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wannaeatramyeon · 5 months

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Lookism x Reader: Simps

G/N. Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Jake Kim. Just stupid and silly.

Goo calls Gun a simp.

He says it mocking and derisive as if it is something to be ashamed of.

Maybe it is. Gun doesn't know what a simp is. Goo opens his mouth and most of the time only shit comes out. Gun isn't about to ask and neither does he care.

"Wrapped around Y/N's finger," Goo sneers and that, Gun understands.

Maybe that's true too. He still aims a punch at the blonde's head.

Leaning over Gun's shoulder, you peer at the search box and chuckle, "Simp? Why are you searching for simp?"

"I'm researching what it means."

"Huh." Your brows knit together, wondering how he came across the term, when this is the kind of person who likes to text in either simple emojis or full sentences and no inbetween, has no idea about pop culture references and terminologies, and you had to teach him what the eggplant emoji actually meant.

A lightbulb goes off.

A Cheshire cat smile creeps over your face, " Did Goo Kim call you a simp?"

Gun turns towards you, traces of annoyance on his face, "He did."

"Well, aren't you?"

He looks down at the definition of simp again, doesn't really understand why it's meant as an insult, when at the crux of it, for Gun, it's simply someone attentive and devoted to their partner.

Gun grumbles, but he supposes: Yes. For you, he is a simp.

Kenta and Ryuhei are Executives.

Part of the exclusive club of Senior Management at Workers yet they both wait patiently in line at the coffee bar as their assistants (and yours) fidgets behind them.

"They're worried," Kenta murmurs in his native tongue.

"Why?" Ryuhei glances over and indeed all three appear concerned.

"That you think they can't do their jobs."

"It's just a coffee." Ryuhei shrugs, "Anyone can get a coffee."

"Exactly," Kenta wonders if he's being deliberately obtuse. "And it's expected that assistants get the coffee. They think they're doing something wrong because you're here."

"I know how Y/N likes their coffee."

"So does their assistant."

"I know precisely how Y/N likes their coffee."

Kenta sees the beginnings of a sulk, Ryuhei's bottom lip starting to jut out and the furrow of his brows, and sighs.

Ryuhei is being deliberately obtuse. It's not even a particularly adventurous order. Even Kenta knows how you like your coffee, having unfortunately been dragged here by his friend enough times.

They both shuffle forwards.

"One large Americano. No sugar, no milk," Kenta demonstrates, rattling off your drink of choice to the barista.

It's difficult to get wrong.

Ryuhei gasps dramatically at Kenta stealing his thunder, and receives an eye roll in return. Who cares about who places the order? Ryuhei is going to be the one that hand delivers the coffee anyway, then hang around you all afternoon being a nuisance.

"You're such a simp." Kenta complains.

Any hint of indignation disappears, and a wide cheerful grin spreads over the blonde’s face.

"I know!"

For someone of Jake Kim's size, he can be surprisingly sleuthy.

He pokes his head into the room, where the majority of his inner circle sits, hears both his and your name being mentioned and his ears perk up.

Oh?

With quiet, measured movements, sneaks over to the table, and slides into the empty space between Jason and Jerry.

"-I can't believe he is such a simp!" Brad chuckles.

"He really is," Jason agrees.

Jake leans forward, "Who is?"

Lua rolls her eyes, "Jake!"

"Me?"

Hasn't this guy kept up with the conversation? "Yeah, obviously!" Lineman adds-

And then eyes widening in shock, recoils sharply. As does the rest of the table.

Jake?! When did?! How?! What?

An uncomfortable silence descends, festers, stretches taut-

Snaps, when Jake raises his eyebrows and asks the group, "I'm a simp, huh?"

Jerry, his ever loyal sword, speaks for the first time. "You are."

Jake considers it, thinks about himself, thinks about you and his eyes soften. He grins, toothy and lovestruck, "I am."

#you should absolutely be a simp for your partner 😌#lookism #lookism fic #lookism x reader #gun park #gun park x reader #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei kuroda #ryuhei #lookism ryuhei #ryuhei x reader #jake kim #jake kim x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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olive-fics · 7 months

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Or you write abt abby being co workers with your older sibling and you guys meet for the first time!😭

OMG yes in love with this idea. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

NOT PROOF READ!!

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

Abby Anderson and your brother,Leo had shared an incredibly tight bond. They weren't just close friends and co-workers; they were practically inseparable. You couldn't help but assume that there was something more between them, perhaps a romantic connection or at the very least, an extraordinarily close friendship.

