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merakiui · 3 years

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[2] 𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 & 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘳

yandere!xiao x (gender neutral) reader cw: modern au, yandere, kidnapping/captivity, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dark/violent thoughts, mentions of death/murder, mentions of weapons previous chapter → [bitter & sweet]

“This place is huge! How do you keep track of everything?” Ajax comments as he surveys the various doors that run down either side of the hallway. “So many rooms, too. Makes me feel lost just looking at it.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Xiao gives a brief summary of each room before gesturing to the one at the very end of the hallway. “I shouldn’t have to say this to you, but since you’re just a kid I’ll say it anyways. Don’t interrupt the meetings, especially not when Morax is part of them. When you follow me into my meetings, you’re expected to be quiet, sit still, and listen well.”

Ignoring the not-so-subtle insult, he asks, “Morax? That doesn’t sound like a name native to Liyue.”

“And neither does yours.”

Ajax chuckles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not from here. I moved here last year and I thought it’d be fun to pick up some work. It gives me a chance to practice my language skills when I’m interacting with the locals.”

Xiao rolls his eyes, continuing onward towards his destination. This sour man chose to work because it’s fun? There hardly seems to be any logic in his words, but it isn’t any of his business to agonize over what it could mean. He opens a door to reveal a small office, complete with a mahogany desk, shuttered windows, filing cabinets, and a leather armchair. When he and Ajax step inside, the door shutting behind them, the taller man whistles.

“This looks nice. Is this where I’ll be working?”

“No. This is my office. When you aren’t stuck in those cubicles, you’re going to be in here. Morax wants me to keep an eye on you while you’re shadowing me and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Ah.” Ajax flops down in the armchair, crossing one leg over the other as he circles back to his boss’s namesake. “By the way, why do you call him Morax? When he interviewed me, he introduced himself as Zhongli.”

“It’s the name I choose to call him.” Xiao’s eyes narrow at the way Ajax so carelessly stretches, practically sprawling like a cat. “It’s none of your business, so don’t worry about it.”

“Then let’s get to know each other! We might as well if we’re going to be seeing each other for the next three months.”

“I’d rather not.” Xiao dips behind his desk, opening one of the nearby cabinets and searching for a file.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you? That’s fine. I can do plenty of talking for the both of us.” Ajax chuckles when Xiao glares at him again. He clearly hasn’t taken hint that he should shut his mouth. “Where I’m from we don’t usually see nice weather. There’s always snow and ice. It’s way too cold, so I’m glad to be in Liyue where the climate’s warmer.”

His chatter falls upon deaf ears when Xiao finally retrieves the file he was looking for. He crosses the distance between the both of them, handing the Manila envelope to him. “Take a look at these figures from last month and write up a report based on your findings. I’ll deliver it to Morax so that he can judge you on your economic literacy.”

“That’s boring. I already showed him everything in my portfolio and he knows what I’m capable of from the things on my resume. Isn’t there anything better I can do? Something a little more exciting?”

“Just get it done. Stop wasting my time.” Xiao pinches the bridge of his nose as he wishes his secret would appear out of thin air to chase his irritation away. “Additionally, later in the week, there’s going to be a meeting on last month’s revenue and the impact our social media websites have had on consumers. Be prepared to take notes on every topic. Morax is always open to new ideas, so if anything crosses your mind don’t hesitate to share it. I hope I can trust that you won’t act foolish and will remain professional throughout the entirety of the meeting.”

He’s reminded of his hatred for interns at once. Having to explain everything in such detail is tiring, especially when he isn’t one to speak many phrases at once. Although he would rather lay the ground rules out now instead of minutes before an impending meeting. Xiao is not one to sacrifice diligence for the sake of his own selfish desire to keep his lips sealed. He figures it would be beneficial to tolerate these bothersome explanations, lest his boss tower over him with new questions. As kind and generous as Boss Zhongli may be, he has a tendency to show a little more care where Xiao and his mentality are concerned.

That wouldn’t have been a problem in the past, but now that Xiao has found himself trapped in a web of secrets he must be cautious when sharing information with his boss.

“Your words wound me, coworker. You can rely on me. Aren’t we friends?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, you’re too mean.”

This is going to be a long three months, Xiao thinks.

And throughout the course of the next two weeks, Xiao settles into a new routine. He follows it expertly: wake up, listen to you as you make promises to stay within the apartment, head to work, suffer through Ajax’s horrid conversation starters, and then return back to his quaint slice of heaven. He’s complained to his secret about his coworker, not at all pleased that he has to watch over such a sour young adult. It’s as if his boss wants him to hold his hand the entire time he’s working, softly encouraging him to do his best.

Such a perspective on work is juvenile.

The only thing keeping him sane is his secret. It’s something he thinks about every day. When Ajax tries to convince him to get drinks or when he attempts to put off his work in favor of idle chit-chat, Xiao’s head is filled with images and memories of the past two months. As long as he thinks of what waits for him at home, he’ll be fine. His heart is secure and his sanity remains intact like an old jar that has withstood the cruel test of time. Surely even the most starved man can survive if he considers his desperate need for food.

And if you long for something day after day, you’re bound to find it eventually.

With the end of the week drawing near, Xiao is patiently awaiting the moment where he’ll be able to clock out and ride the train home. He’ll spend the next two days in tranquility, cooking meals to the best of his ability and watching the morning news with his secret. It’s truly an ideal lifestyle.

“I’ve got the papers you requested,” Ajax says as he pokes his head inside Xiao’s small office, successfully pulling him from his innermost daydreams. Fresh from the printer, the pages are ordered by number and warm to the touch. The report he struggled to finalize is within his grasp in physical form. Xiao has learned that, despite Ajax’s rambunctious personality, he has displayed a few instances of his conscientiousness. And for that he is eternally grateful. “You sure write a lot.”

Xiao shrugs as he flips through the papers, relieved to find that everything is how it should be.

“I overheard a few coworkers talking about a company party. We should go together!” At Xiao’s skeptical expression, he shakes his head. “Not like that. I mean, you’re really the only guy I talk to here. Other than Boss Zhongli and maybe some of the women. And it’d look sad if I showed up to a party all alone.”

“Then you’d better get used to being alone.”

“Harsh.” He sighs. “You’re colder than the snow in Snezhnaya.”

“If you’ve got nothing better to do, be quiet and read the newspaper or get lost. I’ve got work to do.”

He grins, glancing around the room as if he expects his superiors to suddenly appear out of thin air before pulling out his phone. “I’m not an old man like you, Xiao.”

“If you’re going to use your phone, do it somewhere else.”

“I won’t bother you.” His eyes are glued to the screen while his thumb swipes through various applications. “It’s my break anyways.”

“Then go spend it in the break room,” he snaps, mustering another stone-cold glare. “Or better yet, leave the building and get lunch.”

“No can do, pops. I’d rather spend it with you.”

Xiao sighs and turns away from Ajax, his gaze settling upon the screen of his computer. So much for a relaxing afternoon at work, he thinks, somewhat irritated at the fact that the intern has become unusually quiet. He’d rather have a silent Ajax than one who speaks of every single detail regarding the office and the differences between Liyue and his home country. It can be quite bothersome when he’s caught up in his work, focused to a deadly degree, and Ajax decides to break that concentration with his nonsensical ramblings. Though they have only been acquainted for a few weeks, it’s clear that their personalities do not mesh. And Xiao surmises that they will never, ever mesh.

But for the sake of pleasing his boss and finishing the workday without any stress, he’ll force it to work.

“Here’s a fun psychology question,” Ajax prompts, azure hues centered on Xiao. “Do you think more kidnapping victims are killed by their captor or are they lucky enough to survive? How many are rescued and how many escape?”

“That isn’t just one question.”

“Well? What’s your take on it?”

“I’m busy.”

“Come on! You’ve got to have an opinion. This is some serious stuff and from a psychological perspective it can determine whether or not you’re morally good. At least, that’s what I think.” He turns his phone screen in Xiao’s direction. “I guess Liyue has a dark side, too. On the way here I saw a lot of missing persons posters. Kind of sad when you really think about what happens to them.”

Xiao catches sight of the screen for a split second and he’s almost certain the face of his secret is staring back at him, smiling in an old class photo. Something about the irony of this situation tugs at his nerves, clawing into his brain and bouncing around like unsteady static on a TV screen. The sour person sitting before him is not a friendly ally, nor is he a coworker he should continue to converse with. In order to preserve the life he has crafted with his precious secret, his steps should be measured precisely down to the decimal.

That photo doesn’t look right.

Old memories settle into his cortex like oil on water, so potent and vivid. If it were up to Xiao, he’d use every method in the book to rid himself of his coworker in the pursuit of absolute secrecy. He blinks to clear his disturbing thoughts and when he examines the screen once more he finds the face of a person who bears no striking resemblance to the light of his life.

“Some of them look really young, too. Do you think these people are still alive? Or are they just resting in some trash bags and the authorities haven’t found them yet?” A frown tugs at Ajax’s lips. “The world’s just not fair.”

“It’s never been fair.”

Vaguely, like blurred glass that has been colored sloppily, he recalls shouting voices and a fight that ended in lonely despair. The hand that had reached out to him, pulling him further from the light and into the dark, murky underworld of crime and hatred. And the way in which he navigated this new world, lost and alone—stuck with horrific sights and scattered dreams—was a reality he couldn’t dream of escaping. Small, tender hands were stained red and his eyes grew accustomed to the sight of mangled corpses.

It was a bland, monochromatic life.

Xiao may not remember the faces of his victims, but he could picture their wounds with ease. He used plenty of gruesome weapons back then: box cutters, knives, and a hammer. He shot a gun once but could never hit his target and so it was decided that hand-to-hand combat was better. It was more efficient if he came within close proximity, wired to the brim with a euphoria that could power even the oldest of machines.

And as he envisions these bloodied carcasses, he thinks of the ways in which he could dispose of Ajax. He’s a tall man with a hidden strength. He could probably subdue Xiao with brute force, using their differences in height to his advantage. Xiao wonders if he should learn how to aim a gun. Perhaps long distance is better in terms of killing Ajax. A pistol might work. Like any firearm, it requires time to reload after the failed rounds and even then it’s not guaranteed that he’ll have the luck of firing a fatal shot. In the end, wouldn’t a bat suffice? Xiao is nodding to himself as he considers this. A wooden baseball bat can bring a person to their death if there’s enough force and speed exerted into the swing. All he has to do is break one of Ajax’s legs to get him down to his height and then he can bash his head in to finish the job.

Problem solved. Crisis averted. His secret remains in the depths of his glass heart, safely tucked away like a canary in a cage.

Even now Ajax is contemplating something, though it’s far from the murderous tendencies Xiao is reflecting on. The shorter man exhales and his memories fade into obscurity once more, where he’s now free to observe his coworker’s forlorn expression. He is handsome, in an obnoxious sort of way. Xiao’s certain he could easily talk to anyone in the company and they’d gladly welcome the conversation. He’s heard a few coworkers gush over Ajax’s attractive qualities and work ethic at the coffee pot each morning. His reputation has become blindingly shiny ever since he joined, so he wouldn’t have any issue finding a few friends to accompany him to the upcoming party.

Xiao wishes he would just disappear. That would make his life so much easier.

“Ah, sorry! I totally spaced out just now, didn’t I?” Ajax shows off his pearly whites in a sheepish smile. “I guess I got a little sad. It’s just scary to think about. I’ve got siblings at home and I’d hate to imagine any of them getting kidnapped…”

“Then don’t think about it.”

“Maybe I should stop looking at those posters. It’s just—I don’t know. What’s the word? Tragic? Unfortunate?” He glances down at his phone and tuts. “Looks like I won’t have any time to give it some thought. My break’s ended, so I’ll leave you to your old man stuff.”

Xiao sighs when Ajax stands up and makes his way to the door, hardly sparing him another glance before shutting it. He leans back in his office chair, exhausted and itchy. His vision is foggy with all sorts of strange urges and he finds himself pulling up a missing persons database, which is open to the public and free to search for every child and adult who may have disappeared in Liyue. His thin fingers spell out the full name of his secret and the screen loads for a moment, nearly almost buffering, before a list of names and faces show up. Yours is among the few who are similar only in spelling and he clicks on your profile.

It’s a simple thing, really. Your name and the date you went missing are on full display, accompanied with a photo of your face, a downloadable poster, and a short description of your physical features and where you were last seen. He finds himself skimming through the paragraph, not all that interested in facts he’s already well aware of. Scrolling up to the top of the page, he stares at your photo with intense scrutiny as if possessed by a sense of gripping paranoia. There’s no doubting that that was the image he saw on Ajax’s phone. It was as clear as glass—a graduation outfit from a class photo. The resemblance is uncanny, yet he refuses to believe it. Surely his own worries are beginning to manifest in the form of optical illusions.

Xiao, afflicted by the citrus flavor of lemon, clicks out of the website.

When the familiar color of his door greets him, comfort floods through his overworked muscles and he’s put at ease. His key turns in the lock and the door opens in the same fashion it always does. When he steps into his apartment he follows his routine: lock the door, take off his shoes, and find his secret. Only this time an eerie chill has settled within the apartment; it’s almost devoid of life altogether. A deafening silence engulfs him and his fingers curl tightly around his key ring.

“I’m home.”

The lights are off, save for the one that flickers in the kitchen, and he moves through the hall at a brisk pace the moment he senses it. His heart rate spikes and he feels as though he could slip into cardiac arrest with how fast it’s beating. He throws open the nearest door and searches with manic intensity. You’re not there. He moves to his bedroom, peering around for the outline of your figure in the darkness. Xiao takes one look at his closet and yanks the door open, flipping the light switch and illuminating the small space. He rifles through the clothes with no luck. You’re not here either.

Your sweet presence has vanished, having dried up like a fish on a sandy shoreline. Only bitter emptiness remains. And he’s left with the painful realization that you’ve disappeared. You are not here.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

Xiao stands in that space for a full minute, listening to the clock on his nightstand as it ticks out the seconds. His heart slows, nearly on the verge of flatlining, and he pivots, intending to check what’s left of his apartment. His worst fears are confirmed when he finds the kitchen to be empty. The countertop is clean and lacking any sign of your gentle touch. You haven’t cooked anything yet. You’re gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

For the first time since he kidnapped you, Xiao sinks into an emotion that’s so acidic it threatens to burn his taste buds. His eyes land on the knife block sitting on the counter, filled with blades of varying sizes. Grisly thoughts crawl into the dreary expanse of his mind, poking at his logic until it’s turned to mush. The static returns in full force, buzzing like a colony of irate wasps as he reaches for the largest knife. His fingertips brush the handle and he thinks of his secret, unearthed and spoiled before the world’s hateful gaze, and he just wants to—

“Xiao?”

He’s never turned so fast in his life before. Standing there, having emerged from the bathroom, is his secret. And you’re safe, untouched by the despicable hands of those icky people who would take you away from him without a second thought. People who would sour your sweetness with their dirty claws and gnashing fangs.

His eyes rove your form to confirm that what he’s seeing isn’t just a figment of his imagination. You’re real and very much present. You haven’t run off like he originally presumed. But as his gaze fades in and out of perception, weaving colors and distinct sounds together as though it’s a quilt with incomplete patterns, he finds that you’re wearing your graduation attire. Not the stained uniform from your job. Not the one he manhandled when you desperately fought against his hurtful grip. And then he blinks and exhales slowly through his nose, and the image before him is gone.

“Don’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry.” Not entirely certain of the context for your apology, you approach him. “Um… Welcome home! I was actually washing my hands so I could start cooking.”

“I’ll make dinner. You can sit over there and watch TV.” He brushes you off as if you’re a speck of dirt, setting his briefcase on the kitchen table and loosening his tie. He releases a heavy sigh. Everything’s okay. You didn’t run away; you stuck to your promise. Xiao can vaguely place the feeling that slows his heart. It must be relief in the purest form and even though it’s meant to relax his jittery nerves it doesn’t feel as good as it should. “Don’t move from that spot.”

“Are you sure? I can help. You’re always working, so I thought you might like a break from the—”

“Just sit there and don’t get in my way.”

His vision betrays him as he glares at you, the corners darkening and splitting like shards of glass. He wonders whether he should show you some kindness at this moment, but all thoughts of sympathy evaporate when he spies your downcast expression. It’s your fault he was so ready to dissolve into a maddening concoction of murder and deceit. He was on the verge of feeling an emotion he can’t quite process. It’s something he hasn’t experienced in a long time—something so potent it should be confined in a lab, locked away and labeled to the highest degree of toxicity. His mouth tastes unbelievably sour, almost like bile, and he grits his teeth.

He’s only ever known the frigid bitterness of isolation.

Nodding, you trudge off and Xiao’s sweet secret remains inside this sunny paradise for another day.

next chapter → [bitter & fruity]

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere xiao x reader #yandere xiao #bittersweet secret #bittersweet secret chapter two

901 notes · View notes

shoichee · 4 years

Note

hello! may i ask some tips about the instragram acccunts the GoM + kagami could have? like of sort of post, amount of followers, stuff like that THANK U and have a great day !!

THIS IS ACTUALLY HILARIOUS SINCE I BREATHE OFF OF INSTAGRAM LFMAO

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

HELP WHAT IF HE HAS NO PRESENCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA TOO—

professional lurker

never comments on anything unless it’s to congratulate under a friend’s post or something like that

probably started using it because Ogiwara moved from letters and texts to just... instagram (technology advancements, jazz hands)

his account is on private, and he only lets people he knows follow him

all of his posts are pictures to commemorate something or just really wholesome group pictures

DEFINITELY has that picture of the GoMs at his birthday OVA

DEFINITELY also posted the big birthday picture taken at the end of the party

and also had typed very sappy BIG paragraph captions for both of these posts, talking about the journey and him being grateful… y’know, him being him

HIS ENTIRE COMMENT SECTIONS ARE JUST EVERYONE SOBBING AND KEYBOARD SPAMMING??? ONLY LIKE MIDORIMA AND AKASHI POST COHERENT RESPONSES UNDERNEATH

@kiseryouta: kuROKOCCHIIIII!!NEJWIEISK

@momoiowo: TETSUU (ʃƪ˘･ᴗ･˘) YOURE SO SWEET REEEE

@a_daikiii: i stg quit being so corny no one died yet🙄 and @momoiowo relax smh

@shin_chan77: I suppose I can express some form of gratitude for being in my life despite you being a blood type A. (insert a giant paragraph after this)

@4k4shi: This was very touching to read, Kuroko. I’m very glad that our… (insert him going down memory lane)

Murasakibara has no comment LMAO

his entire Seirin team are his hype men under his posts

his profile picture is literally the gray default blank head because he didn’t even set up a profile picture for himself

he has like 20 followers max or something?

8 posts? like, he only posts on special occasions or big events

his occasional stories are always comprised of Nigou and blurry Kagami pictures/videos running away from Nigou UH OH (courtesy of @dust-of-fandoms)

@tetsuya11 for his user handle

@dust-of-fandoms JUST MADE AN INSTAGRAM FOR HIM HERE!!

Kise Ryota

uses his instagram account as a portfolio for his modeling career

majority of his posts are actually pictures he managed to snag from his frequent model shoots

it looks SO professional… but then you look at his IGTVs and his reel videos

his reels are either short clips of mini vlog series he does whenever he visits the GoMs or when he’s recording his Kaijō teammates doing tricks and dunks

his IGTVs are either skincare tutorials, fashion advice… or just… unexplainable, out-of-context shitposts of Kise running away from what fans assumed “a green-haired man” or some “captain”

follower account?? 124k

who wouldn’t resist a hot model?

DEFINITELY HAS A TIKTOK I CAN FEEL IT

@kiseryouta with an official verification next to it

people either love him or hate him

posts a casual selfie from time to time, and people praise him for “being real” LMAODOA AND HE’S JUST STARING AT HIS PHONE LIKE “??? IMIG BUT I JUST FELT CUTE TODAY”

his captions feel fake LMAO like: “Wow! today’s so pretty today!” as he puts a selfie post OR “What’s your favorite game?✨” under a professionally-shot model picture that does not correlate with the caption???

has posted shitposts on his stories and his fans are utterly confused… only the GoMs get it LMAO

Midorima Shintarou

ONLY reason why he has social media is because Takao convinced him that he could let everyone know the daily lucky items for each signs for every post he makes

so for the first 2 months of having instagram he just casually posts a “daily horoscope” report(?) for the day

his content attracted in all the astrology fans and people who are devoted to tarots

and he’s CONFUSED.

