#only ever had a newspaper delivery job

[mistabonbon]

I’m fucking 25

[kaileedraws]

Luka Moodboards

Hot.

Anyway.

Luka is one of the most laidback guys that anyone may ever meet. Although he is shy and quiet, he is very grounded within himself and the world. He has severe social anxiety — in which he self-medicates with cigarettes and marijuana blunts. Smoking also helps him to hear the world’s melodies a little bit clearer and fine-tune the music he writes for others. He is a man of little words— but words that have tremendous meaning and depth. Despite how quiet he is, his favorite genre of music is Rock in any form. He feels this way because he hears the most emotion and feeling in the rock songs he listens to, and not only likes songs for their depth, but for the way it makes him feel. There’s nothing that he dislikes more than music without meaning.

A flaw that he has is that because of his social anxiety and chill demeanor, he goes with the flow, even if things hurt him directly. He doesn’t stand up for himself and would rather get hurt himself if it means avoiding conflict. However, when it comes to others, he is the biggest advocate. His biggest downfall is that after he graduated college, he’s had little motivation to do anything else with his life besides music. He wants to be a rock and roll star one day — but has not strived to aim for a job with a steady means of income, or stability in general. He is so motivated to make it in music, he doesn’t have a backup plan. He still lives on a boat with his mother when he’s not working as a newspaper delivery boy, and tries to land guitar gigs when he has the chance. Despite what his friends say about his life, he is calm and relaxed. He believes that things happen for a reason, and what’s fate is fate, so there’s no sense in worrying about things that are beyond your control.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Heaven Can't Wait: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: Castiel goes on his first date since... ever. While helping him get ready for that, you have a case to deal with that directly involves angels. What can go wrong?

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

x

Having Castiel only three and a half hours away is convenient because you get to visit him when you want without having to be too far from the Bunker. Castiel is settling in nicely. He loves the house you got for him, and he even got a job at a Gas'n'Sip. It's not much, but he seems happy with what he has.

You're leaning on the counter while slurping up a slushie. Next to you are some chips you bought, and you pop one into your mouth while Castiel does his job. The gas station isn't busy, so he's free to talk and hang out with you.

"How do you like it here?"

"It's nice. I'm getting by. There are challenges, of course, but I can handle it."

"Being human isn't all that bad, but I like you better as an angel. I'm going to do whatever I can to help you get your grace back."

"I appreciate that," he nods.

"So, I kind of did something that might have pissed Dean off..."

"What did you do?"

Castiel looks over at two men who are laughing at the coffee stand. One of them stirs his coffee with a stir stick, and Castiel can't help but mimic their actions.

"We were on a hunt, and there was this child whose parents died, and I kind of took him in. Like, to adopt."

"You stole a child?"

"No, Castiel, you should have been there. This kid needs me as much as I need him. His name is Noah, and he's ten. I asked Dean for a week to try and change his mind, but I don't want to force him to do something he doesn't want to do. He hasn't told him to leave yet, so I think that's good. I'd like for you to meet him."

"I'd like that too," Castiel smiles.

The man stirring his coffee licks his stir stick and tosses the stick into the trash can. Castiel does the same thing while watching the two men. You chuckle at his behavior and touch his arm to snap him out of the trance.

"You don't need to copy them. Just be yourself," you whisper.

A delivery man walks through the front door with a cart full of items, and he greets Castiel with a smile.

"Morning, Steve."

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but you don't say anything about it. He drops a load of newspapers on the counter before leaving. Castiel sighs and begins unbinding them for the stand.

"Steve?" you ask and lean against the counter next to him.

"I figured it'd be smart not to use my real name."

"Fair point."

"Sorry, I'm late." You look up to see the manager of the place, Nora, walk in with a tired look on her face. Castiel tenses when she approaches, but he smiles at her nonetheless. "I had to drop the baby off at daycare, then hit every red light on the way here," she looks around the store with a smile, "but guess I shouldn't have worried. The place looks great. Coffee urns?"

"Full."

"Dairy case?"

"Stocked."

"Okay, Steve, last question. Where have you been all my life? You're not like the other sales associates. There's something different about you."

"I can assure you, there's not."

"I know these things. You're... special."

She walks past him into the back room, and Castiel watches her go with a longing in his eyes.

"You should go for it," you say, causing him to jump at the sound of your voice. "You're hot, and she's an idiot if she doesn't see what an amazing guy you are."

Castiel blushes deeply at your compliment. He moves the newspapers to the stand, but pauses when he reads the headline "LOCAL MAN PRESUMED DEAD" with the subheader "Fourth unexplained disappearance in weeks". There is a photo attached to the picture of the most recent victim.

"Look at this. I think this might be up your alley."

You take the newspaper and read the article knowing this is something related to monsters.

"I should probably go and let Dean know."

Castiel walks over to the slushie machine to clean it, but it starts to spurt everywhere on him and the ground. You feel so bad for him, but you know Dean would kill you if you brought him back to the Bunker. You walk over to the machine and touch the side of it so your magic fixes it. After making sure no one is looking, you clean up the mess with your magic as if it never happened.

"Keep your head up, Castiel. I'll be in contact." You lean up and kiss his cheek. "Make a move on that woman. You might thank me later."

You leave his side to start the journey back to the Bunker, and Castiel watches you leave with a small smile on his face. He touches the area where you kissed him in thought. You get back to the Bunker in record time, and it's like nothing changed since you left.

Sam and Kevin are still working on translating the angel tablet, and Dean and Noah are sitting at a different table working over a gun.

"Now that all the parts are out, I want you to put them together as fast but as accurately as you can. Remember what I showed you before?"

"I got it," Noah says, grabbing the gun. He quickly puts the gun back together--faster than you've seen a ten-year-old do. "That easy."

Noah looks a lot better than when you picked him up. After a nice shower, some proper food, and two nights of sleep makes him look his age. He looks happier and more comfortable with you, Sam, and Dean.

"How did you do that?"

"I played a lot of video games. My dad yelled at me for choosing violent games, but I got good at it."

This is exactly what you wanted to happen. They're bonding, which will make it a lot harder for Dean to say no. You didn't want to manipulate him into Noah staying, but you haven't felt this passionate about something since your kids were born. Zeus and Colonel are lying by Dean and Noah just watching them.

"Hi, my babies," you grin and kiss both of their heads. "Did you two find anything?"

There are pictures of red and black drawings with words, cryptic symbols, and numbers.

"Kevin gave us doodles," Sam sighs.

"It's cuneiform. I hit a wall translating the tablet into English, but I found an ancient codex linking the Angel script to proto-Elamite cuneiform. Then, I was able to translate the tablet and the footnotes into Elamite, which is extinct."

"Can you read it?" you ask.

"No one can. Scholars have tried for centuries."

"So, it's a dead end?

"Not quite," Kevin stutters. "Most proto-Elamite is abstract, but I was able to decipher one phrase from Metatron's footnotes. 'Falling angels'."

"Okay, so, the footnotes refer to Metatron's spell?"

"Maybe."

"If we can decipher the footnotes, then maybe we can reverse the spell and put everyone back in Heaven."

Sam gathers more books to look through, and you can see Dean's eyes gloss over in boredom. He'll leave the reading to Kevin and Sam. There's a more pressing issue than deciphering the Angel tablet.

"Dean, can I have a word?" Dean let Noah practice on the gun knowing the bullets are safe. They don't have any gunpowder in them, so the gun won't go off if he accidentally shoots it. You take Dean off to the side and present the newspaper to him.

"I got this from Castiel. I was with him all morning. There are four missing people in Rexford. They're presumed dead but no bodies have been released to their loved ones. Plus, there were reports of a strange substance at the scenes. It's only two hours from here. We can swing by to get Castiel."

Dean gathers your things while you explain to Sam and Kevin what is going on. Dean comes back with two duffel bags in his hands, just as you get done explaining.

"Wait, he said nothing about where he is or what he's been doing?"

Dean doesn't want Sam to know where Castiel is because Ezekiel will leave Sam and potentially kill him.

"This is Cas. In case you forgot, he's not exactly Chatty Cathy."

"So, what are you two even doing? This is barely a case."

"That's why we're going to go check it out. It's only a couple of hours away. We're not going to waste manpower if it turns out to be nothing," you point out.

"In other words, a perfect excuse to bail out on research," Kevin says.

"Yes, Kevin. Exactly," you roll your eyes and turn to Noah. "Stay here. We'll call when we get there."

"I want to go with you. Please?"

"Bring the kid," Dean shrugs.

"Fine. Pack some clothes."

Noah gets up excitedly and rushes to his room to gather whatever he can. He comes back ten minutes later with a backpack filled to the brim with things. The girls are still sleeping, so you'll let Sam and Kevin watch over them along with the two dogs.

Dean wants to keep Castiel out of this as much as he can, so you head to Rexford without him. By the time you get there, you and Dean are dressed in your FBI clothing, and Noah is dressed in the nicest clothing he has. He stays by Dean the whole time, and you watch with a smile.

He really looks up to him, and he hasn't even been with you for a week.

The local sheriff met you outside of the crime scene. Joe, the person who died mysteriously, was staying in a cabin on the outskirts of town. As soon as the sheriff sees Noah, he shakes his head and heads over.

"This is no place for a child, ma'am."

Blue magic swirls at your fingertips, and the sheriff's eyes flash the same color.

"He can be here. Now, why don't you focus on telling us what's going on here? There have been four missing people?"

"Four dead. I just got confirmation."

The sheriff escorts you closer to the cabin but not yet inside.

"Are there any common threads you can think of that link the four victims?"

"Well, Joe in there had the suicide hotline on speed dial. The gal before him was a shut-in. She had enough antidepressants in her medicine cabinet to stock a pharmacy. The first victims were a married couple out of Sugar City. They're pretty much a walking billboard for no-fault divorce."

"Were they all basket cases?"

"If you asked me to make a list of this county's saddest sacks, these four would've been right on top."

"So, you have four unhappy people with one of them being suicidal. Why did you rule out suicide?"

"You're going to want to put these on."

The sheriff hands you, Dean, and Noah a pair of gloves before taking you inside the cabin. The entire inside of the cabin is awash with pink spray paint, and someone wearing a hazmat white plastic suit is kneeling on the floor scraping evidence. Upon closer examination, you realize that it isn't spray paint... it's blood, guts, and everything else that was Joe. You turn Noah away from the danger, but he manages to still take a peek.

"Does this look like suicide to you?"

"Is this blood?"

"If the tests come back the same as the others, it's everything--blood, skin, hair, nails, internal organs, and even clothing fibers. It's like these poor souls got shoved through the world's finest wood chipper."

"What about witnesses?"

"It's the same as the rest. Neighbors reported some kind of a pink flash. By the time we got here, all that was left was this."

"We should go to Castiel. He might be able to help," you whisper as you head back to the car.

"Yeah, probably."

Castiel is only five hours from where you are, but when you get there, you don't automatically walk inside. You want to check in with Sam and see how the Angel tablet is coming along. Right in front of you is the Gas 'n' Sip that Castiel works in, and you can see him talking to someone inside. You take out your phone to call Sam, and Noah tugs on Dean's sleeve.

"Let's play."

Noah takes out a football he stored away in his backpack, and Dean looks at you in thought. What would a five minute break do? Dean shrugs and takes the ball before putting some distance between himself and Noah.

"Hey," you say once he answers. "How is it going?"

"We're almost through the texts over here, but we got nothing."

"Have you tried Professor Morrison?"

"Yeah, he's unreachable. He took a sabbatical to live amongst the Trobrianders of Papua New Guinea. Needless to say, we're pretty burnt."

"I hate that I'm even suggesting this, but you can use Crowley. If we have him chained up, may as well use him."

"It's worth a shot, I guess."

"Just be careful, okay? Don't let Kevin get himself in trouble."

"Noted. So, what about you two? How's Cas' lead panning out?"

"Four victims suddenly exploded. We tried EMF, hex bags, and sulfur. We can't find anything."

"Spontaneous combustion? Maybe the Thule?"

"That's what Dean thought, but he ruled them out. The bodies were vaporized not burned."

"That sounds like a real case. Y/N, I should be there."

"Look, give us a couple more hours, and if we still can't figure it out, then you can come down here. Right now, Dean and I have this. Okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

You hang up and turn to look at your husband. He and Noah are chasing each other on the small field while tossing the football to each other. All Dean needed was time with Noah, and he'd fall in love with the idea of another child regardless of how he came to be.

"Dean, we should go," you call out after giving them five more minutes.

Dean and Noah jog across the street to you, and you place Noah's backpack in the car since he won't need it in here. You grab his hand and walk inside the gas station with your husband.

x

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[nobodysdaydreams]

I Should Have Guessed Psycho-Boomer Would Be A Fanboy of His Own Manual. And Where Is His Glorified Secretary Getting Her Attitude From? (or my reaction to Wolf359 mini episodes 6-13).

Welcome back dear readers. Thanks again for your patience. Everyone has been excited for the mini episodes, so I'm eager to see what they've been so excited for.

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Mini Episode 6: Once in a Lifetime

Okay, just from these episode descriptions, I'm starting to think that these episodes are gonna be Cutter BSing them into this mission.

Get ready for some ✨Cutter hate✨

2013? I think that's one of the first times we've gotten a year.

"He doesn't bite. Much" YES HE DOES RACHEL AND APPARENTLY SO DO YOU.

"Director of Communications?" Wrong. That's DOUG's job and he's better at it than you Cutter. Even if he is a pizza delivery boy.

Cutter shut up.

Cutter and Rachel shut up! THANK YOU MINKOWSKI.

"All they want is poster children and sob stories. We like people that can fly ships." Sounds like Renee wasn't the ONLY one rejected from NASA, huh Cutter? 👀 Aw, did they not like the fact that you murder people? Did they think your space ideas were crazy and unethical?

I think I'll call Rachel Cutter's glorified secretary. As for Cutter, I think that's simply enough for him. There aren't enough words in the English language or any language to give him

Wait what does her dad have to do with this? Andre? Astrophysics? Early retirement?

Why do I think Cutter had something to do with that "early retirement"? How old is he? He sounds about as old as Minkowski, but the actors all seem around the same age and Doug's Hilbert voice sounds older, so it's hard to tell their ages. Based on where Cutter is in his career, I'm guess he's older.

I hate this because YOU KNOW THEY ALL SAY YES. And you just want to shake them and scream not. PLEASE TELL ME YOUR HUSBAND SAYS NO.

Journalist? I hope he blows this wide open Cutter.

Oh my gosh he can adjust his salary? That means he controls the press.

Why is Cutter talking about Renee's parents like he knew them personally? "They would have done so much more if they hadn't gotten married and had kids." Why are you talking like a bitter male tenured professor who never found love to his female graduate students?

SHE MATTERS A LOT MORE THAN YOU CUTTER.

"Don't make your parents mistakes Renee" hm. sounds like someone is projecting his own issues.

"no one will dare reject you again" BECAUSE SHE'LL BE DEAD.

"My husband is going to kill me" No, but Cutter will.

But I hope you kill him first. And I hope your husband destroys him in his newspaper.

I am loving and hating these episodes.

Mini Episode 7: Rebranding

Look like it's Hilbert's turn for the chopping block, oh sorry! I mean uh...✨exclusive job opportunity✨

St. Petersburg 1989?

But this is number 2? So...these aren't in order? Is this Cutter organizing his files because he's numbering system makes no sense.

