the person no one would think she’d ever do so to - her rival Connor Walsh.

Requested by Anon and requested as a birthday present by another Anon. Happy birthday darling Anon! Thank you so much for giving me the honor of writing you a birthday present though I hope the short notice doesn’t affect the fic’s quality. I accept the most brutal of feedback, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy your special day! Lots of love, Vy ❤

“You know, just because you’re still awake and staring at a document doesn’t mean you have an upper hand here. Whether you’re actually reading that file is what will determine who gets the trophy, Miss Shooting Star.“ Connor Walsh waltzes into the living room turned office of the Keating home, looking and sounding a little too refreshed for someone who has had the same amount of sleep as everyone else of the K5 - minimal. Yet, unlike his teammates, he’s still perfectly functioning, talkative and looking forward to being productive without accidentally falling off a chair after being consumed by the slumber his body is probably dying for. It probably has something to do with that cup of coffee in his hand - his tenth one today, if Michaela’s counted correctly.

“Call me that again and I’ll shoot the damn trophy at your forehead.“ Michaela hisses back at him, tired, stinging and bloodshot eyes never leaving the piece of paper she’s been holding, reading and re-reading for the past twenty minutes, never really managing to grasp the words written on it.

“Good luck taking it from Asher. The Douche has fallen asleep with it in his arms.“ Connor sinks down in one of the armchairs, leisurely picking up one of the files laid out on the coffee table, looking at it with little interest.

This time Michaela’s gaze does indeed leave the paper so it can land on her rival, as she raises an eyebrow that somewhere between shocked and offended, “That asshole’s asleep?”

“He’s not the only one.“ It’s Connor’s turn to not spare her a look while answering, “Him and Wes are as good as dead on the kitchen island. Laurel and Frank are most likely awake, but also most likely not working on the case. Well, not this case, that’s for sure.“ He chuckles at his own joke, seeing as how his correspondent found no humor in it, “So, it’s down to you and me and Bonnie if she throws us a bone, which I doubt she will.“

Annalise was very clear with what she had said. Speaking the whole truth here, the five college students weren’t really paying attention until they heard that very strictly spoken phrase: “No one leaves here until someone finds something. Anything” aka the last phrase their professor had graced them with before walking out to go meet someone important for the night. She had every right to be strict and maybe even a bit cruel to them after they all had been exhibiting typical brat behavior throughout the day. To make matters worse and the job even tougher, Annalise had instructed Frank and Bonnie to go home so the kids would really be left to their own devices. Bonnie had had enough so no amount of begging her was gonna get her to stay - it’s also been proven that no amount of voicemails are gonna get her to come back either - but Frank, solely because of Laurel, stuck around and has so far not proved to be any kind of extra help - the polar opposite, in fact, he’s been distracting them all with jokes and snide comments at how incompetent they all are. Now if that wasn’t the most hypocritical thing.

“If the pressure wasn’t on already, I’d like to remind you we have...“ Connor turns his hand over, checking his wristwatch, “less than four hours until we have to show our not-showered, sleep deprived asses in court.“

Michaela groans, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was actually glad to have an overnight task, something that wouldn’t allow her to go home, but this is beginning to be too much. What others would call ‘home’ Michaela refers to as or ‘hell’. It was place she called ‘home’ at one point too, but it wasn’t long before things started going south. And by ‘south’ I mean horribly wrong and toxic. The man she thought she’d one day call fiancée and then husband has now become a monster from her worst nightmares. Having grown up in an abusive household, Michaela had always dreamed of finding a place for herself, a place she’d feel safe in. With a person who’d love her unconditionally and provide her the security she lacked growing up. And that’s what she thought she saw in Miles. She wasn’t wrong for the first few months, the fucker was good at putting up a front, putting on a show for everyone to build a positive opinion of such a disgusting human being.