… Takao may or may not have played a hand in messing with the algorithms to expose his account to bigger audiences

once Midorima finds out he’s MAD LMAO *insert Takao pain noises*

either goes down two paths: just casually continuing to post the daily Oha Asa predictions without interacting with anyone OR deleting his account and making a new PRIVATE one just for communication/lurking purposes

so he can honestly have 10k followers if he chooses to be a horoscope account or like 3 followers on his private, take it or leave it

maybe he has two accounts if he feels that having instagram has its merits

definitely has a shit ton of random stuff/posts in his saved collections

boomer energy, like… what’s a “reels” feature?? people talk to their phone camera and record that?? he’s squinting really hard and scratching his head

either has 356 horoscope posts on his “main” or like 19 posts on his private

has a rubber duck as a profile picture for BOTH ACCOUNTS HELP HIM

@oha_asa_ for his horoscope account or @shin_chan77 as his personal because he doesn’t know how to change his username (thanks, Takao LMAO)

Aomine Daiki

he doesn’t give a shit about instagram LOL

it’s MOMOI who handles his account because he doesn’t wanna bother with it LMAOO

she would tease him and try to “encourage” him to stop lazing around by taking pictures of him whenever he’s snoozing and posting it

but he’s so damn good-looking that his sleeping pictures got some traction with new fans

Aomine is still sleeping

his account also has pictures of him eating at Maji burger or at a café, and of course Momoi is the one snapping these photos of him

he started caring about it a little more once Momoi told him that he can post videos of himself doing trickshots and one-on-ones to potentially find worthy rivals over the internet and meet up

so now his account (videos, reels, IGTVs) are all riddled with basketball/small parkour footage shot by yours truly, Momoi

so his fanbase is split between thirsty people and people who genuinely admire him for his skills… but I mean there’s also people in both categories, anywho

he’d totally follow his favorite Japanese idols on IG if they had one

also would follow any NBA-related accounts/players he admires

has like 2.7k followers (but growing really fast) with like 176 posts of videos and random pictures of him

his profile picture is literally a picture of him sleeping by Momoi

@a_daikiii

Momoi Satsuki

LOTS OF REALLY cute, playful selfies, and a lot of them are used with cute filters from the Snow app

sometimes would post herself doing a really cute Tiktok dance while in her school uniform

she doesn’t post too much; she’s actually more into posting IG stories and making highlights out of them and then making highlight covers have a coordinating theme together

very aesthetic theme on her feed overall hehe

definitely uses her account to comment on other GoMs posts, often commenting something snarky on Aomine’s and Kise’s

actually has 1-2 IGTVs on the Vorpal Sword’s big game against the Jabberwocks

doesn’t have much of full-body shots/outfit pictures other than mirror selfies because Aomine refuses to take good pictures of her

only when she sees Kise or Kuroko is when she can ask either to be a photographer

she’s definitely gotten a few small collab offers from small businesses, but she usually ignores them because it’s not exactly her thing

her profile picture is just a selfie with a sketch-line cat ear filter

uses a bunch of emoticons on her bio, captions, comments, everything

⌒(ㅇㅅㅇ❀)⌒ or ☆⌒(＞。≪) or .₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇. you get the picture

967 followers… that looks way too specific, but it’s somewhere around there; a lot of them came from Aomine’s account after they saw who’s been taking his pictures, and they wanna learn more about her??

around 40 posts?

@momoiowo

Murasakibara Atsushi

Himuro showed him how to use the app, but Murasakibara doesn’t find ANY USE FOR THIS LMAOO

he’d probably only get on it to look at food on the explore page and drool about the cuisines

keeps tabs on local places/restaurants/shops on instagram; those are probably the only accounts he’d follow tbh

it’s probably like ONE post and it’s an old picture of a dango on a plate he ate like 2 years ago

I have this image in my head that he has a really cute bento art as his profile picture?? can you imagine a Rilakkuma-shaped rice as his PROFILE PICTURE?

his bio is definitely: “hungry”

and that’s it

27 followers, and it’s literally just his Yōsen teammates, the GoMs and probably some other classmates of his

his captions are literally empty or 1-2 words

@oomaib0

Akashi Seijuro

only uses instagram because it’ll be beneficial for his company and to expand social networks, plus getting those sweet business deals and engagement

he doesn’t mind seeing really wholesome videos on the explore page though

when he wants to relax, a cat video melts his stress away

laughs to himself while he reads all the shenanigans underneath the GoMs’ posts

DEFINITELY loses a few brain cells seeing trolls and idiots on the internet… especially on controversial or political ones LMAO

he at first had to REFRAIN himself and take deep breaths before he just scrolls on, but he eventually got used to them and can now easily ignore them as easy as he breathes air

he actually enjoys shitposts and meme videos?? like he may not completely understand the meme trends sometimes, but he’ll still find it amusing enough for a chuckle

he ends up being the one who uses instagram the most? like Kise posts a shit ton, yeah, but Kise doesn’t really sit down and just scroll endlessly; Kise releases out content, while Akashi consumes the content

he reasons with himself that it’s to study his current demographics for the company, and while that may be true, Akashi just enjoys social media, plain and simple LOL

he does get to study the behaviors of all the generations using the platform, young folks and old folks alike, and it does get him excited in using his analytical skills to try to figure out people BEHIND a screen rather than those in front of him

it makes a really good challenge for him when he wants a good mental exercise

he has a post or two about his horses, his manor, and a video or two on him playing his violin?? but most are business-related, them being advertisements or business contracts/offers… things like that

his highlights are all about Q&As regarding the company, his background, his skillsets, etc. like an actual resumé

actually links current world issue cards/petitions on top of his company website; he’s quite an advocate

he actually doesn’t post about basketball because that’s something very close to his heart since it reminds him of his late mother… having that mixed in with his company-related posts feels wrong to him

27k followers, most of them are business-related accounts AND some are some followers his father bought for him without Akashi’s input to inflate engagement, etc.

@4k4shi… oh he thinks he’s SO CLEVER FOR MAKING THIS USERNAME LOL with the 4 being his jersey number and the 4s looking like As… AKASHI PLEASE—

his profile pic is like a professionally taken picture, nothing less for our king

his grammar and syntax are impeccable on social media; after all, he’s still being judged for how he carries himself even on the media

Kagami Taiga

mukbang guy… DEFINITELY

hot guy eating nine plates of steaks

IGTVs are filled with mukbang videos because Kuroko said he could make a living off of his appetite

HE COULD MAKE MONEY OFF OF JUST EATING? SIGN HIM UP.

on his posts, he posts dishes he makes for the day/is proud of and talks about the dish and ingredients briefly in the caption

that, or he has pictures of his new basketball shoes LMAO

or all of his basketball merch

HE’S DEFINITELY POSTED PICTURES OF LANDMARKS AND OTHER ICONIC PLACES HE’S TRAVELED TO (*cough* in America)

has a generic Jordan brand logo against a dark background as a profile picture

doesn’t have his face anywhere unless it’s in a mukbang video

279 followers or something

why do I have a feeling that he’ll accidentally blow up when Alex takes his phone to do a quick selfie on it?—

@taiga10

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ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

Career Advice

Hi everyone!! This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.”

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger.

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?”

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office.

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday?

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier.

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind.

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?”

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting.

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”

#alya redemption #lila salt #ml fic #lila karma #friendship #alya salt

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Hey love! Was just wondering if you’d be up to do some stonathan fluff times. I love Jonathan and Steve so why not love them together :) if not that’s alright! ❤️❤️❤️

This takes place the summer before Steve’s senior year/Jonathan’s junior year. Basically, Steve is his muse. This is also more angst than I was orignally planning on lol.

“Hey, this is kind of a weird request, but do you think you could get naked?”

Jonathan had been spending the summer taking photography classes at the community college in the city, and had enlisted Steve’s help for his final project, a portfolio capturing a range of seven complex human emotions.

So far, the image for “Joy” was his favorite. He and Steve had gone to the fields at edge of Hawkins, and Steve had rolled down the hill, chased buzzing little bees around in the grass, picked flowers and weaved them into Jonathan’s hair. The final image he had selected was from late in the day. Steve was laying on the grass, soaking in the sun. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, his hair messy around his head. He was making shapes in the clouds, this look of pure childlike freedom on his face. It was beautiful.

The one for “Frustrated” was an accident. Jonathan had come to meet Steve at his house, had let himself in and came up to Steve’s room. He was trying to do a summer assignment, pouring over the book his English teacher had selected. That’s when Jonathan learned about the dyslexia, learned about how difficult school was for Steve. He had taken a picture of Steve hunched over the book, his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. And one when Steve had flung the book to the side, caught him with one arm out, the book just about to slap against the wall. Jonathan had placed a hand between his shoulder blades, had told him he’s not stupid.

“Insecure” was Steve standing in his father’s office, on hand trailed on the desk, looking up at the huge painting above the desk, a twelve year old Steve standing uncomfortably with his parents. The Steve in the photograph was biting his lip. Jonathan only noticed how his eyes were shining after the picture was developed.

Jonathan loved the one for “Tired”, he and Steve had stayed up all night for it. He had a lot of Steve from that night, looking sleepy and ruffled, his hair out of place, but the one he had selected for the assignment was him curled like a cat in a large armchair, his head on the armrest, mouth open slightly. Jonathan liked to look at it, thinking about the soft little noises Steve had made as he slept.

“Amazed” was from the Fourth of July. They sat on top of Steve’s roof, watching the fireworks explode over the trees. He took one of Steve in profile, his glasses on, reflecting the fireworks, his eyes bright in the darkness, a tiny smile tugging at his soft lips.

The one for “Disapproving” made him laugh. Taken at the arcade, Steve standing head and shoulders above the kids, one eyebrow raised at Dustin, lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest. The kids had been clamoring for more money, Steve playing hard-ass before he relented and slipped them a tenner. Jonathan remembered lowering his camera, catching Steve’s eye, his heart thumping in his chest when Steve winked at him.

And here they were, the final photograph Jonathan needed. Vulnerable.

“Hey, this is kind of a weird request, but do you think you could get naked?”

Steve just blinked at him.

They had been trying to capture this one for the better part of a day. They had tried many different places, different rooms. They were currently in Steve’s parents’ bedroom, Steve sitting on the hearth rug in front of the large fireplace.

Jonathan had originally approached Steve about this project because of how constantly expressive Steve is (not to mention the tiny crush he’s been harboring for years). He tries to hide it, but those big eyes show everything. But Steve wanted it all to be real, wasn’t confident in his abilities as a model, a muse to just, manufacture these pictures. So he and Jonathan would work for the photos, would make Steve feel the emotion. And right now, right now it just wasn’t working.

“I beg your pardon.”

“It’s just not quite right. I think that’ll help you feel it. I won’t show anything.” Steve just considered him for a moment, standing up to tug his shirt off, kicking off his jeans. Jonathan averted his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. He sat back down, curled into himself, knees bent to his chest, arms around his legs. Jonathan snapped a picture of him like that. He huffed.

“Still not it?” Steve was chewing on his lip as Jonathan shook his head. “Do you want me to like, tell you stuff? Get all, emotionally vulnerable?”

“If you want. You don’t have to tell me anything major.” Steve smiled at him.

“No, I want this to be real. I want you to do well.” He took a breath. “Where should I start?”

“Wherever you want.”

“My dad has never given me a hug. He tells me every time I speak to him that he’s disappointed in me, embarrassed of me.” Jonathan swallowed hard, raising his camera. So they were doing this. Steve was gonna sit here, completely naked in front of him, baring his soul. Steve was looking to the side, the empty bed, crisply made. “They didn’t want kids. I was an accident. They decided to keep me just to keep appearances. My dad’ll bring clients for dinner, show off his perfect family.

“That’s when they’re in town, which they never are.” He laid down, on his front, his head turned towards Jonathan, resting on his arms. He was always so aware of his body, knew just how to place it for beautiful photographs. Jonathan loved watching him move, so confident. “My dad cheats on my mom a lot. I walked in on him and his secretary when I was eleven. He gave me a stack of cash and a new bike to keep my mouth shut. Not that I would ever tell my mom. She said she likes to pretend I don't exist sometimes.” Jonathan put down his camera. The dad stuff was whatever. He was of course sad for Steve, but who didn’t have a shitty father these days?

But he had always known a kind and loving mother, couldn’t even wrap his mind around having one like Steve’s.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He raised his camera quickly, wanted to get the sad little smile Steve was wearing. “I don’t know what I would do without my mom.”

“I really like your mom. She’s a good lady. She’s really kind.” He shifted again, rolling onto his side, his legs bent up, the top knee bent more, pointed to the ground in an effort to keep himself somewhat covered. “My mom is cold. She told me that she regrets having a kid. Said she’s never quite gotten her body back after she was pregnant.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “She sometimes tells me that she’s never loved me.” Jonathan put down the camera, moving quietly over to Steve. He ran one hand through his thick hair. It was soft, no product in it. Steve took a deep breath, eyes dewy when he looked back at Jonathan. “I’m okay. Keep taking pictures.”

“We can stop. I’m sure I have something that’ll work.” Steve just batted Jonathan’s hand away.

“I’m good, Jon. Promise. I want you to get this photo.”

“Thank you for helping me. I really, I appreciate it.” Steve was smiling so sweetly at him, eyes all soft. Jonathan took a picture of it.

“No problem. I like helping. And it’s been, it’s been really fun, spending time with you like this. I really, I really like you, Jon.” Jonathan’s heart sped up. Steve’s eyes were wide, but Jonathan couldn’t look at them, look at them and see Steve being all soft like this, when he didn’t, there was no way he felt, the same.

Jonathan scooted back, picking his camera back up. He looked through the view finder, realizing Steve had moved again, was kneeling, sitting back on his heels, leaning forward, hands on the ground in front of him.

He took a picture.

“You want me to keep going?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Steve just smiled at him again,

“I’m always comfortable with you.” Jonathan’s heart thumped again. “I mean, you already know about the, the reading. You know, I’ve never actually told anyone about that. My kindergarten teacher wanted to get me tested for some things, I can’t actually remember what, but my dad wouldn’t let them. Said some real horrible shit to me, and I just, I’ve always been embarrassed. He’s always taking shit to me. God, imagine if he found out-” He cut himself off, looking at the ground. Jonathan was burning to know, know everything about Steve.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about that stuff. Not to me.” Steve looked up at him, Jonathan scrambled to take another picture.

It was like Steve had been entirely cracked open. With one look Jonathan could see everything in his heart, the light in him. It was beautiful and so fucking raw.

“That’s the shot.” Jonathan says right when Steve says

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Jonathan dropped the camera.

“What?”

Steve’s face was bright red.

“Nothing! I didn’t, I didn’t say anything.” He was shuffling on his knees, grabbing at his clothes. He tugged on his jeans, standing up. “So, you got the shot?”

“Steve.” Jonathan grabbed his wrist. “Did you mean that?” His eyes were panicked. “Did you mean that?”

“Yes.” He breathed it out. “I meant it.” Jonathan pulled him forward, and slammed them together. Steve made a soft noise against his lips, but he fucking melted against him, his hands coming up to thread through Jonathan’s hair, his hands settling on Steve’s hips.

They broke apart, and Steve’s big eyes were all bright, all happy. Jonathan scrambled for his camera, taking a photo of him, maybe a new one for “Joy”.

#yikes writes #stonathan #steve harrington #jonathan byers #stonathan fic #stonathan ficlet #stonathan drabble #steve harrington x jonathan byers #jonathan byers x steve harrington

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saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

Sweet Ambitions

Ch.2: Project Cadmus

Story Masterlist // Masterlist of other OCs

Fandom: Supergirl // Pairing: Winn Schott x OFC

Summary: The whole of the DEO is under investigation for J'onn's real identity. While Supergirl tries to ease things over, Anais wants to stay in the loop but at the same time she struggles finding her new role in a new city.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

What was once a symbol of hope is now a symbol of fear. Early this morning, Supergirl arrived at the scene of a crime at West National City Bank. But instead of the usual cheers, Supergirl's intervention was met with skepticism and fear. Some say Supergirl was under a mind-altering drug when she attacked the city. But she turned against our people once. The question on everyone's minds, what's to stop her from turning against us again?'

Anais sighed as she turned the television off. This was the tenth newscast with a similar report she'd watched since the red kryptonite incident. Despite Kara's attempts to show that Supergirl was okay, the city wouldn't acknowledge it. They feared her. If only they knew how sweet Supergirl actually was.

The elevator doors of CatCo. dinged opened and released a fresh group of people to the floor. Anais waited to be the last one in order to take a deep breath and prepare herself to meet Cat Grant for an interview. Kara had been nice enough to get Cat to agree to an interview with Anais concerning a new photographer position. It was the first step to settle in the city. Anais' parents, despite their concerns, reluctantly agreed to leave for home and come back next week for a check up. In the meanwhile, Anais was to stay in the hotel until she found a job and a decent place to live at.

When Anais walked into the bustling floor, she found another group coming out of Cat's office. They all looked somewhat scared but that was normal, according to Kara. And speaking of the blonde, Anais felt so grateful for—

Kara was nowhere to be found.

Thankfully, at least that's what she thought, she saw Winn coming out of Cat's office. "Hey, do you know where Kara—"

"Sick! Um, sort of, uh—" Winn seemed in a hurry to get to the elevator so his words weren't making sense to Anais, "She had to do a thing...ET kind of a thing…" He hoped that helped solidify what he meant and hurried towards the elevator.

"Thank you…" Anais made a face and turned back to Cat's office. The D.E.O. must be conducting something to get information from Hank, who was now revealed to be another alien. Kara must be there at the moment.

It's okay, you'll be great, Anais sucked in a breath and started walking for the office. With a clear of her throat she garnered Cat's attention as well as another employee there. James Olsen was hanging up when Cat called upon Anais.

"And who are you?" her voice was sharp, that was something Kara told Anais as well.

"Um, Anais Allen, and I believe Kara mentioned I was—"

"Ah, yes," Cat remembered that with a roll of her eyes. "Kira promises you're the next Ansel Adams and that I would be crazy to let you go."

"She provided fluff for me—" Anais meant to joke but Cat Grant was not a woman to joke with.

"Too much if you ask me," Cat motioned James to stay right where he was just as he was about to walk away. "Kira never really speaks about potential employees I can find useful for my corporation so what exactly makes you so important?"

"To lay out the truth, if I may…" Anais bit her lip before using her speed powers to get herself into a state that slowed time around her, ultimately freezing James, Cat and everyone else. It gave Anais a moment to come up with an answer Cat would like. She observed the office, Cat's computer - though nothing private - as well as the papers on the desk which turned out to be nothing but work. There wasn't anything that would give the impression Cat slacked off from anything.

Time began again, and Anais returned the spot she was before. Cat and James were none the wisers about her special moment. With a smile, Anais answered in a calm manner. "To be quite honest, I just moved here and I don't have anyone here. That means I would be completely devoted to my job with absolutely no distractions. Sure I'm basically saying I have no life but I've got no reason to be embarrassed. All I want at the moment is to jumpstart my career."

Cat had been listening attentively so far, which was a plus. Her chin rested over the back of her hand while her eyes scrutinized the clearly bubbly alien from head to toe. "So...you're not here to tell me how special you are, then? Why whatever makes you special is the reason I should hire you?"

"Oh God no," Anais quickly shook her head. "Everyone says they're special which really just means no one is special. I want something, and I'm trying to get it on my own merit." She walked forwards and placed her portfolio on the desk. "And I happen to believe my merits are quite good."

Cat spares her another glance before picking up the portfolio and giving it a skim. She then motioned James to look as well. "Well?" she asked of him. "You're the head of that department. What do you think? Should I give the woman with no life a chance?"

Anais knew she would regret that line if she got hired, but at the moment she didn't care. She just wanted the job!

James passed the pages of her portfolio and seemed to be liking what he was seeing. "You have talent, Miss Allen. I think we can maybe work together…" Anais beamed.

Cat took back the portfolio and let it drop on her desk. "We will be in touch. Though perhaps you could get an earlier date to start if you were to come up with pictures of our newest superhero."

"New superhero?" Anais repeated, momentarily taken aback.

A small smile quirked across Cat's lips. "I suggest if you want the job you begin to give my work a skim. That will be all."

Anais gave a slow nod, mumbling a thank you somewhere along the way, then headed out of the office. Just as she pressed the elevator button, James caught up with her.

"Hey, uh, you came to visit Kara the other day, right?"

Anais nodded. "Yeah, um...I was new - still am - so that's why Kara helped me get an interview here. She mentioned you were the head of the art department."

"James Olsen," he dutifully shook hands with her.

"Anais Allen," she smiled.

"You wouldn't happen to know what's going on at the D.E.O would you?"

"Um... honestly, no," Anais shook her head. "In fact I thought Kara was going to be here to help me out. I guess things are really hectic now, so…"

"Well, professionally I do think your photography is good," James remarked. "And I know you impressed Cat with that whole devotion and not special thing you said."

"Oh, that whole 'I'm not special' thing was Kara's advice," Anais laughed quietly. "She said Cat Grant hated when people say they're special in their own way. But the whole 'I've got no life' thing is mine for sure."

James laughed at her bluntness. "You know, I can be friend if you'd like. Kara and Winn, we're our own little group here."

"Thanks," Anais meant it for sure. She was alone in the city for the time being and since it was her first time in a city - and alone - she would need all the help she could get. "Say...what Cat said about the new superhero...do you know what that's about?"

James nodded again.

~0~

'And despite Supergirl having the city on its toes for fear, we did discover a new potential replacement in the hero market. This new hero, a blonde woman behind a fiery mask, took down Supergirl during the latter's night of rage. And despite having a third alien, this one a much more threatening one, the fiery blonde seemed to garner the gratitude of National City. Her fluorescent golden light was the final act before putting Supergirl down and allowing the Girl of Steel to get a cure. This new hero who I will brand as Golden Girl for the time being, may be the Supergirl's newest partner, and hopefully a means for Supergirl to gain the public's trust back.'

"Golden Girl?" Anais' eyebrows were almost above her hairline. She leaned forwards on James' desk to reread the article Cat had written this very morning about her.

James, who was standing behind Anais, was barely holding back his laughter from her reactions. Cat Grant was fast when it came to owning the image of superheroes. No speedster could match her.

"I'm Golden Girl!?" Anais could not finish understanding what would possess Cat to give her that ridiculous name.

"Hey," Winn gave a light knock on James' office door after noticing their new visitor, "What are you—"

Anais turned on the computer chair to give him and James the same stunned face she'd been making since she first read the article. "I'm Golden Girl!"

"Uhh…" Winn needed to be caught up first which was why he looked to James for some help.

"She just finished reading Cat's article on the new superhero."

"Ah," Winn gave a nod, now fully on board. "Can I make you a suit?" he directly asked the blonde woman, tilting his head as he already began to think on some potential ideas. Anais made a face at him. "Hey, my experience is Supergirl's. That should count for something, right?"

"Not the point!" she frowned and turned to the computer again. "I don't want to be called Golden Girl. It makes me sound like a shampoo brand."

"Well, if you want the name changed I suggest you meet with her soon," Winn came on over to stand beside James. "She branded Supergirl like the next day and, uh...here we are."

