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nemo-writes · 22 days ago

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𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter one

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: you help steady the hospital’s chaos with quiet rituals and small acts of kindness. order and routine make each shift feel almost predictable. yet, tomorrow may demand more than the calm you rely on.

⤿ warning(s): medical-talk + inaccuracies, blood

⟡ story masterlist ; next

✦ word count: 2.8k

You used to have dreams—bright ones, hungry ones.

But somewhere between the double shifts and the endless hum of fluorescent lighting, those dreams had quieted. They hadn’t disappeared, not entirely, but now they came in the form of small things: the smell of tea steeping before sunrise, the clean snap of hospital sheets, the stillness of your apartment before the day began.

You lived alone, but that was never a tragedy to you.

Your apartment was modest. Cozy. Lived-in, with warm wooden floors and cream curtains that kissed the edges of your windows. One plant thrived stubbornly in the corner by the radiator—some gifted thing you’d kept alive out of sheer spite. Photos of nieces, nephews, and long-lost vacations sat on the sideboard. The kitchen was small, but clean. You kept your things tidy, because life was messy enough at the hospital.

It was your control. Your calm.

Your mornings began the same way they had for years. Wake up before the sun, curl your toes into your slippers, and shuffle toward the kettle. Black tea, strong. You didn’t bother with cream or sugar. Just heat and caffeine and the comfort of routine. You drank it while checking your phone—usually a few texts from Dana, the charge nurse over in Emergency, and an update or two from your sister about her youngest’s science project.

Then, a hot shower. Soft music playing in the background—today it was old blues, something mellow. You dressed in your gray scrubs, slipped on your comfortable shoes, and made your way to the kitchen.

You didn’t believe in skipping meals—not after years of surviving on vending machine food and sheer willpower.

The contents of your first lunch bag were already waiting in the fridge: slices of roasted chicken you’d basted the night before, still fragrant with lemon and thyme, and a generous scoop of rice pilaf with caramelized onion and roasted carrots tucked beside it. A small container of green beans sautéed with garlic. Warm cornbread, wrapped in foil, so it stayed soft. A boiled egg. Warm food. The kind that could keep your feet under you even in the middle of a 12-hour shift.

Then you opened the second lunch bag that you pulled out whenever you had an especially high volume of left-overs, and began to fill it. A thermos of hearty lentil stew, a few cheese and spinach empanadas you’d made and frozen last week, a stack of soft tortillas wrapped in cloth to keep warm, and a small container of fresh-cut fruit. You added a tin of shortbread cookies, too. People liked those.

You never asked who needed it. You didn’t have to. You just left it in the staff fridge every morning, labeled simply: “Up for Grabs – Eat.”

By noon, it was always empty.

You paused before sealing the bags, then reached into the top drawer by the stove and pulled out a handful of black tea packets. Not just a few—seven or eight. You slid them into the side pocket with care, the familiar crinkle of foil against fabric oddly soothing.

Then came the last step: a glance around the apartment, a check of the stovetop knobs, and the soft click of the door behind you.

Everything was where it needed to be. Just like always.

. . .

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital never slept, not really.

You arrived with the sun cresting over the river, a pale smear of gold across the skyline. Even in the early morning, the hospital was alive: stretchers rolling in from Emergency, clipped voices paging overhead, janitors finishing their night rounds, and a group of med students already looking overwhelmed before they even got inside.

You swiped your badge at the side entrance and were immediately hit with the smell of antiseptic and burnt coffee.

For you, the surgical wing was your kingdom.

Bright lights. Cold air. Soft beeps and controlled chaos. You’d been here longer than most. A senior surgical nurse, day shift. You weren’t in it for praise—you weren’t even in it for thanks. You were in it for the discipline, for the order that existed even amid blood and panic. In a world that never stopped breaking, you were one of the ones putting it back together.

Your team knew it, too.

“Hey, boss,” said Fin, a junior nurse in his second year. He looked like a wiry greyhound who’d grown up on steel mills and pick‑up games; he had the reflexes of a cat and the attention span of a bee. He fell into step beside you with a bounce in his sneakers. “Just got a fresh post-op in Five. Dr. Garcia was already yelling about the chart.”

You gave him a look. “Did you forget to mark the drains again?”

“I swear I didn’t—okay, maybe I did one, but—”

“You get one more maybe today, or I’m taping a checklist to your forehead.”

He saluted dramatically, then broke off in a little jog ahead of you. But before he turned the corner, he spun around, shadow-boxing in the air like some scrappy middleweight on caffeine. “I’ve been working out, by the way.” He flexed one arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a modest bicep. “You’re gonna have to start calling me Big Fin.”

You arched a brow. “I’ll consider it. Right after I get my hearing checked.”

“Brutal,” he called back, grinning as he disappeared into Recovery.

You passed Jules, the surgical scrub nurse, reviewing trays with the precision of a jeweler. “We’re short on curved hemostats,” she muttered without looking up. “Already paged Central Supply twice.”

“I’ll give them a call,” you said, adjusting your clipboard. “They listen when I growl.”

“That’s because they think you could shank them with a suture needle.”

You just smiled.

And then, as always, Margot appeared like clockwork.

She was the charge nurse for the surgical wing, older than you by a few years, and about twice as loud. Silver-streaked curls piled into a bun, sleeves rolled up, clipboard in hand, Margot ran the board like a general and swore like a sailor with a grudge.

“Someone better have coffee for me or blood will be spilled,” she barked as she stepped into the unit, already scanning the whiteboard.

“Isn’t that what we’re here for?” you quipped, handing her a small to-go cup you’d filled back in the break room.

She paused. Narrowed her eyes at you. Then smiled—really smiled. “You always take care of me, you old softie.”

“I’m just trying to prevent a homicide before noon.”

The two of you had worked side by side for almost a decade now. Margot was the only one who knew when your laugh wasn’t real, when your tiredness was more than just a long shift, and when something was bothering you even if you hadn’t said a word. She kept the unit on its feet and your spine straight on the rough days.

And you did the same for her.

“You see the supply tray?” she asked, flipping through her pages.

“Yeah. Jules is about ready to fight someone. I’ll call Central again.”

“Tell ‘em we’re not slicing open anyone with Fisher-Price tweezers,” Margot muttered.

Then there was Tasha, one of the newer float nurses, still finding her rhythm. You made a point to check in on her mid-morning, offering her a granola bar and a steadying word after a rough debridement assist.

Then the surgeons—Dr. Miller and Dr. Garcia.

The day moved with precision. Rounds. Preps. Walk-throughs. Checklists. Blood draws. Verifying scripts. Comforting scared patients with a hand on the shoulder and a warm, quiet voice.

You were good at your job. You didn’t miss much.

So later, when you came back from a break and found your clipboard slightly askew on the nurse’s station, you paused long enough for a single pulse to drum behind your ear. Nobody touched your clipboard—everyone in the surgical wing knew that rule as surely as they knew where the crash cart lived.

Maybe someone had needed a room number. Maybe it had slipped. You inhaled, nudged the board flush with the counter until the metal lip kissed the laminate, and forced the unease to flatten into habit.

You’d barely slipped your pen back into your chest pocket when the hallway exploded with noise. Fin came tearing around the corner, long legs pumping, one gloved hand slicing the air.

“Teen male, abdominal stab, BP tanking,” he barked, breathless but ready. “Ortho tried Versed, he blew right through it. They’re wheeling him to OR Three.”

You asked, checking the boy's vitals. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. “Jules on instruments?”

“She’s setting up—missing a couple clamps, but she’ll find ’em.”

“Manny?”

“Grabbing blood.”

“Tasha?”

“Down in pharmacy, checking meds.”

“Good. Let’s move.”

The doors to OR Three burst open just as you reached them. Fluorescent lights bleached the boy’s skin to paper.

Dr. Miller was already scrubbing, calling for suction. Across from him stood Dr. Garcia, eyes snapping behind her shield. She glanced at the vitals and muttered, “Whoever dosed him with sedatives barely touched the pain.” Miller shot her a look. “Less commentary, Garcia. Let’s save him first.” She fired back, “Then cut faster, sir—the vein’s not going to tie itself.”

Sanitized and ready, you slid into place opposite her, tilting the overhead lamp. Fin fitted an oxygen mask; Manny rushed in with the first bag of blood; Jules appeared at your elbow, tray shining, somehow already stocked with the clamps she’d been missing. Tasha sprinted in last, waving a sheet. “No allergies, no meds except a pain shot!”

Dr. Miller opened the wound and a sheet of bright red flooded the field. Dr. Garcia’s tone dropped to steel. “Big vessel—clamp.” She stretched out her hand. You slapped the clamp into her palm, then lifted the suction hose to clear the view.

Suddenly, the boy’s pressure plummeted; alarms wailed. “More blood." You called. Manny twisted the valve; Fin squeezed the bag. The heart monitor flatlined. Dr. Garcia snapped, “Paddles—now.” Before anyone moved, you had already grabbed the paddles and passed them to Fin. One jolt. The screen flickered, steadied, beeped. Dr. Garcia’s stitches flew; Dr. Miller tied off the last thread, shoulders sagging as the bleeding finally slowed.

What followed was practiced choreography: gauze when asked, retractors nudged, light shifted a hair. When Dr. Miller clipped the final knot he let out a long breath that was half a laugh. “Daylight shifts are never dull,” he sighed.

Dr. Garcia peeled off her gloves with a snap, fogged goggles hiding everything but the warmth in her eyes. “Couldn’t have done it without our guardian angel,” she said, tilting her head toward you. It was half tease, half something softer, and it landed heavier than you expected.

You counted sponges—perfect, as always—then wiped a smear of blood from the boy’s cheek, smoothing a cool cloth across his brow. He’d live. That was enough.

The team rolled him toward recovery; Jules rattled off instructions so crisp the transport nurse only nodded, wide‑eyed. Behind them, the OR lights dimmed, and the sudden hush felt almost holy.

The rest of the shift unwound in a gentler rhythm.

You rounded on post‑ops, double‑checked Fin’s drainage labels, helped Tasha master a tricky IV start, and caught Manny slipping in a whole-ass Subway when he thought you weren’t looking. Every time you passed Dr. Garcia, she either offered a nod or a salute with her pen, the gesture equal parts respect and camaraderie.

Evening sunlight slanted gold through the clerestory windows by the time the last chart closed. You ducked into the staff fridge, retrieved your two lunch bags—yours scraped clean but for a few strays crumbs.

Margot was at the whiteboard, bun unraveling yet posture unbowed. She glanced up as you approached, empty Tupperware clacking in your tote. “Board’s balanced, rooms stocked, staff fed,” she said. “You leaving us to the wolves?”

“Night crew can handle a few cubs,” you replied, shrugging into your jacket.

She eyed the way you fastened the zipper to your chin. “Stopping at your perch first?”

“Ten minutes. Clear the head.”

Margot clicked her pen, lips twitching. “Wind’s vicious tonight. Button that collar or you’ll fly off the roof like Mary Poppins.”

“A spoonful of heparin helps the blood flow,” you dead‑panned.

Margot’s raspy laugh chased you down the hall while you zipped your jacket to the chin and patted the bulging side pocket that held your small contraband: half a dozen foil envelopes of strong black tea.

Two flights up you eased the rooftop door open. Evening air—cold, river‑raw—rolled across the tar. The skyline glimmered; the last blush of sunset clung to the horizon like a fading bruise.

And there he was, exactly where you’d hoped: Dr. Jack Abbott, fresh from the locker room and on his way into the night shift. He wore his usual charcoal‑black scrubs —pockets already stuffed with trauma shears and a folded set of gloves—plus a worn bomber jacket. Short curls, dark but mostly silver, were still damp from a quick sink‑splash. A dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw, the kind that looked deliberate until you noticed the faint razor burn along his throat.

Jack never quite smoothed out the edges; he just learned to carry them.

He was screwing the lid onto an empty steel thermos when he spotted you. A crooked, lopsided smile tugged one corner of his mouth—as if he were never entirely sure you’d show up and was always pleasantly surprised when you did.

“Hi,” he said, voice a notch too loud over the wind before he caught himself and dropped it. “Shift treat?”

“Only if you call boiled bean water a treat,” you answered, nodding at the thermos. “Lucky for you, I brought an intervention.”

You pulled four packets of Earl Gray from your jacket pocket and offered them to him. Up close you saw how the overhead flood‑light silvered the gray in his curls and picked out the faint hollows under his eyes.

“What’s this now?” he said, accepting the packets and turning them between roughened fingers.

“Operation Convert the Coffee Addict,” you confirmed. “Side effects include better sleep and a 50 percent reduction in eye‑twitch.”

He huffed a laugh, half embarrassed. “You sure you’re not secretly cardiology? Because you’re going after my heart.”

You arched a brow. “That a complaint?”

“No,” he said quickly, then scrubbed a hand over his stubble—awkward tic when he realized he’d spoken faster than he could think. “I mean—no complaint at all.”

He cleared his throat and stepped back to the parapet, gaze flicking to the river lights.

“Heard about your stab victim,” Jack said, voice pitched just low enough to keep the compliment private. “Your wing turned him around in record time.”

“Dr. Garcia turned him around,” you corrected. “I just kept the stage lights on.”

His smile widened, steadier than before. “Modest again. The residents swear you’re the northern star—nobody gets lost on your watch.”

“Only because I feed them,” you said, lifting the tote. “Nothing inspires devotion like carbohydrates.”

He chuckled, a warm sound that rumbled more than it cracked. “Well, you’ve got my devotion for the tea.” He tucked the foil packets into his breast pocket, giving them a single decisive pat as if confirming an IV line.

“For the record,” you added, “nice work stabilizing the kid before he came up.”

