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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 2 -

A/N: As a note, each of these chapters is a separate story with a different point of divergence from canon timeline.

When Lan Wangji was six years old, and Lan Xichen nine, their mother died, breaking their hearts. Even Lan Qiren, who had never liked He Kexin and might have even hated her for having ruined all his dreams of travel, felt her absence keenly – he kept thinking of her at odd times, a matter of irrepressible habit. I should tell her about this next week, he would think as he watched his nephews accomplish something, or, upon receiving an offer to go night-hunting, We can’t go because we wouldn’t be able to make it back in time for the monthly visit, and then he’d abruptly remember she was dead and there would be no more monthly visits.

One time, sitting and watching Lan Wangji carefully practice his calligraphy during the time that would normally have been their monthly visit, he even found himself inexplicably wiping tears out of his eyes. It had been a struggle, but they’d finally gotten Lan Wangji to stop going to her door, ignoring snow and chill to wait there as if simply willing it would allow the door to open again, but he remained overly quiet, even quieter than he’d been before, the loss hurting him deeply, and seeing him hurt had hurt Lan Qiren. He tried to be subtle about it, to hide his abrupt display of emotionality, but before he knew it, Lan Wangji had come over to stand by his side, his little hands holding his own, earnestly mumbling, “Don’t cry, shufu, it’ll be all right” in an echo of what Lan Qiren had been trying so ineffectually to say to him.

“Yes,” he said, wiping harder, and ultimately giving up entirely and letting the tears stream down his cheeks, hiding his face entirely behind one of his sleeves. Lan Xichen found them at some point and curled up into Lan Qiren’s other side, tears starting to slowly seep down his own face; trying to hold back their strange shared grief was like trying to stop the tide. “It will be all right, eventually. I promise.”

He had made that promise too soon, it seemed: less than a week later, one of the elders remarked that it was time for Lan Xichen to take up some of the duties of running a sect.

“What?” Lan Qiren asked, blinking. “You’re joking. He’s nine.”

“He’s the future sect leader,” the elder said, and his gaze was cold. “Never forget, Teacher Lan, that although you fill the role now, you are only a custodian in his name.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” Lan Qiren said, frustrated; he had never been very good with words or with people. “Of course he will inherit the position, given time. But he is not even old enough for his own sword, and years away from night-hunting – why would you burden him with sect business? He’s far too young.”

“He is at exactly the right age to begin. How else can we ensure that he will not fall into the failings of his father or the crimes of his mother?”

“He is a child,” Lan Qiren stressed, wondering what he was missing. “We can only teach him to the best of our abilities, and hope that he does well with it; there’s nothing else that can be done.”

The elder shook his head. “We cannot take the risk of another generation of disaster. He must be trained, and trained now, trained well. If we do not take action, it may be too late, and he will be ruined.”

As you were, he didn’t say, but Lan Qiren felt keenly the burn of humiliation. He had never lived up to their expectations the way his brother had, and then his brother had gone and failed them all, too.

“What exactly are you thinking?” he asked, trying to dismiss the feeling of foreboding in his belly. An introduction to the burdens Lan Xichen would eventually face would not be so far amiss – a shichen a week of helping to transcribe simple letters, perhaps, or running errands, the sort of thing a boy could do and not be bored; that wouldn’t be too bad.

That wasn’t what they had in mind at all.

They wanted Lan Xichen to start tackling political problems at once, forcing him to make real decisions, deal with paperwork, and then also three times the usual lessons in sword and music, all the skills he would need to have. And all this, of course, on top of his regular lessons –

“We can assist, of course,” one of the elders said to the others, ignoring Lan Qiren’s aghast expression entirely. “But the sooner he grows accustomed to the work, the sooner he can step up –”

“You’ll crush him!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, interrupting, and he never interrupted the elders. “He’s a child, and a child who just lost his mother at that – how can you even suggest this? He would have no time to study in depth rather than shallowly, no time to think, to become his own person –”

“We will polish him into a perfect jade,” an elder said. “Him, and the younger one, too. What more do they need than to be of service to the sect?”

It wasn’t that Lan Qiren disagreed that service to their sect was the highest good, or that scholarly and martial pursuits were of the highest caliber, far more important than aimless play. He was a teacher, a strict one, and the sect rules accorded with his understanding: Learning comes first. But at the same time, there was learning and then there was learning – he was a teacher who cared for his students’ well-being, too. He knew that the approach proposed would not polish Lan Xichen into a jade but mold him instead, brutally pruning away any part of him that did not accord with the elders’ wishes.

It was just what they’d done to Lan Qiren the moment he became acting sect leader, after all.

They’d loaded him up with responsibilities until he’d nearly worked himself sick, refused to grant him the slightest freedom to travel even in a small and supervised manner, and they’d tried to force him to recant even those few things he did enjoy – composing music, teaching children. If he hadn’t already been as old as he was when it started, he wouldn’t have had the strength of will or determination to preserve even those few little things of his own…

“He should move into the hanshi soon,” another elder agreed. “If we expect him to take on the responsibilities of an adult, he should be treated as one.”

“Agreed. The sooner he disengages from messing around with his peers, the better. They will only distract him from what he needs to do.”

“I do not agree with this,” Lan Qiren said. “I am his guardian and his teacher. I do not agree.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Qiren,” one of the elders said, and Lan Qiren felt an automatic wash of shame, instinctive and ingrained after all these years. “You took the sect leader position with the knowledge that it would not truly be yours, and now you wish to preserve your personal power longer?”

I never wanted the position, which offers only power in exchange for its brutal demands! I still don’t want it! But to put it onto a child, any child, much less my own nephew who I love – how could I agree to that?

“You must not be selfish, as your brother was,” another elder scolded him, and normally Lan Qiren would be the first to agree. Being like his brother was his worst fear, and one he would do anything to avoid – but at the moment, the reminder felt wrong, as if they were using it as a tool to manipulate him rather than expressing what they really thought. “Do not cling to power and authority, after all. You cannot and must not steal what belongs to your nephews, Qiren. Never forget your place.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. His place?

He had never been selfish. He had sacrificed everything – he had been filial and loyal, obedient to his elders, and they had taken everything from him, just as they planned to do to the two children that had been entrusted to his care. The only difference was that Lan Qiren had been allowed to live freely for a little while, and even that freedom was only because the elders had utterly ignored him in favor of his more talented brother, who had been protected by the love of his powerful father; for his nephews, who were all but orphaned and left only in his inferior care, there was no such defense.

This time, it was clear that the elders meant to rectify the situation – this time, they wouldn’t even leave Lan Wangji his childhood, let alone Lan Xichen.

They would hollow them out and leave them as little more than puppets, blindly obeying the rules without having the time to contemplate their meaning. They would squeeze out every moment of every day, turning each endless shichen into a joyless burden, transforming the rules into little more than a yoke to chain them – his nephews wouldn’t be Lan, who chose willingly to obey because they loved the rules and loved their sect and wanted to give everything for it. They would be little better than slaves.

Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought suddenly, it was not his selfishness that the elders were constantly seeking to correct. Perhaps it was their own.

He tried, first and foremost, to argue with them, but they did not listen to him. They had never listened to him, not from the first moment he had yielded to their wishes over his own desires and allowed himself to be trapped in the Cloud Recesses as the new sect leader. No – it was even older than that, from even before then, from as far back as when he had been small and helpless and crying out for help in his own way, not even knowing what was happening to him and why…

They had always turned their faces away.

Lan Qiren had tried his best to please them, and had failed. He’d thought the blame lay with him, but now he wasn’t so sure – now he thought that it didn’t matter what he did, that he never would.

Lan Qiren’s nephews were the ones who were small and helpless now, and unlike the elders that should have watched over him, he would not turn away.

The plan he hatched was ruthless in the extreme, but there was nothing else he could think of in his desperation. The Lan sect had always been very secretive, in its own way, keeping outsiders from knowing their personal business; although everyone within the sect knew that it was the elders who held all the real power, even if they disdained the work of it and left much of that for Lan Qiren to accomplish, from the outside it appeared as though Lan Qiren were sect leader, invested with all the powers of one.

To be a sect leader, in their day and age, was to be a tyrant.

No need to look at Wen Ruohan, the chief example of this trend, a man who made his sect kneel and touch their heads to the floor upon hearing that he was coming. It was enough to look instead at the Jiang sect, whose sect leader Jiang Fengmian whiled away his days waiting for his old lover to write, ignoring his wife despite her maternal family’s power and influence within his territory. Look at the Jin sect, where Jin Guangshan bedded every prostitute and poor young lady within range, surrounded by a cloud of rumors regarding whether he’d bothered to get all of them to consent – rumors there might be, but no one dared to make any trouble for him over it without actual proof. Look at Lao Nie, whose sect, elders and all, sighed and shook their heads over his excessive fondness for dangerous people, but could take no action to stop him.

Look at Lan Qiren’s father, who had spoiled one child into madness and neglected the other into near despair, and had trained his whole sect to accept it as a given. Lan Qiren was working to repair that damage, to lead by example, but it was a hard upward struggle – rot might start at the head, and healing, too, but the healing was harder than the rotting.

A sect leader, in short, was a tyrant.

And as far as the world was concerned, Lan Qiren was the sect leader.

Lan Qiren bided his time until the next discussion conference. It hurt him to wait, seeing poor Lan Xichen get stretched thin under his new duties and constantly reminded to keep a serene smile on his face throughout, seeing poor Lan Wangji so stressed at his brother’s misery and his own amplified lessons that he'd started biting people again, but he knew it was necessary. A discussion conference meant outsiders, and outsiders meant not losing face; it was the one time that Lan Qiren was actually treated as a sect leader by all around him, the one time no one would gainsay anything he said, even if they would later tear strips off of him in private.

It was his only chance.

"I have an announcement," he said mildly, presiding over the large gathering that marked the conclusion of the discussion conference. His Lan sect was the host of this conference, and he was accordingly seated at the head of the room, equal with the other Great Sects but given additional deference in view of the location - it was easy for his voice to carry, despite his quiet tone, and all the sects turned towards him to listen. They were probably expecting something anodyne, some additional prize or information about the weather to keep in mind as they departed. "I have decided that my Lan sect's ties to the rest of the cultivation world have grown stale, seeing each other as we do only at these times and the common people only on night hunts. As a result, in my authority as Sect Leader Lan, I intend to make a journey throughout the various sects, taking along my nephews to introduce them to your families. In my absence, the Cloud Recesses will be managed by my cousin, Lan Yueheng -"

Talk exploded in the whole audience, furious and loud, all but his own Lan sect which was calm and stone-faced as always, though of course that was only their pride and concern for face overwhelming their shock. Poor Lan Yueheng was the exception, of course, his jaw dropping open like a weight dropped from a great height until his neighbors noticed and elbowed him in the side to make him stop - Lan Qiren mentally apologized for not having warned his cousin up front. He hadn't dared to risk it.

" - and accordingly I will be leaving alongside the rest of you at the conclusion of this conference," he concluded, for once relieved that his voice never varied far from a monotone; he sounded cool and calm and in control, and like he hadn't noticed the way his sect elders were trying to strangle him with their gaze even as the maintained decorum. "Our first destination is the Nie sect's Unclean Realm, with Lao Nie as our host."

Lan Qiren hadn't warned Lao Nie, either, but he knew him well, and to his relief hadn't misjudged him - the other man didn't spare so much as a moment to blink in surprise, instead grinning broadly at the other sect leaders.

"You bet you are," he laughed, his voice booming and loud. "And don't think I'll let you leave so quickly, Qiren - not until your nephews are best friends with my sons, and not until you've had a chance to work your magic on my sect's younger generation and turn them from little beasts into proper gentlemen!"

Lan Qiren barely resisted rolling his eyes - he still didn't know who it was that had come up with the nonsense about him being able to turn the most hopeless waste into a gentleman, but it was rank exaggeration. But to his surprise, the first person to respond was the head of one of the more distant small sects, Baling Ouyang, a young man with an excitable temperament; he leapt up to his feet and exclaimed, "Will he really? Sect Leader Lan, I insist you visit my Ouyang sect next, if you haven't made firm plans - I scarcely recognized my little hellion nephews after a season in your care, all grown up, careful in thought and action, compassionate and upright...and no more pranks!"

Another exaggeration. The Ouyang twins had been troublesome only at the start, until Lan Qiren realized that what they longed for most was recognition as separate beings rather than a collective whole; as soon as he'd treated them with respect, and showed them how to act in return, they'd taken to his lessons like a desert to water.

"Sect Leader Lan's skill in teaching is very well known," Sect Leader Yao said, always first to speak after his friend from the Ouyang sect. "You'll really come to our sects to do it, rather than our children to the Cloud Recesses? And you won't charge, of course...?"

"Naturally no," Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled by their enthusiasm. Was it so expensive to send children to the Cloud Recesses? He’d never charged for his lessons, although he supposed there was the cost of travel and maintenance to the standard preferred by students, and of course guest gifts were customary, although he never made any demands. "I would be your guest, and enjoying your hospitality – room and board would be more than sufficient…"

"In that case, you should come to Pingyang next -"

"No, Yueyang!" someone else called, and before Lan Qiren knew exactly what was happening, the sect leaders were arguing over who he should visit first. The most enthusiastic were the ones whose children he had taught already, but the others were quick to catch up, loathe to miss out on what they perceived to be a good deal - even Wen Ruohan, never one to lose out to others when it came to something perceived of as desirable, extended an offer with a smug, snake-like smile.

Lan Qiren provisionally accepted all the offers with a growing sense of relief: with such public acceptance, the Lan sect would lose more face by refusing to let him go than in allowing his unorthodox action. It was just as he has hoped, and more successful than he'd dared to dream; the other sects had fixated on his teaching skills and in doing so had ignored the strangeness of a sect leader taking his heirs and all but running away from home.

That relief carried him through to the end of the meeting, when everyone divided up to pack up their things, and Lan Qiren returned to the inner parts of his sect to do the same.

"What are you thinking?" one of the elders demanded the second they were alone. "Have you gone mad?"

"Did you see the reception of my idea?" Lan Qiren replied, hiding the giddiness of relief under a facade of calm. "The sect will benefit greatly from the connections we will make."

"That's no answer!"

Lan Qiren was a filial child; even if they were wrong, he would not tell the elders so to their faces. Instead he only bowed deeply and said, "What's done is done. I need to get ready, and quickly; it would be embarrassing if we weren't prepared."

Of course, he'd already packed everything he thought he'd need, determined to take Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji with him no matter what - it was only luck that his plan had worked as well as it had, allowing him to pretend to some move of subtle strategic genius rather than a retreat out of desperation. Still, he needed to go through the motions.

"Fine," another elder spat out, although their demeanor made it clear that it wasn't fine at all. "But did you have to announce that the provisional leader was Lan Yueheng? He's completely unfit!"

By which they meant that he wouldn't listen to them - that he was brash and lacked tact, said what he thought and cared for nothing but his experiments, his wife, and his children. Out of all of Lan Qiren’s cousins, he was the most thick-faced, shameless to the extreme, essentially immune to criticism or guilt.

That was, of course, exactly why Lan Qiren had picked him.

"He's good at math and accounting, and at arranging provisioning," Lan Qiren said, picking the more acceptable reason. "That's the key responsibility left over, isn't it? Everything else, I can do through correspondence."

The reassurance that Lan Qiren would still be doing his duty to the sect - would still be accountable to them - helped settle some ruffled feathers. It wouldn't be pleasant to try to do the work of sect leader from abroad, Lan Qiren knew; it would mean a lot of sleepless nights slaving away by candlelight, with no support from any aides, bearing all the weight himself. No doubt the elders knew it too, and figured that he'd soon enough lose interest in what he heard them calling, in hushed voices where they thought he could not hear, his "little show of rebellion".

Lan Qiren didn't care. The sooner they left, the better the chances that the elders would continue to be deceived into thinking that Lan Qiren was doing all this for his own sake - some last stab at achieving his long forgotten dreams, doomed to inevitable disappointment - instead of what it really was, which was freedom for his nephews. They couldn't be assigned work or classes from a distance; their education would be wholly in Lan Qiren’s hands.

He'd take a thousand sleepless nights of overwork if it meant they got to be children a little longer.

"Are we really going to the Unclean Realm?" Lan Wangji lisped, looking even more rosy-cheeked and excited than usual. "Will – will Nie-gongzi will be there?"

"Yes, Mingjue-xiong will be there," Lan Xichen said, and grinned at Lan Qiren over his brother’s head. He looked more carefree than he had in...possibly years, and Lan Qiren briefly regretted how long it had taken him to do this. "Since you like him so much."

Lan Wangji turned bright red at once.

"Both of the Nie boys will be there," Lan Qiren said. "The younger one is closer to your age, Wangji. You can get to know him as well."

Lan Qiren went next to the library pavilion, looking for books on their sect rules - he might not trust his sect elders, but he loved his sect, loved their rules and traditions, and he wanted his nephews to love it, too. He wanted them to see the Cloud Recesses as a refuge, as a haven - not a burden.

He would give his nephews the freedom he'd longed for, and when they were older...when they were older, more resilient, more sure of who they were, he would bring them back and he would ensure that they obtained their rightful inheritance. In full, not in part - Lan Xichen would be a real sect leader, not a puppet for the elders, taught only to be pleasant and yielding and to perform well with his cultivation, swordsmanship and music only for the purpose of impressing outsiders. Lan Wangji would be his brother’s right hand, would love and respect him and be loved and respected in turn.

Maybe, Lan Qiren thought to himself, amused, they would even find some compatible child on their way and one day return to bring them home as a dao companion.

He couldn't wait to find out.

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #lan wangji #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

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wkngsnds · 4 years ago

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So remember when I published “Whether You Fail or Fly”? I rewrote it! Well, some parts of it; I tried my best to reach the dark tone I was aiming for, fixed some things I thought were awkward, and so and so forth. I hope y’all enjoy it all the same.

I’ll post it on here too under a read more.

Title: Your Side

RATING: Teen and older audience

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful to his hitwoman.

Fuyuhiko had not been the type to black out during his fights; in fact, he savored every cut and bruise that he could take before Peko eventually intervened. He exists in a constant state of irritation with his anger never falling far behind. Despite being a yakuza, or perhaps that is exactly why, his anger was his weak point— almost as blinding and fervent as Kabukicho during the night. Just like his parents, he got hot under the collar relatively quickly and chose to focus all his energy on his victim, so he’s an extremist in his own right too. Fuyuhiko preferred to handle things “a man’s way”: being direct as possible instead of exhibiting a passive aggressive attitude. He believed he could smash his way through his opponents as he refused to lose sight of his goal.

Tonight was no different.

Peko never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. However, it would be more accurate to say that she couldn’t afford to get hit; a thousandth second too slow, a single hair strand out of place, and it would all be over. She exists in a hypervigilant state even within the confines of the Kuzuryuu manor. It is not that she lacks trust in her “coworkers'', per say, but protecting Fuyuhiko is the only thing she finds herself capable of doing. Truth be told, even with a small army of guards roaming the grounds it does not guarantee his safety, but by acting as his shield he’s all the more safer. It’s why she keeps her mind blank, but never loses focus; that is not to say she does not think at all— if anything, she is the type to overthink matters more than someone in her position should. These constraints both forced upon her and self practiced are why her rage is restrained. She’s not the type to anger easily, but when the emotion visits her it must be leashed and kept within bounds.

Tonight was no different.

An ocean of alarm and disquietude drowned the underground of Tokyo, and nearly flooded the overground the day after Fuyuhiko confirmed Natsumi’s corpse. It had not been long until civilians heard of the misfortunate incident, and they took it upon themselves to go home earlier than usual as a precautionary measure. Even if they did not know Natsumi, her surname carried all the weight it needed to: it was not just a member of the clan who died, but someone with a direct relation to the leader. This action of avoidance, of course, did nothing to deter the Kuzuryu clan from their own private investigations; they were a 24/7 kind of business, after all. Each family belonging to the Kuzuryu-gumi had crawled out of their own holes-- those who supported Natsumi above Fuyuhiko worked especially hard to find their princess’s murderer. Then there were those, in their true yakuza nature, who wanted to take advantage of her death to strip the Ultimate of his inheritance. For them, it had not been a simple preference of the younger sibling, but instead a dissatisfaction and disfavor for their patriarch’s son. By extension, Peko received the same condemnation if not to a worse degree. Those in Natsumi’s faction who were slightly sympathetic to the heir blamed the bodyguard for his physical weakness and lack of will; her entire presence caused his spoiled and rotten nature. Put simply her existence, they thought, hindered his bloodlust. Others argued that the main family was not meant to kill as they were an ‘invisible hand’ which directed them all. A minority thought Peko to be a better yakuza than him, but they were smarter than to voice that opinion. There were also a few who thought him cursed— a way of karma for all the blood the clan spilled since its early days, and that blood most certainly flowed like a river. Nevertheless subsidiary matriarchs and patriarchs respected him as their heir at best, but they would not hold their breath for him either.

The funeral service would bring out the worst in the family.

Nastumi died in less than a week of attending the academy, so the two knew their investigation was limited to this timeframe. After confirming her corpse’s identity, the next step was to speak with the custodian who found her; if he had decided to keep information from the police Fuyuhiko had no qualms in using extensive methods of extraction. Meanwhile, Peko worked to address the rumors of a supposed pervert who was thought by the students to be the perpetrator. The mysterious figure had stolen one girl’s swimsuit, and then planned to violate the young mistress (the disgusted rage she felt momentarily dulled the pain in her wrist as her hand formed into a tight fist). Peko knew she needed to focus, so she took a deep breath and went to look for the first girl whose swimsuit had been taken; if the two were both victims to the degenerate, then it was important to establish a possible connection or a pattern. On the hand, if the attacks were random, it would have been hard to track down a possible suspect with the incredibly vague information. They also did not allow Fuyuhiko, understandably, to enter the crime scene, so her chances of success in that area were virtually zero. On the other hand, if this were a targeted attack, then there was a greater problem to be dealt with, and this girl might be connected.

She could not recall any subsidiaries with the name Sato, but it was also possible her mother married out of the respective family. Furthermore, Peko had not been ignorant to the clan’s...favoritism, but she would not be convinced by the apparent blind adoration; it could have been the start of a coup d’etat, and her young master would be the next target. Peko already failed both Fuyuhiko and Natsumi by not protecting the latter, failure to aid him in apprehending her killer or letting him die meant she truly was useless. Therefore, finding this girl and ‘speaking’ to her took over all her priorities. The kendo athlete scans the morning cafeteria until she spots her suspect (someone had kindly described her appearance) sitting at an empty table near the large windows. Like a tiger, she moves carefully to disappear from the girl’s direct line of sight and peripheral vision; she intended to take her by surprise— using that confusion to assert dominance in the conversation and as momentum for a potential confession. However, before Peko could get any closer Mikan had unfortunately bumped into her; like always, the nurse made a scene whenever she apologized to someone, and blew Peko’s cover. To make matters worse, she spotted the injured wrist she acquired from punching the wall yesterday, and became shockingly insistent on treating the wound. Mikan did not yield to any of her protest, and all but dragged her out of the cafeteria to the nurse’s office. For a weak willed clumsy girl, the kendo athlete did not expect her to be as firm in her handling.

True to her sensitive nature, Mikan noticed Peko’s state of irate despite the latter having a stoic face, and began to apologize once again. Stuttering throughout her explanation, it appeared as though she hardly slept the prior night. Mistaking the red eyed girl’s neutral, if not apathetic, question for sympathy the super high school level nurse rambled on about doing an emergency shift at a nearby clinic. Yet, even for Peko who was only half listening something felt off.

‘What you just said...was a lie, wasn’t it?’ A tit for tat question.

‘H-Huh?! You w-were able t-to tell?’ She focused on the splinting for a moment, ‘U-Um...Pekoyama would it be too presumptuous to ask...if I could c-confide in you with s-something? I-It feels like my chest is going to explode if I can’t g-g-get it out.’

She’s weary of agreeing, but slowly nods her head nevertheless.

‘I...I saw the body. Kuzuryu’s little sister...W-We found her in the music room l-last night.’

‘What did you say?!’

‘Eek! I..I’m sorry!’

