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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

together | myg

pairing: min yoongi x singlemother!reader

genre: fluff, very soft fluff, domesticity

words: 5, 007

summary: min yoongi is a good man but even a better father ... figure

“Baby … what did we say about boundaries?” You crouch down to reach Jihoon’s eye level and the mini you—as said by your friends—simply ignores your oncoming lecture by staring at his feet.

“Limits …” He mumbles softly and all you want to do is hug him and tell him he can do no wrong but motherhood is tough despite all the online blogs telling you that they’re with you. You loved your baby, you really did—but God decided to fuck with you by making him the reflection of yourself when you were younger and you heard nightmarish stories from your parents from when you were growing up.

You run your hand over his hair soothingly because as much as he was like you, he was still only two years old and his own person, fluff and bread arms. You knew not to restrain him with furrowed brows or raised voices but instead with the patience your parents always taught you to have and the compassion that you wished you were naturally blessed with. But life had a funny way of taking away things from you.

Well—your ex-husband was never really taken from you—he left you, and instead of feeling shambled and distraught you were made of such resolve that you merely blinked when he packed his bags after he said he was cheating on you. The only sweat you broke was realising that Jihoon was only three months old when his dad left without sparing him another glance.

But your baby grew up and so did you. Your job at office paid well enough for you to live comfortably with Jihoon and hire nannies to look after him whenever you couldn’t; even though you tried your best to always be with him so he wouldn’t grow up resenting an absent mother. But you worried like anyone else would because while your friends and family would say you were doing an impeccable job, your self-sabotaging tendencies nagged at yourself by saying that he needed a male figure in his life.

He mumbles a soft apology, so respectful with his big eyes and you smile at him. You knew he meant no harm when storming into your office and scrambling off with important documents because he was still impressionable and curious about nearly everything. Your heart dropped when you realised your reports were pretty much incoherent with the way he doodled over them but you knew not to blame him.

“Forgiven Hoon.” You kiss his forehead.

His eyes turn into tiny slits with his toothless smile and your heart clenches at the little human you created and love dearly.

“Love you mama.” He plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek before waddling off to his playpen where his toys are laid neatly. If there was anything he inherited from you; it’d be your meticulous tendencies.

You sigh, leaning into the wall of your kitchen as you watch Jihoon with fond eyes as he plays with his dolls and figurines, dressing them in dresses and pants just like how you taught him that gender had no look and that everyone was different. Obviously, explaining the concept of social constructs to a two-year-old is not a conversation any parent would have with their child but you believed that these fundamental core values of humanity were important to his growth into his toddler stages and eventually adulthood.

“I can’t believe you squeezed that cutie out of your vagina.” Taehyung snorts, sneaking up behind you and you don’t flinch because you’re way too used to his unwanted comments and sudden appearances.

“I am 90% cute so it’s only right that my child inherits that from me.” You retort, eyes still trained on your baby boy.

Taehyung looks over at Jihoon who directs a mini-play of a loving family, and your heart is still sad at the prospect of his adolescent years only being with you.

“You know … hyung is asking about you,” Taehyung says and you immediately still in your position, hands freezing in your pockets because you know exactly who he’s referring too and you weren’t exactly ready for that conversation, especially with your older brother.

“He says he misses Hoonie.”

You sigh, turning your head to face your older brother and you can only muster enough emotion to look fine with his statement but you simply looked constipated with the way your face scrunches up.

“We’ve been busy …” You mutter.

“Jihoon is two-years-old and the only thing he’s busy with is trying not to give you a heart attack every time he nearly runs into the wall and you literally work from home now that your boss is some progressive liberal that tries a new system every two days,” Taehyung says dryly, pinning you with a deadpan.

“Stop offending me by insulting my son!” You whine.

“That’s my nephew too.” He rolls his eyes as you punch him in the shoulder.

“That has a name and it’s Jihoon you bitch.”

“Mama said beech?” Jihoon tilts his head in a curious manner and your expression morphs into one of mortification as Taehyung cackles in response.

“Stop. Laughing.” You hiss but it’s no use because your brother has never once listened to anything you had to say throughout the last twenty-nine years of your life.

“You—” Your snide is cut short by rapt knocks on your door, and you see Taehyung’s grin widen. You know that look intimately because it’s the expression he wears before he pisses you off or embarrasses you.

“He’s here!” He sounds delighted as he skips towards the door. You want to pull his back by his collar to ask him what the fuck he was talking about but he’s quick with his hands and the door is open. Your mouth falls and you nearly get whiplash with the way that you stare at your guest.

“Y-Yoongi.” He was possibly the last person you wanted to see and you had no idea what he was doing at your apartment at night on a weekday.

Then you see Taehyung’s pleased expression and put two-and-two together.

“___, hey. Taehyung said you needed help with Hoon tonight?” He offers a tilt of his lips because Yoongi was not an expressive man by any means. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a good heart; that was far from the truth of the enigma that was Min Yoongi.

He was a good person and an even better friend. Although the two of you had tip-toed on the line between friends to something more than that, he never explicitly said anything about his interests to you. And you didn’t want to pressure him by saying anything because even though he was in his thirties and still very much single with a stable job as a surgeon at the top hospital, a two-year-old son is rarely what a man that appealing ever wants when looking for a relationship.

That was why you stopped replying to his texts or inviting him over to hang out with Jihoon anymore because Jihoon adored him so much and your poor heart couldn’t bear to see the two boys interact without an ugly flower called hope bloom in your chest. He only ever knew who you were because he and Taehyung were co-workers and probably only tolerated you by association.

You loved Jihoon and wanted the best for him. Even if that was Min Yoongi—you needed to protect your heart too.

“I did?” You tilt your head and Yoongi automatically notices the habit that you and Jihoon share. Taehyung is somehow next to you already and you know that because he stomps on your foot and shoots you a glare when you hiss.

“I did.” You cough.

“Mama?” Jihoon peeks his head through the divider between the kitchen and the common area, and his eyes immediately light up when he sees Yoongi hovering by the entrance.

“Yoongi!” He squeals as he speeds as fast as he can with his little feet towards the man in his scrubs who shoots your son with his gummy smile.

“Hey, buddy.” He picks your son up effortlessly and you know you’re staring but you rarely ever see men who are this patient let alone this good with children.

“Close your lips,” Taehyung whispers into your ear.

“I’m—that’s not what was happening …” You mumble, a blush appearing on your cheeks as you look away from the hugs and kisses that Yoongi gives Jihoon.

“I meant your other ones.” Your brother says dryly.

“Kim Taehyung—!” Your arms are already reaching for his neck to strangle him but Yoongi calling your name snaps you out of your anger.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Your head snaps to Yoongi who now has Jihoon on his hip while he plays with the material of his scrubs. You hate how your heart flutters at the domesticity of the question and how Yoongi looks so much like a father to your son and a husband in your home.

You realise the dangerous daydream you’re falling into and shake your head to snap out of it before you hurt yourself even more.

“Us? No, we haven’t. Tae and I were planning to order in at our favourite place.” You tell Yoongi with a small smile.

You see the hint of a frown marring on his face but it goes as quick as it comes as he stalks towards you.

“Actually—” Taehyung cuts in before Yoongi can say anything, “—I have a … thing.”

He points his thumb towards the door and you curse him in your head so much that you hoped sibling telepathy was a thing so he could hear what you felt about him right now.

“You … do?” Yoongi asks.

Taehyung shrugs, as ambiguous as ever before ruffling Jihoon’s hair and offering a fist bump and a kiss before he approaches your door.

“Taehyung—” You grit.

“Bye, buddy! Yoongi.” He acknowledges the two other boys but not you and you know it’s because while Taehyung loved to annoy you, he knew you were a handful and quite literally the spawn of satan when you were angry and you weren’t just angry but livid.

“Get back here—!” And he’s gone before you know it, and even Jihoon mumbles a soft bye Tae samchon after he’s gone.

You sigh, resting your head against the frame of the door that was now shut in your face, stuck in your own house with the man that you’ve been helplessly pining over that looks way too at home with the way Jihoon plays with the softness of his black hair.

You turn around, closing your eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

When you open them, Yoongi has an eyebrow raised, placing Jihoon on his high-chair. And you don’t know why you found that act so hot but you couldn’t even set your own son down into that chair without him making a fuss but he only giggled cheekily when Yoongi did so.

“What for?”

He doesn’t sound angry, just genuinely confused. You purse your lips and walk towards Jihoon who was simply babbling to himself and grab a cloth to wipe at the appearance of a new stain on his shirt which you suspect he got from his playtime earlier, and you internally groaned at the fact that he probably found some food and decided that it would be a good addition to his play family.

“I know it’s really busy at the hospital this time around and Taehyung basically scammed you here … with us.” You fiddle with your fingers after you pick up a toy on the floor and pass it to Jihoon to keep him occupied as you have a much more … adult-esque conversation with Yoongi. While you made it clear to Jihoon that he didn’t necessarily have a father in his life because you owed him that much, you tried to steer far from conflict and turmoil so he wouldn’t have to grow up knowing only the lows of life.

Yoongi just … stares. And it’s unnerving because you could barely read the man in general and he was looking at you with a blank expression that only causes your anxiety to settle further into your bones. You’re thinking of about a million different ways to apologise or to spontaneously combust so you could save yourself from the scrutiny of Yoongi’s eyes. But before you can say anything and embarrass yourself, even more, he speaks.

“Do you think I don’t enjoy spending time with the two of you?” He frowns, and that’s the most expressive you’ve seen him throughout your entire friendship with the man. The fact that the first time he’s ever shown any explicit emotion around you is one of … disappointment … only makes you realise how far out of his league you were.

“N-No!” You shake your head, flustered at his tone. When you look at him, his face is much softer; a type of expression that shows longing but you aren’t quite sure why it’s there.

“It’s just … you’re busy, Yoongi. You’re a hotshot doctor at the best private healthcare facility in the city and you’re here spending the last night before the weekend with some pathetic single mom who still—by the way—can’t decide on how to brush my teeth just because it doesn’t feel right.”

Yoongi blinks at you, then he looks over at Jihoon and you’re confused for a second because it seems like he’s dismissing your mini ramble, but instead, he reaches out to Jihoon’s hand and bends down so he can look Jihoon straight in the eye.

“Hey, bud?” He calls out to Jihoon and your son looks at Yoongi with all the stars in his eyes.

Your heart softens at the interaction and notices how the way Jihoon doesn’t pull away when Yoongi reaches out to carry him in his arms again.

“Yoongi!” He squeals, squeezing the man’s cheeks between his chubby fingers and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm and the way that Yoongi resembles a cat.

“I need to ask you something.” He whispers as if it were only the two of the room and you stand on the opposite of them with your arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Your son bobs his head up and down in agreement as he waits for Yoongi to ask him his question.

“Yoongi …” You trail off but he pays you no mind.

“Do you love your mama?” The question surprises you and your mouth opens and closes, and your emotions are all over the place because the question makes you feel nearly inadequate. The way that he asks the question prompts you to wonder if it seemed like what you were doing for Jihoon just wasn’t enough.

“What is this even about?” You snap, eyes narrowed at Yoongi but he still ignores you.

Jihoon nods his cute little head eagerly without a moment of hesitation after Yoongi asks his … what you would say—preposterous question.

“I love mama with all my heart. She’s the best!” Jihoon giggles into Yoongi’s shirt as he leans his head against his chest. You don’t know why his words make you choke up when he tells you he loves you every day but the reassurance that your son does indeed love you makes you feel like you can do anything. It was also probably the fact that you noticed Yoongi smiling fondly between the two of you.

“Do you think she’s pathetic, Hoonie?” He throws your words to your son and you scowl at Yoongi who is still keeping his act of ignoring you very much alive.

“Pathedic?” Jihoon tilts his head again and you almost coo at the slight lisp he has when he asks.

Yoongi chuckles warmly and offers you a small smile as if to tell you that you’d see soon enough before repeating himself to your son.

“Bad.” Yoongi settles.

Jihoon gasps in his tiny little way and frowns, looking over at you with a cute crumpled expression that makes your heart swell even more. The urge to hold your son increases tremendously but you were still confused and curious as to what Yoongi was getting at.

“No no no! Mama is the best, didn’t you hear?” Jihoon squabbles.

You bite your lip to refrain from smiling so wide and choke back the tears that well up.

“Mama always cooks yummy food and never yells at me! I always see other mama’s yelling at their babies but mama … mama loves me too, right?” He rambles off and you sniffle.

“Love you a lot, Hoon.” You say from a distance and Jihoon is satisfied with your answer.

You turn to look at Yoongi and sigh.

“What is this about, Yoongi?” You sound stern and he acknowledges that. He knows the situation is much more serious than what he perceives but he can’t help but observe how the furrow of your brows resembles a squirrel. The comparison makes him want to laugh because you were so cute even when you were angry.

“I have one more question.” He tells you.

You don’t say anything but watch the way he leans in closer to Jihoon with eyes more serious than you’ve seen before.

“You want to see mama happy?” Yoongi whispers so softly that you almost miss it.

Jihoon nods.

“Of course. Mama always makes me happy. But she looks … lonely.” Jihoon frowns a little and you can’t help but have a tear fall. Your baby boy was young but observant and had a heart of pure gold. You didn’t need anyone but Jihoon but—

“What do you think if she gave you a papa?” Yoongi asks and the question stills your entire body. You don’t even see the way Jihoon lights up at the proposition and you also miss the way Yoongi looks over at you once to gauge your reaction.

“Will you be my papa Yoongi?” The question is what snaps you out of your reverie to realise the situation you were in and the allusion of Jihoon’s question.

“Jihoon! You can’t just—say sorry.” You squeak but Jihoon doesn’t pay you any mind because his attention is all on Yoongi who is smiling as wide as he possibly can.

“Only if your mom says yes, Hoonie. If only she knew how much I liked her.” He tells Jihoon but he’s looking at you. Your eyes are wide at the confession and your hands fall limp by your side; not knowing how to respond to Yoongi’s sudden confession.

It wasn’t anything spectacular, and it didn’t cause butterflies to erupt like it was in the movies but the confession was so wholeheartedly Yoongi that you felt so … comfortable. A surprising yet welcoming emotion.

Jihoon looks over to you but you’re looking at Yoongi who looks at you with soft eyes.

“Say yes mama!”

Yoongi stands up from his position to walk over to your frozen state until your hands rest on his chest unconsciously. He looks down at you as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you flush against his body. You blush and avoid his stare when he tries to catch your eyes. You know Jihoon is watching and that makes you feel all the more flustered. It was like you were back in high school and you were ‘canoodling’ behind your parents’ backs.

“Y-Yoongi …” You try to push him away but he reaches his hands to wrap them around your own.

“I’m sorry but you can’t run away from me this time ___.” He teases.

You flush and look away.

“I wasn’t … running …” You mutter.

He chuckles and shakes his head that you feel strands of his hair against your forehead when he leans in closer to connect your forehead with his own.

“Okay.” He agrees. He doesn’t put up a fight and you hate how even when you’re the one that’s flustered he can make you feel … safe. Calm.

“I like you, dumbass. I would go as far to say that I’m in love with you but I know how scared you get so let’s settle for the baby steps first, yeah?” He says so casually that your eyes bulge out of your eye sockets comically.

“You c-can’t just …” You blubber, “Say that!”

Yoongi scoffs.

“I like you Kim ___.”

You punch him in the chest but he doesn’t even flinch.

“No you don’t …” You whisper.

You don’t look at him but you can feel his frown.

“And who are you to tell me how I feel?”

You sigh.

“Yoongi … I don’t know if you heard what I said earlier but you’re … you … and I’m just some other girl that you know because of Taehyung and I’m a mother of a two-year-old. You could literally be with anyone you wanted and I just … you don’t like me. You just—can’t.” You exasperate.

He frowns at you, forcing your chin up to look at him with his index finger. You burn even redder at how close you were.

“I love you. I love Jihoon. And you need to get out of your pretty little head because I don’t want to be with anyone but you. I don’t know where you’re getting this weird picture of me being with anyone I want because I don’t want anyone. I want this—I want in, in this little family.”

You feel yourself choke up, and Yoongi notices so he holds you closer until your head is against his chest.

“I’m emotionally constipated half the time I interact with anyone but you just … you make me feel alive and things that I generally don’t feel on a daily basis. You and Hoon are the only things that keep me going with all the surgeries and stuff. I’m in love with you and it’s all your fault and Hoonie wants you to be happy as much as I do—so please: stop running.”

“Why are you running mama?” Jihoon asks and you remember your son is watching it all.

You flush but don’t move from Yoongi’s grasp. He thinks of this as a step forward because all you do is turn your head to look at Jihoon and offer him a smile through your tears.

You and Yoongi hear Jihoon’s whine and you see him reach his arms towards you as a gesture for you to carry him.

“Mama why are you crying!” He cries.

You feel Yoongi release you and you immediately reach out to Jihoon like it was second nature because it was. Jihoon was the only thing that kept you going when people would give you odd stares as a single mother especially when you were starting to look into preschools for your son. All the superiors would question your legitimacy and income when you were earning more than the average working man. You were always very particular about who you allowed into Jihoon’s life because he was young and got attached easily. But Yoongi made it so … easy. Just like he was that missing piece in both your and Jihoon’s lives.

“I’m okay bubs.” You kiss Jihoon on his cheeks as you hold back your tears.

“Don’t cry, mama.” Jihoon frowns and puts his thumbs between your furrowed brows just like you would always do when he was starting to sulk. You chuckle and hold your son closer to your chest, feeling all the more comforted.

“I’m serious about this ___ …” Yoongi steps closer to you and wraps an arm around you and Jihoon and the action feels so utterly domestic. You feel safe and content within his grasp.

“Yoongi …” You look up at him through your eyelashes and Yoongi has always been entranced with your beauty. It was never just about how beautiful you looked when you were a mother to Jihoon but the energy you carried around you was contagious and he’s immediately lightened up in your presence. He was patient with you because he knew you were serious about Jihoon and that he was your number one priority.

“No, please … listen to me ___.” He cups your cheeks while Jihoon is looking between the two of you with keen interest.

“I know you’re scared because of Jihoon and that’s valid. But I don’t want you to think that you’re not enough for me for superficial reasons because the truth is I probably won’t ever be enough for you and you’re here being the woman of my dreams. I respect your decision if you aren’t ready for a relationship and I won’t push you but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere just because we aren’t together because I rather have you next to me as a friend than lose out on you forever.”

You had always been a crybaby and Taehyung was probably the reason why you cried all the time as children since he always had been the more rambunctious one between the two of you while you were far timider. But Yoongi knew that under all the times you shed tears because you were touched is a strong-willed woman that could withstand nearly anything in this world if it were for her son.

“And I know that I’m not over my head thinking this but … you want me too and it’s okay if you do but you don’t want a relationship. I respect you as a person, a woman and the mother of Jihoon. I just don’t want you to push me away.” He whispers so softly when he looks into your eyes.

“Mama …” Jihoon whines and you look down at him for a moment when he gives you a glare that doesn’t look so intimidating because of his bread cheeks.

“Yoongi is fun! Can he be our daddy?” You know his choice of words didn’t necessarily entail that context for you in particular but you blush anyway because he was just two. Yoongi senses your flustered state but squeezes your cheeks in between his hands and you feel coddled. It was a new feeling, one that was almost unfamiliar with how long you’ve been deprived of a significant other’s touch.

“I—Yoongi … I really don’t know what to say …” You mumble.

Yoongi smiles at you, comforting and homey all at once because Yoongi was a lot of things but never pushy.

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t know if you realised this but I’m basically Hoon’s dad whether you like it or not because he and I spend more time together than I do with my colleagues at work and I work overtime all the time.” He teases.

“Jihoon really adores you.” You agree, biting on your lip as your mind races for the hundredth time this hour.

You liked Yoongi. You really did—and somewhere along the way, like turned into something more … dangerous. A territory that you usually reserved for Jihoon because you only had the capacity to care for one boy in your life but Yoongi smuggled his way into your heart and here he was causing a hurricane in your stomach.

The words he spoke were so truthful and genuine that you can’t help but believe that against all odds in the universe, Yoongi has somehow chosen you. You were the one that was afraid. He has always chosen you. That enough is shown when he makes his way after tiring shifts just to lay on your couch and play with Jihoon in times where all he could do was babble incoherent words. He chose you when he made surprise visits with the homemade stew that you knew he knew your son and you loved. He chose you when he invited you and Jihoon to spend Chuseok together because you mentioned just spending it with your son than with your family. His parents adored you and were even more taken with Jihoon.

He has always chosen you but now it was your turn.

“I love you.”

You say those words without much further thought because you’ve always felt it. Three words have never felt so safe on your tongue to utter into the atmosphere and you feel the same after the truth is out there. You always knew how you felt and you knew that Yoongi was smart to observe your feelings too, which was why when you finally said it he just looked … content. Happy—like he was in a place that was so familiar and comforting that he didn’t need to react any differently.

“I want—I want to be with you.” You clear your throat, “If you’ll have me.”

You look so shy and young—because you were. But you had that childlike innocence that he’s only ever had the pleasure to see when you would play fight with Jihoon. He feels his chest swell with pride knowing that he was the reason you looked like that and felt the way you did.

“Hmm … should I?” He leaned in closer until his breath was on your cheek.

You knew he was teasing you but you still can’t meet his eyes, and Jihoon simply giggles at the way Yoongi squeezes him between your chests in a way so comforting that Jihoon feels like it’s a warm hug from a blanket.

“Don’t tease …” You grumble.