"Oh my God," Anais buried her face in her hands.

"It's not a bad name," James tried to comfort the woman. "We call Supergirl the Girl of Steel."

"Yeah as an alternative name, not her actual name!" Anais dropped her hands on the desk. "Am I overreacting?"

"We don't know you that well, so I don't really know what's the safe answer here…" Winn admitted, standing just a little closer to James for safety.

Anais threw him a mock glare. "You could have just said yes. I don't mind. I'm new...at this - I'm new at everything, actually." She sighed and got up from the chair. "I don't currently know what I'm doing so really, right now, I just need friends."

"That you already have," James smiled at her. "Golden Girl."

Anais groaned, throwing her head back. "I gotta come up with a better name."

"Weeeeeeell…" Winn was quick to grab the chair around James' desk and brought it next to Anais to sit down. "While we're on the subject of this whole superhero thing, can I please make you the suit?"

"Winn, it's not the time," James was cautious about this whole conversation thing since really anyone could walk into his office. "And not the place!"

"Fine, we'll just take it upstairs then," Winn dramatically huffed and jumped up from his chair.

Anais' head followed the jump and blinked with surprise. "Upstairs? What's upstairs?" The grin on Winn's face indicated she would like the answer.

"It's a work in progress but it's basically like our own headquarter away from the DEO."

"A less funded version," Anais imagined, though that seemed even worse because the DEO was already underfunded.

"Exactly," James gave the confirming nod despite not knowing what Anais thought about. "But I don't think we should do anything until Kara actually comes in."

"Oh definitely," Anais agreed rapidly. "It wouldn't feel right, plus...I'm technically not allowed to do anything superhero-y until I get the proper training and stuff."

"So no suit?" frowned Winn.

"Don't recall the contract saying anything about a suit…" Her smirk was all Winn needed to put forth some potential ideas.

Anais laughed at his pacing while James just shook his head in, amused no doubt, but more collected than the two. It was cut short when Anais heard her phone ring from her purse. When she pulled it out she saw it was a special little number with "DEO" flashing on her screen. "Hello?"

Neither James nor Winn dared to ask her to put it on speaker but they both assumed it had something to do with the DEO the way Anais' entire demeanor changed. The blonde alien's laughter had vanished and was replaced with a nervous, serious face.

"I, uh...I have to go," she grabbed her purse from the desk and got up. She cleared her throat and faced the two men. "Thank you so much for...making me feel welcomed here. Um...I really hope I get that job."

"You okay?" James eyed her as she made her way to the door.

With another clearing of her throat, she nodded. "Yeah, yeah, um, the, uh...the DEO suddenly wants to call me in."

"Call you in? What for?" asked Winn, exchanging a worried glance with James. This was the same reason Kara hadn't shown up for work today and now it was taking Anais as well.

"Umm…" Anais tucked some hair behind her ear, "I guess to talk to me. Not sure yet. Will in literally one minute. I'll keep you posted," she opened the door and walked out. James and Winn once again glanced at each other but never got to say a word since Anais came back five seconds later. "Yeah, so I just realized neither of you have my number and vice versa. Do you want to exchange them?" Her nervous, witty smile seemed to be like a normal thing for her.

~ 0 ~

Supergirl and Alex were in the middle of trying to listen in on the interview Hank - or J'onn - was in with two people; the same two people that Anais would soon come into contact with.

"What's...going on?" the new blonde inquired as she came up beside Supergirl.

"Oh, you know, your modern-day witch hunt," Supergirl gestured at the big screen in front of them. "What are you doing here?" she'd been hoping to keep Anais far away from this since it really had nothing to do with her.

"I got a call," Anais only got to say when one of the soldiers guarding the control room walked up to them.

"Miss Allen, your presence is required next," the man made a gesture for her to walk in front of him but before Anais could open her mouth, Supergirl and Alex were already refusing it.

"She's got nothing to do with this, she just got here," Alex got to say first.

"She didn't know about any of this," Supergirl added. "Her contract sets her completely apart from any employee of the DEO."

These words didn't make the soldier blink. "Because she's an employee of the DEO she falls under the same category for the government: a suspect."

"How rude, first of all," Anais frowned as she walked towards him, ignoring Supergirl's and Alex's motions for her to stop. "And second of all, if you want to talk to me then go ahead and do it."

"Anais, you don't have to," Supergirl said, eyes directly on the soldier. "They don't have the right."

"I'm sure they'll create a paper saying that's exactly what they have the right to do," sighed Anais. "It's fine, Supergirl, really. I can handle it." With that, she motioned the soldier to lead the way.

~ 0 ~

The interview room was a cold, dull one; fit for a government interview session on the search for suspects. Anais stared with a straight face at the two interviewees, for a moment the only sound being her fingers drumming on the table.

Colonel James Harper stared at the woman with obvious disgust despite not knowing her personally. Even though the room prevented any powers from being used inside, Anais could just tell his hatred for her and couldn't understand why it was. Perhaps fear. It usually was always that. She then turned her head the small woman sitting beside Harper. Major Lucy Lane had big, soft eyes and a serious face altogether, but Anais thought this woman was not like Harper.

"I don't know either of you," she brokered the silence in the room, her carefree tone only irritating Harper more. "So, I doubt either of you actually know anything about me enough to have evidence that I knew about Hank being some Martian."

"Anais Mjorkland," Harper spat her true last name enough so that Anais actually flinched when the man's spit landed on her face.

The blonde alien sucked in a breath and passed a hand down her face. "Do that again and you'll know what a Solista is capable of."

"Is that a threat?" Harper scowled.

Anais startled him by suddenly leaning forwards on the table. "You are breaking my contract by putting me in this interview room without my parents and my Godparents who are my official examiners."

Lucy cleared her throat to cut the tension between the two. "We are aware of your situation, Miss Allen, and we only require your parents and godparents if the conversation is going to be about you. That is not the case. The case is about whether or not you knew Hank Henshaw was an alien."

"How would I?" Anais shrugged, her face indicating this should have been obvious. "I just got to the DEO a few days ago."

"But J'onn J'onzz has been the overseer of your contract ever since he took control of the DEO, isn't that right?"

Anais sighed. She should have figured this would come up. "Yes, that's correct—"

"So then it's only fair to believe he would have enough trust in you - as aliens - to confide in you about his true nature," Harper said.

"No, because I was barely allowed to have contact with anyone. I hardly spoke to him whenever I got to see him." Anais glared daggers at the man. "I have been treated like a lab rat for this place my entire life so believe when I say that becoming a confidant for a rogue alien wasn't on my radar."

Unfortunately, the lie detectors they had didn't exactly cover an alien like Anais. Her words, to Harper, might as well have been pudding.

Lucy's eyes flickered to Harper who seemed to be on the verge of seething. Anais, on the other hand, was completely calm and stared at Lucy. "I know you from the internet. You're Lucy Lane, the writer from the Daily Planet, right?"

"Not the time," Harper snapped just as Lucy opened her mouth.

"What? I liked her writing," Anais frowned.

"I think...we're done," Lucy spoke on behalf of all of them. She honestly doubted Anais knew anything about J'onn because of the circumstances the woman had grown up with.

"Thanks," Anais sighed with annoyance. "But I'm honestly so confused here. I thought the DEO was meant to protect the Earth from extraterrestrials who were clearly malevolent but all Hank has shown is pure dedication for his job. I may not know him well enough to know what kind of DEO director he is, but I sure didn't need much to know he's a good person."

Though her words were pure and honest, in the eyes of Harper and Lucy, they were gibberish. She was released right after that, but unfortunately it became Alex's turn and she would not run with the same luck Anais had.

Supergirl was taking the blows as best as she could even though she was virtually powerless to do anything for anyone. As Alex was being interviewed, she stationed herself in the hallway just outside the interview room. Unfortunately, the earpiece she used to hear J'onn earlier wasn't easy to cover in a solitary hallway with only soldiers to roam them.

Powerless, that's what she felt.

"I remember once my Mom said there was a Kryptonian rumor that you guys couldn't handle stress," Anais began to speak while the two waited an agonizing while for Alex. Supergirl made a face but Anais kept talking. "She said your heads would pop. That sounded so ridiculous. But, I was five so everything sounded hilarious to me."

Supergirl gave a small smile. "I don't know much about your people. I guess...we haven't really gotten the chance to talk…"

"No, we haven't," agreed Anais with a sigh. "But I'm still grateful for everything you've done and that's why I am not moving from your side until this is over."

Supergirl relished in a new support-line she could draw from. "Thank you." The two women shared soft smiles. "How did you job interview go with Cat?" she'd felt so terrible earlier when she realized she wouldn't be at CatCo supporting Anais for her interview.

"I think I left my mark on Cat," Anais was sure of that. "I took your advice on the no special thing and she ate it up. Plus I told her I had no life so I would be available all the time."

"Oh, music to her ears," Supergirl crossed her arms and chuckled with Anais.

"Yeah, I'm hoping to get a call back soon," Anais crossed her fingers for good luck. "I also met James and even got to know Winn a little better. They seem like really nice guys but they're very worried about you. I felt that. Literally."

"They are," Kara said with a rather dreamy sigh, though Anais couldn't tell for who it was directed for. She made a mental note to come back to it when they heard the interview door burst open.

Alex was being dragged out, the woman handcuffed behind her back. Upon seeing this, Supergirl zoomed towards them. "Hey! What the hell is going on? You can't do this. Where is she going?"

Harper just flashed the Kryptonian a smirk. "Same place I'm taking your little green friend. Project Cadmus."

"Cadmus?" repeated Supergirl, glancing at Anais who visibly gulped at the name. "What is Project Cadmus? What is Project Cadmus!?" her questions went unanswered even as Lucy walked past them. Supergirl whirled around to face Anais, more desperate than ever. "What is Project Cadmus!?"

Anais' face was not one of hope at the moment.

~0~

"Project...Cadmus…" Anais said the name with a weary sigh. She leaned back on Kara's kitchen chair, wishing she could make this sound a lot better than she actually could. She hated that place the moment her parents told her about it.

Kara sat opposite of the woman, anxiously waiting to hear about this place she just knew what awful. "Please, just tell me…"

"It's the reason Hank and my parents created this joint custody of me when I was little. Project Cadmus is like a dissection lab for aliens."

Kara's eyes widened in alarm. "A what!?"

"It's meant to be a genetic engineering facility that treats aliens like lab rats. Aliens get amputated, skinned, drained, injected with experimental drugs - you name it," Anais shivered at the thought. "It's the place no alien ever wants to end up in on Earth. Every ability they have gets weaponized for military purposes. And I'm pretty sure a Green Martian has a lot to offer."

As far as she knew, Martians were gifted with telepathic abilities besides shapeshifting and the usual super strength. That lone power was valuable everywhere.

"How do you know this place?" Kara racked her head for any mention of this place before, but she came up short.

"Because it's where I was headed when the DEO first found me," Anais said grimly. "I was a child and I had lost my only parent. I would've been sent directly to that place if my parents—before they were my adoptive parents—hadn't stepped in to vouch for me. It's why I was adopted: to be saved."

"I-if this place is for aliens then...then what do they do to humans!?" Kara's mind went to Alex and all the horrible movies they ever watched about dissections.

Anais honestly didn't know the answer to that but she doubted she wanted to learn. Her parents and godparents always used Project Cadmus as a means of horror story telling. Unfortunately for her, the place was real unlike humans' petty fear of the Boogeyman.

"I-I need to go get them!" Kara decided on that split moment of silence, even jumping out of her chair to go.

"You don't even know where it is," Anais calmly reminded. Kara was radiating waves of fear that made the Solista alien cringe a little. She'd never been exposed to so many different feelings and now she would have to learn how to control it...and fast.

"Do you?" Kara's hand flapped at Anais in desperation.

"No, and I never want to. Look, we can't just break into a place we know nothing about. We need to be smart," Anais' words slowly made Kara stop pacing.

"We need someone on the inside…" the Kryptonian thought, her words quieter as she thought about some specific people.

Anais stared Kara down until she got the required explanation to get things making sense. That morning, as early as one could be, Kara had James over to her apartment. She would never be able to get Lucy Lane at her apartment if James hadn't made the call. Anais was there, hadn't left actually, since Kara really did need someone to keep company with over the night. It was a painstakingly slow night for Kara waiting to call James at an appropriate hour.

"This won't be awkward at all," Anais said the moment the three heard Lucy knock. She super sped to the kitchen to grab herself a glass of water (deciding Kara didn't even care at the moment which of her utensils were borrowed).

"I don't have time for this," Lucy made that known as she walked into the loft, catching sight of Anais in the kitchen. The blonde Solista gave a wiggle of her fingers from the table.

"So you're back in the army…" James made an attempt of breaking the awkwardness Anais predicted.

"And you're back in Kara's loft. I guess nothing's really changed for either of us. Just tell me what was so important that I had to come here," Lucy crossed her arms and, rather condescendingly, waited to hear from anyone in the room. "What is this all about?"

"There's something you need to know," Kara braced herself for the reaction Lucy would give. She undid the buttons of her shirt to reveal the bright 'S' mark of her suit underneath.

Lucy's gasp was automatic, a hand even coming midway for her mouth. But then, just like that, the surprise wore off. "It all makes sense now. I just didn't wanna put it together…" she closed her eyes and mumbled, "I didn't want it to be true."

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way. But you're the only person that can stop Hank and Alex from being sent to Project Cadmus," Kara quickly fastened up her shirt again.

"Why would I help you?" Lucy was quick to demand. "You and Hank... Why do you all lie—"

Anais nearly choking on her drink was loud enough to make the other three pause and turn to her. "Sorry, are you—are you serious?" Anais directed the question, mixed with amusement and incredulity, at Lucy. The shorter woman seemed startled by the backlash and crossed her arms again to wait for an explanation. Anais didn't know whether to laugh or call this planet a done deal. "She's-she's serious?" She looked to Kara and James for some help but didn't exactly wait to get any of it. "Okay," Anais put her glass of water down on the table and got up to join them. "I am literally the embodiment of what happens when you don't lie about who you are. I lost my planet that I can't even remember because I never went there! I don't know if I'm the last one of my kind and because I'm different, I nearly got myself dissected for your race's benefit. And why? Right, because my mom was murdered and the government saw an easy lab rat in the form of an orphaned alien child. So I'm guessing, and correct me if I'm wrong—" she pointed to Kara, "—that if Kara lied about who she was, it was because she didn't have a choice. It's called survival, Major Lane. My life on this planet has been hard the moment I was born into it. I could never even begin to imagine what it must have been like for Kara when she first arrived. So please don't act like you know better when you could never be in a situation like the ones we were in."

Lucy opened her mouth as if to make a comeback, but she glanced at James then Kara, the latter looking like every word Anais had spoken was just a plain, hard truth for her.

"Lucy, please," Kara stepped forwards. "What Anais said is how...how I've had to live my life up until now. I was dropped into this world by my parents, and I had to sacrifice everything, anything, even betray my fundamental instincts so that I could fit in with humans. I didn't have a home anymore and I was twelve. I needed to fit in somewhere, even if it was a foreign planet with another species."

"If you have a problem fitting in, it's because you lie to people about who you really are…" Lucy's argument was weak and she knew it. Anais' words came back to mind. It was easy to say it when she didn't have to do it.

"I didn't lie and look where that got me?" Anais was careful not to shout out of frustration.

Kara motioned Anais to calm down. They didn't need to argue with Lucy; the woman was rational and, above all, fair. They just needed to talk. "Lucy, are you really willing to let Hank become a science experiment? And who knows what they have planned for Alex. I know you're feeling betrayed and alone, but if you go along with Jim Harper just to feel like you fit in, to feel like you belong somewhere, ultimately the only person you're betraying is yourself. It wasn't easy for me to show you who I really am but I did it because I trust who you are, who you really are, under that uniform. And I trust you'll do the right thing."

Lucy felt the sermons accumulating over her shoulders as each second ticked by. Despite her own feelings, she felt she knew the right thing to do. She just hoped it wouldn't cost her anything more already.

~ 0 ~

Anais was incredibly irritated Kara hadn't taken her along to retrieve Alex and Hank. She understood the reasons - which Kara had slowly, and repeatedly, explained while she and Lucy got ready to go out - but it didn't make waiting at the DEO any easier. Her contract was the only thing keeping her feet on the building, if not…

Don't even think about it, she stopped pacing, however, when she spotted a couple of employees gathered around at the main controls.

"Vasquez," she quickly scurried over to the only employee besides Alex that she knew. "What happened?" she eyed the dispersing crowd around them.

"It seems we have a new DEO director, ma'am," Vasquez said, sounding and looking like she still didn't believe it.

"None of that ma'am stuff, first, and second of all...why did we get a new one?"

"Because our previous one turned out to be an alien who's now a fugitive from the law…"

"Right," Anais bit her lip then flashed a nervous smile at Vasquez before turning away. Oh how I never imagined I would be in any of these types of messes.

Right now, she would probably be having dinner with her parents - maybe even with her godparents - and listening to one of her Dad's "dad jokes" which were just awful. Her mother would laugh, probably out of embarrassment for her husband, and Anais would just smile at them for being dorks. It was the typical dinner-like scene they had each night, when her parents weren't working overnight. She missed them, she really did...but she also liked the new setting with new friends, actual friends...and a potential job offer on the line.

"Atten-hut!" a soldier's command pulled Anais to the present.

She was relieved to see Supergirl and Lucy coming into the room. She had to keep herself glued to her spot in case of any suspicions.

"At ease," Lucy gave the instruction then headed over to the controls. On their way, Supergirl flashed Anais a pretty giddy smile that indicated all had gone well.

"Ma'am, we've had a…" Vasquez was about to inform when Lucy finished it for her.

"Security breach, I know. What are we doing to re-apprehend the detainees? What are Colonel Harper's orders?"

"Ma'am, Colonel Harper just resigned and named a new acting director of the DEO."

"Who?"

"You."

Lucy's face might have been comical at any other time. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. He was quite adamant about your appointment."

"I guess J'onn's gotten good at that whole mind control thing," Kara said under her breath to Lucy.

"You're gonna help me do this, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Kara smiled. "But you're gonna be great. This is where you belong."

Lucy took the compliment with another smile. "And you probably belong out there, saving people."

Kara gave a light shake of her head. "After what I did, the people don't trust me anymore."

"You got me to trust you. That's a start," Lucy gave the reminder with a genuine tone. She then walked up to Anais, head held high since Anais was taller than her. "I'm...sorry for before, for not understanding..."

Anais nodded. "I appreciate that. And I'm sorry too. I came on too strong..."

"No, maybe it was something I needed to hear," Lucy admitted, glancing back at Supergirl as well. "I will see you around."

"Yes, Director Lane," Anais mocked a salute, causing Supergirl to chuckle as Lucy headed on to begin her new job.

Supergirl moved on beside Anais, slowly sobering from her laugh. "You know, until you find a place...you don't have to stay at the hotel. I've got a spare room."

"Your place is a loft," Anais reminded, though she was excited at the prospect of a roommate. "Your bed literally has no room."

"That's because I like it that way!" Supergirl laughed again, swinging an arm around Anais' shoulders. "I use the room for junk but I'm sure we can clean it pretty quick…"

"Oh, using my powers? Sign me up," Anais rubbed her hands together. "I've gotta start practicing."

"It's settled, then? Roomies for the time being?"

Anais swayed her head while she thought about it despite knowing pretty much what she wanted already. "Roomies!"

#ocappreciation #arrowverseocs #supergirl #winn schott #fd: supergirl #supergirl fics #winn schott fics #winn schott imagines #supergirl imagines #oc: anais allen-mjorkland #oc: solar

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punkpoemprose · 4 years

Text

Go Figure- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Art Student/ College AU Length: 2600 Rating: T (I mean there’s nudity and... descriptions... y’all can handle it I’m sure)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday Emma @epbaker! I finally finished that art student/ figure model AU for you. I know I’ve been promising it forever, so here it is! I hope you like it!

Anna yawned as she walked across campus. The art building was mere steps from her dorm, but she’d met a friend for lunch in the science building’s café, had ended up spending a bit too long chatting and subsequently was running late, too late at least to catch the bus across campus. It was not, however, so late that she couldn’t make it across campus on foot, and she was making a valiant effort at it.

The weather was pleasant, the sun was warm on her face and someone was sitting on a low wall outside campus center with a guitar, strumming “somewhere over the rainbow” while being kind enough not to sing it.

All was well in the world, until, that was, a rather strong gust of wind rolled off the Fjord, struck her portfolio and sent her sailing straight into the largest man she’d ever seen. Well, not the largest she’d ever seen really, but the largest she’d ever run directly into, which was saying something as, despite her best intentions, Anna had a bad habit of running directly into people fairly often. The apology she always had prepared slipped from her lips.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she tried to steer herself and her oversized portfolio away from the man at her side. “I’m so clumsy, I didn’t mean to…”

She paused when she felt his hand wrap around her portfolio handle, two fingers were just on the other side of her four as he turned the whole thing long so as to not catch the wind again. When she looked up to thank him, her mouth went dry. He was not a particularly “pretty” man like many of the guys she had classes with, but he was handsome and looking mildly annoyed.

“I’s fine,” he responded gruffly, releasing the handle and continuing ahead of her, his long legs carrying him along a lot more expediently than her own could manage.

She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she stood, for a moment, to collect herself and watch him get lost in the crush of bodies heading towards the art building.

She made a sound of annoyance under her breath, deciding that she didn’t like people who didn’t take her clumsiness in stride. It wasn’t really her fault this time anyhow, and while he has said that it was fine, his face and his quick walk off hardly said the same.

“Probably a Grad Student,” she decided, mumbling under her breath, “they’re always crabby. Maybe a music major, they’re the worst.”