The mask started falling apart shortly after Michaela moved in with him. She didn’t accept his offer without any thought, quite the contrary actually - she pondered it for a week and a half, her heart taking the win in the end. Well, her heart may have won that time but it is now in pieces. Her eyes have never cried so many tears and her skin has never bled nor been bruised so badly before. She feels broken, alone, betrayed, hurt. She feels all she felt every time she got hit as a kid. She feels like the whole world has equipped knives and guns, each with her name on them, ready to put her through torture.

And she’s got no one to tell, because no one will know what to say back. For some reason, when people are speechless they tend to say the dumbest, most hurtful crap without realizing. Hearing that on numerous occasions before, she knows what effect it’ll have on her, so she strays away from speaking up about it. She’d rather be alone and battle her demons than present those demons to someone else who will introduce new ones into her head and life.

She prefers solitude and isolation over additional torment. It’s always been an easy pick for her.

“If you don’t wanna fight this battle on your own, go fetch me a cup of coffee.“ She instructs, half-expecting the turn-down she receives immediately afterwards.

“You really think I’m gonna help you when you are the closest thing to competition I have in this group of dimwits? Go get it yourself.“

Michaela rolls her eyes, wondering why she even asked such an abomination of a question in the first place. Finding her legs too dead to take her anywhere, she remains in her spot with a heavy sigh, returning to her attempt at reading the file she and the rest of the Keating 5 five have read through a dozen times today just to find nothing off about it.

“Hey, this one’s marked twenty-three, that one on the table’s twenty-five, where’s the twenty-fourth one?“ Connor suddenly perks up suddenly, cutting the short silence that had fallen upon them. With the least amount of energy she’s managed to save up, Michaela waves the file she’s holding, blinking away the blurriness of that clouds her eyes. “Give it to me, I need to make some comparisons.”

“Come get it yourself.“ She barks back with the same amount of spite he used barely a minute ago.

Unlike her though, Connor complies, finding that file necessary for some reason despite knowing it’s useless. It’s all pointless and they’re all gonna hear it from Annalise tomorrow morning regardless. But the most they can do is keep trying - trying to prove themselves worthy of that trophy.

Getting up with the most exaggerated distaste in his movements, Connor crosses the distance between the armchair he’s been sitting in and the couch Michaela has not moved from for hours, surrounded by piles of paperwork, folders and files. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t even put up a fight, clearly having been fed up with staring at the same words and not grasping anything for half an hour at this point.

“Thank y-“ Connor is a syllable away from finishing his sarcastic statement of gratitude when his eyes land on something peculiar, he’d even call is quite worrisome - a large scar going from Michaela’s elbow to about midway down her forearm. It looks to be recent, given that there are still some dried specs of blood around it, “Holy shit....“ He mutters, carefully taking hold Michaela’s wrist as to gently turn her arm a bit more to the side in order to examine the cut, “What the hell happened to you?“

Not having realized what he was examining before, Michaela’s eyes widen when they follow his gaze and land on the very cut she spent an hour taking care of last night. That cut is the aftermath of a drunk boyfriend who wanted nothing more than a reason to start an argument with her when she got home. A reason to hurt her. Coming into work this morning, despite the high temperatures, she was stubbornly keeping a long sleeved jacket atop her shirt to keep the ugly remainder of yet another failure hidden. The relationship in and of itself is a toxic failure, but it’s built of other failures Mihaela blames herself for - she believes she fails every time he hurts her. She thinks she’s the one to blame for the failure because she couldn’t protect herself. So she feels ashamed, disgusted and is attacked by that sense of betrayal all over again.

Feeling these three emotions flooding in at the sound of Connor’s concern, she snatches her arm out of his grip, keeping the scar out of his viewpoint while her eyes scan the room, looking for the jacket she doesn’t remember discarding. “Piss off, Connor. It’s non of your business.”

If she had said something along the lines of it being an accidental injury, Connor might’ve even believed her and let the whole thing go. However, seeing hw distressed his question has made her become, he feels there’s a lot more to it than she’s letting on. So, fully aware it’s non of his business, he keeps prodding on for a reason even he himself doesn’t understand, “Maybe not, but that’s a concerning scar, you might wanna get it checked. In fact, it already looks like it’s infected with something.”