Yoongi runs his hand through your hair and pulls your head closer to his to give you a gentle kiss on the lips. It was nothing seductive or implicative but so Yoongi. A kiss to show you he wanted this and that he felt whatever flurry of emotions you felt. A kiss like he was coming home.

He pulls away and you see Jihoon frowning between the two of your through your redness and shock.

“I wanna’ kiss too!” He whines, and you and Yoongi both look at your son with the stars in your eyes, then lock eyes with each other; and you do what comes naturally next.

You both kiss your son on the cheeks.

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supernovafeather · 4 years

Text

Misunderstanding And Respect (18+) (Part 2)

Duke Leto Atreides x f!reader

Warnings : Smut, 18+, explicit sexual content, nudity, sexual tension, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff

Here is the part 2 that can be read without reading the first one (still better to read it before though), enjoy !

- - - - -

It's been a while since this awkward encounter at the hot springs with Duke Leto. You returned at the same place several times but never for a long time and always alone. This matter never got discussed. When you saw each other it was always for work and as a translator your tasks were difficult enough, no need to bring those hormonal problems with you.

You missed these moments you spent with him. It was always intriguing and relaxing. Himself told you that he would accept to have sex with you as long as you were ok with it. But...

"What are you doing here" was the question that pulled you out of your thoughts. The curious voice came closer as Duke Leto walked up to you, hands clasped behind his back and his brow furrowed. You didn't even have time to answer as he looked down at the pile of documents pressed against your chest. "Oh ? You are the one who had to bring them to me ?"

"Yes sir. As my coworker is absent I am the one in charge of this. She told me everything that needed to be said and we checked every details of the texts before the final briefing. Everything is ready, sir" you said in a confident tone.

It was a strange feeling to walk side by side with him but he seemed unfazed. Since the last time it was like nothing ever happened between the two of you. Yet you knew what effect you had on him. You saw him getting hard out of desire the last time, but seeing him in his uniform with his hair and beard perfectly groomed was almost enough to make you think that this was an illusion.

However you quickly realized that this was just temporary. As time passed, you noticed several signs proving that you were not losing your mind. His attention wavered. His piercing eyes softening unexpectedly at some of your words before focusing back on what was being said. The way he looked down briefly at the shape of your breasts under your uniform before turning away to his own documents as if his pupils could get burned. And still, he never stopped what he was doing, his voice never faltering. Never. Unfazed. He didn't look shy. Only obsessively professional and you even suspected him of insulting himself silently.

But the thing was that this tension was not one-sided. Even though you promised yourself to not push things further after noticing his slight lack of attention... you failed. Sometimes you could stare at him for a long time. What could seem innocent at first made him grin. This bloody cocky grin. The same that the one he had when you massaged his shoulders in the hot springs. Were your eyes caressing his in a desiring way ? Probably as he looked back at you, as he changed the subject.

"If I were you I would pay more attention to the map. You were the one spending hours creating it, am I wrong ?"

You shrug in a lazy gesture, obtaining a skeptical raised eyebrow from him at your lack of reaction. As if you even tried to keep a professional look during this meeting.

"I can pay attention to your reaction as well, sir. I am the one who worked on it, yes, but you are still the one having to get satisfied with it" you answer in a calm voice.

This time he seemed to be calculating his next action, hesitating to talk. The silence filling the room around the two of you as he was gritting his teeth, squinting at you.

"The priority here is to find a path during the next scouting mission. I still need your help. You are the one knowing the terrain." he says slowly, trying faintly to bring both of your minds back to some constructive thoughts.

You hummed, crossing your arms. It was impossible for you to turn your head away from him. Especially while he was devouring you with his eyes like this. Was he conscious of this ? Maybe yes. Maybe not.

"When I talk, you are distracted sir. And when you talk, I am distracted. This sounds to be a... complicated predicament sir."

At your words, he leans on a bit towards you, his elbows resting on the table, his clasped hands under his bearded chin, his attention fully directed to you, intensifying his gaze even more. And again this bloody cocky grin.

"And are you asking me to find a solution ?"

Your lips imitated his grin when he looked down at the table, his knuckles turning white when the tip of your foot grazed his calves up to his knee then down to his ankle. Slowly, carefully before his eyes came back to you, never leaving you as you talked.

"A solution ? Maybe several solutions are available. But you are the duke, you are the only person able to pick the right one. And I have to follow the orders."

He tilted his head to the side, chuckling gently before using his stern voice. You kept caressing his leg though. His bright eyes didn't match his warning tone.

"However, my orders were pretty clear. And it was about working".

A new feeling of power engulfed your heart and mind as you feel him spreading just a little his legs under the table, letting your foot go up to his knee, then just the slightest up to the inside of his thighs. He was keeping the same stance but stared down at the table, getting distracted.

"Sir, if we can't work properly... I am afraid that we won't reach our objective. And I would feel ashamed of this potential failure" you said innocently.

As soon as you stopped touching his leg he stood up, surprising you as he paced around the table, staring down at you with a gaze much more intimidating than previously. There, you could recognize him. There, he was Duke Leto Atreides. He remained silent until stopping right behind you, a heatwave almost making you sweat out of stress as you remained straight on your chair. Did you cross a line ? Was he really trying to get you back to work despite what you thought ?

Feeling guilty for making the situation between the both of you even worse, you opened your mouth before suppressing a gasp as his powerful hands pressed your shoulders tightly. This simple contact of his skin on your uniform made you press your thighs against each other, your core like on fire as he started to talk in a low voice, a small smile easy to hear.

"Distracting your duke on purpose. Not focusing on your tasks. And clear disobedience. Are you sure of what you are doing ?" he asked before massaging your shoulders in slow and firm movements, making your eyes close as your brain went numb. "Do you know how painful it is to focus on old boring texts when you look at me like you did ? Do you know that you've already made me hard for less than this ?"

You bit your lips when he stopped massaging you, feeling him leaning on you with his weight shifting on your shoulders, his lips close to your ear as he whispered.

"This time, do you want it ?"

This was far from being reasonable. You were stupid. The both of you. But it felt good to influence him so badly. So you nodded, your breath soon stopping when you felt yourself getting forced to stand up by two strong hands, then grabbed the table as your ass landed on the cold surface. You could feel it through your uniform, contrasting with how hot the duke's breath is in your own mouth, his tongue eagerly looking for your own already as you grabbed his top between your fingers.

This time you were the one spreading your legs as he pulled you back to him, his waist between your thighs. Still fully clothed, he was grinding against you, interrupting the desperate kiss to take a shaky breath, his lips at your ear with a hand on your nape.

"Always so good for your duke. You will be the death of me darling".

His endearment made you squeal and his lips soon found your neck as you grabbed his hair. You smiled when he left a mark on your skin but you soon pulled his head back to kiss him, his beard scratching the bottom of your face, a strong arm snaking around your waist to keep you against him. As soon as you moaned against his lips he kissed you even harder, erasing any limit.

Your moan quickly became a silent plea as he stepped back from you, pulling you to him as your feet found the ground again. His lips pounced on yours and this time you fought for dominance with him. You could tell he was liking it as he hummed, but he won this third round after a while, only to bite your lip, grinning as you rubbed your hand against his crotch. He nuzzled your neck, sighing in comfort as you removed his belt and slid a hand under the textile, smiling against his temples as you felt him grinding against your palm. You can barely enjoy his size and warmth before getting distracted again by a heated kiss as his pants slid to his ankle, the last piece of clothing covering his crotch falling as well shortly after.

Everything happened quickly as you closed your eyes. You felt his sloppy kisses down your neck, how his hands played with your covered crotch before you felt your own shoes and pants disappear from your warm skin. Your soaked panties didn't last long neither, and your bare ass was back on the table, a shiver running down your spine at the sudden cold. You grabbed the duke's top as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your pussy, another deep kiss joining your lips. Trembling out of impatience you mumbled some words impossible to understand, making him chuckle as his hands unbuttoned your top, his hands then wandering on your naked breasts freely. You kissed him again, wanting more than this, making him grab your throat to force you to look at him, his mind just as clouded as yours.

"Will you be a good girl for me ? Will you let me fuck you against this table ?"

You nod in silence, satisfied at a new short kiss before hearing him again, his lips brushing against yours at every sound.

"Yes, of course you will be a good girl. You are always so good" he muttered before sliding slowly inside you. You tensed, your eyes rolling back as he looked at you, clenching his teeth. He controlled his breath as much as possible, holding your throat, talking while getting deeper carefully. "So tight for me... fuck I could die for this pussy of yours after all this time without even seeing it".

His words made your body even hotter than before, your eyes barely opening to look at him, his begging expression so out of place for him. It only made you clench around him, his features getting tense as he fought for control.

"Yes I missed seeing you naked, beautiful. I missed feeling you massaging me in these hot springs. I fucking missed you, is that what you wanted to hear ?" he mumbled before staying still, reaching the deepest place he could, making you moan. You were still adjusting to his size, feeling his eyes burning your face as authority seemed to come back in his veins. "Yeah you wanted to hear that. You liked it being naked in front of me. You think I didn't see how you tried to see my dick underwater sometimes ?" he asked with a grin while almost pulling out of you, then getting back into you, silent to hear the obscenely wet sounds it made. You nodded silently, your muscles tensing at how good it felt. "A good girl who can be this dirty... exactly what I like, you are perfect" he said while grinding several times inside you, and you knew it was the last moment of gentleness as he groaned a "let me show you how much I want to please you sweet girl".

You had to bite your own hand to muffle your screams as he thrusted deep inside you relentlessly, guiding himself with your moans to find the right spot and hit it every time, smiling against your neck as you said his first name in pure bliss several times. He didn't care about his title absence, he just wanted you to cum around him, because of him, making the whole Arrakis know that he was fucking you hard against this table. He wanted you to be his - not only today - and was putting all his passion in his gestures. You deserved the best, then he would give you the best he could. He did it and even more in each dream he had about you. He was a fast learner, and even if you were the one making precise maps for his army, he wanted to map every part of your body, learn how to tame you just by touching you. What position was your favourite ? How hard ? How gentle ? What words were the ones driving you crazy ? Begging ? Would you prefer to dominate him sometimes ? How hot lazy morning sex would be ? How playful could you get when in control ? Would you be the only one in his life able to make him beg in bed ? Maybe you could free him from his fears and stress just by words and gentle touches, without even needing sexual release if he came back in the middle of the night ? How perfect it must be to rest his head on your chest with your fingers playing with his hair and beard after a long day... after all it felt so good when you took your time to massage him in the hot springs... He should massage you as well, you worked so hard and make it as erotic as he could and fuck you so gently to have the occasion to tell you all his thoughts without any shame. Or maybe you would prefer to get spanked ? He always imagined it, you seemed so eager to please all the time with this little guilty face of yours when anything went wrong. How he would love to have your sweet face begging for it like in his dreams... laying down on his bed or bending over a desk or a chair or whatever that could let him have access to this part of you...

He managed to hold himself back until he felt you clenching around his cock for the second time, your teeth biting his shoulder harshly as you couldn't control yourself anymore, his seed finally released in quick thrusts that turned into slow grinding, his lips kissing yours to sooth your body and mind. His tongue was already back against yours, gently playing with it in an affectionate manner. The way you seemed to return his actions made him grin with pride, and this same pride turned into hope when you asked him if this wasn't the last time you would do such a thing. Of course this was not the last time. He was so eager to give you more affection than this.

- - - - - - -

I hope you liked it, thanks for reading ! :)

Don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog

#dune #fanfiction #science fiction #sf #leto atreides #oscar isaac #oscarisaac #duke leto x reader

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cosmicclownboy · 4 years

Text

Malex day 7: AU

If there was a concept Michael could blink out of existence it would be blind dates. Not that there aren't other social constructs that he struggles with he just fails to grasp why this is a thing. Can't he be trusted to find someone through his own volition? It's not like either party usually wants to be there anyway? It's a product of peer pressure and it's just so painfully awkward he ends up nursing a beer at a bar by the end of the evening wondering how in the hell he's going to get out of the next one.

The primary issue is the matchmaker in question because in many ways he is in a rock and a hard place. If he even remotely musters up the courage to tell his sister, Isobel no she's going to become hyper fixated on getting him more dates. And that's the last thing he wants. If he just gets through them maybe Isobelle will realise it's a lost cause and just give up. In the past month alone he’s been on three dates all equally terrible. Lisa who worked in finance drank three margarita's and promptly left their dinner on the sidewalk. Doug, a gym trainer who had the personality of a potato. And Susan an astrologist who despite being career goals just didn't fit. It's almost depressing that his brother who set him up with a coroner for a joke somehow wound up getting him a relationship yet his sister who has a better grasp of him then anyone keeps setting him up with these duds.

By month four he's had it. He cannot do it anymore. "Isobel I love you but if you try to set me up on one more date after this I will Jedi frisby your favourite shoes to the moon" Isobelle has never looked more horrified and scared in her life. "You wouldn't dare not the Dolce with the tulle". "I didn't actually know which were your favourite so thanks for the info drop" He nabs a fry and winks at her leaving her with the mental image of destroyed ankle boots. Hopefully, it means she will stop promptly.

According to her logic, he implied he was open to one last date which in turn creates a loophole that she can have one final try. He agrees only because she shoos away a woman he's spent the last hour flirting with. And if he goes on this last one he can finally know some semblance of peace from his sister. When she calls Alex the man of his dreams and uses the word Adonis as a descriptor he's already planning the ways of which he can fling those Dolce shoes. The last man she said would rock his world gave him the worst orgasm of his life and stole ten dollars from his nightstand. He does not want a repeat of that night. To which she enunciates very proudly that she knows him specifically and if he dares to be an asshole she'll shred his cowboy hat. "When have I ever been an asshole on one of your dates Iz" "Ali" She's got him there but he's still offended. "Ali kept sending back her ravioli because it wasn't hot enough.I'm not sorry I didn't want to stay for another course of oh my god my asparagus is touching my salmon Michael my daddy owns a yacht club Michael". He does his best squeaky imitation of her voice that has Isobel shaking her head grinning. "You know I saw her the other day she was spray painting her poodle, Edguirdia bright pink"

Instead of a gaudy restaurant with an obnoxious french name requiring him to google map the address. He's given one not too far from his apartment. Surprisingly it's in the neck of the village he likes that's quiet and reserved. Michael bites back a small smile when he sees the establishment is quite literally called "a Grillhouse".It's rustic. The chairs look a little battered for wear and the kitchen is so close to the tables that the aroma wafts throughout the restaurant. It's peaceful and the smell alone makes him hungry. If Ali ended up here for a date he's pretty sure the place would wind up condemned within the hour. This Alex Manes already has earned points in his book. The menu has food he'd actually eat at a reasonable price and there's a really old jukebox in the corner that he's itching to get a look at. He drops his jacket at the weathered booth in the corner and it's two steps before he's silently reading each song title in his head.

"There are sixty songs on there. I should warn you that fifteen of them are cutesy bops that his girlfriend likes. Who even pairs ACDC and Foo Fighters with the Jonas Brothers?" The voice appearing out of nowhere takes him by surprise so much so that he jams his foot into the corners of the metal. Whatever curse that was going to fall out of his mouth is quickly gone when he turns to see the face to the voice. God, he hopes this man is his date. Dressed in tight black jeans with a marble looking sweater the man is a vision. He stares a little open mouthed for a minute before he remembers he has to speak.

"He must really love his girlfriend"

"Can't say I relate"

He steps in front of him with a coin and Michael quickly moves curiously wondering at what he'll pick. The first bar of Roxeanne by the Police hangs in the air and he's staring at the man in front of him swaying softly eyes closed and smiling. Beautiful. Adonis beautiful?

"Please tell me your Alex?"

Isobel is so forgiven.

"You're a YouTuber?" He tries not to sound offended or judgy but judging by the smirk and raise of his eyebrows Alex immediately sees through his bullshit.Alex rubs his hands on his jeans slowly debating what to say.

"I got in an accident after I left the air force" He knocks his knee revealing a clank. "At first it was to document the journey and so my buddies overseas could feel like they were with me. But then people really got interested in my life and stuff. I do a lot of different stuff. I show people some of my leg fittings. Do videos with my dogs and sometimes I play music"

"You play?"

"Piano and Guitar"

When Michael winds up pressed to his truck an hour later Alex's hands everywhere and anywhere his mind is blank. He's going to combust or come most likely both. And he's perfectly fine with it if Alex's kissing him like he's the instrument that he wants to play non stop. It's dirty and passionate and soft and oh god maybe he is the man of his dreams.The kisses leave him dizzy but he wants more and more. So he maybe has sex with Alex in the back of the truck multiple times over the weeks. And maybe he falls a little bit in love with him. It does not mean he is willing to give Isobel the satisfaction of knowing she found his person. He refuses. So they keep it sort of on the down-low. Alex is fine with this because the internet tends to hold an opinion on every relationship he's ever had and he wants to have moments for them.

The jig is up after four months when Isobel hears Michael say baby off-camera to Alex in one of his videos to his specialist. He gets an earful mainly I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!! He's not even mad at that point he's just relieved he didn't want her to find out after he's moved in with Alex.And if he's honest he's hated not being able to tell her about him. He thinks Alex feels the same because he's been hassled for the past week in texts from all his friends about mystery guy. First, they release a photo of Michael unboxing his stuff with the hashtag #home and they slowly ease him into being in the videos. Michael's quickly come around to realise it was dumb for him to judge especially when he reads some of the comments in the tags about how much a video affects a person's mental health.

The first video he makes his first on-screen debut is Alex doing weird science experiments with Liz and he spots their dog going for the squirrel. Their second dog, of course, spots the squirrel after he's deferred the first dog and long story short the video ends with all three of them bathing the dogs soaked to the brim.

Maybe blind dates aren’t so bad if it’s Alex Manes.

#malex #malex20

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chappedandfadedvds · 4 years

Text

Jan 5th, Tuesday 17:51

„And Martin did steal the pen. I saw him put it in his pocket.“

„Really? The teacher did nothing?“

Jens sat on the chair by the window, listening in on the story he already had been told on his way over to the hospital. So his eyes had darted out onto the lawn of the courtyard, only one or two shadows passing in the yellow light of lamps, as the crossed from one building to the other.

„No they did. Martin had to pull it back out to show that he had taken it. Obviously.“

„Obviously. Of course.“

His mom’s giggle made his lips curl up into a soft smile. She had been even livelier today. Her spirits bright and high as soon as they had stepped into the room, presenting their mother with a large bouquet of flowers ranging from white to orange and pink. Lotte and him had passed the flower shop on their way to the busstop and his little sister had tugged on his arm, while she told him she wanted to bring the bouquet displayed in it’s window. Or at least something similar. Not as massive as the overly expensive one they had seen. They still had to be able to find a vase for it here.

„Yes, but he didn’t apologise, even though Olivia was really upset.“

„Not even when the teacher was there?

Jens also had gotten an extra one of these white flowers with dark green leaves. It looked a little like a blooming twig. Camellias? But he really thought it looked quite pretty on it’s own, and had promptly wanted to give one to Lucas tomorrow. Boys also liked flowers, right? Jens wasn’t sure. He knew he would love to get one, but hadn’t recieved a single flower in his life yet. He also hadn’t seen other boys get one. Perhaps this was a stupid idea. Or not. He was definitely overthinking this.

„No. Martin is awful, everyone in class thinks he is stupid.“

„I definitely get why. I’m sorry for you and I hope he is learning to be better.“

His gaze lifted from the ground outside, back into the room. His phone rested on the window sill next to him. The screen lightened up with another notification, he guessed, swallowing down the groan in his throat. Since yesterday, and him being oddly quiet in the group, Jens had recieved a couple of messages from everyone, asking if he is fine, if he needed anything. And though he really wanted to appreciate their concern and worry, he grew rather annoyed with each incoming new text.

„I don’t know. I’m not sure.“

„Olivia hopefully feels better? You are a great friend to stick up for her.“

The message could also be one from Lucas or Robbe. Or maybe Sander? All exceptions to his strict ignorance towards anyone else. He knew it wasn’t fair to his friends, he just couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. Maybe with Lucas around tomorrow, he’d be able to answer them and apologise for the late reply as well as assure them that he was doing alright. Because he was.

„Mhm, I guess. Olivia is my best friend. Also she would do the same.“

„I am pretty sure, you are right. What are you two doing on friday?“

Without another thought, Jens picked up the phone. Checking on the newest notification. And to his surprise it was another email from his dad, Hendrik. He straightened up in his chair on alert, as his eyes curiously stared at the litte bit of text, that only told him a quick greeting. Other than the document that he had recieved by mail the week before christmas, Jens hadn’t heard from him again. Nervous he slid his finger across the screen, the message opening up.

„Oh Olivia is coming over to play. We are not sure yet what we are doing. But Jens said that he would try and bake a cake for her birthday.“

„That’s really nice. It must be sad for her to not be able to celebrate it with all of her friends. But good that she has you.“

Jens’s hear briefly focused in on the conversation of his sister and mom at the mentioning of his name, however, as it only revolved around friday, his attention was swiftly set back on his phone.

Hello Jens,

I hope you are handling everything as well as possible, given your mother’s situation. And further I hope you have found that I changed the sum of the monthly bank transfer, as well as I send you an additional bit of money into your own savings account. It’s not much, but perhaps it will suffice to pay for university in summer.

The main reason, that I am writing you now, is that I have my trip to visit you Helena planned out. I will arrive at the Alta harbour in Norway this weekend, and from there I’m going to take a car over Stockholm and Hamburg to get some more work done. There is a professor in Hambrug who has done quite some research in my field, who could really help me out. But I don’t think you’d be even remotely interessted in that. I also have to make a stop in Brussels at my university for funding.