Jack shook his head, curls stirring in the wind. “That was Robby. I’m just here to steal the credit and the glory hours later.”

You smirked. “At least you’re honest.”

“Path of least paperwork,” he said, a faint twinkle in his eyes.

A hush settled, broken only by the distant wail of a siren and the hum of rooftop fans. He rocked once on his heels—not fidgeting, just feeling the wind—then fixed you with a look equal parts grateful and teasing.

“So, tonight I try the tea,” he said. “If the caffeine drop puts me in a coma, you’ll swing by Resus and shock me back.”

“I’ll set the paddles to extra smug,” you promised.

His laugh came easy and full. “Deal.”

The hospital PA crackled below: “Trauma team to bay one, ETA two minutes.” Jack’s shoulders straightened; night‑shift instincts sliding into place.

“That’s my cue.” He lifted the empty thermos in salute. “See you tomorrow—tea in hand.”

“Four‑minute steep,” you reminded, backing toward the door. “Boil it and I’ll know.”

He gave a quick, confident nod—less scout’s honor, more a promise between friends—then turned for the stairs, jacket snapping in the wind. You watched until the door clanged shut behind him, the faint crinkle of tea packets trailing off into the night.

Somewhere below, monitors beeped, lives tilted, and the clipboard sat perfectly square on the counter where you’d left it, but up here there was only wind and the faint scent of river water. You breathed in, held the air until your heartbeat matched the city’s distant pulse, then turned for the stairs, ready to go home, ready to return tomorrow and do it all again.

divider credit

#fanfiction #fanfic #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #dr. jack abbot #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #female reader #nurse reader #older reader #small age-gap

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bee-calm · 2 months ago

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tbhk but they're lab-based phd students- because sometimes you just need to make the most self-indulgent au you can think of

nene

marine microbiology

talks to her culture plates, swears it makes them grow faster

tries to put cute labels on her samples then can’t remember what ANY of her shorthand means the next day

forgets her pass and gets locked out at least once a day

algae clip-art in all of her presentations

sings in the microscope room, thinks nobody can hear her singing in the microscope room

once thought she’d re-written scientific dogma then realised she’d put a decimal point in the wrong place

thinks transcriptomics is witchcraft. is currently doing transcriptomics.

brings chocolates for the rest of the lab, is everyone’s favourite because of it

became best friends with aoi when they somehow managed to double-book the flow cytometer

could read those papers she’s been saving for weeks, OR she could spend two hours changing the colour scheme on her figures

amane

materials chemistry, probably something space-exploration-aligned

pure synthesis, if it’s bigger than a kilodalton then he doesn’t want it anywhere near him

if there is an unlabelled round-bottom flask in the lab freezer then there’s a 90% chance it belongs to him. claims he can tell the chemicals apart by Vibes alone (amane voice: nmr is for Weaklings)

worlds messiest fume hood, yet somehow the worlds most immaculate desk-space. (currently the biggest scientific mystery the rest of the lab is working towards)

will tell people (read: kou) that biochem isn’t real chemistry just to cause problems

really good at teaching project students

also really good at scaring the project students by pretending to drink the toxic chemicals

extensive lanyard pin collection

nobody has ever actually seen him go home

has a set of glassware-themed coffee mugs. much debate as to whether or not he just stole them from the lab.

kou

structural biology

just a guy and his 10 litre E.coli grow-up

once spilled an vat of LB all over the bacteria room. legend has it the stains are still there to this day

banned teru from the cryoEM room after he walked in and the entire setup almost crashed

likes modelling structures, wonders why his computer is always running so slowly, fails to consider that the 5 pymol projects he has open at all times may have something to do with it

serial offender for walking home still wearing his goggles

thinks mammalian cell work is witchcraft

incredibly chaotic labwork processes, still somehow gets the results anyway. most common saying: ‘this is not going in the methods section’

once dropped his earring into the liquid nitrogen tank, has still not lived it down

has a framed photo of his first crystal on his desk

ongoing war with mitsuba over whether electron microscopy is real microscopy or not

keeps taking on side projects for other people, has yet to realise that this may be the reason he never gets to go home on time

teru

molecular biology

theory x1000, ask him a question after his presentation and there’s a 90% chance he’s got a bonus slide already prepared to answer it

benchwork also x1000, that person who asks ‘oh can i try?’ and gets amazing results first time on the experiment you’ve been trying to get right for weeks.

cell culture x0, banned from the tissue culture room, WILL contaminate any flask put within 5 feet of him

the machines hate him. the centrifuge keeps trying to eat his samples. the plate reader breaks on him at least once a week.

serial weekender

stickler for lab safety, can and will send out threatening emails reminding people to wear their gloves and lab coats

once drew the entire signalling cascade for his target molecule from memory on the whiteboard in a lab meeting and it was impressive enough that nobody has wiped it off yet

keeps doing horrendous timecourses, can be found taking plate readings at stupid o clock in the morning

aoi

immunology

the flow panels she manages to pull off are a constant subject of awe and horror

likes working weekends because it means nobody can hear her verbally threatening her cell cultures when they’re not behaving

can fit a scary amount of information onto the lid of an eppendorf tube

when stressed can be found hiding out in the plant biology greenhouses. has made friends with some genetically modified tomatoes

rocks up to the lab meeting with publication-ready figures for an experiment she did yesterday

the source of 90% of the passive aggressive post-it notes around the lab

everyone dreads her post-presentation questions. will dissect your experiments and do it with a smile.

started off working normal hours but has gradually become borderline nocturnal over time

teru contaminated her cells once, has been using it as leverage to make him collect things from stores for her ever since

keeps giving akane’s email to sales reps instead of her own so she can get free stuff without ever being contacted by them again

akane

biophysics

scary single molecule data, deliberately puts huge equations on his presentations so nobody will ask him questions

might as well get paid lab tech wages too, chronically stuck on stock solution duty

crashed the lab computer trying to run one of his datasets on it

the only reason the lab has a booking system for the equipment. anarchy would prevail if he wasn’t around.

will go off to do photobleaching experiments and emerge hours later looking like a cave creature

keeps having to fix the equipment that teru breaks

perpetually receiving emails meant for aoi by people who got their names mixed up

also perpetually receiving emails from the company sales reps who aoi told his email to so she wouldn’t have to deal with them

says he needs to stop working weekends, then suddenly it’s saturday and he’s stuck in the microscope room with teru again

has somehow acquired a small army of project students (none of them are studying the same thing as him)

incubation time= coffee time

mitsuba

cell biology

made a cell line, treats it like it’s his baby

trust issues, won’t let ANYONE share his reagents. serial pipette hoarder.

neat lab book, can still somehow never find where he put his protocols or what concentrations he used his antibodies at

could probably win an award for his immunofluorescence images, someone automatically turns the lights off when it’s his turn to present in lab meetings bc he’s guaranteed to have cool microscopy to show

thinks bacteria work is disgusting. ensures kou knows this.

[emerging from a 5-hour session in the microscope room] what day is it?????

loves his work, doesn’t act like it (the reagents smell bad. the lab benches are dirty. people keep using the milk he brought to put in the fridge. nobody cleans the water bath. if there’s nothing to complain about, he’ll make something.)

threatens to move to industry at least once a day

outright refuses to do weekends

found the perfect colour scheme for his graphs, considers this the highlight of his entire degree

any minor inconvenience is an excuse to go to the cafe on campus

natsuhiko

innate immunity, infection

zebrafish models

nobody is sure if he bought a tie-dye lab coat or if it’s just that badly stained

has absolutely named his fish (doesn’t actually remember which is which, but the sentiment is there)

forever followed by a gaggle of project students. is constantly reminding them to do as he says, not as he does

incubation times are a suggestion, not a rule (read: keeps getting distracted and leaving his experiments way longer than necessary)

convinced he’s going to be patient zero of the zombie apocalypse when he accidentally creates super-salmonella and infects himself

serial distractor, WILL chat to people while they’re in the middle of a 96-well plate

isn’t going to eat the LB agar, but the temptation is always there

someone bought him the ‘women want me, fish fear me’ hat for his birthday, keeps it on his desk

the confocal microscope hates to see him coming (5 hours is a short session when you’re trying to take z-stacks of an entire fish)

sakura

drug discovery

probably dabbles in synthesis, plays orchestral music while running columns bc apparently it gives them better separation

tea drawer in the office, WILL pull out an entire teapot during their incubation times

best dressed person in the lab, at all times

eternal struggle of dangly earrings versus the samples they’re leaning over

neat handwriting, still terrible at labelling eppendorfs (what are the lids so small for)

incubation times to the second

runs BIG experiments, has mastered the art of the plate plan. made a template which has somehow ended up distributed around the entire department

ceo of not replying to sales rep emails

mildly allergic to the nitrile gloves, the drawer below the tea drawer is the hand cream drawer

earphones + cell culture is the ideal de-stress activity

over-prepares for presentations, will spend 2 weeks rehearsing an informal flash talk

probably the only person who actually sends their lab coat to get washed

mei

tissue engineering

has designed all of her labmates a mug with terrible research-relevant science puns on them

invented side-projects, has probably got a collaboration ongoing with every other lab in the department

bought a label printer for her reagents, has way too much fun with it

thought a week-long experiment was bad? try two months

life goal is to get to try making DNA origami just to say she did it

keeps starting doodle chains on the lab whiteboard

experiment worked= sweet treat to celebrate

experiment failed= sweet treat to commiserate

probably did a masters in the microbiology department, they keep trying to convince her to switch projects back to them bc her streak plating was gallery-worthy

picks up her lab coat and 10 pens fall out of the pockets

sold her soul to parafilm

tsukasa

RNA therapeutics

goes in cell culture with no gloves, still somehow doesn’t get contamination

that one insane person who actually enjoys the stress of working with RNA

doesn’t even do SDS-PAGE but still has coomassie stain all over his lab coat

keeps launching dry ice rockets

homebrewed a microfluidics system in the lab, it makes weird noises at night and everyone is slightly terrified of it

keeps materialising in the corner of the microscope room when mitsuba is in the middle of taking images. the cause of many a dropped slide.

plots his data in excel

worlds worst file names. no system, no dates, just a keyboard smash and a prayer

who needs desk space when you can just move your laptop into the lab

gave into temptation and tasted the cell culture media once. it was disappointing

either the most incoherent presentation you’ve ever seen, or a major scientific breakthrough, no inbetween

#tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #i work in a lab so therefore i have to make the fictional characters who live in my brain also work in a lab #already inflicted this as a thread on twitter #so now you have to deal with it too

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chic-a-gigot · 7 months ago

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The Delineator, no. 4, Vol. XLVIII. Autumn Number. October 1896. Published by the Butterick Publishing Co. London & New York. Colored Plate 18. Figures D39 and D40. Promenade Toilettes. Internet Archive, uploaded by Albert R. Mann Library

Figure D 39. — LADIES’ STREET TOILETTE.

Figure D 39. — This consists of a Ladies’ jacket or blazer, a vest and skirt. The jacket pattern, which is No. 8669 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and may be seen again on page 437 of this publication. The vest pattern, which is No. 6398 and costs 1Od. or 20 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and is shown again on its accompanying label. The skirt pattern, which is No. 8643 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in nine sizes for ladies from twenty to thirty-six inches, waist measure, and may be seen again on page 445 of this number of The Delineator.

Fawn faced cloth is here pictured in the jacket and cream-white cloth in the vest, both garments being finished with machine-stitching. The skirt is made of wine-colored zibeline. The jacket or blazer is here worn open and made with rounding lower front corners, but it may be closed at the bust and have square lower front corners, if preferred. Side-back and under-arm gores and a curving center seam render the jacket close-fitting at the sides and back and extra widths underfolded in box-plaits below the waist produce the popular outstanding ripples. A broad sailor collar that is curved to form three points at the back extends below the bust and shapes a point on the front of each sleeve. The newest effect is seen in the one-seam leg-o’mutton sleeves, which flare in puff style at the top and fit closely below. Pocket-laps having rounding lower front corners give a natty finish to the loose fronts; they are completed with machine-stitching to accord with the edges of the jacket and collar.

The low-cut vest is close fitting and is fastened at the center with buttons and button-holes; with it is worn a striped percale chemisette having a white linen Piccadilly collar and a black satin band-bow.

The six-piece skirt is made with a straight back-breadth and has straight edges that meet bias edges in the seams; it falls in flute folds at the sides and back and flares stylishly at the front.

Pleasing effects may be attained in the toilette by the association of harmonious colors and materials. The most successful jackets, in point of fit and style, are made up in this manner of broadcloth in either light biscuit shades or in the deep, rich Autumn tints of dahlia, green, mulberry, chestnut and wood-brown and various shades of blue and gray. Machine-stitching is the usual finish, although the trim self-strappings are not at all in disfavor, being, in fact, preferred by many fashionables. An inlay of black silk was added to the collar of a jacket made from green mixed cheviot to accompany a black vest and a green canvas skirt. For the skirt, the new camel’s-hair, serge, heather mixtures with their artistic commingling of subdued colors and broadcloth are suggested.

The brown felt hat is stylishly trimmed with ribbon, lace, feathers and flowers.

Figure D 40.— LADIES’ COSTUME.

Figure D 40. — This illustrates a Ladies’ costume. The pattern, which is No. 8658 and costs 1s. 8d. or 40 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and may be seen in four views on page 414 of this number of The Delineator.