Michaela’s brows furrow, her distress growing into genuine fear as she removes the hand that’s partially covering the scar to check on it and try and see what Connor saw to lead him to make such an observation. Connor takes this opportunity to also get a better look at the cut and it doesn’t take him a while to realize what tool was used in causing it - a shard of glass.

“Michaela, it may not be my business...“

She cuts him off with hostility, “It’s not”, but her words are choked up and wavering. Her voice is shaking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. And Lord knows crying in front of Connor Walsh is the last thing she wants to do.

“Right, but you can’t tell me that’s an accidental cut. That looks very intentional, very straight, and very much like someone inflicted it on you.“ Seeing her barriers slowly starting to sink despite her best attempts at keeping them up, he keeps his pursuit of his secret, for the first time genuinely curious to get to the bottom of what’s troubling Michaela and not a single ulterior motive in his mind. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve had my fair share of glass shard injuries in my life too.“ The girl’s gaze remains glued to the floor but Connor doesn’t miss the tear that escapes her left eye, sliding down her cheek. This only strengthens his will to getting the truth out of Michaela. “I know I’m not among your favorite people, but I’m not a piece of scum, damn it. You can tell me, Michaela. Believe it or not, you can tell me.“

Silence takes over, loud silence, the one on her end filled with the inaudible sound of her walls coming down quickly. She’s left bare and exposed. surrounded by their rubble and unable to look her rival in the eye. Though, is he much of a rival at this moment? He appears dangerously close to a friend. Hell, Michaela would even make a snide remark about it if her insides weren’t so broken - her heart, her soul, her mind, they’ve all been shattered, bruised and bloodied way worse than her skin.

“Turn around.“ She says out of the blue, the order sounding more like a plea especially when accompanied by another tear freeing itself from the confinement of her pride. When Connor doesn’t move, she finally looks up at him to meet his baffled gaze, “Turn around so I don’t have to see the pity in your eyes when I tell you I’m a pathetic victim of an abusive relationship. The punching bag of an asshole with a short fuse and a drinking problem. A failure to myself and my family. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you think you have the upper hand now?“ Behind the tears that are spilling freely now is the mix of rage, devastation, dread and sorrow. It’s a dangerous combination that could cause her to pounce at him any second, push him away, take her anger out on him.

But that’s what he wants her to do.

He wants her to let it all out, free herself from all that’s been sitting on her chest. He wants to free her from whoever’s responsible for that scar on her arm and those thousands of little cuts on her soul, all still openly bleeding and unable to heal. He wants to save her. And it’s scaring him. He wants to write it off as basic human decency but deep down he know there’s something more. As much as the both of them would like to deny it, if one of them left the Keating 5 tomorrow, the other would miss them greatly. Threats, accusations, arguments and bickering aside, they are aware how great of a team they are. What a good pair of friends they could be if they just let their pride slip aside. But they don’t, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s why they work so well.

However, even with that theory in mind, they’ve both let their pride go in this very moment. Walls and barriers have come down, lines have been crossed and they see each other differently now - More as fellow hurting humans rather than rivaling lawyers-to-be. Closer than ever, that’s for sure.

“Listen, Michaela...“

She once again cuts him off, “I don’t want your pity, sympathy or your advice. I don’t need you telling me to leave him! You think I haven’t thought of that?! You know nothing about it, you don’t get to judge me on my actions and choices!” She’s sobbing at this point with no hopes or ways of stopping the strangled noises from leaving her throat or the tears from escaping her red eyes.