To get to the point. If everything goes well, I’ll be in Antwerp the week after.

Roughly the 17th til the 20th.

And I’ll make sure to see your mother hopefully most days, though I’d love to see you as well. And Lotte perhaps?

We don’t have do decide on anything yet or make arrangements, just think about it maybe?

I would love to hear from you.

With kindest regards,

Hendrik

„I know and she is sleeping over as well. It’s going to be a lot of fun. Maybe we can build a pillow fort or something. I hope Lucas is going to be there as well. He wasn’t yesterday or today. Which I don’t like.“

„It’s okay to miss him, but he also needs to be there for his friends and family from time to time, you know.“

Jens leaned his head back into his neck, closing his eyes, as he placed his phone blindly back onto the window sill. Not having the energy to deal with everything that was this email. He somehow had forgotten about it. About the fact that his father would come to see his mom and stay for a couple of days. Jens wondered if he’d be even able to avoid him, if Hendrik would be around the hospital a lot as he had implied in writing. Jens also hadn’t talked to Lotte about it. He felt a headache slowly rising, trying his best to concentrate on the cheerful voices occupying the space of the room instead.

„Oh. Right! Mom! I brought a book to read. I got so much better, because I read for Sander on the weekend, and he said so.”

„Well, then it must be true. As long as I get to cuddle you, I promise to listen intently.“ __ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots this is a tiny bit different from how I usually construct my writing, I think. But I really like it and it hopefully works as well for you as it does for me. 🙃

#week 11 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded

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spaceskam · 4 years

Text

our fainted thrill carries on (7/13)

ao3

Michael tried to let it go, but there was one mystery that he couldn’t.

“Coffee?” Alex asked, leaning over the back of the couch to hand him a mug. Michael accepted it willingly, not looking over at him if only because he tended to get sidetracked every time he did. “Do you have work today?”

“No,” Michael said, “Got Sanders to give me the day off because I’m onto something.”

He typed a bit more into Alex’s high-tech computer, searching through government databases that he really shouldn’t have access to as a way to find the social security number of that boy that hung around his mom in that barn in 1948. He’d figured that if he could locate his social security number, he could figure out where he was even if he’d changed his name.

“What are you gonna do if you find him?” Alex asked softly, his breath a little too close to Michael’s ear as he peered over his shoulder. Michael froze for a moment, but he quickly shook it off and continued to scroll through the list of people named Walt who was born in the late 30s in Roswell, New Mexico. It was easier said than done.

“Track him down, go talk to him.”

“He’s what, 80? What if he doesn’t remember?”

“Then I bring Isobel and we make him remember whether he wants to or not,” Michael said. Alex grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing him to look at him.

He was close, eyes dark and serious for the first time in weeks. They’d been doing good. It was a week after Christmas, Alex had been helping both Project Shepard and Liz, and Michael had been doing his best to make progress in all facets. They slept in the same bed and they cuddled and they told each other they loved each other. Things were nice and easy. But Alex had a look on his face that was not at all nice and easy.

“No, you will not,” Alex said, “You’ll respect his boundaries. That’s an invasion of privacy and that takes away someone’s agency, do you understand me?”

“But I want‒”

“I know you want answers, Michael, but that’s not the way to do it. That makes you the villain,” Alex said. Michael stared right back. He wanted to explain to Alex why it was so important to him, but, then again, he probably understood that well enough. Which made it all that more frustrating. “You are not the villain, are you?”

“No,” Michael said. Alex nodded, letting go and pulling away. Michael registered that he was in uniform and looking like a man on a mission. Which would explain the stern voice he had. Michael wanted to just grab him and pull him in, kiss him until he said something sweet instead.

Alex clearly must’ve seen that and he reached back out to move his hair off his forehead.

“Please just be safe,” he said. Michael nodded easily. “I’ll see you after work.”

Michael watched him leave and stayed watching the door until he heard his car door slam and the engine start. Then Michael’s phone dinged and he pulled his eyes away from the door to check it.

Alex: I’m not mad at you. Have a good day, love you

Michael smiled to himself and got to scrolling for more information. Eventually, though, Rosa climbed through the hole in the floor and gave him an antagonizing smile. He tried to ignore her even as she plopped down beside him, peering over his shoulder. He leaned away and she leaned closer.

“You have a list of all the men named Walt, why don’t you search them individually so you can rule them out instead of making it complicated. Half of them are probably dead anyway,” she said. Michael pursed his lips as he looked at the list of 57 Walts, all of them with a variety of last names. He hadn’t even thought about that. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be too proud,” Michael grumbled, quickly copying the list of names and pasting them in an open document before printing them. He put the laptop on the coffee table and went to go fetch the papers.

“Walt Freedman,” Rosa read, “Why does that sound familiar?”

“I have no idea, did you sleep with an old guy named Walt Freedman?”

“No,” she scoffed, “I feel like I’ve seen it before. Maybe… Maybe on like a prescription or something? I don’t know, it’s been a couple of months.”

“Months?”

“For me months, not for you months,” Rosa clarified. Michael grabbed the printed pages and walked back to the couch where Rosa was squinting and thinking as hard as she could. He sat beside her and pulled the laptop back onto his lap.

“Well, let’s Google him, see what comes up,” Michael said. She leaned in close to watch and see what popped up when he Googled ‘Walt Freedman roswell’.

It took a minute, but eventually, they got a few results. Michael clicked on a background check website that popped up the name. It gave a few of his relatives, his age of 81, birthdate, and that he used to live in Albuquerque, but no sign of a current phone number or address. Which would’ve been a fine dead end, but then one of his relatives was listed as Lee Sanders. Michael blinked a couple of times in confusion.

“What?” he breathed, clicking on the name. It had all the same information, only now with a name Michael knew and a place of business that Michael knew. “What the fuck? He knows the guy who knew my mom?”

“Michael,” Rosa said carefully. It was the first time that she’d looked at him without an ounce of rivalry. It made his stomach sink. “I think he is the guy that knew your mom.”

Michael stared at the screen for a few minutes longer before he was standing up.

“I gotta go.”

“We need to go talk to your father.”

“Hello to you too.”

Alex wasn’t having a bad day, necessarily, but he’d been riding a high for a little over a week and he was bound to have a downfall eventually. Today was that. And, considering how high that high was, this felt like plummeting even though he logically knew it wasn’t actually bad. That little voice that told him he had to feel guilty for being happy, though, had come back with a vengeance. Michael’s lack of response didn’t help.

“No, seriously, we need to go talk to your father. I’ve been looking through that box you got from that farm and those papers at the bottom had invisible ink on it.”

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“The paper was kinda warped looking and I thought it was water damage, but it wasn’t. Cam pointed it out,” Kyle explained.

“You’re welcome,” she chimed in. Alex didn’t have the brainpower to care about why they were together when Kyle was in the middle of his shift at work.

“So, get this, we tried a couple of different things to get the ink to show up and you know what did? Heat. Not just any kind of heat. 110.3℉.”

Alex stopped walking.

“Michael’s body temperature?”

“Alien body temperature. I think this was a message written to their moms,” Kyle said, “I think it was meant to show when pressed against their body heat. But the problem is, it’s all in that code that my dad wrote in.”

“Well, put it through the system,” Alex said like it was obvious.

“I did and I’m gonna go pick it up after work, but I already recognize at least one of the symbols as being one of the undecipherable ones,” Kyle said. Alex groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. One of the younger soldiers on base looked at him in concern, but quickly looked away when he caught Alex’s eye. “Maybe the new context will help.”

“Maybe,” Alex sighed, “Look, I’ll stop by after work and see if I can figure it out then later we can go talk to my dad.”

“Got it, Cap,” Cam said.

“Yeah, got it, I’ll see you then,” Kyle said, “Be safe, Alex.”

“Mhm,” Alex hummed. He ended the call without saying goodbye.

Alex braced his hand against the wall for a moment, his mind feeling a little foggy from the newfound stress. He hated only getting a little bit of information at a time, he wanted everything. Instead, he kept reaching the top of the ladder and having to construct new rungs to go higher. Which was fine when he felt good, but today he wasn’t.

Mindlessly, he checked his phone to see if Michael had texted him back. They’d gotten into a new swing of things where they’d text throughout the day, it was small and casual, but it made him feel like he wasn’t alone ever. But, still, there was no ‘i love you too’ and no excited messages about what he may have found and no subtle complaining about having to spend a day with Rosa.

That stupid mix of a bad day and his constant levels of anxiety had him staring a little too long before he typed out a message and sent.

Alex: are you mad at me?

Read. No response.

“Sanders!”

“What are you doin’ here, boy? I said you had the day off.”

Michael’s mind felt like he was going to explode. The long drive from the cabin out here had done nothing but make him angrier. Did Sanders know who his mom was? Did he just keep that from him for all these years?

“Who is Walt Freedman?” Michael demanded. He froze like he’d been caught. Then he shook his head, turning towards his truck.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Tell me who he is!” Michael said, using his powers to slam the truck door closed. Sanders didn’t flinch or look to him in horror, he just sighed and turned back to face him.

“If you’re showin’ off like that, you already know who he is.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. He just watched him and tried his damnedest not to fucking lose it. How could someone who was the closest thing to a father figure he had, the only adult who kept his ass off the street some nights, be the same person who lied to him? It didn’t matter if Michael hadn’t bothered to ask, this felt like a firm lie by the omission of truth situation.

“Why?” Michael asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my mother? Why would you keep that from me?”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“The fuck you are, tell me,” Michael demanded, coming closer. Sanders sighed and looked at him, a pretty pitiful look on his face. Michael just didn’t know who the pity was for. Then he gestured towards the chairs around the fire pit outside the airstream that was hardly even of use anymore.

“Fine.”

Michael eyed him, swallowing hard. It felt like it was too easy. But, still, he nodded and they went to sit.

For the next hour, Michael did his best to listen. He kept getting the urge to butt in, to challenge him, to ask why he could trust him, but instead, he kept his mouth shut and dug his nails into the heel of his palm beneath the bandana.

Sanders detailed stories of their time in that barn, about how kind and strong his mother was and about everything that led up to that day in the barn. She was protective and an engineering genius, something she clearly gave to him. He told him of how he’d only ever seen her leave the barn twice, once where’d she’d gone somewhere at night and once at the fair. Other than that, she was extremely cautious. She was the reason they lasted so long in the first place.

“Do you know where she went that night that she was gone?” Michael asked, “Why would she do that?”

Sanders shrugged haphazardly. “I was just a kid, I didn’t ask.”

“You can’t think of anywhere she might’ve gone?”

“I don’t know, boy.”

“Okay, fine, whatever, none of this explains why you went the last 13 years lying to me,” Michael said, eyeing him, “Did you… did you know it was me?”

Sanders pushed himself up to his feet and Michael scoffed, standing to try and stop him. He wasn’t done talking.

“Miss Nora gave me a map before everything went downhill. I wanted to get the hell out of Roswell, but that stupid map wouldn’t let me. Every once in awhile, I’d go up to check on you three in your little eggs. Then one day, I went and checked and you were gone,” Sanders explained.

“So you did know it was me when you gave me a job and let me sleep on your couch, huh? What the fuck is that about?” Michael demanded. Sanders ignored him and walked off. “You didn’t answer anything!”

“What do you want to hear, huh? You wanna hear that I knew what was goin’ on with you and didn’t try to help? That I didn’t go see you at that home and make sure you were okay? That I didn’t do everything I could to give you somewhere you felt welcome like your mama gave me? Because I did!” Michael felt like he’d been hit in the stomach more than once and he couldn’t seem to find the ability to breathe. “They don’t really like givin’ little boys to washed-up old men with a record.”

Michael tried not to get angry or emotional as he went back to his truck, tried to keep himself as Sanders drove off. He fell back in the chair and tried to ignore the choking feeling in his throat. He didn’t know what to do with that information. In fact, he hated it. He rejected it. He could process it later because, right now, it didn’t make sense. What was the point of saying all that if, for the last two decades, he’d just been lied to?

Now what? He got all the information he could possibly get. There physically wasn’t anymore he could learn about his mother. He knew everything from Caulfield and he knew whatever firsthand account Sanders had from before that, and now what? Now he was just done?

It wasn’t enough.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, forcing him to be coherent for a few seconds as he pulled it out. It was from Alex, a message asking if he was mad at him. The simple answer was no, but he knew well enough that if he tried to get involved in a conversation with Alex right now, he would get mad. Right now, Alex was another person who was lying to him. That helped no one.

So, instead, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and headed towards the Wild Pony to drink away his feelings.

Alex was tired but determined as ever.

The paper translated, loosely, into a warning that a raid was going to happen at the barn. Someone had taken the time to not only learn written alien language to communicate with them but had also warned them. It took Alex a few minutes to realize that whoever wrote it lied about the date or they themselves had been lied to. Alex didn’t know which one to believe.

But, regardless of what it was, someone had warned them. Kyle was right, though, there were a handful of symbols that couldn’t be translated. Yet, somehow, the letters M.V.C. had come through in the signature. It was a claim that they were on their side. That made exactly no sense.

Alex couldn’t wait any longer, though, and sat outside of the hospital until Kyle’s shift was over and only checked his phone to see if Michael had responded once. Cam met him there and the two of them climbed into Alex’s car without argument. He filled them in on what it said and how none of it actually made any fucking sense. If it was a lie, why would they bother mentioning M.V.C.? If it was true, was M.V.C. good? If it was good, why did his father have any part in it?

They pulled up to the Manes family home, two vehicles parked outside to show that Flint couldn’t seem to leave home. Alex almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“What’s the plan?” Cam asked as Alex watched the porch light turn on despite the fact the sun hadn’t quite set.

“We explain that we found evidence that the M.V.C. had been in contact with aliens that weren’t in captivity and that we know two of the heads of the trident, so might as well give up the other one,” Alex said.

“Okay, but what does he gain by giving us that information? We need to make it worth his while,” Cam pointed out. Alex sighed and fished the dog tags from his pocket. He knew his father and he knew that he would all but had a shrine to all the Manes men that came before him. Surely he’d take these with gracious hands.

“I got it,” Alex said.

Kyle’s hand landed on his shoulder, all but forcing Alex to give him his attention.

“You good?”

“Just tired,” Alex said, giving a small smile, “But if we figure out who the third head is, I’ll be doing great so let’s make it happen.”

“Let’s.”

The three of them got out of the car and headed for the front door. Alex had the strong urge to just let himself in, but he figured playing nice would get him a long way. So, instead, he knocked and waited.

Flint answered the door.

“What do you want, Alex?” he said, voice hushed like he was trying to warn him to leave. Alex almost felt bad for him again. But, still, he smiled.

“I need to talk to my dad,” he said. Flint just stared at him and shook his head so subtly that Alex almost called him out for it. He wanted to call him out for it. “Okay, if you don’t want me to, maybe you can give me some answers.”

Flint closed his eyes and looked over his shoulder before stepping out of the house, closing the door behind him.

“Really?” Cam asked, “Are you that scared?” The way he looked at her said yes.

“What do you want to know?” Flint asked. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“You expect me to believe that it’s this easy?”

“I expect you to believe that he’s worse,” Flint said, giving him a look that made his blood run cold, “I don’t want you going near him. I don’t… I don’t know what the hell he’s up to, but it’s nothing good. He’s talking to old friends he hasn’t talked to since Mom left. I don’t want you getting caught up in that.”

“I’m already caught up in it,” Alex scoffed, shaking his head, “If it’s so bad, why are you still here?”

“And leave him unsupervised? Yeah, fuck that,” Flint said, eyes drifting to Cam and Kyle and then back to Alex, “You guys are tight-knit.”

“That’s none of your concern,” Alex said, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what you know about M.V.C.? You wouldn’t give Cam much, but that was before I had more information. So fill in some blanks for me.”

Flint had a look of near dread on his face and he tilted his head back, taking a steadying breath.

“You need to stop looking into this,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If it’s affecting my life, I’m not going to just stop,” Alex said. He didn’t quite elaborate that, while he could probably get out unscathed, he couldn’t do it on a good conscience. Not when being blind meant putting Michael at risk. Fuck all of that. “I know that it’s Manes and Valenti and another family. And I also know that they were in contact with aliens back in the 40s who weren’t in captivity. They warned them about the raid. Why would they do that?”

Flint looked around again, eyes going to a camera by the door that had been there since Alex was in high school. He also knew that it had no audio. He pulled out the dog tags.

“Tell me what I need to know and then bring this to dad as a consolation prize, got it?” he said. Flint shook his head.

“I don’t get you, Alex.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” Alex said right back, “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know how they made contact in the 40s, but I know that M.V.C. originated as an organization to help integrate aliens into American society,” Flint said, voice soft like he was scared he’d still be overheard. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. “It was started by the younger generations of our families at the time; it was supposed to be helpful.”

“How the hell did it turn into what it was, then?” Alex asked, “Because there was nothing helpful or humane about torture.”

“Yeah,” Flint said, again eyeing the camera. He tilted his head away so his lips couldn’t be read if someone were to be watching the video. “Yeah, that’s because it was taken over by the older members and changed into something else. They spent years saying that they were doing it for good, but it wasn’t. It’s not what it was meant to be and it hasn’t been for a long time.”

“And yet you’re a part of it,” Alex said blatantly. Flint looked at him and then Kyle and then Cam, each looking seeming deliberate.

“Didn’t really have a choice,” he said, “But you do.”

“I know I do,” Alex responded. Flint locked eyes with him and nodded.

“You do. You all do,” he said, slow and making more eye contact than necessary as he reached for the tags in Alex’s hand. Things seemed to click and Alex was torn between feeling absolute dread and wanting to dance on the fucking rooftops. He should’ve known. “I’ve gotta get back to Dad. Thanks for the dog tags.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell us who‒“

“Shut up, Valenti,” Cam said, voice stern. Alex managed to keep his face schooled, but he was feeling more positive than he’d had all day.

Answers were great.

“See you around, Flint,” Alex said, giving a curt nod.

“You too.”

The three of them went back to the truck and Alex waited until he started the engine and locked the doors before he let his smile show.

“Holy fuck,” Cam scoffed, sharing his smile as he put the car in reverse, “Holy fuck.”

“Am I missing something?” Kyle asked, leaning in between the front seats. Alex’s excitement kept building and he slammed his hands against the steering wheel, Cam matching the action with unbridled, uncharacteristic laughter. “Definitely missing something, did he drug you both?”

“No, you dumbass,” Cam said, voice lighter than ever as she turned to face him, “M.V.C. Manes, Valenti, Cameron.”

“Holy fuck,” Kyle joined in, shocked laughter starting to spill from him too, “So, that’s why he recruited you? And we have another avenue to find new information from people that don’t know what we know?”

“Fuck yes we do!” Alex cheered, feeling like he was going to burst. Yes. Finally. Something new. Something good.

“Brand new generation,” Cam said, “Children of the goddamn alien revolution.”

“This is the most lively I’ve seen either of you and I love it,” Kyle laughed.

And Alex loved it too. Maybe there was a reason for why his day started off so shitty.

Otherwise, this wouldn’t have felt so fucking good.

“Funny seeing you here.”

“Funny indeed. Whiskey.”

Maria eyed him but poured him a glass. He downed it pretty much immediately. It burned more than he was used to considering it’d been a hot minute since he’d had anything stronger than a glass of wine on Christmas in months. Alex wasn’t exactly the type to drink a lot, so it felt like a deliberate act if he’d gone to get alcohol. And now since Rosa was staying with them, there was definitely no alcohol in the house. He’d unintentionally gotten basically sober. Who knew.

“How’s life?” Maria asked as she poured him another glass which was weird in itself. Then again, these last few weeks were probably the longest they’d gone without seeing each other in over a decade. He huffed a laugh just thinking about it.

“Depends, I guess. Somehow better than ever and also worse because everything is a lie,” he vented.

“Like what?” Maria asked, leaning towards him. Michael glanced up from his glass to her curious eyes. He wondered if she’d come around from her assumptions or if she was simply just playing nice. It seemed impossible to tell.

“Nothin’ with Alex if that’s what you’re asking.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Maria rolled her eyes and pushed off the bar.

“Look, the way I acted was shitty, so can we act like it didn’t happen?” Maria asked. Michael eyed her and shrugged.

“You still think me liking Alex is just a phase?” Again, she rolled her eyes.

“No, I don’t. I get it‒loving Alex is easy,” she said. He gave a pathetic little smile.

“You have no idea,” he breathed, taking another sip. Maria just watched him with a thoughtful look on her face. He tilted his head. “What?”

“You really love him.”

“I really, really love him,” Michael sighed, nodding.

“Then why kiss me? If you’ve been in love with Alex since high school, then why even look my way?” Maria wondered. Michael stared at his drink, trying to give her a reason even though he didn’t really have one. Things were weird and he didn’t even know. Now, he couldn’t imagine not going to Alex when he was sad.

And yet, he was sad now, and he’d come here instead of going home to Alex. Maybe that’s what happens when the two people who had no reason to lie were, in fact, lying.

“Me ‘n Alex are… really fucked up,” he admitted with a soft laugh, shaking his head, “Nothing goes right with us.”

“Are you still staying with him?” she asked him. Michael shrugged and nodded. “Well, if you’ve been staying with him for that long, then something’s going right.”

“Nah, it’s not like that.”

“Well, what’s it like?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Are you? Can two people who love each other like that and live in the same house and spend all their time together be just friends?” Maria asked. He looked at her for a moment.

“Yes. If you knew the rest of the context, you’d say yes too.”