‘Tsumiki, you need to explain to me exactly what happened. What do you mean ‘we’?’

At 7:30 pm, both yakuza convened at the heir’s off campus apartment to consolidate all the information they gathered. After deeming that he had nothing left to hide, Fuyuhiko “convinced” the custodian to allow him into the music room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the white tape— he had seen it plenty of time, but knowing it was his sister’s outline made him lightheaded. However, he knew there was no time to be distracted by his grief; he needed to devote all his energy on finding her murderer. Fuyuhiko mentioned to Peko that he saw the broken glass from where, according to the police report, the criminal had escaped.

‘It also said a nearby guard heard the sound of the glass breakin�� but never saw or heard anyone runnin’.’

‘That’s suspicious.’

‘Yeah, and there ain’t any security video footage of a shady person walkin’ ‘round campus. Not to mention, that hole in the window don’t look big enough for someone to jump through. None of this fucking shit adds up!’ He viciously kicks the low table before falling onto the couch behind it, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he did, ‘Either this sick bastard is crafty as hell or...or someone who knows this fuckin’ school’s layout did it.’

She assumes a pensive position, ‘So, someone within the school is the culprit...? I believe that is an accurate deduction. There are even suspects to support your theory.’

‘W-What? Suspects?!’

‘Tsumiki, Koizumi, Hiyoko, Mioda, and a person by the name of Sato were at the crime scene. As it were, those five were the first to encounter the young mistress, and most likely—’

‘The ones who started the rumor of a pervert going around.’ His fists tightened to the point where his fingernails cut his skin and he began to bleed, ‘Those cunts...those goddamn fucking cunts...if it turns one of them killed Natsumi...I will never fucking forgive them. If all five of them were in on it...I don’t care how much blood is on my hands I’ll slaughter them all.’

Peko could not bring herself to calm him down; she shared his sentiments, after all.

The next day went by in a blur. For the first time in a long while, the two yakuza were on the same wavelength: Peko advised him to avoid confronting any of the suspected girls without enough proof less he scared them away losing their only lead. Conceding to her counseling, he keeps his distance from them and their own classmates in general. However, he did not stand by, and instead went to question a few of the students in 77A. In return, he asked her to monitor the behavior of those four— they were citizens who, more than likely, had never dealt with corpses or killings in their life which he thought gave Peko a great advantage. Bluntly put, it takes a killer to know a killer.

At the end of the day, when all was said and done their respective tasks were successful enough to narrow down their suspect list quite considerably. Fuyuhiko learned that not only was Sato with his sister on the day of the incident, but the two often bumped heads with one another. Concurrently, Peko overheard an anxious Mahiru mumble about needing to meet with the same Sato during their lunch break, so she messaged him those details when Koizumi had left the classroom. Although he didn’t find them in time to eavesdrop on their conversation, he had caught a glimpse of someone (he assumed to be Sato) throwing away what looked like paper into the garbage. At first he made sure to stay out of sight, but as soon as the coast was clear he made a beeline for the trash bin.

And just like that the number of suspects dropped from five to two to one.

In hindsight, investigating Sato and Koizumi should have been their first thought, but both were neglectful towards Natsumi’s own complaints and scheming. They had not noticed the particular animosity she held towards the photographer, and instead considered it yet another part of her antics. With Fuyuhiko constantly running away from all criticism and Peko mindlessly chasing after him, they never once considered looking behind them to see if she needed help. However, why would they need to? She was strong, probably stronger than the both of them combined and more than they’ll ever be. It is why she had been so reverend throughout the clan-- the reincarnation of a legend or perhaps something even greater than that. Where they both lacked brutality, bloodlust, and pride Natsumi made up for it a thousand times over. Fuyuhiko could still remember the day his father scolded him right after Peko rescued him from the man’s chokehold; it was a heated argument over something senseless the teenager had done earlier that week which left the patriarch a mess to clean up.

‘This is why you need a fucking tool and your sister doesn’t. Maybe if you had your act more together like her, you would be half the fucking yakuza she is!’

Whether or not they moved forward is debatable, but they left her behind to fend for herself. Natsumi was a tough girl in a league beyond their own, and they were too wrapped up in their selfish problems. Truthfully, Fuyuhiko and Peko knew they were as responsible for her murder as Sato was.

‘I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU!’

When the two finally returned to Fuyuhiko’s apartment they sloppily kicked off their shoes, and collapsed from exhaustion in the seats of the sleek black dining table. True to their upbringing, they had chosen a seclusive section of the nearby riverbank as the dumping ground. The route from the school to the river was relatively light, but the combined weight of the corpse, adrenaline, and guilt made it all the more treacherous to walk. Initially, Peko suggested contacting one of the nearby families who worked in construction to place the cadaver in concrete, and then toss it into the river. After a few moments, however, he refused. Fuyuhiko did not want to hide the body; he wanted her to rot for as long as possible before she was found— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Normally, he wasn’t the morbidity type, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone. Again, it was the first time in a very long while that they were on the same wavelength.

Fuyuhiko could only watch as Peko stood, unsurprisingly, before he did; she had greater stamina and...experience than he did in all of this. She left his direct line of sight, but kept herself in his peripherals. For him, once the adrenaline of killing passed, the soreness dropped upon him like a ton of bricks, his muscles were tense, and it felt as though the slightest movement made his joints crack. He could feel the phantom force from swinging the corpse back and forth before throwing it down the bank. He rested his forehead on crossed fingers as his eyes briefly crossed over; part of him felt ashamed for feeling so weak-- what did that say about his future as a patriarch? He only did the killing, but Peko, like always, ended up cleaning his dirty work. In this case, she was the one who quite literally carried dead weight on their walk to the river. He did not argue when she picked up the corpse like a sack of rice and arranged it to fit in her kendo. The angles were awkward, but after breaking some joints here and a few bones there the corpse fit perfectly. All he could do was watch her. What could he say that would not end with him being in her way? He knows he can trust her to handle this, but what gave him the right to sit back and do nothing? He can do with expressing gratitude towards her or, at the very least, express a greater sense of gratification at avenging his sister.

But all he felt was exhaustion.

“You need to bathe.” It is rare for her to speak with a semblance of authority in her tone towards him, so she captures his attention quickly. On any other day, he might have told her kick rocks for treating him like a child, but he can only put up half a fight tonight.

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He heard her reach into a separate duffel bag she left in his apartment earlier this morning, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately. I am sure the doorman noticed, but kept his mouth shut.”

From the bag, she first pulled out a loofah and an antibacterial wash set. Next, there was a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals for the bat, and a cardboard box. He handed over the baseball cap at her request; she placed them in one of the aforementioned black bags along with her own and instructed him to throw his personal trash in there as well since she would burn everything later. He could also hear the crinkling of the paper that was used to wrap the corpse being stuffed into the bag. Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (as if doing everything from muscle memory, which was most likely the case) that causes all his hairs to stand. This...this was her true speciality, wasn’t it?

Still not being able to raise his head, he asked if his own clothes needed to be burned as well, but the kendo athlete reminded him of the suit’s hefty price tag, thus intended to send it back home to be thoroughly cleaned. However, in all her fretting of his needs the realization hits him,

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.”

“You just said we have to get rid of the stench, so do you have clothes of your own--”

“Young master. Please go bathe.” Her voice initially sounded strained, then slowed down as if she were controlling her breathing. Not only was this a part of her speciality, but it was clear she had a method for her work that she hadn’t been too keen on straying from-- it was the same inflexibility (one not so different from the blond) that would get her killed on Jabberwock Island. For all the exhaustion Fuyuhiko felt, Peko silently masked her oncoming mental fatigue whilst also trying to ignore the ton of guilt weighing on her. From her perspective, she had just failed for the second time in a row: first, by allowing Natsumi to die and second, by allowing Fuyuhiko to kill by himself. It was not as though she could rid herself of any culpability, because she has disobeyed him in the past for the “sake” of his protection. So why didn’t she refuse him now? He had instructed her to act as if they were fellow high school students, so she would have been well within her orders to randomly check on her-- if not as the young master’s sister, then as a member of the Kuzuryu family she was owed the respect of being welcomed. What made his order so particular this time around that she found herself unable to deny? To make matters even worse, she allowed him to sully his hands with death while she stood and watched the bat crack Sato’s skull open. If she were forced to make an excuse, then it was as if some external power prevented her from interfering. Maybe it was a part of her, the human part, that understood it had not been her place to interject-- that she knew him well enough to know this revenge and avenge was to quench his heart from the sorrow plaguing him. No, perhaps this humanity of hers knew from the very beginning that he would not have been satisfied if Sato died by anyone's hands but his own, so she took the extra precautions to protect him throughout the conspiracy. Taking this into account, it was only natural that the tool she considered herself to be would come into conflict with the meddlesome human she actually was.

As per usual, his movements drew her out of her spiraling thoughts; his stumbling did not go unnoticed, but before she could reach him to help stand, he had already taken the wash set, grabbed his nightwear, and headed towards the bathroom.

“There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.” The door shut promptly behind him

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father.

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he had not been such a damn child. Would she have come to him for her personal problems if he was? If he had convinced their father that she needed a bodyguard if only to keep her out of trouble would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she? He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. He only rolled his eyes at this; she did this every once in a while when they were at home, and he grew tired of chastising her to let the maids do their jobs. Fuyuhiko could not begin to understand why Peko did these silent and small acts for him-- her only “job” was to follow his commands; going beyond that just seemed unecessary. It only dumbfounded him more when he realized, at some point, that she’d done more for him in a single week than he’d seen his parents do for each other since he was born. Of course, it was twice as aggravating when she opposed him returning those small acts every once in a blue moon.

He exited the bathroom with his pajamas on and towel over his head as he found her meditating in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been prepared: the box of his clothes was closed ready to be sent home, the ‘burn bag’ was placed into her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her.

Truly, that was what a professional looked like.

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.”

“Thank you.” Her weakened voice does not go unnoticed by him-- in fact, much of her behavior and mannerisms are more observed than she thinks. Though Peko believed herself to have spoken in perfect monotone, Fuyuhiko was able to hear the falter in the middle syllables*. It had been easier for him to count the days they were separate than together, so it would be highly alarming if he couldn’t pick out some difference in her attitude. Of course, recognizing the problem and doing something about it were two different objectives; furthermore, doing the obvious by asking her what was wrong didn’t seem like the right answer either. How many times has she asked him, and he’d brush her off at best and yell at her ‘to leave him alone’ at worst. What right did he have to interrogate her when he wasn’t the talkative type himself**?

Besides, the yakuza heir knew the kendo athlete well enough to sense that she would also brush him off in return just so that he would not worry about her. In this regard, he understood how she felt: just like him, she hated when people fussed about her or gave her any more attention than what she could tolerate. Peko was simply better at masking her disdain than he was; not that Fuyuhiko tried, of course, but still better nevertheless. In fact, this had been one of the many traits they had in common; regardless of surface level differences, Peko and Fuyuhiko were more similar at heart and at will than other people, or themselves for that matter, tended to realize. It’s why they were able to coordinate manslaughter so well.

She cleared her throat which snapped him back to reality; it’s clear he had been staring at her for far too long causing her to become both concerned and uncomfortable. She tried not to express the latter, but, again, he’s well versed in her micro expressions.

“Is there something you need, sir?” Now it’s her turn to watch his movements as he made his way to his bedroom, hands fumbling with the towel still on his head as he slid it down to his neck.

“It’s nothing. Go bathe while the bathroom is still warm.” And with that she disappeared, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Fuyuhiko released a tense sigh as he sat heavily on his bed. He could feel the conflicting twitch of his nerves; his muscles ached now that the adrenaline passed, but the near state of silence save for the hum of the shower relaxed him. If he has access to a mass fortune (legality of said money’s source notwithstanding), he might as well spend it on a condo away from the loudmouths that inhabited the Hope’s Peak Academy student dorms. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid down on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed.

Shuffling was heard in the background.

2:36 AM

Fuyuhiko was half asleep when Peko finished showering, and caught her trying to leave quietly. He slowly got up and made his way to lean on the doorframe, hand lazily stuck in his jinbei, and watched her. Despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough-- the blond was trying to discern whether it was her plain one or one that he bought her. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, and all but screamed at her in an attempt to convince her to keep them.

He speaks up “That’s the birthday one, right? Your yukata.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you greatly once again.” With a towel in hand, she continuously wrung out the excess water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.”

Recognizing his semi consciousness, Peko seemed more relaxed under his watch; though it wasn’t her place to understand, she remembered him doing this when they were children. On the worst days (i.e the patriarch and matriarch endangering his life during their fights), he would not fall asleep despite being put to bed first by the maids. Instead, he would watch her nestle into her spot beside him, and only then could he fall asleep. She just like then, she told him to put his worries aside, sleep for the rest of the night, and advised him to take today off as no one would dare pester him over his absence. Though, for as long and as well as she knew him, it was ironic how concerned Peko was for Fuyuhiko yet remained oblivious to his deeper troubles. It’s why she mistook the worry in his apprehension at her leaving for a sense of weariness and exhaustion to which she promised she’d quickly leave him to rest. Of course, her words only inflamed the expression on his face (that was not ironic, but instead typical) while his arms crossed in a defensive position.

Even if she knew her heart to be kind, she could not comprehend why that kindness would be extended to herself, a tool, and therefore she could not understand why he protested her leaving.

“I-It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo; there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming out, no doubt.”

“I will avoid confrontation.”

“Didn’t you say the lock at the girls dormitory is super loud? Wouldn’t you cause a scene entering this late?”

“I can move quickly before I am spotted.”

“Gh-- Your hair is still wet, and then you’ll get sick dumbass!”

At this she looks at him directly with a raised brow, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. Her hand rested on the string of her sword bag, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

He seemed to have no more arguments.

“Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” Just as she headed to the door and reached for the handle, Peko paused. Perhaps what he needed now was...comfort, though the bodyguard is not confident enough in doing such a thing-- at least, not in the way he may need it, if at all. Who could fault her hesitation? The last time she tried to ease his worries she let too much of her own weakness show and it worsened the situation.

But if she could provide him some closure...

“What?”

Her posture straightens to face him, “Sato deserved to die-- no, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” She stabilizes her breath and unclenches her hand, “I digress. You did it: with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now personally on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.”

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. Please forgive my impudence, young master. Sleep well.”

Just like that she messed up again; she wonders when she’ll learn to just keep her mouth shut instead of trying to comfort him...or whatever that pathetic display of encouragement-- if one could call it that. Peko reckons that life would be easier for the both of them if she were a simple yes man. As per usual, being so wrapped in her worries of offending him she failed to perceive the true problem he was facing at hand. When the yakuza heir said there would be more bloodshed, he did not intend to brush her off, but meant that the responsibility and weight of killing was something he needed to adjust to sooner rather than later. Of course, his usual poor communication which fought with a trepidation he tried to hide from her did nothing to help her understanding.

Sometimes, Fuyuhiko forgets that Peko isn’t a mind reader, so there’s no possible way she would know he feared losing her the same way he lost Natsumi if she walked out the door this instance unless he spoke bluntly.

“Stay with me.”

The blond wasn’t sure if the words even left his mouth, and if they did he had not been sure if she heard him. Even though he had always been told to command her, he could never bring himself to do it-- there schools lives notwithstanding as he convinced himself it was for both of their sakes. It wasn’t like Peko’s...circumstances were unique to her; in fact, there were plenty of subordinates throughout the gang who shared her position, her ‘status’ as an object. The self-justified feudal system the clan upheld made bile rise to his throat each time he thought about it. Fuyuhiko has witnessed firsthand the horrid treatment of those people (tools, as they were denoted): the fear in their eyes, the way their bodies are thrown like rag dolls, and the absolute aura despair surrounding them. He doesn’t want that for Peko, he doesn’t want her to be his victim anymore than she already is.

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but not in the way he expected when she kneels with her back to the door placing her shinai on her lap.

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to spend the night with me.”

So much for speaking bluntly.

“Young master...?”

“Fucking hell-- look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small, and I had those shit fucking nightmares? How I wouldn’t sleep until you climbed into bed next to me?”

He relaxed when he saw her relax.

“I understand.”

He speaks slowly hoping to regain some composure, “I know this kind of thing is inappropriate even if we’ve done it already. I-I mean, we’re high school students now, ya know? Even if it’s just sharing the same bed space, this isn’t something teenagers should be doing. But I...I just--”

“It’s fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

“So you’re okay with doing it? Sh-Sharing the bed, I mean. And don’t say just yes because I asked you, got it?!”

For the third time, “I understand.”

Now it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to overthink their conversation; he knew neither of them were the ‘heart on the sleeve’ types, but he wonders how much exactly she keeps to herself. Whether she thinks him pathetic or weak, but wouldn’t dare tell him directly to his face. Whether she truly hated his existence, and put on a front because she had no other choice. Theoretically speaking, it was a silly thought to worry about. He knew she all but worshiped the floor he walked on-- excused his behavior when it shouldn’t have been excused, took all the cursing he threw at her without blinking, and so on and so forth. But knowing all this and hearing her curt responses did nothing to ease the tension of his nerves.

If Peko thought him incompetent, was there truly any hope for him?

It doesn’t take him long to set up a makeshift divide on his queen size mattress with an extra pair of flat sheets. Fuyuhiko was in bed before Peko as the latter made sure to lock the door; just like earlier, all he could do was watch her move about doing her own security check. He doesn’t think he’d ever find a justifiable reason for all his starring-- perhaps hypnotism would be the closest explanation. She does everything from opening and closing the window (checking it’s bullet resistance and angles for assassins, no doubt) to leaving the room to make sure the front door and balcony door were properly locked. When she returned, Peko looked over the bedroom; with a small sigh, it seemed her rigid inspection was finally finished.

Seconds after this, the lights were turned off as now the soft glow of his bedside lamps filled their portion of the room. The mattress dipped when she sat down, and Fuyuhiko heard the faint sound of the silver haired girl fixing her bamboo sword between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a sudden jolt that even caught her off guard. The yakuza heir reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different high schools; if she were to be separated from him, then at least he could use it to defend himself. Obviously, there were no qualms of ‘packing’ in the estate, but no one bothered to give him a weapon in the first place-- he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with her by his side she was the only weapon he would use. Nevertheless, there had been a sense of satisfaction for Peko that he had kept it with him for the past two years. She had selected the knife from her collection based on what she assessed of his skills and strength. Once he placed the weapon beneath his pillow, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh. It was the kind of exhaustion that made it impossible to sleep despite a long day of physical labor. Neither of them could be bothered to switch off the lamps, so they laid in silence for a few moments, eyes facing the smooth ceiling above them.

“Hey, Peko. My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

Peko was never sure how to take his apologies; she was not the type to hold grudges, and she had never done so with him. They were unnecessary, as she thinks she would forgive him no matter what he does (to her or otherwise). Therefore, she took a moment to choose her words carefully; perhaps if their relationship were better, she would be able to speak more comfortably around him.

“You needn’t apologize. You are correct: once you ascend to your role as the patriarch, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

“I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling, “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply...that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well. If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko eyes darted across the roof above them as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She was a child the last time she gave too much thought into her first assassination; she’s more ashamed for allowing her emotions to seep through than the killing itself.

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

How could she forget, “When Mr.Hiromitsu notified Lord Raiden that his team identified our kidnappers, I was instructed to dispose of them.”

He could only stare horrified at her. How does one respond to that? To be told that the person laying next to you, who you grew up with and were closer to anyone else in this world, had been turned into a murder at the age of six. He knew his father wasn’t a saint and in fact might have been the devil himself, but there was something particularly putrid about involving children with his bloodthirst. What was the point of having a code if the boundaries were blurred altogether? Sure, Peko had stained her hands with blood now, but what was his father hoping to accomplish by sending her out to do something so dangerous at the age of six? What if Peko failed and died? Did his father, or his mother for that matter, think they could just replace her without him noticing or caring? His parents should be smarter than that. His parents should know...

He might have been foolish enough to fear her as children, but they should have known how worse everything would have turned out if they let her die.

“Young master, I am sorry for my failures on that day.” Her voice brought him back before he spiralled into an abyss.

“Huh?! Peko, what the hell are you talking about? We’re both still alive ‘cause you were the only one who had any sense left.”

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself. Again.

“My inability to control my emotions worsened our predicament. If I had controlled myself as I was supposed to,” Her fingers gripped the yukata, red eyes dulled and downcasted, “Then perhaps we would have returned to the manor sooner. If I kept my head clear…it is my fault we were lost in those woods for so long.”

He quickly sat up, “Peko, we were six! I’m pretty fuckin’ sure any normal six year old-- hell, any normal person would have also been scared out their fuckin’ wits. Weren’t you just on my case about letting shit go?”

“That is…” What he didn’t expect was for her to turn to him with a pained expression; somewhere along the lines of pleading, regret, and shame all bundled into eyes that once, unwillingly, struck fear into him, “I’m...not...a normal person, I’m-- I am my young master’s tool, a tool to protect you and to kill for you. That is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt your safety. This also means that I must protect what is precious to you, and Lady Natsumi...if I were not so useless she would still be alive and you would not have dirtied your hands.”

It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest that was filled with remorse and his self-loathing. He knew she was right, but not in the way she thought. How many times had he pushed for her to be independent of him, to express her opinions and insight? Then, the one time she did as he asked he proceeded to not only dismiss her altogether, but brushed off her rightful concerns for Natsumi’s adjustment into Hope’s Peak. He knew his sister better than anyone, knew the type of trouble she would get into in a normal high school; sure she could throw her weight around ordinary bastards, but this school had its fair share of freaks and superhumans. He also knew that she had Peko run her a few favors (both normal and yakuza related), so it would only be natural for the swordswoman to investigate her transfer even if had no desire of doing so.

“You...you can’t blame yourself; you were just following my orders. Natsumi was my responsibility and mine alone, and I fucked it up by not checking in on her.”

But Peko, as stubborn as Fuyuhiko, would not hear it.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different.”

“Why don’t you get it already? Out of everyone in this world, you’re the only person I can trust. Everyone else is willing to kill me without a second thought.” It felt like he was suffocating, “You’re always putting my life first with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko!”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am a corpse at your feet.”

“Goddamnit, we are done with that crap!” He’s grateful that the room was sound proof, “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in you’d die!”

“I-I wouldn’t let that happen, I assure--!”

Peko’s eyes widened when he suddenly gripped her shoulders; shaking her not violently, but almost desperately as if she would have disappeared into thin air if he didn’t cling onto her that very moment. She had not realized the full look of anxiety and fear on his face until she fully met his stare for the first time that night.

“But you can’t know that,” His voice broke, “You can’t possibly fucking know that! What the hell’s the point if you’re dead?! Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to cremate her.”

Finally, his guard breaks and he rests his forehead on her shoulder,

“So, please...stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die. I don’t...you can’t expect to keep going with whatever life you give me. It’s not worth it, because if I have to bury you too—”

“...Young master?” Peko remained as still as she could; his voice was so weak that she feared he’d fade away from existence if she made any sudden movements. He was so close to her she was sure he could hear, if not feel, her erratic heartbeat-- not that he fared any better than her at the moment, of course. Since neither were the hugging type (at least not openly), the silver haired girl thought to support him through a light touch on his arms.

“Please don’t leave me. I’m so afraid. I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you.”

Suddenly, his confession sparked a fundamental shift within the two. From her shoulders, Fuyuhiko’s hands now clung onto the fabric of her back leaning into her more, and Peko welcomed him without a second thought. Relying more on her instincts, one arm supported his weight while her other hand rested below the nape of his neck. An outsider looking in may think it a fond scene: two high school sweethearts expressing their love for another in the middle of the night. However, that sort of naivety could only last so long. What the outsider misunderstood was their embrace had not stemmed from affection or intimacy, but possession and obsession as they clung to one another.

In other words

“I will never leave your side, young master. There is no other place for me than by your side. If you wish for me to stay next to you for all eternity then that is where I shall stay no matter what. Even if the world turns upside down, I will stay beside you.”

“Good.” He pries away from shoulder just to meet her ever intensive stare; it doesn’t affect him anymore (he welcomes it), “Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Finally, they laid down embracing each other and fell asleep.