Connor quickly crouches down in front of the couch so he’s at eye-level with her, his hands taking gentle but firm hold of her shoulders, “Michaela, no! That’s not what I wanna say! Listen to me, damn it.“ To his surprise, this actually gets her to calm down and stop thrashing to get his hands off. Slightly relieved, he pursues what he started, “I know, I know exactly how it is. Every time he does something nice it outweighs the bad. It’s those good moments that make you stay, I know. But those moments are the rare rainbow after a ton of rain. They are not worth this pain and suffering you’re enduring. He’s not worth it. You deserve so much more, so much better and you are aware of that!“

“But no one else is!“ She snaps, her hands coming up to hide her face, “No one else sees my worth beyond the job I do or the person that’s willing to put a ring on my finger. No one sees me for me, Connor! My value is determined by what kind of men find me decent enough for their beds or family contracts! What kind of response do you think I’ll have if I leave yet another relationship?“

Her words break his heart but he doesn’t let it show in his eyes, he’d rather close them than let her see that pity she fears and despises. He doesn’t pity her, far from it, but a simple misunderstanding on her end could break this already fragile bond they’ve built so he keeps his feelings at bay.

“Fuck them! Michaela, you are an adult woman, they can’t control your life anymore! No one can! That’s why you need to cut ties with those whose opinions you fear most. I don’t know what kind of stick they have up their asses, but without them you won’t be alone. You’ll be free!“

“And you’ll still have us.“ The sudden and new female voice comes from behind them, right by the doorway.

Both of them turn to look in that direction to find the four missing members of this late case-digging session: the sleepy Asher and Wes with Frank and Laurel beside them.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but Michaela, you will not be alone, no matter what the context is. We might not be the best friends one can ever have, but we sure as hell aren’t monsters.“ Laurel continues, being the only one to actually take a step in the room while the three men stay put, uncertain of how to approach the situation. “I think we all care about each other to some degree. So, I want you to know, we care about you and we’re here for you. No matter how many times you leave us in the dust with your eyes on the prize.“

That remark manages to get a smile out Michaela even with the tears that are still not done rolling down her cheeks. Asher is also quick to pipe in, “I second that! Anything you need, we’ll be here. Need us to bust someone’s skulls - we’re your people.”

Scoffing, Connor shoots Michaela a look, “Now that’s an idea. Give us the address of that shithead and consider it done.”

She rolls her eyes, “Let me get my stuff out of there first. I don’t want you getting blood on any of it.”

Connor stands up from his crouched position and turns to the rest of the team with a determined look and a hint of a smile on his face, “You heard her folks! The lady wants to collect her stuff, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone.” He turns back to his temporarily-not-rival, “Come on, you can crash at my place until this friendly phase of ours fades. Then I’m dumping you at Laurel’s.”

She narrows his eyes at him, “Hilarious.” Suddenly her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, “Wait, what about the case?”

“Laurel and I found something, already turned it in. We were coming here to send you guys home.“ Frank replies in his usual reassuring manner.

“Ooooh, so you were working on the case after all!“ Asher comments, wiggling his eyebrows at them.

“Yeah, we were. Unlike some who were asleep in the kitchen cuddling a trophy.“ Laurel retorts, sending him the most sarcastic of smiles.

This whole interaction between her...well, her friends has lifted Michela’s spirits enough to get her up on her feet, “In that case, better get prepared to help me pack three large suitcases.”

And with that the Keating 5 (plus Frank) disembark, heading to their new mission. Walking out of the Keating household with four people, all unconditionally supporting her without even knowing what’s going on and one person with his arm tightly wrapped around her in a protective manner, Michaela has never felt more safe and secure. She might not love these people and they might not love her either, but they are all fond of each other. And if their fondness has reached the degree where they’re willing to accompany her and aid her escape from the hell she’s been trapped in this past month and a half, she’s willing to call them friends.

Some closer than others, but she cannot admit that knowing that in a week’s time her and Connor will probably be at each other’s throats again. And she’s fine with that. Rivalry’s a type of friendship too, ain’t it?

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years

Text

Spring week 3, part 1

I felt much better this morning. I suppose whatever sickness fairy visions impart is strictly transient—or maybe dealing with reagents has given me a good immune system.

When I went outside, I found that I’d somehow managed to plant the foxsocks in the garden. I don’t know how I could have done it in my feverish state and I certainly don’t remember it, but there it is. The foxsocks seem to be thriving already, or at least to have a solid foothold. As I’d hoped, they should be reliably available from here on out.