You were constantly caught in a whirlwind of mixed signals from Abby. After all, it seemed almost unfathomable that she didn't like women, considering her magnetic personality and charm. And on the rare chance that she did have an interest in men, you found yourself puzzling over what exactly she saw in your brother that made their connection so undeniable...

It was hardly a secret to Leo that you found Abby undeniably attractive. He could easily see past your occasional moments of "gay panic," and your unspoken feelings for Abby were an open book to him.

☆

The final days of summer were fast approaching, and as a high school senior, you were nearing the point where your seasonal work would typically come to a halt. Naturally, you began the search for a job that didn't mind your complex hours from school and your afterschool clubs or tutoring you did. Luckily, your older brother Leo, who happened to be the manager of a popular local restaurant, extended a helping hand. He offered you a position as a waitress, knowing that your hours were "weird" so he "didn't mind.." he claimed.. You still debated working there though.

Desperately, you'd turn to Leo and say, "Leo, you know I struggle with communicating with strangers. I'm not sure if I can handle this." You whispered, fully aware that Leo's determination to secure this job for you was unwavering, as if his life depended on it.

"No, Y/N, you're taking this job. And don't worry, I have a friend who can give you a hand." He chuckled at your apprehension.

Your eyes widened in suspicion. "Who, Leo? If it's Abby, I swear to God..." You threw your hands to your side trying not to literally fight him.

That's when Leo slyly handed you a sticky note with the words "Anderson, Abby. 4:30 training."

You couldn't help but groan in frustration, and as you glanced back at the note, you realized your fate was sealed. "LEO YOU'RE SO DEAD!"

. . .For the rest of the day, your heart raced in your chest. The anticipation and anxiety over working with Abby were almost unbearable. You felt an overwhelming desire to escape, as if you could shed your own skin and start anew in a different city, far away from the turmoil of your emotions.

Despite the overwhelming emotions, you knew there was no escape. "Just tough it out, Y/N," you repeated to yourself as you reluctantly slipped on the restaurant's uniform - a plain navy blue button-up shirt and black dress pants.

You couldn’t help but attempt to do your makeup today,curl or straighten your hair.? You couldn’t decide,what would Abby like..? You were so caught up in how you looked you almost lost track of time,it was already 4:00.

You rose from your desk, applying a quick coat of vanilla-scented chap-stick before gathering your courage and heading out for what was called.. "training."

Arriving at the restaurant, you heaved a sigh of relief that you had made it on time. Abby was already waiting for you by a small booth, and her warm, welcoming smile instantly put you at ease. The scent of pine from her soap wafted toward you, and for a moment, you stood there, rendered speechless by her presence.

"So, you're Y/N, right? Leo's sister?" she asked, offering a friendly pat on your shoulder, and you simply nodded in response.

Abby's friendly and confident demeanor instantly put you at ease. She leaned in a bit and said, "Alright, Leo mentioned that you might not be so good with your words. But I think we can work on that, what do you say, Y/N?"

Your reaction was immediate, and you almost choked on the air in your sudden nervousness. You managed to stammer out a response, nodding with a shy smile and a soft, rosy blush gracing your cheeks.

“Y-yeah..”

Abby took out a small electronic tablet for taking orders.

"That's a great place to start," she said, flashing a warm smile. "I'm going to teach you how to use this, alright? Sound good, doll?"

The moment felt almost surreal, and you were convinced that you might faint. Abby's beauty and perfection were so captivating that it felt like a dream come true.

"Sounds..Sounds good!-" You managed to say sighing quietly.

As Abby patiently guided you through the ins and outs of the register, taking orders, and the various parts of being a waiter/server, your attention couldn't help but wander. You found yourself subtly studying her toned arms and the way her muscles moved, noticing the delicate veins that seemed to gently protrude in certain areas, creating a contrast that had your mind wandering as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

As Abby noticed your distraction, she leaned in close, her warm breath brushing against your neck, and whispered, "You alright there, Y/N? I promise, I won't bite.." Her words were laced with a hint of playfulness and flirtation, creating an electric atmosphere that left you both intrigued and blushing.

You chuckled nervously, tapping on the small tablet in front of you,"I-Oh, please," you replied with a shy smile.

Abby playfully scoffed, leaning even closer as she whispered, "You think I won't, Y/N?" "You wouldn't dare to," you challenged playfully, meeting Abby's gaze with a hint of amusement.