She sent a mental apology to the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” guy but decided that as he wasn’t singing, he probably wasn’t a music major anyhow. Music majors always sang, whether they were any good or not. It didn’t matter to them, and their favorite captive audience tended to be anyone on campus who wasn’t in the library and who couldn’t run. Music theory master’s student, the truest breed of asshole in the building, was what she ultimately decided on before regripping her portfolio and heading up into the building.

She found her seat in the studio with a grateful sigh. She’d managed at least, not to bump into anyone else. She did secretly like the idea of bumping into Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome again. Despite his crabbiness, or what she’d perceived as crabbiness, he was nice to look at, and Anna nefariously thought that if nothing else it might be fun to mildly inconvenience him again.

She let the thought fade into the back of her mind with other daydreams like getting Chinese for dinner instead of dining hall food and talking Residence Life and Housing into letting her bring her cat Olaf to campus as her “therapy animal”. God knew she needed one with all the stress she’d been under between classes and trying to live up to her family’s expectations of her meanwhile.

“Good afternoon class,” he professor called as she started pulling her supplies out of her bag. “I think I told you last week we’d be starting life drawing from models this week, so I want you all to turn your attention to the center of the room where our model will be joining us in just a moment. His name is Kristoff and I expect you all to be professional and work at your most efficient speed. We don’t want him holding a pose too long, you wouldn’t think it, but it can get quite uncomfortable.”

Anna had been looking forward to this unit. She still wasn’t exactly certain of what she wanted to do with her art degree, but she was leaning towards being a medical illustrator, so finally getting to draw actual bodies instead of working from photographs was an exciting prospect.

She pulled her sketchbook out as well as the conte crayons that were already her worst enemy. It seemed like every time she went to use them she snapped them under her fingers. She was going to ask her professor after class if he would mind her switching to charcoal pencil for next class. She knew that it was her fault for pressing too hard, but her hands just always seemed to work better with a pencil or marker than with small waxy fragile things. Chalk and vine charcoal likewise hated her.

“Okay, you all set Kristoff?” her professor said, “Alright, whatever is most comfortable for you. Perfect! Okay, we’re just going to do some quick gestures first so we’re going to do five minutes…”

A groan came from the assembled students, and Anna almost chuckled, finishing getting herself together as her professor quieted the dissention with reminders that they’d been warned they wouldn’t have long and that they were going to do some longer poses towards the end of class. He was saying something about warm ups and how he was starting the clock now.

Anna pulled out one of the lighter crayons to start with and looked up to the model.

The crayon snapped and fell to the floor, crunched in her grip when she realized that the man standing before her was very familiar. Not only that but that he was very familiar and very naked.

Her heart raced, her eyes went wide, and she wished more than anything that she had taken another seat. Oh to be one of her classmates that wasn’t facing Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome’s face… and perhaps worse than that, his manhood.

The brief thought she’d had while climbing the stairs to the studio that he was rude because he was compensating for “something” was whisked from her thoughts as she was faced with that particular part of his figure. She knew her face was growing hot, and that he caught her eye made her feel like deflating completely into her chair. Recognition sparked in his eye, and then she saw the slightest shift in his own expression towards embarrassment.

She could hear minutes ticking down in the back of her head, forcing herself to keep looking at him, but not to think about anything other than taking what she saw and put it to paper. She scrambled to pick up the broken bits of crayon and press the nub she managed to collect into the paper. This, she decided, was going to be the longest class of her life.

***

When they had taken a break, Anna had excused herself from the room before she could catch their model, Kristoff’s eyes again. He was slipping a robe on when she made her escape. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and when she’d returned, he’d met her eyes as she reentered the room. She thought that maybe he’d wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to say it.

Now though, as class was ending and he was redressing, she didn’t have much of a say in whether or not he’d be able to say something to her. Her professor had seen her conte crayon incident and was discussing the importance of pressure and tool use to her. He was, also suggesting, much to Anna’s relief, that she start using a toned charcoal pencil set instead of the crayons in order to increase her productivity.

She had only a few sketches, and all of them were as much a mess as she felt. Her professor was kindly, telling her how the first figure drawing class with nude models was always stressful and that she’d do better next time, when she saw Kristoff, the model, staring at her, fully clothed.

She nodded to her professor appreciatively and told him that she’d look into the pencil set and that she appreciated his feedback and that she’d see him next week, when she saw him slipping from the room and into the hall. It was a small mercy, she supposed, that he, Kristoff, didn’t want to talk to her after all. She supposed that there was plenty he could say to her “you shouldn’t be so clumsy with your portfolio you could have hurt someone”, “your crayon falling on the floor ruined my focus”, “you probably would have gotten more work done if you weren’t constantly in a battle to look at and to not look at my dick”. She flushed at the thought as her professor released her and she was able to walk out with her things. She didn’t have another class for the day, so she fully planned to collapse on her crappy college dorm mattress and bemoan her inability to be a normal person.

He was in the hall when she walked out, looking sheepish, and totally un-asshole-ish, which made her wish that he was the jerk that she’d made him out to be before class. It would be easier to draw him next class if she just didn’t like him and was hate drawing him. She’d even take any points off her professor wanted to take if she drew him the with tiniest dick on the planet, a clear and evident incorrect detail.

“Hey… uh… Anna?”

She had thought about walking straight past him, making those muscled legs chase after her if he really wanted to talk, but the expression on his face was nervous and shy and she found herself unable to do any such thing. She realized that he must have heard her professor call her over, or maybe he’d asked a classmate for her name during the break. She certainly hadn’t given it to him.

“Yes?” she said, trying her best not to scowl or smile, both of which felt like logical expressions in reaction to him. Her brain was battling between how to treat “jerk who didn’t have the time to deal with her in the quad” and “attractive and shy guy standing in front of her in a tight fitting shirt that barely hid the strong muscled form she knew to be underneath” in a way that felt logical and satisfying.

He looked down at his shoes, pushing off from the wall he’d been half leaned against, waiting for her to walk out. It struck her as a sort of nervous motion, like he hadn’t really thought this far ahead and like he was much less smooth than he’d like to be. It was enough to make a smile ghost on her lips.

“I… I’m sorry about earlier… in the quad. I was late… I commute and my truck had problems and… you probably don’t care about that… I just, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for acting so annoyed with you. I’m just… not really good with people, even when I’m not upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you though. I should have said that it was okay.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small one, and she did her best to cover it.

“No, don’t… Look I’m really clumsy, I shouldn’t have expected for you to say it was fine. I’m sorry too.”

He was standing close, he towered her, but she wasn’t intimidated. She could tell now that she was seeing him as he was, as he usually was at least. He seemed a little shy, a little nervous, but kind, and it made her wish she hadn’t been so mean earlier, even if it was mostly just in her thoughts.

“Can you answer a question for me though?” she asked, unwilling to help herself.

“I.. yes. Sure.”

She smiled at him, trying to give him the warmth she probably should have given him from the start.

“What’s your major?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but quickly answered, “Pre-vet.”

Oh, she liked that. Not pretentious… at least not nearly as much as she thought music majors were. He looked a little bit older than her, so she wondered if he was a senior or just had gotten a late start to still be “pre-vet” instead of on the vet track. It didn’t really matter she decided. He already liked him.

“Can I ask you something too?” he said, seeming nervous again, even when she assented with a nod.

“Can I get you a coffee or something… you know… because I want to apologize. Not because I…”

He trailed off and she watched him brush a hand through his mussed blonde hair. A part of her had wanted to comb her hand through it while he’d been standing there, naked in the classroom when she’d been trying to decide whether she didn’t like him or whether she found him insanely attractive.

“Not because you…?”

She saw the flush on his cheeks and she felt like she was missing something that she should have caught.

He seemed confused for a moment, and then he flushed harder, avoiding her eye as she looked up at him.

“Oh… I didn’t think… I figured you’d noticed and that was why you’d left during the break?”

She shook her head, trying to think what he thought her motivations could have been other than her annoyance about their interaction outside.

“I… well… I was staring and… you’re very beautiful… and…”

She snorted, “I spent a whole class drawing you naked, why would I be annoyed that you were looking at me when I was trying not to stare at your… Oh.”

She put two and two together in that moment. She had done a lot of staring and trying not to stare at a certain part of his anatomy, and she supposed that she might have just not noticed a certain… change in him while she was drawing.

She thought that she might combust. He was standing a bit uncomfortably, she supposed it made sense, she’d just not connected the signs until he said something.

“Coffee… coffee would be nice,” she said, face hot and voice squeaking out of her throat. “But I think I should buy… sorry about that.”

He gave a little half shrug, red as a tomato himself. “It’s not something you should be sorry about I should have…”

She giggled then, unable to help herself, “No, no. I’m flattered, really! And I mean… I guess if I knew that all it took to get someone this nice and this attractive interested was to smack them with my portfolio…”

He laughed then, a warm sound that made her feel like she was melting on the spot.

“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t. Because now we get to have coffee, and maybe talk a little?”

She smiled and kicked out her portfolio with her toe, bumping it into his side again, before walking down the hall, knowing he’d follow.

#kristanna #Art student AU #College AU #unbirthday fics 2020 #epbaker

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xhaotixaesthetica · 5 years

Text

Cruel Ink

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains mentions and descriptions of abusive relationships, ownership of significant others, threats, violence, and death. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life ATEEZ are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Author’s Note: @zafira-profundis I’m really sorry about how long it took me to get to this. I hope you don’t mind that I made the reader a hybrid in this scenario, I just thought it would really fit for some reason. I don’t think it really hinders with anything else in your request. I have no clue why I keep putting yandere san and yandere hongjoong in these dystopian settings, but I think it really fits them for some reason. It was a very interesting request and I had a lot of fun writing it, just like your last one. Your prompts really make me go out of my comfort zone and spread my writing wings haha. With this one, I’m not quite sure I met the expectations I set for this imagine, but I still hope you like it. Best wishes to you, hope you enjoy the writing, and come back to request again!

Genre: angst??? Idk, this ended up having a very strange vibe to it to me, it’s not nearly as emotional as property of the pirate king

Word-Count: 1.8K+

You are in: The Amalgam Star System

The first time you met Kim Hongjoong was when your owner, San, went to his tattoo shop for a consultation.

Most owners would leave their hybrids home for such affairs, but you had long since learned that San was far from most owners.

In another world, Hongjoong probably wouldn’t have made such an intimidating figure. After all, he wasn’t that tall nor that broad. Maybe if his hair was a natural color and he wore pastels and went to college and studied like all the other kids his age and he didn’t have that predatory look in his eye and authority in his voice, you would mistake him for being normal, for someone you could be friends with.

But this wasn’t the case. Because Hongjoong’s hair was a bright cold silver and the long silver rattail braids that hung from his head would have been out of place on anyone else but somehow he seemed to make it work. He had countless piercings in his ears, one in his eyebrow, and a flash of silver whenever he spoke told you that there was most likely one in his tongue as well. He wore custom clothes that he decorated with his own drawings, beautiful but haunting and somehow, at the ripe age of twenty-one, he was already a celebrated tattoo artist in the area.

San had let you see Hongjoong’s portfolio online when he was debating having him do his tattoo. You could see why he was so widely sought after. But there seemed to be something sinister that radiated from every line he drew, something that made you hiss, the fur on your tail standing up straight in alarm.

“And who’s this little kitten?” Hongjoong says, giving you a friendly smile, something dark and murky lurking in his black eyes that made you half-hide behind San.

San smiled proudly, petting your fluffy ears and saying, “This is Y/N. They’re a ragdoll-Persian mix. Say hi, Y/n.”

You looked at Hongjoong who rose an eyebrow.

“Hello,” you mumbled before immediately diverting your gaze downward.

Hongjoong chuckled. “They’re adorable.”

San was in a good mood today, hyper and friendly, easily distracted. He was completely oblivious to the way Hongjoong kept looking at you throughout the consultation.

The way he would lick his lips, eyes raking over your frame, your ears twitching toward every little sound you heard, your large fluffy tail curled around you protectively. He was like a starving man, and you a five-course meal, the only thing that could quench his hunger after so long being empty.

“How long have you had them?” Hongjoong asked lightly at the end of the consultation. His assistant was busy booking San into Hongjoong’s schedule next week and San was busy staring at you, holding you so tight to his side that you could barely breathe, petting your ears so roughly that you could barely tolerate it.

He was like a child, the lack of empathy in their small brains preventing them from seeing how rough they were treating the pretty pet they liked to play with.

But you didn’t dare say anything to him, you’d learned to stay silent a long time ago.

“Around 2,047 days, why?”

The assistant looked at San a bit startled, but Hongjoong said nothing, just smiled and chuckled. “You two seem very close,” he said.

You didn’t think that explained at all why he seemed to be so interested in you, but you said nothing as San nuzzled his face into your ears and hair. “Closer than glue,” he chirped.

As Hongjoong watched the two of you walk out of the shop, he knew he had to have you.

He’d never been interested in a hybrid before, never really been interested in any sort of companionship, no matter the species. But something about you he had to have. He had never seen anything more beautiful, more admirable, than his client’s little kitty.

Soon to be his kitty.

“His name is Choi San, the hybrid’s name is Y/N. This is his address and phone number. That should be enough to start them on the right path if they’re as good as you say they are. Tell them to find out whatever they can in a week. I want them with me within a week after his appointment at the latest.”

Seonghwa nodded, his face cold and expressionless as it always was as he took the slip of paper Hongjoong handed him.

The silver-haired man watched his friend’s limo pull off into the purple haze of the setting sun.

His chest swelled with excitement and a sense of cruel satisfaction as he glanced at the sketch that would be adorning San’s body in the next week.

He would make sure that he’d only have you after he did the tattoo.

He wanted San to have that reminder of you for the rest of his life. Wanted him to know that it was the man he trusted with his own skin that took his precious kitty.

When Hongjoong next saw San, the normally cheery boy had a frown on his face the entire time he was getting his tattoo.

You were nowhere in sight.

Despite craving to see you again after going so long without looking at what would soon be his prized possession, Hongjoong couldn’t help but smirk when he saw San walk into the tattoo parlor by himself.

He was just making this entirely too easy for Hongjoong.

San was too distraught to notice Hongjoong slip his phone out and send a quick text before they got started.

For someone with the reputation San had, Hongjoong found the man to be absurdly trusting.

He told Hongjoong all about his terrible week, how he’d been fired from his job, how there was an investigation pending against him for several work and personal related charges, how one of his rental properties had been destroyed in a fire, how his car had broken down.

Never before in his life had things gone so wrong in such a short span of time.

And, of course, San had the money to fix these things instantly, but it was more the fact that things were going wrong in the first place that was causing him such distress.

San didn’t like things going wrong.

“All done,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

It was beautiful, a depiction of San’s precious kitten on his left bicep that almost compared to the beauty of the real thing.

“It’s great, Hongjoong, wow, you really are talented,” San beamed.

Hongjoong said nothing, just stared at San as he skipped up to the cashier to pay.

For once in the week, something seemed to be going right.

“Do you have another card, sir?” the cashier asked, frowning. “This one’s being declined for insufficient funds.”

“What?” San yelped.

He had two other black cards and the cashier tried them each three times. Declined every single time.

Furious, San just took out a wad full of cash and threw it onto the counter, ignoring the cashier’s calls for him to wait for his receipt as he stomped out of the tattoo parlor, already on the phone yelling to the bank.

The final straw came that very same night.

“You’re looking like the cat that ate the canary,” Seonghwa drawled after a mouthful of steak.

Hongjoong smirked from across the table at his friend, raising his phone and flipping it around to show him.

It was a video, some sort of CCTV footage it seemed.

You were in a shelter, beaten, bruised, half-alive.

It was a gruesome, stomach-churning sight and Seonghwa just rose a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“A break-in,” Hongjoong said simply, taking the phone back and sliding it into his pocket as he continued to eat. “On the day when he came for his tattoo. When he got home, the culprits were still there. Mysterious enemies from a shady underground life full of law-breaking.”

Hongjoong took a sip of his scotch and smirked. “So sad that he was taken into custody, leaving poor little Y/N all alone.”

Seonghwa gave a mirthless chuckle, the whole situation seeming to be quite amusing to him.

“You’re evil,” he said.

“Not evil,” Hongjoong replied as he wiped his mouth and pulled out his wallet, tossing the cash for his meal onto the table and standing. “Just determined.”

Seonghwa was still laughing as Hongjoong left the restaurant, already knowing the location of your shelter by heart.

He was in no rush.

The staff knew very well that there was only one person permitted to adopt you and they would pay dearly if the tried to stand in the way of Hongjoong and his new trophy.

Your entire body ached as you lay on the oversized dog bed that was standard for all hybrids at an orphanage.

It was cramped but better than catching pneumonia from the freezing concrete floor.

The thin blanket did nothing to stop your shivers which was unfortunate because every movement was agony.

You should be used to it.

San would go into regular fits of rage and this was not the first beating you had received.

But the beating combined with the stress of being ripped away from your home and owner and tossed into a shelter, unsure of your fate once again, was starting to weigh heavily on you now that the initial days of shock were over with.

You weren’t particularly attached to San or your home with him, it was rare for hybrids to come across owners that it was worth getting attached to at all. But at least with San you knew what to expect.

At least there you had relative stability.

“This is the nearest veterinarian,” you heard a soft, feminine voice speak, floating in and out of your head as you began to lose consciousness for the pain. No one wasted money on pain-killers for a hybrid without an owner.

“We can have them come here, or to your residence to tend to them. You could, of course, drive to the vet and have them take care of Y/N there, but with all they’ve been through recently, I wouldn’t advise it.”

Your eyes widened when you heard your name.

Sound became hard to decipher and the conversation sounded like it was occurring underwater, but you could at least make out the sound of your enclosure opening.

And you immediately know the face of the man who was crouching in front of you, about to claim you for his own.

“Hello, kitten. Miss me?”

As you looked at his pretty face, shining silver hair, and deep sinister eyes, you knew there was no hope.

The Amalgam Star System

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

#amalgam #yandere au #yandere hongjoong #yandere san #hybrid au #hybrid reader #genetic mutation #yandere kpop #yandere #yandere seonghwa #yandere yunho #yandere yeosang #yandere mingi #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho

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freewheelshippin · 4 years

Photo

Ranmaru is a musician down on his luck and out of inspiration who got taken in by a sweet old couple running a gardening/flower shop, so while he pulls himself together, he’s grouchily helping out and making bouquets and doling out plant care advice. M is a tattoo artist with not enough clients, confidence in her art, or skills in keeping succulents alive, but maybe the toughie at the store across the street can help her with all three!

and because I’m Like That I got tied up and uh....wrote a little (a lot) of something, focusing on the artistic funk part of the equation. But if you’ll let me have one more indulgence, the headcanon I have is that it eventually Happy Endings into becoming roommates and business partners, starting an indie label to support other artists!!!

anyways here’s this excessively indulgent/serious fic that came outta this LOL

He was here, folded among big green leaves for much longer than he’d intended. The owners heard he was down on hard times and didn’t have a safe place to call home, so he holed up in their guest room. Before he knew it he was stepping in for them at every heavy mulch bag, every wheelbarrow piled high, every crouch that was too much for their aging bodies.

It wasn’t a bad life. It was an improvement, sure. He was alive and fed every day, and he’d never known a home so warm. But it still wasn’t his. He felt like a houseplant, tended to and placed in warm sun, but just as easily fading into the stillness of quiet moments and the background of everyday. He’d never wanted a life like a plant. He hungered deeply even though he was eating regularly again, and he felt more like a bored tiger, pacing in its cage but nowhere to go.

******

He’d been there long enough to start noticing the regulars. The first was that friendly guy who always got idioms wrong and bought the store out of all their cat grass. The second someone was even friendlier, and he’d bug him for what kind of flowers to get a florist. He kept asking even if Ranmaru never gave him an answer past ‘I don’t fucking know’ as he arranged bouquets that used as many herbs and broad, bold leaves as traditional flowers.

The third was someone who looked like she walked in from his past life (or the one he wanted back, anyway). The shaved head, the denim and patches, the ink peeking out from under her sleeves. She was friendly enough but nowhere near as ready to ask for things or will information about herself as the other two regulars, so he only knew her from her purchases and the name on her card.

It wouldn’t have been remarkable in itself if he weren’t so hungry. He’d burned bridges he shouldn’t have while he was ablaze, and now the only people who thought of him kindly were through this stupidly quaint little shop. He was too ashamed of his bullshit to be ready to show his face in those places right now, but he also craved chasing the stage and the dream he’d stayed alive for.

It was just a made-up story he was attaching to someone, he knew this. Maybe she went home and did everything she could to fade into pleasant background like a houseplant. But he’d rather pretend she went to the shows he wished he were going to, that her fingertips were callused in the places his were going soft, and pretend like he still could smell that stuffy, stale sweat from a venue. Maybe he hadn’t burned it away completely from his life and future.

Occasionally, he still wished he was starving, but he’d bury his hands in mulch and dig space for a new plant before he gave in to dumb thoughts like that.

*****

The first time they had a conversation, it was because she forgot something. A big something, big enough that Ranmaru wondered how someone could have a head on their shoulders but forget this.

It was a long, flat portfolio bag. He flipped through it to figure out what it was and tried to not look past that. It was tempting, though, because the contents made him feel the tiniest bit sated for the first time since he’d started working here.

They were flash sheets for tattoos. It had to be hers, right? There was energy to them that he’d ached for but turned his back from. So when she came back, he brought it up very plainly.

“You forgot something here,” he said when she came up to the counter. He produced the portfolio bag.

“.......Oh.”

“What, is it not yours?”

“No, no, it is! I just didn’t realize I’d even lost it!”

“How the hell did you manage that?!”

“A swiss cheese brain full of holes,” she laughed. “...Also, I’ve been really busy.”

“What would make you so busy you forget a giant stack of art like that?”

“Uh…”

“....Whatever. It’s none of my business.” He started to properly ring her up before something occurred to him. “You bought the same succulent last week,” he commented, furrowing his brow. “And a few other times before. What’s so great about it, anyways?”