———

#kuzupeko #peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #pekoyama peko #kuzuryu fuyuhiko #kuzupeko fanfic #danganronpa #danganronpa 3 #danganronpa anime

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trashyswitch · 4 years ago

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Cold-Hard Eyes, With a Soft Heart

It's Scott's very first night on the job. Though Scott remembers William to be cold-hearted and critical upon first impression, The Entertainment business's main mascot happily shows Scott Mr. Afton's true, soft colors.

I've felt a craving to write more FNAF fanfics for some reason. It's just been hitting me more and more, and I'm finally getting to it!

Also: This fanfic gets into some third-person experiences with Alzheimer's Disease. If you are sensitive to this topic, then click off and find something else to read. I have experienced watching such a thing, and it is sad. But, keeping yourself level-headed and your relative happy, is key to living with a relative with Alzheimer's Disease. Anyone else: I hope you enjoy this fan-fiction rollercoaster!

Scott pulled himself up to the front of the pizzeria, and let out a breath of nervousness as he held onto the car wheel. There was a second car in the parking lot, which told him there may have been a custodian in the pizzeria. Pulling down the mirror flap on the car ceiling, Scott looked in his mirror to make sure his hair was pinned up right. When his hair appeared to be in working order, Scott put the mirror flap back up and removed the key from his car. Opening the door, he hopped out of the car and closed it behind him. The car was a little run down, but it looked somewhat newer thanks to the car wash he got for it a few hours prior. So, Scott looked like an irresistible new worker. Checking to make sure he had everything, Scott felt his pockets and mentally cursed as he felt that his usually-filled pants pocket was empty. Scott opened up his car door again, and took a minute or two to look for his stainless steel flashlight. Finally finding it in the front seat cup holder, Scott slipped the handle around his wrist before closing the door and locking it with a semi-loud *Beep!*.

Scott walked into the pizzeria, and took a few moments to admire the sight that was in front of him. There was a few set up tables with dozens upon dozens of chairs, and a stage with the animatronic robots standing on them. Though the animatronics were often seen moving around and entertaining the kids, the animatronics were shut down from a long day of entertaining kids for their birthday. Scott walked closer to the stage, to look closer at the animatronics. They didn't look metal whatsoever. They almost looked mechanical in their outside anatomy, but the fur covering seemed to mess with Scott's head a little bit. The furry look on the animatronics made them look...cuddly.

Scott frowned as he inspected them. The animatronics were kind of creepy-looking when they weren't moving. They looked dead inside when they were shut down. It was very...nerve-wracking. It almost reminded him of the creepy amusement park characters. It was not nice-looking...Though, these guys seemed a little more...friendly looking. He couldn't tell if it was because of the animals they were based off of, the general design of them, or if it was because they actually had proper-looking eyes implanted into their face. He kind of wanted to touch them...just to feel what the fur-covered front was like...

"Ah! You must be the newbie night guard." someone said beside him.

Scott jumped and yelped in surprise. Scott placed a hand onto his chest to make sure his heart was still beating, and quickly attempted to gain back his composure.

"Yes...I am. Sorry. I'm a bit jumpy." Scott told him.

The shadowy figure came into view and revealed himself to be William Afton. "Don't mention it. Checking out our beauties of the company?" William asked.

Scott mentally winced at the word he used to describe the animatronics. "Uuuh...You could say that." Scott replied. "Would I be allowed to feel it?" Scott asked. William was taken back by the strange request. "I know it sounds weird, but the outer cover...it looks fuzzy. Is it?" Scott asked.

William walked closer and looked up at the Fazbear suit. "Yes, it is." William replied. Scott reached his arm out in front of him, and felt the top of the bear's foot out of curiousity. The foot WAS fuzzy! It was somewhat hard though. It felt like thick felt was wrapped around an electronic skeleton. It was strange...It felt foreign. "Whooooaaa...It's a little like felt. Is it felt?" Scott asked.

"Nope. It's sweatshirt fleece knit fabric." William replied.

Scott removed his hand and looked down at it. "Huh..." he hummed. When Scott looked up, William had gotten much closer to him. He was standing really close at eye level, examining him. Feeling uncomfortable very quickly, Scott attempted to back up a bit. Thankfully, William didn't take any more steps forward to make up for the distance. But, the man did narrow his eyes in suspicion. "...uuuuuhh..." Was all that came out of Scott's mouth.

William looked Scott up and down one last time. "You're too good-looking for a man with this kinda job." William said bluntly in a monotone voice.

Scott was taken back by the strange comment. Was...was it a compliment? Was it an insult? Was it a bit of both? Scott didn't really know how to react. So, as to not risk losing his opportunity, Scott took it as a compliment and smiled back. "Th-...Thank you." Scott replied politely.

"In a good way." William added in a monotone voice. "I could see you being a butler with a good complexion." William added, unintentionally slurring his speech a slight bit.

Scott chuckled at the last part. Then, Scott put on a British accent and held his right hand up on the side, to make it look like he was holding a tray. "Good morning sir. How may I help you?" Scott asked, being a little silly to try and get a reaction out of the stone cold man in front of him. William lifted his chin a small bit and raised an eyebrow in curiousity. "Perhaps I could interest you in a cuppa tea and a biscuit?" Scott asked, even going as far as to lift up his right pinky finger, to make fun of Britain's manners.

William didn't really react at first. But, his lips did perk up somewhat. He even showed his teeth for a couple seconds. Scott had managed to get a small smile on his face for a few minutes. It wasn't a laugh like he was hoping, but it was definitely an indication that Mr. Afton had a bit of a humorous side. If Scott knew him a lot better than he did, then he may have teased him about showing off even the slightest smile. But, this was their first time meeting each other.

Scott slowly lowered his hand down back to his side. "So...what are you doing here? I didn't expect to meet someone else here, besides the custodian." Scott asked.

William narrowed his eyes as he looked at Scott. He crossed his arms. "The custodian comes in the morning." William told him.

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but only let out a quiet "...oh." in reply. All Scott could think about, was how hard this person was to try and talk to. For a business man, he's not much of a people person...

"I was finishing up some repairs." William replied. "Freddy needed a couple parts tightened up." William explained.

Scott's lips perked up into a small smile. "Cool! Sounds fancy." Scott reacted.

"It is a little complicated. But Mr. Emily taught me how to do the simple repairs." William told him.

Scott smiled and looked up at The Freddy Fazbear suit. It was quite big compared to him. But, it reminded him of a big, chubby teddy bear. Cuddly and loving, with a bubbly personality. An animatronic capable of moving its head, opening and closing its mouth and eyes, capable of singing, capable of leaning forward, capable of winking, capable-

Wait...Did Freddy Fazbear just wink at him?

Scott blinked and dropped his smile for a moment. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched all of Freddy Fazbear's movements carefully.

"Scott? You're zoning out." William said. "I don't want you zoning out, especially while you're working." William warned him. Scott mostly ignored William's voice and continued to focus on Fazbear's movements. "Hellooooo?" William asked, waving his hand in front of Scott's face. Scott turned his head a little to the side, and looked at William out of the corner of his eye. "He just winked at me." Scott told him.

William lifted an eyebrow. He looked at Freddy Fazbear. "The animatronic winked at you?" William clarified.

Scott nodded. "Uh huh..." Scott replied, looking back up at Freddy Fazbear. Scott very carefully watched any slight bit of movement. At one point, the hand began spinning, bit by bit. Scott's eyes widened more and more by every twitchy spin motion. Scott pointed at the bear. "His hand! I-It's spinning! Look, Mr. Afton!" Scott said, growing more and more nervous by the second. William seemed unphased. He put his hands on his hips and leaned in a bit. "Is-is he on?" Scott asked.

William looked over at him with a 'really?' expression. "Yes, he's on. He's in resting mode, but he's never truly off unless we store him away for repair or storage." William told him.

Scott began to grow slightly angry. "He's MOVING! His arm is twitching! He WINKED at me!" Scott yelled.

William sighed and closed his eyes as he rubbed his nose. "Why...Why is it always the night guards?" William asked, before looking at Freddy Fazbear.

Freddy stopped his twitching completely, and made himself completely still. William grunted. "Okay, if you're gonna show yourself, you minus well stay consistent with your moving." William ordered, snapping his fingers at the Fazbear suit.

"Wait...you-you know he's moving?" Scott asked, struggling to believe his boss or his own eyes.

"Yup. He doesn't even twitch when he moves. That's just the Freddy persona he puts on when he's hesitant on whether to move or not." William replied.

Scott looked at the animatronic again, to see if it would move on its own again. Suddenly, its whole body started moving! All at once! The animatronic frowned as it looked to its right. "Mr. Afton! Why did you have to spoil it? Getting the night guards' reactions is my favorite part!" Freddy spoke, crossing his arms and pouting like a little kid.

Scott jumped back, pointed at the talking animatronic and shouted in horror and surprise! He walked himself a few steps backwards, and began yelping and whimpering instead of full-blown shouting. Scott, through his panic, dropped his arm and watched as Freddy Fazbear jumped off of the stage and ran up to the scared man. Fearing the worst, Scott closed his eyes and got himself mentally and physically ready for his own demise...

"CUDDLE TIME!" Freddy shouted, before picking up Scott and giving him a big hug. Scott's eyes widened as he felt his whole body get wrapped in metal and fuzz, and let out a low squeak as his lungs were quickly squeezed empty by Freddy Fazbear's arms.

"Ohokay...Um- Freddy..." Scott said as best he could, with what little air he could put into his lungs.

"Freddy, buddy? Let's be careful. This is Scott's first day. Let's...warm him up with your talking first. Then, when you get his permission, you can hug him and maybe cuddle him." William told him.

Freddy opened his eyes and slowly released the newbie. "Awww...Okay." Freddy replied, placing him down carefully. As soon as the newbie was dropped, Scott took in a large breath to make up for the lost air. While Scott was trying to continue existing, Freddy had started running up to William with his arms spread wide.

"That means it's YOUR TURN!" Freddy declared, picking up William and giving him a big, fat hug. William yelped at the sudden surprise hug, but slowly melted into the tight cuddle. Scott's eyes widened. The animatronic was...cuddly and loving? What are the chances?!

"Look at you! You're more cuddly and soft than usual! I can tell!" Freddy Fazbear commented, nuzzling his snout into William's face a little bit. William rolled his eyes, but smiled as his face was squished in a loving manner.

"What's that supposed to mean?" William asked.

"It means you want the cuddles!" Freddy replied. "And you want LOTS!" Freddy specified.

William lifted up his head and lowered his brows at him. "Since when?" William asked suspiciously, wanting to know what Freddy was even talking about.

"Since now!" Freddy replied. William lifted an eyebrow up, puzzled. Freddy gently let him go, spun him around to the front, and hugged William again from the back this time. William's eyes widened at the SECOND hug he was given, but allowed him to hug him. He even patted the top of Freddy's hand with his palm. After a few good minutes of hugging, Freddy smirked as an idea came to mind. "...And I know what else you want." Freddy teased.

William turned his head to the side, and attempted to look at him from an angle. "What?" William asked, genuinely curious as to what he was gonna do. Freddy lifted his chin off of William's shoulder, and moved his right hand from across the man, to William's right hip. William's eyes widened as everything clicked. William began yelping and attempting to squirm out of his grip. "Oooooh nononononono. NO. WAY. Let me go! I'm done with the hug now PLEASE letmego- LET ME GOOO! AAAAAH!" William ordered before pushing at Freddy's hands. Freddy's hand didn't move whatsoever, and only started squeezing his hip. William grunted in fear and fell into an endless swirl of frantic squirming. He did not want to be tickled. He did NOT! WANT to be TICKLED! ESPECIALLY, in front of the new guy!

Scott's fear quickly turned into curiousity as he watched the friendly chemistry between the robot and its co-creator. It was almost reminded Scott of Luke Skywalker and R2D2's friendship. He watched as William struggled, and ultimately failed to stop Freddy from tickling him. Finally, after about 5 minutes of squirming, William thought he had gotten the upper hand. William had Freddy's wrist in both of his hands.

"Finally! I've gotcha now!" William praised himself.

Freddy smirked as he eyed up his free left hand. "I don't think so!" Freddy sing-songed, before wiggling his left fingers under William's left armpit. William gasped and clenched his teeth as giggles threatened to leave his lungs. But, he wasn't going to let him. No way, no how! William attempted to shake Freddy's hand out, but only ended up opening his armpit just enough for Freddy to tickle MORE of his armpit! Scott watched eagerly as the stone cold man that he was talking to, slowly lost his composure right in front of him. If it were himself being tickled, it'd be another story. But since it was his tough and emotionless boss, Scott loved it!

Finally, William's lips spread apart to reveal an uncontrollable, toothy, wobbly smile. "Wow! Look at that beaming smile! This smile could brighten up an entire room! That is, if you actually give it a chance to show itself..." Freddy teased. To make things go a little quicker, Freddy turned his left hand so his palm was facing Will's middle, and began wiggling his fingers on the exposed side of the stomach. William tittered as he lost control of his lungs, and slowly lost his grip on Freddy's wrist. With a little wiggling, Freddy was able to get his hand free easily, and go right back to tickling his right hip.

William couldn't take it anymore. He had to breath! So, he finally broke. "PFFFFFTHAHAHAHAHAhahahaha! HAHAhahahahaha! Cuhuhuhut ihihihit ohohohohout!" William tittered, falling into somewhat softer, but bubbly giggles as the compressed laughter finally left his lungs.

Freddy gasped and cheered! "Yes! I did it! Keep it going, Will!" Freddy said, genuinely excited.

"PRAISE the LORD, he HAS A LAUGH!" Scott cheered excitedly, chuckling at his own reaction.

William pushed against Freddy's hands as much as his weak body could, and struggled as he giggled up a storm. "Scohohohohott! Hehehehehelp mehehehehe! Pleheheheheahase hehehehelp!" William yelled.

Scott smirked and giggled at him. "...Nah. I'm good." Scott replied, waving his hand to signal his refusal. William shot Scott a desperate face. In reply, Scott only shook his head with a smug smirk.

"Now, which ticklish spot is worse? The hips?" Freddy asked, before tickling both hips.

William shrieked and kicked his feet helplessly. "OHOHOHO GAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHONONONOHOHOHOHOHO!" William yelled, hanging his head as he lost himself in his laughter.

"Ooooor the tummy?" Freddy asked, before scribbling his fingers all over William's stomach. William gasped super quickly and threw his head back.

"GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAHAHAHAHAT'S SOHOHO MUHUHUCH WOHOHOHOHOHORSE!" William shouted outwardly for the whole pizzeria to hear.

"Who's laughing?" Someone asked.

"I recognize that laugh!" another voice added.

"Is that William?" a third voice asked.

Scott widened his eyes as he began to hear the sound of metal footsteps coming towards him. Scott awkwardly turned himself around and was met by Bonnie, Foxy and Chica.

"Hi." Scott said.

"Hey look! It's a new night guard!" Chica reacted, elbowing Foxy's arm as he looked at Scott.

"Hi. I'm Scott." Scott introduced himself, still getting used to the idea of moving animatronics. "But, I'm not important right now...I think Mr. Afton is the main attraction at the moment." Scott said, pointing at William who was squirming around in Freddy's grasp. Bonnie had already walked over, and was giggling as he watched William get tickled by Freddy.

"Hi Bonnie! Foxy...Chica...Welcome to the tickle Trap! Here, we have a special contestant by the name of William Afton! This man, right here, is the most ticklish man you will ever meet on the planet of the earth!" Freddy declares.

"Hell yeah he is. I've managed to nearly kill him with giggles, without even needing to touch him!" Chica added.

Scott covered his mouth as he giggled at the cuteness of that. "Awww! That's adorable!" Scott reacted, treating William's brand new mannerism like a newborn puppy.

"So this is how this trap works: I hug him," Freddy explained, pausing his tickling and pulling him into another tight cuddle. "I get him all comfy, maybe even nuzzle my nose into his neck," Freddy explained, shoving his bear nose into the side of William's neck. William fell into a small fit of giggles from the nose, and the teases effecting him all in one. "And then I tickle him!" Freddy concluded, tickling his fingers all over William's belly. William's giggles exploded into loud, strong laughter. "GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOHOHO! NOHOHOHO BEHEHELLYHYHYHYHYHYHY!" William pleaded, his voice ending up higher-pitched near the end.

Scott, along with the other animatronics, giggled as they watched the silliness unfold. It was very interesting to see a man with a tough wall built up around him, to just crumble to the teasing and the childhood bonding that comes with tickling.

"The best part is that he enjoys this! He loves the attention." Foxy tells him.

Scott gasped and looked at him. "Really?!" Scott reacted.

"Yeah! If you look really closely, you'll be able to notice how much he's enjoying it. If he wasn't enjoying the attention, William would've fought harder, gotten out of Freddy's grip a lot earlier and would've probably threatened us with shut-down. But...He doesn't wanna stop Freddy." Foxy tells him.

Scott looks back at William as he hears William's laughter die down. Freddy was holding onto him under his armpits, while William fell limp into his arms. "You okay William? I didn't take it too far, did I?" Freddy asked.

William lifted up his forearm and gave the 5-people audience a 'give me a second' signal. When he gained back more of his breath, William smiled uncontrollably as he breathed. "Ihi'm...okay *huff* This is *huff* Great. *huff* comfyyyy." William replied, giving Scott the 'Okay' sign and going limp.

Freddy smiled and calmly placed William down onto the ground. When William was comfortable enough, Freddy got back up and looked at Scott. "How do you feel now?" Freddy asked.

Scott placed a finger on his chin as he hummed in thought. Scott's lips slowly perked into a smile when he decided how he thought. "I think this is cool. moving, communicating animatronics? A huge robot teddy bear that hugs you? Count me in!" Scott replied. Foxy, Bonnie and Chica smiled and reacted to the nice reaction. Freddy Fazbear was smiling widely, and trying not to jump around and scream like a toddler, in front of the newbie. Scott giggled at the clear amount of restraint Freddy was using on himself to not turn into a gigantic toddler in a matter of seconds. But, Scott could handle it. William was practically dead on the floor, so he'd have to handle it whether he liked it or not.

"So hugs?" Freddy asked, opening his arms.

Scott gave Freddy a toothy, excited smile. "Definitely hugs!" Scott replied. Scott looked at Freddy's arms, and immediately sensed what Freddy wanted. "Do you want a hug now?" Scott asked.

"I mean, if you're comfortable with it, then absolutely! Freddy's welcoming you with open arms!" Freddy replied. Still spreading his arms, Freddy kneeled down on one knee so he was a bit shorter for the shorter-statured man. Scott giggled as he ran up to the bear and wrapped his arms right around the huge bear. Freddy happily wrapped his own arms around him, and stood back up with the human in his arms. Thankful for the human's quick warm up to him, Freddy gave him lighter squeezes that didn't squeeze the air out of his lungs. Rather, Freddy slightly squeezed the man so that little giggles left his lungs. Scott could still breath enough to let in more air after he giggled as well! I guess Freddy had developed some kind of concept of how fragile and needy the human functions are.

William sat himself up and smiled at the sight. It's honestly incredible how quickly Scott was able to warm up to the robot bear. Perhaps exploiting his weak spots and his laughter somewhat helped in the process? William wasn't sure. But, he sensed the possibility.

"EEEEEEK! Freheheheheddyhyhy! Yohohohohou're tihihihicklihihing mehehehe!" Scott giggled as his neck was tickled with Freddy's nose.

"You have a ticklish neck too!" Freddy declared. Scott nodded his head amidst his giggly mood. Then, Freddy decided to start early with the tickles. "Are you ticklish anywhere else?" Freddy asked. Freddy started wiggling his fingers on the sides for a second, to test the waters.

"EEEEEP!" Scott squealed! He covered his mouth almost immediately after the sound left his lips. Freddy dug his fingers further into his sides. "EEEEEhehehehehehehe! Tihihihickleehehehehehehehehe!" Scott bursted, falling into high-pitched, cute giggles.

William's face slowly developed a pink, light blush. That was the man's laugh? It was so innocent! So cute! So...bubbly! William began to lose control of his lips as they perked up into a wobbly smile from the cuteness overload. It was almost too much for him to handle!

I think it was also too much for the other animatronics to handle as well!

Foxy quickly ran up to Scott and Freddy, and began cooing! "Awww! That giggle is so adorable, I could burst!" Foxy cooed.

Chica was giggling as well as he walked up next. "Awwww! Is someone a widdle tickwish? Is someone too tickle-tickle-ticklish for their own good?" Chica teased, wiggling a finger on his belly to test out the spot.

Scott bursted into actual human laughter, and began attempting to push away Chica's itchy finger. "NAAAAHAHAAAAH! CHIHIHIHICAHAHAHA! NAHAHAT YOHOHOHOU TOOHOHOHO!" Scott begged.

Bonnie walked up to Scott and Freddy last. "You know what? I think this is all you need to get a job at a pizzeria with us: A loving heart and very ticklish nerves!" Bonnie added.

William chuckled. "Maybe to you guys...But it's the bosses that discuss...the daily night-guards." William told him.

Freddy gasped, paused his tickling and waved away Chica's finger before spinning towards William with Scott in his hand. "Can you hire him?" Freddy asked. William lifted both eyebrows up in surprise.

"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaase?" Chica begged.

Scott's entire face was a little red from the tickling, but his cheeks were the most red out of his entire face! The animatronics were really making him blush! And he really didn't know how to handle it.

William lowered his eyes back down and stood up onto his feet. William kept his eyes on Scott as he walked himself up to the man.

"Uuuuhh..." Was all Scott said as he watched William's face get closer and closer. When William's body got as close as it could, William leaned himself in a bit to make up the difference. Scott widened his eyes, and awkwardly looked to his left and his right before looking back at Mr. Afton. Suddenly, William's facial expression softened into a smile. he looked down at Scott's tummy with a smile, and lifted up a finger. Reaching it down towards the new night-guard's tummy, William ignored the wobbly smile and the nervous giggles that left Scott's mouth and focused on poking his tummy with his index finger.

"AAhahahaha! Mr. Afton, wahahahait! Whyhyhy yohohou too? Ihihi dohohon't gehEHEHEhehet ihihihit!" Scott asked, his laughter heightening in volume when William wiggled his poking finger on the man's stomach.

William shrugged his shoulders before retreating his finger. Looking at the man with a genuine smile, William pointed his finger calmly at Freddy. "Can you please put him down?" William asked kindly.

Freddy nodded and let him go, placing Scott onto his feet. When Scott turned himself to look at his potential boss, William's smile got wider as he held out his hand for a shake. "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, Scott." William told him. Scott gasped and eagerly shook his hand. "Call me William." the boss said with a wink.

Scott nodded his head and let go of his hand with excitement spreading through his body. "I will!" I certainly will!" Scott said excitedly.

William's smile remained for a good 5 minutes or so, before disappearing behind the invisible walls of his outer, emotionless self. But, Scott understood it. He didn't feel a need to kick William out of the emotionless void he created for himself. What mattered to Scott was that it's his bosses way of coping, and that he can get him out of it.

Scott ended up getting an extra training day that night. He got to learn how each camera worked, what cameras showed him which rooms, and where his emergency exits were in case of emergency. Though there were day shifts that Scott would need to take, Scott mostly took the night shifts while someone else took the day shifts. Though Scott never really figured out who the day time security guard was, Scott became somewhat close to William as time went on. Scott got to know William from lots of repair visits, and Scott would update William on how the animatronics are doing.

During the night shifts, Scott started out just remaining in the security room. But as time went on, Scott would get visited by the animatronics at least once per day, and would grow to love the animatronics like close friends. When Scott was feeling a little down, Freddy would give him one of his signature cuddles to cheer him up. When Scott was bored, Chica would happily play games with him. One of the times, Scott gave Chica a walkie-talkie and tell him to go hide. When Chica was ready, he would tell him on the walkie-talkie and Scott would start looking for him on the security cameras. When the games ended quicker and quicker, Chica would start risking more and more so that he could get a longer game. Through running from room-to-room alone, Chica had managed to make a game last a good 45 minutes before Scott just gave up and told him to come out.