Canvas wool suiting and velvet are associated in the costume in this instance, and a ribbon stock and pipings of silk and small buttons add refined and elegant decorative touches. The basque, which is closely fitted by double bust darts and the usual seams, is in rounding outline in front, where it terminates at the waist, while at the back and sides it extends in a short skirt that is shaped to stand out in stylish, rippling folds. Gracefully tapering revers extend down the front at each side of the closing and impart a dressy effect to the waist, being slashed to form two tabs over each sleeve ; the tabs are trimmed with small buttons and the revers are prettily piped with silk. The one-seam sleeves flare in leg-o’mutton puffs at the top and fit the arm closely below; they are completed with pointed, flaring cuffs that are piped with silk. A ribbon stock covers the standing collar and is stylishly bowed at the back.

The seven-gored skirt is gathered at the back and possesses the grace and elegance characteristic of the newest styles. At the sides and back it ripples fashionably and at the front it flares broadly.

The new rough-surfaced goods—canvas wools or boucles—will make up stylishly in this manner, and the novel zibeline wools belonging to the camel’s-hair family are also commended, as well as faced cloth, with velvet for the small accessories and pipings of silk and small buttons for decoration. A ribbon stock is quite essential to a dressy effect and there are so many methods of arranging and trimming this fashionable bit of lingerie that no suggestion of sameness is ever given by its use.

The hat is trimmed with bright rose ribbon having a velvet edge, and a fancy buckle in front is chic and pretty.

#Delineator #19th century #1890s #1896 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #internet archive #Albert R. Mann Library #dress #gigot #october color plates #one color plates #devant et dos

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tastylemonbread · 1 year ago

Text

At long last, Library's bio is here! A plain text version is available under the cut.

The next god to receive a bio is being voted on now here!

Image 1:

[This one is divided into sections, kinda like a newspaper. The specific formatting isn't really relevant, and it's pretty plain anyway.

Library, #17

Domain over data, memory, and organization.

AKA The Librarian, The Archivist, The Cryptkeeper

[Next to this first section of text is a neat black and white drawing of Library's sigil, a simple symbol comprised of a 2x4 grid of eight rectangles forming a square. The borderlines of the square extend a little past the corners, and an extra line lays horizontal at the bottom of the symbol.]

(next section of text)

PRIMARY:

As old as written word, Library has sought to archive all written works, but expands their purview to include new technologies as they are invented. Though many may assume Library to be meek and nerdy, They can be quite a powerful force if they want to be, possessing abilities such as teleportation, mind reading, and spatial manipulation. It's rare to see these powers used outside of the Grand Library. Being arguably the god of information, they have quite a good understanding of the human mind, and can effortlessly transmit and receive thoughts as long as they have physical contact with the person. Even gazing into Library's odd shelf face is enough to get the mind racing, overclocked with too much miscellaneous information to process. Despite all this, Library is pretty incompetent when it comes to social interaction.

(next section of text)

DOMAIN:

Library holds domain over every written word, work of art, video, audio recording, line of code, punch card, receipt, label, stone carving, and anything else that may be used to store precious precious data. Though Library considers each of these (and more) to be fall under the umbrella of their domain, they do not have control over these. Rather, Library can simply feel when something like that is created, and a copy is set into Library's mind.

(next section of text)

REALM:

Like many other realms, the Grand Library is located on a plane of existence parallel from standard Earth. The Grand Library does not appear to have a floor, walls, or a ceiling, instead contained within a hazy white void filled with neat rows of bookshelves. Despite there being no visible floor, one can walk around as if on solid ground. The rows of shelves go on past what the eye can see, and the place is so large that finding another visitor is incredibly rare. The only entrance and exit to the Grand Library is a set of very large fine oak double doors which connect to the lobby of the Bureau of Divine Intervention, which is the realm of another god that I won't elaborate on here. There are other ways to access the Grand Library, but those doors are the only permanent fixtures. A reception desk is by the entrance inside the Grand Library, at which Library is typically stationed. Since the Grand Library is so inconceivably large, a guide is always needed to find a specific book, and that guide is Library. They can take your hand and instantly zip you to where you need to be. The process is very disorienting, especially for mortals and those who don't regularly visit. Library can always sense where you are, and can always hear you ask for help so long as you are in the Grand Library.

(next section of text)

Relations with other gods:

good: monument, arts, drama, machine, health, hive

bad: flame, sea, war, death, rot, fear

(end of the first image)

Image 2:

[Standing in the center of the image is a tall, slim figure with one hand behind their back and the other raised to wave awkwardly. They are wearing a plain yellow raincoat that conceals most of their body, and brown gloves and boots. Their neck is long, curved, and round, made up of a thick tube of wires with a metal zip-tie keeping them in place. Their head is a cubic bookshelf, with the open side of the bookshelf acting as their face. The multicolored books within the shelf head are arranged in a way that resembles the static color bars of an old CRT TV. There are two more doodles of their head from two different angles, which are described in upcoming text so I'll leave it out here. Around the figure are bits of text that kinda correspond to various physical features of the god.]

(these are the bits of text:)

When walking, their head bobs like a bird.

head is actually a bookshelf, with four little shelves at the bottom. Library's sigil in burned into either side. On the back of their head is a little computer with some wires connected running seamlessly into the shelf.

Big weird hands. Also wires?

Seemingly normal raincoat with a reflective stripe. Nobody's ever actually seen what's under it.

in comparison to other humanoid gods, library is very lanky, standing at 7'3" (222 cm).

Leaves no footprints?

(end of the second image)

Image 3:

[This one has sentences and paragraphs placed around without much purpose. There was some empty space, so I copy + pasted the same doodle of Library laying on their stomach with their feet in the air, but I stretched out the doodles to make em look sillier.]

MISCELLANEOUS BITS:

Prayers, summons, and ceremonies are often answered with very verbose personal letters expressing gratitude, and rarely result in actual face-to-face communication.

Library has been spotted reorganizing human libraries and archives on Earth. They admit that this is a guilty pleasure of theirs, as they usually try not to get involved in mortal affairs otherwise.

All publicly available books in the grand library have been translated into a "universal script" which can be understood by absolutely anybody who is able to read in at least one language. Library is eager to teach people how to write universal script, but lessons are so long and dry that Library is still the only one who knows how to write that way.

Though Library's life is known to be well documented, they have taken efforts to seize all record of their past and politely refuses to share these records publicly.

The largest book in Library's head is actually a binder filled with articles, notes, photos, and other information about each of the gods. Library doesn't actually need to consult the binder, but they like to update it often.

Like many other gods, Library's voice is heard from a listener's POV as if it's just a voice in their own head. Library's "voice" varies depending on who hears it, but consensus seems to be that they speak gently, eloquently, and with a vaguely African accent.

Pulling on their wires isn't a good idea.

Though they appreciate Order's efforts to document and regulate godly affairs, Library finds it too much of a headache to navigate the Bureau of Divine Intervention, and tries to stay away from anything to do with it.

Miscellaneous books and scraps are always seen floating around the Grand Library, sliding into and out of shelves.

(end of third image)

This is the most I've had to describe, but lucky me, most of the images are just comprised of text. If there's any unexpected issues with this plain text version, please let me know. Even if it's just nitpicks, I'd love to hear it.

Thank you for reading/listening to my silly thing :^)

#art tag #oc #writing tag #oc: librarian #oc line: divine

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agirlsawalittlerose · 3 months ago

Text

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 2: Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage

“Here I stand, feet planted on this linoleum floor,

in line at the coffee shop—it’s a metaphor.

Waiting for my shot, my double shot, of espresso,

of purpose, of life, you know—I’m just sayin’.”

Vic knew Terence was a good person, and he had as much right to express himself as anyone else. But the pub was empty, except for him. Sara was outside arguing with the supplier, probably over the wrong brand of prosecco they’d delivered again. And Vic was definitely not in the mood to critique slam poetry.

“I hear the grind of beans.

They’re ground up, crunched, dust in the machine—

Isn’t that…all of us?

Just beans in a grinder? Just leaves in the wind?

I’m spiraling here, people. I’m looking for meaning.”

Vic tried to check the time without Terence noticing. In a dramatic flourish, he leaned too far forward on his stool and wobbled for a moment before regaining balance. Vic rested her chin on her hand, keeping her gaze fixed on the old man, trying to look engaged.

There’s only so much nodding one can do to seem encouraging.

“‘Order for Jake!’ the barista yells.

Not me.

Not my name.

Not my grande mocha with an extra shot of existential angst.

So I wait.

And I wonder.

And I’m still in line.”

Terence stopped, gazing dramatically out the pub’s window. He briefly spread his arms wide, then caught sight of Vic’s unimpressed expression. Deciding not to push his luck, he let them fall to his sides.

“Maybe it’s too… practical?” Vic offered, trying to sound as inoffensive as possible, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

Terence slumped, and guilt immediately settled in Vic’s chest.

“I mean, it’s good! Maybe you should test it at the next open mic?” she added, trying to lift his spirits.

But Terence gave her a bitter smile, gesturing for a pint of Moretti.

“I don’t know how you do it, Vic,” he said, both dejected and full of admiration. “Metaphors just seem to flow out of you naturally. I try so hard, but mine always come out… juvenile.”

Vic studied him for a moment. He had to be at least 150 years old, and she had to stifle a laugh at yet another of Terence’s poorly chosen words. She hid her amusement behind the act of pouring his beer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t force it? You should write when you’re genuinely inspired,” Vic suggested.

Oh, she’d definitely been inspired the night before. The new song had come together in a few hours. Sara hadn’t noticed a thing, thankfully. That lucky woman. Heavy, peaceful sleep—what a life.

“But being inspired is so hard! What inspires you?” Terence asked, genuinely curious, eager to unlock the secret behind Vic’s songwriting prowess.

It was such a complicated question that Vic didn’t even know how to answer. Honestly, she’d never given it much thought.

She opened her mouth, hoping a nuclear bomb or a robbery might intervene and rescue her from this uncomfortable moment. When the door swung open, she instinctively turned, praying for a distraction.

Unfortunately, the person who walked in was Aemond.

Vic made no effort to hide how annoyed she was. For once, she was grateful Rhys had just returned from the bathroom, giving her a chance to pass off the leech who’d been clinging to her for weeks.

“Hey, Victoria,” Aemond greeted her confidently, devoid of the usual hesitant demeanor he adopted around her.

Vic gave him a brief glance without responding, then motioned toward Rhys with her eyes as Aemond settled beside Terence. The old man was furiously scribbling on a notepad, erasing random words from his poem.

“I was hoping we could talk for a moment,” Aemond persisted.

Vic cursed herself for not volunteering to deal with the supplier. She noticed Rhys busy with the morning’s accounting, while Aemond clearly had no plans to leave.

“We’re talking,” she said at last, grabbing the nearest clean glass and pretending to polish it, avoiding his gaze.

Aemond glanced at Terence, weighing whether to start a serious conversation in front of the elderly poet. But he couldn’t afford to waste time.

“I’m not here to offer you a recording contract,” he said bluntly.

Vic froze, then shot him a look through her dark bangs.

“I’m offering you a songwriting contract. Nothing involving your personal music. I need you as a songwriter and consultant.”

Vic set the glass down, intrigued by the unexpected shift in strategy. It still reeked of an excuse, a ploy, but at least it was different.

“Oh, so now I’ve been demoted?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow and leaning on the bar with both hands, scrutinizing him.

Aemond didn’t flinch. He offered a small smirk and said, “Glad to have your attention.”

Vic remained still, gesturing with her chin for him to continue.

“We’re working on a new project. The artist has… potential but needs guidance,” Aemond explained, leaning his forearms on the bar and clasping his hands neatly. “And I believe in your music. If you don’t want to tie your songs to us, maybe we can help each other with something less… personal.”

Vic considered his words. She pushed her fringe aside in her usual thoughtful gesture, then straightened up and crossed her arms.

“And who says I need your help?”

Aemond held her gaze, curling his lips into a self-assured smile. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled out his wallet and dropped a £50 note into the tip jar by the register.

Vic immediately caught his meaning. Also—did people still use cash?

She followed the movement with her eyes, then returned her focus to him.

“Fine. Who’s the artist?” she finally asked.

“My brother,” Aemond said flatly, almost offhandedly.

Vic’s expression shifted, and Aemond caught it. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Absolutely not,” she said, turning to rearrange glasses that didn’t need rearranging.

Aemond blinked, taken aback.

“Why?!” he asked, doing his best to hide how much her rejection rattled him.

Vic paused, glanced again at the tip jar, her thoughts going to the St. Louis fee, and let out a long sigh.

“Let’s say I’ll think about it. I’ve got your email,” she finally said.

Aemond didn’t allow himself to celebrate, still puzzled by her reluctance.

******

134 posts on Instagram, and not a single video of her performing or a link to her SoundCloud.

Victoria Dawson’s profile was really strange for a musician.

Pictures of her in front of a pizza, at the pub with friends, pint after pint, her and the short-haired girl who’d called her from behind the bar that night, selfies in mirrors.

A bit tacky, but Aegon thought she was pretty enough to pull it off and still rack up likes from desperate men.

He smirked, feeling vindicated once again—he could read Victoria Dawson like an open book. She craved validation but focused entirely on the wrong things to get it. He could picture her, flitting from one first date to another, pretending to be chill but not doing a good enough job to mask the underlying anxiety and avoid scaring off her latest fling.

Music had probably been her quiet dream, nurtured carefully on her own. No way she came from a family of musicians—if she had, someone would’ve definitely told her to promote herself better, they would have made her understand that she was good and she had to push her music more than her selfies.

If she were Viserys Targaryen’s daughter, she’d already be on a world tour.

Victoria Dawson: the one who had somehow gotten Aemond to fall, despite his obsession with cold, calculated technique. The one who, it seemed, had cracked open Aegon’s head and pulled out every hidden thought—those same musings he entertained by the fourth beer before reminding himself he didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone.