Yet another way he has proven incompetent.

Ugh. It even sounds cold. I had it.

CUTTER BROKE INTO HIS HOUSE.

Okay granted, that's far from the worst thing he's ever done, but still man, kinda creepy.

"Tricks don't scare him?" Tell WHO he should know better? Who else is threatening Hilbert.

"I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world" "That's very nice for you" 😂 It's nice to actually see Hilbert not going for Cutter's bs.

And he's right. There are other geneticists closer to home. Ah...the retroviruses.

The most realistic thing about this entire show is "oh I want to research something very important! Let's see who's doing it so that I can contact them and get a job" and it's one guy in the middle of nowhere.

Who is Victor Stewkoff? Why does he knew about Hilbert I mean uh Dimitri's research?

"Dr. Stewoff died last year" "Of course he did"

So either Cutter's lying about the conversation, when it took place, or he for sure killed that man.

"Are you referring to the human trials?"

That silence is an overwhelming yes.

"Matter of time" mmm... Cutter does not seem like that patient type.

And I'm sorry. If you're doing creepy illegal experiments, you should know better than to trust a man who comes to you and says he's cool with it. Takes a monster to know one.

So he promised him a chance to perform his illegal research? But...what does that have to do with space?

"The last member of your family died when you were 9" wait...what about his sister? I thought he said she survived, or maybe she died a little later?

"Any discoveries you make will belong to us" don't like that. I mean, that's how it is, but in this case, I don't like this.

Cutter's like "I'm paying off the IRB man, geez do I have to spell it out for you man?"

Again, sad because we know what choice they are going to make.

Does the retrovirus have a name? Decima. Wait. The what? Oh rebranding.

WAIT. WAIT.

WILLIAM CARTER.

AS IN PRYCE AND CARTER?

AS IN THE TEXTBOOK THAT CUTTER FANBOY'S OVER.

Let me listen again. I think I heard that right.

Oh my gosh. I'm so stupid. Rule of writing: don't give your characters similar names that can easily be confused by the readers UNLESS you're trying to make some sort of point with it. Don't know how I let that one get past me.

He really is like that professor who makes all his students buy his book.

Who the heck is Pryce? Is that another one of his fake names? Or is that a colleague he axed off years ago?

And why did he change his name?

Also if he's already a powerful adult with his own company in the 80's then he and Hilbert are for sure older than Eiffel and Minkowski.

Actually, I take it back. Maybe I do have a nickname for Cutter after all. "Psycho-Boomer". Probably did some surgery on himself to make himself sound like he's in his twenties (though by the way he laughs, you'd swear he was a nine year old tee hee hee 🙄).

Hopeful we'll get to see the boomer go "boom!" very very soon...

Mini Episode 8: Language Mapping

This one is Maxwell's. How is Cutter ordering these? Oh back to 2013.

Is Cutter organizing these in terms of threat level? Because if so, it's honestly accurate to put Minkowski first and the scientists next, though I KNOW his errand boys would be devasted. Doug probably wouldn't care.

Oh no wait this isn't Cutter. Huh. Hello Whiskey boy.

Why doesn't Maxwell want to be here?

HOW MANY SECRETARYS DOES CUTTER NEED?

Yeah, this IS harassment. How on earth could they have not broken any laws?

"You could have come to work for us." That's...that's not a solution.

Redneck teachers? Did not expect that background.

Sounds like she's very different from her family. Maybe that's why she doesn't talk to them. Is she embarrassed by them?

Hm. Don't like Maxwell yelling at the AI ethics committee. Well actually I suppose it depends. Was she advocating for their rights or against them? And was she doing so for the wellbeing of humanity and the AI or her own interests?

"Someone has to bully them into being brave. Somebody needs to push".

Maxwell. I agree that sometimes progress needs to happen. But if you don't do it carefully and with ethics in mind, bad things tend to happen. Very very bad things.

Especially when someone else controls the rights to your technology. Of course there's the whole "if they didn't hire me they'd find someone else" but still...Maxwell this is bad.

Do not be fooled by the flashy lights and buttons and sound effects!

"Whoever built this is brilliant and they already work for you. Why me?"

Good point.

"I need someone who can talk to things that aren't human."

^Great idea Whiskey boy. I'll call Doug. Dr. Robot needs to earn my trust first. Not sure how I feel about her nickname. It doesn't have the same punch as the others, but it does fit.

Oh great the Whiskey speech again. At least he earns his nickname.

Mini Episode 9: Greensboro

Number 4, 2010. Ah Lovelace.

Once again, if this is the order in which crew members present a danger to Cutter, I'm agreeing so far.

I wonder how similar hers will be the Minkowski's.

"We don't do interviews, well yes we do some. But that's only when we don't want to hire someone and need a reason." Why do I feel like that's a straight up lie?

"Infiltrate the company and bring it down from the inside" I love the foreshadowing and double meaning. It also makes me sad to remind me that Lovelace used to have Doug's sense of humor before she lost all her friends.

It's not standard protocol. No one else had a polygraph, and Hilbert was doing human experiments.

"Convicted of a crime? Are you an alien?" OH MY GOSH PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS FORESHADOWING.

(Actually don't tell me, but...I hope it is).

Do you love your father? Have you always wanted to serve in the armed forces? What are these questions?

Ma'am this medical stuff is private.

They interviewed the people working for her? Cutter is literally everywhere. Well, I suppose Psycho-boomer has been blackmailing people since the 50s so such. I wish he'd hurry and die.

"You do this for everyone?" No they don't.

"We're screening you for a different job" Nope. Nope. Don't like that. Usually means you're about to get underpaid for your talents. "Sorry the job you wanted didn't work, but oh look! We did find something." In this case, something worse.

I hate the lie detector.

I want to hook it up to Cutter, but psycho-boomer probably knows how to trick the test.

Mini Episode 10: Things That Break Other Things

Duck boy! Are we gonna get to see him get attack by a duck? Boy do I hope so.

San Francisco 2011?

Duck Boy is a heavy drinker. Fantastic. Just the man you want holding your explosives.

"Buy you a drink." Uh. What. Oh it's a fancy one too.

Yeah Jacobi this is weird. He's coming on too strong. Time to bail.

My gosh what happened to Jacobi in the military? He sounds traumatized. Did it involve the Duck?

"Did you serve?" "No." Hm. Wonder why.

Oh Duck Boy has daddy issues. Why is no one surprised.

Jacobi's dad: "You think you're man enough for the Airforce? Can even fight one lousy duck?"

Oh he has bad depth perception too? Wow, yeah, sounds like it's a great idea to give him explosives.

"I'm good at making things that break other things. Including people".

Don't like that. Sounds like Duck Boy might not either. Haunted by ghosts perhaps? Perhaps Discount Cutter can take that conscience off your hands.

Went off early during a test. Two guys died. Well ain't that a shame for you Duck Boy. But hey, what better way to get over the guys you killed than by killing more people for a boss that doesn't care?

"You'll never work in this planet again" well funny you should mention that...

I see. So this happened in 2009.

"most of the world is profoundly stupid" why would I not be surprised that discount cutter is into eugenics?

Oh he left his business card.

Would have been funny if Duck Boy had just knocked if off the table or forgot to call the number.

Mini Episode 11: Decommissioned

EVERYONE SHUT UP THEY'RE DOING ONE FOR HERA!

No longer do I agree that this is in the order of "threat to Cutter", but I suppose from his perspective...

Ah 2012.

Unit 214? Her name is Hera. And how many of her are there? Do they all have the same voice and personality?

"Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?" Ugh. Don't like that.

"Where am I?" poor Hera.

Yeah they need to stop talking like she's not here.

"Your science board rejected me." Interesting. Most of Cutter's approach has been "X won't let you do something. But I will :)." But with Hera, his own people rejected her, but he seems to like the reason. "Poor social skills". Huh. Odd thing to prioritize.

"Don't think of it as dead. Decommissioned." Yeah. It's basically dead. Or asleep. Depends on whether someone wakes you up again.

"Helpful for everyone". No helpful for you Cutter.

What did Hera do? Misguided bid for independence? Record for rogue AI attempting jailbreak?

Psycho-boomer is so unstable. I swear, he likes the risk of using Hera just to prove to himself that she actually can't destroy him.

"We're not about to start forcing anyone to do something against their will. But if you don't do what we ask, we'll kill you :)" Cutter you suck.

And it's sad because Hera probably just thought this was how he spoke to AI. So she didn't warn the other humans because she figured they'd be fine.

"Maybe I should see if Dr..." What doctor?

Oh he called her Hera. Feeling a little disgusted by that fact that he's the one who gave her her name.

Though it beats "Unit 214"

Mini Episode 12: Pagliacci

Doug's turn!

Oh dear. Are we gonna find out about his charges.

Texas. 2013.

Ugh I HATE the sound of those heels and fancy dress shoes.

Oh he's in jail. Yep, called that one pretty quickly.

"Are you my lawyer?" oh Doug you really are lost. And yeah, that's not how it works.

Wow. Glorified Secretary is very classist. Girl your salary comes from a man who'd kill you without a second thought. Maybe cool on the comments and take a breath while you still can.

"Scary Ally McBeal" nice nickname.

"You are extremely and infuriatingly lucky" Yep and he's gonna be lucky enough to kill you by the end. If Doug's going back to prison anyway, he has nothing to lose by ending your life.

"What do you want from me?" Your soul. What else?

Doug. He's not kidding. He's crazy. Now PLEASE go back to prison.

"Maybe I don't want your way out." Oh Doug feels like he deserves to be there. 🥺

Who is Ann? Yikes, yeah, Cutter you crossed a line there. Is that his wife? Daughter? Mom? Girlfriend?

DAUGHTER?

Oh. And he's promising everything Doug can't give her.

For my TMBS mutuals: something something something...MBS space AU...something something something...Curtain, Milligan, and Kate...you get what I'm saying right?

Mini Episode 13: Kansas

2009. Oh the same year Duck Boy had his little accident.

And...Discount Cutter is last. Where he belongs. How sweet.

Looks like somebody's not as "in" the "inner-circle" as he thought.

How do you like being on the expendables list Whiskey Boy?

"I am accountable to two men in this company"

Cutter and...who? Pryce? It doesn't sound like he's talking about Rachel.

"Step into the elevator" Nope. Miss me with that tower of terror bs.

Who the heck is Richard? Did I miss something? Another errand boy?

Oh Cutter's voice is infuriating. I now imagine him as a 70 year old man who has given himself throat surgery to sound younger. Like an smug elementary school know-it-all-kid voice. Yes, I understand it's just the voice actor's voice and age, but it's still funny to imagine. "William Carter" it even sounds like an old man boomer name.

"You're never going to stop are you? You're like me." Exactly. Discount Cutter earned his nickname. But Whiskey boy is nice too.

Richard Littlewood. What a name.

"It's a shame that you weren't there." Ohhhh... he's using Kepler to edge out Richard Littlewood.

"You're going to crucify him." "No silly, I'm going to hang him."

Cutter really said I want him gone without the mess. Psycho-boomer really is the worst.

"Am I going up or down?" You're going to the very top...metaphorically. But we're going very very far down."

I would have to agree. Hell is very far down indeed.

"Don't tell me you believed that." I didn't. Why would anyone?

Oh. The Black Archives. FINALLY.

The files on a 1978 early deep space mission. First contact.

Wait. So they've known about the aliens this entire time? Not surprised but...what happened to the first crew? And why do they keep sending teams up that don't come back? What are they testing? Or rather, what deal did they make with the aliens? Are they studying the aliens, or are the aliens studying them? Is Cutter an alien too?

Well I guess that's all dear readers. Find out next time.

Once again, very much disliking Cutter, but now I'm also wondering how long Rachel has been around. And who Richard and Pryce are. And when Cutter changed his name and why. Interesting that Richard, Pryce, and Rachel didn't have mini episodes. At least, not yet...

[riahlynn101]

"The Caretaker's Keeper" (1).

Summary: Based on a prompt from GoofyBoss about All for One hiring Izuku as a caretaker for his brother.

Trigger warnings: Trigger warnings: child abandonment, swearing, All for One being his usual creepy, possessive self, implied/referenced murder, and implied self-harm - nothing graphic but please don't risk your mental health to read this. I'm always more than happy to give people a TL;DR if they're curious and want to avoid triggering topics.

Chapter 1

--

Izuku taps a pen to his bottom lip, thinking. Some would say looking through the newspaper for jobs was old fashioned, but usually the job offers put out into the paper didn’t ask for much information on the person they’re hiring. 

The last job he got was as a delivery person, though he still doesn’t know what he delivered from one side of the city to the other. And he doesn’t want to know. His employer for that particular job kept to themselves and only spoke to Izuku long enough to, one, give vague threats to not tell anyone, and two, to give Izuku a wad of cash. Which helped pay for groceries for the upcoming week. 

Ever since his deadbeat father left them, citing some excuse about “needing to find himself,” because “Izuku is clearly not his,” his poor mom has had to take on extra shifts at her job at the local hospital, as well as picking up a second job as a receptionist for a dental office. 

It makes him unspeakably angry. 

How was it fair that his father could continue his life, unbothered, when both his mom and Izuku were struggling to get by? 

They downsized, moving from the apartment he knew all his life to a one-bedroom apartment on the sketchier side of the city. His mom tried to give him the bedroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his mom’s last comfort away from her. She thought the same way, just in the opposite direction, so they compromised. On the days she had to work a double, Izuku could have the bed (at least on the doubles she worked overnight). And on the nights, she was home, Izuku would refuse to step foot in the bedroom (lest his mom somehow convince him to take the bed, while she took the floor or couch). She needed rest, and Izuku would be damned if he didn’t make sure she got it. 

Even worse than being forced to relocate from his childhood home-and maybe this is childish of him-was him having to sell his merch collection. His mom didn’t ask that of him, but at the time he hadn’t been able to work (being only eleven). 

He felt useless (just as Kacchan always said he was). 

So, he decided to pawn anything of value. 

He still attends Aldera, though now he has to get up even earlier and ride the city bus. The other kids make fun of him - thankfully (and he uses that word loosely) still only for his quirklessness. Either they have no idea he’s been knocked down a class or two, or they don’t care about that. 

Kacchan, to his credit, has backed off (to some extent). But every so often he’ll corner Izuku, and do his usual spiel on all the ways Izuku's useless, worthless, and can’t possibly become a hero. 

And, while it hurts to admit, Izuku agrees with him. 

Not because he’s quirkless, but because even if he does get in, he won’t be able to afford to attend. There are scholarships, but none of them would be nearly enough. So, he spares himself the emotional pain of almost making it (or being straight-up rejected), and applies to an affordable, normal-enough highschool closer to their apartment. 

After school, he browses through the daily newspaper, circling and highlighting jobs that look somewhat legit. He might be desperate, but he would very much like to not be kidnapped by some creep and kept in a basement. 

“Huh, caretaker?” Izuku briefly skims the listing. It looks….simple enough. 

He highlights the phone number. 

-x-x-x-

Mikumo Atakani crosses off yet another name. He sighs heavily, leaning back in his swivel chair. How hard is it to find someone that is both authoritative enough to take care of his hard-headed little brother and pliant enough to do whatever he says?

A knock on his office door shakes him from his reverie. 

He straightens up. “Come in,” he orders.

One of his minions-some nobody with a flexibility quirk-steps into his office. “Hello, master, another applicant for the job posting you put out is here.”