She made a face of discomfort and surprise, and he felt the same distant shame that he messed this last (even if imagined) connection to that life, too.

“...maybe you can help me, because I keep killing it.”

“You killed a succulent in a week?!”

“No! I mean. I don’t know, is that even possible?”

“First time for anything,” Ranmaru snorted.

“Okay,” she said, putting hands on the counter challengingly. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not one of those serial plant killers.”

Ranmaru just looked back at her incredulously. “You sure about that?”

“If it’s not a succulent, I know what I’m doing! I got a whole brood of chili plants and herbs and spiderplants…”

“You’re overwatering it.”

“You haven’t even seen the plant.”

“Yeah, I don’t have to. Everything else you mentioned doesn’t shit the bed if you water them too much, and succulents are stupidly sensitive to that kind of stuff. Are the leaves falling off if you barely even poke them?”

“......Yeah…” She looked apprehensive, almost resentful for a moment.

Ranmaru knew he shouldn’t, but he just kept talking. “I can’t tell you what you wanna do with your plants, but it sounds overwatered. Don’t water it at all for a couple weeks. Make sure the drainage is good, repot it if it isn’t. Bring it in if you’re still fucking it up.”

“You sure are rude as shit when a plant buddy’s life is on the line, huh?”

“What’s the point of buying a plant if you’re just going to kill it?! You’re just throwing away your money that way,” he grumbled, embarrassed. Him, caring about plants passionately. That didn’t feel right for his image, but it felt more wrong to just let people uselessly throw away their time and money just to give a living thing no future.

“I mean, I’m also buying dupes right now to spruce up my workspace, it’s not like I just have a graveyard for my cash and failed succulents.”

Ranmaru grunted. “Just bring ‘em in if they’re still giving you trouble. I can give you some cartons to make carrying ‘em easier.”

“Ahhhh, nah, don’t worry about it. I work across the street. It’s no problem.”

“Where?” He had a feeling he knew already.

“Oh, the tattoo parlor. I’m actually headed back there right now.”

“....Guess I could just as easily go over there.”

“Hey, and you could get a tattoo from me while you’re at it!” she laughed. “Here, hold on.” She fumbled a little before handing over her business card. Ranmaru studied it briefly before pocketing it gratefully.

When she tried to hand him money, he held a hand up.

“...Pay when you stop killing ‘em. I should’ve checked in sooner, and you get so much from here already, anyways.”

“...You’re sure.”

“If you feel guilty, then take my advice seriously.”

“....Weird business model, but I like it. I can’t give you a discount on ink, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Hell no. Go back to work. Come back when you stop watering them so much.”

“Alright, fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain,” she said with a laugh, scooping the plant into her hand. “I’ll see you next time I fuck ‘em up some other way.”

She left, and Ranmaru realized she forgot her portfolio bag again.

******

He didn’t do much of anything except sleep, eat, take care of the neighborhood strays, and work anymore, but he thought about practicing bass again. He didn’t have amps, pedals, or much of anything anymore, either sold in desperation or lifted by former bandmembers in spite, but his actual basses he couldn’t let go of. Sentimentality or some promise to himself this arrangement was temporary, he guessed.

He studied the business card a lot. Something about the style of the art on it felt right, beyond it being the dose of the studs, sweat, and tears he missed. He didn’t bother trying to describe it to himself further than that; it just felt right, and that’s all he needed to know, but it didn’t stop him from lying awake in bed, staring at it as he struggled to sleep or get out.

Eventually that led to the temptation of looking through the portfolio more thoroughly. He gave in after washing his hands so thoroughly he wouldn’t get the dirt of potting soil or the grease of human hands on it. Not out of secrecy, more out of respect.

Not all of them were things he’d say he was interested in -- science fiction, cartoons, dinosaurs, other stuff he didn’t recognize -- but so much was riffing on images, bands, lyrics, album covers that built his tastes in rock. Even models of bass guitars he’d tried to save up for, once upon a time. It didn’t match the tattoowork he was used to seeing, the lines and compositions feeling more like they belonged in a comic book or a gig poster.

It felt good. It was a small vision of the kind of future he’d wanted. Art and energy like that, paired with his music. He’d forgotten how the excitement of chasing a good future felt, much less feeling like it was even vaguely within grasping distance.

His eyes fell on an image that wouldn’t leave him. A severed, snarling wolf head, out of which winding leaves and vines and stems grew, blooming into orchids.

*****

She didn’t come back for weeks. He went about this life as usual, but some days he’d find his fingers sliding over the smooth neck of one of his basses, missing their calluses as the strings dug into them. But the motions never left him, at least, and they hit notes like barely any time had passed.

He should give that portfolio back to her already. But he’d found himself looking at its contents more and more when he missed the stage so much he physically ached. He couldn’t be imagining this feeling this art made him have, not after this long.

At one point he made a copy of the wolf with orchids growing out of it. He cut it out, unbuttoned his shirt, taped it over his heart, and looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time since the old couple took him in, he didn’t feel like a houseplant.

*****

He came to the parlor with the portfolio in hand on a lunch break soon after that. She looked uncomfortably unoccupied, her area empty of clients while the other tattoo beds were occupied. He didn’t bother with the receptionist before calling her name. She practically jumped out of her skin from surprise.

He just presented the portfolio bag.

“...Whoops.”

“Do you just not want your art back?”

“...It just slipped my mind.”

Because you’ve been busy, Ranmaru thought to himself as he looked at the empty tattoo bed.

“Did you kill your new plants yet?”

She straightened up and her whole demeanor changed, from the moon to the sun. “Now that I can rub in your face. Look, look, come see.”

She had a small planter of succulents, nestled among spideplants and a red prayer he remembered selling her. The spiderplant and red prayer looked healthy. The succulents didn’t look amazing, but they certainly weren’t on their way to meet their maker.

“Not bad. I’ll rec you some better succulent soil next time you come in. Whenever that is.”

“I figured I’d wait more than one watering cycle before I came in parading like a pageant queen.”

“Too many and I bet you’d be holding another plant funeral,” he said with a wry smile. “But take your shit back already. I’m tired of all your art being at my place where I’m the only one looking at it.”

“...Wait, hold on. Did you look through it?”

“....Sorry. It’s been weeks. I liked your business card and curiosity got the better of me.”

“Oh…” She looked not disappointed, just surprised. “So...you mean, like. Thumbing through the pages looking at it, not just staring at the bag look at it.”

“Is it a secret project or something?”

“No, no. Just…” She hesitated. “Some flash sheets that didn’t do well is all.”

“Really?” Ranmaru was surprised. “These?”

“...Yes? Did I forget something else in there?”

“No. Just. Surprised they didn’t do well. I like ‘em. There’s a good energy to them.”

“Well, that makes you the first,” she said with a hollow laugh.

Ranmaru barely considered with his head what he was about to ask. He’d already chewed it over so much and knew in his heart his answer that he didn’t need to hesitate.

“If nobody else claimed it, I want one of them,” he said resolutely. “The wolf with the orchids.”

“...What, like, now?”

“I’m on lunch, I can’t do now. But….when’s the earliest you got?”

She laughed grimly. “When do you get off work?”

“Six.”

“Then I’m available at six.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“...You really want it that bad?”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” he growled. “I saw it and it felt right, thinking about it on me. Orchids are a part of my name, anyway.”

“....Okay, you know what? Let’s do this properly. We’ll do a consult at six. I’ll edit the design so it’s more personalized to you, then we’ll schedule an actual appointment you’re actually prepped for so you don’t pass out on the table. And don’t -- “ She caught him about to insist before the words could come out of his mouth. “-- I’m sure you think you’re real tough, but you can’t just tough guy your nervous system into taking more pain unprepared.”

“Fine. See you at six.”

Ranmaru wanted to tell her the hurry was less because he thought he could take it, and more because he was so ready to have it on him. He didn’t, though, and just left, head buzzing with hazy, overwhelming excitement he didn’t know how to express.

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

Consulting with her on the drawing was more fun than Ranmaru had had in weeks, maybe months. She stayed past her coworkers to do the consult, so they had the parlor to themselves to discuss edits. She played doom metal in the background, sludgy and slow enough that they could properly have a conversation, but the energy as she discussed the drawing with him, drew in edits, and made conversation was exhilarating like a concert.

It was so easy to talk. Even if he was short or blunt, it didn’t seem to stop her from continuing the conversation, and every development they pushed it in just felt good. He didn’t feel invaded, but he didn’t feel insignificant, either, and the way the drawing was going, he felt a kind of known he had lacked.

“I still can’t believe you want your first ink on your pec like that,” she remarked as she refined linework. Ranmaru enjoyed watching how her pen moved.

“It’s over my heart. Not just my chest.”

“That’s, uh.” She hesitated before capping the pen. “.......Are you really sure about this?”

“...” Ranmaru felt himself recoil at the thought of telling her the depth of what this drawing made him feel, but he wanted to communicate, somehow, that he couldn’t imagine regretting this. “I’m absolutely sure.”

“.......” She hesitated again. “This isn’t….a pity thing, right?”

The thought to hold his tongue actually managed to occur to him in time. The doubt she expressed pissed him off in so many different ways. That she was unsure enough to tell him, and that it was there to begin with. The thought of throwing away this connection just to be pissed made his stomach twist, and he thought of the person he saw in the mirror with the drawing taped to his chest that first time.

“This isn’t a pity thing,” he said stiffly as he forced his voice down. “....I saw that drawing and imagined myself with it. And I liked that vision of myself more than the current me.”

“Oh god,” she said, her face bright red. “That’s so goddamn deep. My dumb fuckin’ wolf really made you feel that?”

“It’s not dumb!” he barked. “Why’re you calling it dumb to me? I’m about to get it tattooed on me, aren’t I? Be prouder of your work!”

She took a deep breath after a moment of being totally taken aback. “....You’re right. Thanks. I should be more professional about this. So….my absolutely majestic, heaven-sent fuckin’ wolf really made you feel all that?”

Ranmaru felt his mouth crook into a smile. “Yeah. I want it to be mine, and I want that better me to be mine, too.”

She smiled back widely. “I’ll do your tit justice, then.”

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

The appointment was that weekend. When she pressed the stencil against his bare chest, he felt the hunger in him sated for just a moment. Not in a carnal urge sort of way, but more like the path forward felt brighter. Possible. Changes and connection and a future was possible again. He wanted more ink from her already, but he also wanted it to not just be that. He wanted a friendship.

“Okay,” she said as he laid on the table in front of her. “Ready?”

The whir of the machine and needles started and stirred a nervousness in his gut that he hadn’t expected, and he hesitated and gasped for a sec.

“...You OK?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just…nervous.”

“Take a deep breath. It’s not too late to rethink or reschedule if you need more time.”

“No.” He was resolute. “I want this.”

She paused. “....I can’t do this the whole time. But just to get you comfortable.”

She offered her left hand to him to squeeze. He hesitated for a moment before taking it, folding each finger over hers. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone like this.

“...Okay. Deep breath. Let out out slowly…there we go. Ready?”

“Ready.”

The needle plunged into him, and while it hurt, he felt excitement and renewal spreading through to his fingertips.

#iron maiden & rocka rolla #florist and tattoo artist au #thank you so much for the ask!!! this was definitely one of the ones i was hoping to get :)#askbox games #scribblings #iron maiden & rocka rolla art

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

Too Good To Be True (part four)

A/N: Your meeting with the director of the restoration board doesn’t go according to plan, causing you to question everything- your job, your judgement...even your relationship. Can Benjamin convince you that you don’t have anything to worry about?

Word Count: 4,522

Sorry, no nerd content this time.

Standing in the restoration room behind closed doors at the british Museum, shaking hands with Julia Day, you tried to recover quickly, but felt your eyes go wide and your mouth drop open. What the… Your heart leapt into your throat and you tried to force it back down into place so that you could speak. She’s the… no. Letting go of your hand, she fixed you with a smile that was almost predatory, like a cat that had finally caught a bird and was watching it flap in pain before devouring it whole. “Something wrong?” she asked finally, an air of victory in her tone that made you flinch internally. “You seem confused. You knew we were meeting today, did you not?”

Clearing your throat, you managed a smile and hope it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “No, nothing’s wrong.” That’s a lie. “I just didn’t know it was you I’d be meeting with.” She let out a small laugh and raised her eyebrows, as though she hadn’t cryptically kept her identity from you through the application and hiring process. “Did I miss a joke?” You kept the smile even though it was making you nauseous to do so.

She shrugged. “I’m just surprised that you didn’t know, is all.” How would I know? You refused to reveal your name. She dropped her arms, hands clapping her thighs and eyebrows jumping from one rung of her wrinkled forehead to the next. You kept your lips pressed tightly together as you watched her walk up to the long table in the center of your work space. “Surprised no one told you.” Told me..? Her fingers trailed along the flat surface, skirting around your tools and little glass pots of cleaner and polish and sealant. “You all seem so…” All? Your heart was pounding between your ears, dizzying your brain. What is this? She brought her eyes up to yours, narrowing them just enough to ignite a small spark of spite. “Close.” She finished her sentence with a tilt of her head as she picked up one of the sconces you’d been working on earlier. Don’t touch those. You took an instinctive step towards the table, hand jutting out in front of you as though you were going to snatch the piece away from her like a protective pitbull for handling it without gloves. “These are really something, aren’t they?” Setting the piece back down on the cloth where she found it, the woman flattened her hands on the table and leaned over them.

You cleared your throat, determined not to let your confusion or unease come through your tone. “Ms. Day,” You shook your head and spread your hands before stepping up to the table opposite where she stood. Placing your own palms across from hers, you sighed. “I’m not sure what you’re implying. The only person I was in contact with for this job before today was someone called Steven Burns from the museum’s department of donor relations.” You narrowed your own eyes and gave a curt laugh, despite the way that your insides were starting to churn. “And he and I are decidedly not close as you put it.” I can play games, too. “So I’m not sure who you’re referring to.”

Julia frowned, the glow of your work lamp casting shadows under her sunken eyelids. “Come now, dear, I’ve seen your resume.” She dropped her voice lower. “You’re smarter than that.” Turning, she continued walking around the table until she’d come back to your side. You clenched your teeth and crossed your arms over your chest, focusing on breathing steadily through your nose. “You know who I’m talking about.” No. She’s… he would have told me. You didn’t respond quickly enough so she let a short burst of air out as she shook her head. Pushing a tangled tendril of frizzy curls back, she continued. “I know my son isn’t very forthcoming with information,” she bit the words and you could taste their bitterness on your own tongue. “But I thought surely Benjamin would have told you.” You couldn’t help the twitch of your lips at the sound of her voice speaking his name, and you knew Julia caught it, her own lips curving upwards in a small but satisfied grin. “Thought it would have come up.” She paused, temporarily returning her attention to the items on the table behind her. “Unless he was worried about how you’d take it. You know,” she gestured with a twirl of her wrist, then looked over at you. “Or maybe you don’t yet, but Benjamin? He’s not to be taken at face value. There’s a lot he doesn’t share.”

You were stunned, seething and feeling small beneath the boot of the woman who stood before you, but you wouldn’t let that stop you from standing up for the man that you loved. Even if he did know… You pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. He didn’t, though. He doesn’t. You narrowed your eyes and stuck your chin out in a show of defiance. “You’re right, Ms. Day. He’s not to be taken at face value.” She nodded, then, that look of satisfaction growing on her cheshire cat face, which you were only too happy to erase with your next words. “He’s much more than that. But surely you must have figured that out by now.” Your heart was thudding uncontrollably with nervous rage. Am I about to be fired on the spot? If you were, you could think of a few more choice words to share.

Julia flinched, wrinkles gathering near her pursed lips only for a split second before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and focused her wild eyes on you. “You think you know him?” She scoffed. “You weren’t married to him. You can’t possibly know him like I do, and-”

“Ms. Day?” You refused to humanize her by using her first name, recalling what Benjamin had told you about how she’d never even taken his name after the wedding- not even adding a hyphen. Still chained to your first ex- husband too, I see. “I understand that we both know the same man.” You watched mild disappointment change the set of her brow as she realized that you were going to put up more of a fight than she thought you would. “I fail to see what Benjamin has to do with the job that I was hired for though. Now, if you’d like to go over my portfolio, or ask me anything about-”

She took a step forward then that was almost a lunge, barking out her words like a rabid animal. “I’ve seen your resume, seen your portfolio, like I told you. I know you can do this job, just like I know there is a stack of other portfolios in Steven’s office that represents dozens of others who could be here instead of you.” She came closer, a more controlled motion this time. “I don’t need to ask you a thing about this job. You’re here for one reason and one reason only-”

“To point out that you forgot to detail the corrosion on piece S-327?” You cocked your head to the side and swallowed the emotions you were feeling, letting them fall into your stomach to dissolve into the roiling acid Julia had churned up. “You know, Benjamin mentioned that you were a conservator once.” It was finally her turn to be completely caught off guard. He tells me things, you crazy old bat. “I know it was,” you raised one arm and gestured in a circular motion, “Years ago,” her nostrils flared and though you were still reeling from this entire confrontation, you were glad that you’d gotten to her. “But I would have thought that even back then you’d have been required to include corrosion and other such damage in your notations. You did do the notations that were sent to me, didn’t you?” Her face dropped completely and you knew you’d won this hand. “Unless, and this would be...wildly unprofessional for someone in your position, but I can’t see how you could have made that mistake, unless you were hoping I’d miss it, too and that I’d somehow boggle the restoration.” You dug for the strength to smile at her. “But the thing is, Ms. Day, restorers? We’re all conservators, too. So your notes and your pictures,” shoddily prepared as they were, “They don’t scratch the surface of what I do. But the surface of that sconce that you neglected to note? I caught it. I caught it before it was too late to save the piece, or the person’s job whose responsibility it was to document.”

You watched as the well-worn scowl retreated and her lips came together in a thin line. For a few agonizingly long moments all you could hear was the buzz of the lightbulbs overhead and the far off sounds of conversation from another office. You felt yourself tense up, coiling like a cornered viper, waiting to see how she’d respond to your counter. Just when you started to wonder if she was going to speak again at all, she addressed you using your last name in a quiet hiss that sent a chill slithering down your spine. “This is a six week assignment.” A measure of time that once felt like it would pass impossibly quickly now felt like a lengthy punishment. You recalled your words to Benjamin when he worried about how his memories with Julia in the museum might taint your experience. Don’t let her ruin this. But here she was in the flesh, trying her hardest to ruin not only your time here, but also, it seemed, your relationship with him. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Do I? Before you could even reprimand yourself for giving her another inch of space in your mind, she was striding passed you, stopping at the door to spin back and deliver one last blow. “I’ll see you Wednesday for a status update.”

You didn’t move or breathe until you heard the door to the hallway open and shut, echoing in the nearly empty wing of offices. Once you were sure that she was gone and you were alone, you let a rush of air free from your lungs in a shuddering gasp. The whole confrontation - meeting, it was supposed to be a meeting, not- left you dizzy. This isn’t… this was the farthest thing from… Six weeks of that? Six weeks of her and… You inhaled shakily. He didn’t know. There’s no way. He’d have told me. But the seed had already taken root in the fertile soil of your brain, and you knew that even though you didn’t believe her, you had to ask Benjamin. Wincing, you imagined the look on his face when you brought it up, and though you hated the idea of needing verbal confirmation from him, you knew it was the only way to weed out the venomous thing she’d planted. I don’t doubt you, B, I just need to hear you say it.

You felt the hot sting of unwelcome tears burning in the corners of your eyes as the rest of what the woman had said sunk in. She only picked me so she could… this isn’t about my qualifications, this is… I’m not here because I deserve to be. I’m here because she… Squeezing your eyelids shut you refused to let yourself cry until you were out of the building. Glancing at the clock you saw that it was after 6pm which was the latest you were required to stay as per the terms of your contract. You’d planned to stay later, wanting to get as much time in on your first day as you could. But the realization that this accomplishment was a sham felt like a kick to the stomach, and you suddenly needed to be anywhere but where you stood. You quickly closed up jars, rinsed off brushes and organized your tools, slipping them into their case with a sad sigh. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you wiped at your eyes to remove any stray wetness before interacting with security. Looking back at the room as your hand hovered over the light switch, you couldn’t help but feel as lost as the treasures before you. Flicking it off, you plunged the room and your thoughts into darkness and hurried for the anonymity of the bustling sidewalk to let the dam break and your emotions flow.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Perfect. He smiled as he adjusted the loose bouquet of tulips in the glass vase he’d borrowed from the hotel. Bright pink, peach and yellow bell shaped blossoms fell naturally atop long green leaves and stems. Her favorite. The woman at the desk had been only too happy to lend the receptacle when she caught him trying to press the button to call a lift, balancing the bouquet, a bottle of champagne, and a grocery bag full of berries and chocolates. He’d explained to her that it was a big day as she helped him reconfigure the items in his arms while he waited for the elevator to arrive. “What’s the occasion?” She’d asked, handing the wrapped bouquet back to him.

He beamed. “The woman of my dreams landed the job of hers and she started today.” And I can’t wait to see her face light up when she tells me about it.

The hotel employee mirrored his grin, letting out a long “Aw,” and promised to send up a lovely vase for the flowers and a full ice bucket for the champagne. She passed her congratulations to you through Benjamin, and wished the two of you a wonderful evening. It will be. He thanked her for her help and continued on up to get the room ready.

It was nearing 6:30 when he finally finished. Having accepted the vase and bucket from the room service attendant, he arranged everything on the dresser, including the tray of sweets and fruit. Standing back, he smiled again, imagining your reaction. “Benjamin, you didn’t need to do all of this!” You’d laugh, cheeks turning a shade that would rival the blossoms and berries as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Of course I did, love,” he’d say, scooping you up only to dump you on the bed a moment later. “And that’s just the beginning.”