The kind of thoughts he’d usually bury under a muttered fuck it right before snorting another line and starting fresh with a new pint.

By the time he reached yet another mirror selfie—this one had her looking right at him with sultry, almond-shaped eyes, tits half out, and a tattoo peeking out from her waistband—Aegon found himself wondering how many things they had in common. More than that, he wondered how many of those things he could make her admit, especially if she were naked beneath him.

“You asked me to help you move your stuff to the attic, but I’m doing all the work,” chirped Helaena, his sister, dropping another box on the floor and giving him an annoyed look.

“Hey, that box is full of rare vinyls!” Aegon replied, locking his phone and sitting up from the sofa where he’d been sprawled not two seconds ago.

In the end, Aemond had agreed to give the attic back to him, grumbling less than Aegon had anticipated. After all, it was Aemond himself who’d handed him the irrefutable excuse: with the album back in production, the attic was rightfully his workspace.

“Are you planning to do anything at all?” Helaena asked, crossing her arms. “The last suitcase is too heavy for me.”

Aegon huffed, standing up to grab his sister by the shoulders. “Thanks for everything, Hel. I’ll get it,” he said with clumsy sincerity. His words laced with an exaggerated tone that his sister didn’t deserve and he didn’t mean.

Helaena patted his hand, then plopped down on the sofa, probably worn out from the mini-move.

“Who was the girl you were stalking?” she asked curiously, her tone light but probing.

“A... girl I met at the pub the other night,” Aegon lied, settling in next to Helaena.

“Oh, right. You know what? The only reason I’m glad I spent my entire afternoon hauling your stuff up here is that I won’t have to hear you shagging through the wall anymore,” Helaena said, her face comically serious.

Aegon chuckled, as usual, incapable of taking anything seriously.

“I mean it, Aegon,” she continued, leaning forward for emphasis. “I was wearing headphones, listening to ASMR, and I still heard her screaming.”

Aegon shot her a smug grin, lacing his hands behind his head in a display of exaggerated faux modesty.

Helaena rolled her eyes, grabbed a pillow from the sofa, and chucked it at him. It hit him squarely in the chest, and she couldn’t help but laugh, her tone soft and melodic, the kind of laughter that lightened a room without trying.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but sincere.

Aegon blinked, the warmth of her words catching him off guard. For a second, he stared at her, as if trying to process that someone could genuinely care about him. His usual cocky facade slipped, leaving something raw and unguarded.

“Me too,” he finally said, his smile faint and tinged with bitterness, like it hurt to admit even that much.

Helaena gave his hand a squeeze and offered a sincere smile. “Excited about the album?” she asked.

Aegon immediately puffed up, chest out, trying to suppress the monster inside him that constantly whispered about his next inevitable failure. “Yeah! Not too thrilled that Aemond saddled me with another writer, but what can you do,” he replied brightly.

Helaena regarded him with a kind of tender understanding. Aegon could tell she was keenly aware—like he was—that no one in their family trusted him. Did she realize how much worse it felt having a glorified babysitter meddle in his music too? “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she offered, her voice gentle but encouraging. “Think of it like what an editor does for a director. Sometimes a little pushback can spark even more creativity.”

Thank God Helaena hadn’t gone into music. Being the family’s sole filmmaker made her an invaluable asset to the label, and no one hovered over her work, scrutinizing every creative choice.

“I don’t know, Hel,” Aegon said, running a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like my idea of a creative process. You think anyone ever second-guessed John Lennon?”

“Paul McCartney?” she shot back immediately, pulling a laugh out of him. He couldn’t argue with that. Fair point—bad example.

“Do you like this girl?” she asked after a pause, her tone shifting slightly. Aegon turned his gaze toward the large window overlooking Highbury.

For a fleeting second, he pictured Victoria’s latest mirror selfie. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind finding out how far that tattoo ran beneath her waistband. But more than that, his mind circled back to that night—the song she’d performed.

What stung wasn’t just that no one trusted him enough to grant him full creative control. It was the weight of past failures pressing down on him: his father’s voice telling him his album wasn’t good enough, the blare of ambulance sirens as they carted him away. Instinctively, Aegon touched his arm, the one that had been tethered to IVs for days before he was dumped into rehab. Above all, though, he felt the suffocating truth that no one believed he deserved a real second chance.

But he was here. Alive. Sober. Fighting the nagging, burning temptation that whispered daily—hourly—to call up that idiot dealer in Brixton. He was trying.

Just like Vic had sung that night. Trying.

Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that someone else—someone who also carried the weight of needing to prove she was trying—was steering his second chance.

“She sang a decent song,” Aegon finally muttered, minimizing the whirlwind of thoughts churning inside him. He turned back to Helaena.

She shook her head, seeing right through him as always. No matter how hard he tried to project an air of detached cool, Helaena was a step ahead, aware of every layer he tried to hide.

“But she’s a massive bitch,” Aegon added after a beat, leaning back. “Would you believe I even went to compliment her? Me. Giving compliments. Can you imagine?”

Helaena hummed a mock-serious no, no, playing along with his exaggerated frustration.

“And she treated me like a complete idiot. Total bitch,” he concluded, throwing up his hands.

“Did you call her a bitch?” Helaena asked, though she already knew the answer.

“She deserved it,” Aegon shot back without hesitation.

Helaena dragged a hand down her face in disbelief. Her brother truly was an idiot.

******

Vic and Charlie met one night at a pub in Marylebone, where his band was playing. Vic had just moved to London, brimming with excitement about the city’s vibrant, eclectic, and ever-thriving music scene. She couldn’t wait to immerse herself in it.

Within two months, she’d packed her bags, left everything behind, and landed in the big city—alone. Her first flatmate, before Sara moved in, was a painter with a few too many hippie tendencies and an irritating habit of psychoanalyzing her. Every time they crossed paths, she’d spout things like, “I can sense your energy" "It’s the energy of a sad soul." and worst of all "The only way to grow is to process our traumas and transcend them.”

“No sh*t, Sherlock,” Vic thought every time, barely restraining herself from telling her off. Eventually, she began timing her bathroom visits for when her roommate was out or in her room.

In those first months, Vic threw herself headlong into London’s live music scene, hunting for gigs night after night, always attending alone. It was during one of those nights that she met Charlie.

Dark curls, hazel eyes—the most mesmerizing shade of hazel she’d ever seen—and a charming Essex accent. His band was awful, but Charlie made his guitar sing in a way that captivated the entire audience from his very first solo.

When the set ended, she followed him to the bar, bought him a beer, and bluntly told him he was way too good for his band. Charlie had looked down, smiled shyly, then locked those hazel eyes on hers. Two hours later, they were tangled up naked in his bed.

As she slipped on one of his T-shirts afterward, Vic learned that Charlie wasn’t just a guitar god—he could sing and write songs too. His lyrics were politically charged, tackling social issues and philosophical musings, though sometimes veering into the eccentric or unintentionally absurd.

In the months that followed, Charlie was nothing short of a dream. Vic had never been more in love. Whenever she wished for a small affectionate gesture, Charlie would go grand. When she craved the kind of movie-line declaration she secretly adored, he’d always exceed her expectations.

Charlie was the first to hear her songs and never held back on constructive criticism—or praise. “If talent is a thing, you’re the definition of it,” he’d told her.

They didn’t have a whirlwind, sex-fueled honeymoon phase; instead, they immediately started playing music together in his room or hers, even after Sara moved in. Sometimes, Sara would join them to sing backup. But they never wrote songs together. Charlie refused. “Your head’s full of stuff that’s too intense,” he’d say. “It scares me.” he'd add with a laugh.

Vic was so in love she ignored the blaring alarm bells. She turned them off one by one.

When Charlie left his band, Vic was his biggest cheerleader. She brought him beers on stage at his solo gigs, and the day he signed with Viserys Targaryen’s record label, they celebrated by making love on his kitchen table before collapsing, laughing, into bed.

They cracked open a bottle of real champagne—the good stuff—and drank it all while fantasizing about their future, debating which cities to exclude from Charlie’s eventual world tour out of sheer pettiness.

But things began to crumble when the label asked him to tone down the quirkier edges of his lyrics. Charlie struggled, agonizing over each revision. Vic offered to help, but he always declined. After months of back-and-forth, Viserys scrapped the album entirely.

Charlie was devastated. The label had effectively shelved him, treating him like an old poster of a childhood idol, stuffed away in a basement. He spiraled into a deep depression. Vic tried everything to pull him out, arranging gig after gig to keep his music alive. But Charlie had checked out. He replaced his passion for music with a fixation on cryptocurrency investments, effectively turning his back on the life they had dreamed of.

And still, Vic stayed. She loved him with everything she had, more than she ever thought herself capable of. She stood by him, even as he drifted further away.

Until the day he finally admitted he didn’t love her anymore. Or maybe, he never had.

He’d left her with the classic it’s for your own good line (naturally) and retreated to his parents’ house in Essex. Goodbye music, goodbye London, goodbye Vic.

At first, she was shattered. Then came the anger. And finally, a sense of relief, as if she’d been purged of the cancer that was Charlie. Months of radio silence followed, until one night, completely drunk, she messaged him.

“Maybe it wasn’t you I liked, maybe it was London.”

He’d laughed in reply, and that was all it took to reignite something dangerous—a monthly ritual of “friendly” meetups. They’d spend entire days together, always ending the night drunk at the BFI Southbank, staring out at the Thames. Charlie would inevitably comment on how London reeked of sewage.

He’d tell her about his attempts to rebuild his life—a new office job, the occasional return to strumming his guitar. Vic would listen, because despite everything, she still wanted to know everything about him. Even now. Even after she’d insist to Sara, “We’re just friends now,” before heading out, leaving behind a trail of her most expensive perfume, the one reserved for special occasions. Sara never bought it, always raising a suspicious eyebrow as Vic slipped out the door.

Vic’s petty revenge for her broken heart was always arriving at least ten minutes late. That morning was no exception. When she finally showed up, he was already seated at their usual pub near Waterloo, two pints waiting on the table. Beside him was a Sainsbury’s shopping bag, its metallic clatter betraying the cans inside as she moved it to sit down.

“You’re late,” he said, half-serious, half-miffed.

Vic lit a cigarette, her eyes gleaming with defiance. “And you’re on your fourth beer and it’s not even one o’clock, right?” she teased. Charlie snatched a cigarette from her pack, shaking his head in mock disbelief but offering no denial.

“I thought you quit,” Vic remarked as she exhaled a puff of smoke.

Charlie shrugged, flicking the lighter from her hand. “I’m vaping. Healthier.”

Vic rolled her eyes, unconvinced. Smoking was bad no matter the form, but at least cigarettes had a certain aesthetic. “You should start too,” Charlie added with a smirk. “Don’t want to wreck that voice of yours.”

Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Oh no, my devoted fanbase of octogenarians would be heartbroken.”

Charlie gave her a playful tap on the hand, silently calling her ridiculous. “Meanwhile, good old Viserys Targaryen is still stalking you.”

Vic perked up, leaning forward. She loved sharing the latest gossip about his arch-nemesis. “His son showed up at the pub the other night. Brought his brother, too.”

Charlie shook his head, a mix of disdain and pity for the label’s desperate attempts to win her over. He paused, as if searching his memory. “The brother—the eldest? Aegon?”

Vic shrugged, stubbing out her cigarette. “Didn’t catch names. Wasn’t in the mood to chat.”

What she didn’t mention was how the guy had come back to insult her, calling her bitch.

Charlie nodded, lost in thought. “Could’ve been any of them. That old bastard’s got, what, two hundred kids? Did you know his wife’s twenty-five years younger?”

Vic gasped dramatically, hand over her mouth in mock shock, feeding Charlie’s disdain. “But it’s probably not Aegon,” Charlie added offhandedly. “He should be in rehab.”

That was it—that tormented air she’d picked up on that night.

Victoria had seen through him instantly, as if he were an open book. The typical bored trust-fund kid who’d never faced a real problem in his life. Parents who handed him credit cards because they didn’t know how to give him love. Someone who had to push himself to the brink with drugs, chasing the edge of oblivion just to feel something, to fill the yawning void left by a life of hollow privilege and isolation.

Charlie was wrong—it had to be Aegon.

A wave of disgust swept over Vic, sharp and immediate, cutting through her thoughts. But just as quickly, it was followed by a jarring realization: sitting there, already nearly done with the pint Charlie had bought her, she wasn’t all that different.

Fair enough.

“Yeah, it was him,” she said simply.

Charlie folded his arms, exhaling a long sigh. “I remember him. Daddy was producing his album the same time as mine. He wasn’t bad—post-punk, but a bit too Kurt Cobain without the credibility of, you know, actual social struggle.” He took another sip of beer. “You’d hate his music.”

“I hated him,” Vic thought, though she didn’t say it aloud.

“They’ve picked his album back up,” she said instead, watching as Charlie’s interest piqued. “Aemond offered me a songwriter deal. I think he’s finally figured out I’ll never sell them my songs outright and wants me to collaborate on his brother’s album.”

Charlie didn’t hesitate. “Great. When do you start?”

Vic blinked, caught off guard. “I turned it down, Charlie,” she said, confused by his sudden lack of support in her ongoing war against Viserys Targaryen.

“Why? If you’re just a writer, they can’t screw you over like they did me.” He leaned back, thoughtful. “And I bet the pay’s good. You’d be stupid to pass that up—not in this economy.”

Vic braced herself for the inevitable political monologue that followed, but this time, she didn’t hear a word of it. Instead, her thoughts circled back to one simple fact: Charlie thought working with Aegon was a good idea.

By the time she found herself scrolling through Aemond’s email later that night, she’d already convinced herself it was her own idea all along.