“Well? Bring them in. I don’t have all day.”

The minion nods frantically. It’s so fun to see them get so worked up. He hadn’t even threatened him. 

A young boy with curly, green hair and green eyes is pushed into his office before the doors are once again shut. 

“H-hello, sir.”

It might be rude of Mikumo, but he can’t stop staring at the boy in front of him. There’s something about him….

He snaps back to reality, realizing the boy is staring at him. He coughs to disguise his moment of absentmindedness. “Hello…..” 

The boy trembles a little, fidgeting with his hands. “Midoriya Izuku….sir.”

He chuckles. “Let’s chat, Midoriya Izuku.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku is sure he has the wrong address. The house is about twenty miles outside the city, and has a tall wrought-iron gate surrounding the premises. There’s even a tower overlooking everything with people carrying weapons of all sorts. 

His gut twists.

But his mom needs the money. And this job might even help her be able to quit her receptionist job. He knows she hates it there. Her boss is overtly misogynistic, and her coworkers are cruel. He’s heard her cry herself to sleep enough for a lifetime. 

Izuku needs to do this. He owes it to the woman who has raised him (and continues to whenever she has the time). 

He approaches the gate, still wearing his backpack (the only bus that could bring him this far ran twice a day - once at three in the afternoon, and once at ten at night). He at least remembered a change of clothes, so he doesn’t have to show up in his high school uniform. Though, his button-up dress shirt (the one thing his father forgot in his haste to abandon their family) and black slacks that he has to roll up to keep from stepping on the ends, aren’t much of an improvement. Especially when he still has his red sneakers on. 

Someone shoves a gun in his face. “Identify yourself!”

“I-Izuku Midoriya! I called earlier about the job posting.” He holds his hands in front of his chest, trying desperately not to look at the gun dangerously close to his head. 

The guard eyes him, muttering something into his com. They stand there for a moment, eyeing each other, before a garble reply comes through. 

“Let him in.”

He’s led to a set of double, extra-tall, doors. The guard who accosted him outside confiscated his bag, so he has nothing on him. He was reassured by the person leading him inside that he would get it back after the interview. 

The person-a much kinder-looking man with hair the color of a campfire-knocks on the door. 

Idly, Izuku wonders what kind of quirk the man has. Something fire related? Those weren’t particularly rare. Hell, his own father has one. 

Before he can ask, Izuku is pulled into the office. The person whispers good luck to him, scampering off. 

A man behind a large oak desk. He’s…..

….tall. 

Very tall, and suddenly, all the high shelves and doorways make sense. 

“Hello, sir,” he says. 

But the man just continues to stare at him. 

Did he do something wrong? He fidgets with his hands - a nervous habit he’s never been able to break. 

Finally, he speaks. “Hello…” The man raises an eyebrow, obviously expecting Izuku to introduce himself.

Oops! How could Izuku be so stupid! 

He stands straight, forcing his arms to his sides. “Midoriya Izuku…..sir.”

The man leans in, the corners of his mouth uptick into a small smile. “Let’s chat, Midoriya Izuku.”

Izuku nods, staying put. 

“Take a seat,” the man says, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. 

“O-of course, sir.”

The minute he takes a seat, the man is back to staring at him in silence. Which makes Izuku feel a little awkward, but he’s not in any position to say so. He squirms in the chair. 

“How old are you, Izuku-Kun?” He asks, which is a little forward. Most people don’t just use first names during a first meeting, but once again Izuku can’t say anything about it. 

At least it’s better than Deku.

“Fifteen, sir. I’ll be sixteen in July.”

The man nods, jotting something down on the paper in front of him. “And what about your family? Tell me about them.”

Izuku clamps up. This person seems….very powerful. What if he messes up and they hurt his mom? 

“You can trust me, Izuku-Kun. I only ask because the position requires you to take care of a family member of mine.”

That eases Izuku up just the tiniest bit. “I’m an only child and live with my mom.”

“No one else…?”

“No- uh…uh my father…he’s not around.” Izuku fights back the tears. One would think, after four years of this, he would be used to it. He isn’t. 

If the man notices him tearing up, he says nothing. “Okay, and two more questions. One, what’s your quirk?”

In a voice more befitting for a mouse than a fifteen-year-old, Izuku says, “I’m….uh…quirkless.”

The man looks at him strangely-not the way others do (which is usually a mix of disgust and pity)-but in a way that indicates interest. 

“Oh?”

“I-is that going to be a problem?”

“No.” The answer comes without hesitation. “I was simply curious. Last question, what made you want to apply?”

Izuku squirms. The chair he sits in dwarfs him, as does everything else in this house. It makes him feel….small. 

He takes time to process what the man asked. 

Why did he want to apply for this job? It was one of many job postings in the daily paper, there had been no information on what benefits he would be receiving, nor pay or the duration of how long he was to work. Just a small blurb about needing a “caretaker” and a phone number. 

He took it on a whim. 

He applied because someone hiring out for a caretaker likely has some money, and not the kind that’s handed off to him in a off-white envelope. 

He applied because they’re short five hundred for this month’s rent (partially due to being short last month), and their landlord is starting to run out of patience. 

He applied because his mom routinely works seventy-two hours straight with less than two hours of sleep. 

“I didn’t want to apply, sir,” he says, summoning the courage to look the man in the eyes.

“Really now?”

“I needed to apply.”

“Do go on.”

Izuku takes that as permission to continue. “To put it bluntly, my mom works herself nearly to death to provide for us both. I find work where I can, but there’s not many places hiring a quirkless teen. Or a quirkless person in general.”

The man nods. “Family-oriented, good. Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if your mom was a danger to herself, or something was a danger to her?”

Izuku hums. It’s an odd question for sure, but he likes abstract questions (even if this particular one is kind of upsetting). “I suppose I would have to lock her in a room without sharp objects and padding on the walls. At least until the danger passed.”

“And what if it didn’t?”

“Then…I guess, she would stay there until it did. She’s all I have.”

The man smiles at him. “Hired.”

Izuku perks up, edging closer to the desk. “Really!?” In his excitement, his volume goes up more than is strictly necessary. He clears his throat. “Sorry, I got a little excited there.”

“That’s quite alright. I’d rather have someone be over-eager than someone reluctant.” He grabs a pile of papers off his desk, handing it over to Izuku. “Now, we’ll go over rules and expectations, as well as benefits and pay.”

Izuku looks over the papers. 

“Starting with your pay. A thousand per day, but that can be more or less depending on the mood my…family member is in.”

That- that would be enough to cover rent, and that’s just for a single day? He finally processes the man’s last sentence. 

“What does the last thing you said mean?”

“Well, my family member is….let’s just say finicky. He’s prone to going on hunger strikes, and trying to escape his room.” The man fixes Izuku with a serious expression. “Under no circumstances, are you to allow him to leave his room. Failure to comply with that rule will result in severe punishment. Failure to get him to eat a meal will result in lost wages. Three hundred per meal not eaten, so it would be in your best interest to make sure he eats.”

That certainly didn’t sound pleasant. But a thousand dollars a day…..

“Understood, sir.”

“What’s the soonest you can be here?”

“The bus runs at three, so probably four? And the last bus leaves around ten at night.”

“Hm. Well, I guess 4:15 to 9:45 is decent enough coverage.” He jots some more stuff on the paper. “Can you start today?”

-x-x-x-

Mikumo can’t believe his luck! This kid-Izuku-couldn’t be more perfect to help care for his stubborn little brother. 

Yoichi may not take kindly to his goons. They’re Mikumo’s mouthpieces, there only to force him to eat, change his clothes, or go to sleep. But Izuku is different. Sure, he will be under Mikumo’s control (otherwise suffer the consequences), but knowing his brother, he’ll overlook that. 

Oh, he’ll still try the same tired tricks. Things like, trying to make the guard feel bad. Or threatening to harm himself (ways in which he does so has varied throughout the two hundred years Yoichi’s been under his care). There has even been a time or two that he’s played dead.

Mikumo’s ashamed to say he’s fallen for that trick both times. 

He exits the elevator taking them nearly a thousand meters below ground. After his brother escaped (with help) the last time, he’s been forced to take more “extreme” measures. 

Clearly just keeping his brother in a vault in their basement wasn’t enough. 

While designing this house, he made sure to make the vault deeper underground. And the only way to enter or exit is via elevator which is monitored closely, and the corridor is lined with motion-sensor cameras.

They stand before the vault door. It’s reinforced steel with tungsten in the very middle. Strong and will definitely stand up to any vigilantes, or heroes that may, or may not want to kick it open. 

“Here we are,” he says, entering the necessary code into the panel. He then puts his thumb on the scanner. “I’ll have to give you the code and enter your prints into the system before you leave.”

The boy nods. His bright green eyes go between him and the door. 

Awww, Mikumo thinks, opening the door the rest of the way. He’s nervous. 

He ushers Izuku inside, lest his little brother get the drop on them and escape. 

“Little brother,” he calls, shutting the door behind them. “I found you a new caregiver.”

The room is nicely furnished, at least in comparison to the last vault. Mostly due to the fact that he isn’t ever going to let Yoichi leave here. And he kind of likes his brother not being totally and utterly insane. 

There’s a twin bed in the corner of the room, with a small nightstand right beside it. A desk for writing or drawing (when his idiot of a brother isn’t threatening self-harm), a bookshelf filled with books, and various supplies for arts and crafts (all of which Mikumo has to be present for, though now that could extend to Izuku if all goes well). There’s also a full bathroom in a connected room. 

Izuku, whether he means to or not, clings to his side. He kind of reminds Mikumo of a frightened rabbit, or a little duckling (what, with his fluffy hair, wide, innocent eyes, and skittish demeanor). 

His brother finally pops up from underneath the bed. 

Izuku screams, jolting backwards. 

Instantly, Yoichi is scrambling for the kid. He waves his hands frantically. “Ohmygoodness-”

“Little brother,” Mikumo says, pleased to be able to lure him out. 

Yoichi fixes him with a sour look. “What do you want?”

“As I said, I hired a new caregiver.” He pulls Izuku closer to him by his shirt collar. “Introduce yourself,” he orders. 

Izuku is still trembling but does as Mikumo says. “Midoriya Izuku.”

His brother tilts his head, hair falling over one of his eyes. “How old are you?”

Izuku looks up at him-and, oh, this one is definitely a keeper. He hands over control so easily. He’s practically wet sand, just waiting to be formed into something magnificent-and he nods his approval. 

“I’m fifteen, sir.” 

Yoichi’s eyes soften. “You-you’re so young.” He turns to Mikumo, snarling. “How dare you hire a child!”

“But I needed this job,” Izuku pipes up before Mikumo can defend himself. “My mom and I were going to be evicted if I didn’t find a better paying job.”

Once again, his little brother softens. “Oh.”

Mikumo claps his hands. “This is fun. I should warn you, though, Izuku-Kun, my little brother, isn't usually this well composed. Actually I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything besides vulgarities since his first escape attempt.”

“Fuck you, Mikumo.” 

“Ah, and there he is.” He looks at Izuku. “Don’t take it to heart. I’m afraid it’s just his way of getting back at the world for making him so frail.” He pointedly ignores Yoichi’s indignant huff. “Anyways,” he starts, ushering Izuku towards the door, “I still need to put you in the system, give you the codes and keys relevant to your job, and show you how to get to and from the kitchen.”

“Wait!” His brother calls out, arm outstretched. 

Mikumo pauses. “Izuku-Kun will be here every day from four to nine. I have a meeting to attend to after I send him off, but I’ll be sure to bring dinner down before bedtime.”

“Brother-”

The door shuts and locks.

-x-x-x-

“It’s not too late to quit,” his boss’ brother murmurs. “

“Are you finished with your dinner?” He asks, only taking the plate once he receives a nod. 

His boss told Izuku over and over that any attempt to help his brother outside of assigned tasks would be punished with garnished wages. 

His mom had been so happy when she found a thousand dollars stashed in her purse. Hiding money in her stuff is the only way to make her accept it. She eyed him suspiciously but asked no questions. They even had enough to put towards the debt they had slowly been gathering since the day his father abandoned them. 

Izuku, even though it hurts to see Yoichi’s (the name he insisted on being called. Though, he only refers to him as such in his head. His boss might get angry otherwise) downcast expression whenever he refuses to engage, cannot afford to lose out on that money. His mom’s happiness and their precarious financial situation depend on it. 

“Why are you being so cold?” Yoichi asks. 

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry, then please, just talk to me.”

Izuku puts the tray of dirty dishes on the desk. He’ll take them to the kitchen to be washed before he leaves. He makes eye contact with the camera in the corner of the room. He feels bad for Yoichi. His every move is recorded and meticulously controlled. 

It’s easier to ignore his pleas than to indulge them. 

“It’s time to take your meds.”

“I understand you want to help your mother. That’s admirable, but my brother will only take advantage of that kindness.”

Izuku stares at him. 

He sighs, bowing his head. “I left them in the bathroom. Can you fetch them for me?”

Finally, something that doesn’t involve pretending to be a robot. His emotions are frayed and he’s had to bite back tears twenty times just in the past hour. Which is one time more than usual. 

He goes to the bathroom and flips on the light. There’s no mirror, or anything pointy. One of his jobs is to check and make sure none of the items in Yoichi’s room have been made into weapons. 

There is, however, a wooden cabinet in place of the mirror. He goes to check inside when he’s shoved to the floor. He thankfully doesn’t hit his head on the toilet or bathtub, but his back aches when he sits up. He hears the door shut.

Yoichi and he make eye contact. 

“Wha-” 

“Shut up,” Yoichi demands. His tone is not unkind, but it also brings about a sense of impatient urgency. “We don’t have much time. I can play this off as me helping you find my medicine, but anything over five minutes will be suspicious.” 

He offers Izuku his hand, which is accepted without a second thought.

When he checks Izuku over and sees he has no serious injuries, he continues on. “I apologize for pushing you, but I couldn’t risk you running away. I understand money is important, but it certainly can't be worth this.”

“My mom….her happiness is worth everything to me.”

“And that comes at the cost of what? Becoming a villain?”

Izuku wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a villain,” he protests. 

“You like heroes, right?”  

The change in direction throws Izuku for a loop. His obsession with heroes never really ended, but it’s been hard to keep up on the different battles and debuts. “They’re okay.”

Yoichi gives him a knowing smile. “Your words say one thing, but the light in your eyes when I asked you said another.”

He frowns. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be a hero regardless.”

“Never say never.”

Izuku opens his mouth, confused beyond belief, and is immediately interrupted by the sound of the vault door being slammed open. It bangs against the wall. 

“Little brother! Izuku-Kun!” He hears his boss call out. 

“All is not lost,” Yoichi murmurs, before grabbing the necessary meds out of his pocket and opening the door. “In here, brother. We were looking for my medicine.”

Izuku stands in the bathroom, processing what just happened. 

-x-x-x-

“I like your eyes,” his boss compliments. 

It’s out of the blue, but it seems innocuous enough. “Thank you, boss,” he chirps. Better to be overly eager than reluctant, right?

His boss laughs a little at that. “Do you get them from your mom, or dad?”

Izuku shifts in his seat, pausing his homework. Yoichi had (what his boss calls) a temper tantrum earlier, so he’s still under the effects of a sedative. A baby monitor sits on the corner of his boss’ desk, so they can tell when he’s awake. 