With all the fun times Scott had with the animatronics, he began to work overtime, just to volunteer and happily play with them! When Scott was technically off work hours, Scott would hang out in the game room with the animatronics. There have been multiple occasions where William has found Scott hiding from one of the animatronics during hide and seek. There's also been silly moments where Scott will be rocking out with the animatronic band! William actually stayed to watch them for a few minutes, before focusing on his task that day.

Though William liked seeing Scott play and hang out with the big robots, William wasn't much of a player himself. William was more of a watcher and an observer who loved saving bits of footage of funny Night Guard moments with the Fazbear suits. William even managed to get a video tape of Scott doing an impression of Freddy Fazbear! Bonnie, Foxy and Chica were laughing, while Freddy was shaking his head with a smirk on his face. That funny moment ended up turning into a one-sided tickle fight between Freddy and Scott. William thought Scott's impressions were absolutely phenomenal! And accurate! William couldn't stop laughing at the amount of bear jokes he made!

So when William and Henry began explaining their plans for a fifth and a sixth animatronic, Scott was ecstatic! He was so excited to meet a couple new animatronic faces and add more animatronic robots to the Fazbear crew! So, Scott offered to meet the new animatronics and introduce them and everything. While Henry was a bit hesitant, William happily allowed Scott to help! He's seen what Scott can do with them. What could go wrong?

Well, Scott's excitement turned into confusion when he saw that the new animatronics were golden versions of Bonnie and Freddy. Scott...didn't know how to react. Though he put on a really good acting face for the introduction, Scott walked away feeling...hurt inside. The new animatronics were...cold. Very cold-hearted compared to Freddy and Bonnie. To make matters worse, it looked like William Afton was trying to replace Freddy Fazbear and Bonnie with golden, upgraded animatronics. Scott was a little hurt by this. He felt like the singer and the guitar player were getting taken for granted, and felt...nostalgic and judgmental of William's choices. Even though the animatronics were going to last longer than the original Freddy and Bonnie were, It felt like a rock band was getting pulled apart. Scott felt like he was witnessing the split of The Beatles band. It was painful to watch unfold. Though Scott tried to create a relationship with the golden Freddy Fazbear, it was a lot harder thanks to its cold-hearted nature. Something about a cold robot that was meant to give kids joy and excitement, seemed to scare him. The animatronics should be able to show emotion! Not sit there like dead animals!

And then came the bite of 87...Turns out, Scott's predictions were unfortunately correct. And oh boy...did that sting...

But through the years, Scott stayed true to his relationships with the original band of robotic animals. As years turned into a decade though, Scott began to watch the happiness fade from their eyes, little by little. Freddy, Foxy, Chica and Bonnie were beginning to forget human faces versus animatronic faces. Eventually, Scott had to start wearing bear masks to keep himself safe from being physically harmed by the animatronics. To add to the sad news, The Fazbear suits began giving off a smell that was sort of...off putting. Scott couldn't explain it. It didn't stop him from visiting them, but it certainly made him question what was going on. Perhaps it was the animatronics getting old? Maybe their brains were getting a little mixed up from malfunctioning wires and parts? Scott couldn't tell you.

What Scott COULD tell you, was that he warned William and attempted to ask for a reason behind this robotic version of depression.

In reply, William only told him this: "They're probably going insane from singing the same songs over and over again. If a human mind can go insane from hearing one single song for too long, I'm sure the Fazbear band can lose their mind as well".

Scott decided to trust William on his judgement. Though the animatronics' version of Alzheimer's got worse, Scott made due with as much of it as he could. He didn't give up on them. He just couldn't. Not yet. When he missed them, Scott would have to ask them for cuddles and tickle attacks to properly remember the more playful times they used to have together. That would sometimes cheer him up. But...it wasn't a long-term solution...

Meanwhile, William had grown quite fond of Scott and his ability to stay committed to the animatronics no matter their strange and worrying behaviors. So when Henry and William's partnership ended, William felt bittersweet about it. William had lost a close friend of his, who meant the world to him. But at the same time, that allowed a new job opening for Fazbear Entertainment. William, knowing how well Scott worked with the animatronics, invited him to come be his new partner in the Fazbear Entertainment company. Absolutely honored to take on such a role, Scott accepted his offer and became a full-time partner in the entertainment industry. Though saying goodbye to the night guard job was very hard to do, Scott told them all that once he gets his new schedule, Scott will find time to visit the animatronics as much as he can.

On the Monday evening, Scott picked up his phone and called the night guard phone line in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. When the phone wasn't picked up, Scott still recorded a message for the brand new night guard:

"Hello, hello? Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay? Uh, let's see, first there's an introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read. Uh, it's kind of a legal thing, you know. Um, "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced." Blah blah blah, now that might sound bad, I know, but there's really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No. If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I'd probably be a bit irritable at night too. So, remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay.

So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they're left in some kind of free roaming mode at night. Uh...Something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day too. But then there was The Bite of '87. Yeah. I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?

Uh, now concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won't recognize you as a person. They'll p-most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now, that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area. So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh.

Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up. But hey, first day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."

Scott hung up, and sighed into his hands. Please let the animatronics be good for the new guy...

#ticklefic #lee!william #lee!scott #ler!freddyfazbear #ler!chica #fluff and feels #hurt no comfort #emotional hurt

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hopegained-a · 5 years ago

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“After you’re done with that, I have something to show you.” Maz nonchalantly stated, pouring amber liquid into the tall mug with one hand, the other rubbing away at some spilled booze on the counter. She didn’t bother taking his order, having been too familiar with the man’s taste in alcohol. Each visit was the same -- Eron would drink whiskey or beer.

He lifted an eyebrow at that, his untouched drink all but quickly forgotten. Echoing her words, he leaned in slightly, “Something to show me?”

“That’s right.” She chuckled, setting aside the rag before stepping down from the stool behind the bar and beckoned him to follow with a wave, already turning on her heels to climb down the stairs leading to the lower levels of the grand castle. “Come on, now. I have been meaning to do it since you were here the first time, boy.”

Well, that was... something. What could be so important that she was this eager about? He supposed he wouldn’t know just by standing in the spot. Not hesitating further, he jogged over to her, his blue eyes scanning every mark and crumble on the walls as he was guided by the small orange woman, leaving the lively atmosphere of drunk, chatty patrons behind the two of them.

He’d never been to this part of her castle. Mostly due to him being respectful of boundaries, but also out of being uninterested. Though, he was aware that the place was sacred to the Jedi at some point in history. A temple, perhaps. His musings were cut short when Maz halted her steps, stopping in front of a room at the end of the hallway. The door opened automatically and inside were old trinkets, things hidden away for some unknown purpose. Dust covered the ground and Eron could feel some had managed to invade his nostrils, much to his annoyance. He figured there must’ve been a reason as to why she’d picked this particular room to stash her belongings.

Atop a crate was a box or chest made from wood. Rather simple in style, worn out, too, yet Maz approached it, and unlatched the lock in the middle.

Curiosity washed over him. Moving to close the gap between himself and the box, he could make out more trinkets. Unsurprising, as Maz was a collector. But something stood out from the rest. Eron let out an audible gasp that filled the entire room once he realized what it was. "Is that...?”

The pirate queen looked at him, somehow pleased by his reaction before promptly reaching into the chest to retrieve it. “Your father’s lightsaber, as was your grandfather’s.”

A pause. He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing even as she held it out, metal hilt reflecting the warm light, glinting, waiting for his acceptance. Its very existence here, in her possession, brought upon so many questions. Running faster through his mind the longer he stared at it. Dark brows knitted together, a beat passing, and he finally asked the only one that mattered in that moment, his voice quieter than before, “How’d you find it?”

Maz’s expression remained amused; he imagined she’d been expecting it. “It’s quite the long story, you see,” she answered, sighing. He wondered if it was a sign that she was tired in more ways than simply being exhausted by everything she’d done for the day. “Do you want to know?”

Did he? Would the information be of any use to him, specifically? Maybe, if he had any sort of attachment or even a crazed obsession. Neither could be said for himself. Lips pulled into a straight line, contemplating whether or not he wanted to hear what she would tell him.

“Or I could spare you the details,” she broke the silence. Of course she’d notice the metal debate going on inside. Gently, she pushed the lightsaber closer toward him. “Take it.”

Time had seemingly froze then. Such a simple command made Eron completely speechless. Part of him wanted to abide it, another wanted to go back upstairs. Gloved hand moved toward it, unsure, fingers almost brushing against the handgrip. If they kept going, maybe he could use it. Maybe he could return it to his aunt... or maybe Kylo Ren would have his attention.

They pulled away at the last second.

Eron Skywalker knew who he was. His place in the intricacies of his family history. This legacy didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t a Jedi like Luke Skywalker or Anakin Skywalker had been.

He flashed Maz Kanata a small smile, shaking his head once. “No. You keep it, Maz. It’s safer here than it is with me.”

The elder alien’s forehead scrunched slightly, but she nodded in understanding, her smile matching his. Someday someone else, someone truly worthy of the Skywalker lightsaber would wield it. She was the custodian until that person would come. The lightsaber was put inside the box once more. “Well, let’s return to your drink or you’ll forget to pay again. You still haven’t paid the Port-of-Storm from last month,” she reminder him, half-joking, half-serious, adjusting the lenses of her glasses while glancing at him pointedly as she retraced her steps with the younger man in tow.

#(whew)#(finally wrote this)#(tbh i rly love this???)#(i mean its garbage but still!!!)#(eron knows he's not worthy and knows himself not to take it)#(watch this being completely irrelevant once we find out just How it came to be in her possession lmfao)#(anyways..... he's just gonna be smilin to himself when finn and rey use it in tfa)#drabble #v: before the awakening #long post #long post //

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the-whoofwhoof · 4 years ago

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Need to Know About Belgian Malinois Dog Breed

Frequently mixed up as a little German Shepherd, it's quite of the Belgian sheepdog family and the Belgian Malinois is perhaps the most loyal dogs you'll actually meet. That is one reason this flawless variety is so mainstream in such countless homes. Perhaps the best qualities in any dog is one that tunes in, learns and acts well when their proprietors give guidance. Nobody needs a dog that doesn't tune in or regard its proprietor; it's probably the most compelling motivation such countless dogs are given up every year – that and numerous proprietors are unconscious of how they need to act and treat their creatures on the off chance that they need them to tune in. Be that as it may, the Belgian Malinois is an extremely decided dog with a ton of adoration for its people. If you looking for best pet grooming in delhi visit to our website

In the event that you are investigating the Belgian Malinois as a variety for your family, you will need to become acquainted with the variety as personally as conceivable before getting back the variety. It is safe to say that you are the correct family for this specific dog? Is it the correct dog for your family? Discover now with our exhaustive outline of this dazzling creature and what it has to bring to the table your family.

Character and Temperament

The Belgian Malinois is a sweet dog with an exceptionally decided character. It has an extremely brilliant standpoint, and it listens well. Truth be told, your children may take in some things from how well this dog tunes in to its proprietors. One interesting point with the Belgian Malinois is that it requires a proprietor with steady preparing and a firm order, yet not one who is cruel. Being excessively mean, tyrannical or cumbersome with this dog doesn't turn out well, and the dog will figure out how to ignore and turn into an issue in the family unit. It particularly requires a predictable relationship with an exquisite proprietor. If you are searching best dog grooming in delhi contact to whoof whoof.

On the off chance that you do anticipate getting back the wonderful Belgian Malinois, it is basic that you get back a dog that you plan on mingling. Since it is a defensive variety, it can undoubtedly get careful about outsiders and harsh to all individuals not living in your home. Since we expect you are not a recluse who doesn't actually have visitors, it's a smart thought to get your dog used to everyone around you so it reacts well to outsiders instead of with dread and disdain. This is a dog that is incredible with kids, if it is appropriately associated around kids.

A grouping dog naturally, the Belgian Malinois is a dog that may go through a long stretch of time playing at your feet trying to crowd you as regularly as could really be expected. It's a dog that appreciates investing quality energy with its proprietors and it loves to learn. It's profoundly clever, so it gets on rapidly to whatever you should show the dog, and it shows overpowering dedication to its family. It's OK with different creatures, yet it's suggested you look for alert acquainting this creature with more modest creatures, and take care that your dog isn't predominant with different dogs.

Way of life and Expectation

When you get the Belgian Malinois home, would could it be that you can anticipate from this variety? It's not continually going to be as simple as possible expect a dog that is this way or that, yet there are a few over-simplifications you can expect with this variety once you do get it home. For a certain something, you can expect that the Belgian Malinois will live to associate with 14-years of age as 12-14 is the normal life expectancy for this variety. It's likewise a bigger dog that will in general remain around 26 inches tall and weighs around 65 pounds however many do grow somewhat bigger. Females are normally somewhat more modest than guys, as well.

This is a sound variety, and that is simply one more explanation that such countless individuals love the Belgian Malinois. Taking everything into account, there are none. The dog is sound as far as its general wellbeing, however it's not far-fetched that you may see your dog encounters a couple of skin hypersensitivities or eye issues. If not appropriately mingled, it may even be on one or the flip side of the range the extent that being bashful or forceful. Your Belgian Malinois is similarly just about as likely as some other dog to build up any medical problems, yet it's not excessively liable to create numerous medical problems basically in view of its variety, and hereditary issues are for all intents and purposes unfathomable with the Belgian Malinois. If you are searching best dog grooming in delhi contact to whoof whoof.

In the event that you live in a little home or condo, you may contemplate whether the Belgian Malinois is the correct dog for you. It is anything but a dog that does ineffectively in a loft, yet it needs to have sufficient exercise. It requires a long walk each day, and some an ideal opportunity to play in a yard or in a recreation center will do ponders for this variety as far as keeping it glad and very much worked out. All things considered, you will locate that a standard brush with an intense fiber brush holds your dog back from shedding unreasonably at home by eliminating dead hair in the brush as opposed to on the furnishings or rug. It doesn't need any regular excursions to the custodian, and bats are something that is possibly required when totally important and unavoidable.

Breed History

Not an extremely famous dog in the United States, the Belgian Malinois is mainstream in Belgium. There it is found in many homes, and it is a dog that is worshipped with deference and love. The dog was created in Belgium and utilized for crowding, part of the Belgian sheepdog family. It's been around for quite a long time, doing likewise work on numerous occasions. Since it is a particularly shrewd dog, it has consistently been not difficult to instruct and that is the reason such countless individuals value having this dog at home to deal with their grouping issues. That is simply essential for the explanation that the Belgian Malinois is a particularly adored dog. If you looking for best pet grooming in delhi visit to our website

#best dog grooming in delhi #best pet grooming in delhi

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chewysugar · 4 years ago

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someone will be with you in a moment

you phone the Employment Insurance office because you made a mistake on your report. you’re up at the crack of dawn, and there’s still a wait time. of course there’s a wait time. millions of people are out of work on account of COVID and the stupidity of others. but you bear with it because you need the money.

a breezy voice says “all of our agents are currently busy. please stay on the line and someone will be with you in a moment.”

between this and other variations, they play a mellow, borderline mariachi tune. it’s the kind of thing designed to be inoffensive. all guitar strings, soft horns and a steady beat that ticks with each stroke of the second hand.

after one hour, you get discouraged. but the music could be worse. it keeps you hypnotized, really. and you need the money. still, the voice keeps saying “all of our agents are busy. please stay on the line and someone will be with you in a moment.”

two hours pass. you’ve tried to keep yourself zoned in by playing solitaire on your computer.

the music has you wanting to fall asleep despite three cups of coffee going into your empty stomach.

“all of our agents are busy. please stay on the line an someone will be with you in a moment.”

three hours.

you’ve put the phone on speaker. the screen is greasy from being pressed against your skin and hair. your stomach lurches from lack of food and acidic coffee.

you’ve kept playing solitaire because there’s nothing else to do. you mostly lose, but sometimes you win. not that it matters when your fiscal future is in the balance.

by now you thought the appropriated Latin music would have abated, but no. it’s still gentle. coaxing. seducing you into staying on the line like a trout with a hook through its upper lip. on the other side of this there will be a person who can help you. who can give you money for rent and food.

it’s almost three and a half hours. you’re knuckles are cracking from the need to hit someone or something out of sheer impatience. but you’re not going anywhere because--

“hello, this is Severin, how can I help you.”

a person! an actual person, and not a robot.

you turn the volume on your phone up, and fumble for your information. before you, your umpteenth game of solitaire is half-finished and unimportant.

almost tripping over your words, you tell Severin about the basis of your call--how you made a mistake on your report. how your previous employer neglected to mention that they’d be giving you your vacation pay out on a final paycheck which you received after registering for EI.

“of course,” says Severin. they have a cool, pleasing voice. the kind of voice that says “i can take charge of an apocalypse and not break a sweat.”

“if you’ll just give me two to five minutes, I’ll take a look at your file. would you mind holding?”

“not at all.”

“thank you.”

severin lures you back to that music. almost at once your racing pulse slows. it’s pavlovian at this point, the need to remain calm as the strings put you in mind of somewhere dusky and warm with a view of the ocean.

you stare at your computer screen, not really seeing it. you wonder if this game of solitaire is something you’ll win, or if you’ll bust like you have the last twenty-six times.

“hello, thank you for holding.” Severin is back, their voice a dead even for the lulling music they just interrupted. “i see where the error was made, and we can update it. i just need some further information from you. is that alright?”

“yes. yes, of course, anything.”

“Current address?”

you tell them.

“And how long ago did you leave your previous employer?”

it was three weeks ago. before Christmas. you emphasize that it was on account of COVID, and that you’re sure that you’ll be rehired just as soon as people start getting their act together.

“yes, yes of course.” Severin doesn’t seem a font of empathy, but you can tell they understand. they’ve heard it from thousands of people by now. and they want to help you. it’s a simple error.

“before we proceed, I need your mother’s maiden name.”

you narrow your eyes, and when you respond, it’s a little snippy.

but Severin doesn’t sound at all ruffled.

in fact, there’s something of a laugh in their voice.

“thank you, thank you. we really appreciate your patience. times are tough right now, and we’re doing all we can to help you. i just need the name of the street you grew up on.”

you tell them, your chest tightening. they should know who you are already. you gave them your social insurance number and your password almost four hours ago.

“and that was near Killarney Elementary school? where you went from kindergarten until fifth grade when you moved to a new city?”

“yes, yes.”

“this was because of the fire, right? in the arts and crafts room? your best friend died there along with three other children and two teachers.”

“yes, that was why, but--

“when you moved, you had night terrors. you hit your mother in the face when she tried to comfort you and skipped school in from grades six to eight until you were threatened with academic probation. is that right?”

you’re on your feet now. you’re so hungry, and tired from the lack of sleep you’ve gotten over the last three weeks.

“that’s right!” you tell them your name--first, middle and last. you tell them where you’ve worked since you pulled yourself together and graduated high school only to enter college, dropout and cling to a string of minimum wage jobs.

“please be patient,” Severin says, still quite at their leisure. “we’re only trying to help you. goodness knows you need it after all the failed relationships you’ve had. your second romantic partner in high school, that was the one they found in a psychotic rage after overdosing at your house party, wasn’t it. the one you gave the drugs to in the first place. you told them it was the best high you’d ever had, didn’t you?”

it’s then that your deprived, dulled senses catch up with you. information about your childhood is one thing--you did have to answer to a lot of authority figures following the Killarney fire until you pulled yourself together at the age of fourteen.

but they shouldn’t know that you told your distant ex something that private.

“what’s going on?” you say, stunned and borderline brain-fried.

severin still has the same chill tone in their voice. “we’re just trying to help you process the mistake you made on your unemployment insurance claim.”

“but--

“you’re fortunate to have worked for the school board as long as you did, even if it was as a lowly custodian, what with your turbulent track record. i suppose you felt a great sense of responsibility towards education, as it was you who started that unfortunate fire.”

through a throat gone tight, you look towards the sliding glass door of your apartment. the dark curtains you put there for privacy are shutting out a january morning too warm for your part of the world.

“is this some kind of joke?”

“our agents are not in the habit of making jokes,” Severin says, and for the first time, an iota of feeling laces their words. they’re very displeased with you, and you feel like a foolish child again--chastised and questioned by hysterical, furious grown ups who just want answers. who just want you to behave.

you swallow at the obstruction in your gullet.

“please,” you say, “please I just need my report fixed.”

“report? what report? you have no file on record. in fact, from what my information is saying, you’re fate is to never make money again. expect an eviction notice by the end of the month. none of your friends will help you, because you’ve been relapsing during the pandemic and they secretly find you burdensome and frustrating.”

something hot and wet slides down your cheeks, and you sink, weak-kneed into your chair. you’ve always been afraid of this--you’ve known it to be true, even when your closest friends answer your calls at two in the morning because you’ve fallen to pieces again. but you were going to get better, honest you were! it was just that the pandemic has been so hard, and you’ve already been through so much, what with the arson and the overdose and the dropping out.

“the streets won’t protect you much, i’m afraid,” severin continues. “we’ll still be keeping our eyes on you. now before I let you go, I just want to clarify something with you, for training purposes.”

you can’t bring yourself to reply. severin takes your silence as acquiescence.

“if i were you,” severin says, “i’d move the ten of diamonds to the jack of clubs if you hope to win the game. thank you for using our telephone services. our agents look forward to hearing from you in the future.”

the line goes dead, and you’re not alone.

#short story #short stories #spooky #unemployment #pandemic #covid #horror

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notjustagirltattoopodcast · 4 years ago

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Not Just A Girl: Made by Hand

You can listen to the twelfth episode with Amy Jones here. Or you can find this interview on YouTube with English subtitles/closed captions here.