“Well, then give me context,” she said. Michael furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m trying to be a good friend here.” He gave a long sigh. Was Alex home yet? Could he go and get forehead kisses and cuddles yet? Or would that involve lying too?

“Context is a hard thing to give.”

“Try me.”

Michael sighed and lulled his head back to look at her.

“Today I learned that the only two people who I never expected to lie to me have been lying to me for a long time. Alex included,” Michael said dryly, “And that’s got me a little more than fucked up.”

“I’m sure Alex at least has a good reason,” Maria said. She didn’t seem shocked by that admission and it had Michael wondering if she knew more than she let on. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she did. “He cares about you, so.”

“Why do you care all the sudden?” he asked. She gave a half-hearted smile.

“I want Alex to be happy. He’s happy with you.”

“How would you know that? You’ve never seen us together.”

Maria leaned forward again. “No, but Alex is ridiculously giving. I didn’t realize just how much he actually wanted you until that day in his cabin. He was being as nice as possible, but he wasn’t going to just let you go without a fight. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

Michael sighed and closed his eyes, trying to believe that.

He somehow managed to stay until dark and, by the time he got to the cabin, it was still. The porch light was on, but Michael would bet money that Alex was already in bed. Which meant he couldn’t talk about the Sanders thing with him. He wasn’t going to dump that on him when he was all tucked in for the night. He could talk to him about all the lying in the morning.

When he let himself in, though, Alex was waiting for him in the hallway, leaning on his crutches. He blinked a couple of times before locking the door back and started heading towards the man who looked weirdly happy. Not that that was a bad thing, but it was definitely weird and it felt like an insulting juxtaposition to the way Michael felt in the moment. Michael took a step forward and Alex nodded to the couch.

Michael walked towards it and picked up the small, shiny key that was on the pillow he used when he’d slept every night on Alex’s couch. When he looked over to Alex, he was just watching him from the hallway and seeming to be deliberate with the amount of space between them.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding it up.

“A key to my house.”

“I can pick locks with my brain, you know that, right?” Michael said. But Alex didn’t react. He gave a small, controlled smile and pushed off the wall.

“I also know you like metaphors.”

Alex turned easily and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Michael standing there and wondering why his skin felt like it was on fire. Maybe Maria was right. Maybe they weren’t just friends. Maybe they could be more. Maybe it didn’t matter that Alex was lying.

Michael followed him to bed like a lost dog, eager for something more. Something that wasn’t just lies or that completely changed the way his entire life worked. He needed Alex to be open to him. Honesty could come later.

He dropped the key in his pocket and sped up, catching Alex’s elbow as he reached the doorway. Alex turned to him easily and rested his crutches against the wall, smiling like the sun had shined just for him. Michael didn’t understand why and, the longer he stared, the more he didn’t care. He wanted to feed off of Alex’s bright mood and maybe, just maybe, make sense of the chaos in his mind.

Someone wanted him. Two people wanted him. And they were both liars. How was he supposed to feel okay about that?

“I found out the third head of the trident,” Alex said, giddy fingers dancing up Michael’s arms and landing on his neck.

“I found out who the little boy was,” Michael said back, drier than Alex as he watched him. Alex’s eyes widened with joy and a smile grew on his face.

“So that’s why you didn’t text me back,” he laughed softly, fingers fiddling with his hair, “That’s amazing, who is he? Did you call him or go see him? What’d you learn? Oh my God, honestly, I feel like we’ve finally just‒”

Michael silenced him with a kiss. He didn’t want to talk. The more they talked, the more it would become apparent that Alex wasn’t going to be honest about everything. He was keeping that goddamn piece from him and it was getting harder to justify now that he knew everyone was capable of lying to him for years.

“Michael,” Alex said as he pulled away with a soft gasp, eyes wide, “We should probably‒”

“I don’t want to talk,” Michael said. Alex searched his eyes.

“You’ve been drinking,” he pointed out. Michael took a heavy breath and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not drunk and I don’t want to talk.”

Alex, his excitement not seeming to fade, just surged forward for another kiss. He was all smiles as he did so. Clearly, his judgment was clouded by his joy. Michael found himself ungodly jealous of that.

Instead of expressing that, he tried to walk Alex back a step only to discover that it was a little bit harder when he only had one leg to work with at the moment. So, instead, Michael’s hands went to the back of his thighs and he lifted him with ease. Laughter bubbled out of the airman, something that hadn’t been there since he was a teenager. He was so, so happy. And still fucking lying.

Michael took him to the bed, kissing him a little rougher each time his smile skewed the kiss that preceded it. He slammed the door closed with his telekinesis, locking it mentally before easily moving Alex up so his head hit pillows. Again, he laughed and Michael silenced him with his tongue.

“I missed this,” Alex breathed as Michael started stripping him, desperate to escalate things so that maybe, just maybe, he could stop thinking, “I missed you.”

Michael broke contact just long enough to rid himself of his shirt and he looked down at Alex, seeing him still smiling up at him like this was okay. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was great. How did something like that make him so angry and so happy at the same time?

He stopped looking at his face, instead of moving to tear Alex’s sweats and boxers off him completely. It was a little sloppy, a little reckless, and Alex just kept laughing like this was funny. Michael didn’t get why this was funny. What was so funny about sleeping with someone you were lying to?

Alex grabbed him, pulling him back up so they face to face. He still had his jeans and his boots on, but Alex was bare and he didn’t seem to be phased by that. He was just comfortable with it in a way he had never been. He pulled Michael in for a kiss, one that was soft and slow and he refused to let Michael set the pace for. He held him that kiss, calloused fingers caressing his cheek and forcing him to calm down. Forcing his mind to shut up.

“I love you,” Alex said against his lips, his fingers sliding into his hair while his other hand dragged up and down his spine. Part of him wanted to cry. A bigger part of him wanted to empty his mind even more.

“Love you too,” Michael said back, pushing himself up and onto his knees to unbuckle his belt. Alex’s hands went to help him.

For a moment, he wondered what this meant.

But then, he realized, it didn’t fucking matter. Nothing did.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #our fainted thrill carries on

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faelune-home · 4 years

Text

(A/N: Rather than just do another text post updating my progress, I wanted to write a quick oneshot piece ^^ Gets me more into stretching my writing skills again, and helps me flesh out Yuri while I’m going.

Pre-LotA, a moment with Yuri and G’raha. No ao3 link, just here for now, maybe once I have more of these to compile together.

@ffxiv-writers)

In truth, Yuri didn’t know what to make of the miqo’te man. G’raha Tia, he said his name was. On the one hand, she was annoyed with him, turning their search into a game, wasting time when their goal to gain access to the tower was already so important. However he had gone to the trouble to create the sand from the ore, and by appearances he was from the same place as the Scions. The scholar’s land of Sharlayan. More specifically he said he was one of the Students, yet another group that the Scions did work with.

Evidently, despite a mischievous streak, he was someone they could trust, and he did seem more focused on the task at hand once it came to breaking through the defenses of the Sentinels. Though Yuri still couldn’t shake the irritation from that first meeting.

She walked amongst the rubble remains of the tower’s guard, staring up at the great crystalline construct. Truly it was an awe inspiring sight, and even in the light of the midday sun, she could see it glowing. How she hadn’t seen it from any other corner of Eorzea was baffling.

“Mystified, are you?” A new voice made her jump, catching her off. Turning, she saw it was only G’raha, come to join her near the edge of the platform, leaving the Ironworks crew to chat amongst themselves.

She nodded. “A touch. It is an impressive structure.” He nodded back, looking up at the tower with a curious look in his eye.

“Aye, impressive is a word you could use for many of Allag’s creations. Theirs was a vast civilisation with so many feats great and awful, and so far no other nation that we have studied have even come close. Not even Garlemald could boast of similar achievements, as I’m sure you’ve heard Cid mention.”

“You know a lot about Allag,” Yuri stated, her curiosity evident. G’raha shrugged, a small smile on his face as he replied, “But of course, it’s my field of study. But then they were such a large empire that one man can scarcely research it all, as I’m sure you would know from your work with Y’mhitra.” He pointed to the grimoire hanging from her waist, and then added, “I did ask Rammbroes first just to be sure I wasn’t mistaken. About you working with Y’mhitra I mean.”

“Why are you here?” she asked abruptly, “Not that the idle chatter isn’t interesting.” This earned a laugh from the miqo’te, as he said, “Straight to the point then? That’s quite alright.”

A flourish of his hand toward the tower, and he said, “I simply came to check on you, make sure you were good and ready to brave the Labyrinth. Make sure you weren’t getting cold feet, but that would be more of a formality really. I’m sure nothing would deter the saviour of Eorzea, one who had bested the Ultima Weapon and the Black Wolf.”

Yuri sighed. “So you have heard of that?” She didn’t know if he’d been in Eorzea long, but then it shouldn’t have surprised her anyway that he knew.

“So I have,” he confirmed, a cheeky smirk upon his face. “I heard from a friend who knows someone that was directly there. Like an old game of whispers, I suppose, but I have no doubt at all that I’ve been misinformed of your many feats.”

He grinned, saying, “Like how you made merry with the Sylphs of the Twelveswood, or unmasked a false inquisitor, or even-” his eyes glittered with amusement, “-during the final most battle against the empire, you stormed out of the castrum with a trail of fire in your wake.”

Yuri shook her head, irritation flaring up as she said, “That last point is...not incorrect, but still grossly exaggerated.” This only made the man laugh again.

Although curious as to who his “friend of a friend” was and how exactly they were spreading her tale, she didn’t question it, instead taking a breath to calm herself and deciding to go back to their original topic and saying, “Well I should hope all goes well, not that I’m going in alone anyway. And after this, we enter the tower itself?”

“Discounting any other obstacles, yes, we climb the tower and document what we find.”

Yuri tapped her chin in thought, looking up and down the full length of the tower as she asked, “What would you do with the information you find?”

G’raha tilted his head to the side, thinking it over as though he had just realised he hadn’t considered that far ahead. “Were I to hazard a guess, we would share what we found with the Sons and with Cid’s group. I’d hope that the Ironworks group can make use of whatever information they find about Allag’s technology in order to better their own creations for Eorzea’s betterment. And anything else that isn’t used here or can’t be deciphered by anyone present would be sent to the Students or direct to Sharlayan for more specialist scholars to analyse.”

Yuri nodded. Even if it was all decided before or only figured out on the spot, it was still a solid plan.

“And all you need to do,” G’raha continued, giving her another smile, more reassuring this time, “is deal with whatever bars our way within.”

Before the conversation could continue, a yell from Cid caught both of their attentions. At the far end of the valley, by the crystal gate, the first lot of her adventuring team were arriving. G’raha shrugged, mumbling, “Well, we’ll be getting started soon.”

“I shall go to inform them of the plan,” he said directly to Yuri. He gave her a thumbs up and said, “Good luck!”

As he ran off to the newcomers, Yuri thought back over their conversation. She still wasn’t sure what to make of him, but perhaps she didn’t mind him after all.

She turned back to the tower, and prepared herself for what was still to come.

#ffxiv writing #ffxiv fanfic #writing #g'raha tia #raen au ra #crystal tower #a realm reborn #yuri sakuraba #yuri's eorzean tales #my wol #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #my writing

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cryoculus · 5 years

Note

Hello! I love the blog, was wondering of you can do a soulmate au for akaashi or bokuto? Maybe one about sharing the same tattoo? Thanks even if you reject!

» Word Count: 2,650 wordsCross-posted on AO3

This ask was sent literally a year ago, and I am so sorry for not filling this (and all the other requests dumped into my inbox) any sooner! This is part one for a reincarnation/soulmate AU for Bokuto because I’ve already done the matching tattoos one with Daichi, whoops.

—

“And here we have the Crimson Dream, as depicted on a white canvas with red paint by none other than Sakurauchi Hide-san.”

Awed whispers resonated in your little tour group as your guide spared you a few minutes to observe the beautiful yet macabre painting among many others hung on the walls of the museum. Photographs and the like were strictly prohibited, and you’ve been giving your best friend, Kinuye, the cold shoulder when she opted not to tell you.

“What am I supposed to do with this, then?” you muttered, gesturing vaguely at the disposable camera hung around your neck. “You could’ve stopped me when I got it at the gift shop.”

Kinuye giggled, tucking a tuft of loose, brown hair behind her ear. “Well, for one, you looked so excited to document our first date in forever. What kind of friend would I be to take that away from you?”

You scoffed. “A practical one.”

“Hm. While you do have a point, you could always use that for other things, right?” She grinned, and dear god, you still rued the day the universe had decided that she would be the pretty friend. “Tetsurou will come pick us up a little later. Is there anywhere you’d like to go to next?”

Frowning, you asked, “This Tetsurou guy—he’s your boyfriend, right?”

She nodded gingerly. “Yup. Total sweetheart, I tell you. You’ll love him!”

You hummed in contemplation, wondering if you really will love the guy, as Kinuye had insisted. She’d started sending you photos of herself doing weird poses with her old Organic Chemistry professor only a few months ago. While he didn’t look like someone that would deliberately break your best friend’s heart, there was something off-putting about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

It’s not because he was older, really. Dating older people was normal in college. It was more because you convinced yourself that you knew him from somewhere, but couldn’t recall how.

“Now, moving on to the next work of art…”

The two of you shuffled along as the tour guide prattled on about the origins behind the next piece over. As a painting major, your heart practically melted when Kinuye texted you the previous week, saying that she’d scored the two of you tickets for the new art museum that opened a few blocks from your university. It’s been the talk of your department for weeks, and the tickets had sold out on the first day of the pre-sale. You weren’t lucky enough to get your hands on them, yourself, but life had apparently decided that you shall also be bestowed with your pretty friend’s blessings.

“Hey, that one reminds me of the painting you have in your living room,” Kinuye whispered, pointing somewhere behind you. With one eyebrow raised, you craned your head to sneak a glance at what she was pertaining to—only to be met with the sight of a massive tapestry framed at the other side of the hall.

As most tapestries were, the fabric that depicted a vast, orange sky with spires of land jutting from the clouds was being displayed behind a stretch of conservation glass. A few visitors were standing in front of it, murmuring among themselves while sharing contemplative stares. There was even a golden plaque placed underneath, but you were too far away to read the inscription.

But Kinuye was right. It did look eerily similar to the twilight painting you once did for your scenery final.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but did you get your reference off the Internet or did you see it with your own eyes?” your best friend wondered, genuine curiosity brimming in her gaze. “It practically looked like a screenshot, you know. One of my favorites for sure.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you didn’t like the portrait I gave you for your birthday?” You pouted.

Kinuye gasped, appalled at your accusation. “I adore every single piece you make, and you know it! It’s just that…there’s something about that painting in particular, you know? I remember you holing yourself up in your apartment for days just so you could finish it before finals week ended. Now, the fan art for your original is being displayed at a museum—”

“That tapestry is not fan art, Kinuye,” you said in-between chuckles as your gaze wandered back to the twilight sky just a few feet away. “I guess we just happened to witness the same thing.”

One side of her mouth quirked upward. “Eh? So you did see it with your own eyes. Where is it? Were you on a hiking trip? Is it back in Hokkaido? You’re going to take me there, right?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair with playful exasperation. “You’re so demanding.”

“If some person made the effort to make a damn tapestry of the same scenery you painted for a final requirement, then it just means that it’s that amazing, right?” Kinuye folded her arms across her chest, declaring, “You will take me there.”

She was practically the first friend you’ve made when you moved to Tokyo, so of course you’d want to take Kinuye to places you knew she would like. But how were you supposed to bring her somewhere you’ve only seen in the plane of your dreams?

“I’ll think about it,” you told her, not really meaning the words.

“And that concludes our guided itinerary,” the guide up front said, almost sounding relieved. “You may now take a look at the rest of the artworks displayed in this wing on your own accord. But do refrain from going beyond as the other wings are still under construction. Thank you for visiting the Akaashi Museum for Fine Arts, and we do hope you’ll support the institution as time flows on.”

As time flows on. Those are some strange parting words.

Once your group dissolved into pairs and individuals, Kinuye seized your wrist so she could drag you off to the tapestry that she’d suddenly went crazy about. There were more people viewing the frame than earlier, but the two of you managed to get a decent spot, nonetheless. There, you could read the words etched onto the plaque much more clearly.

The Dawn of Our Ruinby Akaashi Keiji, 2014

“Says here that the guy who made this finished it on his third year of high school. So you’re the one who did the fan art after all, huh, (Name)-chan,” teased Kinuye as she carefully went over the rest of the details. “Oh, and he’s also the son of the museum’s director! Really runs in the family, huh?”

Her words, however, were a bit muted in your ears, given that your attention was ensnared by the artist’s interpretation of his own work.

“When heavenly fire swathes the clouds with reds and oranges, the rage of the gods cannot be fathomed by mortal minds. Those who oppose their justice will be struck down to the earth, where they will perish with their dying eyes transfixed on the fading daylight.”

You saw a beautiful sky at the dregs of twilight. Akaashi Keiji saw clouds on fire.

“You ladies seem pretty into that piece, huh?”

Startled, you whip your head back to face whoever addressed you and Kinuye so abruptly. There, a man who seemed no older than the two of you stood with his pockets shoved into his sleek black overcoat. He stood tall above the both of you, his grin blindingly bright. But the most peculiar thing about him, aside from his streaked, bouffant hair, was definitely the molten gold of his eyes—so mesmerizing that you’d almost forgotten he’d asked you a question.

“Y-Yes,” you stuttered. “I—”

“She painted something that looks exactly the same as this one!” Kinuye interrupted, patting your shoulder proudly. “She won’t tell me where it is, but she did promise to take me there someday.”

You shot her an incredulous look. “I did not make any promises, Kinuye.”

“I’m Yoshitaka Kiyune, and that’s (Surname) (Name),” she introduced. Your friend merely smiled at you like a Cheshire cat, before balking off at the stranger about your supposed skill with the canvas and brush. You could only shrink to the side when said stranger responded with the same extroverted eagerness that Kinuye practically exuded on the daily.

“Whoa! You got the highest mark for your version of this? I haven’t seen it, but I already know you deserve it,” he said, eyes glittering with awe. The wonder in his voice wasn’t staged. You’ve been on the receiving end of half-meant compliments all your life, and you could tell that his words were nothing but genuine.

Kinuye perked up from beside you. “Oh, if you don’t mind, can we ask for your name…?”

The golden-eyed man’s smile softened. “Koutarou. Bokuto Koutarou. I’m one of the curators for the museum.”

“You’re a curator?” you repeated, disbelief lining your features.

Bokuto hollered out loud, earning a few looks from the nearby visitors. “Ah, I get that a lot. I don’t look the part, but I know good pieces when I see them. I’m the one who’s in charge of this wing after all.”

You blinked at him, at a loss for words. “So, you know the person who made this, then?”

“Of course!” He nodded vigorously. “The Akaashis are a family friend of mine, and the dude who put this gigantic thing together is practically my best friend. Like hell I’ll leave out his best work to gather dust in their basement.”

“I see…” Your voice trailed off when your gaze latched back onto the tapestry. The details were breathtaking, each thread carefully placed where they could bring the depicted image to life. This close, you could see that, indeed, it wasn’t the sky that’s orange. The puffy white clouds were covered in a thin blanket of fire, as if the rage of the gods Akaashi had spoken of hasn’t boiled over yet.

“You know, I could sign your pieces up to be displayed on here, too.”

Your body reacted before your mind could even process the words. You felt your hands grow cold within a second, the chill spreading to the rest of your skin. Did you hear him right? Did the curator for the museum you thought you’d never be able to visit within the month just offer to display your art in the newly opened wing?

“You can refuse if you don’t want to though,” Bokuto supplied, a sheepish look twisting his face. “It’s just that I’m friends with Professor Konoha, and he’s been telling me about a certain student that had her own rendition of Akaashi’s Dawn, and that her pieces were, quote, out of this world.”

Feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up on your face, you turned your head a little to the side. “K-Konoha-sensei is a little superfluous with his compliments sometimes…”

He shook his head. “Konoha is the most honest guy I know! When he’s playing favorites, that just means your stuff is worth something.” Bokuto then reached into his coat before handing you a small, rectangular card. He grinned once more, and you could feel your blush worsen by the second.

“If you’re interested, just give me a call, and we can talk about it over lunch! Or coffee. Or—I dunno. Whatever you’d like.” The look in his eyes was so hopeful, you thought it would be a crime to turn him down.

You gulped, studying his business card for a few seconds before keeping it inside your bag. “T-Thank you, Bokuto-san—”

“Oh, don’t be so formal with me.” He pouted. “Back then you told me—ah, I mean… I’d prefer it if my future clients didn’t address me so stiffly.”

“Alright…Bokuto.” You spoke his name carefully, feeling how the syllables fit in your tongue. “I’ll call you once I’ve made up my mind.”

The curator clapped his hands together, like a child promised with a toy. He just wouldn’t stop smiling, and you felt as though he won’t do so any time soon. Beside you, you could feel Kinuye giving you one of her Looks, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Alright, thanks a lot, (Name)—uh, (Surname). You, too, Yoshitaka. It was nice meeting the two of you, but I’ll be going now,” he sighed wistfully, like he didn’t want to leave. “I have a meeting with the directors in a few minutes, and Keiji might just yell at me for being late. Again.”

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s okay, Bokuto. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

With a single nod of the head, Bokuto strode off to the restricted area of the museum, possibly where the offices were located. You were about to ask Kinuye what time her boyfriend would come pick the two of you up, but the Look she was sending your way only intensified once Bokuto was out of sight.

“He’s into you,” she spoke flatly. “He is so into you.”