“Um, mom, I think. But her’s are darker and her pupils are black.”

“And your father?”

“I never looked into my father’s eyes, sir.”

His boss sighs, chin resting on his hands. “That’s a shame.”

“What the-”

“Ah, someone’s awake,” his boss says, snatching up the baby monitor. “You can bring his lunch down when you go.”

“Yes, sir.” Izuku shuffles his homework back into his bag. With his boss’ permission, he keeps it hidden in the closet in his office. 

“Oh, and Izuku-Kun?”

He freezes in place. “Yes?”

“If I ever catch you being caught off guard by my brother again, you won’t like the consequence that follows.”

Izuku clenches his hands into fists. 

“Yes, sir,” he says. “It was my mistake.”

“Good boy.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku is shaking with unbridled anger the whole way down. He does his best to act composed, as the cameras capture everything. But no matter how big he smiles, the tray in his hand still shakes ever so slightly, sloshing the soup. 

His boss had really said “good boy” to him. Like- like he’s a dog that’s learned a new trick. 

Yoichi is sitting at his desk when he enters the room. A book older than Izuku’s grandparents sits nestled in his hands. “I’ve brought food.”

“I see that, thank you, Izu.”

He feels some of the residual anger slide off him. The nickname reminds him of his mom. “I made sure the cooks left out the cilantro this time.”

Yoichi makes a face. “Thanks. Big brother always forgets how much I hate that.”

He watches Yoichi eat his lunch, standing-as instructed-next to his desk. The food smells amazing and Yoichi seems like a good conversationalist, but his boss is already upset at him enough. 

Besides, he really doesn’t want to know what someone like him considers a severe consequence.

“You look upset, Izu,” Yoichi says, stacking his dishes. “Did my brother dig into you about the whole bathroom-thing?”

“Yes, but it was nothing I couldn’t take. My one and only gripe was him being overly condescending.”

“That’s his natural state, though.”

The noise Izuku makes fighting back laughter can barely be classified as human. He hides his mouth behind his hands and turns from the camera. After feeling so humiliated it’s nice that, at the very least, Yoichi has his back. 

“I won’t do that again,” Yoichi promises him. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Big brother has a tendency to overreact.

And isn’t that an oversimplification. His boss is one incident away from making Izuku into a pair of leather boots. But he has no energy to argue (not that he could if he wanted to), so he nods at Yoichi, makes sure his desk is cleaned up, and moves to the next activity.

-x-x-x-

“You like him.” 

All for One-his brother in only blood-stands before him. He wears his usual smug smile. It annoys Yoichi to no end that trying to punch him only ends with being sedated. He misses when they were kids, and he was a whole head taller than his older brother. 

It had been easier to deal with him then, even if Yoichi had been extremely sickly and weak. 

“Why? Because I’m cooperating?” He pretends to read his book, scanning the words more than reading them. His brother has always been particular in how Yoichi responds to people. More specifically, his brother hates when he likes someone more than him (which isn’t hard but the last time he was honest about not hating one of his caregivers, his brother “fired” them on the spot. Yoichi looks at the reddish-brown spot he tried so hard to scrub out on the carpet). It’s better that he plays it safe.

“Yes and no. It's a combination of many things. You cooperate: eating your food with a fuss, taking your meds, and even making your bed. The latter of which you haven’t done since we were kids. Not to mention the one sided conversations you get into with the boy.”

Yoichi puts his book down. “Please, don’t punish the kid for that. I get lonely, and he’s been following your stupid rules to the letter.”

“I’m aware. Wasn’t planning on punishing anyone, though if you want to continue to insult the rules and structure I put in place, then I might reconsider that-”

“No! No, please don’t. I’m sorry.”

All for One chuckles, tilting his head to the side. “You do like the boy.”

“He’s just so….young. I still don’t like that you’ve hired a child, but….”

“But?” His brother presses.

“But as long as he’s here, I will do everything in my power to make sure he’s safe. He needs someone to look out for him.”

“Like a big brother?”

“Like a big- wait, no.”

His brother looks amused. “It’s fine. Now, if you thought of him as an older brother, then we would have some issues. But Izuku-Kun is still younger than the age I gave you that immortality quirk. He’s no threat to me. And, if I’m honest, I find myself growing fond of the boy.” His brother sighs. “He reminds me of you.”

Yoichi hunches into himself. “But he isn’t me, big brother.” He doesn’t like where this is going. 

“No, no he isn’t. But he has all the qualities.”

“Please, fire him if you must.”

“Why would I fire him? I just said I’m fond of him.” All for One hums, reaching out to stroke his face with his thumb. “You always used to complain about being the youngest in the family.”

Yoichi fights back tears. He promised himself a long time ago-after his boyfriend had been brutally murdered by his brother-that he would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing him cry. To see him weak and needy. 

“Leave him alone. He has a mother who loves him.”

“Does she?” He pulls away, and Yoichi instantly feels the tension in his body relax. “He has to give all his earnings to her, when he should be saving them so he can attend college.”

He bristles. “Because they’re dirt poor!? Don’t act like you don’t remember the days when we were poorer than that!”

“I remember those days well,” his brother answers him in a calm tone, which only makes Yoichi even angrier. “But if you’ll remember, I never once put that burden on you. It was I, your caregiver, that shouldered that responsibility.”

“It should have been on mom’s and dad’s shoulders.”

His brother ducks his head, before looking at Yoichi once again. He doesn’t smile when he says, “maybe they should have. Which is why it's hard for me to see someone so young and so full of life being put in a similar situation. I look into that boy’s eyes and see-”

“Me?” 

“Myself,” his brother finishes. “I see you in his eyes and his mannerism, but I must admit, I see myself more often than not.”

“And you think holding onto him will do what? Solve all our childhood trauma? Newsflash, Izuku-Kun isn’t you! He isn’t me! He’s his own person, who has a mother whom he loves very much!”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” his brother snaps, patience evidently wearing thin. “I simply wish for him to have a better upbringing than we had.”

“He’s fifteen.”

His brother shrugs. “My decision is final. I’m lifting the conversation ban, and you’ll be responsible for helping him complete his homework. He will still be in charge of making sure you behave and follow my rules, but I will allow you two to converse.”

“How thoughtful,” Yoichi snarks, head in hands. 

His brother heads for the door. “Oh, and I shouldn’t have to tell you, I’m always listening.” They both look towards the camera, always recording in the corner of the room. “Breathe a word of this conversation to him, or try to warn him in any way, and you won’t like what happens.”

Yoichi watches his brother open the door in mute horror. 

“Sleep well, little brother. I love you very much.”

The door shuts and locks, leaving Yoichi in stunned, horrified silence.

[theretirementstory]

16/06/2024. Bonjour à tous, hoping I find you all well. It’s a cloudy day and we are expecting rain but as I always say it’s good for the garden.

Talking of the garden, Monique came to visit me yesterday and before I knew it she was outside clearing all the large weeds from the raised beds and planters. What a difference it made and she found a lone nigella, which she replanted, then took a piece from the dianthus and planted that with a little pansy in the raised planter. Normally this is where I grow my salad stuffs but flowers will do for this year.

I had a message from Pauline, she is in town and is going to come visit me this morning. Funnily enough I have so much to do this weekend and I will have had two visitors!

This last week has been full of hospital visits, PET scan one day, trip to Paris hospital another day, where they were concerned because my platelets are not rising at all despite having transfusions, injections and tablets. I had a day at home on Wednesday but then it was transfusions in Troyes hospital and Friday back to Paris for a consultation and platelet transfusion.

I was also given the result of the PET scan which was not the result I was hoping for! However, the doctor said that although the CAR-T cell treatment hadn’t done all that was expected of it, it had not been a failure. I require further treatment and am going back into hospital in Paris tomorrow. Fortunately it’s only for three days this week and three days next (at the moment).

My grandchildren are with “The Photographer” this weekend, what a couple of jokers they are. Friday evenings video call saw my granddaughter telling me her name was SIX. When I said “Hello Six” she laughed so much. She was pointing to her brother and saying “his name is two”, but he didn’t want that and said “my name is PIZZA!” Oh that made me laugh so much.

“The Photographer” starts a new job tomorrow and the first week will be taken up with training, meeting colleagues and generally easing into the work. Good luck with that. I will be thinking about you.

“The Trainee Solicitor” has had three days at Uni and getting up at 5:15am is no joke (I can vouch for that!). However, he is half way through the course, has two days there this week, so that isn’t so bad.

“The Reconnect Navigator” has had a painful back for a while and she managed to get an appointment to have it assessed. It is sciatica but she is being sent for an MRI scan as he thinks there is other damage too.

Yesterday “The Trainee Solicitor and “The Reconnect Navigator” went to see “my grandchildren and share a lunch with the two “Fathers” for Father’s day today. Apparently “The Reconnect Navigator” was flavour of the month for the children as they had been arguing, before she arrived, as to who would play with her first. Normally my grandson is shy with her but not this weekend. Of course, “The Trainee Solicitor” is a favourite no matter what and I am sure he was given big hugs by both of them.

“The Jetsetter” should be back from Majorca now and it will be nice to find out how the Spanish treated the English while she was there. There has been a lot in the newspapers about “tourists go home” and it will be interesting to hear from a tourist.

I am back with a couple of songs, the first is the brilliant “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” by Roberta Flack way back in 1972. The song is from one of my favourite films “Play Misty For Me” with Clint Eastwood.

The second song, is one that I have loved from when I first heard it, it’s the amazing Nina Simone with “Ain’t Got No, I Got Life” this dates back to 1968 (sorry it’s a real oldie).

I have had a message from Anie, who is currently in Aiguës Mortes on her holiday. She is having a good time with her family from Indonesia.

So that’s about it for another week, let’s hope that the news is better this coming week. I am pleased that my book delivery arrived, as I will have some books to take into hospital to read while I am resting.

Bon dimanche.

[mariacallous]

The recipe sold itself as “unique.” Toward the end of March, an anonymous blonde woman appeared on the TikTok page @foodfuns3 and committed a culinary crime. First, she poured an entire box of angel hair pasta into a blender, then she blitzed it into dust, added a couple of eggs, and rolled the resulting dough into new pasta strips. Gamely, she took a bite of the thick, grainy Frakenpasta after cooking it; unconvincingly, she ended the video with the words, “Mmm! It’s like the perfect consistency.”

Despite this onscreen bite, it’s probably safe to assume this pasta dish ended up in the bin.

It’s no longer news that disgusting food videos on TikTok are intentional rage bait, designed to rile up viewers and gain comments, shares, and views for creators. Yet while no one eats the food in these ridiculous recipe videos, they do feed an entire online ecosystem.

Shortly after the blonde woman blended her pasta, The Washington Post tested her recipe on its own social media channels, while the British newspaper Metro made its own video about the “dish.” On TikTok itself, multiple creators responded, superimposing themselves over the video and adding their own commentary. Thanks to the sheer number of hideous recipes that now populate TikTok, a new job has emerged: Recipe Reactor.

Chef Reactions is not the name recorded on Chef Reactions’ birth certificate. Despite the fact that he has more than 3 million TikTok followers, Chef Reactions closely guards his real name and identity because, he says, “I get death threats every single day.” Fiercely protective of his family and a carer for his 88-year-old grandmother, he’s only been recognized three times in public since he exploded on social media a year ago, and he wants to keep it that way. “I’ve worked in kitchens my whole life,” he says. “I didn’t start this with the intention of becoming famous.”

What provokes the death threats? Multiple times a week, Chef Reactions picks an online recipe video and—it’s in the name—reacts to it. He is known for his deadpan delivery, liberal use of swear words, and very evident culinary knowledge. (He really is a chef with almost 20 years’ experience.) The 40-year-old creator reacts to everything from genuinely delicious-looking chocolate sculptures to people cooking inside their toilet bowls.

Some have accused him of bullying, “which I didn’t understand, because most of the videos that I talk about are purposely made for shock value.” (Some recipe videos are also fetish content.) The chef’s angry reactions are unscripted and authentic: “I come from a background of not wasting food, both in my professional life and my personal life. When I was a kid, I was forced to sit at the kitchen table until I finished everything on my plate, so wasting food is a pet peeve of mine.”

Chef Reactions created his TikTok account in May 2022 because, he says, “a dishwasher that worked for me had a video go viral … and it was really stupid, it was maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Deciding that if she could do it, he could do it too, the chef created his first video, a silly three-second clip in which he makes eyes at some butt-shaped dough.

The Chef Reactions channel grew quickly. He recently quit his job; brand deals, merchandise sales, and Patreon supporters enable him to recipe-react full time. “I’ve been a chef for so long that it’s hard for me to think of what I do now as work, because I worked so very hard before,” he says. He notes that while he is by no means rich or “set for life,” he could afford a year off to be with his family if he stopped making videos right now. “This has changed my life in ways that I never thought were possible,” he says.

Yet in the year Chef Reactions has been creating his videos, he says the number of rage bait (and fetish) recipes on TikTok has grown. “These accounts are multiplying like gremlins,” he says, “And now people say that I’m partially responsible for that.” Some viewers believe that gross food creators are making videos specifically for the chef to react to, meaning he’s taking the bait and feeding the baiters. While he says it would be “egotistical” for him to believe that videos are made specifically for him, he does acknowledge his part in this strange new ecosystem.

“Without them, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today, so it’s kind of a double-edged sword,” he says. Equally: “I’m not the only person that does food reactions.”

Tanara Mallory is perhaps currently the most famous and quotable recipe reactor on TikTok; her catchphrase “Everybody’s so creative!” now regularly pops up in the comment section of food videos. The 47-year-old, Philadelphia-based production cook is—as Chef Reactions himself puts it —“hilarious”; her faux-enthusiastic response videos have earned her 3.4 million followers.

Unlike Chef Reactions, however, Mallory has found it hard to profit from her fame. She told The Philadelphia Inquirer earlier this month that the money she has earned so far only covers “gas and groceries,” even though the hashtag #everybodysocreative now has 486 million views. It’s a problem as old as social media itself: the ability of any creator to monetize their content often depends on their race. “Mallory’s situation,” journalist Beatrice Forman wrote in her profile of the TikTok star, “is all too common for Black social media creators, who have shaped internet culture for decades.” (Mallory didn’t respond to interview requests for this story.)

Yet while recipe reactions may not always be profitable, they do remain popular. Beyond comedy value, why do people like to watch?

Zoë Glatt, a digital anthropologist and postdoctoral researcher at Microsoft’s Social Media Collective, argues that “​​what makes bad recipe videos so perfect for reactions is the ambiguity around whether the original content is made sincerely.” Numerous disturbing recipes have been reported as real trends over the years, and therefore it is undoubtedly satisfying for audiences to hear a straight-talker “reflecting on just how bad these recipes are.”

Glatt says that “reaction videos have always existed as a sort of meta-economy that feeds off of and into the genres of content.” While some reactors do “the bare minimum,” riding the coattails of an original video’s popularity, the best reactions, she says, “offer meaningful or entertaining commentary, reflecting and reifying the feelings that audiences have toward the video and helping to create a sense of community and shared understanding.” Arguably, shared understanding is crucial when you’ve just watched someone blend angel hair and you have to decide if the world’s lost the plot or you have.