#aegon #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon x oc #hotd #hotd fanfic #modernauaegon #modern au aegon #modern au #Spotify

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technogenenterprise · 2 years ago

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Stay Ahead of the Competition: Why Front and Back Double Side Sticker Labeling Machines are Essential for Your Business

In today’s dynamic and competitive business landscape, maintaining a competitive edge is vital for the success and expansion of your business. One effective way to achieve this is by investing in state-of-the-art machinery that can streamline your production processes and enhance your product packaging. When it comes to labeling, front and back double side sticker labeling machines are an…

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#Double side sticker labeling machine #Flat bottle labeling machine #front and back labeling machine #Labeling Machine

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adinathinternationalindia · 6 months ago

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Automatic Double Side Flat Bottle Sticker Labeling Machine

Automatic Double Side Flat Bottle Sticker Labelling Machine Model AI-BSLM 2A is one of the most user friendly. Suitable for applying Front, Back or Side Labels on Flat/Oval/Square/Round shape containers with output Up to 100 Labels per minute depending on products Shape/Size and label size. Automatic Product Alignment system synchronised with top holding belt system. The Machine incorporates with modern sophisticated Micro Processor Control Label Dispensing system with user friendly Sensing system for Label and Product. Machine also available with Optional Wrap-Round System makes it more flexible to use for Applying Single Side Label on Flat Bottles or Applying Wrap Round Label on Round Products. The most versatile, elegantly designed linear labelling machine to meet the needs of major users of modern packaging lines, requiring high efficiency with speed, accuracy and durability. Easy to use adjustments, requiring a minimum tool or change of parts. Machine can be designed and supply with Robotised Twin Moving Pocket System or Twin Feed Worm System ensuring perfect alignment of bottles on conveyor for precise labelling application. Selection of Product Stabilizing system is depending on Product Shape, Size and required speed.

#Double Side Flat Bottle Sticker Labeling Machine #Flat Bottle Sticker Labeling Machine

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theother456-stories · 2 months ago

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Jace Calloway had been outrunning bounty hunters for years, slipping through their fingers like smoke. He had a reputation—smart, slippery, and damn near impossible to catch. But tonight, that streak came to an end.

His arms were wrenched behind his back, wrists cuffed in industrial-strength restraints as he knelt in the center of a dimly lit warehouse. Five men surrounded him, their grinning faces illuminated by the dull red glow of flickering neon overhead. These weren’t just any hunters; they were professionals, the kind that didn’t take chances.

“You’ve been a pain in our asses for a long time, Calloway,” said the leader, a broad-shouldered brute with a cybernetic eye that glowed faintly in the dark. He held a holopad in one hand, scrolling through the bounty details. “Alive, standard payout. But there’s a little bonus we found in the fine print—one we think you’ll appreciate.”

Jace glared at him. “And what’s that?”

The leader’s cybernetic eye whirred as he zoomed in on a particular section of text. His lips curled into a smirk. “The guys who put the price on your head? They don’t just want you alive. They want you big. Immobile. Seems you’ve got a history of running, and they want to make damn sure you never slip away again.”

Jace’s stomach twisted. “That’s insane.”

The hunter chuckled. “Yeah, maybe. But the payout doubles if we do it.”

The brute beside him let out a laugh, cracking his knuckles. “Lucky for you, we love a challenge.”

Before Jace could react, they hoisted him to his feet and dragged him toward the back of the warehouse. The place was filled with crates of stolen goods, old machinery, and dimly humming generators. But what caught his attention was the massive steel contraption bolted to the floor—a feeding rig, the kind used on livestock in the industrial farms of the inner colonies.

Pipes ran along the walls, connected to enormous vats marked with labels like “Nutrient Slurry - Maximum Density” and “Metabolic Enhancer Formula”. A thick rubber hose hung from the machine, its nozzle gleaming under the dim lights.

Jace’s struggles doubled. “You’re out of your damn minds!”

“That’s what they all say,” the leader mused. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

They forced him into a reinforced chair, his arms strapped tightly to the sides. More restraints wrapped around his chest and legs, ensuring he couldn’t so much as shift in his seat. The hunters moved with practiced efficiency, adjusting the setup like they had done this before.

Then came the hose.

Jace clenched his jaw, but one of the hunters pried it open, shoving the nozzle between his lips. It latched into place with a mechanical click, sealing against his teeth. A moment later, the machine whirred to life.

A thick, warm liquid surged into his mouth—so rich, so heavy with calories that it coated his tongue like melted butter. It was dense, engineered for rapid weight gain, packed with every possible nutrient designed to stretch a body beyond its limits.

He tried to fight it, but the machine controlled the flow, giving him no choice but to swallow.

The first hour was the worst. His stomach rebelled, but the hunters monitored his intake carefully, adjusting the formula, making sure he could keep it down. They had experience in this. They knew how to make it work.

Hours turned to days.

At first, the changes were subtle—his stomach rounding slightly, his face looking fuller in the dim light. But the machine didn’t stop. The hose didn’t stop. The constant flood of calories did its work, and his body had no choice but to adapt.

His gut began to push outward, rolls of fat forming where there had once been none. His arms softened, thickening with new weight. His legs, once powerful, started to spread under him, flesh pooling against the reinforced seat.

The hunters monitored his progress with fascination.

“Three hundred pounds already,” one of them muttered after a few days. “Damn. He’s responding fast.”

Jace could barely growl in protest. His body was already heavier, his limbs slower. And the machine didn’t stop.

They adjusted the rig, replacing his restraints with wider, reinforced bands as his girth expanded. His belly surged forward in soft waves, pressing against the straps, demanding more space. His chest plumped up, his arms sinking into their own growing bulk.

A week in, the chair could no longer contain him.

They moved him to the floor, setting up a larger feeding station, connecting additional hoses to ensure maximum intake. His body sprawled across the warehouse, his gut surging forward like a growing tide. The hunters watched in awe as the pounds packed on, day after day.

At three thousand pounds, he could no longer lift his arms.

At five thousand, his legs had disappeared beneath layers of fat, his body a vast, immobile mass.

At seven thousand, his cheeks were so plump that even speaking became an effort. His breaths came slow and deep, his massive body rising and falling with each labored inhale.

But the machine didn’t stop.

The hunters took turns documenting his progress, running scanners over his immense frame, calculating his ever-growing weight.

“Nine thousand pounds,” the leader mused one day, tapping his holopad. “Reckon we can push for ten before we deliver him?”

Jace could barely respond. The hose never left his mouth. He could only let out a muffled grunt as another surge of thick, creamy slurry flooded his throat.

They had done it.

The great escape artist, the man who had outrun them all, was now nothing more than a mountain of flesh, utterly immobile, completely at their mercy.

The bounty hunters exchanged satisfied looks.

“Call the client,” the leader said. “Tell them we got him. And that he’s exactly what they asked for.”

Jace’s eyes fluttered, exhaustion washing over him.

Trapped—not by chains, not by cuffs, but by his own immense, inescapable weight.

And the worst part?

He could still feel the machine working, still feel the relentless tide of calories surging into him.

Because they weren’t done yet.

Not until he was too big to even think about escaping ever again.

#fat gay #fatboy #gaining fat #get me fatter #ssbhm belly #ssbhm feedee #fat belly #fatty piggy #obese gainer #fatty

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raayllum · 1 year ago

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The high mage office becomes a bit of a ramshackle, afterwards.

The first and most obvious reason is that, while spacious, it was only really meant to accommodate one mage and possibly an apprentice at a time—not three mages, piles of books and magical objects stacked ceilings high.

That, and the youngest of their little club has by far more clutter than Kpp'Ar or Viren ever did, the eldest mage thinks.

Callum is quick witted and talks too much, otherwise staying silent for hours, out of studiousness or bother, eyes hard whenever he looks at Viren.

His old apprentice is the most out of place, perhaps. Viren has forsaken dark magic, a path Kpp'Ar never thought possible, especially with what Viren had imprisoned him over. But Viren throws the books of dark arts only sour looks and dour frowns, reluctant to even touch them never mind read them. He and Claudia are alike in that way, Kpp'Ar supposes, seeing how they've grown side by side now as adults. They're no longer dark mages, but they refuse to try their hand at primal magic and arcanums, either.

For Claudia, Kpp'Ar thinks it is a lingering trace of stubbornness and pride. For Viren, it's likely fear—for if he can't connect, then he is shut off from magic forever. And if he can, then all the pain he caused and dark roads he took might've been avoided.

He helps out, mostly, running messages—taking letters to the rookery, labelling bottles, taking the messiness of Callum's notes that Kpp'Ar's eyesight is too poor to make out, and turning them into something coherent. Not unlike the work he'd done when he was an apprentice, if muted and with a hesitance rather than a persistent, desperate hunger.

And for the first time in a very long time, Kpp'Ar is a student.

Not officially, of course. Callum is the only official high mage among the three (or four) of them, and he's never taken on an apprentice before. Nor had he taken Kpp'Ar on when the old man had expressed a desire to learn primal magic—to see the world and his work again anew, with his unexpected second chance.

But you don't become a mage if you aren't observant, and intelligent, and driven, and able to learn at least a little from example. Kpp'Ar needles him about the arcanums he holds, which Callum is more than willing to spout nonsense about to someone, the nonsense gradually making more and more sense. Dark magic is about ingredients, the way machines are about gears and cogs. Primal magic is about connection, and cycles, a bridge, the same way a puzzle serves to be one: one for humans to solve from a Maker, whether that's magic or or the all forsaken All-Mother in Kpp'Ar's mind.

A puzzle he will, with gnarled fingers and a grizzled face, grasp one day with as much certainty as his jewelled cane.

Callum finds him one day, pouring over Earthblood tomes, and raises a brow and a cup of tea to his lips. "Didn't expect to find you in here so early."

"Shows you still have much to learn," Kpp'Ar mutters, turning the page. He squints, the candle growing dim.

Callum snaps and the flame sparks, emitting much more light. Some of his headache clears away. "If you're really set on an arcanum," Callum advises, jerking his head, "maybe think about the Sun."

Healing, vision, light.

Kpp'Ar eyes the candle.

"Perhaps," is all he says, and maybe he still has some pride of his own—he's more than double the boy's own age, after all, even with thirteen years lost to that accursed coin.

But then there are much worst things than taking advice—like taking the wrong advice.

That's another thing their little club has in common, he supposes.

#tdp #the dragon prince #high mage club #after the war #tdp kpp'ar #kpp'ar #ficlet #headcanons #indulgent? yes. fun? also yes #my fic #fic

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karionice · 2 years ago

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The Only Hong

Pairing: ceo!Joshua Hong x secretary!female reader

This is connected to my villain DK one-shot which was lots of fun but much, much shorter. If you'd like, strap in for some world-building.

Word Count: ~ 9.7k

Genres/Warnings: eventual romance and fluff, sci-fi au, kinda dense, tech empire au, non-idol au, robots, mentions of other svt members, skz reference from my drafts, reference to death, joshua is gentle sexy as always, reader and Joshua are about the same age, joshua is an orphan, true neutral, reader probs has anxiety, "refuge cafes" = "Plaza system", first kiss, shua's shtick with water here too

Ceo world taglist: @fabulaee, @laaylaazyy

What a lonely man he must be, you thought to yourself. Everything about Joshua Hong's home was solemn and quiet, yet also very much alive.

In every direction there was some sort of robot - little ones floating about wiping windows, larger ones scooting about sweeping the floors, little screens on each door blinking at you as you walked by...There was even a slinkier robot swinging about the ceiling rafters dusting surfaces and changing lights. One of the sweepers gave you a little wave as you kept walking until you reached a large, open doorway of polished dark wood.

You stood there in the middle of the open doors and took in the gilded, floor length windows on the other side of a large study. It was a beautiful room within an already beautiful place, but you specifically observed the motionless silhouette of a tall and slim young man. He had his back turned to you with his hands clasped behind him, gazing out the window at the glowing city outside.

You didn't know whether to make a sound or not so you stayed standing in the doorway, fighting the urge to fidget. After a couple more quiet seconds, the man looked over his shoulder and gave you a small smile. He beckoned you to come over before turning to walk over to a large desk.

With each step you felt yourself tensing up so you got yourself to breathe as you watched Mr. Hong sit down in his very comfortable looking chair. Once you'd gotten close enough in front of his desk, you bowed and greeted him plainly.

"Good to see you again, Y/N L/N.” Mr. Hong regarded you, eyes astute. “From today forward, you will be my at-home secretary. Thank you again for accepting the position."

You simply nodded and bowed again, making Mr. Hong chuckle. "No need to be nervous, I only hope to make your time working for me both comfortable and manageable." He then stood and beckoned to you again.

"Welcome to my study,” Mr. Hong exclaimed, making a wide gesture with his arm. “That desk over there will be where you will spend most of your time working."

You followed him over and he proceeded to explain some of the more unfamiliar gadgets on your desk, all of which he'd invented himself. He made note of the subtle uptick in brightness in your expression when he showed you the task managing device he'd designed for you.

"And finally, that quaint little area on the other side of the room is the refreshments corner. All of the cabinets are labeled and the refrigerator is self-cleaning - a best-seller of mine, if you didn’t know. Who knew people enjoy saving time from looking for the source of distracting odors?”

Even though you could tell that he was trying to get you to crack a smile, you still felt too timid to really do so and simply nodded at him, not meeting his eyes. At that, he cocked his head and regarded you with another small smile.

“A few of my delivery rovers have already transported your things to your living quarters, which are a little ways past the main hallway. Allow me to show you the way.”