NOT JUST A GIRL: Tattoo Podcast

EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

Season 1, Episode 12: Made by Hand

Eddy: Hello, friends and welcome to Not Just A Girl, your friendly feminist tattoo podcast. I'm Eddy and I'm back to share with you the thoughts and experience as some of my favorite people in tattooing. On the 12th episode and the last of the season, we'll be talking about tattoo conventions, hand poke tattooing, and what we've learned in lockdown.Before we begin, I would like to acknowledge the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who are the traditional custodians of this land that was stolen and never ceded. I am honored and grateful to be on the ancestral land of the Awabakal people and I pay my respect to their Elders past and present and extend that recognition to their descendants.Today I get to chat to one of my dearest friends, the fabulous and talented Amy Unalome. Amy works at La Flor Sagrada in Melbourne, and does some of the most beautiful and clean ornamental hand poke tattoos I've ever seen. I even have some myself. Um, I met Amy at a convention a few years back and we eventually got to tattoo each other. And I'm super grateful now to call her my friend. Thank you so much for being part of the podcast, Amy. Amy: Oh, my gosh. Thank you for having me. Eddy: So good. Anyway, hand poke tattoos. That's your thing, everyone knows that. Um, how does your style differ from, you know, Tebori or Ta Moko or the more traditional or tribal styles of hand poking?Amy: Um, well, it's, it's like something that people always ask it's like, generally, like, probably a question that I get almost every single day, at least once or twice a day. And it's like, it's funny cause people say like, so like what made you choose like hand poking or what's the difference with poking than like regular tattooing? Um, I feel like, I guess like regular tattooing could mean a lot of different things, but, um, the main thing that, um, I guess what is hand poking in the sense that I do it is, um, It's basically the exact same idea of tattooing with the machine apart from you take that whole element of the machine out of that. Um, so it's just tattooing by hand. You still use the same, um, needles as you would with a machine. Um, same idea, it's just a lot more slowed down. And the motion of like piercing the skin is kind of, it's done by hand in a repetitive motion. Eddy: Yeah. It's definitely less trauma on the skin as well. Like the ones you did on my thumbs, there's absolutely no bleed out or drop out whatsoever and the heal was so easy. Amy: Yeah, I find, um, because the, um, technique is a lot less intense on the skin um, it definitely creates like a lot less inflammation around the tattoo. So there's a lot of, there's a lot of things that kind of go into hand poking, but definitely the method allows like a lot less intense experience.Eddy: Yeah. It's definitely more relaxing. Like when you did the ones on my tragus, I barely like felt it. It was just kind of a really relaxing and soft experience. Amy: Yeah. I really like, I'm really intrigued to know how like, hand poking feels on the face. Cause I'm like, Ooh, I think I'm going to like it. Like, that's something that I want to experience myself, it'd be cool.Eddy: Yeah. Well, what brought you to that style in the first place? Because you did a trad, a normal apprenticeship, but what, what was the choice that like, why did you choose hand poking rather than machine in your apprenticeship? Amy: Um, well, it's kind of strange how it all came about. Like, I don't think I ever sat down for like a moment and was like, I'm going to tattoo and I'm going to tattoo in this way, and this is the way I'm going to do it. It kind of will happen like quite organically and almost as if like how it was meant to be, um, like me and hand poking always kind of like went hand in hand. Um, Like my first ever experience of it, it's actually like really funny. Um, I was like eight teen, um, and I was hanging out at like a friend's house and we were like, we're punks, lets pierce each other, let's get these safety pins and put them through our noses.And I met one of my friends. She was like, um, Oh, I um I've tattooed myself the other day. Like, do you want me to show you how it's done and I was like, hell yes, I do. Like, that sounds so bad ass. And, um, there was something so cool about a friend of mine, like being able to like mark me in such a simple way, you know? Um, so from then on really like, She did one on me and then I did one on myself and we had like ciggies in our mouths and we were like swigging whiskey at the same time...I love this. Really from then on it just kind of stuck with me. It was something that I was always kind of like, not from a sense that I don't want to go and get tattooed by machine because I did that a lot anyway, like a loved getting tattooed when I was younger, but this was like, I guess it was my way of like, being able to like literally use my hands and use some other equipment and like, tattoo that way.And, um, I guess like the journey that led me to Australia and like led me to Melbourne. And kind of like put me where I was in a place to kind of do an apprenticeship. It was all surrounded around hand poking. And, um, I remember before I even like, thought about getting an apprenticeship, I didn't even think that hand poking was something people did professionally. I thought there was, tattooing and there was traditional tribal tattooing and I just did not think that anyone would ever take like stick and poke um, seriously enough to for it to be a thing. Eddy: Yeah. Cause I guess it was really seen as just a part of like the punk community or, you know, more what's the word like? Not mainstream. Amy: Yeah, it was kind of like anti-establishment like prison tattoo, DIY stick n poke, spiritual, maybe like. I mean, I don't know. Maybe if I just didn't realize that at the time, but it, when I kind of started professionally, like it wasn't really around as much I was aware of in like Melbourne at the time.Eddy: Yeah. Well, you were the first person I'd heard of who was a professional tattooer, who did their tattoos with like by hand rather than by machine. Like everyone else I was aware of in Australia anyway, only talking about Australia here, like everyone else that I was aware of who was doing stick and poke was doing it at home and hadn't ever done an actual apprenticeship. Amy: Yeah, well, don't get me wrong. Like obviously, like my, my story kind of comes from that place of like, you know, I found hand poking in a, in a world that wasn't professional. Um, and obviously, like, I kind of experimented with that on myself, not in a professional environment. Um, and it wasn't until kind of like, Became aware to me like that. Um, there was a few artists in England, um, and Europe and some in America that I kind of started noticing like, Whoa, these people, uh, um, hand poking and they're doing it professionally, and they're doing it out of a studio. They're like, Holy crap, this is something that like, can be done. You know. Eddy: Like Gary Burns, like so amazing. Amy: Yeah. And like, you know, Grace, like Grace Neutral, she was probably one of the first, um, hand poke tattooist in a professional environment that I really kind of like followed that career and their work and was like looking at her go, like it's cool. People can do it. Eddy: Yeah and there's been a lot of like, discussion about what a professional tattooer means like, do you have to have done a certain kind of apprenticeship or, you know, can you just be mentored or can you just decide to do it? And like what, where do you stand on that? Amy: That's, that's always been like a kind of issue that's surrounded me. Um, I was fortunate enough that when I decided that hand poking tattooing in general was something that I, I wanted to do professionally. There was no other choice to me than to search out a traditional apprenticeship. And for me, the only way to, to be able to work within a studio environment was to approach in that way and kind of like ask around and look for a professional apprenticeship. Mainly with the idea that I would, um, be tattooing with machine. So, um, it wasn't until I decided that that was something that I wanted to do. I started looking around for apprenticeships and like, don't get me wrong, it is not easy. You don't just fall into it, especially when you're telling people in professional shops that like, yeah, I really want to do um hand poke like, I'd prefer to really concentrate on that rather than, um, move to machine. Like a lot of people told me to like F off. Eddy: It took me like four years to get an apprenticeship. Amy: Yeah. It's not easy. And, and like this, I guess. This is the kind of like the wall that I hit is that I, because that's the way that I entered the tattoo industry and I did do a formal apprenticeship and I was really fortunate enough to, um, work with tattooers that, um, gave like gave time to me and showed me things that, you know, that they would kind of show me everything they know about tattooing and then kind of helped me almost like turn that into, like, how am I getting use to hand poke? Like no one actually physically sat me down and showed me how to like, do a hand poke tattoo. Um, but I guess it's, it's hard because like hand poke and stick n poke tattooing is something that kind of is associated more with a free vibe, you know, like do it at home.Um, maybe you might not think that you do do like a traditional apprenticeship in that sense, but I kind of entered the industry surrounded by a very old school mentality and a very kind of, if you want to be in the industry, this is the way that you get at that. And not only from like a perspective of like learning how to tattoo properly, but like learning how to tattoo safely, um, which is really important to me. But like, I honestly think in the past I've had like, quite straightforward views about that and I kind of really want to acknowledge that, like, there's not one way to do an apprenticeship.Eddy: Absolutely.Amy: And people learn in different ways. I think the old school apprenticeship in the sense that, you know, The ones that we might've experienced. Um, it's definitely a lot different nowadays and creating like a safe and, um, like nice environment to learn how to tattoo in is very important. But I also think it's still super important to do it in a, um, in a studio environment, because that way you'll really learn how to do it safely. But, um, yeah, I know a lot of people have entered the industry life without the traditional kind of sense of it, but I guess, yeah. I mean, I don't know any other way. Eddy: Yeah. Yeah. I feel like it's more prevalent in hand poking to people to just start at home and then suddenly get a job in the studio without having had that training and real understanding of the techniques they're using, um, you know, blood pathogen training, just understanding how to work with clients. And, you know, some of these people might be incredibly talented and bring a lot to tattooing, but it's also detrimental in some ways to the customer, because when you work at a professional studio, the customer assumes that you have had professional training and yeah, I'm the same. Like I used to be very staunch on my views of there's only one way to answer tattooing and it's this way. And I've changed my mind on that a lot and opened it up to understanding that there are many ways you can enter tattooing, but at the same time, I think you do still need a mentor. Someone who is a professional tattooer. To show you whether it be in a formal or informal capacity, how to tattoo, how to understand the skin, different techniques and mostly client safety.Amy: Absolutely. Like there's not been kind of like one person in particular that's been responsible for showing me and teaching me like studio and shop etiquette and, um, safe practice. Um, I've picked that up from working at a few different places with so many different people. And like, I think in the tattoo community we're fortunate enough to share information with each other and support each other and make suggestions. Eddy: Yeah. Amy: I think without that, that's when you really fall into like some kind of trouble, because maybe you assume that, you know what you're doing and without that kind of peer support in a safe environment, um, you can be making mistakes that you didn't even know exist.Eddy: Exactly. Amy: You know so I would have conversations with clients that had been like oh, you know, like, Oh, I got this done um, by a professional, you know, it was clean and it don't worry it was really safe. And it's like, well, like um first and foremost I'm glad that the client felt safe and happy to do so, but at the same part, and like, you know, you as a tattooist you can kind of like see things in their tattoo that they're talking about and you're like, You know, you hear about how the setup was and you see the way that the tattoo has been done. And you know, it, wasn't done by a person with professional training, but that's not important to some people, I guess it's always been important to me. Eddy: Yeah, same. And I think for me, as soon as someone takes money for that service, that's when it crosses the line, like. You know, I mean, we've all done things that we shouldn't have done when we started out, you know, we've all had rocky backgrounds or whatever, especially, you know, kind of 10, 20 years ago, people coming into it it was a very different world. Yeah, if client's safety and, and people's health, isn't our first priority we really need to rethink whether we're in it for the right reasons as well, because it's a huge responsibility. And, you know, there's a huge difference between somebody tattooing themselves at home for fun and them taking money and taking clients and pretending they know what they're doing. Amy: Yeah. And I think that's why we kind of like run into trouble sometimes with the idea of what hand poke tattooing is. Um, it's also like referred to a lot of the time is, um, stick n poke, which also, you know, like upon like searching the internet, what that might mean. It definitely means a lot to different people. Um, I mean, like, I don't want to be the one that kind of says what hand poke or what stick and poke tattoo is. It's like, some people love the element that it's like unregulated and, um, it's kind of got a little bit more freedom in it because you either have to, um, stick to the kind of guidelines of machine tattooing. Um, but for me kind of, as soon as I decided that it was going to be something that I provide to the public and to clients it's really important always and it always has been for me to be able to do it properly, I guess. Like, I guess like what's the proper way to do it, but I, yeah, I mean, I, I've kind of been like raised up through this kind of very professional, um, surroundings in the industry and, and maybe it's sometimes been to my detriment, like.There's this like a sense of like a hand poke community, um, and also a tattoo community. And I've never really liked found a place in between the two. I don't feel like I've ever really been accepted into one or the other and I guess like that I can say the same if I'm trying to say like what's professional and what's not like, I'm kind of like, I dunno. I feel like it's a bit more fluid than this being like... Eddy: Yeah. Yeah. And it must be hard kind of being between the two worlds, like, you know, tattooers who use machines being like, you're not a real tattooer cause you don't use machines. Even though we only started using machines when electricity came along and then like, yeah, the hand poke community saying, Oh, you work in a shop, you call yourself professional. You're not, you know, DIY enough for us, it's really, that's a hard balance. Amy: I've always felt like, especially, um, when I started tattooing professionally, there was really like very, very few other like professional hand poke artists that I knew of in Australia. So it was always hard, um, kind of feeling, um, like always felt like a bit of an outsider. Like I wasn't kind of included in the tattoo community cause you know, everybody in the shop would be talking about like techniques of machine or, you know, there's Amy, she's just doin her silly little hand pokes, like when you're going to pick a machine up, you know? And then when hand poke started becoming really popular, um, I was kind of taught by my peers to like kind of rage out against that because they hadn't done professional apprenticeships like I had. So that then segregated me from the hand poked community, um, which I kind of longed for the whole time that I've been tattooing, um, and it hasn't really been until the last few years when I've met um, a lot of tattoo is, um, like yourself. And when I kind of got involved with Not Just A Girl that I was like, Oh, Whoa, okay. Like, Now tattooers are kind of excepting me, but I'm still not accepted in, I don't know. I've always kind of been a bit of a floater in that sense, but. Eddy: Yeah, that's so typical.Amy: Definitely. Eddy: OhAmy: Sorry. Eddy: I was going to say that's so typical of that toxic side of tattooing that we create cliques and then we set them against each other. It's just. Like, I remember working in a studio in Newcastle where it wasn't particularly pleasant, but I remember when I was trying to reach out to other artists, they were like, why, why would you talk to them? They are your competition. You should hate them. And you see that recurring in tattooing, like, you know, Oh, girls can't work together because they're too much drama. They don't get along. They'll hate each other. And then, yeah, like machine tattooers against hand pokers and there's a lot of hate. Amy: I had a, I had a client, um, come to me months and months ago. And they told me that that walked into like a local shop. And, you know, just to have a look, do have a walk in maybe, fun little tattoo and they'd had a hand poke tattoo by me previously. And they said to the receptionist, like, Oh, do you have any hand poke artists here? Like, I've had one of those before and I really liked another one. And they replied with, we don't acknowledge that as a professional form of tattooing. So no, we don't do it at this shop. And I was just like, man, that sucks. Because like I put so much time and energy into kind of like creating that professional element to what I do that is like, Oh, okay. Everyone's not keen on it yet. That's okay. Eddy: How can you not recognize something that's a part of your own history? Amy: Yeah. I mean, I like, I have no idea who the person was that said that, I was like, Oh, okay, well come and get one from me again. I guess like, yeah. Eddy: That's so mad to me. Like all tattooing in every single culture has started as a hand poke form of tattooing. Amy: Yeah. I mean, this is it's again, it's kind of like that divide between like, what is what, and I don't think that we need, like, we need to really kind of label it like that. Like, I don't think that like, machine tattooers should label hand poke as non-professional. But I also think that like maybe professional hand poke tattooers should not label like stick n poke as, you know, like. I mean, like, as long as somebody's doing it in a studio, like in a safe environment and they've taken the time to kind of, um, educate themselves with safe practice and you know, it's all healthy. Um, so like, who am I to say? What is, and what isn't, what should be, and I can't get mad when other people say the same about me, but I think I've been super lucky in that, like I've managed to work with a lot of people that do acknowledge what I do and do, um, make me feel very welcome, um, in tattooing now and like to the point where like, even tattooers want to get tattoos from me, like that means the world that like that's kind of like being accepted that my work is like, okay. Eddy: That's the best feeling when a tattooer books in with you.Amy: It's so excited about it, but at the same time, I'm like F off I'm too nervous, so scary. Like when you asked to get tattooed by me, I was like heart attack city like, just can't deal with it. But somehow I managed to get through.Eddy: Yeah. It's one of those things where you have like, have a little bit of a panic attack in the bathroom beforehand. I dunno, you come at it shaking like, Oh my God, I hope I settle down before I finished this tattoo. Amy: Literally, like before I tattoo anyone I have to have like a little like pow wow in the, like toilet, like, yeah, I've got this. I remember, like my apprenticeship, every time the door opened, I would run to the toilet. So everybody thought that I had like some kind of like toilet problem. Cause that's just like my safe place. It's just, I don't know, those ones that are the scariest ones are the ones that I seem to just like, something just comes over you and you can just do it. Eddy: Yep. Amy: I don't know. Eddy: Fight or flight. Amy: Yeah, man. Yeah. Eddy: Yeah. Talking about being nervous tattooing, you have done so many conventions and I I'm always a nervous wreck at conventions, but I mean, you've you're like old hat at it now?Amy: I, um, I was really, really fortunate in that my first like four years of tattooing. Um, it was very heavily concentrated on the, um, convention circuit, um, not only in Australia, but I was really, really lucky to be able to travel, um, worldwide, to do them and like, don't get me wrong. I still get so nervous, like social anxiety to the max. Um, but the, I think the more you do, the more you kind of like realize that, um, everyone's in the same boat. Um, and you can kind of like drown out the, um, the craziness and the noise around you because you still have these like really awesome intimate connections of each person that like, kind of walks up to your booth so. I still get nervous, but it does get easier. Eddy: It's such a weird experience. Like, you know, doing this thing, you usually do every day, but having hundreds of people walking past just watching you it's yeah. It's, why do we do it? Amy: I don't know. It's crazy too cause I remember going to a convention before I was a tattooer and walking around and I was looking at all these artists being like, Whoa, like this is so cool. Like, can you imagine being able to do this one day? So, I think every convention that I do now, I have like a moment of gratitude being like, man, I'm like, I'm so like stoked that I'm like, yeah. And this is where I wanted to be. Um, it's yeah, it's really, it's cool. It's definitely a perk of my job for sure. Eddy: Yeah. I think the best bit of conventions is just the socializing with other tattooers and the friends you make. Like you, I met you at a convention and now you're one of my best friends and yeah. It's you can make some really amazing connections there. Amy: Yeah. I mean like a lot of the time, the things that I say to other people at conventions and like, did I just like, I went to like shake their hand and high five them at the same time. And I was like, woooo hey. Get like, so like doofussy and these like, um, interections especially with tattoo artists that I admire and look up to I'm literally like a jibbering like mess, like probably saying dumb stuff when we met. But, um, that it's certain conventions that I've been to the effort that other tattooers make to make connections with you is just like, it's so cool. And I've yeah. Um, a really great thing about it is meeting the artists, especially, um, within like our female community. Like we're always checking in with each other at conventions. It's really cute. Eddy: It is. Yeah. I know what you mean by going goofy though. Like my husband says that whenever, he can see me talking to like another tattooer at the convention that I've got, like T-Rex arms happening where I'm like holding my hands up to my chest because I'm so nervous and don't know what to do with them.Amy: I dont know what you're talking about. Literally, I, my biggest thing is I would walk around with this like kind of Stepford wives smile on my face. Like, Hello, nice to meet you. What are you doing? Have you been busy?Eddy: It's like the same three questions too. Amy: Always on repeat, like all weekend. Um, it's so cool because then like the way that conventions are set up and each person has their own booth to kind of, um, Show their own self in that small area. It really like sparks conversation between you and other artists and you buy prints, you buy like merchandise. Yeah. It really kind of like helps you bond really quickly especially because at conventions people are like what are you doing? What is that? Where's your machine? Is that all you packed? You just packed those few things, what the F.Eddy: You have like the smallest convention bag ever. Amy: I do. Um, it's a very fortunate thing about hand poking is that I do not carry a lot of equipment, so it's very good for traveling. Eddy: You can easily, you get through customs.Amy: This is true. Paddlepop sticks? Chopsticks? Yes.Eddy: Yeah, well we have a few conventions hopefully planned for like ourselves and you know, we've already been planning how we're going to deck our booth to be all amazing if these conventions ever happen. Amy: I know. I mean like travel is a bit of a strange thing right now, but um definitely the kind of the conventions that I want to attend they're everywhere they're all around the world. And it's just, um, that kind of, I didn't realize how lucky that we had it when we had the ability to travel as much as we did these really, really, really great conventions put on by really great people. Um, I look forward to when we can do them again. Eddy: What, what have been your favorite convention so far?Amy: Oh man. Um, I would say experience wise, um, I was really lucky to attend the, um, the first ever, um, South African Tattoo convention. Um, and what was incredible about that was, um, the, the organizers, um, It was kind of more like family run. Um, the, the organizers, putting so much work to kind of have all of these international artists come together in such a magical place, but also make us feel so welcome and, um, really showcase their country and their culture to us and help us bond and put on this. It was just such an incredible time. Um, there was so many cool tattooers there and we got to do some cool stuff. Um, so the, the kind of close connection, of that one was really fabulous. Um, the same for this one that I attend often which is the, um, the New Zealand Tattoo convention. Again, just like run by people that really care about tattooing, really care about not only making the artist comfortable, but they really, really like include the public and in what happens. And, um, just to get just the general vibe is more like, everyone's welcome. Let's all be friends. Let's hang out. It's so fun. Eddy: It's so lovely at the New Zealand one, how they paid tribute to, um, Like the local customs and traditions by putting on the like welcome to country. I don't know what, like haka, is it Amy: The haka? Yeah.Eddy: Yeah. Yeah its so beautiful.Amy: Their traditional welcome. It's, yeah. And it's totally respectful of, um, the, the town and the country that it's held in. And um, Having like so many artists come from around the world, um, and the whole, it's a small town and everyone's so welcoming, they're so keen to show you about their like history and their country. It's so fab. It's really cool. Eddy: It's awesome. I can't wait till the next one. And I think the thing I love about it is, you know, And, and that it's a huge difference between the Australian conventions and the New Zealand or other international ones that I've seen, like where it is actually focused on tattoo art specifically. And they don't use women's bodies to sell their merchandise. You know, we're not objectified and you know, in Australia, it's very, very disappointing. How, you know, from my personal experience, how I've been treated at conventions. Amy: Yeah. I mean, it's a shame. Um, I think it has been acknowledged in the past that maybe some of the, um, kind of entertainment and advertising aspects of Australian conventions might have been a little bit more, um, concentrated on, um, exploitation of, um, women's bodies and sexuality in tattooing. And I think a lot of female tattooists had kind of spoken up about maybe like, you know, in advertisements, maybe show us tattooing rather than walking a catwalk. But, um, you know, I definitely understand that you need to provide a certain element of entertainment maybe for the general public come into a tattoo show, but I think it's also really important that it's all inclusive in that sense and the entertainment isn't more of like a physical representation of what tattooing is, and more kind of like let's include everybody and make it about the art. Eddy: Yeah, absolutely. And you know, it's advertised as a family friendly event, make it family friendly, like, you know, instead of, you know, burlesque, and now I have absolutely no problem with burlesque, pole dancers, anything like that. I absolutely love that stuff, but I also love it in the correct venue, you know, at lunchtime, at a family friendly event, a little child's not going to understand what they're seeing and you know, that removes the parents' ability to censor what their children are seeing and, you know, introduce them to it at an appropriate time. And. Yeah, that and the way that they went about it, like my last convention, you know, I was hearing things like her tits are gonna set you on fire over the loudspeaker. And I'm just like, I'm a, I'm a woman and I'm sitting here trying to do a tattoo and I'm hearing stuff like that and that makes me feel unsafe and uncomfortable. And you know, when I've gone to Literary Ink or New Zealand, for example, I haven't had that at all. I feel very much just another tattooer. You know, I'm not separate at all.Amy: That's quite shocking to hear. Um, like I guess that I would say that's the main difference. Maybe the entertainment that's provided during, um, The conventions compared to ones that I've been to before. Um definitely, I don't really, haven't really attended an Australian convention in a short while. But um. Eddy: Same, yeah, it's been about 3 years.Amy: Yeah, um acknowledged that they'd been kind of making some changes within how how that kind of worked and what kind of entertainment was supplied, but it's just that it was just a different vibe. It was kind of like, this is the way that it is, and this is one set way and this is how it's going to be. And, um, yeah, it was sometimes it's a little disappointing. Eddy: Yeah. It sucks not being heard and included in tattooing and yeah. Like, I think things are starting to change though. There are people who are actually making more effort. Like I haven't been there yet, but I've heard that the Wellington convention, again, in New Zealand, like that they actually actively striving for more equality in and diversity in the artists they choose to invite and having it very artist focused. Amy: That's really cool. Yeah. That's something that I've definitely found. Um, a lot of, uh, conventions that I've been to is, um, the artists attending, um, super diverse, really cool. Um, so many different people traveling from not only within that country, but internationally as well. And it's this, this kind of magical boiling pot of lots of, um, tattooers coming together and sharing experiences and techniques and ideas. It's really cool. Eddy: It's so good. I feel like, you know, All of the bullshit aside, the way that it's marketed, the entertainment. I think the money making side of it, the stuff that the business people involved do, I think that aside the actual act of a whole bunch of tattooers coming together and, you know, doing tattoos and talking to each other and sharing, you know, their skills and their ideas that is like absolutely magical. And that's hopefully something we can continue to do. Amy: At the end of the day, I think what's important is that the, um, the tattooers was attending conventions, feel comfortable and included, the clients attending tattoo conventions, feel comfortable and included and families attending. And, um, you know, a lot of hard work goes into, um, putting these things together. I've seen it first hand and there's a lot of different ideas and a lot of different, um, people that want certain things, everyone's got different ideas of how they want it done, but at the end of the day, um, having that space for everyone to come together, I think it's really cool and important. Eddy: Yeah, absolutely. And you can put aside all of the, the fighting and focus on safety and comfort, and then everything's good. Amy: You'd hope so. Eddy: It will be interesting to see what conventions are like now, you know, with social distancing and all of these other things that we don't know how long they're going to be a part of our society for it. I wonder how it'll change the way that people attend to conventions and interact with artists. Amy: Yeah. I think a lot of things are gonna change, um, especially, yeah, you can look back and be like, man, like we had it real good for awhile there, but I guess if this has given us anything, it's a chance to maybe shake things up and umm have a look at the way we do things and yeah, move forward for the better, I hope, and hopefully we can kind of get back to that convention lifestyle at some point. Travel again.Eddy: Yeah hopefully. Well talking about like.Amy: A couple of drinks.Eddy: Yes, talking about like, you know, changing things up and looking at the way you do things, you know, that's something that we've talked about a lot over the lockdown period. Just like how this event has changed, our perspective. And, um, what has isolation taught you? Amy: Um, honestly, I feel really awful that it's a terrible thing that's happened and there's a lot of like bad things to come out of it. I think personally, for me, I've found the time really, really good for me. Um, really just having like the chance, like. When you put all of your life into something and all of your energy and time into something that you love so much, having that taken away from you is like terrifying. And it was something that I feared in more ways than one, if I was going to have certain things taken away from me and, um, Yeah. I mean, like having the time to stop, um, like not, you know, not go to work every day and just kind of like take a moment to step back from tattooing and then think like, Whoa, what's going on. Um, uh, found it to be like, yeah, really refreshing, really good time to just kind of reassess kind of what's important in life. And what, what do you care about and what you can do with your time and energy? So I've found it like quite quite good for the old mental health.Eddy: And you know you're a Brit in, in Australia. So you've had like no support from the government. So you've, you know, to be so positive and to get through with no help and not being able to, you know, see your family and all that. Like that's, that's amazing that you've had such a positive outlook. Amy: Yeah. Well, I, um, I am like fortunate and privileged enough to, um, have a really good support network around me. Um, then, you know, like, I've found the time to use my creativity, to support myself during the time. I also like really had to like take a step back from creativity for a while as well. And just kind of, um, Yeah think about things that are actually, you know, like if tattooing isn't all of my life and all consuming, what is it that I care about?Eddy: Yeah. Amy: Um. Eddy: And that's not a question and we would ask ourselves very often, like, what else is there and what other ways can I contribute? Amy: Well, that was, that was the big thing for me. Um, I like at first, I was like, I'm going to do so many things. Like I got really creative, um, had a really great time experimenting with painting and making art to kind of make prints. Um, but kind of when all that slowed down, I really wanted to stop and think like, I don't currently feel like I'm contributing anything to my community. And I do think that like ... as a tattooer. It, yeah, it really does kind of benefit people in a lot of ways. But when, when you don't have that, I was like, yeah, what, what can I do to kind of help? What would I want to do if I didn't do this? And I guess it kind of all kind of came back around to that whole, like, I really want to be able to help people in life like and contribute in ways that like, I hadn't really thought about before. And, um, yeah, I guess like one, one kind of like something that's like really close to my heart and something that I really liked discovered was important to me as I want to, um, kind of when I get the chance to take a little bit of a step away from tattooing and concentrate more on maybe, um, counseling.Eddy: Thats awesome.Amy: Yeah. Within, um, family violence. Eddy: Yeah. Amy: Um, And just, you know, like this, that, this kind of thing, it's, it's always that it's always happening. It doesn't stop. And even during a crisis, like what happened, like charities still need help. People still need volunteers. So yeah, I really kind of decided that's something that I want to kind of, um, work towards, um, a career within, at some point.Eddy: That's brilliant. And it's really good that you've allowed this time to reflect on that and like, discover that desire in yourself because you know, people are experiencing, you know, domestic violence in their home at alarming rates in lockdown. It's, it's been really devastating, and you know, there's not enough help for people in those situations. So the more people like yourself who actually genuinely care and want to help who are out there, the better the world's going to be. Amy: Yeah just like Um, anything that you can do really, um, I kind of like looked into doing some volunteer work um, during this time, like, I didn't feel like I was doing a lot myself. So like I found it was important to educate myself with ways to find out how you can help, um, in the future. Um, and there's lots of really good organizations that I kind of looked into that you can can volunteer with, that you can work for you can, um, help out at, um, Yeah, it was cool. I like, I just never had like a chance in my life to kind of stop and think what would I do if I wasn't tattooing, I found like in those times of reflection as it's like, what else do I care about? Yeah. Eddy: It makes sense as well, because I feel like as a tattooer, we do tend to have a well developed empathy. You know, we have to like really care about our customers. And well not have to, we do, care about our customers and, you know, keep them safe and, you know, ease them through what's a painful process. So it makes sense that that empathy can translate into other careers and other options. And, you know, I feel like those two things can work well together as well. Like, you know, kind of trauma and tattooing. Amy: Hundred percent. Um, I would say honestly for me, one of the main things about my practice is I love to make people feel comfortable. It's like one of the most important things that I do that the minute a client walks through the door and comes and sits in my space and kind of like trusts me to put that body in a vulnerable position and is like my number one to make people feel happy and comfortable and feel that they can talk about anything.And I didn't realize that how much of a massive part of like my job that is and how important it is. I guess I've always just found that I can talk to people really well. Um, and like, it makes me feel good when people say that they had a nice experience because I managed to make them feel comfortable. And that that will never change for me that something that like, it is always so important, but, and it's crazy that you find how, as soon as your client's comfortable, like they almost start to open up to you and, you know, they find a lot of therapy within that tattoo session as well. It's kind of thing that I'm already quite active daily and doing like, it just, I just want people to feel like they can tell me that they're feeling okay. That they're comfortable while they're getting tattooed. They can talk to me if they want to. Um, it's one of the most magical parts of what we do, I think is those intimate moments with people. Um seeing somebody kind of like come into your space and just feel completely at ease for you to, you know, Mark their body.Eddy: Yeah. It takes a lot of trust for sure. And you know, you're, you're always so amazing with your clients. Like whenever I've seen you working here at my studio, whenever I've been visiting La Flor, you're so welcoming and so kind to them and you can, you can see that, like they leave happy and they leave like really loving their tattoo.Amy: Yeah, I mean like, like you said, it's like a trust that people put in you and you don't want to, you don't want to take that for granted for a second. And I want, I want them to know that how thankful I am that they've trusted me to tattoo them. So if we can have a chat, if we can have a laugh, if we can have a really positive experience, then that. That to me is like, hopefully they're going to walk away loving the tattoo that they have aesthetically, but also walk away loving the experience that they had personally. And I'm really lucky in that I get a lot of people kind of come back to me for that reason being like, it was nice. I felt good. We had a good time. I like what I got, like tattooin doesn't have to be this scary painful experience. It can be actually really lovely. Eddy: Yeah. I'd love for our listeners to, to know that as well, that, you know, if you're ever in a situation where you don't feel safe getting tattooed, you know, you can, you can leave. Like you should not ever feel unsafe. You should not ever feel uncomfortable or unwelcome, like, you know, and you have a right to walk away as well. You know, nobody ever has a right to treat you badly and you're paying for a luxury service and that comes with certain behaviors. And I would like to mention, if it's okay, Amy, um, you know, there's been a lot of talk in the last few days about some things going on in tattooing with a Tattoo Me Too movement. Um, and I want to use this platform while I've got it to to ask tattooers to look after their clients and to look after each other. You know, it's really unfair that we ask victims to be the ones to speak out and to talk about these situations because it's retraumatizing for them and it's very unfair. But, you know, as, as tattooers, we should be keeping an eye on things in the studio. And if we see another artist or a client behaving in a way that's inappropriate we need to put a stop to it. We need to call it out. We need to fire artists who misbehave. You know, we are the ones with the power in this situation and we can affect change in the industry to make it better so that, you know, there's more, tattooers like Amy, for example, who do treat her artists with her clients with respect.Amy: It's super Um, yeah, so many people have talked about maybe some experiences that they might've had in a tattoo shop where, and this is talking, like it happened a while ago and it still happens today where clients have felt uncomfortable to maybe speak up about something that they haven't felt a hundred percent comfortable with. And, um, I know that like I'm fortunate enough to work with people that are very conscious about, um, clients comfort and safety and be surrounded by tattooists that, um, do respect everybody. Um, but yeah, but yeah, if anyone would ever feel uncomfortable, um, You know, not happy with the situation they're in a tattoo shop it's totally, it's totally the time to like speak up and say something by and for artists. Like, noone should feel uncomfortable.Eddy: And you're right about being conscious because you know, we do have the power in the situation and a lot of people feel awkward. I know that before I was a tattooer I've been in situations where I wasn't happy with the design. I wasn't happy with the situation, but I got the tattoo anyway, because, and even, actually, since being a tattooer that's still happened to me, you know, because they have this power over you. So we need to, to learn, to be conscious of our clients' reactions to us and to, you know, endeavor, to get consent for everything and to just do our best, like, you know, no, one's perfect. You know, we're all learning, but as long as we're at least trying, I think, you know, it can really improve things for everybody.Amy: A hundred percent. Never assume that your client, just because they're there are comfortable. Um, I think it's important to always ask consent even before you start to draw on skin before you start to, um, hold their body in a certain way to put a stencil on, like it's yeah. You can sense, like you can get a sense for when people feel at ease but it's always important to ask as well.Eddy: Yeah. Even little things like the photograph, you know, if you know, if it's something that you would maybe feel a bit self conscious having that photograph on the internet, just check with them first. Like, you know, are you comfortable with this, this photo being posted? Amy: Absolutely. Um, I'm quite, um, lucky in the sense that a lot of my female clients feel comfortable enough for me to tattoo belly, um, and, you know, take in a photo as like an artist. You know, you kind of want to record your work. Um, for personal kind of prep, you know, have a look. Yeah kind of record what you've done, but you've got to remember that that's not like a piece of paper, that's your art work on a person's body. And that, that person, you know, has the right to say what they do and don't want, um, kind of like photographed or recorded. But yeah, I mean, I'm, I'm really grateful that, um, people feel comfortable, comfortable enough with me to have me tattoo certain body parts and, um, Yeah. Well, it's always important to check if they're happy, if you want to take a photo. Eddy: Exactly. And there's always like a way you can make the photos you know, more comfortable for the customer. Like I did some really cute spiderwebs, like under a girl's, um, butt cheeks, and, you know, she, wasn't very comfortable with having her butt exposed. So we just like draped the fabric of her skirt around so you couldn't see any of her butt, but you could still you see the spider webs and it was like, yep, that's good to go. I don't care if anyone else likes the photo or not. She likes it. Amy: Yeah, gorgeous. I remember when I guested at FLT actually, you guys have really beautiful, um, like floral shaped nipple covers, and everyone's like, Oh, I'm going to need some of these for like fashion afterwards, these are fab.Eddy: I know, I felt bad that sometimes you see, you know, when people are getting their sternum tattoo and they've got stickers over their nipples and I'm like, that would be so uncomfortable. So I'm going to get a proper pasty. It's got the correct adhesive. It's got the little cover.Amy: Yeah The old rip off afterwards would be a bit of a situation.Eddy: Oh, that's funny. Well, we've had a good chat. It's been awesome. Is there anything we missed or is there anything you wanted to share with our listeners? Amy: I mean, not particularly. I feel like, I feel like we've been on the phone for like 10 minutes. Like normally we just like. Eddy: Yeah. Amy: Chat for hours and hours and hours about everything tattoo. Um. Eddy: I'm pretty sure one night we talked for like four hours. Amy: My face hurts after I talked to you sometimes because I'm laughing or smiling the whole time or like screaming about something. Um, it's funny. It's like, Oh, we're going to do a podcast, but it's just going to be like talking to each other on the phone. But then like, as soon as the whole camera thing happened, I was like, I'm going to be weird. Eddy: My little T-rex arms. Yeah. Amy: Hello, have you been busy. Eddy: I know. I get instantly nervous. Amy: Yeah. I just I just freak out. Um, I guess I'm just like really grateful to have been given a platform to, um, talk about a bunch of different things, um, and the chance to be able to talk about tattooing.Um, yeah, sorry, interruption from the phone call. I was basically just saying that I'm very grateful to have had a platform to talk about, um, tattooing mainly, um, If anyone's ever interested in learning anything about what hand poke is, I'm always happy to share the knowledge that I have. Um, like I said, I'm kind of like, not the, I'm not the one to say what is, or what isn't, um, to be expected of hand poking, but I can definitely talk professional hand poking. Um, and it's really cool to be involved in something that allows us to, uh, Have a bit of a chat and have a voice in the industry. And I'm truly grateful.Eddy: Thank you so much for being a part of it. It's been like it's been, and the best, the last few weeks, just talking to all you amazing artists and I've learnt a great deal. And you know, as much as I'm certainly not a professional interviewer, it's been really great just to have lovely conversations about all the best bits of tattooing.Amy: Yeah. It's um, it's been so fun. I've been listening to the ones that have been released so far, and I'm just like, it's literally just like listening to your friends, chat, hearing people's really cool stuff. I'm like, Oh, cool. Yeah. Like I like talk about that all the time with Eddy and it's really nice to hear what everyone else is up to and uh, I mean, like, uh, like in the past year or two within tattooing I've just met so many amazing people, um, and I feel just like, so lucky to kind of, it might not have been the place that I thought that I would be included in, but I'm so like lucky to have finally found, um, a support network within tattooing, um, and a very inclusive kind of, um, welcoming community of people in tattooing and yeah, I feel like finally, like I have a home it's really nice. Eddy: Absolutely. I feel, I feel the same way. It's so it feels at home having that, that happy little community that we have.Amy: Yeah, we're very fortunate. Eddy: Well for our listeners, you can find the footage of this chat on YouTube with English subtitles. Um, you can follow us on Instagram at not just a girl underscore tattoo for a regular updates, you can also find lots of other information on the blog. I'll link everything in the show notes and be sure to give Amy a follow and send her lots of love because she's amazing and she deserves it. Thank you so much, Amy, for chatting to me today and thank you to all of our listeners for tuning in. We really appreciate you. And I hope everyone has a fabulous day and remembers to fuck patriarchy.Amy: Ah yas.