Your eyes widened and you could feel yourself flush at her words. “W-What do you mean?”

“(Name), don’t act dense. You’ve had boyfriends in the past. I’m sure you can tell if a guy likes you or not.”

“He was just being nice!” you reasoned. “He’s friends with Konoha-sensei, so he must’ve seen some of my work. It’s purely professional—”

“With the way he was looking at you like you’re his next mistake?” Kinuye chuckled, patting your shoulder affectionately. “As if.”

Your bottom lip quivered with the itch to have the last word. “H-He’s older!”

“Tetsurou is a good six years older than me, and we’re doing mighty fine,” she argued with a smirk. “Come on, just admit that the pretty curator is into you and we can have lunch.”

“B-But—”

Your protest was interrupted by the sound of Kinuye’s ringtone, and she immediately fumbled around her bag for her phone. Her sea green eyes lit up when she checked the caller ID. “Just in time. Tetsurou’s already waiting for us out front.” Stuffing her phone back, she flashed you a faux-angelic smile. “(Name)-chan, you can continue wallowing in your denial later, but I would really prefer if you just owned up to it.”

“Whatever,” you sighed in defeat. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”

As the two of you made your way down the marble steps that led outside, you felt the sun practically glaring down on the both of you. Summer in Tokyo was excruciating in its own right, and you looked up to the sky just to give the big ball of fire a glare of your own.

However, in the distance, just a few buildings away, you spotted a bird—no, a creature in flight. It was too far away for you to decipher what it really was, but you could somehow make out the shape of massive wings jutting out from its back. Too big to be a bird, too alive to be a plane.

Remembering that you had a camera at your disposal, you raised it to your face so that one eye was posed on the viewfinder. It was one of those newer models that had a decent zoom in feature, but identity of the figure in the sky remained unknown when it promptly disappeared up into the heavens, high enough where no human could hope to reach.

“(Name)-chan, are you taking a picture of something?”

You let the camera fall, the strap straining against the back of your neck. Kinuye was looking at you expectantly from where she’s waiting beside an unfamiliar car.

Exhaling a deep breath, you shook your head. “No. Sorry,” you told her, before jogging down the rest of the steps.

#haikyuu!!#bokuto koutarou #fukurodani #bokuto koutarou x reader #haikyuu hc #soulmates #man i should really fix my tagging system #lol-life101 #hqscenario

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fictionalnormalcy · 4 years

Text

Face Amidst the Smoke Ch. 4

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1319 Characters: Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Haddock Summary: Astrid is paired for a project with someone who she is definitely not eager to work with. Haddock has a reputation of being a bad student, just a bad role model in general. But in being forced to work with one of the worst seniors in the school, she comes to see what is under this bad boy’s exterior… and she may be getting in over her head.

Investigation

“Are you sitting in front of a computer?”

“What do you think?”

“I want to believe that you’re somewhere sheltered from the rain, a library maybe. You’re valuing these last few hours before they close on you.” I said into the device.

“Let me tell you something Hofferson.” There was a distant clatter. “Some of us, don’t have all the time in the world. Not all as privileged as you. We work to make a living and make something of ourselves.”

“I work too! Where do you think I just came from?”

“You expect me to read your mind?” He said shortly.

“Whatever.” I grit my teeth. “Have you gotten anything done?”

“Checked those links you gave me.” He grunted. “Made a thesis. Look, I’m a little busy right now. Come morning, check your phone. I’ll have sent you what I came up with. You tell me what you think.”

Then the call disconnected, the last thing I heard was an engine beginning to roar. I was left to wonder where he could possibly work. Or, he might’ve gotten out just like me and was starting his car. I don’t know… but I could find out. If I hadn’t contacted him, I doubt he would have even sent me a word today. This couldn’t wait. We had to choose a topic today to be ready to show to the teacher for tomorrow’s class. But we couldn’t move anywhere if we didn’t agree. There was too much anxious energy running through me.

If I were partners with anybody else, I wouldn’t be chasing them. We would have already found a topic, and at this very moment finding sources for the essay. The teacher gave us a deadline to have three sources chosen by next week. The week after a completed outline. Enough time for us to look over and revise it. Then to type out the essay, include our sources, and then start constructing the presentation. But I was stuck with Haddock. This meant that I would constantly have to be at his neck. If this didn’t get done, I had to continue exercising the severity of it. I turned on my laptop. I had nothing to do, nothing to get done if we both hadn’t agreed on it.

I started to construct an outline. There would be nothing to fill in because we hadn’t agreed on anything, but there would be a document ready to share. I was wondering what text messages I would find in the morning. I set my alarm to wake up earlier so I had time to insert something into the document. In class I could tell him if any of my links matched up to what he had come up with. Or I could confront him and tell him we had to change it. I had no idea what this guy was capable of coming up with. He was a slacker, that much I knew. His work could be of the grade level of a student in primary school. I stared at the document. I’d need his email as well.

[#$%*&^]

As should have been expected, Haddock did not even deign to show up to class. I was hoping that he’d show up last minute, as he was famous for doing so. Better to be marked tardy than have an absence on your record. I was woefully mistaken. I’d squeezed my pencil so tight that I was afraid I’d break it. The teacher once again gave me her glance of sympathy after her gaze had passed over his empty desk. I considered what Heather had told me yesterday. About asking her if there was anything else I could do. But I answered the question for myself.

There was still time to make progress. Still able to achieve the deadline. Haddock may ditch classes on occasion but hardly ever an entire day. So he was on campus. After I walked out of the class we shared, I looked at the texts he had sent me. Having been received at 12:34 a.m. Five texts I hadn’t seen until I awoke this morning at 6:45. His thesis, had been well-constructed. It was similar to what I had found. Before I had to head to school I managed to plug in the thesis and print out a peer-reviewed journal for research. If only he’d bothered to show up to class so we could discuss further.

Once school ended I immediately headed to where I had found him yesterday, but today there was no smoke from behind the tree trunk. There were still five cigarette butts on the ground. There were still two other places, but they were on different sides of the campus. Then I started thinking, of another place I knew he could be. I began to head toward the school parking lot. I knew that I was heading to the right place, judging by the blaring music that started reaching my ears.

I saw the cloud drifting out through the small opening of the window. I had come to know that only one person would ever deign to do it on school grounds. I had seen what had happened before when the smoker had been caught. Given enough warning that once the supervisor walked up to them they simply leaned down and extinguished the cigarette. They no longer bothered punishing him.

I opened the door and swooped into the passenger seat. The vehicle had miraculously been left unlocked, though the music could be enough to deter anyone from approaching. There were three empty spaces on either side.

“Can I help you?” An naselled voice groaned.

“You know that’s bad for you, and could get you suspended.” I tried to say over the music.

“And frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Besides, this is my private property, you have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do on my terf.”

“Usually what people do on their property shouldn’t call attention to others.” I reasoned.

“Well you’re a snoopy Berkian, not much different than the others.” He watched me with a glare. “You haven’t learned to mind your own business.”

I reached toward the music player and lowered the volume. Reducing it to background noise. I settled into the seat, marvelling that the car was actually comfortable, and amidst the smell of tobacco there was a faint cherry. Showing he did attempt to keep it to a suitable smell.

“It’s like you set up a shield of repulsion.”

“Smoke and music.” He said with narrowed eyes. “Clearly it’s not enough. What the fuck do you want?”

I crossed my arms. “You didn’t even deign to show up to class today.”

“I sent you what you wanted. You want more?”

“There’s still the rest of the research, the essay, and the presentation! A damned thesis is not all you’re going to do!”

He took in a slow inhale. “And I bet, you’re sitting here because you found a source. You’re oh so desperate to make sure I’m informed on every step you’ve taken.”

“Yes. I had even brought my laptop so we could manage something during lunchtime. But I couldn’t find you during that time either.”

“When it’s hard to find someone, it means they don’t want to be found.”

“I’m not letting you off that easy Haddock.” I gave him a hard stare. “Give me your email. I need to send you the outline so we can start working on it.”

“Don’t have one.”

“How, do you not have an email!?”

“No device that connects to the internet. Never a need for it. Who even sends emails anymore?”

“You need it so we can actually work on this together.”

“Hofferson, you’ll be able to get by without me.”

I grabbed the wrist that held a cigarette.

“Come on, the library here is open another hour. We’re setting you up with an email.”

#httyd #fanfiction #face amidst the smoke #ch 4 #ao3 #astrid hofferson #hiccup haddock #modern day au

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fishxx · 4 years

Link

Se Qing and the Naked Truth

February 24th, 2017

Below the rooftop of a Beijing building that shudders against a glaucous sky of factory moans is an unextraordinary office building. In it, perhaps on the sixth floor, sits a man in a suit at a desk. The phone on his desk rings. He probably picks it up. Maybe he shifts his weight in his seat, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. Maybe he texts his wife, tells her not to wait up, a client needs this or that document tonight.

It’s 11 degrees Celsius, and a pair of broad-boned feet rest on the ledge of the rooftop above the office building. The owner of the feet crouches over them, back bent round as if in a snail shell. He looks down to the street below, speckled with pedestrians bundled in scarves and cars blaring their horns. He thinks about what kind of people might be in the office building.

Seven months prior, he’d written in a series of diaries published online:

我总是能听到开枪的声音，开始的时候我有点害怕，时间久了，也就习惯了，那声

音也像有人在用槌子往我脑袋里钉钉子，好像有一个建筑工地，有人要盖摩天大楼

，盖了这么多年也没盖好，好多无家可归的人在我的脑袋里面哭啊闹啊，我要被吵

死了，他们不让我睡觉，也不让我出门。不睡觉也好，不出门也好，反正每天出门

前，穿上精心挑选好的衣服，照着镜子怎么看都觉得像要去参加自己的葬礼

I am always hearing gunshots. In the beginning it scared me a little, but over time I’ve

grown used to it. Someone has taken up a hammer and is knocking nails into my head,

it’s a construction site where someone is erecting a monstrous skyscraper, they’ve been

building it for years and it still isn’t done yet. The many homeless people in my head are

crying and jibing, they won’t let me sleep, won’t let me out the door. Staying home and

awake suits me just fine, because every day before heading out, after putting on the

clothes I’ve selected so meticulously for myself, and looking into the mirror, it looks to

me as if I’ve dressed to attend my own funeral.

It had always felt this way. For much of his life, since his childhood in a suburb of Changchun, the capital of China’s northeastern province of Jilin, Ren Hang had felt as if he was stumbling through a shadowy psychosis, a jammed film reel in disparate shades of gray.

Still, through the fog of voices and visions clouding his consciousness, in Ren’s pulsing circuit board of veins, he has always felt a deep connection to his family, to his hometown, to China.

And this has never wavered, even as he moved what seemed continents away to study marketing at 17, to live in the 4-to-a-room cramped quarters of Beijing’s university housing, high from the ground, amidst the haze and cancers and pollution of a city of chaos.

–

Fragmented light splashes across the bare thighs and torso of a man whose face cannot be seen. Each hand holds a disco ball, whose mosaicked faces refract the flash’s exposure. Between the disco balls, an erect penis. In another photograph, from the last series Ren published, two nude men sit curled atop one other on the ledge of a building, pasted against a jumbled, silver skyline. Their eyes meet the camera’s gaze steadily.

As Ren crouches on the windowsill, many of these photos are already on exhibition at Foam Fotografiemuseum in Amsterdam. Museum curator Mirjam Kooiman says of the work, “It’s visual poetry. It’s without limits.”

Ren is not without limits.

The man in the office shuffles a stack of paper, maybe. He sighs when the phone rings again. Perhaps he stares at the minute hand on the wall clock.

Ren, some days, can’t tell wall clock from whiskey.

He rises slowly in the frame of the window. Stands, looks. Maybe he is naked, like so many of his subjects are. Maybe, as always, he’s meticulously selected what he believes to be the proper attire for the occasion. In one month he’ll be 30. He is always hearing gunshots.

He steps into the air.

–

January 15th, 2010

我只会注意那些病态，结巴，物质，2维思维，单亲家庭的男孩。有一种男孩是我

在涨潮几个小时之后会打电话给他，听到他的声音我知道虽然我还在水底，但是我

还没有溺亡。

I will only pay attention to those morbid, stuttering, material, two-dimensional- thinking

boys in single-parent families. There is a kind of boy who calls me after hours of high

tide. Hearing his voice, I know that although I am still underwater, I am still not dead.

Huang Jiaqi has the broad, hopeful eyes of youth and lips full as if they’d been stung by honeybees.

It’s been nearly a year since he ran away from home, leaving his university entrance examinations unfinished, his childhood tucked somewhere in diaries with thick-pulp pages, like those still made by tired men in the Qinling mountains.

At only 18, Jiaqi is slight of build, and can often afford nothing more to eat than a box of fried rice with a cucumber for five yuan. He devours the meal shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover, beneath the opaque and oppressive Beijing sky.

Jiaqi and Ren sleep in a house with five or six others who pad silently through the space like apparitions, also hungry.

Ren takes Jiaqi to rooftops. He snaps his shutter.

And with friends pitted naked against mosaicked Moroccan-style floors, between red curtains backlit by pale light, in reeds and bushes, amidst the haze of cigarettes in dingy apartments, Ren snaps his shutter. Boys and boys, girls and boys, girls and more girls mingle, mangled in limb and wire and branch.

Ren graduates from his compact analogue camera to a $29 Minolta X-700 film model. He is not interested in digital cameras. He says, “I like film. It’s exciting to wait.”

His work is featured in small group shows in Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Nanjing.

Still, it seems no one in the art world knows Ren Hang’s name.

Jiaqi knows Ren Hang’s name, his mother’s name, the pock-marks of his left cheek, the sound of his heartbeat. In and out and in and out like the tide.

Jiaqi is Ren’s greatest muse, the reason for all things.

In eight years, an image of his face will splash the cover of an international art book published by Taschen and Ren Hang will be dead.

–

June 8th, 2008

写给周耀辉的信

每个人都是同性恋，每个人都是霸权者，每张脸都打上马赛克，每颗心都穿上防弹

衣。所有的亲吻都是一味毒药，所有的拥抱都是一个牢房。

Letter to Zhou Yaohui:

Everyone is homosexual. Everyone is a hegemonic person. Each face is marked with a

mosaic. Each heart is wearing a bulletproof vest. All the kisses are blind poisons, and all

the hugs are a jail cell.

Ren books his first solo show in 2010. It opens in July under the name “Eat Naked Lunch!” at Yuyintang, a cozy underground live house in Shanghai.

One photograph features a young woman lying on her back, her knees drawn against her bare chest. Between her legs sprouts a tangled bouquet of leaves and red wildflowers. No genitalia can be exposed in the photographs on display, though the work Ren produces is often explicit, featuring cigarettes with seething red heads protruding from vaginas and lilies with their stems tucked into anuses.

He begins to exhibit quietly in other galleries and live houses.

And gradually, like a moonflower unfurling, Ren Hang’s work begins to bloom in the art world. The influence of boundary-pushing erotic photographer Robert Mapplethorpe becomes increasingly apparent, yet curators and collectors insist they have never seen anything like it before.

They are eager to comment on its starkness, its unapologetic sensuality, its balance and color, and its function as a bold fuck you to the Chinese government.

–

In the spring of 2018, Chinese social media platform Weibo announces a three-month “cleanup” effort of its site, a censorship initiative launched on the heels of President Xi Jinping’s new cybersecurity jurisdiction. Weibo quietly begins removing all content related to homosexuality. In response, social media users storm the platform with the hashtag #Iamgaynotapervert.

Though homosexual sex was decriminalized in China in 1997, members of the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face prejudice and a dearth of political discourse about their rights. Today, gay marriage is still not legally recognized in a single continental Asian country.

The Dream of the Red Chamber, the Qing dynasty-era novel oft considered the peak of Chinese literature features a number of steamy same-sex relationships, and passages of dialogue brazen enough to make even the most indiscreet of patrons blush: “What’s it to you if we fuck asses! It’s not like we fucked your dad,” says one character. Hand scrolls of the same time period depict what appears to be recreational sex between male friends, one colorful panel portraying a man hiking up his robes, sitting upon another man’s lap while they enjoy a cup of tea.

So whence came the disdain for homosexuality in China? Anthropologists argue that the influence of Western socio-cultural norms and exposure to foreign media rendered the subject taboo, casting shame over same-same relationships as the perverted product of delinquency or mental disorders. Others assert that the filial values of traditional China that have dominated social life since the era of Confucius are to blame.

Ren says, “We hide the body in our culture,” because it is “a demoralization to show what they think should be private.” But instead of hiding, Ren rebels—worshipping both the sacred and the sacrilegious in the human form, twisting and contorting it into geometry and shadow.

Everything about Ren’s photography is charged with the electric current of sexuality. Much of it is homoerotic. Much of it is not. As one curator puts it, “There’s no hierarchy between the female and the male model in his work. It’s very telling about these tendencies of sexuality and queerness in Chinese society and how his generation is dealing with it.”

What does this one represent?, they ask. It must be a commentary on the political state of modern China, they whisper.

When asked whether his pictures are meant to inspire or incite a sexual liberation in China, Ren responds flatly, “A sexual liberation? No.” He says, “Nudes have always been around. We were born nude. So I don’t think there’s anything to revolutionize. I just photograph things in their more natural conditions.”

Ren Hang didn’t intend to become a photographer. He became one accidentally, toying with a compact camera in the ennui of his days at the Communication University of China, snapping photographs of his roommates here and there, often naked, scuttling to the showers from their room with four bunks like narrow coffins stacked atop one another.

Perhaps he didn’t intend to become a poet either, although after his death, Tim Crowley of the KWM Art Center in Beijing says, “He was, in a way, a poet who just happened to be a great photographer.”

At times, he writes:

"My cock"

When soft, it’s like a piece of meat

When hard, like a knife

I give you soft when you eat

Wait for you to eat hard

Use it to kill you

And, at other times:

"Real desperation"

I found

My breasts are bigger every day

My vagina is wider day-by-day

I can be ashamed

I can hold hundreds of rivers

My time is finally coming

But I also felt for the first time

What real despair is

I stand in the highest place

But I dare not take a look below

And as Ren Hang comes barreling into the world of contemporary Chinese art with images that incite gasps, fury, and arrests, he perplexes and enchants by straddling, unapologetically, the worlds of straightness and gayness, of kink and custom, of truth and deception, of masochism and tantrism, of woman and man.

–

May 9th, 2013

还有一次连续几天晚上我都觉得我的隔壁睡了两匹马，我能听到他们的喘息，还有

那种马的“突突”的鼻音，我每天回到家都小心翼翼地怕吵醒了他们，有一天我的朋

友来家里住，我跟他说，我的邻居是两匹马，他们一直在睡觉，你今晚还是不要洗

澡了，洗澡的声音太大了，我们说话走路也小声一点，不然会吵醒他们的，我已经

三天没洗澡了。我朋友说我疯了。我说，他们不是一般的马，他们会说人话，会躺

着睡觉。开始他以为我在开玩笑，但是我的表情越来越严肃，他说你真是疯了。后

来我也不知道该怎么跟他解释，他再也没有住过我家。

For a few days in a row, I felt like there were two horses sleeping next to each other. I

was very careful not to wake them. One day, my friend came to stay at my place. I told

him that my neighbors are two horses. They have been sleeping. You shouldn't take a

shower tonight. The bathing sound is too loud. We can only speak quietly. Or I will wake

them up. I haven't bathed for three days. My friend said I was crazy. I said that they are

not ordinary horses. They speak ‘people’ and lie down to sleep. At first he thought I was

joking, but my expression became more and more serious. He said that I was crazy.

Later, I didn't know how to explain to him. He never stayed at my house again.

In China, mental illness is like homosexuality. It exists. We don’t talk about it.

–

April 5th, 2016

我适应了逆来顺受，就像掷骰子，每次都掷到同一个点数，后来你发现，其实每一

个面的点数都是一样的。这个房间里我最熟悉的就是头顶的那块天花板，它就像我

的天空，白色的天空，没有任何阴晴变化的天空，我幻想过楼上的邻居就是住在天

上的神仙

I have adapted to obey just like a die that is rolled over and shows the same number every

time. In the end you realize that each side of the die is exactly the same. I am most

familiar with the ceiling from my room. It’s like my sky, a white sky. There is no

pleasant change in my sky. I imagine that my neighbor from upstairs is an angel living in

heaven with the gods.

“I love China, and I like shooting Chinese people,” Ren tells Vice Japan. “The more I’m limited by my country, the more I want my country to take me in and accept me for who I am and what I do.”

Ren is arrested a number of times—for shooting nude models in public places, where indecency is punishable by up to six months’ jail time, and, perhaps more scandalously, for self-publishing.

The Chinese government exercises nearly complete control over the press, and the country’s commitment to extensive media censorship is a well-documented phenomenon. Self-publishing, while technically legal, is a highly regulated procedure requiring an ISSN number and authors’ compliance with mandatory censorship policies.

Ren begins publishing his work underground in 2011 with the help of a friend who works in printing, knowing that he will never be able to publish his work otherwise, as the distribution of explicit photo or video content in China is illegal. The Communist Party once dubbed pornography “spiritual pollution.”

In 2015, in the vindictive heat of a Beijing summer, when asked about if he considers his pictures erotica, Ren tells a magazine intern, “I don’t like the word ‘erotica’ (in Chinese, qing se). I prefer ‘pornographic’ (se qing). I think it’s more direct.”

In China, a lifetime behind bars may await anyone who produces, disseminates, or sells “obscene materials.”

Naturally, Ren sets out to do all three.