For so long before he met you, Benjamin felt like he’d been running. From the past, from the future, from the inevitability that nothing gold can stay. But lately he’d been overwhelmed with the feeling of beginnings, even though you were coming up on your first anniversary together. He’d accepted that he was done with beginnings, done with good things outside of academia. But then you came along and changed everything. Suddenly every day became the start of something new, and suddenly that didn’t terrify him. Because we’re in it together. He plucked a raspberry from the tray and sampled it, daydreaming about your next new beginning.

The mechanical whir of the lock followed by the slip of your card key being retracted from the slot caught him off guard. Huh, thought she would have called to let me know she was on her way. Because neither of you had conventional work hours and never knew when you’d be done for the day, you’d formed the habit of calling or sending a message to let the other know when to expect you back. He chalked it up to excitement making you forget, and turned toward the door, still chewing the berry he’d popped into his mouth a moment ago.

“Hey,” he took a step towards you, eyes narrowed and forehead furrowed. What’s this? The excitement he felt as he readied the room for your return vanished in a cold rush as a pit started forming in his gut the second he saw the salty streaks on your face, cutting through the bronze dust coating your cheeks. Why is she..? You closed the door, wordlessly flipping the lock as he took another step. This isn’t how I... “Hey,” he said again, adding your name as he raised his right arm and reached for you. Despite having been together for just shy of a year, Benjamin had only ever seen you this upset once or twice. He couldn’t fathom why today of all days would end up being one of those times. His hand closed gently around your arm, fingers sliding up your bicep as his thumb tucked into the crook of your elbow. Looking up, your red rimmed and puffy eyes met his and his heart clenched at the sadness he saw there. What’s happening?

You still hadn’t said a word, and as you slipped your arms around his waist, Benjamin realized you hadn’t even made a sound. Not a whimper, not a sniff, not a shuddering intake of breath. Something’s wrong, something… this is… He tripped over his thoughts as he wrapped you up and pulled you into his body. This was supposed to be her dream. One hand came up to stroke your hair, but before his palm made contact he felt your chin move against his chest and he froze as you spoke. “Tell me you didn’t know.” Your voice was quiet and thin, a tinge of defeat in your tone that he’d never heard before only worrying him further.

What is she talking about? His head spun as he tried and failed to answer that question. Throat dry from the absolute shock of seeing you in the exact opposite state he expected you to be in, he swallowed and let the hand that was headed for your hair fall to your shoulder. I saw her a few hours ago and she was fine...happy...I… With a soft push he peeled you away from himself so that he could look at you; so that you could look at him and see the truth in his eyes. He shook his head. “Didn’t know what, love? What’s happened?” You winced, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as you tried to bury your face in his shirt again, but he stopped you. “Hey, no, come on,” he brought his hand up to tilt your face towards him before leaning in to kiss the crest of your cheek. “Please,” he whispered against your skin, “please tell me what happened.”

You opened your eyes then and fresh tears rolled down the tracks that had been laid by those that came before. “I’m sorry, Benjamin, I… She said that you…” What? Why is she apologizing… wait...who said… “She said that you knew, but I should have known she was lying, I…” Oh, no. No, no, no. He still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but that pit that started forming in his stomach tore wide open, filling with acidic venom that could only come from one source. Julia. “It’s her, Benjamin...she’s...she’s the one that…”

She’s the director. His heart sank as he ran through the implications of that realization, looking down at you. And she wanted it to look like I was keeping that a secret. “I swear I didn’t know,” He promised, pushing away the initial hurt of your momentary disbelief. It’s not her fault. He knew how well-versed in guilt and manipulation his ex-wife was, knew that she was trying to create a rift between the two of you. Instinctively he tightened the arm that was still around your body. I won’t let her do that. Letting you tuck your face against his chest again, he rested his chin atop your head, the smell of paint thinner and polish mixing with your almond scented shampoo as he inhaled.

“I know. I knew she was lying but I,” you took a shaky breath that made him ache.

“Shh,” Replacing his chin with his lips he laid a soft kiss to your hair. “It’s alright, you knew she was lying.” You trust me, I know you do. “She’s… she’s good at tricking people.” He winced. She had me fooled. “Good at hurting people.” The fact that she’d hurt you was unacceptable though, and right next to the ache he felt from seeing you this way, a swelling anger was taking up residence. She won’t get away with this.

“She…” You pulled back, wiping your eyes and looking up at him. “Benjamin, she only picked me for this job to get to you.” You shook your head and he saw your eyes go dim, the defeat in your tone making its way into them. “I didn’t earn it, I don’t deserve-”

“Don’t do that.” He cut you off, not willing to let you go down that road. He shook his head and locked his gaze with yours, shifting his hands to your arms. Taking a few steps backwards, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you down next to him. Leaning in, he brushed a strand of hair that had escaped your bandana back and out of the way, fingertips lingering on your skin. “Don’t do that to yourself. You deserve this. You have every right to be there.” He saw you take a breath as though you were about to start a long string of protest, but he stopped you again. “I know you think that...that the only reason you were chosen for this is because of what Julia told you today.”

You shrugged and nodded. “It is the only reason.”

No. “She may have suggested you to the board,” he let his hands slide down your arms until they met yours, and pulled your palms into his lap. “But they had to review your portfolio. They had to pass it on to the Museum director.” Julia likes to think she’s more important than she is. “There’s no way this decision was made solely by her.” He let go of one of your hands and used it to tilt your chin so that you had to focus on his next words. “She doesn’t matter that much. It’s not some tiny exhibit on display in a broom cupboard.” He felt some relief as he saw some light come back to your eyes. “This is one of the most important historical finds of the decade, at one of the largest, most prestigious institutions in the world. There’s no way you’d have gotten this job if you didn’t deserve it.” No matter how much money she throws at it, she can’t buy that much power.

You sighed as his fingers left your face, and you leaned your body into his. Benjamin instantly wound his arm around you. “I guess.”

“You guess?” He squeezed his hand where it rested near your hip before tugging you down to lay on the mattress with him, both of your legs still bent and hanging over the side of the bed. A small gasp of surprise left your lips in the form of his name, and despite everything he was feeling, the sound lightened his heart the slightest bit. “Well, that’s fine that you guess, but I know.” You turned your face towards his and he closed the distance, kissing you softly. “I know no one deserves this more than you. I know you’re the best for this job.” I know I’m going to have some words for Julia… He touched his forehead to yours and brought his hand up to untie the knot in your bandana, letting your hair tumble free. Tossing the green fabric aside, he pulled you even closer, until you were resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry that she’s doing this to you.” That she’s doing this to us. “This is your dream, and she’s not going to ruin it for you.” He shook his head even though you couldn’t see. “Don’t give her that power. Nothing she said has any truth to it at all, she’s just…” he sighed and felt you adjust your position, turning on your hip and laying a hand on his abdomen. “She’s jealous and... vindictive.” His top lip curled on the last word. “She’s the complete opposite of you, and she knows that. She knows she could never measure up to you.” Not in a single sense.

Your tears had subsided, no longer soaking into his shirt or staining your face, but he knew he hadn’t completely turned the tide, knew that it would take some time for you to process everything he’d told you, everything she’d told you, and how you were feeling about it all. He knew it would mean a few rocky weeks, and while he hated that, he knew that as long as you kept trusting him and as long as he kept reinforcing that trust, that you both would be alright. I’ve never had that before, this is… he looked down at you. This is it. Benjamin knew that someday this would be behind the two of you, and that there would be bright new beginnings on the horizon. He held you until the sky turned a deep indigo outside the windows, the room silent aside from the occasional clink of the ice in the champagne chiller melting and shifting. He would have stayed there with you all night, intermittently leaving kisses or whispering assurances against your skin, but eventually you spoke, breaking the silence. “You got me flowers…”

He’d nearly forgotten, entirely focused on soothing you and swallowing down the hurt and anger he’d felt at first. “Oh...yeah, I…”

“Tulips are my favorite.” I know. You sat up, leaning on your elbows and glancing first at the flowers and then back at him. Even in the state you were in you were gorgeous. She puts those flowers to shame. “They’re beautiful, Benjamin, thank you.”

He sat up too, twisting to his side to face you. “This is all going to work out, you know that, right?”

You nodded, lips pressed together to keep from crying again, but this time the hopeless defeat was gone from your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, lifting one hands to trace the top of his ear with your fingers. “I know it will.” Leaning in, you brought your lips to his, his hands going to your waist as you kissed him. “It will.” It wasn’t a fix all. He knew that you were still upset, still hurt and disappointed by how this new beginning was shaping up, but he knew that as long as you were a team, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome. And I’ll always be on your team. “I love you,” you whispered against his lips, slipping your shoes from your feet and curling back down over top of him.

“So much,” he responded, holding you once more. So, so much. Tomorrow he’d figure out what to do about Julia; how to respond, how to protect you from her wrath. But tonight would be this- not the champagne, celebration and laughter he’d imagined, but something deeper, something more long lasting. Something good, even on the bad days.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @malionnes @becs-bunker @warriorqueenofnarnia @elanor-of-imladris @traeumerinwitzhelden @songtoyou @michellemybelles-world @obscurilicious @breanime @octosapiens

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed! (and if you’ve already let me know and i didn’t make it happen…oops! i’m sorry and disorganized.)

#too good to be true #TGTBT #benjamin greene #benjamin greene gold digger #gold digger fanfiction #benjamin greene x you #benjamin greene x reader #julia day #leo day #yo julia you barked up the wrong tree ma'am #this is going to get ugly #fucking yikes

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yamayamawrites · 4 years

Text

Castaway AU - Coming Later This Winter!

Hey friends! If you’ve been following me for a while you probably know/have heard that I’m working on another big fic to rival Mr. Loverman (which you can find here on ao3 if you haven’t read it yet, it’s 20 chapters and ~103K completed). And as a special treat for all of you who follow me on here, I wanted to share a sneak peek of what’s to come! I’m super excited about this one guys, I have a beta reader and everything (she’s the best, an absolute gem)!!

But first, I need to tell you what it’s about. Izuku is a famous photographer/social media celebrity, just returned home from yet another trip abroad. He decides to take his sailboat out for a trip to get some final photos and top off his portfolio for the month, but he ends up falling asleep on his boat. What happens when he wakes up on the shore of a secluded island with a strange man shaking him awake?

(Please forgive me, I haven’t touched up the summary just yet.)

Anyways, if you’re interested in reading a sneak peek of the first chapter, please click the ‘read more’ option below!

June 30, 06:48am

It’s hard not to feel some sort of rush, being awake this early.

Izuku has always been a morning person, and even more so in the summertime, when the sun wakes with him. Like today! The sun is up just moments after he is, peeking out from the shroud of ocean it hid behind. Izuku is home today, his second night home after his latest trip (he’d gone to Norway, and of course taken photos of everything). He recovered from his jet lag – yesterday he slept in until nine in the morning and was disgusted with himself – and has his swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian tee on before the sun can even cast a glare on his floor.

He lives in Horiuchi, a small town with a beautiful beach. His apartment is small – mostly because he spends so little time in his actual apartment that it’s more of a postcard address than anything. It has a single bedroom, a kitchen with a dining table crammed in its center, and a living space about big enough for Izuku’s couch and a wall-mounted television. And even then, Izuku often ends up vaulting the couch to get through.

But the balcony is beautiful, outstretching over his view of Morito Coast. The apartment isn’t as costly as some of the others with worse views, probably in part because this isn’t a vacation town but also because nobody wants to live in the shoebox Izuku lives in. Before him, there hadn’t been an inhabitant in the apartment in well over six months, and they gave Izuku a pretty hefty discount on the place even though Izuku said he’d take it full price.

Izuku throws back the curtains to his balcony door (after vaulting his couch), allows the sunlight to wash over the ground. He opens the balcony door wide, the fresh sea air pouring into his apartment, the cool wash of the last remnants of summer night coming through. It almost makes him shiver, and it does push his rowdy curls into even more awkward angles than before, but he opens his arms anyway to the fresh air.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture, as he always does on mornings he’s home. Though he isn’t around much in the summer, the photos of the sun rising over Morito Coast always seem to be more popular than the rest, and Izuku supposes he will never truly know why. He does suspect, though, that it’s because the view is just so perfect.

He nearly forgets to eat breakfast before he starts his live stream, seats himself out on the balcony in his little lawn chair and enjoys the wash of the summer sun slowly creeping up his bare legs. “Good morning!” he calls to the phone, waves to the camera as he’s joined by tens of thousands of people to watch his live stream. He constantly has to remind himself that not all of his fans are located in Japan – because if they were, he’d be more than surprised at how many people jump on at seven in the morning to watch him stream just talking through his day plans.

“Today I’ll be going off Morito Coast on my sailboat!” he announces brightly. He’s had this on the calendar since he was back in Norway. His sailboat is nothing special, barely large enough for three people comfortably, but he hasn’t had a chance to sail since he left almost three weeks ago and he’s anxious to get back out on the water. A few comments roll in telling him he should try surfing one of these days; he laughs it off and takes a note in the back of his brain to call Ochaco next week and have her teach him the basics.

It’s a normal stream, for the most part. Comments roll through, Izuku answers questions that reappear when he can and apologizes for the missed questions when he can’t. It’s shorter than most, and perhaps that is the most out-of-the-ordinary part of it, but otherwise it isn’t anything noteworthy.

So, then, how does it become his last?

08:16am

The sun is hot, now. On the brink of July is when summer becomes sweltering, enough even that it almost deters Izuku away from the heat. Truthfully, it’s why he went up to Norway – it’s much more temperate up there, less direct sunlight to try and inflict Izuku with skin cancer. He lathers up the sunscreen, though, and heads down to the beach – perhaps a ten-minute walk – in his flip flops, his Hawaiian shirt (now buttoned, but only twice), and his dark green swim trunks.

A few of the locals are already on the beach, and they wave to Izuku, shout good-mornings and ask how he’s doing out of courtesy. Izuku recognizes Ivanka, a retired Russian woman who lives in the next apartment building over. Her Japanese is stilted, but she likes Izuku because Izuku knows Russian. (And English, Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and a touch of French.) He recognizes the twin girls from downstairs, Kamiko and Hana, putting together a sandcastle with their mother, Rin, off to the side reading a book. Izuku’s sailboat is further down the beach, closer to the jagged rocks protruding from the water, roped there tightly to keep it from straying too far. Still, he has to yank it to shore by the rope, an activity that might have been impossible when he was scrawnier, but now barely makes him break a sweat.

The boat’s name is S.S. All Might, a silly name perhaps, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s named after Izuku’s favorite comic book character from when he was a child, a man he always looked up to because he saved everyone with a smile. And though comic book heroes don’t exist, Izuku has vowed to make a hero of himself as best he can in this modern age, by making people smile with his goofy tourist-y photos and livestreams and videos. And though he probably should be past the comic book stage of his life by now, he keeps All Might’s spirit buried in his heart, and All Might’s vintage comic book collection buried in his closet.

He unties the anchoring rope and pushes off from the rocks. It takes a little bit to get past the waves trying to push Izuku back to shore, but they aren’t too rowdy yet today, and for that he’s thankful. Out on the water there’s a decent breeze, and it brings with it a spray of seawater that tames the bubbling heat on Izuku’s skin. As he catches a drift his boat takes off, out to sea, while he pulls the sail taut the best way he knows.

Though it probably isn’t the safest place for his cell phone, Izuku pulls it out of his swimsuit trunk pocket and captures a photo of the sun’s steady ascent past the water. There is a full separation now of the sun and the water, but it still refracts brightly on the water below, makes for a stunning stock image that will likely be the source of Izuku’s rent money this month. Perhaps next month, too. He doesn’t too much care about that, though; he flips the camera to selfie mode and holds it up, peace-signing with the sail in the corner and the sun behind him. His skin looks much tanner than he is in this angle, and his freckled shoulders are hidden underneath his Hawaiian shirt, but he plans to post it anyway – when he’s back somewhere with a cell tower, that is.

Izuku has sailed the space past Morito Coast many times. It isn’t a huge expanse of water, but it’s enough to feel like an adventure. It’s not too vast that Izuku gets lost, but vast enough that he can if he tries. But today, the wind carries him further, and he lets it. He lets it because he has a cooler secured to the floor, complete with four bottles of water and a few sandwiches in case he decides to stay out on the water longer than he’s expecting. And there’s more sunscreen, a portable charger for his phone, a change of clothes being kept dry below deck. What could another mile past his normal stopping point do?

The sunlight can only be kept at bay for so long by the spray of seawater, and Izuku is beginning to feel the heat going to his head. The sun is higher in the sky now, and Izuku can tell without even checking his phone that it’s nearing noon, with the sun beating directly onto him, thrumming like a drum. He can feel every pulse of his heart. His first three water bottles are gone and he’s nursing his fourth. Still, he smiles lazily. This is where he’s meant to be – underneath the sun. He sits on the deck of his sailboat and pulls his phone from his swim trunks again, snaps a few photos of himself with the sun hot overhead. His freckles are well-visible, and his Hawaiian shirt has been tossed aside in the heat, so his shoulders and chest (also dotted with freckles) are visible. He stretches out on the deck and holds the phone above, snapping a picture of himself lying on the sailboat deck. His abs look more defined than ever, considering the sunlight above is casting rather harsh shadows from this angle.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, and he will kick himself every day for doing it, but he closes his eyes, lets the warm summer sun be his blanket as he takes a cat nap on the deck. He’s even so bold as to dip one of his legs off the edge of the boat and into the water, like kicking his foot out from underneath a blanket in the summer when it gets too hot. And he sleeps, he sleeps through the sunlight drawing behind a cloud, and reappearing only to be drawn away again, by angry gray storm clouds that he hadn’t expected today. But when has he ever been one to check the weather?

#tddk #tododeku #ao3writer #yamayamawrites #castaway au #sneak peek #my hero academia #mha #current wip

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incarnateirony · 5 years

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The way I see it is this: the threshold for het couple canon and queer couple canon should be the same. Wanting more than a handhold or whatever is *fine*, but whatever standard het romance is held to (the bare minimum to "count") should be the same for queer couples. We say all the time, "if one of them was a girl it would already be canon." Not bc of *potential* kissing, but bc it would be seen that way bc of what's already there. But you've said most of this already, so basically I agree lol!

Yup! That’s just it. If Detty or any other non-kissing couples can be taken as canon, so can queer ones, if the text is thoroughly framing it in every method equally. That’s how it works, actually! Applying a different standard *is* homophobic. And a few years ago, Destiel fandom actually knew this and pointed it out but somehow in this weird version of political extremization that we have around here, the pendulum has flipped around and knocked the octavarium on the ass from the other side.

Because people think that means you’re telling them to settle– of course it isn’t! Or making them “feel bad” for wanting more– nope! Now, will we make you feel bad if you make up a goal post where nothing counts until [your explicit marker]? Yeah, probably, cuz yeah, that’s problematic. Does it make them feel small? Tough shit tbh. For the last year or so I’ve dealt with people taking warped and extremized viewpoints to try to bulldoze over me and when I finally said “ENOUGH” and slapped back with a brick wall of history and perspective, they all cried it’s mEaN. No, you guys just don’t know what to do when your placebo activism turns out to not have substance versus the actual issues at hand, and yeah, you feel small and yeah, you feel bad.

Especially when you realize misdirected and empty gay rage got you nowhere except a hand full of very old very directed old gay rage in counter, and you really can’t cry victim after stomping on the work of activists ahead of you. If you spent years stomping on people and they finally stomp back, and you try to cry to someone as the victim, that’s literally playschool bully behavior. Grow up. When the nerd you’ve been trying to pick on for getting you to reconsider your ways turns out to have been schooled in 6 forms of martial arts and launches your ass to the nurse’s office when you come for round 14 of trying to give him a black eye, all your complaining is about being embarrassed that the nerd kicked your ass after trying to patiently deal with you this whole time. Again, playschool bullshit. Again, grow up.

This isn’t you (not Nonnie-you, just the Royal You, that know who You are) arguing with homophobes or antis anymore. Antis have even cracked in waves. Shipping-fandom-cosplaying-as-activism has completely lost the plot on what their activism lines mean but, a trained routine in thinking it was unvanquishable, have turned it against the wrong things, in the wrong way, and their own people and content. There’s now a few YEARS of “activists” flaying people for, while not 100% happy with the level of content, supporting the queer authors and content and lifting it up – warping it into lines of “settling” to attack them, to diminish them, to make THEM feel small and their own podium – now warped beyond recognition from its original position like a goddamn tea party – big and righteous; and when finally someone clobbers them with a big fat dose of reality of how far they’ve mutilated the dialogue in the name of ship warring, they complain about feeling small. And I’m sorry, fucking no. Not a soul is here to make you feel bad for wanting more. They’re here to make you feel bad for queerphobic deletion and goalpost jockeying.

As I’ve had to say like a repeating song chorus: You can do both: want and hope and push for more, while *not* deleting the queer text and efforts at hand. Complex thought processes are less appealing to many people than linear pile driving, but it’s generally how the universe functions. And when it comes down to realizing they’re setting unlevel goalposts for the levels they *want* to push it to, suddenly yeah, there’s a rug pull, and they have a choice to pull left or right. If they double down, that’s their choice. But I don’t have to humor that choice or give it platform.

But one thing I hold 0% patience for is people saying they’re here for the rep fight while simultaneously pretending there isn’t a rep fight and trying to villainize core elements like incrementalization or struggling queer authors, many of which beg for public understanding.

We could be having nuanced conversation about the values of different forms of representation; we could be having nuanced conversation about how to effectively organize to help these queer authors into better situations. We could be talking about the show’s evolutionary path, or even culture’s social evolution path and how this show will age with public perception over the years. We could be comparing it to stages of LGBT history.