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olga-eulalia · 7 years ago

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You know how you start writing one fic that you get stuck on and then start writing another that you’re weirdly insecure about and so on ‘til you end up with over 3000 words of Monastery!AU SilverFlint CrackFic? [nods]

Warnings: Mature content. Non-native speaker writing here. Notes: Zero research went into the making of this fic. Additional Notes: Thighs.

For five whole days after his arrival at the monastery, Brother John had recounted the travails that had beset him on his journey to anyone who would listen and also to those few who would rather have not. How he had been plagued by thunderstorms and pelted by hailstones bigger than quail’s eggs. How he’d had to change his travel route when the river had become unnavigable only to find himself accosted by thieves, robbed of his meagre belongings which had also included the archbishop’s letter that they’d all been waiting for in their secluded sanctuary.

But -- a much-travelled man for someone of his young age -- it was by far not the only tale he’d had to tell.

His chattiness had been excessive, so much so that Brother William had eventually suggested that Brother John take a vow of silence for the duration of seven days in order to reflect on what it meant to be guided through such dangers unscathed. It was one of the well-tried ways of maintaining good order and discipline in their community and it had never failed to work. Until now.

Apart from being the archbishop’s messenger, Brother John had been sent with the express purpose of looking through and assessing the state of their library, as his findings would be a major component in determining the extent of the funding that would be allocated for the monastery’s restoration.

Brother James, as it happened, was the custodian of said library, the keys to all its greatest treasures dangling from his corded belt, their jangling dulled by a leather pouch, as he walked down the hallway and across the cloistered courtyard before and after each prayer. As such, he found it most disconcerting when Brother John fell into whispering with the monks in the old scriptorium when they stretched their backs and rested their weary eyes. And, as such, he found it even more disconcerting when Brother John followed Brother William’s advice and showed up one morning refusing to partake of speech. Because now Brother James had to look him in the face to figure out what he wanted, had to study those blue eyes and that bright, comely visage for such an extensive amount of time each day that his dreams started to feature it as well, in a most unholy union of Scripture and Fantasy.

The predicament was amplified by the fact that Brother John seemed to have latched onto him from the day they’d met. Sharing the same place of work, soon Brother John had also chosen him as the main person to affiliate with during their communal meals, oblivious to the fact that such a thing as seating arrangements in the refectory existed.

In general, it could be observed that their guest readily adapted to some of their customs while remaining willfully ignorant of others.

Just the other day, for example, when Brother James had climbed out of the wooden tub after his bath, taking heed to not slip on the stone floor, he’d found Brother John standing between him and his discarded clothes, a mere six feet distant, having entered the room at some unknown point and looking at him in such a way that his body had unwittingly started readying itself for something. But, with answers as unattainable as Brother James’s clothes in that moment, they had just stared at each other until Brother John had begun to disrobe as well, disrupting the entire rigorous schedule of everyone’s bath times with a gesture as simple as that of untying his cincture’s knot.

All of this erratic behavior was being tolerated by the abbot of their monastery, Brother Harold, who was probably hoping for a more favourable outcome to their humble petition by showing leniency.

So, after a mere eleven days, Brother James could honestly say that he had seen a lot more of their guest than he knew how to handle with dignity, and that he could do with a little less of him at this point. The time for evening prayers was nearing and, as often, he was still in the library then, leafing through books whose pages needed to be turned from time to time in order to remain supple, reading a bit here and there. The last of the monks had cleared out of the adjacent room already, a circumstance that he was all too aware of when Brother John stopped his scritching and came over to him, carrying an open book which he went on to carefully place on the writing desk in front of them.

On display was a Latin text about how one ought to share the fruits of one’s labour and, together, rejoice in the splendour of them. One page showed a miniature of two men dancing around a slender tree, holding hands. Brother John turned the page. Now the tree was considerably bigger and one of the figures had climbed it while the other was lying back at its roots. There was one more illustration in which a red fruit had been plucked and was being shared by the two of them.

The corner of Brother James’s mouth twitched.

Brother John showed no such reservations. He smiled, displaying his pretty front teeth, the crinkles about his eyes like the rays of the sun coming up over the hillside after a frosty, moonless night.

Being around Brother John was such an odd experience for Brother James, who after a few days into their acquaintance suddenly found himself in the role of interpreter and the sole provider of their talk. He’d thought that, perhaps, he’d initially been singled out as a companion because Brother John liked a challenge when it came to the telling of his stories, but now he was realising with ever more profound clarity that he might have been wrong. All signs pointed to them sharing many of the same interests, but despite Brother John’s previous openness, Brother James couldn’t confirm it with absolute certainty. He had no idea what could be disclosed without second thoughts -- whether it was safe to admit that he thought the pictures were amusing too, whether he could say that these were some of the tamest ones on the subject in the collection -- seeing as he was talking to the archbishop’s representative here, who was known to be a man of little good humour. It was a mystery anyway how someone as good-natured as Brother John had come to work for someone as dour and calculating as that.

“You should--” Brother James waved a hand, indicating that they were finished here, that Brother John ought to gather his notes as he was so diligently wont to do and return the book to its former place. “We don’t want to be too late for Mass,” he said, though there was plenty of time yet.

Brother John did not seem to agree. He did not budge from his spot and the presence of his body did not allow Brother James to step out into the aisle, where he was sure it was easier to breathe, either. Feeling hemmed in, he lifted his head to throw a glare at Brother John.

But the pleading look on Brother John’s face took him by surprise. Need was written in every line there by a depth of vulnerability that devastated Brother James. He was ready to do anything, he realised, to make it disappear. But it also occurred to him that there was an obvious solution to Brother John’s problem.

“Do you need to confess?”

Brother John nodded eagerly.

“I’m sure the abbot will grant you abstention from your vow for the duration of the confession,” he said, distressing Brother John further, who shook his head vigorously enough to make the curls there leap about.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have the authority to do that,” Brother James said. “But whatever it is that ails you, you could always write it down and burn it after.” He turned halfway, reaching for paper, quill and ink in the corner of the writing desk, but Brother John pressed a hand down on his wrist, stilling him.

Brother James, swallowing thickly, directed his attention back towards Brother John, only to see him lean in close and tilt his head up.

With Brother John’s palm on his skin like this and able to feel his warm puffs of breath on his lips, he was painfully reminded of the coarseness of his monk’s habit when the skin all over his body started to pebble, the hair rising on the back of his neck an all too brief warning before the sensation descended all over him in one fell swoop, and want scratched and tore at him with its claws. He slapped his free hand down over the edge of the desk to steady himself.

Starting with his hips, Brother John touched his body against Brother James, who had to fight the urge to part his thighs like an invocation, so that they were pressed together from chest to knees. And then, with his face upturned and his eyes open, slowly sank to his knees on the floor. Like a glistening-eyed angel serenely basking in the glory of Creation, every single one of his glossy curls a work of art unto itself, he looked up at Brother James, waiting.

“I don’t-- You should--” Brother James tried again.

Then he gave in and cautiously laid his hand on top of Brother John’s head.

In response, Brother John put his cheek against the aching center of Brother James and started to rub his face -- cheeks, brows, nose, open mouth, all of its loveliness -- all over it, while his hands were unceremoniously rucking the frock up Brother James’s legs and tucking it into the belt so that, as soon as it was done and Brother James was bare from the waist down, the view of Brother John, solemn in his worship -- palming naked thighs, grazing the tender skin between them with his thumbs -- was unobstructed.

Stroking up and down with his hands, stoking feverish excitement, Brother John now began to toy his wet mouth over the hard length of Brother James’s sex, tasting the head with the silky, pliant wrap of his lips, eyelashes fluttering as though he were deeply affected by the experience. He took Brother James deeper into the cavern of his mouth, letting him slide over the slippery rough of his tongue, inviting him down into the hot clench of his throat as he swallowed around him.

Brother James sobbed. He knew that if he were to make any other noise now, it would probably sound like the bull’s upset bellow out on the pasture, so he pressed his lips together tightly and kept his agonised groans confined.

Brother John then lavished him with motion and suction that had him straining and trembling, his skin so sweetly pulled at. Cushioned by the lushness of that mouth, worked at by a tongue that never let up, Brother James was losing himself in the sensations, until he could no longer discern which of the two of them was more eager for his pleasure or who was moving how and whether the floor was actually surging in waves. His release tore sharp and deep at him, tearing off a strip of his soul for spoils.

He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, breathing hard through his nose, but the shiver running through him would not abate for a long minute, nourished again and again as Brother John kept nuzzling about the juncture of his thighs, the sight of him doing so still hazy.

“Brother James?” a voice sounded from the outside.

Brother James craned his head over his shoulder.

Tall Brother William came to a halt at the open entrance door. He ducked his head inside, saying, “I’m looking for Brother John. It’s urgent.” So it was clear how much was visible from Brother William’s vantage point.

Brother James nodded. Then he shook his head, summoning his speaking voice. “He left a short while ago. He might be in his room.”

“Of course. Thank you, brother.”

After a moment, there came a series of tugs at his habit so that it fell to his ankles and covered him again. Then one more tug, asking him to sit on the floor and let both of them be obscured from view by the writing desk’s front panel.

Brother James readily complied. Once down there, he put an arm around Brother John’s shoulders and, in fits and starts, distracted by Brother John’s eyes, nosed his way in to press their mouths together fully. When he felt about under Brother John’s frock for his need, he found it satisfied already and, overcome with desire once more, felt compelled to seek those firm, reddened lips out for another kiss, licking his tongue inside gently and closing his eyes.

Many of his fellow monks were milling about in front of the church’s side entrance. For a second, he believed they had somehow already found out about his violation of the Rule and were going to excommunicate him on the spot, but circumstantial evidence had told him many times in the past that his was among the transgressions that were quietly tolerated.

So, folding his hands in front of him and sidling up to Brother Joshua, he inquired about the commotion.

“You haven’t heard?”

Brother James couldn’t say that he had.

“The real Brother John was held up by bad weather and had to stay at an inn downriver where, they say, he fell gravely ill and died shortly after. So, naturally, our Brother John must be an imposter.”

“Huh?” Brother James asked for lack of anything more coherent to say. Thankfully, a wall was there to lean against.

“But none of the treasures in the church are gone. No money has disappeared. And even all the cutlery is accounted for which, as everybody knows, never happens.”

“When I locked the library, all the books were there, too.”

“See? Except for our Brother John now, nothing has gone missing,” Brother Joshua said. “I just don’t understand why anyone would impersonate one of us when they could actually join our community anytime they wanted.”

Looking about, it was clear that their fellow monks were less upset than they could have been, many of them having grown fond of their false brother in the short amount of time that he had stayed with them. They clearly admired him for his spirit and for what was seen as a great sacrifice by all when he made the choice to abstain from his favourite thing to do. So they were as of yet undecided whether they should feel upset about being duped at all and some could already be heard advocating the virtue of forgiveness.

Brother Harold appeared, dispersing the crowd a little when he strode directly towards Brother James. “I need to talk to you,” he said, leading Brother James away from the group. His intake of breath was deep and disconcerting. “We’ve had word from the archbishop and, I’m afraid, he’s not granting us any funds either. Moreover, he was sending Brother John -- the real one -- to determine whether our library was suitable to house such costly treasures, and in the event that the answer should be no -- which it most likely will be -- initiate the transfer of it in its entirety to the archbishop’s summer residence.”