Within five years, he produces 16 of his own zines and monographs, filled with glossy pages of penises urinating into corded telephone receivers, bodies twisted into fantastical shapes, vaginas splayed open like raw wounds. Many of the earliest of these books were sold underground in small shops whose owners knew his work.

A posterboy millennial, Ren has generated cult followings on his Weibo, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles. He publishes his photography freely on his website, alongside collections of poetry and an unassuming tab on the sidebar menu bar labelled “My Depression.”

His website is shut down unexpectedly. Once. Twice. Again. Law enforcement officers swarm Beijing galleries in wailing Volkswagen Passats, calling for the stop to his exhibitions. A man attends an exhibition and spits on one of the photographs.

He is arrested, but never imprisoned. While Ren operates as an anomaly, a dark creature inhabiting the fringes of Chinese society, authorities seem ambiguous about his status as a criminal. Is he a political rebel? Is he subverting the zhengfu?

They hesitate further because the mind of China is evolving. The economy, taking new shapes.

Chinese citizens born in the 1980s were taught that the country’s “pillar industries” included the automotive, construction, mechanical, electrical, and petrochemical sectors. But these categories are not static. In recent years, biotechnology, advanced energy, and IT have made their way to the forefront of the economy. These new pillars are China’s loyal heed to the call of science. Yet—more than anything—they’ve become the cherubim upholding the god that is capitalism to this country of atheists.

What is largely unexpected is the State Council’s 2009 announcement to make “culture” one of its pillar industries by 2020. In 2016, the Ministry of Finance earmarks nearly four and a half billion yuan in funding for cultural development initiatives. Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen are booming. The art world, rising.

“The market in China has greatly matured, and this has enabled us to present exciting, emerging artists from China and across the Asia-Pacific region,” says Alexander Montague-Sparey, the Artistic Director of Photofairs Shanghai.

It’s no wonder that authorities cannot put their thumb on Ren Hang with enough accuracy to stamp him out like a cigarette butt. Instead, they fumble with his burning edges.

–

May 19th, 2011

这几年你一直在寻找一张失踪的桌子，生活在一只倾塌的杯子里，逐步进化成愤怒

的杯底。这世界就是离你这么近，却摸不着，又看不清楚。就像一束光要和影子做

爱，那么难，我活得像一个影子。却只能再黑夜里出没。

In the past few years you have been looking for a missing table, living in a falling cup,

and gradually evolving into an angry cup. This world is so close to you, but it can't be

touched. Just like a beam of light to make love with a shadow, so difficult, I live like a

shadow. Only to haunt the night.

Ai WeiWei is China’s most beloved and most despised political dissident. The irreverent artist is known for designing the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics and for his controversial visual arts challenging the institutions of modern Chinese society. In 2014, he exhibits an entire collection featuring only photographs of his left hand pitted against the background of famous global monuments and religious buildings, his middle finger raised in bullish protest.

The state media deem him a “deviant and a plagiarist.” He’s arrested in April of 2011 and held for 81 days by authorities. Officials allude vaguely to his “economic crimes” without filing specific charges. His assistant, Wen Tao, mysteriously disappears and is never seen again.

In the consistent spirit of controversy, he champions the work of underground photographer Ren Hang.

In 2013, he curates an exhibition called “FUCK OFF II” at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, featuring the works of Ren and 36 other contemporary Chinese artists, many of whom are pioneering a neo-avant-garde driven by a need to challenge the sociological, environmental, and political climates of modern China. It contributes to a burgeoning, global Ren Hang following.

Ren always maintains that he is simply making pictures the way he wants to make them.

“Politics is interested in me,” he tells the press at the OstLicht Austrian photography gallery in 2015, “but I am not interested in politics.”

–

March 23rd, 2015

我昨天在超市

偷了一管牙膏

前天把邻居的锁孔

用口香糖堵住

上周把小区门口的

一排垃圾桶

全都踢翻

每次我做了坏事

都觉得生活好像

又变得美好了一些

I was in the supermarket yesterday,

I stole some toothpaste

The day before yesterday,

I blocked the neighbor’s keyhole with chewing gum

Last week, at the neighborhood entrance,

I kicked over

A row of trash cans

Every time I do bad things

I feel like life

Is getting better again

Ren hasn’t spoken much to his family since he left Changchun at the age of 17.

He calls his mother. He paces the length of his apartment slowly, watching one foot move in front of the other, the pattern in the floor’s wood grain rendered into clusters of tiny faces.

“I’m wondering if you’d like to model for me in a photo shoot.”

His voice hangs in the air like a bird riding a current of wind.

“Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” she finally laughs.

He is jarred by the realization that his parents must know everything. Here, all along, he believed they couldn’t have suspected a thing.

Of course he doesn’t want her to take off her clothes—she’s his mother, for goodness sake.

She doesn’t mind.

He insists that a bra and underwear will do just fine.

“Okay.”

She smokes a cigarette. Ren snaps his shutter.

Expressionless, she holds a pig’s severed head. Ren snaps his shutter.

–

February 2nd, 2010

《我爱你》

想在你身后，

看你走路的姿势，

盯着你并不丰满的屁股看。

想去你家。

想跟你睡一张拥挤的铁床，

在半夜突然醒来，

舔你的眼睫毛，

摸你冻裂的嘴唇。

想在早上抢着穿你的内裤，

让你穿我的，

看你站着小便，

拍下你用过没冲的厕所。

"I Love You"

Want to be behind you,

Look at your walking posture,

Stare at your not-so-plump butt.

Want to go to your home.

Want to sleep with you on a crowded iron bed,

Wake up suddenly in the middle of the night

Lick your eyelashes,

Touch your cracked lips.

Rush to wear your underwear in the morning,

Let you wear mine,

Watch you standing, urinating,

Photograph the toilet you used without flushing.

Sometimes Ren darts into traffic, or lunges himself ahead of an encroaching bus, only to leap backward at the last moment. Sometimes he stands too close to the platform’s edge in Beijing’s swollen subway stations. When he swims in the chlorine-blue pools of hotels around the world—places where his work is championed, where he receives bottles of wine and dinners of black caviar and foie gras from museum directors—he keeps his eyes closed, lets his body sink to the bottom of the basin, listens to the muted sparkling of the water.

He feels most at peace when he is close to death.

“Since I was seventeen,” says Jiaqi, “the most important thing for me has never changed—to protect you and to protect our love.”

Jiaqi is well on his way to establishing himself as a leading fashion stylist, editor, and model. He makes his own pictures, too. In 2018, his photography glosses the cover of Tatler Hong Kong.

He snaps an iPhone photo of Ren. Beneath the glow of a red umbrella amidst geometries of sunlight, Ren stands in a blue Umbro soccer tank top. He looks into the distance blankly, his broad and elegant cheekbones lending to his perpetual appearance as gaunt, as exceedingly gentle, as older than he is. It seems so far removed from the world of art that they both have learned to inhabit in different ways.

–

January 10th, 2013

《最亮的光太快》

我从来不想变成最亮的光

最亮的光太快

比流星还快

我愿意变成黑夜

我愿意缓慢得就像静止

我愿意经常被你遗忘

偶尔被你仰望

即使在那仰望里

我只是一张背景

“The Brightest Light is Too Fast”

I never want to become the brightest light

The brightest light is too fast

Faster than meteors

I would like to turn into night

I am willing to be slow like static

I am willing to be forgotten by you often

Occasionally you look up

Even in that gaze,

I'm just a background

Ren Hang steps into the sky.

The gray of Beijing’s carbonate heavens flashes against fragment of glass, of skyscraper, of silver branch. Perhaps a bird darts past, cutting through the air careless—careless as one must be to have been given the great gift of flight without cognition of one’s privilege.

Perhaps before peace,

He sees his mother’s face. Her harsh mouth in a line, a stream of smoke curling around her.

Perhaps

He sees a boy with bee-stung lips.

The boy says: “I didn’t even know about this thing called depression the first time I saw you crying and telling me you wanted to set the flat on fire so we could die together.”

Maybe he hears the boy’s voice ringing in his ears, a kind of private, radiant sonar.

“You said you were my home, and I was yours.”

These words are true.

But these ideas are all simulation, are all romantic projection.

The BBC runs the headline: Ren Hang: Death of China’s Hotshot Erotic Photographer.

It is all romantic projection.

He is not an erotic photographer. He is, unapologetically, a se qing photographer, an artist of the bizarre and the beautiful, unmarried to any creed or movement, an artist brazenly throwing forth pictures of a violent peace, an artist, an artist, an artist. A mere observer of his world.

And he is, by no means, a hotshot. He is simply a student of the human condition—what his lover calls, “a kid who loves life, but lacks the skills to live it.” He is only human, diseased and obsessed, incurable and in love.

So more than likely,

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He does not take note of the clouds reflected in the windows of the office building tearing through space, or the dusky thrush floating above him. He does not see his mother’s stern face or hear the voice of Huang Jiaqi.

More than likely,

He thinks of nothing.

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He refuses to become the brightest light.

The brightest light is too fast.

Kendra Clark is a New York-based editorial content creator and part-time residential student in the creative writing master’s program at the University of Cambridge. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in or are forthcoming in Into the Void magazine, The Evansville Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

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no-other-words · 5 years

Text

let’s take this offline - ch2

synergy is the key to success [read on ao3] kageyama needs to burn that sweater-vest and hinata needs to not get turned on by kageyama’s voice.

---

“Hi, I’m Hinata!”

It feels like he’s repeated this at least ten times now, but the conversation that comes after is never the same. Hinata has met pretty much all the people joining their team and he’s already liking this new bunch.

A meet-and-greet was called forth by Daichi where Kuroo’s team can meet the rest of the Marketing Division, a chance for new faces to introduce themselves and get to know one another. He adds in his memo that breakfast will be included and where there is free food, there is Hinata.

Seeing so many unfamiliar faces causes slight unease in Hinata so after loading up two full plates of fruits and muffins, he sets off to make some new acquaintances.

Oikawa seems like a total douche but the passionate way he talks about his line of work is admirable and Hinata goes starry-eyed. Akaashi is the complete opposite with his calm and collected demeanour and Hinata thinks that Kenma would get along with him. Aone is a tough one to crack but once Hinata mentions animal documentaries, an instant connection is built and he knows it will be a lasting one.

Then there’s the guy sulking in the corner of the room, staring relentlessly at Hinata. Eyes narrowed, brows scrunched, and lips pulled into small pout, he has not moved since Hinata got here. Everything about him is intense—the way he eats his fruits, the way he holds his coffee cup, the way he drinks from his cup.

The only thing that makes him slightly more approachable is the puke-green sweater vest he’s unfortunately wearing. Brave is the man who steps out into society in that.

He’s been avoiding to introduce himself but one can only be so rude for so long. Hinata musters up the courage, summons his biggest smile, and marches right up to the man.

“Good morning! I see you’re enjoying that coffee a lot.” He starts off. “I’m Hi—”

“I know. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

Now it’s his turn to stare. The next few seconds was a wild train ride as Hinata witnesses a rainbow of emotions running across the man’s face—shock, dismay, humiliation, and a final colour of cooled restraint. Or at least, as restrained as he can be with that growing flush of his.

Hinata hears the impact of an arrow shooting through his heart.

Then the guy blurts out, “I mean, you’re even harder to look at in person.”

That figurative arrow is then unforgivingly ripped out.

“What did you say?” Hinata growls.

“You just…” He appears to be struggling to find words. “You have that same stupid look—”

“Just give me your name so I know not to work with you in the future.”

“Too late, you already are.” The man takes his hand out for a handshake. “Kageyama Tobio.”

Hinata hisses in responses, slapping his hand away. “I knew there was something sinister about you.”

“Sinister? What the fuck do you mean?!”

Taking a step forward, Hinata says, “You were giving me angry looks the whole time I was here!”

“That’s because all I could see is that dumb picture you have on your Skype profile,” Kageyama says, putting his foot forward. “Take a better one by the way, it hurts my eyes and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Well I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“You already said that, genius. Try to be original for once.”

Before Hinata can reply, both of them gets a hard pat on the back and they turn to see Kuroo, standing uncomfortably close and wearing an uncomfortably wide smile.

“Well well, we sure are getting acquainted here,” says Kuroo. “It’s always nice to see our staff get along. Makes for good team morale, don’t you think?”

The silent challenge in his eyes makes both Hinata and Kageyama nod. His towering figure looming over Hinata makes it all the more intimidating.

“And Daichi will be especially happy to see us working and flourishing together as one big family, wouldn’t you agree?”

The two men couldn’t nod faster.

“Good.” Kuroo pats their back again. “Play nice.”

Waiting until the manager walks out of hearing range, Kageyama gives Hinata a pointed look. “Listen up moron, I'm not going to throw my reputation down the drain in front of my boss and Daichi just because some dimwit doesn't know how to do his job correctly."

Hinata grits his teeth. The two-faced, no-good, jer—

“Grab your laptop and come to my desk. I’ll take a look at your dumb report.”

A truce.

Okay, he takes it all back. Maybe this guy’s not all that bad.

Wait.

"Why don’t you come to my desk?" Hinata asks.

Kageyama gives him an incredulous look. "Because we're already on my floor so why the hell do I need to go to the 23rd? This is your problem anyway."

"Caused by your data!"

"Just…" Kageyama takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He rubs the bridge of his nose before brushing back his bangs, revealing a weirdly alluring forehead. "Just, come. Okay? Let me see what I can do."

Maybe it’s the way Kageyama finally pulls back. Not giving in, but receding for now to let things cool before both their hotheads steam up again. Maybe it’s also how he decides to lower his voice, as an attempt for cease-fire. It sounds smoother, low and solid, and eases Hinata’s defenses down.

Realizing that he still hasn’t replied, Hinata clears his throat. "Fine, give me fifteen minutes."

Kageyama raises his eyebrows. "It takes you that long to get up there?”

His personality is as horrid as that sweater-vest of his.

---

In all honesty, if it wasn't for his serious lack of charm, Hinata would've thought Kageyama as a slightly-above-average looking guy. He's decently-built, no doubt smart, and has a pretty face to boot (when it's not scrunched in negativity). Brown eyes are so common here so it's refreshing to see a person with blue ones.

Hinata first discovers them when they sit together to look at his broken report. Kageyama’s focusing on the screen in front of him, concentration level up 110%. He’s seated tightly against his desk, hands on mouse and keyboard moving ever so swiftly to navigate around the computer. Like a machine, he processes the report methodically and Hinata…well Hinata’s eyes explore the office setting.

And then at Kageyama. He’s currently addressing him about something, but Hinata doesn’t really listen because he realises that Kageyama’s eyes are not black but in fact a dark shade of blue. It’s hard to tell, what with the man glaring at you half the time.

“Are you even listening?”

“Your eyes are blue.”

This puts a stop to Kageyama’s scowling. He straightens up and looks back to the screen, muttering, “What of it?”

Hinata shakes his head in defence. “No I mean, I just think that’s cool. They’re so dark and…” He leans in closer to get a better look. The colour is so deep that Hinata’s mistaken them for black, to his shame, and Hinata finds Kageyama’s eyes are so intense that—

“It’s nice,” he says.

Kageyama visibly swallows. “Nice.”

Hinata nods with a smile. “They’re a nice colour.”

They find out what went wrong with the report that day. It’s neither Kageyama’s data nor Hinata’s report that is that the cause but some data-transfer issue that becomes too technical for them to solve. Surprisingly, Kageyama offers to help Hinata find the right contact and email them.

And that’s how Kageyama stumbles across the 400+ unread emails buried in Hinata’s inbox. He calls it a wrongdoing, uncivilized, an absolute abomination, and Hinata should be ashamed of himself for letting the situation get this far. Hinata in turn has no idea what’s so wrong about it until he seems Kageyama’s pristine clean mailbox.

That day is when Hinata learns of how diligent Kageyama is. How he makes sure to meticulously file his emails into folders structured in a hierarchal fashion, how he has 0 draft emails while Hinata has more than 10 because he isn’t all that great at finishing emails and he often forgets.

Kageyama’s desktop is a mirror of his inbox—clear and simple with only three icons to select on. His folders are neatly organized and easy to navigate around. His sticky notes line perfectly against each other, same width same height, and not a pixel disproportionate.

It’s all kind of endearing, really.

That and the fact Kageyama goes nuts over Hinata’s own desktop, filled with documents and software—some misnamed, some just having the default Untitled, and some with the asdf name. That one particular text file with the name asdfdsasdfasdafdasd is certainly one that drives Kageyama insane. He calls it a calamity waiting to happen.

Hinata likes to call it organized chaos.

Kageyama refuses to let it go, even a few days later, when Hinata emails him again with some work-related questions, and he lords over Hinata’s improper use of the signature block. Until this point of time, Hinata wasn’t even aware that it was actually a thing—isn’t your name enough to let someone know who sent the message?

Kageyama, Tobio [11:39 AM] It’s to show which team you’re in and your credibility.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:40 AM] ok fine team i get the credibility part i don’t what i work on reflects that

Kageyama, Tobio [11:43 AM] It’s also just corporate etiquette. It’s good to let people know who they’re speaking to.

Hinata, Shouyou [11:44 AM] ha u know im way past corp etiquette and they can find out who i am when they talk to me why give them something to put a box around me?

Kageyama doesn’t reply after that. Nevertheless Hinata takes what is advised and constructs an email signature. He might as well be half-civilized in the corporate world. Kageyama better be happy.

Their interactions are sporadic. Even though Kuroo’s team is now an extension of Daichi’s crew, it’s decided that it’s best not relocate everyone. At first, Hinata reaches out when he needs help, for purely work-things. Eventually, he gets used to the idea of bothering the snappy man because no matter how annoying he knows he’s being, Kageyama always answers.

Kenma is a victim of Hinata’s scattered attention. He tolerates Hinata with the Skype chats and over-the-desk conversations and by tolerate, it means half-listening and sometimes entertaining a response if he feels like it. The other guys on the team is more willing to join in, Nishinoya throwing in words of wisdom while Tanaka writes a book about it.

But Kageyama—Kageyama listens. He yells and questions and replies in way that makes Hinata want to talk with him more. His perfect grammar and formal wordings is as infuriating as it is charming. Never is a chat-window more of a juxtaposition than seen before. Kageyama is a big nerd and he can’t deny it.

Especially with that atrocious sweater-vest.

Hinata tells him what he needs to hear.

Kageyama, Tobio [3:11 PM] What’s wrong with it? Does it have a hole in the back?

Hinata, Shouyou [3:12 PM] r u joking it’s something my great granddad would’ve worn doesn’t go well with your skin

Kageyama, Tobio [3:14 PM] i don’t say anything about your bowtie

Hinata, Shouyou [3:15 PM] whats wrong with my bowtie?!?!!

Kageyama, Tobio [3:23 PM] It’s distracting.

He doesn’t elaborate afterwards. In fact, Kageyama goes offline for the next hour. Worried, Hinata goes to the restroom to check on his bowtie. Is it crooked? Tied unevenly? Does it clash with his shirt? He’s had the idea of developing a statement about his person in the office and his statement is his bowties.

He plans to ask just what about them offends Kageyama on a call they’d setup to talk over some project. Shimizu informs Hinata of an upcoming proposal that Daichi wants to explore next year. Apparently this project will heavily involve Kuroo’s team, Kageyama’s area of expertise in particular. They might as well start that conversation early so Hinata books a meeting call.

When he hears the beep of someone joining the line, Hinata opens his mouth to greet the person until he’s stopped short.

“Hello, it’s Kageyama.”

Oh.

Oh no.

A warm shiver runs down his back before rising up to the top of his head. Smooth, sultry, and rich is all he hears. It’s like creamy milk chocolate running smoothly down your throat, warming the rest of your body. It’s the afternoon sun on a calm autumn day, the quiet hum of a fire, the lullaby sung gently into your ears.

The sound of Kageyama’s husky voice is a surprise and it does things to Hinata’s heart.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi yes!” He hopes Kageyama cannot hear the breathlessness in his voice.

Hinata grips the phone hard during the entire call. He attentively listens to Kageyama’s lull, finding a rhythm to his voice. He sounds so different over the phone—calmer, at ease. Definitely doesn’t have that same bite when he’s in your face all the time. There’s a solidity to his tone, confident and so sure of himself in the best way. It mirrors the way he writes.

He likes that solidity.

Kageyama starts sharing his screen with Hinata, something about wanting to share a PowerPoint deck. Kageyama can share any sort of deck with h—

Hinata stops. He stops right there before it goes any farther.

He clears his throat long and hard, puffing out a harsh breath as if to expel all wicked thoughts. Kageyama is a decent-looking guy, but just that. Just your regular, average-built man with a less-than-average fashion sense.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” squeaks Hinata.

“Can you send me the file again? I want to have a comparison.”

Look at him, sweating over some man’s voice while said man is working hard and serious on the other side of the phone. Hinata needs to pull it together.

He sends the file over Skype, watching as his profile picture pop up on Kageyama’s desktop and grimacing.

“I really need to change my photo,” he says.

Kageyama clicks his tongue over the phone, casually adding, “I think you’re fine.”

Hinata’s heart skips a beat.

Oh no.

---

a/n: if you think those last 2 lines said over the phone was made up, think again. :)

#kagehina #hq!! fics #myfics #haikyuu!!

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keelywolfe · 6 years

Text

FIC: Pick Up and Put Down

Summary: It’s another day at the Embassy. Edge is accustomed to getting texts from a number of people but not quite like this.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Flirting, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Prejudice Against Monsters, Threats of Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort

Warning: This chapter has a reference to suicide. It is NOT, I repeat, NOT any character from any Undertale universe. It is also NOT any of my OC’s that you may have grown to know and love. No one that has made an appearance anywhere before, okay? That said, if you find a reference to suicide triggering or upsetting, skip this one.

part of the ‘by any other name’

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Read it here!