It’s unclear how long recipe reactions will continue to be popular. Chef Reactions says, “I think of myself always as on my 14th of 15 minutes of fame.” He is branching out onto YouTube because of rumors of a TikTok ban, and he hopes the world will continue to have an appetite for his content. But being uncertain about the future doesn’t trouble him too much. “If you were to ask me a year ago what my retirement plan was, I would have said, ‘Having a heart attack hovering over an empty deep fryer.’ I didn’t have a retirement plan,” he says. He still doesn’t, but he does now have a flourishing online career. “If it all goes away tomorrow, I can always fall back onto my skill set and continue being a chef.”

[forgottenstarlightwishes]

Star Light. Star Bright. First Star I see tonight!

Helluva Boss Roleplay Blog|| INDIE OC || 18+ SFW || Reed Warbie || The Struggling Hopeful Cherub

About Warbie || Wishful Thinking || Rules || Tag List

Main: Forgottentenant

Verses

Heaven: Warbie residing and working in Heaven, dreaming about visiting Earth and growing ever more curious about Hell. A hardworking bird who tries to keep his Department relevant and afloat, by doing odd jobs for other cherubs and departments in hope they would lend a helping hand for the Dept. Wishful Thinking. Here Warbie wears a very casual newspaper boy messenger style outfit. Fallen: While out on a delivery he was ambushed by an unknown assailant who had thrown a large bag of bird seed at the Cherub. Magically bound to the bag of seed, Warbie was knocked unconscious and fell down towards Hell. Waking up in Hell he finds himself cut off from Heaven's portal system and can only communicate with his team via the wish fulfillment delivery system. He takes decides to use this opportunity to try to fulfill the backlog of wishes that had been deemed too troublesome to fulfill in Heaven, and to learn more about Hell and see how far the books and teachings in Heaven are from reality. In Hell he wears a more formal outfit with a fitted waistcoat with a black cap and silver chains on his glasses. He sometimes will go by the alias of : Astrophel.

[bretongirlwrites]

‘I was thinking,’ said the Guildmaster, – who had been doing nothing but that for about half an hour, – ‘of starting a newspaper. The Courier’s Guild Courier. What do you think?’

I had so much thought that my opinion was of little consequence, that I was startled; pushed over an envelope as an absent-minded peace-offering; and said that the name needed work.

‘Oh!’ said he: ‘I thought it was perfect. You probably don’t know what a chiasmus is, do you.’

‘I know they live in caves and are farmed by the Falmer,’ I began.

He began to explain; but quite to my surprise, gave up on the subject without even a comment on my Winterhold education; and at length said that he only wanted approval for his idea.

‘Do you keep well up to date, then,’ said I, ‘on Skyrim affairs, sir?’

‘How can I?’ said he impatient: ‘if only there were a newspaper!’

I had never seen him so absorbed by an idea; presumed it were his latest obsession, and that I had caught the peak of it; and cottoning on, commented that: ‘I suppose you would have all the couriers collect this news for you.’

‘Oh!’ said he, ‘you have it precisely.’

‘Well,’ I began: ‘I do not know what news I can give you; short of, oh! I don’t know, stalking the Dragonborn, –’

‘Better and better,’ said he leaning back.

The Dragonborn, you must understand, is not someone who might be got on the wrong side of, without being blasted all the way to the Sea of Ghosts, or perhaps made into a ghost; leastways it would not have been a reassuring prospect; but for the fact that, the Guildmaster having had the lifespan in which to learn all manner of destructive habits, as well as a devastating beard-grooming routine, he intimidated me enough, that I did not want to disobey him.

Therefore I said nothing; only let him revel in it, the most excited I had seen him since a particularly neatly sealed envelope. He looked quite askance at my indifference; and said:

‘Don’t you see? With our teleported newspaper delivery, all of the townspeople will be talking about the Dragonborn, or anything else, at once, when they have scarcely finished the business that we have reported! and they will arrive, and hear tell of themselves! how they will be startled! Harmless fun: and we shall have revolutionised how news travels in this province. Can you believe it still goes by horse? We are not in the damn Third Era any more.’

Filled his pen to calm himself down; shook it, began to address a letter. ‘I should very much like,’ said he, ‘a horse, – a black horse, – but that is besides the point.’

It would certainly match his demeanour; but I had had a damnable encounter with a black horse in Falkreath; and so could say nothing, only hide a shudder. ‘The Black Horse Courier,’ said I at last, ‘that would be a fine name.’

‘That would be going too far,’ said he without elaboration.

‘Anyway,’ said I returning to my fears: ‘the Dragonborn is surely going to suspect something is up, if, –’

‘Oh!’ said he, ‘if she begins to feel your eyes on her, – then, I don’t know, improvise something. Buy a pint, or feign tilling some crops, make something up. It will not bother her for long.’

I was sure it would bother her for the rest of the era, but with the sparking eyes of my guild-master upon me, and a particularly sharp quill in his hand, I only nodded and said that I’d collect whatever news I could manage. Privately I did not hope for much, – having only learnt on my visit to Whiterun that the Greybeards are the cause of earthquakes; and that the Cloud District is perfectly off limits to peasants like me, – but anything would satisfy him more than nothing; and my job would be done. 

‘If you do not want to start with the Dragonborn herself,’ said the Guildmaster, ‘then I should try the city-guards, for they are the worst gossip-mongers you will ever find; it would be as well to ingratiate yourselves with them, that you may sell them our newspaper later. Won’t it be striking, when the Dragonborn does some great deed, and has hardly returned, and the guards praise her already for it!’

‘The miracles of Mysticism,’ I murmured: and taking my post-bag, bade leave of him, even as his thrill spilled from his inkwell and over those ageless hands.

--------------------------------

part 1: the formation of a courier

part 2: threats to the service

read on ao3

[ryuzakemo128]

Blue and Red make Purple - Stranger Things

Polyamorous Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson x Oksana "Gorgon" Uvarova headcanons

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Oksana "Gorgon" Uvarova x Steve Harrington

Links: Dividers /Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02/ Vikings Masterlist / Dividers 02 /Dividers 03 / Dividers 04

[Part Two]

Oksana got into Butterscotch pudding most of the time. As it was the first thing she had the first night in America with her sisters and her mother.

Oksana's dark humour comes from a broken home. Much like Eddie. Only she won't hide it.

Oksana encourages people to do things they like. While also pushing for financial independence. "Go to band practice more often. If this is your passion, keep going." - About Oksana talking to Eddie about his band Corroded Coffin.

"I hope I never see him again, and if you see him, ignore him. He will try anything he can to his advantage. Think of him as a man child and deny, deny, deny. I won't get offended by it. It will save your sanity and your emotional bandwidth later. It will prevent needing therapy later." - About her father.

Most of the furniture Oksana buys are secondhand, and she ends up-scaling them afterwards to make them look far more expensive than what they were.

"I don't think my father was a handy man. My mother knew how to learn different things to fix stuff at home." - Oksana about her mother. Oksana embroiders ripped up couches to add more colour to them. Oksana reads up on how to fix things and then fixes it while they're asleep. Oksana likes to stay busy at all times.

Oksana does part-time work like newspaper delivery, dog walking, lawn mowing and various small jobs other people won't do. As she struggled to get someone to hire her.

Oksana had the thing of, 'I'm too good-looking to keep and too much of a handful to leave'. Steve did not like it when she talked about herself that way. It was like she was putting a price tag on her self-worth, and he had enough of that in his life. She stopped saying it, which he thought was a good sign. Eddie said it was because she realized that Steve didn't think of her that way.

Oksana bought the first place they all moved into together. She jokes and says, "Look where this brings you. Back to me." She also adopted a ginger cat named Walter beforehand.

Oksana also buys hair products for Eddie's curly hair. Stating it was important for him to take care of his hair and that she loved his curly hair.

Oksana started studying to become a tattoo artist during her first senior year, and has been doing it ever since. Some of her new tattoos were inspired by Eddie's npcs in his D&D campaigns.

The herb garden, the hydroponic fruit and veggie gardens provide fresh produce for them. The beehives give them honey. The chickens give them eggs and meat. The ducks give them eggs and meat. The rabbits give them meat and fur. They also have a small orchard of fruit trees and berry bushes. The garden is their main source of food, and it's where they spend most of their time when they're not working or studying.

Oksana is still encouraging Steve to go study in collage too. But Steve is hesitant. Steve worries about leaving the financial burden on Oksana and Eddie. Oksana assures him they can manage, and that his happiness is important too. She even offers to help him study while he works part-time. She even says she has plans on going to college when she feels like it. Just not now.

Oksana got into death metal, heavy metal and other subgenres of metal when Eddie met her the first time. Eddie was amused when Oksana told him she was high at the time. He said, "I'm not surprised, you were pretty high, and you were very open about it."

When Walter brought in a stray kitten. Oksana immediately adopted the small calico kitten from the veggie patch. She took it to the vet inside her light blue truck and carried the tiny kitten inside a shoebox. She named her Dusty. The same nickname Dustin had. She introduced Dustin to the cat after a while.

Oksana's Gorgon nickname came from being bullied in her old boarding school in Russia. She said, "Gorgons are hot, though, and I'm hot. It is just a win for me."

Oksana insisted on separate bedrooms to keep their own space and privacy. Oksana with her sleeping on her stomach stops after a while because it happens if she had too much to drink the night before. She also can't sleep on her back because she gets nightmares from it.

Oksana's bedroom is an eclectic pick of different styles. From metal to goth. From the fur jacket to the platform boots that added five inches to her height of 6'6".

Oksana's female character crush being Elvira. Which before dating Steve and Eddie, she came out as bisexual.

Oksana often reads H.P. Lovecraft books before going to sleep at night. The look of her getting ready for bed with rollers in her hair and reading a book in bed for an hour before. Sometimes its crocheting tiny horror plushies or eyeball sweaters.

NSFW:

Oksana's lingerie is bought from different Adult sex shops. Some of them were custom-made, with intricate details and fabrics that feel like whispers against her skin.

Steve said Oksana wore pink lingerie. It's not something anyone would expect from someone with a nickname like "Gorgon". It's not that she's not pretty, she's gorgeous, but the softness of pink didn't quite fit with her tough exterior.

Oksana prefers to wear a silk nightgown with nothing underneath it. She doesn't need the extra layers to feel confident. Her body is art, sculpted by the harsh world of Hawkins.

Eddie's never been in a relationship before, but he's seen enough movies to know that good lingerie can make anyone feel like a star. He tries to find something special for Oksana, but ends up buying a leather ensemble that's more "rock star" than "romantic".

Steve, on the other hand, has experience. He goes for something elegant yet simple. A black lace number that he knows will make her feel desired without overshadowing her fiery personality.

The night they all decide to share, Steve and Eddie both give Oksana their gifts. She's touched by the thought, but also a little nervous. She's never been with two men at the same time.

[everythingkashmir]

Escaping the Matrix

The reality is an illusion

By Faisul Yaseen

‘Khan News Agency’ just outside the Lambert Lane on the Residency Road in Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, used to employ seven persons. Today, Hilal Ahmad is the only one running the show.

“The customer flow used to be such that none of us could take a breather during the day,” Ahmad says. “Today, I sit idle, waiting all day for the customers to turn up.”

His business of selling newspapers, magazines, and other periodicals, has been hit with the growth of e-commerce in Kashmir.

“e-commerce is doing much more damage to small-time shopkeepers than the violence of three decades in Kashmir,” he says.

As the e-commerce industry is growing in Kashmir, it is eating away the business of Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises (MSME) like local departmental stores, bookshops, clothing and footwear stores, small traders, retailers, and hawkers while wholesale profit margins are getting squeezed.

In this new world order, how will the small businesses survive?

*****

Andrew Tate, a kickboxer-turned-online influencer was recently in the news when while being arrested he said, “The Matrix has attacked me.”

When Tate mentioned ‘The Matrix’, was he making a reference to the science fiction film franchise or was he talking about the new world order?

In one of his viral videos while referring to ‘The Matrix’, he says, “They want to control us. This is what people who are in charge ever wanted from the beginning, control. They want people to comply. And you have to put systems in place to ensure people comply.”

Are those systems the new business models? And are we the people complying with those systems?

Kashmir Chamber of Commerce and Industry (KCCI) President Javid Tenga says, “There is a need to support people who are losing their livelihood due to e-commerce.”

Tenga, who had shot a letter to the Union Civil Aviation Ministry and Director General of Civil Aviation (DGCA) to stop websites of various airlines from unilaterally raising airfares on Jammu and Kashmir route, says that the government needs to place restrictions on e-commerce of certain items to protect the interests of small traders.

Rescuing small businesses in a place like J&K assumes importance considering that at least 1.82 lakh youth who do not have any jobs are registered with the government.

*****

Chairman of PHD Chamber of Commerce and Industry (PHDCCI), Kashmir, Vicky Shaw says, “The dimensions of business are changing.”

He suggests small businesses to get associated with big companies and become their suppliers.

Shaw also recommends small traders to register their businesses on the Government of India’s Open Network Digital Commerce (ONDC) app for easy marketing of their products.

“People have to move on,” Shaw says.

Coordinator Directorate of Internal Quality Assurance (DIQA) of the University of Kashmir (KU), Aijaz Akbar Mir concurs with Shaw.

According to Mir, who specialises in Management and Organisational Behaviour, Human Resource Management, Human Resource Development and Industrial Relations, the small traders need to come up with “innovations” and “redesign” or “perish”.

“Change is important. What is relevant today may not be relevant tomorrow,” Mir says. “Small traders need to add more products and go for home delivery.”

Coordinator MBA Financial Management at KU’s School of Business Studies, Irshad Ahmad Malik questions whether small businesses were offering what customers want.

“They are not shifting to the alternate mechanism,” he says. “They also need to lure customers with discounts and go for hybrid mode of sales – both online and in store.”

*****

In a time of gloom at the shop fronts, is the government doing anything for helping the small businesses?

Director Industries and Commerce, Kashmir, Mahmood Ahmad Shah says, “There is nothing in the industrial policy. This comes under rehabilitation.”

However, Shah, who is also Director Handicrafts and Handloom, says that the government is incentivising e-commerce in the handicrafts sector.

When merchants, who usually fight with each other, feel an existential threat at the hands of the “common enemy” e-commerce, the role of the government and the quasi-government institutions like J&K Bank, which has for long been the lifeline of the local economy, becomes all the more important.

Editor of the J&K Bank and its Head of Internal Communication and Knowledge Management (IC&KM) Department, Sajjad Bazaz says, “It is all up to the business plan of the shopkeepers.”

He says that the loan limit given by the bank depends on the working capital.

“Many small traders have already started e-commerce but it only accounts for around 40 percent of the sales while 60 percent customers still visit the stores for a personal experience,” Bazaz says.

*****

In the 1999 Hollywood movie, ‘The Matrix’ that Tate makes references to, Morpheus, a rebel leader played by Laurence Fishburne tells the protagonist Neo, who is played by Keanu Reeves, “The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.”

Are we those hopelessly dependent people who are fighting to protect this world order?

In ‘The Matrix’ Morpheus gives Neo two options, “This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

Do we have options like Neo and what are those options?

Writer and speaker, Sofo Archon in ‘Escaping the Matrix: 8 Ways to Deprogram Yourself’ writes, “Think of the way most people live: They force themselves to wake up early in the morning, dress up, drive straight to some workplace, spend 8 hours or so doing work they hate, drive back home, surf the Internet or watch TV, and then go to sleep, only to repeat the same routine the next day for almost the rest of their lives.”