Upon seeing the reaction on Brother James’s face, he put a comforting hand on his shoulder and added, “I’m sorry.”

Almost ten years had passed since Brother James had been received into this community and had started his new life as a monk. The first couple of months had been difficult, his spirit biting and toiling at the reins, but eventually he had settled in, finding solace in the daily routine and a new purpose in the loving upkeep of the library.

The moment Brother Harold had given him the news, however, his former self had risen within him like a revenant, dragging all its ugly history, its fields of corpses behind as though they were the blood-soaked rags of a butcher.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard, he was now looking at the last of the sun’s golden rays glancing over the many dilapidated gables while the grey chill of evening had already enveloped the rest. His breaths were shallow. He was looking, but he was not really understanding.

And, as always in these moments, there was this thing within him that promised a way that would make him hurt less. That told him that if he were to seek out and rage against those who did injustice, it would be good, because it would be righteous. But he knew that thing well by now and had come to see it for what it was.

Eventually, he was sure, he would bear these losses as well, he just did not know how he would do it yet.

He turned his face towards the library, his doomed refuge, then, his intentions unclear. But as he was unlocking the entrance door, he noticed that instead of there being twelve keys, only eleven were dangling on the key ring. And as he was studying them closer, trying to discern which one was missing, his imagination helpfully supplied that the boarded windows in the attic could easily be reached by climbing the trellis on the side of the building if one were not averse to hazardous tasks. If one, say, was of a mind to steal an item from within.

Having slipped inside the building quietly, Brother James stopped and listened. Not a sound was to be heard.

Only once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, did he become aware of the faint glow of light that fanned out from underneath the closed door at the back where they kept large iron-bound oak chests full of manuscripts too gem-studded, too fragmentary, too nonconforming to be made openly available. It was the key to one of those that had disappeared.

If Brother John had kept his nerve and utilised his cleverness to the last he would have barred the room from the inside, but the closeness of achieving his goal must have made him careless, because, when pushed, the door swung open without any resistance. The candle flame flickered and almost went out. There he was, their Brother John, on the floor, slapping the tome he’d been reading shut and scrambling to his feet.

“You could have asked,” Brother James said.

There must have been something in his expression that made Brother John frown and clutch the book tighter.

“You don’t have to pretend to stick to your vow, brother.”

Brother John tried to make a dash for the door, but was stopped all too easily. With an out-flung arm Brother James prevented his escape and pushed him against the wall, one hand at his throat.

“Did you kill the real Brother John?”

“What?” the man said. “No!” he protested. “I was just another traveller at the inn. We were talking until midnight when he excused himself because he wasn’t feeling well. Next day he didn’t show, so I carried his breakfast up to his room, but by then his fever had already gotten bad. When he wasn’t coughing his lungs out, he was actually trying to climb the walls. And then it wasn’t long before, you know.”

“So why come here, then? What are you looking for in here?”

Brother John tried to lift the book he was holding, its title written in gilded Arabic script. “Initially, I came for this. On the Potentiality of Transmutation.”

“Also known as The Frenzied Ramblings of Vasquez the Andalusian. Yes, I am aware of it. Though it won’t be of much use to you since it’s missing one vital page. The second half of the formula that supposedly turns base metals into gold.”

Brother John smiled, self-satisfied. “That,” he said, “I have memorized.”

Brother James took him by his habit’s collar. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, an unbidden bout of fondness weakening his anger to desperation.

“Well, coincidentally, my name is actually John,” the man explained, “John Silver. And I happen to know about your plight. I also happen to be a very good alchemist.”

#fic: black sails #silverflint #au

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placingglaciers · 7 years ago

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Lester87

Title: Lester87

Genre: AU, Fluff, Getting Together

Word Count: 9, 958

Warnings: None!

Description: In which Dan works as a part-time online fashion stylist to pay for university and he’s determined to get to the bottom as to why his favorite client continually needs first-date outfits.

Author’s Note: 76! (Please remember that this is fiction.)

The outdated couch pattern began to blur and swirl around, refocusing repeatedly. The zigzags, circles, triangles, lines, and colors are so downright unappealing that it would make sense as to why they are on a second floor couch in the nearly empty university library. The bright, continuous fluorescent ceiling lighting is all just causing Daniel’s headache to become worse as he lays his heavy head down on his incomplete world culture assignment. He’s sat on the gray carpet at the corner of a cream-colored, cube-shaped coffee table, with each leg on either side of the corner. He reached his end point moments ago when all the words in the textbook began to run into each other and he had to reread a simple paragraph three times. Now he is just giving up.

The major reason to all of this is the fact that his heart has been pulling in three different directions since the semester began roughly two months ago back in August. The first direction is towards his exciting part-time job as an online fashion stylist. He’s had the job since the summer and determines to keep it, despite the fact that he is pushing a sixteen credit hour semester. It pays him good money and he’s been doing fine at clocking in fifteen hours a week no matter how he manages it. He figures it would be a good way to pay off his education while earning some essential skills in his preferred work field. And it isn’t that he finds it boring—he adores all his clients—it’s simply that he’s been more stressed than usual. Time is what he lacks most of all, and therefore that is why he is constantly seeking for more of it.

That brings this to his other major problem—university. It hasn’t been the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life (for once), only now it’s how long he feels it’s going to take to get there. Taking core university classes has never been his favorite—especially now—and he’s getting quite used to the feeling of what hanging on a thread to his own sanity is like. However, he decides to keep quiet because he doesn’t want to turn into some ungrateful university kid who’s complaining all the time. But that’s just what he can’t help but do. How is any of this going to help him and his endeavors to create the next big successful fashion empire (a bit of an exaggeration, but still)? Surely he will never remember any of this. Give him something meaningful. Perhaps it has always been his fault. The desire to always impress others, prove his parents wrong, do better than all his past classmates before university. No matter what, Daniel is determined to be the best in his classes. Of course, if you mentioned this to him three years ago, he would’ve never believed any of this. But there’s nothing like a hard slap in the face of all your previous failures to keep you going.

To be truthful, his relentless strive for perfection isn’t even his main problem at university. It hasn’t even been the fact that he hasn’t made one friend since he arrived here two years ago or that he quickly determined he doesn’t fit in anywhere. It’s the terrible dorm life he’s forced to comply with. If it wasn’t for the fact that his family lives well over one hundred miles away from here, he would’ve gladly chosen to commute. However, as that is clearly not the case, he is cramped with his roommate in a 10’ x 14’ beige cinder-blocked box. Now, of course, that would be fine if the two of them knew how to communicate well with each other and understood boundaries. But with Daniel’s luck, he was assigned to an extra. And that indicated that anyone who was incompatible with anyone else in the dormitory had to be paired up with each other randomly and hope for a “smooth sailing” year. Daniel was optimistic about it for the first month and a half, but once it came around October, he was not having it. It is rude to bring in uninvited guests, touch personal belongings, use the other person’s bed whenever they desired, and throw the other person under the bus when illegal items get discovered from the residence life staff. In the meantime, Daniel has thankfully finally found a quiet spot in the dorm where he could be alone and perhaps sleep if that was even possible.

If that is all that Daniel was forced to deal with, then maybe perhaps he wouldn’t exactly be in this situation of self-conflict. However, his heart is also being tugged in the most unnecessary direction of all. Last year his best friend created an online dating profile for him without his permission—with already a first date arranged. They’re not friends anymore, obviously, but the profile still managed to stick around to Daniel’s surprise. At the time, he was simply amazed that people expressed mere interest in him. That never really happened to him before. He wasn’t the type of person that people would even take a second glance at. But here he is, somehow. At first, he did go on dates nearly every week as it was exhilarating to him and he craved the feeling of being wanted. As time progressed, however, he became more bored (and broke) and almost managed complete profile deactivation. But every once and a while…you know…something happens and he feels validated and wanted again. You can’t blame the boy for searching for his own happiness.

As a library custodian passes by to collect the trash from a nearby trashcan, Daniel snaps out of his downward spiral and finally realizes what he has been doing. He unsticks his cheek from the smooth textbook page and yawns widely. He checks his phone for the time (and to see if he’s been fortunate enough to receive any notifications) and he is rather disappointed. Only ten minutes has passed, but only ten minutes more and he could leave the library. The only notification he had on his phone was an email he received earlier about a new styling appointment, but he decides to do it tomorrow. He smiles at the custodian as he quickly packs up his backpack and hoists the heavy load onto his tired shoulders, almost being pulled back by the overwhelming weight on his back. He manages to shuffle down the carpeted stairs, say goodbye to the white-haired librarian, and step out into the crisp evening autumn air. He can only imagine what he would be coming home to.

***

“So as we know, some of these hormones create changes in the body, in particular the bones.” Daniel’s human biology professor drags on at half past eight in the morning. “I’m sure all of you know what the growth hormone does, if not, your textbook would help. But I want to briefly mention calcitonin. Calcitonin has an effect on the development for the maintenance of bone by activating osteoblasts. And, of course, osteoblasts are cells that form bone. However—and here’s the catch—calcitonin is only activated when calcium levels rise!”

Daniel rolls his eyes at his professor’s pathetic attempt to make the effects of hormones sound the least bit interesting on an early Thursday morning. It takes every fiber in Daniel’s body to keep awake during this class. With all respect to his professor and the very magnificent study of biology, it is nearly impossible to not fall asleep and remain focused during lectures like these. Thus in the meantime, Daniel’s black pen becomes familiar with his notebook paper’s margins as he easily fills them with nonsense doodles. Every once and a while he’ll take a cold drink of water from his blue university water bottle and sneak a tired, but sympathetic, glance at his neighbor to also stay awake for what always felt more than an hour and fifteen minutes.

With the increased realization of hormones raging all over his body, Daniel quickly makes his way out of the dim-lit classroom (which only made lectures worse) and across the hall to the small fashion department. It is here that he feels more at home than in his own dorm room, or even in his own bedroom at home. Perhaps it is because here you are surrounded by people who get it and get you. More than that, it is where miracles and mistakes happen with a little gossip thrown in for good measure. Everyone helps each other and suggests solutions to end-of-the-world problems. It is where Daniel feels belonging; his “safe space,” so to speak.

He sets down his heavy bag at his spot at the end of the long, brown work table where most of his classmates are already working on their garments. To truly finish anything on time, as Daniel has discovered, you have to come early and stay late as frequently as possible. He only wishes people understood the time and dedication it takes into making these garments instead of making jokes and claiming how easy it is. He takes his yellow floral sewing box out from his backpack and opens the lid. As by routine, he places out his pins, pink seam ripper, and left handed scissors on the table. Following that, he walks over to the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and takes out his bin while listening to everyone’s conversations as they pin their garments together.

“Man, I’m hungry.” A girl complains as she rips out a seam she made a mistake on (truth be told, this is her third time doing it). “What are they serving today?”

“Stir fry.” Another girl across the room replies as she quite complicatedly, but meticulously, trues the side seams of her red cotton A-line dress. “It’s Thursday.”

“Ooh, I heard they had some nice pizza there today.” A third girl chimes in, struggling to find her pins (of which she constantly misplaces). “’Cause you know, sometimes it isn’t always the greatest. I’ve had some where the entire bottom was burnt…”

Daniel decides to listen in on another conversation as the blueberry pancakes from this morning wasn’t holding him over very well. He takes out a barely half-finished black polyester blazer from his bin and sets it on the table, not ready for all the work he still has remaining to do. He curses at himself for always having to make things that are so complicated.

“And you know what she gave me?” One of his classmates complains to her friend. “Four hours. For the entire week! I can’t live like this anymore!”

“My cousin worked there last year and he had the same problem.” Her friend shares as she painstakingly hand-stitches her polka-dot patterned skirt hem. “No one there does their job right. But you can’t really expect them to with the pay they’re getting.”

“I’m gonna have to get a new job.” She sighs as she runs her fingers through her long, wavy, amber colored hair. “I need to call my boyfriend to see if he can pay for my car insurance…”

As she leaves, another student walks in who is always late as he always stops at Starbucks to pick up an iced coffee. Daniel would complain, but if he worked at Starbucks and received a discount, he would be going there just as often, too. Nevertheless, he feels bad for him as they are the only two guys in the program and he feels like he always has to talk to him.

“Hey.” The guy says breathlessly as he takes the spot next to Daniel at the work table.

All Daniel does is glance at the iced coffee in his hands and raise his eyebrows.

“Hey, you know the rules, no food or drinks in here.” The professor finally walks in, the air catching her long black knit cardigan behind her.

“I know, I know, I just got here.” He dumps his stuff down on the floor loudly and sets his coffee outside in the hallway and returns.

“Today is just going to be a lab day.” The professor announces as everyone is finally here. “I’d like to have this first round of garments done by the end of the month so we can start figuring out what to do for the second round of garments.” She uncaps a dry erase marker and writes reminders on the whiteboard for everyone to remember. “If you have any questions, just ask me, I’ll be walking around seeing how everyone is.” Following that, she walks up to a student who has been struggling with inserting an invisible zipper.

Daniel twists his mouth at that as he knows it’s going to take much longer to finish such an elaborate garment. He sighs and figures his second garment could be something simpler like a shift dress or a box-pleated skirt. However, he also knows that would be the easy way out and finding a model to wear them for the fashion show would be challenging itself. So, he simply figures that is going to be a problem for the future.

“Oh, I’m never going to finish this on time.” The guy beside him sighs tiredly as his hands become lost in a sea of dark blue denim. “Dan, you should’ve told me it was a bad idea to make an exceptionally tailored pair of designer jeans.”

Daniel only giggles to himself and playfully rolls his eyes as he notices the pathetic tubes of denim that are supposed to represent the pant legs.

“Sure hope I have a long enough inseam for this.” He suggestively wiggles his eyebrows at him.

Daniel rolls his eyes again, only in a more annoyed manner. “If that is your attempt to flirt with me, I am not interested.”

“Hey, I’m just warning you for when you help me with my fitting.” He explains as he attempts to find all his fabric pieces from all the denim remnants. “What’s your problem anyway?”

“I had a rough night.” Daniel sighs tiredly, trying to pin a sleeve in the arm scythe.

“Oh really?”

Daniel shoves him lightly. “Not like that. It’s my roommate again. He was Skyping his friends all night long. I couldn’t sleep for anything.” He accidentally stabs his thumb with a pin, but as he is accustomed to this type of pain (as any sewer really is), he simply shakes his hand and resumes to pinning. “Just my luck for having biology at eight fifteen in the morning.”

“You can always crash at my place.”

Daniel certainly hopes he isn’t this obvious while trying to flirt with someone online. “Um, sure I’ll…keep that in mind.”

He smiles and sits on his stool as he begins to pin. “Why, why, why…”

Daniel finally manages to successfully fit the sleeve in the arm scythe and begins to make his way to his sewing machine in the other room. “Jeans are nothing but topstitching, stop making it seem like the end of the world.”

***

It is rather difficult to enjoy university when your loathed neighbor’s face is printed on hundreds of promotional postcards all over a desk, or, at least, that’s what Daniel thinks. Today’s job as the admissions office’s student assistant is to put mailing labels on all three hundred and fifty postcards to potential future students. Daniel doesn’t mind doing it as for the past three days he put together just as many folders for a “special event” coming up for the same purpose. To be quite honest, you don’t necessarily have to be overly skilled at a job like this, so that’s why he chose it over working in the library. The coveted fashion assistant job has been taken for three years now by the same girl, so that was obviously not going to happen. However, it would help if he was the slightest bit excited about going to university, but he can’t help but feel bad every time he puts a mailing label on a postcard. Want to pay thousands of dollars to an institution who will not spend it wisely? Want to be in even more debt? Want to suffer months with sleep deprivation? Want to be stressed and anxious all the time? Want to gain weight and not have clear skin? Then sure, you might be the perfect candidate. Daniel sighs as he picks up another postcard and sticks a mailing label on it. At least he is getting paid more here than in the art department.

After a couple hours and the image of his neighbor’s face being forever imprinted in his mind, Daniel leaves and heads over to the dining hall across campus, as usual. He likes to strictly manage his time as he realized quite a while ago that was the only way he could ever really get anything accomplished. So, his fashion class ends at two, his work study job ends at four, and he works on his online styling directly after in the dining hall. And as it is rather convenient, he eats dinner while working and is back in the library by seven, catching up on assignments. He knows that if he keeps that schedule, he could easily work fifteen hours in a work week. However, that is typically not the case as sometimes the cafeteria line is too long or someone actually wants to talk with him. But it’s usually the former that happens.

He selects a gray cushioned lounging chair by the large windows in the spacious and quiet dining hall and takes out his laptop from his backpack. Dinner doesn’t begin for another hour, so the hall is barely full. Only a few students are around studying and a group of friends are over at a table laughing together. Right away, Daniel turns on his playlist of his favorite film scores so he can concentrate and logs into the styling website. He notices that he has four clients to style for and decides to work from easiest to hardest. His easiest client is coincidentally his favorite client as they always request him and frequently needs styled. The client’s screenname is Lester87, although Daniel wishes he knew him better than a bunch of meaningless letters and numbers smashed together. Truth be told, this Lester87 guy needs help just about every week and Daniel is beginning to become suspicious. The bad thing is that he can’t do much investigation as client profiles only reveal so much, especially considering there isn’t even an option to have a profile picture. All Daniel knows about this guy is that he is twenty-four, living in the same city he is living in, and has some office job with a flexible budget. He also has a trapezoid body shape, which is one of the reasons why Daniel enjoys styling him so much. And from previous experiences, this man will wear practically anything you give him. Due to the nature of the styling website and privacy concerns, communication between stylists and clients are incredibly limited. Therefore, Daniel never knows what Lester87 thinks of his choices or how he is as a person. All he knows is that he goes to a lot of office parties and first dates.

Unsurprisingly, Lester87 has another first date coming up and it is up to Daniel to make him look as handsome as possible. The location is a seaside restaurant and given that Daniel has no idea how close the sea even is, it is possible that this guy is going great lengths for this to work out well. From the online inventory, Daniel quickly adds a navy blue floral button down shirt with crimson roses, black jeans, and a slim fitted jacket to finish. He isn’t exactly certain if Lester87 is the sunglasses type, so he only throws in a complimentary pocket square. He is certain, however, that this man has enough shoes to last him the entire year, so they are not needed. And within half an hour, the order is shipped and Daniel is working on his second client.

***

Half an hour past midnight, Daniel finds himself finally climbing into his bed for the night. It is a rare occurrence that his roommate already is passed out, snoring loudly in his own bed across the room, so Daniel wants to take advantage of this moment. After a full day of classes, work, and homework, he believes he certainly deserves a night’s rest. Tomorrow he has no classes and he is planning on catching up on a few hours of styling and assignments, which he admittedly is aware how exciting that is on a Friday.

As he finds some pleasant music to sleep to on his phone, he peculiarly receives a notification from his embarrassing dating profile. His stomach tenses up and he reluctantly checks to see what all the fuss is about. Once he reads the name and the message, he becomes excited and worried at the same time. It is from the girl who he’s been talking to for a few months now. He never considered it as anything serious, though he knows how ridiculous that sounds being that he is on an online dating website. One good conversation you have, and you might be stuck with that person for a while. Daniel simply wanted someone to talk to at the time they “met.” Yes, she is good looking and provides substantial conversation, but dating has never been mentioned until now. And that’s exactly what Daniel is worried about. She wants to meet him tomorrow for the first time. Not only is she not giving him enough time to think about it, but she’s assuming there’s something obvious between them. Daniel has been staring at the simple question for the past ten minutes, lost in his spiraling thoughts. He runs his fingers through his hair as he thinks of a response. Well, first of all, tomorrow wasn’t going to be all that busy or exciting anyway. Plus, he wouldn’t mind going off campus for a while. And besides, he could finally meet her in person. Perhaps he could finally make up his mind if he likes her or not. Though it is risky and a terrible idea, he understands he has to live a little and see what all that’s out there.

It isn’t until an hour later that Daniel finally gets some sleep as he has been up talking with her. And he isn’t the least bit mad. He is quite actually happy. Someone is giving him attention and that is enough for now.

***

There she is across from him, underneath the low, warm lighting of the sit down restaurant, making Daniel feel worse by the minute. She is wearing a lavender lace cocktail dress with beige wedges and a statement necklace, despite the fact that is rather cold outside. Daniel doesn’t even care if wedges aren’t even trendy anymore; there is no denying that she is perhaps the most gorgeous person in the room. And that’s exactly why he feels bad. She must have easily spent hours getting ready. Daniel was ten minutes late because he nearly entirely forgot he actually had a date. He took merely twenty minutes throwing on a gray knit autumn sweater and some trousers (never mind about the ridiculous hair). He doesn’t feel right sitting across from her, but he has a feeling that it has a lot more to do with something else than the way they are dressed.

“Ooh, how’s the sirloin steak here?” She asks him inquisitively while glancing over the menu.

Daniel’s leg bounces up and down and his back is perspiring, the way it usually is when he’s nervous and uncomfortable. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never been here before and I don’t eat red meat.”

She looks up at him. “Really? You never told me that before. How come?”

“Cancer.” He answers all too casually.

Her expression becomes more serious and concerning. “You have cancer?”

“No, no, I read somewhere online that red meat gives you cancer.” He is having a difficult time looking at her, so he decides to read the menu as well.

“Well, don’t always believe everything they say online.”

He glances up at her and gives a weak smile. “Yeah.”

She ends up ordering the steak anyway and Daniel gets spaghetti that is too soft for his taste. As he swirls around the pasta on his fork, she continues sharing how her week has been at work in the customer service department of a major clothing company. Although her stories are typically entertaining for Daniel, he isn’t exactly in the mood for them tonight as his mind is peculiarly somewhere else. He never thought that their five year age difference would be a major concern to him, but sometimes he feels like he can’t relate or understand what she is going through; therefore sympathizing with her is difficult for him to do. That might be another reason why he never considered themselves as a couple. Sure, Daniel thinks of himself as mature, but how can they possibly get along while she is worried about figuring out how to remodel her kitchen while he is worried about writing a twelve page world culture paper with no guidelines? Daniel doesn’t know the first thing when it comes to dishwashing machines, let alone how to install one.

“You know? How can I possibly sit around waiting for you to redo my floors when I have a job to go to?” She vents on to him. “Without that job, no one would be paying you!”

Daniel takes a drink of his water as he quickly glances at her glass of wine. He sets down his glass and sits back in his booth, feeling childish. “When did you first consider yourself as an adult?”

She pauses and becomes silent, being caught off guard from such an unusual question. “When did I first consider myself as an adult?” She repeats and sighs, blowing a few strands of dark hair in the air. “Well, maybe when I was sixteen when I got my license.” She laughs to herself. “I thought I owned the world back then. Of course, it’s the opposite now that I’ve grown older.” She smooths out her napkin and hesitates. “Also maybe when I lost my virginity. I felt like I finally understood my parents. I felt so much older than seventeen.”

“You lost your virginity at seventeen?” Daniel asks for clarification, moderately surprised.

“Yeah. How old were you?”

Daniel doesn’t answer and answers his own question instead. “I think I felt like an adult on my first day at university. I was on my own for the first time. No one around to tell me what to do. Then I got my first job and then another job, trying to help my parents out with all these unnecessary fees.” He rolls his eyes. “But I still feel like a kid, though.” He watches her face change. “But not all the time.” He makes certain to add.

She folds her arms and thinks a little. “I don’t know. Nobody asked that question to me before. I mean, of course there’s the time when you buy your own car and then your own apartment and stuff. But maybe it’s more mental than physical. Like when you fall in love for the first time or when you heart gets devastatingly broken or when you decide to finally move on.”

Daniel sits and thinks about that. “Or maybe when you realize that someday you may actually lose your parents and see them die.”

She bites her lip, feeling uncomfortable the more the conversation continues. “Our first date was supposed to be fun, Daniel.”

He takes another drink of his water. “It’s fun for me, I’m not paying.”

Her mouth opens wide. “You never told me that!”

Daniel sits motionless in his seat. “Well isn’t it proper that the person who asks the other one out that they pay?”