Abby's smile widened, and she gently touched your shoulder. "Is that a bet, Y/N?" She let out a soft, melodic giggle, and the air between you seemed electric.

"Shush it, Anderson," you replied with a playful eye roll.

Abby smirked and playfully mocked, "Mhm, that's what I thought." She then turned away and asked, "So, are you going to go tell Leo all about me now?" Her tone was light and teasing you..

"HE TOLD YOU?!-" You couldn't help but nearly die considering your own brother would share your thirsty comments about Abby to HER. You were going to kill him when you got home.

"Hush, it's alright. I think it's cute." "I hate you." You grumbled quietly." "I'm sure you hate me soo much.. 'Tis too bad.."

With a soft giggle and a roll of your eyes, you 'clocked out' of your training day. Walking home, embarrassment still coursed through your veins, you couldn't help but fidget with your pockets. That's when you felt a small piece of paper tucked into your back pocket.

"2425 Constance RD, 8:30"

~Abby ♡︎

You weren't missing this.

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

OK IF THIS WAS DUMB I'M SORRY! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

I'll start the officer Ellie thing from @offtwotheraces Tiktok,I would've posted it but my inbox has been kinda full recently and wanna do anon requests :)) Thnx!

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

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you are the best thing that's ever been mine

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 1 (prompt: high school or college AU) rated: T wc: 638 cw: n/a tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending

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Being with Eddie had been easy. Two years at college, pretty much sharing a dorm unofficially, studying together whenever they weren't working their shitty jobs, annoying Eddie's roommate Gareth constantly.

But when graduation came, and real life set in, they realized quickly that what they thought was hard was nothing.

They had a small apartment on the outskirts of town, rundown and barely worthy of the rent they had to pay, but it was theirs.

Steve managed to find a job at an elementary school as a guidance counselor right after graduation, but Eddie struggled for a while. It didn't seem like anyone was hiring for a music teacher, and he started to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his degree.

He thought he'd taken a safer route than just going into the music industry, or trying to, but clearly he'd been wrong.

"Baby, we're fine. I make enough to cover what we need, we just have to be on a tight budget," Steve told him after Eddie had explained how useless he felt not contributing to their bills yet.

They were lying on the couch, Eddie tense under Steve.

"But you shouldn't have to, Steve. I'm basically the same as the spider we refuse to kill in the shower," Eddie groaned.

"No you're not. You're trying to find a job and you're going to," Steve insisted.

"And if I don't?" Eddie said, pushing Steve off of him so he could stand up and pace. "If I end up searching for a job for months or years, how long until you get sick of having to support us both? How long until you kick me out because I can't give you what you want? We can't ever have a family on just your income in this shitty apartment."

"Eds, you won't be unemployed forever. We've got time."

But Eddie didn't want to listen.

He walked over to their window that opened onto a fire escape and climbed through it.

Steve saw that it was raining, but knew Eddie wasn't going to come inside until he was ready.

If Eddie had to be in the rain, then Steve was going to be with him.

Steve joined him a moment later, cringing slightly at the cold rain instantly soaking his clothes.

"You remember our senior year, when I was convinced I'd have to drop out because my social work for students professor hated me? I cried every night for three weeks about his class and his attitude. I was awful. But you listened to it all, held me through it all, helped me study for tests and prepare for my final presentation. You remember what you told me the day of the final?" Steve asked, keeping some distance between them while he spoke.

Eddie shook his head.

"You said that one hard class wasn't going to keep me from being what students need. You told me that I was going to be fine because I already cared about kids I don't even know yet, and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot. And you told me you loved me for the first time."

Eddie looked over at him, brows furrowed, hair dripping wet from the rain.

"You loved me through a tough schedule, and being broke, and complaining about someone who ultimately didn't matter. You loved me when I was an asshole to you and everyone, you loved me when it was hard. Now it's my turn, okay? Let me love you through it all."

Eddie didn't answer for a moment, but then he leaned in and kissed Steve's forehead gently.

"I never thought I'd have someone who loved me like this. You're the best part of my life, you know that?"

"And you're mine," Steve replied, kissing him on the lips as the rain continued to fall.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #steddieholidaydrabbles #warmup round #college au

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coopigeoncoo · 9 months

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The 3-Cs of 3-A, Chapter 1: The World Turns Upside Down

Chapter Links: Next

Pairing: Eventual Bakugou Katsuki x Fem Reader (it's a very long way off though)

Rating: Explicit. 18+

Tags: Mineta Redemption, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader, Sexual Harassment, Abusive Parenting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Statutory Rape, Dubious Consent, Underage Sex, Underage Drinking, Domestic Violence, Blood and Injury

Tags are subject to change as story develops.