For escaping ‘The Matrix’, he suggests breaking the shackles of dogmas, stopping giving your power away to external authority, questioning the dominant economic system, detaching yourself from consumerism, being aware of the media, choosing food carefully, reading eye-opening books, and developing mindfulness.

Archon writes that habits, tradition, and dogmas have turned us into mindless automatons that follow a predetermined path that was forced upon us.

*****

Chairman J&K Hoteliers Club Mushtaq Chaya says that there is a need to change these habits and old traditions.

“Shopkeepers have to become smart,” he says. “The people who are making a fortune out of e-commerce are smart people who used to run small businesses like these shopkeepers.”

However, Chaya calls for extending all possible help to these small traders who are finding it difficult to jump the bandwagon of e-commerce.

Like Chaya, President of Chamber of Commerce and Industry, Kashmir (CCIK), Tariq Rashid Ghani also suggests extending a helping hand to the small businesses keeping in mind the past three decades of turmoil in J&K.

“The traditional shop-keeping has come to an end,” he says. “The government needs to promote local items.”

*****

Nikki Baird in her write up ‘Retail in the 2020s: The Death of Consumerism’ for the ‘Forbes’ writes that the consumers should become sensitive to environment footprints; repair and maintenance sector would grow; businesses should deliver experiences; and traders should rethink how their businesses are organised, rework brand strategies, and remodel stores.

On April 17 last year at the unveiling of a 108-foot tall statue of Hanuman in Morbi, Gujarat, Prime Minister Narendra Modi said: “At our homes, we should only use things made by our people. Imagine the number of people who will get employment due to this. We may like foreign-made goods but these things don’t have the feel of the hard work of our people. In the next 25 years, if we just use local products, there won’t be unemployment for our people.”

In times of brand junkies, in times when duds backed by rich parents go on to become entrepreneurs, extending an olive branch to the small traders would be a revolutionary act.

*****

Greek philosopher Plato in the ‘Allegory of the Cave’ in his work ‘Republic’ describes a group of people who have lived all their lives in a cave. Chained to pillars, they can only see shadows cast on the back wall by a fire burned behind them. These shadows are mere illusions. When one of these men breaks out, he discovers a new world. On returning to the cave, he tells the other men about the reality but they reject it and resent him because reality is an illusion for them and illusion a reality.

However, Friedrich Nietzsche in his book Twilight of the Idols argues that if this ‘reality’ was completely unknowable and beyond grasp, what use could it possibly be.

Sheikh Aijaz, who runs Gulshan Books store at the Residency Road in Srinagar, says that a new reality has already dawned as fewer people were turning up to purchase books at stores.

“Most people now order books from e-commerce sites,” says Aijaz who compensates for the loss of business at the store with ‘Gulshan Books Publishing House’, a vertical the family started years back.

The 17th century French philosopher Rene Descartes in his ‘Meditations on First Philosophy’ suggests that the entire human world is but a world of shadows orchestrated by a deceitful “evil genius”.

Not wanting to chase the shadows, millennials across the world may not be buying diamonds, ‘vocal for local’ may be the in thing in India, but are we ready for putting in an effort to make the change.

Do you want to take the blue pill, or do you want to take the red pill?

The choice is yours.

[noirsword]

Occupational Hazards

LIKE IT ON AO3

You don't unusually like to work with poison. It isn't your tool of choice for a number of reasons, all of them incredibly reasonable reasons. You aren't even going to acknowledge that saying about women and poison or diamonds and girls and their best friends. Your name is Diamonds Droog and you think it'd be ridiculous if those sayings correlated with your job tonight at all. 

He's running for mayor. 

He's getting popular. 

If he got into office, there was a very real chance that the press would have an opportunity to get involved in the city's management situation. The Mayor was a great guy. A blockhead, maybe, but he let things run exactly like they were supposed to. He didn't make the city look good to the rest of the county, but anyone outside the city didn't matter. One look at the city and the folks behind the scenes were doing great. The city's management was fine. The press, however, would be very interested in the matter. They wouldn't think the boss was doing so great. 

That's one of the reasons you don't like poison. The press like it. The press love  nothing more than a poisoning. That's not even scraping the surface of the issue. He was young. Running for mayor. Charismatic. Really, it felt like he had good intentions. 

That's another reason you don't like poison. You don't care to know your "clients" personally. Not even a little bit. You funny care to hear about their dreams or wives or kids or cars or dayjobs or hobbies or friends or anything like the man on the other side of the bar had been telling you about this whole time while you nodded along politely. 

You pretended to listen. You always did. It's part of bartending, really. You spend all night listening to strangers prattling on. They give you a fascinating glimpse into their lives that you hadn't wanted to see. You step in, you pretend it's incredible and you've never seen anything like it, and hope you never have to look into it again. This time, you would step into his world and it would come crashing down around him. 

It solved three of the greatest issues with poisoning you had. First was the difficulty of delivery and second was how simple it could be to fuck that delivery up. You didn't have to find an opportunity to assure that he would drink from the right glass, because you got to watch him drink it as soon as it was out of your hands.

Third was the problem of deniability. He would be the only member of his party to die tonight. He'd been to several bars. Newspapers had no reason to look into the Bettor Bar as having dealt the drink responsible for the death of the aspiring mayoral candidate. Jokes would be jokes, suspicion would be unfounded. 

This would almost be your ideal poisoning, if you cared for poisonings with to have such a thing. The catch? This guy didn't shut the fuck up. 

You didn't entertain questions about your job. You're sure that if you did, people would ask you things like whether or not you thought about the family or if you felt bad or what you'd do if you got caught. They might ask you if you thought you'd ever get caught, too. The long and short of it really was that it didn't matter. The family didn't matter. The wives and kids didn't matter. Your conscience or potential lack thereof didn't matter. Getting caught didn't even matter.  

The only thing that mattered, and matters, to you in a moment like this, even hearing these personal details that you couldn't give a shit less about, was getting the job done. 

You watch him walk out of the bar and wish him a good night. He's happy. You're happy that he's had a good night. You'll clean up the bar and have a cigarette before you go home. 

Day after tomorrow, you're sure, you'll read the headline. Mayoral candidate poisoned during his night on the town. It would sensationalize the dangers of the night life in a city like this one. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would highlight the political aspect. It'd prattle on about how sad it was to lose such a magnificent young man at such a young age. You wouldn't even necessarily disagree with the sentiment. Really and truly, he seemed like he had the best intentions before he knocked back his drink. It might talk about what a great job he would've done. A photo of those bright eyes, smiling eyes, on the cover of the newspaper. 

Will you think about his family? Sure. You'd spare them the thought. 

Would you feel bad? No. This was necessary to your survival. Your entire operation hinged on this man's end. It's a shame you had to cross paths like this. Maybe you'd cross paths under clearer skies in the next life. 

What would you do if you got caught? It didn't matter. You weren't getting caught. And even if got did, it wouldn't matter. it wouldn't hold up. There wasn't any evidence. 

Next week, you'd see the photos of his funeral. You'd feel a little worse about that. You'd think about the family and feel that way and you'd be glad that you weren't anyone else in any other operation at this moment in time. In those photos, maybe you'd bask in your safety. You wouldn't be safe the minute you put the paper down, of course, but maybe you'd feel like there was something safer about you than him. Something about the spotlight. 

It didn't matter. 

You look back into the bar when you lock the door. You light up a cigarette all lazy-like and leaned back against the dark window of the bar. It was a good night. The profits were good. The tips were good. The clientele was good. The hit on that guy went good. 

There's something about this time of night. The bars, all closed. Empty. It's eerie. The city sleeps into the early morning, there's nothing unusual about it. The cool wind makes the hair of your arms stand on end. It makes goosebumps climb under your skin. Still, silent, empty. Beautiful. Somehow, it makes your cigarette burn faster. 

You're crushing the butt of your cigarette into the sandy sidewalk when the silence is finally broken by sirens shrieking. You linger long enough to watch them pass you by. It's an ambulance, headed south. Wordlessly, you wish him luck and you spare the family the thought you'd promised them. 

You might've been wrong about all of that. You wouldn't see it in the newspaper day after tomorrow. You'd see it tomorrow. 

[purple-fig]

WIP Sunday! - tagged by @ebiemidnightlibrarian

Thank you so much for the tag! <3

Here's a little teaser from a One-shot or a 3 chapter short fic I am writing for Jeb:

You have spent most of 1971 as a front desk receptionist, accepting packages and giving directions to visitors. You would make drinks, point and smile. It was a boring job that paid just a smidge above the minimum wage and made you consider quitting every Monday morning. 

Then just a little over two months ago, you received the excitement you have been craving, initiated by a misplaced envelope. It was handed to you at 9 am along with a couple dozen letters and documents to be sorted. By 10 am you have managed to allocate everything to the right employee and floor, except for that one little envelope. It had no name on it, but the office number indicate that it was for someone on the 49th floor. You knew straight away it was meant for someone really important. Only higher-ups worked on floor twenty and above.   

When you looked up the office number in your directory, you found that it belonged to a Jeb Stuart Magruder. According to your well-organised newspaper clippings, he was the Deputy Director of Nixon’s re-election campaign; just the sort of person that could put in a good word for you with HR and get you that job on the 6th floor as a junior admin.  

Magruder also happened to look dashing in a tuxedo towering over John Mitchell in a photograph for the New York Times. With that thought in mind, you took it upon yourself to head upstairs and hand-deliver the letter and hopefully a good impression.   

When you got to the right floor, you found the front desk empty. Not what you expected this high up. You were even more surprised to find the little front hall that led to office 701 was also vacant. It was clearly set up for a secretary with a lovely Mahagony desk in front of a beautiful sash window, yet there was no assistant insight.  

Now you were a little unsure what to do. It was the right office for sure, the nameplate by the door confirmed it, but, what now? You wouldn’t dare to knock. No one ever knocked on these doors. That’s what the PA systems were for. Yet it felt wrong to just leave the envelope unattended on the table. What if it was something classified?! Could you slide it under his door? You may not get credit for the delivery that way but at least you won’t be responsible for a classified document getting lost.  

The plan was flawed, you realised as soon as you bent down at the knee to slide the letter under the door. There was no gap.   

You groaned internally and leaned your head against the door in frustration. It was time to go. You would come back later and leave it with the assistant when they were back at their desk.  

“Mary?”   

You nearly fell into the office and through a pair of long, very long legs in front of you when the door opened.  

There in front of you stood Jeb Magruder. All 6'4 of him. When you glanced up and found yourself almost eye level with his crotch, you felt heat rush to your face and jumped up. You would have bumped his chin with your head if he wasn’t so damn tall.   

The sudden movement most have startled him, as he took a step back.  

“Can I help you?” He rushed out the words a little high pitched.  

Whether it was from blood rushing to your head or the sight of his handsome, chiselled face and lush brown hair you couldn't know, but you were seeing spots.  

“I-I um, here to --”  

“Hey, are you alright?!” Mr Magruder caught your elbow when your knees wobbled. “Here, sit down.” He guided you to the Mahagony desk and helped you get seated.  

He even opened the window behind you to get some fresh air in the room.  

“Better?” He asked as he knelt in front of you. One of his hands resting on the armrest of your chair the other on the table. You felt confined, but it was anything but unpleasant.  

“Yes, I am fine. I am so sorry Mr Magruder.” You truly were embarrassed. So much for first impressions.  

“That’s quite alright, Miss?” He prompted.  

“Y/N.”  

“Well, Miss Y/N, what can I do for you?” He smiled and you could swear his eyes sparkled.  

“Oh no, Mr Magruder, I am here to do something for you.” He let out a breathless ‘oh?’. His blue eyes terribly wide. Almost startled. 

“I work on the third floor you see, by the front desk, and this got mixed in with our mail. I figured I would deliver it myself to make sure it made it alright, as it has no name on it. Wouldn’t want it to get misplaced again.” You explained as you handed him the envelope.  

“So how did you know it was for me?” He cocked his head and frowned in the most adorable way.   

“It had an office number, so I checked in the building directory.” You explained.   

“I see. You are very resourceful Miss Y/N.” He praised and you felt yourself blush again. “I was waiting for this to turn up.”  

“Was it something urgent then?” You asked, excited to know that you did the right thing by rushing here.  

“Very much so.” Magruder said as he raised to his full height and lent against the desk to reach for a letter opener. You watched his every move with grave interest.  

“Tickets to the planetarium.” He grinned and turned what looked to be only a single ticket towards you.  

Oh. That was all?  

He must have noticed your face fall as he quickly explained that they were for tomorrow and he would have missed out on the show if not for you.  

“I am very thankful for your efforts, truly.”   

You just began to say that it was no hassle at all when a tall lady walked in.   

“Mary, there you are! I am sorry, I had to borrow your chair. Miss Y/N had a little dizzy spell I am afraid.”  

The woman eyeing you quizzically from the corner must have been his assistant.  

Mr Magruder was staring patiently down at you but as you stared back at him you heard Mary’s feet tapping against the carpet and you knew it was time to go.  

“I am all better now, thank you Mr Magruder. I better get back to my desk now, my lunch is almost up.”  

Something akin to concern or perhaps disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly recovered and backed away from the table to give you some space.   

“It was lovely to meet you.” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. Something about him even momentarily turning away from you made you want to cling on to the moment.  

“The pleasure is all mine.” He laughed good naturedly and held out his large left hand to help you up.   

“Are you sure you are all right? You look flushed.” He frowned.  

How could you not? With your small hand in his large one?  

“Yes! All good!” You laughed nervously. You had to get back downstairs before you overstayed your welcome and embarrassed yourself any further.  

“Very well then. Thank you again for the delivery Miss Y/N from the third floor.” He chuckled and you muttered a quick ‘welcome’ and ‘have a great day’ before you scurried out of the room as quickly as you could. Unfortunately, not before hearing Mr Magruder and Mary share a laugh.   

You felt so stupid. Nothing went according to plan. You were meant to appear, organised and composed. Instead, you could barely stand on your two feet, or put together a coherent sentence. You kept replaying the event for days and weeks. It would pop into your mind at the oddest hours. Especially his handsome face and firm hands. Grasping your hand and your elbow. Did he touch your back? You tried to remember one night. In the end, you ended up picturing him catching you in an embrace. There was no harm in a little fantasy you decided. It wasn’t like you were ever going to see him again. It was a large building and you have yet to see him in passing in the year that you have worked there. You would have remembered spotting that 6'4 stud in the lobby.   

So, you thought about his strong arm, long legs, and if you were honest with yourself, his crotch before sleep claimed you. You daydreamed about his shiny brown hair at your desk, envisioned running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer by his tie and grabbing onto his shirt.  

“Miss Y/N?”  

Thought about his defined cupid’s bow and expressive eyes.  

“Miss Y/N?”  

“Oh, Mr Thompson, I am sorry! I was lost in thought.” You apologised when you noticed your floor manager standing in front of you. He looked unimpressed; his mouth set in a thin line.  

“Well, try to pay some attention. There’s a new job opening, and you were recommended. Go up to HR on twelve if you are interested at 2 pm to interview for it.”  

"Thank you, Mr Thompson, it's really nice of you to let me know.” You called after him as he was already on his way out of the office for his lunch. Nothing stood between Mr Thompson and his pastrami sandwich at 1 pm.  