As I stood there, sleepily puzzling over the garden, I heard a screech from above. Looking up, I saw what at first appeared to be a large bird circling down towards the ground. When she landed, though, I saw she was a woman with wings instead of arms, talons instead of legs, and a feathered tail, wearing a khaki uniform—a postal harpy. She greeted me while balancing on one leg and asked me to confirm my name. I told her and she introduced herself as Liùsaidh. She indicated I ought to retrieve my mail from her talon (it’s polite to wait for their permission). She asked if I might be sticking around and I said I thought I was. She said she’d see me next time I got mail and flew off.

What she’d brought was a letter, with a return address listed as “The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke.” It was a single handwritten (actually, impressively calligraphed) page. The spelling and grammar was, shall we say, characteristic. It’s easier to just stick the letter in between the pages than copy it down, so that’s what I’ll do.

To whom it may concern:

It has come to our attentionne at The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke that ye are a practicing vvitch reſiding in the hamlet of Greanmoore. We would like to congratulate ye on your appointmente and hope you find the positionne both fulfilling and rewarding. We had brief correspondence with your predeceſsor and were glad to learn of yovr presence.

The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke is among the premiere magical muſeums in northweſternne High Rannoc. It has one of the moſte exhauſtive collections of magical materials, svbſtances, and hiſtories native to High Rannoc in the vvorld. Academicks, travelers, and school field trips regularly reference and reſearch the Muſeum’s collections in their purſuit of more compleat knowledge.

As The Muſeum of Magicke does not have a repreſentative in Greanmoore or the surrounding areas, we have a requeſte to make of ye if you are willing to fulfill it. We pride ourſelves on the compleatneſs of our Magickal Components collectionne, but we are miſsing many of the species native to Greanmoore and its svrrounding locations. We humbly ask that ye help vs remedy this deficiency. If you are willing to do so, we woulde requeſt that ye send one of each magickal componente available in the area to the Muſeum, at the returnne addreſs listed above. Should you do so, ye will receive compenſationne.

We hope ye will partner with vs in this endeavor. Your contributionne to societal knowledge shall be greatly appreciated by generationnes of reſearchers, thinkers, and touriſts.

Eagerly avvaiting your reſponſe,

The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke

[A plain text accessible version of this letter is available here.]

Obviously, the spelling is horrendous. This might have been forgivable a few decades ago, but the shape of the ‘s’ (that is, it not being that odd ‘f’ looking thing sometimes) and the distinction between ‘u,’ ‘v,’ and ‘w’ have been standardized since before I was born. Not to mention, the Ledgerwood Museum is associated with the University of Arcbridge—so there must be someone there who knows better.

The thing is, for a long time the only people who could write were those who received higher education, so the vast majority of documents that exist throughout history have to do with academia. So, even as reading and writing became more accessible and spelling and grammar more standardized, that outdated irregular styling retroactively became associated with education, with decorum, with genius.

I’ve never really had much respect for that kind of posturing—I think that if you’re brilliant the content of your writing ought to speak for itself. You shouldn’t have to so explicitly climb on the shoulders of those who came before you, especially not by intentionally making the mistakes they made or using the outdated styles they used.

I sent back a letter inquiring about the specifics of compensation along with a sample of my foxsocks.

I’m going to the library.

────⊱⁜⊰────

The Greenmoor Public Library is near the center of town, not quite in the square but on Market Street directly off of it. It has some interesting architecture: it looks as if it was originally three separate buildings the size of single-family houses, that were all connected up at a later date by a circular addition between them so that the final building looks like a cog with three spokes. Each section of it is made up of a different material—exposed stone, lime render, and brick for the original houses, and cement for the central cylinder—but it all works together in a quirky, oddball way.

There are no internal walls in the library—even where there must have been external walls in the original houses. They must have knocked them down (I don’t envy that job). Every wall is lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and in each of the spokes there are many close-set freestanding shelves besides, with only narrow aisles left between. At the center of the center is a circular desk, and around this are scattered tables with benches and clusters of armchairs for convenience of reading and research.