---

Mineta Minoru is a perverted misogynist whose antics should have had him expelled from UA long ago.

But he wasn’t.

And now it’s your job to fix him.

May God have mercy on your soul.

–-- “Well then, I’ll leave myself in your capable hands,” Mineta purred before popping open the top two buttons on his shirt, sending you a coy look from under his lashes. “Mold me into the perfect hero, Pygmalion! Make me your Galatea!” he screamed as he ripped open his shirt, buttons flying haphazardly through the air and pinging off the walls and floor. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes, as though blinded by the pale skin of his belly.

“Why do you always have to make this weird?” you moan forlornly, already bending down to search along the floor for the missing buttons.

---

Continue Reading below, or follow the link to Ao3!

Chapter 1: The World Turns Upside Down

In which you make a grave error and start a chain reaction that changes life as you know it.

The only thing you were the best at was trying your best, and honestly, that was pretty darn good.

You had never been given a solo in band class, but the only mistakes you made while playing were small and easily drowned out by the enthusiastic French horn player that sat next to you. Homework assignments were always turned in fully completed, on time, with legible penmanship, but you never managed to break the top 30 academic rankings at your school. Your brief stint as a field hockey player ended with you having never scored a goal despite your team making it to the playoffs.

You rose to all the challenges you were given and performed admirably, but you never truly excelled at anything. You did well and you supposed that was well enough.

It was this long and unwavering history of academic adequacy that led you to make what was ultimately, in retrospect, the worst decision of your young life.

Two options were set before you and neither of them were particularly appealing.

The first was an exhaustively long and detailed research paper on the rise of commercialized hero agencies that spanned from the initial onset of Quirks until today. The second was the same project all of your future classmates had been assigned a week prior: building and maintaining a mock hero agency for the remainder of the school year. Research had never been your strong suit and the idea of working on a singular paper for eight months straight was one of the worst ways you could imagine spending your senior year.

"I think," you murmured quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. " I think I would like to attempt the hero project, Sir."

Since this was the first time you had met the Principal of your new school you were woefully unaware of the horrors that awaited when Nezu's eyes twinkled just so, and your hesitant acceptance set of a shimmer in his beady eyes that would have any experienced member of his staff revising the resignation letters they all had saved on their desktops for easy access.

"Excellent!" He proclaimed cheerily, sharp teeth bared in an unnerving smile as he reached into his desk and withdrew a stack of files. "Most excellent indeed! I'll provide you with all the pertinent records and files for your project. I'm looking forward to seeing what your fresh perspective will bring to the table with no inherited biases!"

"Biases? What biases?" you asked warily.

"Nothing to worry yourself over!,” Nezu assured you as he continued to add to the file stack. “I can tell by your academic record that you're a hard worker no matter how challenging the assignment! Taking on something of this magnitude will really set you apart from your peers,” Nezu said as he added a collection of slim binders on top of the file stack.

"Ah, is that okay though? I'm transferring in during my third year. The rest of my class has way more experience. One of them will probably be a better choice to handle a…more challenging project?" you questioned, becoming increasingly nervous and uncertain as the stack of files continued to grow.

"Nonsense! You're a clever girl, you'll be fine. Besides, all of them already refused to do this. Well, except that one boy. Utada, I believe? He received this assignment originally," Nezu murmured, tapping a clawed finger to his chin gently and his other hand shuffled papers on his desk about into a messy pile before clipping it together and depositing it onto the towering stack of paper between you.

"Oh! Will I be working together with him, then? Like a group project?" you sighed, relieved that you would have a partner to work through this monstrous assignment with.

"Work with who? Utada? Oh, heavens no! He dropped out. Purely coincidental, I'm sure, and not at all related to this project. Now, let's finish up the rest of your transfer paperwork, shall we?"

A weak smile wobbled across your face as you nodded, worried about the workload but knowing you didn't really have much of a choice but to accept. UA was a high-level, competitive school. You knew going in that the course work was going to be more challenging than your previous school, but there was no way they would assign anything too difficult, right?

Your newly found confidence immediately faltered as Nezu pushed the towering stack of paper and office supplies across the desk towards you.