~~*~~

The first text came only a few minutes after Edge arrived at work. He parked in the secure lot, walking through the side gate that led to the main entrance without taking him past the protestors. Distantly, he heard the rising shouts as they caught sight of him and if he bothered to glance in their direction, he would see them waving their signs. For Humans who claimed they were concerned for the safety of their children, they didn’t seem particularly worried about them seeing their hate-filled rhetoric and vulgar demands. Edge ignored them. He was too far away to even make out what they were shouting, much less for them to harm him even if they could, and he doubted they would make an attempt. Janice had been an easy target for their hatred and as much as he knew it would only make things worse in the long run, something ruthless at his core wished they would try him. It wouldn’t teach them anything about love, but the part of him that would never leave Underfell behind thought they could use a lesson about LV. The chime of his phone distracted him from those thoughts and Edge paused in the lobby to check it. if you were a juice, you’d be fineapple Unwillingly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A little charming ridiculousness from Stretch was more than welcome this morning and instead of answering, Edge only noted that the message had been read. Partly because he had no affection for emoticons and partly because Stretch would be aggravated by it. An aggravated Stretch was by far the most entertaining and it was going to be a long day. He could use the promise of playful harassment. With a short nod to the security guard, Edge scanned his ID badge and made his way to the third floor. Janice was already at her desk, typing furiously when he walked in. “Good morning,” she said briskly, barely glancing up from the screen. “You have a meeting in an hour, I left the informational packet on your desk.” “Thank you,” Edge told her crisply. He left her to her work and went on to his office to prepare. Before the door was even closed, his phone chimed again. are you a banana? because i find you ap-peeling With a head shake, Edge put his phone back in his pocket and hung up his coat. Next to the folder there was already a cup of coffee waiting, steam wafting gently. That was the benefit of always being prompt, it gave his assistant the foresight of knowing when to get coffee. Two pages into the report, he was a hell of a lot more grateful for the coffee. This meeting was going to be thrilling, he could already tell. An hour and a half later, Edge was damning himself for being proven right, listening to the presenter droning away. Even Papyrus, who was sitting on the other side of the table with the other diplomats, had to jerk his head up when it started to bob drowsily. Edge was thinking idly of sending for a pot of coffee for the room when his phone buzzed. He never turned it off anymore, not after the attack on New New Home, and no one gave him so much as a glance as he discreetly checked the message. i know you’re busy today, but can you add me to your to-do list? This time, his smile almost broke free. It was an effort to school his expression to attentiveness, staring at the PowerPoint with polite interest. Another half hour dragged by, but his phone stayed unfortunately silent, and in the end, a round of coffee was brought for everyone. It almost helped. It wasn’t until he was back at his desk, his lunch set out so that he could eat while he worked, that his phone chimed again. He took a bite of his Greek couscous salad before he looked at the text, savoring the rich flavors. Absently, he wondered what Stretch was having for lunch; there were plenty of options in the refrigerator to choose from, even if he usually preferred simpler, often greasier, fare. baby if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print His smile was reluctant, but it was there even after he finished eating. Throughout the day, the texts came. While he was talking to Antwan about an upcoming court case regarding Monsters rights in private businesses— are you an astronomer? because i want you to study this heavenly body When he got a cup of coffee from the lounge to help him get through the afternoon, already thinking longing thoughts towards the Beanery’s reopening and being able to get his preferred coffee beans again— if you were a chicken, you’d be im-peck-able And during his brief meeting with Asgore to discuss the construction of a new Embassy that was being planned in California and housing requirements for the Monsters who were in need of warmer climes. if nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing? It was close to the time he normally left that his phone finally rang, and Edge answered it, already anticipating a flood of puns and ridiculous lines to carry him home. “babe?” Stretch said and Edge stiffened instantly at the shakiness in that single word. “What’s wrong?” he asked sharply. There was a quavering breath on the other end of the line, and Stretch asked, “have you seen the news at all?” “No, I’ve been in my office. Hold on.” He started pulling up the local news on his laptop, but Stretch hadn’t stopped, his voice low and trembling, “they caught him. i mean, they didn’t really catch him, they found him.” “Found who?” Edge was scrolling, scanning the webpage, trying to find what had him so upset. He saw it at the same moment Stretch blurted out, “the guy! the guy who burned down the beanery. it…it’s the same guy from the bus. the one who…who attacked me.” It was. Edge recognized him from police report, the court documents, and the one time he’d seen him in person. There was nothing remarkable about him, only a middle-aged Human, and Edge couldn’t see into the souls of others, couldn’t see their sins. This Human kept his hatred hidden beneath a veneer of civility, invisible at a glance to most. It didn’t matter, Edge could sense his LV even without a Check. This man had hurt plenty of others before Monsters had even stepped from beneath the mountain. He remembered seeing this Human in court when Antwan was defending Jeff after the attack on the bus. He’d been there as the injured party, claiming he’d been the one attacked. Edge had no doubt that was exactly what he believed. To him, Monsters had attacked simply by existing and Stretch being in his space was nothing short of an assault. He usually enjoyed watching Antwan in a courtroom as he calmly and ruthlessly disassembled the arguments of the other side. Edge hadn’t stayed that day, wanting to be as far from that Human as possible. For the Human’s protection, not his own. The mental picture of him trying to strike Stretch for the simple act of being made his own LV stir in uncomfortable ways. And now according to the news article, he was dead. “the police aren’t saying much yet,” Stretch rushed out, something close to panic lacing his words. “but...but…there’s plenty of rumors online. so far they’re saying it looks like a suicide. edge, they’re saying he had a plan to plant a bomb in the embassy, they—" “Shh, calm down,” Edge soothed, reading with narrowed eyes, even as he typed a quick message to the Intel team. He wanted information about this, and he wanted it now. Stretch’s breathing was too quick, his voice thick and hoarse, and more than a little unsteadily . “i know you guys have great security and everything, i mean, your brother is usually on this shit. Fuck, i’m surprised he wasn’t already.” A trickle of coldness ran down Edge’s spine at the mention of his brother, like tiny icicles prickling up his vertebra. “Suicide…” Edge murmured, reading through the news article avidly. It wasn’t possible that the police had released this much information so quickly, Intel would need to see if they could root out their source. “yeah,” Stretch swallowed hard enough that Edge heard the dry click through the line. “i guess his landlady found him, said he hung himself. left a note and everything.” Edge was sure that he had, and a detailed one at that. “he had a bunch of anti-monster stuff, they found his plans for the arson at the beanery. and his note mentioned the embassy, but…but…why would he kill himself before he did it, that doesn’t make sense, does it? i mean, i haven’t seen the note but, babe, what if he tried something, what if there is something there, what if—" “He couldn’t have gotten onto the grounds without being detected,” Edge reminded him, still reading. “We’ve got plenty of magic and technology preventing it.” Stretch exhaled rattlingly loud. “yeah. yeah, i know, i get it, i was just worried, you know? this is all so much happening, and it had to be this guy, didn’t it, why the fuck couldn’t he just leave us alone, we never did anything to him and—” his voice broke, faltering. That attack on the bus had shaken Stretch badly at the time and now he was trapped reliving it, only to discover the perpetrator had stolen more from him than he could have possibly guessed. “I’m coming home,” Edge told him abruptly. Listening to this, knowing Stretch was dealing with it alone, was growing too painful; he could work from home if needs be. “what? no, i’m okay.” To his relief, Stretch calmed a little at that, breathing deeply. “andy is on his way over, he’s kind of shaken, too. he knew the guy from court and he ain’t crying over him, but it’s still fucked up, yeah? stay there, you’ve probably got a ton of things to do now that this shitshow is starting up.” He did, he would, but leaving Stretch to deal with this on his own, even with Jeff at his side, did not sit well. “Are you sure?” “yeah, yeah, we’ll watch some movies or something, spend the night chilling out. babe? be careful, okay? just…be careful.” “I promise,” Edge said softly. A message was beeping through on his phone, but Edge ignored it for a moment. “holding you to that. i love you.” “I love you, too.” He hung up and sat back in his chair, pressing the hard case of the phone against his forehead for a long moment. Then he looked at the message. It was from Red and Edge felt his soul pulse once, one white-hot flareup of LV, as he read it. why did the man trapped in the burning house start swinging a baseball bat? because three strikes and you’re out. For one brief second everything was too hot, his vision wavering. Then Edge let out a long, slow breath, flexing his hands as he took back control. First, he deleted his brother’s text. Their cell phones ran through Monster servers and until Humans had access to magic, they were unhackable by any of their means. It was nothing more than a ridiculous joke, no reason to keep it and that was exactly what he would say if he were asked. He wouldn’t be, the chances were infinitesimal, but Edge preferred to be prepared for anything, including near impossibilities. That done, Edge silently opened one of his file cabinets and took out a thick folder, filled with reports. They were all written by his brother in a language that very few Monsters could read. He honestly wasn’t sure if Stretch was one of them. There was nothing truly incriminating in them. Edge had read them all and while they stated some of Red’s suspicions, he hadn’t been able to prove anything concrete, certainly not enough to take to the fickle Ebott police. He pushed them through the shredder, anyway, meticulously. Five sheets at a time and watched as the cross blades turn them into confetti. Chances were that no one would ask him any awkward questions. But if they did, Edge could in all honesty say he didn’t know anything. This was nothing more than plausible deniability coupled with healthy caution and it was nothing but the truth that Edge didn’t know anything. He could look his husband in the face and repeat that truth. He could. There were lines he wouldn’t, couldn’t cross, not even for his brother. When he was finished, Edge went back to his desk and got to work. He was going to be here very late, messages were already pouring in and he could hear Janice’s phone continually ringing. There would need to be press releases and statements despite the fact that Monsters had not been involved. It would be officially ruled suicide eventually, Edge had no doubt. The Security team would need to assess the threat as well; as confident as he was in their security measures, arrogance was a quick path to catastrophe. Before he could begin opening the multiple messages and emails that were pouring in, Edge caught sight of the darkened screen on his phone and hesitated. He picked it up, his fingers resting briefly on the screen, and then quickly he typed a message. How can other people love when I'm using the world's supply on you? He pressed send quickly before he could second guess and set his phone aside. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a flurry of emoticons explode across the screen , an eye-searing expression of delight and affection. Stretch was all right, Jeff would be there soon. He wasn’t alone and he was safe in their home, and when Edge finally returned, he would be able to kiss him, hold him, with nothing between them. He could. The ring on his third finger was a comforting weight as Edge got to work.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #by any other name

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ask-de-writer · 6 years

Text

With explicit permission, I am importing the entire Dr. Mordenhiem’s Travels, Book 1, De Writer’s Equestria, Chapter 1

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DR. MORDENHEIM’S TRAVELS, BOOK 1:De Writer’s Equestria,Ch. 1

@Mordenheim

1918 words

Used with author's permission

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Fan art, Fan Fiction, cosplay or other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

The tall, slender zebra staggered his way through the tangled undergrowth of the Everfree forest. Dead branches tangled in his mane, tugging his head back and even clawing at his eyepatch as he trudged onward, pausing occasionally to make sure he still had his saddlebags. He had been wandering for what seemed like days as the paths constantly shifted and changed direction as he traveled. Once in a while he would follow a seemingly straight path and end up passing the same tree several times. Other times he would take a sharply curving route that seemed to circle back on itself, only to end up in an entirely different location.

It was still mostly dark when he finally pulled himself free from the brambles and stumbled into a small clearing. The broken and crumbling remains of an old castle stood before him, however this particular castle was somewhat odd. From the rubble he could see that various different types and colors of stone were used to construct its walls and towers. Each tower also seemed to once have a different type of roof. A rounded spire on one, a flat top where he spied the rotting remains of an open wooden trap door. Prodding at the walls with a hoof, the remaining stone seemed solid and sturdy. Perhaps this would be a place he could fix up to stay for a while.

Around the front there was a short path that lead to a small building. It had perhaps been a guard house or a small barracks at one time. A few old, broken benches sat inside as well as various shelves and racks along the walls, all covered in dust and cobwebs. However, through the front he saw the most welcoming sight of all. No more than ten feet from the front door was an actual cobblestone road and the faint pink light of the rising sun on the horizon. He had finally found his way out of this forsaken forest.

He had followed the road to the east for a short way before he stopped, confused. He could see the outskirts of Ponyville up ahead, yet that town had ever only had a simple dirt road between it and the Everfree. When had they built such a fine road, he wondered to himself. As well as pondering just how long he actually had been lost in the wood. He was well aware that time passed strangely in the Everfree, and space itself seemed warped and broken.

Making sure his saddlebags were still secure and doing his best to get the worst of the burrs out of his fur he trotted into Ponyville proper. As he looked around he could see that quite a few things had changed while he had been lost. The buildings seemed different, more colorful and sturdier in build. The roads were solid and well-maintained and the trees and grasses trimmed and cared for. All of this, however, was quickly wiped from his mind as the scent of delicious cooking wafted past his nose, causing his empty stomach to clench painfully and give a low growl.

Trotting along the street, following his nose he soon came upon a smallish building with a sign out front sitting across from a well maintained park. “Caramel Treat’s Sweets” was a lovely little restaurant and certainly the source of the delicious aromas. He paused outside of the door for a moment. It was not yet full dawn and most eateries that he knew of only operated from dawn to dusk, or from lunch hour until late.

He was starting to draw a few stares from early risers as he waited until full dawn. He rolled his eye as several ponies opened their door to set about their of business, laid their eyes on him, and immediately slammed their doors, peeking through window shades. He rubbed at his eyepatch as he sighed, he was well used to this reaction by now. He only hoped that his patronage would be accepted at this little restaurant or who knows how long he would have to wait to eat. He might even have to brave the pink whirlwind that inhabits Sugarcube Corner. He shuddered at the thought.

He need not have worried, though. Just a few moments later the door opened wide and a young caramel colored mare with a blonde mane stepped into view. She started to speak but quickly changed her tune a bit when she spied a zebra the size of a Rom horse on her doorstep! “What a beautiful.. Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had a customer already!”

Victor was pleasantly stunned by the warm response! He smiled, careful not to show his sharp teeth as he lowered himself into a graceful bow, “Good mornin’ to ye. I was just wondering if you were open yet for the day. I’ve been traveling a long distance and would like to rest my weary bones for a bit and purchase a meal.”

Caramel’s ear twitched a bit. The zebra’s voice was deep and rich, but that certainly was not a Zebrican accent. She smiled and nodded, trotting back into the restaurant, “Of course, of course, please, come right in!”

The huge zebra smiled and entered the restaurant, ducking his head as he entered more out of habit than anything. The inside was well-lit and high-ceilinged with several tables, chairs, a small bar, even pillows to sit on here and there. He trotted over to the bar so he would be a bit away from the windows and pulled over a soft pillow to rest upon. His old joints creaked as he lowered himself, grateful that he finally got a chance to relax.

Caramel trotted over with a glass of ice water and a menu. Setting the glass down, she placed the menu in his hooves. She sniffed at the air, seeming to be sniffing at her own cooking when an odd look crossed her face. She blinked once, then smiled knowingly at her huge guest, “Just let me know when you’re ready to order. I should be able to hear you just fine.” She leaned in with a soft whisper and mentioned, “If you need any items towards the back of the menu, just let me know, I’ll need to move you in case of other guests, but we will gladly help you here.”

Victor was a bit taken aback by the strange look, but the gentle smile afterwards seemed to reassure him. He blinked a bit, curious about what she meant by items towards the back, but he decided he would check the entire thing anyway. He had just about decided on a dish called clovertop scramble with vegetable fries and something called Rom black tea when he flipped to the back of the menu. His eyebrows raised as he saw the page filled with meat options. Fried or baked fish, roasted chicken, even bacon! He had to lift a napkin to his mouth to hide, and soak up the drool. Shaking his head, he looked up from the menu, wondering how she could have known.

Making up his mind, he decided it might be best to take it easy on his system after having not eaten for so long. He called out to her and placed his order. A clovertop scramble, a bit of dry toast instead of the fried vegetables, and a cup of Rom black tea sounded perfect. In mere minutes, she had brought out the delicious-smelling food and placed it before him. He thanked her and slowly tucked into his meal.

Every bite was wonderful. A slight bit of black pepper and a tang of salt gave the scramble an incredible flavor, every fluffy bite seeming to melt in his mouth. The toast, in spite of being dry as he requested, was crisp and flavorful, a perfect pairing to the scramble. The tea was unlike anything he had tasted before. Spicy and floral with a soft bit of warmth underlying everything. In spite of trying to take his time, it was mere moments before he was using the last corner of toast to wipe his plate clean.

He smiled contentedly, remarking how wonderful everything was as Caramel Treat trotted back over to the bar. He paid his fee and tipped a single golden bit. Caramel looked at the coins a little oddly as she hadn’t seen any quite like these before. They were real, the right weight and metals, but the imprints were odd to her. The copper coin had an image of a phoenix in repose, the silver a long, slender dragon or sea serpent curling around the edge, while the golden coin was the most interesting. Both front and back bore an intricate Celtic knot design around the edge. The front bore an image of two hooves grasping a heart topped by a crown while the rear bore the motto “Friendship, Loyalty, Love” struck into the soft metal.

He tilted his head to the side as he watched her studying the coins, “Is something wrong? Did I need to do some sort of money exchange before paying?”

Caramel shook her head, “No, there’s no problem. I’ve just never seen coins like this before.”

Victor nodded, “Ah, that explains it. They’re from my home country, Shireland. I’ve picked up other coins in my travels, but the majority of them are still from home. I have a question for you, though.”

She nodded as she got her explanation for the odd coins, but then it was her turn to be curious about his questions. He leaned in close, still smiling but this time feeling comfortable enough to let his oddly sharp, interlocking teeth show a bit as he whispered, “How could you tell I might be interested in the items in the back of your menu?”

She grinned in return, pointing a hoof up to a sign above the bar, central in the restaurant for every creature to see. On it were depicted the images of two large wolves with the text “If you have any problem with any customer of ours for any reason, be it race, kind, species, belief or any other reason at all, PLEASE LEAVE. We bite, HARD!”. She winked and said, “I think that’s a pretty good likeness of myself and Fangrin.”

Victor’s jaw almost hit the bar! To find not just one, but two creatures similar to himself was amazing! He smiled even more pleasantly and reached out to gently take her hoof, bowing his head once more. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I will be sure to stop back very often, indeed. In the meantime, however. It’s been a very long time since I’ve visited ponyville and it seems a lot has changed over the years. Do you know of anyplace nearby where I might be able to get cleaned up and make myself a bit more presentable?”

Caramel smiled and nodded, shaking his hoof in return. “Sure, the Ponyville Day Spa is right down the road in the town square! Just tell Lotus Blossom and Aloe Vera that Caramel sent you and they’ll fix you right up and even give you a nice discount!”

Smiling brightly, he thanked the mare once more for her wonderful meal and her company before trotting out of the door. His spirits lifted, he held his head up high as he made his way towards the town square! Perhaps Ponyville had changed for the better after all!

NEXT==>

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#@mordenheim #MLP #Hosted Tales #ask-de-writer AU

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redefinethegrind · 6 years

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Synchronicities and Reality

Throughout my life I have encountered events, people, and objects which all of which seem to be perfectly placed in my timeline. Carl Jung first labeled these meaningful coincidences as synchronicities. As a science minded person, I was at first reluctant to believe that anything in my life held significance. I had no real evidence and therefore no real reason to have belief. Until the end of 2017 I would have considered myself at most agnostic, but I was leaning more toward the beliefs of an atheist.

This all changed when I began taking care of myself and truly nurturing my body and mind. I had countless times recommended pseudo healthy diet and exercise regimens to my patients because that is what a text book told me to do. Of course, the text books I was reading seemed more concerned with prescribing medications than they did lifestyle changes. My time spent practicing was therefore mostly spent prescribing and refilling medications. As my personal experience with healthy lifestyle became more intimate I began to truly see the benefits that I had read about were a reality.

My mind wondered what are these synchronicities and what could they mean? In a universe that I once believed to be random and full pleasant accidents so to speak, I never gave coincidence much though. As my mind woke up from a depressed state of semi-slumber, I was able to more clearly identify patterns in my environment. The golden ratio became more meaningful to me and I began to research phi in nature. This lead me to emergence theory and researching reality as a culmination of energy in the form of Gosset Polytopes to construct the proposed E-8 lattice, an 8-dimensional space that theoretically represents our current state. Interestingly, when the Gosset Polytope is projected to 4-dimensional space it creates 2 identical shapes of different sizes. These two shapes differ in size by the golden ratio. That is dividing the larger shape by the smaller shape gives a solution of phi.

There is something about Phi which is deeply engrained into our reality. Our eyes, for instance, are quick to notice beauty when a face or a building is developed around phi. The further from the golden ratio a person’s facial symmetry strays the less attractive it inherently appears. Phi is our internal compass, always pointing to beauty. Nature constructs many biological components in the golden ratio. From snail shells to pinecones phi is ever present.

I began noticing the golden ratio around me and tuning into patterns in my environment after I became mentally clear. Remaining cognizant was reason enough to keep nurturing my body and mind. I had other reasons for eating vegan, but this was a huge benefit. I was able to not only pick up on the golden ratio in my environment, I could see other patterns clearly emerging. It was easy to pick up on things which were out of place. It was also easy to pick up on things that were too perfectly placed. I don’t have a great way to explain this, but I can give some examples.