Your shoulders relaxed a little at the prospect of rest as Mr. Hong turned on his heel and gestured for you to follow. Rather than through the large doorway, he seemed to be leading you to a smaller double door on the side within a wall of bookshelves.

As you passed the refreshments corner, the coffee machine, also a robot, waved at you.

You paused in your tracks and blinked, causing Mr. Hong to turn around to see what was happening. When he saw you giving the coffee-bot a wave back, Mr. Hong laughed. You looked back at him wide-eyed and embarrassed, only for your eyes to grow wider as Mr. Hong walked up to the robot and gave it a pat on the head.

Did that robot just giggle? You noted the shine of curly embellished letters on the back of it that spelled Shubot.

“Come now,” Mr. Hong said, breaking you from your perplexion. “There will be plenty of time to become acquainted with the rest of my creations inhabiting this home later on.”

As the two of you continued to walk, you eventually came to be walking next to him rather than behind. You looked around, taking in the elegant mix of all things high-tech and what had clearly been there for generations.

"Hong Corporations has had many rebrandings and changes in development throughout the decades, but the fact that the oldest furniture and designs in this home are from two centuries ago doesn’t change. My ancestors wanted to build things that would last for a long time, but my grandfather was the one who decided to begin a legacy of creating to adapt to an ever-expanding world. Therefore our original property is far outside of the city. My grandfather relocated the business itself to the west side of here, Sector 17, and built it from the ground up, eventually raising my father here. And now for a very important question,” Mr. Hong stopped walking and raised his head.

The screen on the beautiful door you had stopped in front of displayed a waterfall effect to reveal letters - letters that spelled your name.

“Coffee or tea?” Mr. Hong smiled, looking at you.

You swore you could feel yourself blush as you said quietly, “I usually prefer neither.”

Mr. Hong’s smile grew wider as he snapped his fingers. Before you had the chance to soak in how perfectly straight his pearly teeth are, a delivery rover approached rapidly and prompted the door to open.

As you walked into your room, you watched as the rover extended its compartments to plop a robot you hadn’t seen before onto a small table in between the bathroom and what looked to be a vanity. You then jumped as Mr. Hong snapped his fingers again and the new robot whirred itself to life.

“This is Voira, a prototype for a new model of my water filtration and dispensing line. She can set the time when she will refill herself in a sink, or you can have her do it herself whenever empty, and she has a variety of options for the quality and temperature of drinking water. She will also retrieve one of your complimentary mugs from wherever it may be herself, unless you switch that feature off too. Currently I am still working on flavor fusion options, but hopefully with the data produced from you having her, it will be completed soon.”

You had to unhinge your jaw before looking up at Mr. Hong with shy gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir.”

“Oh please my dear, no need to be so formal. Call me Joshua.” At that, you simply bowed and turned away to hide your even deeper blush.

Joshua checked his Shu-watch and tapped the screen a few times before putting his hands behind his back and turning to exit. “I shall see you for dinner in two hours, which will be followed by your first set of tasks to complete for me. Please, however, get yourself accustomed at your own pace. If you need any assistance organizing your possessions or adjusting the settings of anything in your room, there is a companion Shubot on your desk that will gladly speak with you.”

After he left, closing the door behind him, you flopped down into a large cushioned chair by the vanity and took a good look around.

Your room was a sleek yet cozy little space, or at least little in comparison to what you’d seen so far. There were floor length windows here as well, with digital, remote-controlled blinds that you recognized as those of Hong Co.’s that could turn into a television screen. Your bed was a large loft over a simple glass desk, at which you noticed several charging stations for a variety of devices. Mirroring the bathroom, next to your bed was the entrance to a walk-in closet, where all of your things had been left in a neat pile by the rover-bots.

How on earth am I going to get myself together in two hours and still have energy to work tonight? You thought to yourself. You took a deep breath and got yourself up to settle in.

To start, you decided to ask Voira to bring you a cup of lukewarm water. You then started unpacking your clothing in the closet, only to be surprised by the clothes hangers- they unraveled themselves from the shape of hangers into robotic arms similar to the swinging cleaner bot you saw earlier and began hanging your clothes for you; pants, skirts, dresses, blouses, even belts and scarves. When you placed your shoes on the shelves labeled for them, the platforms above sprayed them with a sort of odor-eliminating disinfectant.

“...get yourself accustomed at your own pace,” you remembered Joshua’s voice in your head.

After getting over the shock of it all, you decided to do a little experiment. You noticed drawers that read “socks.” You took out an armful of your socks from a baggage and tossed them all into one. To your amazement, there were digital shifting platforms that paired up and organized your socks for you by length.

At this rate, I will be done unpacking in no time. It’s no wonder how the big CEOs who can afford to have their homes like this are able to be so productive, despite being humans.

“Now,” you thought aloud. “What’s the internet password?”

“Not to worry, Miss!” You heard a voice say from outside of the closet. You rushed out and saw the companion Shubot on your desk waving at you cheerfully. “Just place all of your electronics into the appropriate charging slots and I will get them connected to the internet right away!”

Your hands covered your mouth in silent glee as you hurried to follow the robot’s instructions. Once most everything had been put away, you noted how less than thirty minutes had passed. You got iced water from Voira and sat down at your desk again, you wanted to greet your desk companion properly.

“Hello, Miss! What can I do for you?”

You giggled at the thing and asked, “I just wanted to know, what should I call you?”

“You may call me whatever you’d like, Miss!”

“Please, call me Y/N. And er, may I call you…let’s see…” The little bot swayed in place patiently as you thought about what to possibly name it.

“Ani. May I call you Ani?”

“Of course!” You laughed as Ani gave a little spin. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’m excited to take care of ya!”

“Ani, I have some questions, if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely, ask away!”

“Why does Joshua only live with robots?”

Ani’s head quirked to the side. “I assume you don’t know the story of his parents?”

You shook your head. “I know about Joshua being an orphan but does he really not have anyone else?”

Ani shrugged, something you never thought you’d see a stiff little robot do. “I don’t contain any data on the topic of the Hong family outside of their names and important dates. There are other AIs here who do. But I am programmed to keep anything you tell me confidential, so don’t worry! I may not have much to say but you can talk to me anytime!”

You had never thought it possible to experience awkward silence with a robot but there you sat. “Well…I suppose I just don’t know where to start around here. I’m sort of hoping I'll wake up one day and realize things have picked up and I can just work. If, uhm, that makes any sense.”

Ani nodded. “Mhm! If it helps, one of your first tasks after dinner will be to organize your schedule for tomorrow! Joshua will send me a list and then you get to add whatever you want to in my hourly calendar!”

Checking the currently blank calendar, you weren’t surprised that you could add anything you wanted down to the minute, though you did wonder how much of it Joshua would see. “Ani, I have one more thing - Should I dress up for dinner?”

“Oh! The master has specifically requested you wear this…”

“...Ah.”

The uniform wasn’t tacky by any means, you just weren’t sure if it suited you. At least it was comfortable, and you liked that the skirt wasn’t too tight and left plenty of possibilities for layering.

When you arrived where Ani had indicated dinner would be, you stopped in your tracks in shock. Even though you knew that Joshua lived alone, you were expecting something more like a large or lavish dining room, maybe even with a chandelier. Instead you were greeted with a simple kitchen and living space, separated by a counter with tall seats.

Behind the seats was a small glass table and simple chairs with tied-on cushions, almost like what a grandmother long ago would have in their home. Even larger of a surprise, Joshua was in the process of taking off an apron.

When he turned around to give it to a nearby robot to put away, he saw where you were standing and smiled.

“Come, have a seat at the table. My Cara-bots will bring out dinner momentarily.”

As you sat down gingerly, a robot similar to Voira but with a retractable tray for a body hovered over and poured wine into Joshua’s glass. He then looked at you, lifting his glass in question.

“Oh! I don’t really drink…”

Without anything said, the Shubot hovered over to you and poured something amber colored into your glass. You looked up at Joshua, puzzled.

“Try it, Y/N.”

You took a tentative sip and was immediately wowed. It’s like the robot had read your mind - you’d been craving something at this consistency, and the taste…it seemed to be diluted fig syrup, strained of seeds.

A Shubot similar to the delivery rovers but smaller set out plates, chopsticks, and soy sauce. Another one followed with a tray of kimbap.

“My mother’s recipe,” Joshua said, a tad softly. “It’s one of the few dishes I always make myself.”

The two of you ate in silence for a bit. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk and the food was really delicious, you just felt a bit…awkward. Joshua, being considerate of your shrinking posture, didn’t try to make any small talk like he had earlier. You were hyper-aware of it, especially since the situation was too reminiscent of how the two of you had met.

You had just been let off of your last job in the upper-east side of the city, where some places were filing for bankruptcy due to a recent falling through in DK Tower, that part of Sector 17’s keystone, something about a security breach causing a leak of investment funds.

You ended up in one of the city’s “refuge cafes”, which are large plazas scattered across the south side of Sector 17 that offer temporary housing for people willing to work until they find security, usually from business owners that set up there, then after workers can find more permanent options.

Unlike where you used to work, all of the businesses in the refuge cafes used Shubots for everything. The whole system is owned by the south of the city’s keystone, who’s even more secretive than Joshua.

Joshua noticed you at the business you were taking refuge in while he was in the midst of a meeting one day. A rare occurance since it's said he usually never leaves home. He’d invited you to meet with him after your shift and in the midst of the awkward silence of that encounter, you were given a new job which was currently proving to be just as daunting but luxurious.

What finally broke the ice in the present moment was one of the helper robots; a Cara came floating over with another robot that looked similar to Ani on her tray.

“Hello Sunday,” Joshua smiled at the bot as it hopped off of the tray onto the table. “Is something the matter?”

The robot spoke in a much stuffier voice than Ani’s cheerful one. “The atmosphere within a 3-meter diameter of you is rather ‘chilly’. Would you like me to play fireplace sounds over a decibel of white noise?”

The five seconds of silence that followed was deafening until it was broken by an unbidden snort from you. You quickly brought your napkin up to hide your face as Joshua’s head snapped towards the sound. Another second after, Joshua broke into loud and enthusiastic laughter.

Seeing this, you felt your face finally break into the smile Joshua had been looking for all day as you joined in.

What made you laugh even more was how you saw that Sunday was still just standing there, patiently awaiting input. It seemed the suddenly happy atmosphere was affecting him though, as the robot’s face smiled a little more while swaying in place.

“It’s okay Sunday,” Joshua finally said, still wheezing slightly. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Let the other Caras know that it’s almost time to bring out dessert.”

Joshua turned back to you as you drank more of your fig drink, and upon seeing that your glass was past halfway gone, he waved his hand and a robot came swinging from the kitchen to refill it.

“Thank you,” you spoke less softly than before, still smiling. “I’m sorry I haven’t said much.”

“Oh my dear, you have done nothing wrong. Besides I should apologize, I forgot to let Sunday know not to have his 'automatic ambience' setting on earlier.”

“All of your creations have so much personality…how have you made that possible?”

“This city is as transparent as it is crowded,” Joshua spoke in a more professional voice, perking your interest. “All it took was programming a Bitty bot to fly around it and gather data on human interactions, giving me everything I needed.” He looked away, wiping his face with his napkin.

“Do any of your robots continue to collect data even after being purchased?”

Joshua raised an eyebrow at you. “Of course not, but I have no control over anyone who uses my devices for surveillance after it’s out of my hands. Only if, say, a separate company volunteers to gather data for me might I entertain the idea, but even so I am still capable of getting that information myself.”

“So if I said you couldn’t use data from how I use Voira to do anything, you wouldn’t?” You were trying so hard not to find your own comment funny.

“Haha! Sorry dear, but the matter of liabilities isn’t there yet. However if you really insisted, I could have Voira be tested elsewhere, but she's a prototype and still under my ownership.”

“There isn’t anything else in this place gathering data from my presence, is there?” You asked, for no reason in particular at this point.

“Just my eyes, of course,” Joshua winked at you. That sure made you quiet. As if to save you from how flustered you felt, the Cara-bot from before brought dessert. A welcome distraction.

Your first day of work was well-paced and quiet. So much in the house was already done by Shubots that most of your tasks were completed at your desk in the study, mainly brief correspondences through an earpiece that matched one Joshua wore, and filtering through messages. Pretty much anything Joshua preferred a human do, which was what you’d expected well before coming.

Joshua was good about making sure everything was doable along with efficient breaks and meals, all while keeping a pristine friendly attitude. You quickly felt your initial fear vanish.

Your second day was more or less the same, and you concluded it by having Ani help you with finding a television program to wind down with. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so…safe. Just being alive.

Your third day began with a very perplexing addition to your schedule. Joshua had the words “Field Trip, dress normally” written in the slot after breakfast, which was to be eaten with him.

You picked a comfortable dress you owned with a cute collar and layered with stockings, plus a pretty jacket. Wanting to maintain some professionalism, you detached your name tag from your uniform and fixed it to your jacket.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Joshua greeted you when you arrived. “I’m glad to see you growing accustomed to the place.”

You gave him a smile and bow. “Thank you for breakfast, Joshua.”

Before you sat down, Joshua walked up to you while reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out a small object to show you.

It was a brooch, beautifully polished with a vintage crest decorated with opal. You noticed embossed words before Joshua read them aloud to you.

“Purposeful, Practical, and Peculiar. That has been my family motto since the very beginning. It’s why the company used to be named ‘Pianissimo’ before it was out with the old, but the rather silly motto still stands. You asked me how my robots are so expressive and I told you how but not why. The basis for such an intent has been passed down for generations, I wasn’t about to let it end with me.”

Joshua leaned in closer to you so suddenly you almost tripped, but he stopped just short so he could fasten the brooch in between the lapels of your collar.