The library is owned and run by Donella and Saundra Glasford, an older couple. Saundra is actually the schoolteacher, but she helps with reshelving and organization on weekends. I know this because Donella explained it to me in detail. As soon as I walked in the door she stood from behind (within?) the circular desk and approached me, insisting that she give me a tour of the library. In addition to a survey of the entire space and what kinds of books it contained, this ‘tour’ involved a hefty amount of insight into the daily lives and routines of the Glasford family.

They have a kid named Muiredach, who’s very interested in ancient things at the moment—giant skeletons and the like. Donella has lived here her entire life but Saundra moved here forty years ago. Saundra’s expertise is in thaumatology (specifically thaumatozoology, the study of magical animals), in which she has a degree. Meanwhile, Donella has extensive knowledge of literary and epistemological history, though she received no formal schooling past twelve.

After she finished showing me all the different sections and layouts of the library, Donella told me I should feel free to poke around as much as I wanted. She added that I wouldn’t find any secret passages or hidden rooms, and that they had nothing to hide.

I hadn’t realized before she said that what this was all about.

I told her that the rumors weren’t true, that I wasn’t some Government spy or anything like that (I heard Saundra mumble something like “well you’d also deny it if you were a clype, wouldn’t you?”). Donella quickly assured me that she believed me, but then said “better safe than sorry,” so I’m not quite sure she actually did. I told her I didn’t understand where all the suspicion was coming from. Saundra piped up, saying that I was a stranger who came to a small, isolated town I had no prior relation with to fill a position whose previous occupant had mysteriously disappeared, and asked if I understood how that looked (not in quite those words—her accent and dialect was rather strong). I told her I’d been summoned directly by Mòrag McKinney, and had the paper trail to prove it. I asked if she thought Mòrag was involved in some conspiracy, too. She shrugged and said she was just saying how it looked.

Donella said regardless that I should feel free to use the library—it was for the public, after all—and pointed me in the direction of the section on rune magic. Thus, the conversation ended, but my uneasiness didn’t entirely abate. Still, I’d come to the library for a reason.

The rune section was limited, but I didn’t need to know any more than the basics. I’d only ever been taught one way to create runes, and it was clear my predecessor used a different one—all I needed to do was to figure out which and I could reverse engineer the runes’ meanings.

I found that she used a combination of the witches’ circle and magic square methods, which are both apparently very popular. I wonder why I was never taught them. Both systems derive the shape of the sigil directly from the letters of the intentions they’re meant to invoke. It’s traditional to remove the vowels before doing so, but luckily for me my predecessor chose not to do that.

So, with a bit of work I was able to determine that the sigils I copied down meant: life, autonomy, gentleness, congeniality, and empathy respectively. It was clearly built to be a very kind golem. Now that I know that, I’m going to try to create my own sigils and charge them, and see if that helps.

────⊱⁜⊰────

While I was at the library, I also collected a few of the greatest works of modern literature—Lord of the Midges, Beathag’s Choice, To Kill a Gull-Drake, et cetera. The next morning I packed the books into the rucksack I’d used to travel to Greenmoor and set out to take them to Morna, heading to Hero’s Hollow by way of Moonbreaker Mountain.

As I skirted the base of the mountain, I heard a voice call out from above me, crying “hey, you! Groundling!” It was clearly far above me but somehow also quite loud. I looked up and saw, blotting out the sun, a great hot air balloon. I’d heard vague stories but had never seen one in person before. The most striking part of it was the balloon itself, made of canvas patterned beige and blue and larger than a house. The top half of it (as I was informed later) was enclosed by a net, which had metal rings on its edges attaching it to a tangle of myriad ropes and cords. These in turn held aloft the basket, which was not the simple platform I’d seen described in books but rather looked like a small sailing boat, complete with railings, rotors, and a steering wheel.