“This information should be sufficient to get you started. Make sure to let your homeroom teacher know if there is anything missing and we’ll make arrangements to get it to you. Best of luck!”

Knowing a dismissal when you heard one, you gathered up the stack of files into your arms and carefully maneuvered your way out of the office, unaware of the principal's feral grin that lasted long after you bumped the door closed with your hip.

The project, in theory, was simple: build a hero agency from the ground up. It's the perfect assignment for the Business Course students because it would very likely mirror what awaited them in the professional world once they graduated; working with a hero, constructing an image, supporting the brand, and keeping the budget in line. It was a culmination of two years of accrued knowledge put to the test.

Two years of knowledge that you didn't possess.

Transferring into any program during your final year was already going to be a nightmare, but the specialized and hero-focused curriculum of UA didn't mesh with your previous school's classes as well as you'd hoped. Or at all, really. You didn’t know what got covered in the second year math class 'Deconstructing Destruction: Calculating the Cost of Replacing Public Works' but you had a sneaking suspicion it was vastly different from your Probability and Statistics course.

“Welp,” you sighed as you took in the mountain of paperwork stacked on top of your desk “Time to get to work.”

The syllabus was at the top of the stack and you managed to make it a full thirty pages in before you started hyperventilating. You weren't even halfway through the project outline and every bullet point had at least six additional bullet points underneath it. The breadth and depth of this project was unreal and you had no idea how you were going to manage it.

You set a cellphone timer for ten minutes and managed to work in two full existential crises before the alarm sounded. After that, you took a series of calming breaths and began collating.

Files were broken up by individual assignment, hole punched, and placed neatly into three ring binders with color coded sticky tabs that you could use to quickly access different sections. Due dates were logged in your agenda and calendar reminders were added to your cell phone. It took you hours to organize the entire towering project outline. The satisfaction you felt as you stared at the collection of pristine and orderly binders must be what new parents felt when holding their child for the first time; overwhelming pride and exhaustion in equal measure.

Only one file remained on your desk; the student record for the hero in training that you'd be building an agency for. You sat down in your desk chair, cracked your knuckles, and opened the file to the first page.

"Alright, Mineta Minoru! Let's see what you've got, hero!"

"Oh God," you sobbed into your hands. "He's awful."

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dollarbin · 17 days

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Shakey Sundays #17:

Ragged Glory, Part 3

When I was a senior in high school I experienced big-deal, pure, adrenaline surging joy - the kind that feels like it forever changes the shape of your face - three separate times.

Two of these moments happened separately on the same day, beginning in the afternoon with an obvious and rather pedestrian origin: I got into college. What's more, I got into a trophy school that would allow me leave home permanently and still be a goldilocks' drive time away from the two most important things in my life at that point: my ladyfriend and the summer camp job where she, I, and most of our friends worked (and where we listened to a lot of Built To Spill). I remember running from the mailbox and past my father, on my way to nowhere in particular, while ripping open the big heavy acceptance envelope, my ideal future suddenly revealed like a sparkling second sun.

My famous brother chronicled that same day's night from his own perspective earlier this month. We went together that night to see The Breeders play, yes, but The John Spencer Blues Explosion opened the show and they melted my already-altered-by-the-day face. Spencer crept around his Theremin like a tricked out cosmic bullfighter, tempting it to shout and gurgle and spin. The drummer broke several kick peddles in his mammoth exuberance; they had no bass player and no sense of composure whatsoever. I was not on any drugs, but it sure felt like it. And they were really good drugs.

John Spencer and his mates were, at that point in my life, the loudest, most alive thing I'd ever seen on stage; and keep in mind that I had already seen Tom Petty and Bob Dylan twice each, Neil Young three times, a crumbling and brutal Uncle Tupelo once and the Dead and Paul Simon more times than I frankly remember (there're years of future Dollar Bin posts left to come about all those shows).

I'm not saying the John Spencer Blues Explosion compares to those acts or played comparably good music that night. Instead, what I mean is that I was just right there with them: they were so alive, and so was I. And so I was SO, DAMN, HAPPY.

This video is from that same Spring, but not from my show. Had this been from my show, and had I filmed it, there would be almost no coherent footage: I spent the whole set wriggling like a fish on a line who just couldn't wait to be hauled bodily out the dull ocean and eaten raw.

youtube

And then Kim Deal came out immediately afterwards and chain smoked her frantic set away while not just blowing up the room, somehow, with an acoustic guitar, but she also managed to elbow, kick and head butt a whole cage of pedals around her, all the time singing with the cigarettes still in her mouth.