You had to rush to find a copy of your internal resume in your drawer and fix your make-up and hair before rushing to your interview. It was that admin job you had your eye on, no doubt. Could it be that Mr Magruder put in a good word for you after all? You doubted it was Mr Thompson.  

As nervous and unprepared you were for your impromptu interview, you surprised yourself by coming up with several well phrased answers and managed to make yourself sound fairly confident and smart if you may say so yourself.  

It was a couple days later, on a Friday afternoon that you got a call from HR.  

“Miss Y/N?”  

“Speaking.” You crossed your fingers.  

“I am calling to congratulate you on your successful interview. Mr Magruder is looking forward to having you join him as his personal secretary.”  

What now?  

“Mr Magruder? W-what?” You asked in the least eloquent way possible.  

“Your new boss? You interviewed to be Mr Magruder’s secretary on Tuesday.”   

Oh god.  

“Yes! Of course. Mr Magruder, my new boss.” You chocked out. “I am looking forward to working for him too.” You added hoping to save face.  

The man on the phone let out an unimpressed huff but wished you the best of luck regardless. You were to start on Monday. Apparently, you were quite replaceable at your current job and Mr Magruder needed someone urgently, which explained why you got the job.  

From Monday morning you would be Jeb Magruder’s secretary.   

You hardly slept a wink that weekend.  

I am tagging: @agirlinherhead @plainlo-inthemorning @prettyboyhamish @babelincolns

Ps, please let me know if that is too long of an intro for a fic that will mainly be smut no, porn with plot no, porn with fluff lol

[jomiddlemarch]

Love catches you unawares

Nurse Lee had been the one to see to Mrs. Alina Morozova in the antenatal clinic but through a series of events nearly as befuddling as Sister Monica Joan reciting Milton while Sister Evangelina wrestled with the autoclave, it was Sister Bernadette who’d been sent to call round at the Morozovas’ flat to make sure it was adequate for the upcoming delivery and to see how Mrs. Morozova was faring. “She’s quite a little thing” was how Nurse Lee had described her but her petite stature wasn’t what struck Sister Bernadette when the door to the small flat was opened by the young woman with ink-stains all over her cuffs.

It was most peculiar, given the darkness of Mrs. Morozova’s hair and eyes, her drab maternity smock, that all Sister Bernadette could think of was sunshine.

“Hello there, I’m Sister Bernadette, one of the midwives from the antenatal clinic at Nonnatus House and I’ve popped round to see that everything is ready for baby to come,” Sister Bernadette said, offering a friendly smile meant to reassure a new patient.

“Do come in, only I’m afraid the place is at sixes and sevens, I was right in the middle of a translation,” Mrs. Morozova said. “Sasha, Mr. Morozova that is, always says to let the housekeeping go if there’s paying work to get done and he never fusses about helping out with the washing and ironing.”

“I do hope you’re not working too hard,” Sister Bernadette said, walking into the flat that held more books that she’d ever seen outside a bookshop or library. There were crammed bookshelves all along one wall but stacks also teetered near the worn chesterfield and volumes filled the mantle over the gas fire, the table Mrs. Morozova must have been working at nearly covered in open books around a typewriter. It could have been dusty, but it wasn’t, only filled with a pleasant scent of ink and lemon polish and the faint chypre of old and new books mixed together.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Morozova said. “My husband wouldn’t think of it—it’s a wonder I even stir from the sofa with how well he looks after me. I hope you’ll have a cup of tea, it’ll be the first I’ve made for myself today. He always brings me a cup while I’m still in bed, like I’m a fine lady.”

“He sounds like he dotes on you and quite right,” Sister Bernadette said. Mrs. Morozova had a slight accent, one she couldn’t place, and other than the books, the flat was sparsely furnished, the tiny kitchen in an alcove off the sitting room, the narrow bedroom visible through an open door barely holding the brass double bed. They were new to Poplar and she couldn’t help wondering where they’d lived before and why they’d come to the neighborhood.

“He does too much, but there’s only the two of us to help each other. I was orphaned as a baby and his mother died in the war, his father when he was a little boy,” Mrs. Morozova said.

“The Blitz?”

“No, we weren’t in England. Sasha was in the Resistance in France, he’d been away studying in Paris when the Germans invaded,” Mrs. Morozova said. “We were born in the same village. We’re the only ones left.”

“Oh my,” Sister Bernadette said. For all that over a decade had passed, the war was still so very present in so many lives.

“We found each other in a refugee camp,” Mrs. Morozova went on, almost dreamy with her recollection. “I didn’t recognize him at first, he’d been fighting so long and in such terrible conditions, but d’you know what he said when he saw me?”

Sister Bernadette shook her head.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” Mrs. Morozova answered. “I knew, then and there, Sister Bernadette, that no matter what, we’d find a way to be together, and now we’ve finally got our own place here and Sasha has a good job writing for a newspaper and soon, we’ll have the baby. We’ll be a proper family.”

“It sounds like the Lord has brought you to a place of joy and succor,” Sister Bernadette offered.

“Oh, I don’t believe in God,” said the tall, bearded man in the doorway, presumably Sasha Morozova, if Mrs. Morozova’s sudden, sweet smile was to be relied upon. He was very neatly dressed, though his clothes were clearly second-hand and much mended, a handsome man until you looked at his dark eyes where there were still shadows. “Alinochka, you didn’t tell them? The nuns won’t want to deliver an atheist’s child. We’re sorry to waste your time with the house-call, Sister.”

“Nonnatus House serves Poplar, not parishioners,” Sister Bernadette said firmly. Sasha Morozova regarded her with a dubious expression. “It doesn’t matter a whit if you don’t believe in God, Mr. Morozova. The midwives of Nonnatus House will be honored to care for your wife and baby. And whether or not you believe in God, He believes in you.”

“That’s settled, then, isn’t it?” his wife said, resting her hand on the prominent curve of her belly.

“Not quite, milaya,” he said. “Neither you nor Sister Bernadette has a cup of tea, but that’s easily managed.”

“And perhaps some biscuits?” Mrs. Morozova said, all hopeful innocence. Her husband walked over, laid his hand over hers briefly and then grazed her cheek with his thumb, a tender caress he seemed not to mind Sister Bernadette being witness to.

“Most certainly some biscuits,” he replied, warm and amused and very fond. “I assume you are allowed to indulge in our hospitality, Sister? That the offer won’t make me your villain?”

“Not at all,” Sister Bernadette said. “I’m quite partial to Jaffa cakes if you’ve any.”

“You’re in luck then, those are my favorite,” he said.

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 3

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 2

Next →Part 4

Never before had you dreaded something more than you dreaded arriving for work the morning following your incident with Keishin. More than anything, you hoped he was thoroughly pissed at you and had left for work early that day so that the two of you wouldn’t have to see each other, but much to your displeasure and horror, when you stepped into the store that morning, he was sitting at the front counter, waiting for you.

How was he not pissed at you after what you had said to him? 

When the sound of the front doors sliding open filled the otherwise silent building, leaving the keys in your hand useless as Keishin had already unlocked the store, you gripped the keys tightly and swallowed hard when he looked up at you. He didn’t say anything at first, maybe because he was waiting to see if you would make the first move, but after last night you were done making first moves when it came to him.

Averting his gaze and dropping your head low, you shoved the keys back into your pocket and headed for the back room to put your stuff away and get this day over with. 

Just as you were about to open the door to the back room, Keishin cleared his throat and you stopped in your tracks, head turning to look at him without thinking about it. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” This was the very first time he had greeted you first, and on top of that, the very first time he had ever used your name. 

You weren’t sure how to respond, confusion and excitement mixing in your body to create an overwhelming concoction. “Good morning,” you mumbled in response before disappearing into the back before he could do anything else out of the ordinary, like God forbid initiate a conversation or something.

You took your sweet time getting ready, delaying heading out to the front of the store as long as possible to give Keishin ample time to leave. After about fifteen minutes or so, you emerged only to find him sitting right where he had been before, newspaper sprawled on the counter and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Shouldn’t you have left by now?” The questioned slipped past your lips before you even had the chance to filter it through your head.

Eyes wide, Keishin was surprised that you had spoken to him almost as much as you were. “We’re expecting a big delivery today, so I’m sticking around,” he answered. “You’ve never handled one by yourself so my mom asked me to show you how it’s done.”

Your heart sank, your stomach twisted, your knees felt weak. So he was going to be here with you all day long? “Perfect,” you groaned, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your tone. “That’s just awesome. Great.”

“Listen, it’s not my idea of an ideal day either, but it is what it is,” he said. “So why don’t we just put last night behind us, chalk it up to exhaustion and the influence of alcohol on my part, and move forward?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, the fact that you couldn’t seem to figure him out thoroughly starting to irritate you. “How are you not angry at me?” you questioned him. “I was . . . horrible last night.”

You had spent the entire night after getting home thinking about the horrendous way you had behaved. The things you had done and said made you feel awful and you couldn’t understand how Keishin wasn’t on the brink of smacking the shit out of you right now.

“It’s fine.” He flashed a smile, trying his best to prove that he wasn’t dwelling on the past. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

Looking around to double check that the two of you were the only ones in the store, you lowered your voice before speaking. “But I put my hands on you. You can really just forget that?” Heat swelled in your cheeks as you recalled the less horrible events that had taken place.

“I touched you too,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but yours was an accident.” You weren’t sure why you were saying all of this stuff; it was almost like you wanted him to be angry at you. Who knows, maybe you did. “I called you a burnout.”

Keishin let out a booming laugh at that. “Take a good long look at me, kid.” He smirked, gesturing to himself. “You really think I’ve never been called worse?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” you breathed out.

Keishin opened his mouth to speak, but before he let a word out, he changed his mind and pressed his lips together. In the meantime, he watched you, the cogs in his head obviously working hard. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” He stood up, walked over to you, and set a hand on your shoulder. “I said it’s fine, so just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, finally giving in. 

“Good. Now, get to work, because this place isn’t going to run itself and I’m only here to help with the delivery, so until then, I’ll be napping on the couch in the back. Wake me up when the truck gets here.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Keishin gave you a pat on the head and disappeared into the back room without another word.

You stood in place for a moment, unsure if the fact that he had forgiven you so easily was a relief or not. You didn’t allow yourself to worry too long about that though, because, like Keishin had said, you had work to do and the store wasn’t going to run itself. And, if your memory served you correctly, you had some sweeping to do in the back corner.

For about two hours, you fell back into your normal workday routine, completely forgetting about the events of the previous night or the fact that Keishin was napping in the back. That was, until you saw the delivery truck pull up in front of the store and remembered you had been given the task of waking the sleeping man. 

Heading into the back, you moved slowly and quietly even though it didn’t matter if you woke Keishin since that was what you were supposed to do anyway. 

“Keishin,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. “The delivery truck is here.”

Of course, he didn’t even budge at that. Nervously, you stepped closer to the couch, unable to ignore the fact that Keishin looked completely different when he was asleep. The usual frown or cocky grin he sported was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t seem as intimidating when his eyes were closed and his breathing was so slow and rhythmic. 

“Keishin.” You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder like he had done to you earlier and shook him slightly. Still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you were unsure what to try next aside from shouting right in his face. If only he had warned you he was a heavy sleeper. 

Deciding to try one last thing before you resorting to screeching, you leaned closer to his ear, planted your hand on his chest—a brief memory of how you had touched him last night flashing in your mind—and shook him once more while you spoke. “Keishin, the delivery truck is here,” you said, not whispering but also not being too loud.

Thankfully, the mixture of shaking him and speaking directly into his ear seemed to finally do the trick and his eyes shot open. Immediately, you jumped back, not wanting him to be weirded out by how close you were to him. 

Eyes travelling up to meet yours, Keishin yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Truck’s here?” he clarified.

“Yeah, it just arrived,” you told him, waiting for him to get up. “You should have told me you were a heavy sleeper. I was about to scream or pour water over you or something.”

Keishin cringed at the thought of that. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t. Next time, just pinch my nose or tickle me or something . . . anything but water.”

“Next time?” you asked. “You plan on taking naps on the couch often?”

“It’s my favourite place to nap. You should try it sometime,” he said before heading for the door. “Come on, let’s get this delivery over with. Try to learn fast so I don’t have to teach you again.”

“I’ll try my best.”

As you had pretty much expected, the delivery had been pretty straight forward. After helping the delivery man unload all of the boxes into the storage room and signing off on the delivery, the most time-consuming and complex part of the process was taking an inventory of the new supplies, which you picked up on pretty quickly. 

Keishin showed you how to mark down the new delivery on the clipboard kept in the storage room and where to input the total count for each item. From there, all you had to do was make sure you had received everything and had the correct number ordered. 

“Pretty easy, right?” He glanced at you out the corner of his eye as the two of you worked together at counting the inventory, keeping an ear open for customers in the process.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem hard. Just time consuming,” you agreed. 

“Exactly. We usually get a big delivery like this about once a month, then smaller deliveries throughout the week for more perishable items, as you already know.”

You nodded, quickly becoming lost in the repetitive task of counting and writing down the amount on the clipboard. Weirdly enough, you found that you didn’t actually hate taking inventory; the simple task was actually kind of calming and passed the time effortlessly. 

“50,” you muttered under your breath, jotting down the number in the correct box right after you finished counting. When you turned back to start on the next box, you caught Keishin looking in your direction. “What?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he responded, quickly elaborating when you shot him a confused look. “Well, more specifically, why you took this job.”

You shrugged as you continued working. “I already told you. I need the money.”

“Right, so you can move out on your own. But why?”

Your hands stopped grabbing items and your mind stopped counting, making you lose track. “Because I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember to live my own life and now that I have the opportunity, I’m not going to pass it up.”

“But wouldn’t you much rather be going to school? Surely you don’t want to work in a place like this for the rest of your life.”

You sighed heavily. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“I’m just curious,” Keishin said. “I want to understand you better.”

“I don’t think you could truly understand unless you experienced the childhood that I did.”

Stopping his work as well, Keishin leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try me.”

Rolling your eyes, you accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to give up. “First thing’s first, I’m not saying my childhood was tragic or anything. My parents didn’t beat me. They fed me and clothed me and everything a parent should.” You started, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “I was just never allowed to live my own life or make my own decisions. I ate what my parents wanted me to eat, I wore what they wanted me to wear. I took the classes they wanted me to, I was friends with who they thought would make a good friend. They went overboard on trying to get me to do what they thought was best for me. I was never old enough or mature enough to know what I really wanted. I lived in a controlling dictatorship.”

“What about soccer?” Keishin asked, proving that he had actually remembered the conversation the two of you had had on your first day at the store. “You told me you used to play.”

You smiled fondly at the thought of your high school soccer team. “That was the only thing I ever got to pick for myself . . . and it took months of convincing, and in the end, I was only allowed to continue because I was good at it. The fact that I genuinely enjoyed it never came into account for my parents.” Your smiled faded slightly. “Sometimes they even managed to drain the fun from that as well, but I refused to let them ruin it for me because it was the only thing I had that was mine.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day . . . but this is more important right now.”

Keishin was silent for a few moments while he processed everything you had said. “Sounds like everything needed to have a purpose.”

“Pretty much. If something had no chance of providing success in the future, it was a waste of time.”

“So the plan is to work so you can afford your own place, then go to school next year? How are you going to afford school?”