First, I was home after a long day at work and decided to take a nap. It was at a point in my life when I was feeling very positive and finally over my depression. I was eating well and working out. I had been getting tattoos on my right arm to remind me to stay positive and was seeking something to fit in to the back of my upper arm but couldn’t decide on anything in particular. I came home from work tired and flopped into bed. My dream state has always fascinated me, and I take my dream world seriously as it is a part of my mind. During this particular nap my dream focused on an all-black surrounding. Just as I prepared for sleep paralysis a beautiful and wispy red peacock feather emerged crystal clear. I stared at it, entranced by its beauty and clarity. I could see every detail and was stunned with natures beauty. Then I woke up. I rolled over and was about to return to sleep but decided to look into this experience and to document it in my dream journal.

I grabbed my iphone and google searched red feather meaning. The first entry that came up stated: “a red feather represents vitality, the life force, physical energy and strength, passion, power and courage. If you encounter a red feather it may be a sign that you are becoming stronger or getting your strength back after a health issue.” This spoke to me as I was finally getting my life together. I immediately booked an appointment and had a red feather tattooed on my arm. It fit perfectly into the void that I was wanting to fill. This red feather to me was a sign that I was on the right path. I had no reason to dream of it.

I dreamt of that red feather coming off of the end of a case that broke my heart. I had lost a family member who was a patient of mine. I had a premonition that she was going to pass and that there was nothing I could do about it. This turned out to be true. I was beating myself up over that case. I felt like there must have surly been something I could have done to intervein. The red feather told me otherwise. It was a symbol that I was on the right path. That I was gaining strength and understanding. That there are some things out of my control regardless of how much I put into them. I had to be willing to accept that, and the red feather helped me. This may be a simple symbol in my life and not a synchronicity, but it forever changed me.

Synchronicities began to barrage me during my period of ascension. I met a woman who had so many experiences in common with me that I couldn’t look away. I fell madly in love with her and combed through her consciousness to find meaning in this reality. We shared interests, we finished each other’s sentences, and we seemingly experienced the same childhood with different charlatans playing the roles of friends and family. It was overwhelming to me. I dove in head first.

Is it simply a coincidence when you are thinking about someone you haven’t seen in years and your phone rings and you hear that very person’s voice? Is it a coincidence that a series of mundane events culminated to get us right here right now? It all plays out as happenstance yet the deliberate nature of some of this life is too eerie to ignore. Red feathers fall into our laps. People emerge from the background at just the right time in just the right place.

It all seems so calculated. I cannot enter the public forum without running into familiar faces or being drawn to look at certain objects. This reality appears to be a very planned out construct devised to give subjects some sense of understanding or an education or sorts. I am experiencing this reality a piece at a time. I must now work toward phase two, that is experiencing this reality for what it is with another sentient being. I believe that is what this culmination has been for, to lead me to my other half. To complete the puzzle for this leg of the race.

#jung #synchronicity #reality #conciousness #dream #void #e-8 #emergence #cognition

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heytherebluesky · 6 years

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Shikaneji Fisrt Fic.

The situation was delicate. Shikamaru was commanding a team whose objective was to investigate a suspected case of possible political corruption in the nearby town of Shikouza. It was one of the closest towns to Konoha, only a few kilometers separated them. And although it was much smaller and quiet, it was believed that some of its leaders were having secret dialogues with enemy cities. At least that was Tsunade's justification when she ordered Shikamaru to gather a team and go out to look for evidence. The Nara summoned his most trusted shinobis, that is, those who had been his academy companions, and whom he knew will most probably carry out his orders. Being a very young captain, many older shinobis did not feel comfortable taking orders from him.

His team was made up of his best friends Choji and Ino, and he had included Sakura, Kiba, Shino, Hinata, Naruto, Tenten and Neji. They were many for a mission of espionage, but Shikamaru needed all of them, according to the plan he had carefully plotted in his head. The suspects were many too, and they should seize time investigating them simultaneously. But knowing that the primary objective of the mission was not to be discovered, he had filled his backpack with protective and camouflage seals, which he himself had prepared, after learning about them in the Konoha’s library.

With Shikamaru’s instructions, the team had managed to collect a lot of useful information. Separated into small groups and guided by their captain through the wireless microphones, they separated into small groups and managed to identify several of the suspects. After the observation confirmed several times the place and time of meeting of the enemies that night, Shikamaru gave the order to return to the clearing where they were camping to prepare the next plan. He would have preferred them to settle inside the town, where they could have continued to make inquiries talking to the villagers, but being so many, they would have attracted too much attention.

Shikamaru distributed personal seals that were placed on the chest among the members of his team. When activated, the chakra marks of those who carried them diminished. He knew that there were probabilities that they had sensory ninjas distributed around the meeting place, so they needed to kept that covered.

Once prepared and knowing the roles of each one, they left.

The meeting place was an old training center that was currently used as a bureaucratic building. There it was assumed that monetary management was carried out, and land was assigned to the citizens to work for them. As a loan, of course, because the land always belonged to the feudal lord. Shikamaru did not like politics at all, because he found it unfair and stupid. That is why he had rejected so many times the proposal of big landowners to join his team of consultants. But those were the laws of the world in which he lived, and he had to endure them.

Shikamaru had got a map of the old place sniffing around in the village library. It would have been suspicious to start making a copy by hand in front of other users, but he did not need it. Shikamaru’s memory reached an incredible level of detail, so much that sometimes it was overwhelming. He needed only to look once at any graphic or text to remember it exactly. In fact, he considered that maybe 85% of his intelligence came from his eidetic memory. Most people did not know this quality though, and he preferred that they didn’t. People tended to uplift some mechanisms of his mind too much, and that did not please him at all.

They entered the compound through a crack in the ground dug by Kiba. Akamaru must have stayed to wait in the forest, since its penetrating smell could have given them away. Once inside, they found themselves, as Shikamaru predicted, in an old gutter through which waterways passed previously. Now the rivers had been diverted, and the distribution of water was through another circuit. But this had left a very useful earth tunnel that surrounded much of the halls of the old construction.

The team began to walk, trusting the eyes of the two Bakugan users to know where there were people. When they found someone, they stopped and put small amplifying microphones on the walls that they transmitted to their hearing aids. The sound was poor and with a lot of interference, but they could hear most of the dialogues.

Shikamaru was concentrating on analyzing each of the words that came to his mind from the conversation of two sullen-looking adult men, when a muffled explanation of surprise came from behind him. He turned to see who had made the sound. It was Hinata, who was staring at a point behind the wall with wide eyes and an expression of surprise.

He approached her and questioned her by moving his lips as if he were talking, but not doing so. "What?", he modulated.

Hinata used the lowest voice her body allowed her to emit.

-A member of my clan has just arrived.

That he didn’t expected. At first Shikamaru thought she was confused, but a quick glance at Neji confirmed the sentence. The Hyūga had a frown and was observing the same place as his cousin.

-Who?- Shikamaru asked again without sound.

-His name is Hisao, is a very important main house member -Hinata whispered .

This was weird. Very weird. Not only was he a Konoha person, he was someone from one of the oldest and most prestigious clans in the city. That a Hyūga was involved in a case of corruption could be complicated, because even having evidence against him, they had so much power in the village that it would be very difficult to thoroughly investigate one of their members. Shikamaru decided not to draw conclusions in advance. But that was not the only reason why the Hyūga’s presence in that place did not please him at all. Luckily he had taken the precaution of decreasing their chakra emissions, but if the man decided for some reason to light his Bakugan, they were lost. This put them in a situation of extreme vulnerability. He shook those thoughts off and concentrated on the conversation that had just begun.

-Very punctual, Hisao. Did you bring the documents?

Shikamaru listened as someone waved a bunch of papers.

-Of course, I have them here. Can we start now?

-The ambassador has not arrived yet, but we can pass to the room.

Ambassador? This reunion was filling up with interesting characters. Shikamaru did not know what the guy would be ambassador of, but what he had no doubt was that a person with that type of charge should not frequent secret and suspicious meetings.

-They're moving, -Neji whispered, beginning to walk slowly next to the men. The rest of the team moved with him, following the same path as the suspects.

After about 50 meters, the Huga cousins stopped.

-What's going on? -Shikamaru asked Neji.

-They entered a room. They have sat down and now they are just waiting.

In the gloom of the tunnel, illuminated only by a lantern light held by Tenten, Shikamaru could see the features of the Hyūga boy. His frown was still puckered, and there was a certain air of threat in his eyes, which remained nailed to the wall. The Nara had no doubt that his eyes were fixed on the other Hyūga. His face was calm, however, demonstrating Neji's abilities to control his emotions.

Shikamaru lowered his head to listen more intently to the shallow, halting talk that the men on the other side of the wall were holding while they waited. As he did so, he caught sight of Neji's tight, clenched fists in the shadows. There was no doubt he hated the guy.

Suddenly the sound of a door opening was heard, and someone else entered the room. Shikamaru moved closer to the wall and closed his eyes to concentrate on the conversation that was finally beginning. As far as he could tell from the words, it was the ambassador, although they had not yet clarified who he represented. Apparently, the man in question had managed to remove some important documents on the distribution of land in the province, and had the intention of replacing them with an altered version of the same, to be able to introduce changes in the disposition. Apparently, Hisao's role had been to use his bakugan to identify a random document in Konoha that possessed the signature of the feudal lord, and to steal it, in order to copy the personal mark. In addition, he managed to get someone to create a false stamp identical to the one on the paper that represented the officiality of the document.

The situation was undoubtedly murky. From the coming and going of the talk, Shikamaru understood that the objective of the operation was to allocate more land to some villages considered allies under surveillance, due to previous situations where they showed their disloyalty to the union of districts to which Konoha belonged. In exchange for this modification behind the fief back, the Ambassador and the Hyuga involved would receive economic incentives. Shikamaru considered the situation for a moment. It was probably an individual action from Hisao , since he had no evidence that the rest of his clan was involved. That was good, but it was still very likely that his family would use his influence to cover it. No doubt going back to Konoha with this information would end up being very troublesome for him.

Shikamaru concluded that they had sufficient data, and that staying in the area would only increase the chances that they would be discovered by Hisao. He gestured to his team to have the microphones removed and set off, to go back the way they had come. Neji took a few seconds to follow them. He seemed to be trying to kill his superior with his eyes, but finally gave up and walked back to the group.

When they reached the clearing where they had camped, the debate began.

-Well, it looks like we have them! -Naruto spoke with confidence.

-Not so fast. We really have no proof of anything. -Shikamaru replied.

-What??? We just heard all their plan!

-So what? Recording them was impossible because of interference. Even if we go back to Konoha and tell all this to the Hokague, she will need us to confirm it in some way.

-How ridiculous. She trusts our word.

-It's not a matter of trust, Naruto. It is a matter of procedure. No testimony is unbeatable if it can not be proven.

-But we know what we saw, right? -Tenten interjected. -We know the truth, we just have to find a way to show it.

-Of course! -Kiba added. -Let's go back to Konoha and accuse that idiot Hyūga. It will be easy to show that he is involved.

-Do not count on it. -it was the voice of Neji, who came calm as always, but a little dry and resentful.

-And why not, your highness? It's very simple. We just follow him around a little ‘till he do something incriminatory. -Kiba replied with a mocking tone.

-You do not know the Hyuga clan. They will do the impossible to protect any member of the main house. It does not matter how dirty the accusation is. Hisao is among the cruelest of them, and he is an aspirant to the central Hyūga council. They have covered him before, and they will do it now.

-But this does not make sense. If we get evidence, however powerful they may not prevent us from exposing them, right? -Ino said.

-I'm sorry, but I do not think any of you really understand what levels the influence of the Hyūga clan reaches.

Shikamaru did. Hell sure he did. He had read several books in the library about the formation of the city, and about the arrival of the first allied clans. The Hyuga were among the first, and in their eagerness to protect their prized ocular jutsu, they had committed many atrocities. Among which could be mentioned the creation of the secondary branch and the cursed seal, which in Shikamaru's opinion was one of the most twisted things he had ever heard about in his life.

While the discussion continued, Shikamaru stood in silence, his gaze fixed on an invisible point, analyzing the information he had. He would cling to the idea that these acts were the individual will of the greater Hyūga. He had no concrete indications to affirm the opposite, and the scenario that this would imply would be much more troublesome. On the way back, he would ask Neji and Hinata if they thought Hiashi was aware of the situation. If they said no, he would inform the Hokage of the events and propose that their uncle be summoned to a private reunion to discuss it with him. And if Tsunade-sama did not order him to investigate further, she would take the matter into her hands and the problem would be over for him.

-What should we do, Shikamaru? -Choji's reassuring and appeasing voice came between the discussion. Everyone were silent and looked at him.

He opened his mouth to talk but was silenced by Neji.

-Wait. Somebody is approaching.

-What? -Sakura asked.

-I feel chakras coming towards us. -He said this while activating his Bakugan. Seconds later his already livid skin got even more paler.

-It's Hisao and two other men. One was in the meeting, the other has his face covered by a hood.

-They are going to pass directly in front of us. -Hinata had activated her Bakugan too.

-How far are they? -Shikamaru asked as his mind accelerated.

-About seventy meters. -Neji answered.

-If we try to run away now they can hear us. And if we stay, they will see us. -Ino panicked.

It was true. The vegetation was not very coarse in that area, and they were too many. They still had the seals that decreased their chakra emissions, but that would not work if the enemy saw them directly.

Shikamaru took out his backpack, opened it and pulled out a roll of paper, a brush and an ink jar. He walk a few steps and place the roll on the floor, unwrapping about 90 centimeters. He hastened to write some words with the brush, and when he finished he put his hands together and spoke a few words.

The air around them seemed to tremble as if it were a gelatinous mass.

-What the hell was that? -Naruto asked.

-It will keep us invisible in a range of 4 meters for 20 minutes, as long as no one crosses the seal. That's why you should stay behind it. We will keep silence until they pass.

But they did not pass. They reached the clearing where the group was concentrated at one end, and they stopped.

-Let's stop here for a moment. -said Hisao.

They did not seem to have noticed their presence. A space of approximately three meters separated them. They could see and hear them perfectly. If everything went well, they would have gone away in less than 20 minutes without discovering them, and maybe they would even get a little more information. But they could not make any sound.

-Why have you brought this kid, Hisao? -asked the man who was at the meeting.

-I needed help to bring the money. You know that an operation like this presupposes convincing many supervisors. And a lot of money means a lot of weight.

- So you had to put a lot of your money?

-Take it as an investment. In short time it will return multiplied.

Both men smiled with satisfaction.

-And why do we stop to rest? You are not carrying anything now.

Hisao laughed at the thought that he might be tired.

-We are not going to rest. Come here, boy.

He gestured to the hooded person to come closer. The figure hesitated long before taking the first fearful steps towards the man.

-Hurry, we do not have all day.

When the stranger reached him, Hisao pulled out his hood, discovering the terrified face of another Hyūga. He shouldn’t be more than 20 years old.

Shikamaru turned his face slightly to look at Neji and Hinata. By their expressions they seemed to know him. They both watched the scene with their eyes wide open.

-Take off your Hitai-ate.

-Mister please. I will not say anything.

-Come one, Haru, let's not make a scene.

-No, sir, I swear, I will not tell it. I swear. -the young man began to cry. He watched as if the temperature had turned polar.

A chill ran down Shikamaru's spine and his stomach contracted. That boy had the cursed seal. And Hisao was going to use it to kill him.

Some of his teammates had not yet got to this conclusion, but Shikamaru's mind was already analyzing his possibilities. If they tried to save the boy, they would have to face the two men. They could probably win, but if this guy was willing to kill a branch house member, nothing would stop him from trying to killing Neji too. And since the weapon to do it was graven directly on the boy's forehead, the chances of the older Hyūga for getting it activated were too high. Or they let one person die, or two probably would .

Hisao had taken out the young man’s Hitai-tie and thrown it unceremoniously aside. Then he put one of his hands on the kid’s forehead.

-Shhh -he whispered. -You did a good job.

-No, please, don’t. -Hiro cried inconsolably. Shikamaru did not ask himself why he wasn’t running, because he knew that many seals could be activated at certain distances. The boy knew he had no chance against the spell tattooed on his forehead.

Shikamaru noticed a movement to his left, and saw the startled face of Naruto, who had just understood the situation.The Nara knew that he would try to intervene. He couldn’t allow it, he couldn’t put Neji's life in danger too.

With no need to use his hands, he extended two shadows tentacles and grabbed Naruto before he could move. The blond young boy was about to throw an insult to him, but when he looked at Shikamaru to do so, the Nara shook his head vehemently and pointed at Neji, who was a few steps behind him. When Naruto looked at him, he seemed to understand. He relaxed his body and closed his eyes, still unable to believe that they were going to let an innocent man die. But he would have felt worse if he had to bear the guilt of the death of a friend.

A cry of panic caught Shikamaru's attention, and he turned his head to the scene in front of them. Hisao had begun to utter the words that would activate the cursed seal.

Shikamaru turned his face again, this time to look at Neji. What he saw filled him with grief, and at the same time put him on alert. The young Hyuga's eyes were fixed on Hiro's forehead, more open than ever. He trembled from head to toe, already totally unaware that his teammates could see him. There was no way someone could hide a fear like the one he should be feeling.

When the cries of pain began to fill the clearing, Neji closed his eyes and lowered his head. His fists were clenched on the sides of his body. Shikamaru could still see his face, and it looked like he was about to scream too.

He had to do something, or Neji would discover them, digging his own grave. He started walking toward the boy, as slow as he could to make no sound on the grass. He stopped right in front of Neji, covering his vision. He placed himself only a few centimeters away.

Neji slowly raised his head and looked at him, perhaps hoping he would offer some solution. Shikamaru did not have it, but he had to try that, despite the terrible situation, Neji did not lose sense of where they were and understood that he should keep silent.

Shikamaru raised a hand and placed his index finger on his lips. Neji nodded, but when a new round of shouting broke the silence of the forest, tears began to flow from his eyes, and he seemed about to sob. Shikamaru quickly turned his hand and covered Neji's mouth with his palm. But the poor boy still seemed about to collapse.

Around them, their friends looked at each other in anguish at the impotence. No one was watching the scene anymore, it was too strong. Hinata started crying silently and covered her ears. Many of them closed their eyes, as if not seeing help not to listen.

Shikamaru felt Neji shaking violently, and put his other hand on his back to bring them closer together. He placed his lips over the boy's ear and inside of it he whispered:

-Shhh...

He felt Neji's tears wet the palm of his hand. Never in his life had he seen him cry. In fact, he was sure that none of those present had. It was really disturbing.

A longer, heartbreaking scream erupted, and Neji's fingers dug into the sides of Shikamaru's thighs. The Nara clenched his teeth to contain the sudden pain. Now he would also have to worry about not shouting himself. Hoping it would cushion the sound a little, Shikamaru turned Neji's head to placed one of his ears against his chest, while still covering his mouth. With the other hand he covered his other ear.

Neji dug his fingers deeper and pressed hard against Shikamaru's chest. He could not help the thought that this young man, who was dying ahead of him, could easily be him. And that made him feel like he was.

The screams ceased slowly. Shikamaru turned his head a little to see, and saw. He saw Hiro's body lying on the ground with a hole in his empty head, spread over a pool of blood. Shikamaru knew how the cursed seal worked. To protect the Bakugan, the seal not only melted the eyes, but also most of the brain, so that its remains could not be studied.

-Ok, let's go. -Hisao said when finishing his task.

-You will not have problems if we leave the body here?

-Nobody will recognize it. It’s another of the advantages of the seal. Not only does it protect the Bakugan, it also prevents a Hyūga from being identified from a corpse with the naked eye. Today it will rain and all this area will flood, as always happens. The flood of the river will take the body and no one will never find it. Trust me.

Hearing him speak like that of the cursed seal, as if it were the best invention of mankind instead of an unjust and sadistic weapon, made Shikamaru's blood boil in his veins. On his chest, Neji still shivered and held back his crying as much as he could.

After Hisao changed his coat for another one, since the one he was wearing had been spattered with blood, the two men left. When he was sure they had gotten far enough away, Shikamaru pulled his hands from Neji's head and placed them immediately on the fingers digging into his thighs. He separated the Hyūga's hands from his legs and held them for a moment, stepping back a little to see his face. His eyes were still closed and he was crying silently.

-Oh, Kami. That was horrible. -Sakura exclaimed, drying some of the tears she had also shed.

As soon as those words broke the silence, Neji fell to his knees on the grass. He closed his fists tightly on the lawn and lowered his head, breathing hard. He was very disturbed.

-Neji! -Tenten shouted as she ran to his side. She put an arm around him and tried to comfort him.

Hinata approached to them and knelt too, just crying with her hands joined.

Shikamaru turned once more and looked at the body again. There were different things in his mind: a feeling of hatred for the older Hyuga, frustration for not being able to intervene, a heartbreaking guilt for letting the boy die, the uncertainty about how to handle things next. And the salty smell of Neji's tears through his hand.

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Well, this was my first Fic. Sorry if it's not very well written, English is not my first language. If anyone is interested in being my beta, I will appreciate it very much! I accept any correction. You will also see that I use the metric system, I hope it is not too confusing.

I tried to add a drawing to illustrate but I'm bad at drawing. So I took the base of this image www.zerochan.net/2007184 . Sorry author. I also just realized that Neji should have his Hitai-ate, but I'm not able to draw it, so I'll leave it like that.

All the characters belong to the Naruto series.

#shikamaru #neji #shijaneki #fanfiction

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