“You look lovely today, Y/N. So I hope you don’t mind my ‘finishing touch.’ Please keep it, as a token of my gratitude.”

It was Joshua’s turn to blush as your face broke into the widest smile he’s seen from you yet.

He almost didn’t hear you thank him, the glow of your happy face made the lights illuminating it seem less bright in comparison making him step back in admiration. Joshua nodded in an attempt to hide his sheepish face as you both sat down to eat.

“So,” you began. “What is this ‘field trip’ that Ani told me about?”

Joshua raised an eyebrow at you as he took a sip of coffee. “You named your companion bot Annie?”

“Ah, yeah…I just thought he sounded like an ‘Ani’ to me,” you said, owning it softly.

“That’s really cute. Well, today I will be showing you the ‘Practical’ side of Hong Co. and give you a better idea of how my business is actually run. I know you have some degree of experience from your time at the Woozi Plaza but you will find that tech headquarters are a bit different.”

“Is it true that Hong Co. is just you and this tower?” You asked before taking another bite of your food.

“How could it not be true is the real question?”

You cocked your head at Joshua in confusion. He looked almost stunned. “My my, you must be the first person I’ve met who doesn’t know.”

“Well I always heard people talking in the plaza but I didn’t really…ingest much of it. I’m sorry…”

“There’s really no need to apologize, I promise to take my time telling you.”

He then placed his hand up to his earpiece, silent before nodding. “Mhm, thanks Sunday. And please have that package brought to the upper loft and unpacked.” Joshua looked back at you. “We’ll depart as soon as you’re finished eating.”

The center of Hong Tower was one long and sleek elevator, surrounded by a steel staircase to follow city safety regulations. Otherwise, as Joshua joked to you once you both stepped in, he wouldn’t even bother with the waste of material. You noted that this central elevator defaulted to being accessed by a biometric scan.

“My home is on the second floor through the sixth floor of this tower. My grandfather began with that and kept building up as the business grew. He had hopes that for generations to come, this building would continue to blossom from the roots he laid down. Our original estate would be a retirement place for each scion’s father to rest when we inherited the tower and well…” Joshua didn’t finish the thought as the elevator reached your destination.

When the doors opened, the most complex symphony of so many sounds hit you, and not one sounded human. When you stepped out onto a platform, you gasped at the hundreds of different kinds of robots performing so many tasks below where you were standing.

It was so fascinating how there weren’t any assembly lines or cuticles, it was just a lot of machines and holographic screens and the constant movement of work surfaces and…oh, a couple of them waved up at you. You and Joshua waved back at the same time. Then you looked at each other, causing you to giggle a bit.

“Every floor serves a general and unique purpose in the many aspects of how I have shaped the company. This is where stock is managed and maintained, receiving materials from above and below. Sunday is in charge of these factory floors, sending me any quirks for me to fix from the study. That used to be a more frequent process when I was still developing Sunday's AI,” Joshua chuckled. “But it has streamlined exponentially since I gave him the ability to control physical forms.”

Joshua led you back to the elevator where he showed you the next floors, “the flight lofts” as he called them. They were where everything from hoverbots to drones to transport pods were developed, managed by Joshua’s other AI program, Wednesday. Clever, you thought, that they were the floors that began to surpass the height of most other buildings in the city.

Since the tower was meant to always be built up, Joshua showed you that the second flight loft was the only place he had ever built sideways so that there could be hovercraft landing pads somewhere.

Your final destination for today’s little trip was a lounge floor almost completely surrounded in Joshua’s signature floor-length windows.

“This is the floor right above the last current factory floor, the upper loft. In his later years, my grandfather found that having a break location to end up in on maintenance check days was necessary. It would constantly change and rise since there could never be a penthouse, so my father inherited the idea as a tradition. It is currently of my own design.”

Joshua brought you to the other side of the lounge where instead of long couches, there were two armchairs. As you sat down in one, Joshua clapped his hands together, summoning a rover bot that placed down a round coffee table between you. A lone Cara-bot floated over with a ceramic tea set.

“I ordered the table yesterday, it’s what was in the package I had Sunday send up.”

You barely heard Joshua say that; you were too busy in awe of the view of the city.

Never in your life had you ever seen it from so high up - And goodness had you also never in your life smelled tea so good before.

Joshua laughed aloud at the face you made when you turned your head towards the teapot. “I like to keep my nicest tea leaves up here. I suppose I’ve always been waiting to share it. Let me pour you a cup.”

“Thank you, Joshua.” Your smile made Joshua blush a little again, and this time you shyly took notice. “I will be sure to savor it.”

You sat there for a bit in silence that was decorated by the sound of an electric fireplace nearby and the raindrops outside catching the neon glow of everything in Sector 17.

Despite the city always being rather dark, during the middle of the day like this it was just bright enough where you could see the towers of the other keystones. You could even see DK Tower in the far, far east, though the drizzle made it appear blurry.

“A great view, isn’t it? The City of Perpetual Dusk…” Joshua murmured, and you turned to look at him.

The look on his face was hard to read. You had a feeling that this was the most he ever truly lets himself relax, which was unnerving. His face when speaking to you was usually wise and cheerful, with rather watchful eyes.

At this moment, his whole form was none of those things, and it made him look a lot younger and smaller than you always picture him.

You watched him turn to look at you back and it wasn’t the motion that startled you, but the subtle diffusion of the glint in his eyes. In the time it took you to think of something to say, you wondered how exactly he saw you.

“If you’re always expanding up, what happens to the order of the floors below?”

“This company is constantly recycling itself,” Joshua answered simply, turning back. “We have a few floors of storage above and below ground, but I try not to have material come in too often. The average lifespan of a Shubot purchased in the city is rather short, so a certain percentage of them end up back here to be repurposed in one of the stock floors. Material left over from renovations and expansion goes back down to be repurposed.”

Practical indeed, you thought, sipping your tea.

You reached out to the Cara-bot still floating next to you and tried petting it the same way Joshua petted the coffee machine the other day, evoking a purr from the robot and a melodic chuckle from Joshua.

Two weeks later came a day where you were tasked with helping Joshua out with gadget orders that required more…personal attention than what was taken care of in the floors above.

You were in awe of how many big names appeared in the list Sunday gave you, a couple of whom you’d seen before at the refuge cafe. Though one unfamiliar name did catch your attention among the rest.

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you looked up at Joshua.

“A large order from one…Arthur Pendragon.”

To your surprise, Joshua cracked the most playful smirk as he chuckled. It caught you very much off guard, so much so in fact, that you felt your face warm up immediately, which only made his smirk wider.

“Ah, Seokmin…still ordering under a fake name after all these years. Well, what would he like this time?”

“Did you just say Seokmin? As in Lee-”

“Mhm, the city ‘bad boy’ as I’m sure even he calls himself.” Joshua interrupted gently, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, he may abundantly misbehave but in reality, he can’t do anything outside of a certain perimeter. And while I’m not unfriendly with him, I always stay on my far side of the city.”

“Why do you do business with him then, anyways?” You asked as you showed Joshua your screen.

“Are you judging, dear?” Joshua raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t fazed at all.

“Not really," you shrugged. "I just haven’t seen anything here that could be deemed, uhm, shady yet.”

Joshua didn’t answer at first, he glanced through the order before chuckling. “I never cease to be amazed at how funny Seokmin’s taste is. It’s like he doesn’t even notice that I know it’s him. No, it’s not truly shady. Reputation aside, he’s still one of the Sector’s keystones and I have worked too hard to be the only one without a single broken bridge to sour that now.”

Before he could continue, Sunday's bot hopped into view to relay a message. You just barely heard it say “Subject line ‘urgent’, from ‘Lee Jihoon.’ Would you like me to read it for you?”

Joshua’s face turned stony in an instant. “Send it to my watch, Sunday. I’ll return shortly.”

He turned to you with the complete opposite expression, startling you. “Apologies, Y/N. Process more orders to your best ability and we will continue our conversation over lunch.”

You nodded quickly as Joshua rose from his chair and left the study swiftly, holding his watch up to his mouth speaking in a hushed voice. A rover bot arrived to pick up Sunday and left too. Trying not to think on it too much, you returned to your desk and went back to your tasks.

About twenty minutes later, you looked at the time. There was still a bit until lunch, so you gave yourself a moment to breathe.

Where is this weird..feeling coming from…?

“Sunday?” You called out tentatively. You didn’t even know if it would work.

“Yes Miss Y/N, I’m here.”

You looked down at your custom task device. A wavy, holographic sphere that resembled a rising sun had emitted from the corner of your screen. This must be Sunday in program form.

“Oh wow, so I can talk to you?”

“But of course Miss, did the master not tell you?”

You decided not to answer that and hoped that said master wasn’t listening. “Sunday, I’m curious, how long has it been since another human has worked here?”

Sunday pulled up a simple visual with a series of dates. “Since the worker lifts were recycled, Miss. The building became fully automated then.”

But that’s after Joshua’s father passed… you thought to yourself.

“If you don’t have any more questions Miss, I have a reminder from the master to begin heading to the kitchen for lunch.”

“Thank you Sunday, let Joshua know what I’ve been able to wrap up.”

“Joshua,” you spoke, the moment the man in question came into view. He had just sat down and looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Will I be punished for using Sunday without permission?”

Joshua blinked hard. “‘Punished?’ My dear you haven’t been misbehaving, have you?”

It took you a second to realize he was making fun of you and you weren’t sure if you were amused or mortified. Joshua gave you another smirk, leaning you more towards mortified.

“No, you’re not in trouble. Even if it was violating a protocol, I never explicitly said you could or couldn’t talk to Sunday. If you ever do something protocol-violating around him or Wednesday, however, I would know immediately.” He regarded you with the same teasing look in his eyes as you sat down, clearly relishing in how it made you pout a bit.

“In truth Y/N, I had hoped in time I could tell you more and more, but I didn’t want to limit your parameters of interaction in the house. Though to see you can be such a daredevil, well, I’m honestly tempted to keep even more secrets.” You scoffed at the way he shone his teeth at you while putting an elbow on the table, chin up and in one hand.

“So I’m not your prisoner who will be buried with what I do end up being told?” Even with your sarcastic side-smile, you sounded just a tad more serious than you intended.

“My my Y/N, do rope in that imagination. I don’t dispose of people like lil’ Seokmin on the other side of town, nor do I encase anyone like his older brother. You’re free to come and leave however you like, we discussed as much in your contract.”

You were thankful for the food being laid out as Joshua spoke, offering you an excuse to not talk for a little.

You’d interacted with Joshua enough by now to know when he's purposely leaving out other implications to situations.

Some bites in, you finally began the expected topic at hand, letting the atmosphere grow serious.

“I was about fourteen when ‘the incident’ happened. Everyone around me talked about it for years. I was still in a District 9 facility at the time though, so most of what I know, I learned when I was sent here. I was first told that keystones are where what we need comes from, not really the CEOs yourselves. When I spent those two years at a refuge cafe though, I heard about how the huge Lee Family broke apart, all of the rumors surrounding your family, what District 9 really is…”

You had to pause for a minute there. Joshua, not taking his eyes off of you, waved for a bot to bring iced water. He nodded at you kindly when you looked up at him, as you swallowed heavily.

“There were so many people of varying levels of importance, talking in those bars every night as I worked. I heard about a lot of things that seem like they’d be underground, so I admit I’m rather afraid of what isn’t spoken about in broad daylight. But when you offered me this job, I decided that I would go in not assuming a thing. I’ve seen how it can destroy a person.”

Joshua was a good listener, his gaze was calm and revealed nothing of what he was thinking as you spoke about your life. When you were done, he finished his food before he decided to talk.

“Hong Co. is and has always been a family business. Even from the beginning it seemed that family businesses are always doomed to fail, and yet we were able to stay together through the decades. Er, mostly by trying not to have too many children. The Lees are a modern example of the third-generation curse that only grew worse over time. I grew up with the Lee brothers of Sector 17, though, so I don’t believe things would have turned out how they did if it wasn’t for, well,�� Joshua didn’t need to finish that sentence.

“Know that you are not obligated to believe everything I say, though you are only hearing everything from me. When our parents were killed, Lee Jihoon and I had barely turned sixteen. Lee Seokmin came out of ‘the incident’ a completely different person, making any reparation plans they had impossible. He ran off to fulfill his own desires, which left Jihoon to take care of their youngest brother, Chan, who is now the regime’s most valued keystone. Jihoon designed the Plaza system not only to give Chan a larger and connected space to grow up in, but also to gather intel in the same way you've heard things; surface level. He particularly likes my Bitty bots for that. Many of the Lee cousins disappeared during ‘the incident’ so Jihoon has always tried to find them again.”

“Has he found any?” You asked through your hands, which had been covering your mouth for a while.

Joshua shook his head. “Every time Jihoon gets close to finding one, he gets sabotaged by Seok. I really couldn’t tell you why but it is the only thing I haven’t been able to help with. Seokmin may buy my home appliances but I have no way of hacking his own tech. He mastered stealth the best out of all of us.”

Your eyes widened at this. “Has he tried to infiltrate here before?”

“His ego is too big. Even if he did though, I mastered security the best. So I focus on keeping Jihoon from going completely insane, for now he hasn't gone farther than paranoid. His business serves as protection for the city, he sends most of the info he gathers to Chan’s side of the city where plans are made and executed. Chan was always the best with combat.”

At that moment, Joshua received a message on his watch. He let out a huff. “My apologies, Y/N, there’s been a change of schedule. I have to leave for a bit and won’t be able to have dinner with you. Continue with your afternoon tasks and I will see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you Joshua, see you tomorrow.”