But we’re not. We’re having conversations where people, abandoning their former angle of discussion, are now screaming “pics or it didn’t happen”, are now tossing up goalposts they themselves used to call homophobic only a few years ago, are now rewiring the dictionary or entire AV medium study (sometimes while claiming themselves an authority while literal cinema literacy sources and decades of studies or even just flat-ass LGBT history say they’re wrong) because they want to feel righteous for demanding more without any actual organized effort or support. They want so desperately for the remaining upset to pass as activism. So badly to flatten even other LGBT community members for trying to hold up the queer canon, because it wasn’t the canon they wanted. And once they realize someone cast Reflectga and their own bullshit methods mow them down, this time with amplified substance of the actual world beyond, they cry foul, that *they*, not the people they’ve been trying to mow over, are being cruelly bullied, just because someone said – no, enough, you’re acting like clowns, I’m fucking over biting the bullet to listen to you on it, you are well past the pale folks.

Miss me with it, fandom. If I have to explain any further than this why one of these is activism and one of these is not, then you’re already beyond hope in the field anyway. I’m not here for your petty ship war nonsense. The representation clearly isn’t for you little fucking tumblr goblins so willing to shred it for not performing to and for you how and when you want regardless of circumstance, much less if you’re even in the damn demographic being represented to goddamn begin with. No, a cis lesbian doesn’t get to tell a trans person how their rep should look. A trans man actually can’t tell a cis gay man how his should look either because their paths are fucking different.

No, a bunch of women should not be bulldozing over and deleting shit and say it’s For The Gay Men while the vast majority of LGBT men in this fandom hide away in recesses because they’re tired of being bulldozed over if they don’t comply with the shitty fandom dialogue. Or the few that do that warp into it and abandon their original points just from sheer peer pressure – often younger ones, often outside of the demographic. They certainly shouldn’t be trying to flame a middle aged male queer & all other liberal and socially conscious rights rights media representation-commenting activist for writing within his limits about middle aged queer male content. That isn’t how this. Mother. Fucking. Works. I shouldn’t HAVE to have little cluster hoards of LGBT men I adopt that hide in DM or outside of fandom space entirely and poke their nose out with peeps of cautious gratitude and fish around to see how supportive I *really* am – it *shouldn’t* have surprised one of my newly made best friends that I understood the problematic nature of penetration culture and heteronormative ideas of MLM in this fandom. Or to cautiously click my recs because they’re worried about getting fucking ass stomped for daring to speak up on their own representation. It shouldn’t BE like that.

You wanna support queer creators? Y’all missed that boat because you were too busy being headass to organize and actually petition the network. No, screaming at execs until they delete social media and put a black mark on the idea, @’ing accounts with spam until you’re put on a mute list and negatively impact marketing algorithms, that’s not petitioning. Building portfolios and presentations delivered sensibly are. A few did. Good for those people. Fuck everyone else. Virtue signaling nonsense. No wonder they’re so enamored with shitty mass marketing as a goal.

“WELL IT SHOULDN’T BE THAT WAY!”

Yeah well welcome to being a grown up. It is, whether you like it or not. It’s hard out here. America shouldn’t have a giant orange cheeto racist for its president either and yet here we fucking are. Life isn’t fair. So figure out how to actually put feet on the ground and change it instead of yodeling online like a bunch of idiots at the people trying to help you. Bobo sure as fuck did a long fucking time ago and never stopped. Maybe you should catch up. Cuz even at “slow and steady wins the race” he’s gone miles ahead of you while you’ve been distracted anally grooming like a cat or some shit.

Imagine how (not) far queer rights would get if every incremental step we took, even if it wasn’t far enough – TV or real life – we just let everyone scream and take away entirely because it wasn’t the kind you wanted. It’s regressive garbage. It doesn’t actually do you any benefit. It doesn’t do the community any benefit. It doesn’t do queer creators any benefit. It doesn’t do queer cinema history any benefit. Nobody but homophobes and other agenda’ed asshats benefit. Which is why they trained you to think like this to begin with. Stop.

#supernatural #spn #representation #bi!dean #whatever #tired #tired gay #that's what I'll tag this #destiel #lgbtqia

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hopewritcs · 5 years

Text

going with the flo(w).

pairing: jim hopper x reader

word count: 7.7k

summary: flo had worked for hawkins police department for years. so much so that when her niece came back to town to visit the woman who practically raised her alongside her parents, she went first to the police station where her aunt introduces her to the chief of police. except, they’ve most certainly already met--and it did not go well.

notes: set sometime post season 2, pre-season 3. the reader’s not as old as hopper, i’d say she’s probably in her late 20s-early 30s, so there’s an age gap but not too much. definite mentions of a past one night stand. uh i kind of went ??? all in on this fic so i really hope y’all like it because i myself am obsessed with it. includes talk of the outsiders, oh and the reader has an embarrassing family nickname because i felt it was appropriate to have her aunt flo give her a weird nickname ( i did also come up with a story for the reasoning lol )

if you want more of this fic, check out how duckie got her nickname & part two

hop x reader list: @and-drew-101

stranger things tag list: @thekidsofneibolt, @madhatterweasley, @shaykeijser, @rainy-bookish-days (if you wanna be added to any tag list, let me know!!)

Flo had worked for the Hawkins police department for as long as anybody in the town could remember. She was a staple at the police station, having been around the station since her own father was a deputy when she was a child, and then she kept a post college job as the secretary for the station. Most people knew Flo, as she was somewhat of a town staple. Police Chiefs have come and gone in the small town, but Flo had always been there. The woman also never had a family of her own--a fact which she didn’t mind ( her siblings had children and grandchildren of their own whom she looked after as if they were her own--which made the town of Hawkins, in a way, her family.

Everyone would greet Flo warmly when they came into the station, or spoke with her on the phone. She was strict and she had a handful of rules for the cops to follow ( namely stop smoking in my precinct usually directed at Chief Hopper of late ) but she was generally a good and respected person. She treated the officers like they were her children with the same kind of excitement for anything good happening in their lives and the same disapproving Flo stare whenever they did something stupid as she would any of her own relatives.

Which is why it surprised everyone when you showed up at the station that morning. You’d been to a couple of the stations parties over the years, so it wasn’t like you were a complete stranger. But you’d never shown up at the station itself during work hours unless it was to make sure your Aunt Flo had some company for lunch. She always insisted that she shouldn’t be interrupted at work lest something important happen ( even if nine out of ten “important police phone calls” to the Hawkins police department were my cat got stuck in the tree calls ) and she was distracted.

But you’d been away for too long, having moved from Hawkins to go to university, and then finally you’d made the trek to Chicago to work for one of the bigger newspapers after graduate school. So it had been a good couple of years since you’d last seen your Aunt Flo, and you weren’t the kind of person to call beforehand.

Not when the surprise was more than worth it.

You’d managed to sneak into the police station with the help of one of your old high school buddies who knew you were coming to town. He’d even told you when Flo usually took her lunch hour so you could completely surprise her.

Which is how you wound up sitting in her swivel chair behind the front desk of the station, casually glancing between the Hawkins Post on her desk and the glass doors waiting for her to get back. The rest of the station went about their business, not really glancing up to where you sat, but those who did look up at you just smiled and then continued about their work. Just like everyone in the town knew Flo, most of the station knew you too. You were Flo’s favorite niece ( even if she wouldn’t dare say that out loud to anyone because “it’s not a competition, dear” ) and she’d had your graduation pictures tacked up in a place of proper display on her desk that definitely outshone your siblings and cousins.

“Hey Flo can you call Mrs. Wheeler back and tell her there’s nothing I can do about the--you’re not Flo.”

You glanced away from the article you’d been half reading and looked up at the chief of police. You hadn’t been back to town in years, but you knew from talking to Flo on the phone every week that Jim Hopper had been named the chief. But seeing him in person wasn’t something you’d planned for. You silently scolded yourself, you should have known better. But you’d been thinking about Aunt Flo when you made your plans, not Jim. Your throat went dry at the sight of him, the memory almost overtaking you and pulling you back in.

It was back in flashes, even if you didn’t want to think about this right then. It was moments. His lips against your neck. Your back up against the crappy motel wall. Your eyes lulled. The brush of stubble against your cheek. Clothes shed and to be forgotten somewhere on the floor.

The door slamming shut early the next morning.

You could tell he recognized you too, if the glint in his eyes were any indication. But neither of you moved to speak again.

The door to the station opened and you half glanced in the direction of the door as you saw your aunt hanging her jacket up on the coat rack when she caught sight of you and nearly dropped her jacket. “Duckie!” Flo exclaimed, happier than most of the younger and newer officers had ever heard her before, rushing to greet you in a tight hug as she pulled you up from the seat. Whatever moment between you and Jim--Chief Hopper--was broken as you allowed yourself to relax into the hug, squeezing your aunt back as you greeted her.

“What are you doing here, Duckie?” Flo asked, shooing you back and away from her desk as she adjusted her glasses on top of her nose. The manner in which she spoke to you was calmer and kinder, and Hopper watched the interaction because any kind of affection he’d ever gotten from the woman was her sarcastic banter--and he was her boss.

You leaned against her desk and shrugged your shoulders. You may not have liked the nickname she’d given you as a child, due to an embarrassing story involving you and a family of ducks down by the docks at your great grandfather’s lake house you’d rather forget, but you’d long since given up on getting her to stop calling you Duckie. If your Aunt Flo was anything, she was stubborn to a fault.

“Can’t a gal come down to her hometown and visit her favorite aunt for a long weekend?” You asked, shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s Wednesday, darling.”

“Fine, a week away then.” Your aunt fixed you with a stare, almost demanding then and there that you tell her what was going on. But you could stand your ground better than most--you’d gotten your stubbornness from Aunt Flo, or so your parents liked to tell you. “Alrighty then, I’m going to go unpack my bag in your spare room and I’ll see you home in time for dinner and no arguments Florence.” You pointed your finger at her as you gathered your things in your arms, even snagging the copy of the Post that she’d had on her desk and tucking it under your arms. You pressed a kiss to the top of your aunt’s head as you made your way around her desk, waving in the general direction of the rest of the officers before looking at your aunt and the chief. “Have a good day, Jim.” With that you were out the door and headed to your car to go to your aunt’s house.

And your aunt almost forgot that she’d never formally introduced you to Chief Hopper.

It hadn’t taken your aunt long to learn the real reason you were home and staying with her. You had an interview at the Hawkins Post, which was a step down from your current position at the paper in Chicago but your parents deaths not too long ago, and the fact you rarely had time to see your family the past couple of years, it was clear that you wanted a change. You wanted to move back home and be closer to your family.

City life had been exciting. It was intoxicating those first couple of years. You’d been in graduate school and everything had felt so new and you felt like you could conquer the world. And now all you craved was the feeling of home, a feeling which you’d never gotten living in Chicago. Nightly you’d gone back to your small apartment and opened up the bottle of wine you’d kept in the fridge and begged for something more than the daily routine you’d gotten into. For something that felt like it had promise.

And day after day after day nothing changed.

A string of relationships that went nowhere, some casual flings, and one very specific one night stand which you hadn’t mentioned to anyone in your hometown, were the only kinds of connections you’d had while you lived away. Other than that your social circle was small. It included your grad school housemate, who you still spoke to regularly, some friends from undergrad, and a couple of friends from the office.

You craved that feeling of home, so you could deal with the pay cut of working for a smaller paper.

But what you couldn’t deal with was the way the paper’s editor had treated you.

“You’re an editor and a writer?” The man had been shocked. His brows furrowed together as he’d looked at the papers you’d handed him with your portfolio. The bylines you’d written collected from your university’s paper where you’d been a content editor by graduation to your most recent article. All of which were pieces that involved more work than Mr. Holloway had thought of when your application had crossed his desk.

( If you’re wondering, the exact words he’d said to one of his co-workers had been “she’s coming in for an interview and i’m sure it’s all some bullshit about being stuck at home. she’ll be a nice face to deliver us some facts though, better than that lazy intern quentin.” )

“Yes sir.”

“Well the job’s a fact checking position.” he’d said, folding his hands together and leaning on his desk as he studied you. You wanted to flinch under his gaze, since it made you uncomfortable, but you knew that was likely something he expected so you held your composure and elected to silently bite the inside of your cheek as you counted to five.

“That’s not what the posting I got said, Mr. Holloway.” you pulled out the original job advertisement you’d seen and showed him the ripped piece of newspaper, circled with a yellow highlighter was the ad for a new staff writer at the Hawkins Post starting date immediately.

He took the paper from you and dismissively dropped it down on the desk in front of him. “Position’s changed, darlin’.”

Biting your tongue back from snarking at the man, lest you look unprofessional in a workplace, you stood up from the chair and smoothed out your skirt as you yanked the portfolio you’d handed him earlier off his desk. “Then I’m no longer interested. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Holloway.”

What you really wanted to say was eat shit and flip him off as you left the paper’s office. It didn’t stop you from mumbling to yourself a couple of choice profanities as you unlocked the door to your car and drove off to the police station. You’d promised Aunt Flo you’d come to visit for lunch after your interview, which you’d been optimistic about before you’d actually gone in there.

“What a misogynistic pig! Bullheaded asshole!” You couldn’t help the exclamation as you opened the door to the police station, dropping yourself into one of the chairs next to your aunts desk.

“Excuse me?” commented one of the officers, who had been handing Flo paperwork when you walked in. You waved him off and he dropped the rest of his work with a quick smile in your direction before he went back into the back room. He seemed to know when to mind his own business, but he did glance back in the direction of you and your aunt as he went back to work.

“What happened Duckie?” your aunt turned her chair to look at you, taking your hands in hers as she looked at you.

“The editor at the Post didn’t give me the time of day. He didn’t believe my credentials and told me the position was for a fact checker.” You hated the fact that your eyes were hot as you said this. Hated that some imbecile editor’s close minded bullshit still got to you after what you’d worked hard for. More importantly you hated that the shock and disbelief in his voice got to you and made you think that maybe you shouldn’t have this job. “And I already signed on that house we saw the other day, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“We’ll figure something out.” Flo offered you a smile and then went back to the work she’d been handed before you walked in. You were early for lunch, as you’d expected the meeting would have gone on much longer than the fifteen minutes it had gone. “Oh, Chief!” Your head turned when you noticed the man walking in with a younger teenager trailing behind him. “Do you have any ideas for a job for my niece? Y/N’s got an undergrad degree in journalism and literature and a masters in journalism. My Duckie’s real smart, and good with people.”

Hopper’s attention had been on figuring out how to get El to Joyce’s house when he needed to work the night shift and had been out on calls all day about what he could only call bullshit idiocy of the town, so when he heard Flo calling for him he’d stopped mid step and really thought she was going to scold him for having a lit cigarette in “her offices”.

Which, though she didn’t say it verbally her glare was scolding him more than enough that he made a show of coughing as he put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the older woman’s desk.

You had swatted your hand in your aunt’s direction while she’d been talking about your credentials, a flush of heat covering your face as you shook your head. “Aunt Flo, don’t bother him with that. He’s got more important things to deal with.”

Hopper didn’t miss the twinge of bitter that was laced in your words and he winced slightly. Really screwed the pooch on that one, Hop, he scolded himself. “Did you try the Post?”

You scoffed, pushing your hair out of your face as you looked him head on. It didn’t escape you that this was the first conversation you’d actually had with him other than some gruff and mumbled hello’s on both your parts when visiting your aunt at work these past couple of days. “First place I tried. They posted looking for a staff writer but I show up and the editor tells me they’re looking for a fact checker and not a writer.”

He can tell by your tone that you’re holding back on the anger, and if this were one of those cartoons he’d watched with El on television he was sure your ears would be pouring steam by now. He’s genuinely struck in the moment and he doesn’t know what to say. He’s debating between telling you that Tim Holloway has always been a real piece of work and he can shove it, or telling you he’ll help you find a job--which he’s sure you wouldn’t accept--when El stepped in front of him and speaks instead.

“Mike says the school paper needs help.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’d almost forgotten about her, since she was standing in Jim’s shadow, or the fact that her voice was quiet that drew your full attention to her. Your features soften, your shoulders deflating and relaxing from the hunched position they’d been in when you’d been speaking earlier.

“I don’t think I can help a school paper well, but thank you for the suggestion.” Your grin is genuine as you look at her. “Does your friend,” she cut you off and told you his name Mike again and you quickly corrected your comment, “does Mike work on the paper?”

She shook her head, the short brown curls shaking as she did. “Dustin and Will do. Mike’s sister Nancy told him the high school paper’s worse.” The names are thrown at you and you’re trying to put it all together into the story she’s told you, connecting anyone. Clearly they’re all friends, but the only big connection you have is Mike and Nancy are siblings, and ( damn your journalistic curiosity ) you’re interested to learn more. But you don’t get the chance to ask her anything when her attention’s already turned back to Jim at her side. “Are we leaving soon? Will said one thirty and it’s one fifteen.” She’s annunciating the numbers in a way that leaves you still curious.

Hopper ran a hand over his face as he let out a sigh, nodding his head. In the short minute or two his daughter spoke to you, he’d been focused on that and certainly not on the time passing. Shit.

And he’s about to turn and lead El out the door when the phone rings and Flo answers with a flourish. Before he can even move an inch, Flo’s handing the phone off to Hopper claiming it’s the mayor and something about the construction site and it can’t wait. He sighed and opened his mouth to speak, “I gotta take the kid to the Byers place.”

“Duckie can take El, Jim. I can’t deal with this construction business any longer Chief. The mayor insisted on this mall going up and it’s nearly open and there’s always something wrong.” Flo explained, holding the receiver in her hands as she looked at the chief, daring him to argue with her.

Hopper sighed and looked over at where you sat stubbornly looking you over and then turning back to El to see if she had anything to say about it. But she just impatiently tapped the face of the watch on his arm and he gives in. “Do you mind, Y/N?”

You stood up and gathered your things in your hand and shook your head, “Not a bit, promise.” Your voice is much softer than before, and you’re smiling and he’s struck by the fact that you’re smiling at him, until he realizes your gaze was actually on the brunette by his side who’s almost smiling back at you.

Reluctantly, he finally answers the phone with a gruff, “What can I do ya for Mayor Kline?”

“The Byers’ place is at the end of the road to the left of where the house you’ve got it, Duckie.” Flo informed you with a warm smile aimed both at you and the younger girl at Hopper’s side. She’s definitely closer to the Aunt Flo you know than the Secretary Flo the police officers know when dealing with El too. Your aunt must catch the hesitation in your movement so she decided to speak up again, “We can do an early dinner, don’t worry.” And she dismisses you with a wave.

The younger girl waits for a similar nudge from Hopper before she followed you to the door.

She’s not much of a conversationalist in the car, but she does focus on the radio and adjust the channel it’s tuned to ( after getting a go ahead from you ) and she’s hummed along to the song that played for the couple of minutes it took you to reach the house she pointed out from the beginning of the street.

A knock on your window startled you and you’re greeted with a black haired boy looking between you and the girl in your passengers seat. After you turned the engine off, you got out of the car and looked at him. “Who are you?” he asked a defensive and protective eyebrow raised.

“Relax kid, I’m just dropping her off.”

“Who are you?” Mike doesn’t budge from the question he asked you originally and he pushed his attitude and attempted to stand taller as he faced you.

You put your hands up and spoke, “I’m Y/N. My Aunt Flo works down at the station. Lived here my whole life and now I moved back to town. Satisfied, kid?”

“Mike.” El appeared next to you, her voice is somewhere between a kind greeting and a soft scolding as she looked between the pair of you. She didn’t like the questioning he’d given you because, even if she didn’t know you well enough, she could tell that Hopper wouldn’t just send her off with someone he didn’t trust.

“Sorry El.” he said, turning to her with a smile before looking back at you. “And, uh, sorry to you too.”

“No sweat, Mike.” you shrug it off with a smile in his direction. Then you turned your attention back to El. “Are you all good?” And she nodded as a response. “Okay, cool. If your, uh...if your dad is stuck at the station later I can come back and give you a ride.”

She smiled softly at you, waving her hand as Mike pulled her towards the front door.

“Bye Duckie!”

And you groaned.

You had a feeling that even if you didn’t want it to, that the nickname was going to become a thing amongst El and her friends who you waved to as they stared at you from the window in the living room.

It’s a week or so into June when you’re getting your house settled. Thankfully, the small house wasn’t much of a fixer upper, there were just a few paint changes and a couple of loose door hinges that you told your Aunt you would fix once you had a job and weren’t worried about finding something. You had two interviews coming up. One was for a fact checker and writer for the local Hawkins news station. The other was an elective teacher’s position at Hawkins Middle and High school where your responsibilities would be headlining both papers and co-heading the yearbook staff with the arts teacher as well as teaching a journalism class.

You were definitely hoping that you could get the job at the school. You’d thanked El for the suggestion of the school newspaper with a copy of a book you’d loved at her age. You didn’t know if it was a great gift, but she seemed to appreciate the gesture.

It was the second Sunday in June and you had gotten back to Hawkins late the night before with all of your things either in your car or in the rental van that your cousin had driven back to town for you. You had shrugged off the notion of help from your family to get things into the house, except for Aunt Flo who had shown up bright and early with a thermos of coffee and a couple of doughnuts from the shop in town.

It was almost afternoon and most of the boxes were inside your house. You had been lugging them up and down the stairs in the small house while Aunt Flo worked on organizing the bottom floor. Her reasoning had been that, “You’re going to need a glass of water in the middle of the night, Duckie, and you won’t want to dig through boxes at some ungodly hour.” She’d even tsked at you for veering her off course and attempting to get her attention elsewhere.

On the bright side, your kitchen was nearly unpacked now.

The downside was that the rest of what was in your rental van ( which was due back that evening ) was the actual furniture for your house including; a couple of chairs for the table ( which was also in there ), a couch, your old desk and chair set you’d had since you were a teen, a comfortable chair and ottoman you’d inherited from your parents, along with a grandfather clock, some large pictures for the walls, and your mattress. If anything you definitely wanted the mattress inside tonight. You’d slept on the floor in your new bedroom the night before and you did not want to have to do that again.