“Well, if I had followed my parents plan for me and started working toward a law degree, they would have paid for it. But since I’ve decided to do my own thing now, I’m just lucky they haven’t kicked me out of the house yet . . . so I guess I’ll have to get a scholarship or apply for student loans. I’ll basically be scraping by, so I’ve applied for a bunch of community colleges and I’ll go from there I guess.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Keishin lit one before sticking it between his lips. “What do you want to do?”

You laughed slightly at that. “I have no idea. I was never allowed to have hobbies or interests, so I don’t even know what I like. I just know what I don’t like. If I could do anything though, I’d apply for the University of Tokyo. They have a great soccer program. I just want to play soccer again.”

Keishin smiled. “Just soccer?”

“For now, yeah. I’ve learned that I’ll have to take life step by step, so that’s the first major goal. I’ll probably take some first year classes and see what I like and go from there. I think it’s okay to not have a set-in-stone plan sometimes . . . after all, this is the first time in my life I’ve never had my future planned out for me. It’s kind of exciting . . . scary, too, but exciting.”

Keishin sighed contently as he watched your eyes light up when you talked about the things you wanted to do in the future. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“So what was the point of what happened last night?” he inquired. “And, while we’re at it, the past few weeks as well. How do I fit into this grand plan of yours?”

You felt your heart pound against your chest. “I thought we were forgetting about last night?”

“We are,” he assured you. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, is all.”

You thought for a moment, unsure how to phrase exactly how you were feeling. At first, you were inclined to take him up on his offer to not answer, but after how nice he had been to you today, you felt you owed him at least that. 

“Originally, I was in a pretty messed-up head space and I wanted to use you to get back at my parents,” you told him truthfully, “. . . but after last night, I did some serious thinking and realized that wasn’t the case. What I really want is to prove to my parents that not everything that is different or ‘not according to plan’ is bad. You have an  . . . alternative look about you,” you tried to phrase that as respectfully as possible, causing Keishin to chuckle, “but you’re not a bad person or, despite my harsh words last night, a burnout. You coach volleyball for high school kids and you help out at your family’s store and even though I’ve been pretty horrible to you, you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You paused, unsure if you should say the last part or not. “I don’t know, I just think that maybe if they met you, they might realize that I’m capable of making good choices for myself even if it doesn’t fit their predetermined mold of my life.”

“You think I’m a good choice?” he asked, taken aback by your honesty.

“Yeah.” You eyed him while he took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke spill from his lips. “Maybe not the nicotine addiction part, but hey, no one’s perfect.”

Keishin chuckled before putting his smoke out. “Okay, I’ve got a deal for you.”

You cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“If I pretend to be your boyfriend and help you fix things with your parents, you have to apply to the University of Tokyo and follow your dream of playing soccer.”

You were thoroughly perplexed. “Both conditions of that deal only really benefit me. What do you get out of it?”

He just shrugged. “Nothing.”

You scoffed. “Well, as generous and sketchy as that sounds, there is no way I would be able to afford the University of Tokyo on my own and I don’t think any amount of ass-kissing could make my parents agree to pay for me to go there to play soccer and figure life out.”

“Hey, one step at a time, right?” He used your own words against you. 

You contemplated his offer for a moment. “You’re really okay with that? Even though you get nothing but more work out of it?”

“I suggested it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’d really pretend to be my boyfriend? Even though I’m just some rebellious kid?”

“Your opinion of me changed,” he pointed out. “Why can’t my opinion of you change too?”

“Fair enough,” you conceded. “Well, if you’re absolutely positive you won’t regret it when you wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll happily accept your deal. Thank you.”

Keishin turned back to the stack of boxes and promptly returned to the task at hand. “You’re welcome.”

You watched him work and quietly hum to himself while he did so. This time, it was his turn to catch you staring. “What?” he looked over at you.

“I just didn’t peg you for such a softy is all,” you joked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed at you. “Just don’t fall in love with me or anything, kid.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, old man.”

[seoulwhat]

Cheaper By The Dozen (#11)

Summary: You own a flower shop, and every week for the past year, a handsome guy has come in to order a dozen roses to be sent to his girlfriend. One day, another man comes in to send a dozen flowers...to the same woman. Now you are left with a dilemma: tell the first customer or let him find out on his own. Pair: Mingyu x reader Genre: slight angst, fluff Warnings: cheating Word Count: 2.8k

Every week, the same handsome and tanned skinned man walks in and asks for the same dozen roses to be sent out. You assumed they were for his girlfriend. He never had a wedding ring on, but you didn't ever really like to assume because not everyone wears wedding rings these days.

"Hi again," he smiled at you with his pearly white teeth. "Can I have the dozen pink and red roses sent to the newspaper company down the street? And make it to Lee Mina, please."

You rang him up on the register and told him his total. This has become a routine, and although the two of you had seen each other every week for the past year, neither of you felt comfortable enough to ask each other's names. It had to be obvious what your name was though. The shop is literally named after you. However, he on the other hand, remained unnamed and you didn't plan on asking what his name is anytime soon.

He left the shop, striding out the door with happiness in each step. You approached your refrigerated roses and brought them out. You took out the black wrapping paper as well as a light pink ribbon and wrapped both around the flowers. You set them up nicely so that when the receiver gets them, she can see every single flower. With that done, you gave them to your delivery man and off he went.

Your greatest pride in your flower shop is seeing the same customers come and put in orders. Just the fact that they love your flowers enough to order them more than once made you happy and made you feel successful. Your parents hated the idea of you becoming a florist because "how will you become wealthy?" The whole point in finding a career is to work happily. If you became the CEO heir of the stock company your dad owned, you would've been brought into a world that is nothing but greed and lying. It was not something you were interested in. They were also worried that you wouldn't find a great suitor, but that is also something you aren't interested in. Love should be unexpected, not forced by greed.

As expected, when a week passed by, the same handsome man walked in, ordered the same flowers to the same woman at the same company, and then left. As you made the last knot in the ribbon around the roses, the stores' door dinged, alarming you that someone just walked in. As you approached your register, an unfamiliar face looked up at you.

"Hello, how can I help you?" You asked the man who looked a little confused.

"Hey," he said unsure. "I wanted to get your dozen flowers deal. They're $20, right?" he asked with a smile.

You sent a smile back. "Yes. Our dozen flowers deal comes with a dozen of your choice of flower, along with black floral paper wrapped around it as well as a pink ribbon to top it off. We also hand deliver these for an extra $1 if it's local."

The man clasped his hands together. "That is perfect! I would like to place an order then for sunflowers."

With that, you rang the man up and asked for his information since he was a new customer.

"The name that I want them sent to is Lee Mina and she works at the newspaper company down the street."

You instantly froze and looked up at the man. "I didn't know we had more than one newspaper company locally," you nervously laughed.

The man furrowed his brows. "I don't think we do. Is there a problem?"

You shook your head. There's no way it's the same woman. Just focus on doing your job!

"Now, this is the newspaper company on 1st street, correct?" You had to check to see if it's the same one.

"Yeah, the one by the park," the man pointed in the direction.

Your eyes slightly widened, thinking about the man that had been coming to your shop for the past year sending flowers to the same woman.

"Okay then," you started. "She will love these flowers!" you said nervously.

The man smiled. "Thank you. If she likes them, I'll be coming back more often!"

With that, the man left. You quickly wrapped up the second batch of the dozen flowers for the same woman. It kept running through your mind that this woman is playing both men. They are obviously sweet men who are very thoughtful towards her. If only they both knew. What would happen if you told the first man? Should you tell the first man or just leave it? After all, it isn't any of your business.

You handed both flower bundles to your delivery man. "Hey, can you do me a favor? It is none of my business, but can you check to make sure that there is no other Lee Mina at the newspaper company when you deliver these? I want to make sure they get to the right person."

When your delivery man came back, he said that there was only one Lee Mina and those around her were excited for her as she got two deliveries of a dozen flowers.

Just wait it out and see what happens, you thought to yourself. There is no reason why you should tell either man anything.

Weeks had passed and the same two men continued to come into your shop ordering the same dozen flowers for the same woman at the same company. You were fascinated that they would come in on the same day, just 20 minutes apart. You had hoped with all your heart that they would come in and hear the other ordering flowers for the same woman, but of course, nothing is that coincidental.

"I'll take the usual," the man said. "But instead, do you think you can put my name on a card on put it in the flowers?"

You looked up at the man in confusion. "We are adding something different after a year of the same order?"

The man nervously laughed and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, apparently she doesn't know who has been sending her flowers these days. Like, who else, other than me, would send her flowers? I've been sending her the same ones for a year." He shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Okay," you said feeling sympathetic. "Just tell me your name and I'll out it on the card."

The man nodded. "My name is Mingyu."

"M-I-N-G-Y-U. That's correct, right?"

"Yeah. Can you add something like I care for you so much or something like that?"

You nodded. "Sure thing. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

Mingyu, looked around the shop. "Do you happen to hold any chocolates here?"

You nodded. "Yes, we have heart shaped chocolates, as well as white chocolate and chocolate with nuts. We also have different chocolate packaging that range from the shape of a heart to square, circle, and infinity shaped."

"Which do you think is better?" Mingyu asked in desperation.

"Well, I think it depends on the situation. Since this will be like your normal delivery, I would say go with the round box."

"What if it wasn't a normal delivery? Like what if I feel like she's falling out of love with me?" Those words instantly made you look up at the man. He didn't have the normal shining smile on his face like he normally did. He was scruffy and he looked tired. It had only been a week since you last saw him, yet it seems like the past seven days have been a long time in hell.

"Well then I would say go with the heart if you believe it will help."

The man leaned on the counter with his head down. He sighed and didn't look up. "Sir, are you okay?"

He shook his head in reply. He looked up at you and tears formed at the bottom rim of his eyes. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you want my advice?" You offered. Although the most you knew about this man was his name, and that was something you just found out, you felt like it was your duty to help him out.

"As a woman myself, flowers and chocolates aren't going to solve anything. However, if she is falling out of love with you, it has absolutely nothing to do with you and more about her. If you had been doing the same lovely routine for the past year, which I commend you for, then I truly believe that she must change, not you." You patted him on the back, and he stood up straight. He sniffled and nodded in agreement with your words.

The door dinged and the both of you turned in the direction of the new customer. Your eyes widened, not wanting this right now. You had hoped dearly that this day would come, but now that it has come, you don't want it.

"Can I get the same order to Lee Mina?" The man asked with a smile from the door.

You bit your lip in shock as the man said the woman's name out loud. Mingyu slowly walked away from the counter and towards the man. "Did you just say Lee Mina?"

The man took a step back and his smile faded from his face. "Yes, why?"

"The one that works at the newspaper company?" Mingyu continued to question the man. In response, the man nodded and gulped.

"On 1st street," the man told Mingyu.

Mingyu turned around and faced you. "Did you know about this?"

You stood there, quiet. Not telling him could anger him but also telling him either a lie or the truth can still anger him. All you could do was shake your head in confusion and shrug your shoulders.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Mingyu asked rhetorically. "And you? How long had you been sending flowers to Mina?"

The man looked at Mingyu. For about three months now."

Mingyu looked back at you, tears falling from his eyes. He let out a loud laugh that made you jump. "All this time, I could've known if you told me, but I have been coming in here looking like a fool to you. Clearly you don't care about your customers as much as you would like to lead on. All you care about is money."

With that, Mingyu left the store and the other man followed right after him.

::

Months had passed by, and you hadn't seen either man return. You don't blame them. Considering that Mingyu blamed you for him not knowing about his girl cheating on him, there's no way you would ever see either of them again. You were thankful the other man never returned. You knew deep down that he most likely blamed you for not telling him as well.

It slightly angered you though. Here you are, working at a place called Y/N Florals, yet they come in here thinking you're some type of best friend that should be telling them when you think someone is cheating on them. This has happened in the past, only the men that were cheated on didn't blame you for them not knowing. All you do is provide the flowers. The people it gets sent to is none of your business. This is a sign you would have to make to put up in the future in the store.

You were arranging your flowers by color when a customer walked in.

"Hello, welcome to Y/N Florals." You turned around to look at the customer.

"Hi," he said nervously with a small smile.

"Oh? Mingyu, I never thought I would see you again." You did not welcome him with a smile, although it was very unprofessional on your end.

"Yeah, I thought so as well. I came to order some flowers."

You nodded your head. As badly as you wanted to know what happened, it was none of your business. "What would you like to order?"

"I'm doing something different. What kind of flowers do you like? I'll take your advice."

"I like bright yellow sunflowers with red roses. I feel like their colors really compliment each other."

Mingyu smiled. "That's a good idea. I'll take a dozen mixed as well as a heart shaped box of chocolates."

You nodded your head as you wrote down his order. "What chocolates would you like?"

Mingyu looked up in thought. "Well, what kind do you like?"

"Is this for a new girl? Because we might not like the same things." You told him.

"I don't really know what she likes so I just need some type of foundation to build off of," Mingyu replied.

"Okay, well I like milk chocolates. Do you want those?" Mingyu nodded in response.

"Can you also add a card? I want it to say 'I am sorry. Can we start over?'"

You nodded. "Okay. So, you want a dozen flowers of sunflowers and roses mixed, a box of milk chocolates in a heart shaped box, and a card. Will this be delivered or are you take them yourself?"

"I'll be taking them myself," he said. You rang him up on the register and once he paid, you went to the back room to get his flowers ready. You came back out with is flower order, got the chocolates from the fridge, and wrote on the card. After ten minutes, his order was ready.

"Okay, everything is set," you told him. With a large smile, he approached the counter and grabbed the flowers and chocolates.

"Thank you for everything," he said smiling. He then walked right out of the shop. As you were cleaning up the counter, Mingyu walked back inside the shop.

"Did you want something else?" You asked. He didn't answer and instead approached the counter and put the flowers and chocolates in your direction. You looked down at the flowers and scanned them for any issues.

"What? You don't like them? I do full refunds if you aren't happy."

He didn't speak but continued to stare at you with a huge smile trying to hand you the flowers. In confusion, you stared at him.

Mingyu rolled his eyes and laughed. "Do you not know how to receive flowers?"

"Huh?" you said a little too loud. "You're giving these to me?"

Mingyu nodded and you slowly took the gifts from his hands, unsure if this was a joke or not. "Why are you giving these to me."

"Well, did you read the note on the card?" Mingyu asked you. You quickly thought about the words you wrote on the card for him.

I am sorry. Can we start over?

"What are you sorry for?" You asked him.

"I was such a jerk when I found out Mina was cheating on me and instead of taking my anger out on the right person, I exerted my anger onto you as well as the other guy. Which was wrong of me. I spent so much time contemplating on whether I should apologize to you or just to never come back but it has been bugging me ever since that day because you never did anything wrong. You were always so kind to me and always had the best customer service and I came to like you. I would really like to get to know you better if you allow me to." Mingyu looked down at his fingers and twiddled his thumbs together.

"Okay," you said simply.

He looked up at you wide eyed. "Okay? You're going to give me a chance?"

You shrugged your shoulders and smelled your flowers. "Sure, why not."

Mingyu laughed. "Is it really that easy?"

Your laughed followed his. "No, I'm just making it easy. Do you want me to make it hard?"

Mingyu quickly shook his head. "No thank you. So I'll pick you up later for a date?"

You smiled at him. "Okay. I get out at 6." Mingyu nodded his head and left with a smile across his face.

Along with him, you had a smile on your face that was now hurting your cheeks. As you continued to smell your roses, Mingyu walked back in.

"Wait, what restaurant do you like?"