For the rest of the day, you got to experience what Joshua’s home must have felt like for the past decade before you came.

It really was lonesome, even with AI to talk to. Well, more like especially with only the Shubots. No wonder they’d been programmed to be so...peculiar.

That night, dinner was brought to your bedroom with a note that said you would be allowed to sleep in tomorrow if you wanted, and to tell “Annie” when you wanted breakfast. Instead of thinking about how that meant you had no clue what Joshua was up to, you laughed at how funny it was that despite being the most organized human being to exist, he was actually not the best with names.

You thought about writing a letter to your old employer, but you weren’t sure what you could possibly send, to anyone really. Had she forgotten about you by now? All you really did back then was wait tables.

Then again, Joshua of all people had noticed you. Other than awkward, what was it like for him when you two first met? You didn’t even realize who he was until he offered you work for a place to stay.

What was frustrating you the most was that you also couldn’t think of why you were only wondering about it all now. Does it matter why now that you’re already here and know half of his life story?

After you had gotten ready for bed, you took out a keepsake box you hid in among your socks and opened it. Inside were your most precious possessions, many of which held little monetary value but they held the details of your past. The most recent addition was the Pianissimo brooch.

As you ran your fingers along the polished opal designs, you felt a small tear escape your left eye as you tried to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of what felt like a pinch in your heart.

The process of you and Joshua learning more about each other spread across the weeks. The distance between you had long become friendly and Joshua eventually programmed Sunday not to interrupt conversations with you for anything other than emergencies.

Years of only having robots and depressed business people to talk to must have piled on Joshua over time because now that he had another human around, you came to learn that Joshua wasn’t just strange but a rather silly person, too. He could be charming and watching him work was fascinating, as he constantly sketched ideas and swiped at so many holographic screens.

He was not only efficient but afforded the luxury to mess with you a bit too, in extremely high spirits. But still at the same time of maintaining an organized work environment. You pretending to feel offended by his antics only seemed to spur him on more.

Then when you asked him why none of his robots were human sized, he chuckled and said “That would be so creepy, I’d never sleep. Besides, it’s bad for business. A handful of people would splurge on something like that in one place, rather than a bunch returning every so often to buy something smaller.”

When you asked why he only ever wore suits, he said he was only choosing the “hottest attire” from a fashion company sponsor.

And when you asked Joshua why Voira was named that, he said “I think the touch of French can make even a water dispenser sound more appealing, don’t you?” and winked at you the same way he does whenever he catches you staring from across the study.

His casual flirting was what actually drove you crazy. It was almost like he wanted to keep you on your toes all of the time after you grew used to his surprisingly playful nature.

Afternoon tea time in the upper loft only happened on occasion, and it was the only time Joshua was anything but playful.

He looked somber, calculating, and a tiny bit tired as he surveyed the city outside of the windows. Only once did he allow himself to tell you of the burden he felt at times.

“Growing up, I was always the one Hong. In a world of Lees, I stand as the common ground.” And now just about everyone, good or villainous, rich or teeming; Shubots of all kinds are used by them in all walks of life.

For you, those days served as a reminder of the large world outside of everything you knew within Hong Co. You seldom left the tower to do anything, even though you knew how to take care of yourself in the crowded city due to your own background.

As you got to explore your new home, you came to realize just how much the estate was designed with the intention of housing a small family. You had no idea why the thought always came to you with a little flush to your face.

It was also during tea time that the little pinch in your chest would invade your heart more bit by bit as you got to know each of Joshua’s sides. It was hard for you to show more of yourself at times, so you appreciated the quiet days just as much as the ones with glee.

Before you knew it, you were watching light snow begin to fall outside as you sipped your tea.

Colder months meant new heating designs for Joshua to make, and according to Sunday, less conflicts between the Lee brothers to worry about.

“We basically hibernate until either Seok or Chan randomly gets up to something in Spring,” Joshua joked. “Even though I already stay out of the public eye as it is.”

“Was it always this way?” You asked, aiming to sound broad. Perhaps a month ago, Joshua wouldn’t have answered. But he spoke freely.

“My father was the least social of all of the men in my family. After my grandfather passed, he no longer had a reason to keep up appearances or go out at all, and then I and the other scions of the city were training up north. I never liked attending conferences with my father anyway, but then suddenly he was gone. I felt terrible letting all of the people he’d hired go, but they served as the foundation for Jihoon’s refuge cafes. And suddenly I had all of the space in the world to build back what I’d been left with. No one watching from the outside or the inside.”

“But no one at all except you,” You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the look in Joshua’s eyes showed that it was something he always wanted someone to say but there never was anyone else.

“It was the only way I was able to continue my family’s work without sacrificing myself, but that didn’t make me hate it any less. I was never going to be ready to have people around again, though at some point I knew I would have to try. Avoiding how others have failed doesn’t delay your own failure.” When he said that aloud, you could tell that he’d mentally hit a wall. That was probably it for him today, or maybe a while.

You took a deep breath. “I’m glad you were able to try something new, Joshua. For the company, and for yourself.” You put your teacup down and smiled at him, allowing your arm to stretch out to him tentatively.

Maybe it was because he genuinely had no idea what else to say but his hand slowly reached yours. You could tell from Joshua’s flush that warmth was flooding through him, too.

It wasn’t just the first time the two of you touched, it was likely the first time he had touched anyone in a very long time.

Just as his fingers were beginning to wrap around yours, Sunday’s hologram suddenly appeared from Joshua’s watch in between you two, making you jump apart.

“What’s the emergency, Sunday?” Joshua smiled, though you noticed the watchfulness return to his eyes.

“Your heart rate has increased beyond 120 bpm in the past minute, would you like me to send for-”

“No, it's all fine!” Joshua interrupted a bit loudly, completely embarrassed. You doubled over laughing, only making Joshua grow redder.

“Your AI are great,” You said, wiping your eyes. “Maybe I should get a watch, too.”

Joshua scratched the back of his neck in relief that you weren’t judging. “That can be tended to now, let’s head back to the study.”

The next time the two of you touched was when Joshua was showing you how to put on a Shu-watch, since you’d never had anything like it before. He specifically touched one up so that Wednesday would primarily care for you, connected to Ani in your room.

“Now Wednesday can embarrass you too whenever she or Sunday wants,” Joshua said cheekily as he showed you some of the regular features.

The next time would be at dinner the next day, when Joshua would get a little more adventurous by pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. Even though your legs were about to turn to jelly, you decided you couldn’t let him have all the fun.

“Wow some gentleman you are, boss,” you teased, bringing your hand up to your ears to poke his.

He caught on quickly though. “Oh forgive me, my lady,” Joshua gently took your hand before you could react. He bowed his head down to kiss it. “I was fatefully distracted.”

Forcing yourself not to faint, you met his eyes, hoping he couldn’t see right through you in that moment. “Well I suppose that makes sense since you haven’t wiped the crumbs from your face.”

Before Joshua could grab his napkin, you took your own and got up to wipe his mouth yourself.

The cocky grin on his face when you stepped back was what made you think that at this rate, you were going to physically fall for him before anything else.

The day you did faint wasn’t from a tussle with Joshua, but from dehydration.

The feeling that had built up within you was a source of stress you couldn’t stand after a while. You had finally acknowledged to yourself by then that you didn't want to leave at some point, as was agreed, even if you'd be sent off with everything you could ever need.

You realized that it wasn't what you wanted, and even if you could stay forever, your feelings for Joshua would be there too. For that you couldn't even look at Joshua, even though it wasn't truly his fault you were feeling this way about him.

Quite literally you couldn't stand it; as a distraction, you kept finding reasons to exit the study and poured yourself into tasks, ignoring alerts from your watch about your health. You knew it was wrong not taking the time to figure yourself out but whenever you tried, the feeling in your chest evolved further into a thorough ache.

When you started to feel dizzy one day, you tried to get up from your desk again for the nth time, only to stumble. Joshua noticed from his side of the study, but you shuffled away fast.

Wednesday showed at that moment that Shu-watches are (cleverly) programmed with certain overrides and beeped at you to either rest, or drink some water.

“That’s what I’m on my way to do,” you grumbled, trying to dismiss her.

“Miss Y/N, the nearest beverage machine is in the study, please pause your activity and-”

You hit the floor and vaguely registered the sound of Wednesday sending a message to Joshua about it.

When you were finally at a better state of consciousness, you found yourself in your bed with Voira next to you, holding out a cup of water. Sitting up, you saw Joshua sitting at your desk below.

He looked up at you, looking relieved that you were feeling better again.

“Wednesday, how are Y/N's vitals?” Joshua spoke into his watch.

“Back to normal,” You heard from your own watch. Joshua smiled and got up. To your slight horror, he climbed up halfway to your bed.

“How are you feeling otherwise?” Joshua asked you, his gorgeous face full of concern.

You looked away, still upset with yourself. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been taking care of myself lately.”

With a thoughtful “Hmm,” Joshua climbed all of the way up and sat right next to you, making you shrink away more.

“Are you afraid of me, Y/N?” That sure was one way to get you to look at him. Joshua's face was passive, but his eyes were filled with worry over what you might say.

“I...know that you’ve been avoiding me for a bit but I didn’t expect that you would ignore your watch. Poor Wednesday,” he added light-heartedly. Joshua waited patiently for your answer, fighting his own urge to physically reach out.

You let out a dispirited laugh at that. It was hard for you to find words, but you realized that this conversation was going to happen at some point, one way or another.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m afraid of you, Joshua…just of...the way I’ve been feeling lately. I am really grateful for everything you’ve done for me and you are a wonderful person to be around, but, well, I…”

You involuntarily reached for Joshua’s hand, and your back straightened at the feeling of his hand accepting yours. You suddenly felt so small but, for the first time, you were safe to say so.

“I’m afraid that I’ve been selfish,” you let out, mellow. “In all of this time I’ve spent around you I keep thinking about everything that makes me different and...unimportant...” You didn’t let him interrupt you there when you felt him shift.

“And I just…who am I to say that I…that…”

You felt him give your hand a little squeeze. Screw it.

“That I like you a lot? I really do care so much about you…you’re so kind to me and you intrigue me very much. I know that doesn’t mean I should feel this way at all, especially since the contract I’m under is temporary. I’m here to work, to help you, and that’s it. So I tried really hard not to think about it…”

You regretted it the moment you said it all, but it was only for a moment.

Because then Joshua used his other hand to cup your face, making you look at him, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“Y/N, I am the one who should be saying sorry to you. I think I’ve waited too long to tell you that I want you to extend your stay here. From the moment we met I knew that I would like you, so much that I couldn’t bear to watch you leave. I originally designed a new master bedroom just for you, but then I realized that I don’t just want you to stay, I want you by my side.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You were so stunned, Joshua looked away in fear that this time he had overstepped instead. So you leaned up to kiss his cheek, but given the height difference, it caused you to lose balance and Joshua turned quickly to catch you, and your faces were closer to each other than they ever have been, which at this point said a lot. Joshua swallowed nervously.

“Well, Y/N? Would you like to change your contract to one of marriage someday?”

You were sure at that moment most would have swooned or initiated a makeout session, but you instead laughed, giving Joshua the smile he himself had fallen for.

You had no idea where the confidence was coming from but you’d be lying if you said didn’t it come from Joshua, and just like him, you loved it. “Joshua Hong, you may be one of the most powerful people in the whole world but there really is so very much you do not know about women.”

Joshua blushed immediately, but he held his ground just as hard as he was holding onto you. “As long as it’s you, I will do whatever I can to learn. I want you here, Y/N, truly. You're family now.”

Family. Something both of you had lived so long without.

“Well call me old-fashioned but aren’t you supposed to date me first?” you both laughed and Joshua poked your nose, making you gasp incredulously.

“Darling, I’m the old-fashioned one here who was planning to take this slow, but then you fell face first before the ‘talking phase’ could even turn into seeing movies~”

The two of you kept the banter and jostling up until you breathlessly grew quiet again.

“That’s why,” Joshua spoke out of the blue.

“What?” You looked at him, and he brought his hand up to your face again.

“Talking with you, laughing with you, seeing you prove that I really am here, with you." Joshua stroked your face so lovingly you could cry.

"For so long I was alone...It was a harsh reality I never wanted to face, but no matter which way I turned it was the truth. Bringing you into my life was the most frightening thing I have ever done, but it remains the one decision I am most sure of. You make me feel like I am worth everything, and now I rest every night knowing I will see your beautiful face the next day. If you accept my offer of making permanence of this, I promise I will always be here for you, too.”

Well indeed right there you did cry. You were so choked up as he wiped your face, trying not to cry himself, that the only way you could respond to him sincerely was by closing the final bit of physical distance between you two.

You could faintly hear the sound of hundreds of the tower's Shubots in a 30 meter radius clapping and cheering as Joshua returned the kiss with passion, holding you close with both arms, your hearts pounding.

Sharing your first ever kiss only marked a pivotal point in the feelings you had begun sharing long before, which would only continue on to fill every desolate corner that could ever appear in this limitless home of yours, and everything you would continue to work for together.

a/n: "And that, kids, is how I met your mother"

Time for a trip to my dentist because my stars writing that might’ve made a hole in my sweet tooth awwwww 💕;w; At a point in this fic I realized I was expanding the world a little too much so I left out the details of “the incident” the reader and Joshua mentions to try and close a love story nicely. For you all that have reached the end of this amalgamation of my late-night writing, a year in the making, thank you so much and I do hope you’ve enjoyed this fic as much as I had writing it!

#joshua hong x reader #svt x reader #futuristic au #scifi au #ceo joshua #hong jisoo x reader #joshua hong fluff #seventeen joshua #joshua hong x you #tech empire au #sector 17 #cyber au

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