“Duckie!”

You turned your head, putting your hand up to shield your eyes from the mid morning sun and looked across the street to the group of kids on their bikes ( and one on her skateboard ) who had called to you. With the time you’d spent with them ( very little, but you’d bumped into them a couple of times ) apparently the nickname had stuck.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked, leading the group as they made their way across the street to where you stood.

“Moving in.” you replied, gesturing to the house behind you. Then you paused and shrugged your shoulders, “Do you guys wanna help me out? There’s some stuff myself and Aunt Flo can’t get out of here. I’ll make everyone dinner.”

Lucas hopped up onto the rental van’s back and looked around what you had left to move in and then turned back to look at the group. “We’re gonna need reinforcements.”

Forty minutes later you were in the middle of holding the door open as Joyce and Jonathan walked past you with one half of your couch, followed by Will and Dustin on the other side. You’d officially met Joyce the week prior on one of your trips to Melvald’s General Store when you went around getting some lightbulbs for your house and had befriended her.

Steve, Nancy, and Lucas were on the grass trying to figure out how they could get the table broken down and put back together so that they could get it inside. After one too many rough tugs on the table’s legs you’d had to jump in.

“Maybe get everything else in first?” Your voice had been filled with just a twinge of panic.

Aunt Flo brushed past Max, who was carrying a chair inside the house, with an excuse me and she walked over to you. “Duckie, darling, I’m going to the store to get the things to make dinner. Your kitchen and the study are all unpacked. I shouldn’t take longer than half an hour or so.” She kissed your cheek and smiled.

“You have the list of ingredients?” You called to her as she made her way to her car.

“Don’t need them, Duckie. It’s my recipe!” And with that Flo honked her horn and drove off down the road.

You’d grabbed the older teens to help you with your mattress, and used El as your eyes to make sure none of you carrying it knocked into anything you’d already put up on the walls.

Once you’d gotten the mattress down onto the box spring you flung yourself onto it and sighed, “This is gonna be so much more comfortable than the floor was.” You said it to no one in particular, but you had an audience of teens ( and Joyce ) who had also made their way up the stairs.

“Why did you sleep on the floor?” El asked quietly, looking at you as you jumped from the sound of her voice.

“I officially moved in last night, but didn’t move the furniture in until today.” You explained with a shrug of your shoulders and then clapped your hands, jumping up to your feet. “Alright, who’s gonna help me with the desk.”

“Does that need to go upstairs too?” you heard someone complain from behind you.

“It’s not like there’s another room downstairs, unless you think a combo bathroom study would be a good idea.” You replied back, jumping off the bottom step.

“Who needs all this stuff?” Dustin asked, waving his arms around as he walked into the living room.

“You’d be surprised.” you chuckled and then made your way back outside and hopped up onto the rental van. “Alright, I need a set of hands to help me push this desk down the ramp.”

Jonathan and Steve jumped up beside you and had them go to the back of the desk since you didn’t particularly trust either of them to walk backwards down the ramp and hold onto the desk and not get hurt.

“I got a call from Flo down at the station telling me to get down here ASAP.”

The sound of his voice made you jump and you lost your footing as you toppled down the van’s ramp with a thud to the driveway. Thankfully the two boys had a good hold on the desk.

“Hop! Thank God. Can you move this desk up the stairs? Oh, and get the table inside? Nancy and I can’t figure that one out.” Steve was practically jumping with joy since he was ready to get out of here and head home and away from the prospect of manual labor ( even if he was promised a good meal and desert too ).

Joyce offered you her hand and you stood up, brushing yourself off and smiling when she asked if you’re alright. Before anyone else can comment, Flo’s car pulled back up on the street and she’s commandeered everyone with free hands to help her bring groceries. You’d have yelled at her for buying more than just the list ( she’d come back with enough to make sure you had food for yourself in the coming days ) but you were a little bit focused on the desk.

As soon as Hopper got into the van, Jonathan and Steve jumped down and ran to the car in a flash. The kids were getting the grocery bags from the car and your aunt was telling you that she’d get it all settled and not to worry. And that left you, Joyce, and Jim to work on the desk in front of you.

You and Jim managed to grab either side of the desk and, with Joyce’s help, you two maneuvered across your lawn and up the stairs. Then she went back down to grab the desk chair, leaving you alone with Hopper and a ton of awkward energy in the air.

He scratched at his stubble and spoke before you could, “All Flo said was where she was and that they could use a hand. I didn’t know it was your house.” And you could tell he felt awkward saying it, but it did ease the tension in the air between you.

This was the first time you’d been in a room alone with him. A thought which you pushed away as quickly as you’d thought of it.

“I’m glad she did.” you replied, looking up at him as you opened up one of the boxes for your desk things and began sorting what you could even if it was only to keep your hands busy. You could hear excited chatter downstairs in the kitchen and it made your smile brighten. “I don’t think I would have gotten the desk upstairs without you, actually.” you admitted reluctantly, turning to look at him once again. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

What you didn’t know was that Joyce ( who had heard the entire story of the fucked up one night stand first hand from Jim once you’d arrived back in town ) had been standing by the doorway as you continued chatting with Jim about his work and your upcoming interviews. The more you chatted with him, the less awkward it felt. In fact, it was feeling comfortable.

And Joyce left the chair down in your hallway before going downstairs to help with everything else, leaving you two to talk.

Maybe something good would come of it.

By the end of June you’d worked out a routine. You’d begun helping get El ready for school in the fall, since both she and Hopper ( on separate occasions ) confided in you their nervous feelings about her going to school in the fall.

El was worried because she wasn’t sure what it would be like to be around so many people, and she was worried she wouldn’t do well in her classes.

Hopper was worried because he didn’t want to leave her alone too long, and because he worried she wasn’t prepared for the work load of school.

So, on the day you’d gotten the good news--you’d gotten the job at the school--you’d gone immediately to the police station and greeted your aunt with the news. In your excitement you may have also squealed about getting the job and hugged Hopper tightly when he came out to see what the noise was all about. Which was when you’d suggested, out of breath and still reeling from the excitement, that you could help El get ready for the school year.

Every other day, and on the days that Hopper worked the later shift at the station, you would pick El up from whoever’s house she’d been hanging out at ( or even at the Hopper cabin ) and you took her to the local library to show her a couple of things.

On this night in particular you’d been watching El since Jim was working late at the station and you and she had curled up on the couch, a book in both of your hands as you both read aloud from The Outsiders. You were supposed to be taking turns reading from the book, but you let it slide as she was looking up at you as you read and she was genuinely interested in what was happening.

Neither of you heard the door unlocking as you continued to read, and you didn’t notice the fact that you and El curled up on the couch made Jim Hopper stop mid step into his house. His hand dropped from the door knob as he looked at you and his daughter sitting together, listening to your voice as you read aloud about Ponyboy and Two-Bit visiting Dally and Johnny in the hospital. It took him a moment to collect himself and he shook his head to clear his thoughts and walk into the house.

He didn’t want to disturb the pair of you, but the door shutting behind him had echoed in the otherwise silent house and both of your heads turned to look at him. He looked embarrassed for a moment before shaking it off and putting his hat and coat on the kitchen table.

“Hey Jim.” You greeted him with a smile. You were definitely friends at this point, one night stand a distant memory in both of your minds. Save for a couple of flashes of memory triggered every so often.

“Y/N. El. Are you ready for bed?” He was moving around the kitchen, popping open a bottle of beer after his long night on the job and then he took a seat on the chair by the couch.

“No.” the girl replied quietly from your side, turning on the couch to look at Hopper.

“Why not?”

“We’ve got,” she turned back around and thumbed through the pages and then turned back to Hopper, “fifty pages left. Please?”

“It’s late.” Hop huffed, but he knew he was likely to give in to the two women sitting on the couch.

“Oh, is it?” You turned to look at the clock on the wall and noted that it was definitely past ten at night and you hadn’t even noticed how quickly the time had flown by. “I can leave if you want.” You commented as you gently moved to stand up from the couch.

But El took your arm in her hand and spoke again. “Stay.” Then she turned back to Hopper and looked at him, “Please? Fifty pages!”

You were stuck halfway between sitting back down and standing tall as you waited for an answer and finally Hopper nodded, so you sat back down next to a grinning El, who went back to her position on the couch with her head on your shoulder as you continued reading.

And Hopper sat there, gulping down his beer slowly, listening to you read the story to his kid and he was struck by the feeling in his chest. The voice in the back of his mind that said, I could get used to this.

You finished the novel and El was quick to get up and get ready to bed because she could tell that Hopper was going to tell her to do just that. And you started gathering your things to head back home for the night.

You were taken aback by a hug at your side as you put the last of the books into your bag and you looked down at the girl at your side shocked before you relaxed and squeezed her back. “Thanks Duckie.”

And you admitted to yourself that you didn’t hate the nickname when it came from her.

“No problem, sweetheart.” you said, smoothing out her hair when she pulled back from you and then actually ran back off to her bedroom to get ready for bed. “Goodnight El!” You called through the closed door as you pulled your jacket on and made your way to the door with your car keys in one hand and your bag in the other. “Night Jim.”

You’d barely stepped out of the door when you heard Hopper calling that he was going to walk you to your car and that El should be in bed when he comes back to check on her.

“You don’t have to walk me to my car, I know the boogeyman isn’t real.” You snorted a laugh as you walked down his front steps and turned back to look at him. You didn’t catch the look that crossed his face--the one that silently disagreed with you.

The pair of you were already at your car and Jim still hadn’t said anything, so you opened your car door and watched him, but he still didn’t say anything. So you put your hand on his arm and he looked down at the contact before he looked back up at you. “Is there something on your mind, Jim?”

“Thank you, Y/N. For doing all of this for El.” He stumbled on his words before finally settling on what to say. Your grin, the shake of your head as he insists for what feels like the hundredth time in the two weeks you’d been helping El get ready for school, spoke volumes. Usually you insisted you were happy to do it, because you were. “It means a lot, and it’s a big deal to me.”

You moved to be on the opposite side of the car door, to stand next to him and you smiled kindly at him and it felt like the first time you were really seeing him. Because he was vulnerable, letting you into his world with El after everything that had been going on in the town the past couple of years, and he was a long way from the idiot who’d left you that night.

Both of you could admit that.

“I’m really happy to help, you don’t have to keep thanking me.” Your voice was filled with a soft laugh as you spoke and looked at him. “I’ll pick her up in the morning and take her to my place. I’ve got this really good history book that should help us out.” You’re nodded absentmindedly as you’re planning what you’re going to work on the next day with El and you don’t notice the way Hopper’s gaze has lazily ( or purposefully ) fallen to your lips as you spoke. When you turn your head to look at him once more, he almost thought you caught him and he’s glad there’s not a light out by the cars because he’s sure he’s blushing ( and he hates that ). "I’ll see you in the morning, Jim. Goodnight.”

Before you know better, you’re stand up on your toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, and his arm’s wrapped itself around your middle and he held you close. You definitely lingered against his stubble covered cheek before pulling away, and he wanted to pull you back to him. To really kiss you.

But he didn’t.

Instead you got in your car and stuck your hand out the window to wave goodbye once more as you drive off into the night and he went back inside to make sure El’s off to bed alright.

It’s the end of June, and a couple of days after you kissed Jim’s cheek you haven’t stopped thinking about it. You were driving El over to Dustin’s house to meet the other kids so they could surprise Dustin, who was getting back from science camp.

“Are you and Hop boyfriend and girlfriend?” El asked as she turned down the radio and looked at you from the passenger’s seat.

“What?” You gasped, looking over at her as you stopped at a stop sign. “What makes you ask that, El?”

“Well, I’ve seen the way he looks at you and you look at him, like Jonathan and Nancy. When you’re not looking at each other.” El was thinking about a lot of instances in her head as she spoke, so she paused frequently as she tried to get them all together. “You’re always over, and you make us dinner sometimes. Oh, and he likes to talk about you.”

You’d completely stopped at the stop sign, thankful that no one was on the road behind you. You listened to El explaining all of her theory to you, and you wondered what she was going to say next. A part of you was worried that maybe she’d picked up on whatever was between you and Jim, worried that she was worried about you dating her dad.

“It wouldn’t be bad if you were.” she spoke quieter when she continued again, and you’ve turned completely to look at her in the eyes. “I’d like that.” El nodded at you with a smile, and then she turned forward, ending the conversation when you were still processing.

But you moved the car forward and dropped her off at the Henderson house, waving to the other three kids who were waiting on the lawn for El before driving off.

Whatever got in your head, you drove right to the police station and walked in and ignored your aunt at her desk. Flo had been on the phone when you walked in, otherwise she would have called you out on the fact that you hadn’t greeted her.

You simply brushed past everyone and made your way to Hopper’s office, knocking on the open door to announce your presence.

“Y/N.” He greeted kindly, waving you inside the office as he looked back down at the papers on his desk, the lit cigarette falling from his lips as he did this ( if only because he knows from experience you’ll snitch to your aunt that he was smoking in his office again ). He looked back up at you with furrowed brows, a worried look on his face. “Is everything okay? Is El?”

He’d already gotten up from his seat and pushed it back with a force by the time you put your hands up and stopped him. “Everything’s fine, Jim.” You said softly, gesturing for him to sit back down. “Can I?” You’d half turned to the door behind you and motioned to close it, which he nodded his head at.

The room is silent as you took a seat in the chair across from his desk and looked at him. You put your head in your hands and sighed deeply and Hopper really wanted to ask you what was going on, because even though you assured him everything was fine it didn’t feel fine.

“I had a conversation with El in the car just now.” You began slowly, your nose crinkling as you spoke and leaned back in your chair. Unable to get comfortable, you hopped up and stood back up and walked around the room for a moment. Hopper’s eyes hadn’t left you, but he is concerned at your lack of communication. He’s opened his mouth to ask you to continue a few times but he hadn’t said anything, and then you finally continued, “She asked if we were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“She said there’s a way we look at each other and we’re around each other a lot and then she dropped that she’d like that to be true. And I’m sitting at a fucking stop sign with your daughter in the passenger’s seat telling me it’s okay for me like the guy that I like because, well, she’d be okay with it. And I’m freaking out just because she’s telling me this while I’m driving her around and it shocked the hell out of me. And the next thing you know I drove here and I’m telling you this and I can’t breathe.” You’ve said it all in one breath, pacing around his small office, in a soft voice so that no one could overhear you.

Jim was glad he’d put out the cigarette because his mouth fell open, “You like me?” He stuttered out, clearing his throat as he stood up to grab your arms and keep you from your continued pacing in his office.

“You’re shitting me, that’s what you got from that?”

He barked out a laugh at your out of breath comment, but you’d stopped pacing and you were standing in front of him as he leaned back against his desk. His hands found yours and they laid intertwined between the pair of you.

Taking in a deep breath you looked at him and nodded your head, “Yes. I do like you, Jim.”

“Well good, because I happen to like you too, Y/N.”

He was halfway leaning in to give you a kiss when you pulled back. He was surprised and raised his eyebrows at you.

“If you think you’re gonna leave me like the last time, Hopper.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And he kissed you.

And the next time you two slept together, he didn’t even think twice before pulling you closer to him and falling asleep with you in his arms.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #going with the flo(w)

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violetsystems · 4 years

Text

#personal

If there were ever a silver lining to anything these days, it’s that I am also qualified to work at IKEA. In Shanghai. You guessed it. Cybersecurity. I do like to rearrange my crappy furniture every once in a week. But between rotating the kitchen table a precise ninety degrees for more elbow space, I’ve been feeding the algorithms like hungry plants. Sometimes they are monstrous. Someone on Amazon reviews had targeted me over a skin care product. You had to click a layer deep. A metallurgist from New York who was a professor at a major university. His reviews of fiction were endless of Grant and the civil war. You could put two and two together. And a week or so later the algorithms did. They suggested in an email blast every fucking work of importance about said Grant and the confederacy. Needless to say, I’m not really a fan of such perspectives. But awash in all this is my own personal data which governments refer to as PII henceforth my shitty Magnum jokes. We here in America love this thing you call freedom. But most of our data is not free. In fact, it is harvested, manipulated and spat back at us in a condescending way. Depending on the algorithm of course. Machine learning could be good for humanity. If it actually paired datasets together that were mutually beneficial to one and other. We humans do this when we connect communities together in a diverse and democratic way. There is a power to that. Of course, there are people who can’t profit off of people thinking and working for themselves. And thus, here in America we don’t have the same protections as Europe with laws like GDPR. I hear American diplomats chant all the time about how setting foot in mainland China is a blow to your privacy. All I experienced was a Big Mac at Pudong airport. When I was on Instagram and Facebook it felt like a waking nightmare. As if algorithms were interacting with GPS data to lure people together. This was the after effect of Pokemon Go in real life. A product that was funded partially by government money for not so obvious purposes. Social Engineering is an equal opportunity employer I guess. For better or for worse. These days there’s no shortage of human operators out there trying to sniff for clues. Looking for a job in the midst of all of it is frustrating enough. Knowing the balance between networking, ghost accounts, and maintaining the professionalism in between. I have never known who is interacting with me online and why sometimes. I have clues. I can guess but is that psychologically healthy in the long term for a person. It can be deeper than catfishing. Whole entire friendships shrouded by fake names. I stick to the ones I can visualize without a migraine. And the narratives that might support it out of hiding. Like commuting to Shanghai for a job for a range of companies. Or waiting around for the rest of my previous employer’s obligations to me to settle.

If you ever wanted to look at someone who is totally and utterly mindfucked but exceedingly okay with it all it is me. And the value of that is still to be determined. I wake up some days and wonder why I haven’t hurt myself or done worse. I quit drinking almost four years ago. I cleared all of my credit card debt which sits at zero to this day. My credit score is above eight hundred. I paid my rent. Nobody bothers me much. I am alone all the time except when I go for groceries. I sleep alone with my cat on my shoulder. People interact with me in the most bizarre fashion. I feel empty and ghostlike. And yet there’s these small windows of hope. I haven’t applied for anything else. I think sometimes you have to put your name out there and see what it means to people. The algorithms thought I was a good fit. There are other things it seems to think I am a good fit for. Friday night the algorithms pelted my notifications for the first time in awhile for jobs here in Chicago. And they were bleak. I felt more empty. I felt overwhelmed by the fact through reaching out I have seen no closure or solace. When I do connect with people from my past on that platform it’s mostly professional. Like a note of encouragement but no real desire to go deeper. You feel like a leper. And this isn’t the first time. I’m starting to realize I’ve felt isolated and exiled for longer than this entire pandemic. I feel used and manipulated over and over and through and through. And yet I also have this very thin layer of understanding with the rest of the world. One that I couldn’t really escape if I tried. One that I really have no idea what the outcome is. But it’s something I had to try. You throw a rock across the pond and it lands with a splash. And people start connecting two and two together. What happens? To me nothing. It was such a far throw to reach you. I’ve been throwing rocks for years. Missing every time. And then you just nail it. And people aren’t looking. It’s frustrating. You know it landed. And yet you know nothing. Maybe it needed to landed in the pond a little further to the left. Maybe IKEA furniture was blocking the way. Maybe it dropped into somebody’s Prada bag. The general point is this. I’m in your area. And in some ways you are in mine. I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t think it’s mine to solve. Unless it has something to do with keeping the internet safe. And this community has always felt true to that for me. Everyone I’ve ever shared these ideas and desires with has held a silent respect and knowing. And we’re more than just machines grinding out data in a callous way. We are people trying to connect to real emotions and dreams. And in some ways, I’ve found that people here actually help each other emotionally. Which is why it is such a torture to look for a job at the mercy of social networking that treats you like a dataset and not a loving, caring human being.

I am beyond hurt in my life. It feels both hard and easy to say. I have experienced the most soul crushing ego death no one could ask for. And I live with it silently like a beast inside me. Nobody gives a real fuck about me in real life. Nobody has ever given me a hug. Nobody has ever reached out to touch me and ask if I was okay. And somehow people on the internet have. For years. Silently layered on top of this casual and fragile society we live in. A complex network of people who trust each other and care in their own way. A respect for privacy, space and dreams. These are the things I was sworn to protect even if nobody ever gave a fuck. I did not want to fail the people who inspired me. And yet I am a complete failure. I am worth absolutely nothing to people other than to compare or constrast themselves and their stock portfolios to. I am a mirror in a house of broken dreams. A fractured idea of what could be if someone would just piece me the fuck back together. And the algorithms try I believe. And they shove data in front of my face I don’t want to see. They push and pull me apart and I’m expected to ride the pink wave off into the sunset. When each day I feel more and more like garbage. This is what is to be expected. I’m supposed to throw it all away. And yet I’m also supposed to wait for people to get their shit together. The last two months I was abandoned in the most hateful and spiteful way. I don’t know if that’s what the intention was. But my feelings are beyond existential. The hope I cling onto is weighted by things holding me back. And the indecision with people to trust I am somebody. I have never felt like somebody. I have felt invisible, hopeless, and dried up. And always there’s this breath of that one day I will be discovered. I will be taken off the bench and treated like someone special. And it never comes. I grow older. My life becomes more complex. The things that keep me alive and the decisions I make are in a complete psychological vacuum. This is self reliance. This is being an adult. And yet I am completely alone in this process. It makes me cry. It makes me angry. It makes me sit here and want to scream. But here in space. The personal space. The intimate private space we all share. Nobody wants to see me break down. Especially you. And if you didn’t know by now, now you do. I will keep throwing that rock until somebody catches it and asks why. Because I have no other choice but to send the message. I care. I have always cared. Whether that means anything to anyone is the real mystery. I don’t know that it does. I hope. But hope does nothing. You have to try. And you will fail. You know me best at that. How many times I have failed. It’s highly probable I’ll succeed one day. By myself or other wise. <3 Tim

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