She avoids eye contact and tucks some hair behind her ear as she searches in her white satin clutch for some money. “Well, yes, but I thought you was going to be a gentleman about it.”

Daniel finishes the remainder of his water and feels awkward and uncomfortable. “How about I walk you home then? Will that be good enough?”

She blushes. “I’m wearing heels, Dan. Don’t you think that’s a little impractical?”

He shrugs and looks down at the wedges. “No.”

She bites her lip and sets her money out. “Fine.”

Daniel doesn’t understand what the big deal was about him walking her home; she lives only two streets away from the restaurant. Nevertheless, the walk there was silent and unpleasant. To him, it felt like there was an understanding between them that didn’t have to be said in words. He was losing her and he felt bad that it didn’t bother him.

“So, uh, where are we going to next time?” She asks him on the front steps of her apartment building, despite the fact that she already knows his answer. She is holding back tears while she picks off some lint from his sweater.

Daniel shakes his head. “I’m—I’m sorry…”

Her face scrunches up and turns red as she begins to cry. Daniel attempts to hold her hand, but she shoves it away. “What happened?”

“I think we’re just too different people, that’s all.” He answers in a soft voice.

“Yeah, well no duh.” She retorts sharply and sniffles. “What is it that you don’t like about me?”

Daniel avoids eye contact and focuses on the dark purple nail polish of her toenails. “Don’t measure your self-worth based on what some guy thinks of you.” He waits a few moments before adding, “We’re at two different stages in our lives at the moment and they don’t seem to be mixing well. Can’t you understand that?”

“You were so nice to talk to.”

“Hey, you are too. And we can still talk. But I never considered you as my…” He shrugs. “Girlfriend.”

Her eyebrows furrow and she shakes her head, tears long gone. “You scammed me.”

“What?” Now he is massively confused by the way this conversation has took an odd turn.

“You scammed me! Why create an online dating profile, talk to me for months, and agree to go out with me if you never thought of me as your girlfriend? I’ve spent several nights staying up all night messaging you. And this is what you tell me?” She shakes her head. “What is it that you want from me? Money? Sex? An ego boost?”

“No. I don’t want anything.” He replies sincerely. “I just wanted to see if I…really liked you or not.”

She stands there, letting the evening traffic fill in the silence. When she gathers up enough courage, she asks, “Can I at least kiss you goodbye?”

“Sure, I guess.”

She looks him in the eyes as she places her hand on the back of his head. With ease, she gently pulls his head downward gradually and their lips finally meet in slow, intimate kiss. Given that Daniel has never kissed a girl since he was a sixteen year old boy in an ex-best friend’s basement making one mistake after another, the kiss feels pleasant and right to him. Thoughts of taking back everything he said previously cloud his mind, but he quickly ignores them as he rather not make his life any worse.

Once their lips part, she asks him, “Do you want to come inside?”

“No.” He whispers.

“You sure?”

He nods his head. “Have a goodnight. Talk to you later?”

She turns to the stairs, walks up, opens the front door to the apartment building, and passes through without looking back.

***

Daniel only wishes that it was raining on his walk home because that would easily explain why his face is so damp and why he looks like a mess. He broke a girl’s heart tonight and he’s beginning to feel bad about it. But more than that, he screwed up big time. It was finally his opportunity to fall in love with someone. His parents have been nagging him to meet someone while he is in university, and here he is letting them down, too. How did he let this happen? Why can’t he just ignore his feelings? So what if the two of them were barely compatible and make terrible life partners? At least he would be on the right path to the game of life he keeps losing at.

Before he enters his dormitory, he sniffles one last time and dries his face with his sweater sleeve. He gradually makes his way up three flights of stairs and to his room, surprisingly without running into anyone. Before he unlocks his door, he hears outrageous moaning and cursing coming from the inside and immediately his stomach tenses. His roommate is at it again. Daniel tiredly runs his fingers through his hair, unlocks the door, and prepares for what is about to happen next. He’s far too used to this by now. He flips the light switch on and notices that his roommate’s boyfriend is staying over for the third weekend in a row. One is on top of the other, and as you can imagine, Daniel is in quite an uncomfortable spot.

“Daniel?” His roommate asks from underneath his boyfriend, his voice slightly hoarse.

“I-I’m leaving.” Daniel responds, trying not to look at them. He quickly takes his comforter from his bed and his laptop from his desk.

“Oh, well, have fun.”

“You too.” Daniel closes the door and squeezes his eyes shut, understanding that image would be forever in his mind also.

Down the hall is a small lounge that nobody uses (at least, not at this time) that has become Daniel’s second room over the semester. The leather couch is surprisingly much more comfortable than his mattress and he has full access to a television. However, as he is too tired to do much of anything, he is merely going to try to get some sleep before getting one important piece of business done.

As he fluffs up an unfluffable couch pillow, he spreads out his comforter on the couch and makes himself comfortable. He turns out the lights in the lounge and gets out his laptop. He logs on to his dating profile and immediately notices that the girl unfollowed him and cut him off completely. Daniel bites his bottom lip and impulsively goes to his account settings. This happens nearly every time someone wants to go out with him and he’s getting tired of it. His mouse hovers over the option to delete his account, but he hesitates. He sets his laptop on the wooden coffee table in front of him and sits back on the couch and stares at the screen. He rubs his watery eyes and sighs to himself, feeling low and absolutely pathetic. He can’t do it. He can’t. And he hates himself for not being able to. He moves onto his side and lays his head on the firm pillow and continues to stare at the screen until that’s all he remembers doing before drifting off to sleep.

***

It is the way it usually is. Daniel can expect a few weeks of utter hell followed by at least one pleasant weekend. And that’s all he guesses he needs; a rough time to remind him what’s good. His roommate is thankfully away for the entire weekend, so he doesn’t have to deal with his boyfriend and their shenanigans or either of them in general. He feels at peace finally. He recently finished cleaning his side of the room (which didn’t take too long given that he has merely five feet of space to himself) to clear his mind a little. All his homework is miraculously completed for the weekend. Granted, he still has a huge research paper to write, but given what he’s been through, he decides to push it off for another weekend. However, he still has a few hours to catch up on at work, so he plans on doing that a little later. In the meantime, he lies on his bed and he thinks and appreciates the golden silence in his room, between the walls, and throughout the halls.

Mostly he thinks about this new person he recently met online. It is important to inform that he did not in fact delete his dating profile, and after meeting this guy, he is glad he didn’t. He doesn’t want to say they’re serious or anything, but he does admit they have something more special between them than with the girl. His name is Philip (out of all the names out there) and Daniel likes that because it sounds sophisticated and mature and a bit stylish than any other name he may come across. And, well, anyways, besides that, he likes to talk to him and they have a considerable amount of things in common. Most of all, of course, he makes him happy and keeps his mind busy on other more important things. However, the last time someone did that, it didn’t exactly end well, so Daniel is trying to be careful. But they are only at the beginning stage of the relationship where they tell each other anything and everything and it’s exciting because of that. Daniel doesn’t need to know that Philip enjoys this particular brand of candles, but for some reason, he’s really glad he does.

Before Daniel admits that his heart is aching to meet this boy, he turns on his laptop and decides to distract himself for a while. He only has a couple clients to attend to, one being Lester87, of course. By now it’s getting pathetic. How does this man repeatedly ruin all his first dates? Before Daniel tries to answer that, he takes into account that he recently ruined his first date, too. It’s a lot harder than what it seems, apparently. But come on, Lester87 can’t possibly be that bad. Daniel supposes he’s a nice-looking man. Perhaps he has nice brown hair like Daniel does; only that he combs it more frequently and it doesn’t get as frizzy in the summertime. And maybe green eyes that disappear once he laughs at one of Daniel’s jokes. He is blessed with a trapezoid body shape that Daniel doesn’t mind dressing (or undressing) repeatedly. What about his voice? Does he have a nice smile? And what are his hands like? Maybe they’re softer than Daniel’s because certainly if someone is interested in someone like him, they’re bound to be better in any shape or form than him. Daniel can’t help but imagine what they would feel like against his own skin. It would be comforting to be touched by someone after such a long time of being alone. Daniel quickly disregards that thought before he becomes too bothered about it and thinks about something else. So, Lester87’s tall, Daniel knows that, and that is very admirable, isn’t it? Daniel realized he doesn’t like dating people that are shorter than him. However, finding someone taller than him might just be impossible. How tall is Philip anyway?

But since when did Daniel get into the equation between Lester87?

Daniel takes a few moments to breathe and clear his mind while he tries to find a nice suit for him, hoping it’s appropriate enough for a first date out to some major play that he couldn’t care less about.

***

“How tall are you?” Daniel asks Philip over the phone. He is sitting in the empty small lounge again as his roommate isn’t exactly in the best of moods. He’s writing some biology notes from a PowerPoint that his professor oh so graciously uploaded online at the last minute. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s paying attention (he couldn’t care less about intercostal muscles and pleural cavities), of course. Ever since last week, Philip has been calling him frequently—just to talk. And even though their conversations heavily interfere with Daniel’s strict schedule, he doesn’t mind. In fact, it would feel odd not to talk to him. They’ve been getting along well so far, but Daniel is still cautious to consider themselves more than friends.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Philip replies on the other line. “Maybe six foot one or two.” He laughs to himself, “Better make it six foot one and a half.”

Daniel smiles as he twirls his pen in his hand. “You’re taller then.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m only six foot. But I’m still holding out for one last growth spurt.”

He sighs. “Oh to be twenty again.”

Daniel becomes silent once he again realizes their obvious four year age difference. He doesn’t necessarily like it and therefore struggles to ignore it. Why does he somehow always end up with people like this?

“Why do you want to know?” Philip asks curiously.

Daniel shrugs and moves on to another PowerPoint slide. “It’s just useful information, that’s all.”

“What are you up to? It’s like, ten thirty.”

“I know its ten thirty, but university kids never take a break, you know that.” Daniel takes a drink of his coffee that he quickly made from his roommate’s Keurig without asking. “I’m trying to study for my biology test next Thursday.”

“Hmmm, interesting. Hope you do well.” Philip’s line stays silent for a few minutes. “How’s that fashion thing going?”

He laughs. “‘Fashion thing’?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Well, Phil, I’m in the beginning stages of making a tracksuit. My class is making a tracksuit collection for the fashion show in April and our professor is challenging us to make them out of different fabrics. And by the luck of the draw I have to make it out of leather. Imagine that!”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He widens his eyes. “‘Is that a bad thing?’” He mocks. “Yes, it is a bad thing! First of all, you know how expensive leather is? And second of all, once you sew it, there’s no going back. Zero mistakes can be made.” He sighs and sits back on the leather couch, of which he now hates. “I’d much rather have to make it in lace, even though that’ll all be hand sewing.”

“Are tracksuits even a thing anymore?”

“They’re slowly coming back. Who knows? By April they might be a hit. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.”

“I’ll make sure to see it.”

“See what?” He asks as he returns to his messy notes.

“The fashion show. In April, right?”

Daniel pauses and sets down his pen, trying to understand what Philip just said. “Um, yeah, it is.”

“Great! Just let me know when the date is.”

“Phil, its November.” His mind becomes clouded with confusion. “I don’t think…why would you…”

Philip nervously laughs. “Am I not invited?”

“No! No, I just never thought…Please, yes, please be there. That’d be…that’d be really great.” He smiles to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Okay, then why are you acting weird about it? Its months away from now.”

“Exactly. Its months away, which is why I’m wondering why you would plan to go if…you know…this doesn’t work out.” His stomach tenses up.

“Doesn’t what work out?”

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “You know, this. Whatever this is between us.”

“You think I won’t be talking to you in five months?” Philip asks slightly defensively.

He bites his lip. “It’s not that I don’t want you to, it’s that I’m scared that, you know, something will happen and you won’t be talking to me. By that point. In time.” Daniel lets out some hot air from his lungs that has been there for too long. He’s treading dangerous waters now and understands he made a terrible mistake somewhere, as usual; might as well prepare for drowning.

“Why are you worried over something so silly like that?” Philip finally responds, relieving Daniel with his simple words. “I like planning my future with you.”

Daniel attempts to cover his blushing by wrapping his arm around his face. “Stop.”

Philip laughs lightly. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I should go back to school and maybe get my masters or something. Seeing you around campus would be cool.”

He smiles. “Oh yeah? What do you plan on studying?”

“You.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and throws his head back in complete embarrassment. “Will you shut up?”

“No, seriously, maybe historic preservation or something. It’d be cool working in a museum.”

He bites his lip and smiles to himself. “I like museums.”

Philip becomes quiet again, though it was normal for him to do so. “Hey, Dan?”

Daniel reads over a slide about bronchitis before answering, “Yeah?”

“Do you think maybe you’re free sometime next week?”

He stops writing and hesitates, understanding where this is going. “Um, perhaps, depending on what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so I can plan on going to your fashion show or whatever in April, but you can’t plan on going on a date with me next week?”

Blood rushes to Daniel’s ears once he said that, but he tries to remain casual and rolls his eyes. “It was a joke, get over it.”

“Well, do you want to spend time with me next week or not?”

His lips gradually stretch into a smile and he replies, “Yes.”

“Okay, good, I’ll let you know where.”

“You haven’t decided yet?”

“I…I didn’t plan that far. I didn’t think…”

“Oh, I see. I understand, alright.” Daniel rubs his arm and glances at his notes. “I think it’s what we need. You know, to see…”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

Their conversation drifts off into several various tangents before Daniel eventually has to say goodbye and get some homework done. The only bad thing about ending a phone call with Philip is that Daniel feels so peculiarly empty afterwards, like something is missing and he isn’t quite certain what it is. Philip’s voice and stories distracts him while going through whatever mess his life always ends up getting in the middle of. It is often difficult for him to return to regular everyday life after their conversations. So in attempt to make himself feel better, he tries to finish up his notetaking. However, while learning about the effects of asthma, he receives a notification from Lester87. Unsurprisingly, he’s going out on another first date. At this point, Daniel knows it isn’t the clothes that are the problem. However, he thinks it is endearing how his note said the date had an undisclosed location. Daniel always likes a challenge.

***

A navy blue wool coat, black plaid button down, and some trousers are the best Daniel can do. It is a bit ironic considering he is a fashion student working part-time as an online stylist that he can’t seem to figure out what to wear during occasions such as these. Perhaps it is his student budget or the fact that his dorm closet can only fit so many clothes. Nevertheless, Daniel walks out of his local Starbucks with a hot chocolate in hand (made especially by his only other male friend in the fashion department), struggling to appear more confident than what he actually feels. He is to meet Philip at the park’s main fountain area. Daniel is a bit nervous considering that if anyone wants to meet you in a park for the first time it is an automatic red flag. But besides that, his nervousness is mostly due to the fact that he’ll be seeing Philip in the flesh for the first time. The past week has been nothing but nerve-wracking for him. To be honest, Daniel sort of simply wants this date to be over with so he could stop being so nervous about it. He’s not certain how this first date would be any better than the last one, so he figures that Philip should do all the talking. At least then it wouldn’t be his fault for ruining it.

Daniel finds an empty metal bench around the fountain and sits down on the cold surface. The fountain is turned off for the season, but that’s fine as Daniel doesn’t have any spare coins left for desperate wishes. It is only now that he wanted Philip to pick a slightly warmer spot. He bounces his leg up and down to create more body heat and sips from his Starbucks cup. He looks around anxiously and checks the time, understanding he doesn’t have the patience to sit here all day. Ten more minutes and he can forget about it.

At first, Daniel isn’t sure what to feel when he sees him. Confusion? Relief? Nervous? Dread? Happy? Paranoid? Awkward? Most of all, however, he felt like he oddly seen him before. It isn’t difficult to overlook him considering he is wearing a mustard yellow wool coat. Daniel never saw someone pull off such a color so well before. Underneath the coat he is wearing a burgundy cashmere sweater and slim fitting dark gray trousers. Lastly, he wears polished brown leather boots. In his hands is a Starbucks cup as well. But there is something more to him. The coat, the sweater, the trousers, the boots…oh my God.

Daniel stands up to greet him, but before he can say anything, Philip says, “You should’ve told me you were going to Starbucks. We could’ve gone together.”

Daniel swallows anxiously, but keeps his head up high. “The barista is a classmate of mine and I usually get a discount, depending on how much he likes me on that day.”

Philip smiles at him and his left hand fidgets in his coat pocket. “So, Dan…”

Daniel still manages to keep a straight face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He breaks into a nervous smile and runs his fingers through his hair. “Oh my God. I was so stupid.” He crushes some brown dry leaves on the pavement with his shoe. “I should’ve known!”

Philip watches him without any indication of what is going on. “What’s the matter?”

Daniel keeps his eyes on the crushed leaves. “You with your hundred dollar coat and your Italian made cashmere sweater and your designer trousers!” He stomps on the ground again, the sound of the crunching leaves providing impact to his statement. His eyes finally meet with Philip’s, full of intensity. “I know who you are.”

Philip picks at his sweater and looks at him again cautiously, almost scared of where this is going. “Yeah, I’m Phil. The guy you—”

“Lester87!” Daniel excitedly shouts out.

Blood rushes to Philip’s cheeks and he is not amused. “Dan, just tell me what is going on.”

“I’m the reason why you are wearing what you are wearing today. I picked those clothes. You are Lester87.” Daniel smiles and shakes his head. “I can’t believe it.” His expression becomes softer and more sympathetic. “What’s the matter, Phil? You keep on going on all these dates. I’ve been worried about you.”

Philip takes a seat at Daniel’s bench and drinks from his warm coffee before he speaks. “You’re my stylist, huh?” He bites his lip and finally looks at Daniel. “The world is so small.”

Daniel remains quiet and sits down beside him. He’s not exactly sure if he ruined this or not yet, but he knows he did something wrong at some point, as usual. Whatever happened to his plan of staying quiet?

“I, uh, appreciate all your hard work.” Philip breaks the eye contact again and focuses on the autumn leaves blowing by in the afternoon breeze. “I guess I’m not who you think I am. I’m not some…amazing guy that’s romantic or anything. I don’t know the first thing that comes to relationships. Hell, I don’t even know what I am doing here. Trying not to feel so empty all the time?” He shrugs pitifully. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too picky. Searching for something I’m never going to find and losing my mind because of it.”

Daniel feels uncomfortable because this conversation abruptly took a deep turn. He slowly finishes his hot chocolate and glances at Philip, struggling to find the words to say to make him feel better. “I never judged you, in case you were wondering that. I just felt bad for you. I mean, what’s wrong with all the people out there that can’t see what a great person you are?”

“It’s not the people that are the problem, Dan, it’s me. I’m the one that pushes them away. I mean, what’s the point of working hard at something if all I’m going to do is ruin it?”

Daniel rolls his eyes at that, incredibly annoyed by his detrimental, hopeless thinking. “I see. You’re the kind of person that’s scared of love, but still searches for it anyway, warning everyone that you might ‘ruin’ them or ‘break their heart’ and all that crap.” Daniel sighs and gets up to throw his cup away at a nearby park trashcan. When he comes back, he stands in front of Philip, hands in his coat pockets. “Doesn’t that get tiring? Because for me it’s quite frankly highly irritating and immature.”

Philip looks up at him, helpless and offended. “That hurt.”

Daniel widens his eyes in disbelief. “Oh relax, I went easy on you.”

Philip shrugs. “Alright, so, tell me what to do now. You seem to be the one with all the answers today.”

Daniel smiles at him and takes both of Philip’s hands and pulls him up on his feet. “We are going to go on a walk, clear our minds, and enjoy ourselves. I did not come here to waste my Saturday when I could be much better off writing a paper. Now, let’s go.”

The walk is slow and silent now that Daniel finally put Philip in his place. He didn’t intend to hurt him; he simply wanted to make him shut up about all his self-inflicted problems. Can that really be a bad thing? He just didn’t want to hear it anymore. Far too many people have given him the similar speech in the past, only that this time he really wanted to do something about it. He wants to stay with Philip and see where all this ends up. Beyond his cliché’s, there is something to like about Philip. Perhaps it is his honesty and his admirable characteristics or style (Daniel has to laugh at that one), that draws Daniel to him. Either way, he can’t say too much about Philip as they’ve only been talking for a couple months. Nevertheless, Daniel believes it hasn’t been a wasted two months.

“This time capsule only has twelve more years to go.” Philip comments casually as they stop by the park’s time capsule that has been there since 1923.

Daniel looks up at the tall pale marble obelisk statue and reads over the inscribed words. “What do you think that’s in it?”

He shrugs. “It was the 1920’s. My best guess is alcohol.”

Daniel glares at him. “I sure hope our ancestors were more responsible than that.”

“Well? What do you suppose that’s in that thing?”

Daniel walks around it, taking in its beauty and history. “Maybe some pictures, city records, newspapers, you know, typical stuff…”

“I sure hope our ancestors were more interesting than that. Don’t you want them to find an unreleased film or something? A rare book? Government secrets?”

Daniel smiles and they continue walking. “What would you put in a time capsule?”

“Money.” He answers without hesitating. “I’m sure I’ll be broke in the future.”

Daniel glances at him admirably. “You seem to be pretty well off already.”

Philip narrows his eyes at him. “Oh please, you think anybody whose twenty dollars richer than you are living the life. All I have is a good job and an influential family.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “I think I’d write myself a letter and throw in pictures of myself and everyone who’s important to me. I’d put some money in there too, if I were honest. Then maybe a current newspaper, a mix CD of all my favorite songs, and an outfit. I’d open it, say, fifty years later and see if the clothes are still in style.” He laughs to himself. “Or if I gained any weight.”

Philip laughs. “That’s a good idea.”

Daniel observes as a squirrel runs across the pathway and smiles at a father who is jogging and pushing a stroller at the same time. He looks up at the sky and the sun peeking through the leafless trees and thinks for a minute. “Have you ever realized that the history we know now is never the true history?”

Philip nods his head in understanding. “There’s so much missing. It bothers me a lot. Only the winners ever get to write history. We never really know the whole story of it.”

“We’re just living in a…in an altered reality. Living life based off of incomplete…information.” Daniel’s mind continues to wonder about time, space, and everything that has ever happened in between. Quite truthfully, he’s never given much thought to it before.

“To start over would be great. To write the true story of what happened.” Philip shakes his head and watches as a few people successfully play tennis in the tennis courts. “I read online somewhere that they found a planet twice as big as Earth and is most likely inhabitable. Like, am I the only one that thinks that’s a bad idea?”

“Well, no, you have a valid point. We have to figure out how long it’ll take to get there and what protocols and requirements there are to get people on that planet. But before that happens, we need to make sure we have the right kind of spaceship to get us there. And what happens after we get there? We’ll start building houses or something?” Daniel shakes his head. “I don’t see that happening in this age of instant gratification.”

“That’s my point. Whatever we have on Earth, we’ll take with us. Sure that’ll be technology and knowledge and whatnot, but there’ll still be hate, violence, prejudice, abuse, debt, persecution, unfair government…” Philip looks seriously at Daniel. “I mean, do we even deserve a second planet?”

He shrugs, uncertain of the correct answer to a question he’s never been asked before. “I’d like to say we do. It’d give us hope.”

“We can’t take care of the planet we have now, Dan. That’s like rewarding a toddler with another cookie after she took a bite of the first one and threw it on the ground. We’ll just ruin the second planet and every other planet after that one.”

He bites his lip. “Hard to imagine that the universe will go on as normal without us if the Earth just…dies.” He looks up at the sky again. “We are so small.”

“Will our dates always be like this?” Philip inquisitively asks after a few moments of profound contemplation. “Talking about life in the cosmic level?”

Heat rushes to Daniel’s cheeks when Philip said that and he becomes speechless. “Um, w-well, it’s either that or school. I…I much rather talk about the former, though.”

“Good.” Philip says in a warm smile. “We have a lot to talk about then. It’s nice, you know, to talk about stuff like this with someone who doesn’t think you’re crazy. Don’t you think?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t been—”

“Yes.” Daniel interrupts him suddenly.

Philip’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes to what?”

“I think it’s nice.” His hand reaches out to hold his. “Very nice.”

#phan #phanfiction #phan fluff #phan au #getting together #one shot

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