The voice announced that it hadn’t seen me around before and that I ought to climb aboard. A ladder with metal rungs unfurled over the side of the boat, just low enough that I could reach it if I jumped. I did so after making sure my rucksack was firmly on my back and shut, and climbed up to reach the aircraft.

The man onboard was only slightly taller than me. His white shirt was rumpled and stained with oil, and his left suspender was fraying. The thick goggles on his forehead, held together with large bolts and screws, were the only thing keeping his thick black hair from whipping in all directions with the wind (mine, in contrast, had already become hopelessly tangled). His sleeves were rolled up, but his forearms were covered by brown leather fingerless gloves, with metal studs that flashed in the sunlight as he hauled the ladder back onto the balloon. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face, with a cylindrical chamber marked “O2” sticking out from each cheek. Directly in front of the mouth was a clear window, so that I could see his lips moving when he spoke. He offered me a similar one and I accepted—the air was rather thin so high up. I could see him say something that was drowned out by the wind, and then he beckoned me towards a door. Given the shape of the craft, I wasn’t surprised to discover that it led to a kind of captains’ quarters.

Inside, the wind wasn’t quite so brutally loud and I could actually make out what my host was saying. He introduced himself as Captain Akash Majhi, aviator extraordinaire, and asked if I needed a lift. I said it might have been a bit late to ask since I was already on the balloon, which made him chuckle. I said that since he’d offered, I was headed to Hero’s Hollow, and he replied that that would be no problem. I noticed as we conversed that he only made eye contact when he was speaking—when I spoke, he instead watched my lips.

As Akash turned to pull a lever on the wall, I asked where he was from. He didn’t respond. With the lever pulled, a large strip of the ceiling rotated so that a piece of what had been the floor above—the piece to which the steering wheel was attached—became the ceiling of this room. Akash then tapped what seemed to just be a wooden accent covering a swath of the metal wall above the desk and bed. The wood slid to the side, revealing a bay window through which he could see.

He took his place at the wheel, positioning me in his field of view, so I asked again where he was from. He told me he was a proud resident of the Cloud Isles. I told him I’d never heard of such a place, and he said I really must be new to the area. Belatedly, I told him my name and that I had in fact only moved here a few weeks ago. He told me that the Cloud Isles were just that: islands in the clouds, with wildlife, ecosystems, and culture. At the center was a great city that, yes, was attached to the clouds, but had mostly been built flying between and amongst them by generations of architects, donors, engineers, artists, and aviators like himself.

I asked him where the city was located and he vaguely waved his hands. “Here and there.” He said that as the clouds drifted so did the Isles, but that the city itself never strayed too far from Greenmoor—otherwise, mapping and resource-gathering from the ground below would be difficult or impossible.

I asked him how I might visit the Isles, and he told me I’d need to be able to fly. He said the general ethos of the residents leaned towards mechanical solutions, but he had heard that there were magical ways of flight as well. I said I would have to look into that. He handed me a business card with his name, “balloonist | engineer | aviator extraordinaire,” an address, and a smoke signal pattern to use to contact him. He said if I was ever in the city he’d be happy to show me around. Then, he announced that we’d arrived.

We went back onto the deck and he unfurled the ladder over the edge. I went to hand him the oxygen mask back but he told me to keep it—they were expensive, but he had plenty and I’d be needing it when (and he did say “when”) I visited the city. I thanked him, shook his hand, and started descending the ladder.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I made it back to the ground (the hop down from the ladder was smaller than the hop up had been), and smoothed my hair down before setting off into the Hollow. I’d only barely made it into the skull when my plans for the afternoon abruptly shifted.

It was just around midday, so the guards must have been on break or between shifts. Hurrying out of the dungeon was a group I recognized—it was the Lows, the mining family. Angus was carrying the son in his arms. The boy was clutching his thigh, and even from a distance I could see blood seeping through his fingers.

Crystal spotted me and immediately called out to me, thanking the gods for my arrival. I hurried to them and guided them back to the cottage, where I knew I’d be able to better determine how to treat the issue. Morna would have to wait—I had a patient to tend to.

⇦●〇●⇨

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