So, obviously, that whole show was the second time.

That year's third big-deal, pure, adrenaline surge of joy came, of course, in a record store. I was the good part of a year into my quest to find The Holy Grail. Not the real thing of course; that was of no interest. Rather, as should be obvious to the dedicated readers of the Dollar Bin, I was searching for my own copy of Neil Young's On The Beach.

I've already outlined how I'd heard the record long before finding my own copy, so suffice it to say that when I finally came upon On The Beach in a Venice Beach shop that year I screamed out loud and ran all over the shop, bearing it aloft in my triumphant hands. Keep in mind that this would have been late 1993 or early 94: eight or so years before Nabster and very much in the era when Young refused to issue the album on either CD or tape, meaning that you literally could not listen unless you found a vinyl copy or found some Neil Young freak to tape it for you.

Well, last weekend, when I talked that same ladyfriend, now my very patient wife, into dropping me off at Amoeba Records in Berkeley in the middle of our 12 hour drive home from a Spring Break trip, I did not run around whooping with another Neil Young record in my triumphant hands.

But I should have!

After all, look what I found after 30 full years of searching:

That's right, folks. I passed on 60 individual Dollar Bin finds and bought my first vinyl copy of Ragged Glory instead (that's not strictly true: I bought 18 other records at the same time for a buck each, so I didn't actual passed on anything - but saying so justifies my extravagance).

Okay, it's time to actually drop the needle (very carefully!) on this thing. Let's do this.

Good God...

I've already written about the record, without actually owning it, twice so feel free to read my Part 1 and/or Part 2. But I'm here to tell you that, after an initial 10 years of listening to the album on the tape I bought at age 14, then another 25 of listening to it digitally, it may be all in my imagination but I feel like I'm listening to Ragged Glory for the first time. It sounds like Neil is performing Country Home while riding piggyback on my shoulders. And we're hang gliding through flames.

Okay, I'm actually having a bit of a religious experience. Jesus Frickin' Cristo: Young is forever going on and on about how the perfect echo dies when you transfer his music to digital and, even though I'm a big record guy, I always kinda roll my eyes. After all, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I dwell in the Dollar Bin, not Nathan's VGG++ Nerd Shack.

And don't get me wrong, as advertized there is some bustle and pop on my new copy. But I'd be disappointed if the occasional scuffle weren't there: they add the kind of textures Joe Freakin' Lala could never even attempt, and, Sweet Billy Talbot, I'm hearing bass notes I've never heard before and the drums - THE DRUMS!

(By the way: you can disregard all the shade I cast on Love To Burn in one of those earlier posts - that track just started up and it suddenly sounds fresh and urgent as it spins forth from my record's new, precious grooves. I suspect the same thing will have during Love and Only Love when I get there...)

I'm so happy, friends. I'm SO HAPPY all over again. I'd even slow dance with Stephen Stills right now if he asked, just as long as we blasted my personal copy of Ragged Glory while we swayed.

#neil young #shakey sundays #amoeba records #jon spencer blues explosion #the breeders #stephen stills sucks #joe freakin' lala #Youtube

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lenillusion · 2 years

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radioheads hs decathlon au, drabble/concept

----- warning: i didnt do much editing, sorry word count: 1926 words

-----

They're both on rivaling decathlon teams but Dylan's been on it since sophomore year whereas Ryan has only joined as a senior.

So when time for the decathlon comes around Dylan doesn't know what to do with himself after seeing the cute new member of their top rivaling team. his performance doesn't falter of course, a cute new face isn't enough to spoil his efforts. but that doesn't stop him from looking whenever he can.

After Dylan's team crushes the competition (because of course he would), instead of his annual round of gloating, he figures he should go talk to the guy. he's filled with confidence from his win and Dylan figured he earned himself this small pleasure.

He doesn't know the guy's name, just "Erzahler" from the announcements but he figured that would suffice.

"Hey- uh, Erzahler? Wait up!" It came out a little awkward but it did it's job considering Erzahler stopped where he was walking next to Laura Kearney, their star member, to face him.

Poor guy looked like deer in headlights, silently mouthing "me?," with a finger pointing at his chest. Laura had stopped walking too but when she saw him ambling towards them she grinned and beckoned him over.

"Lenivy! Its nice to see you this year." Laura had always been his main competition since he joined the team but despite their sometimes scathing rivalry, she was always warm to him after competition. It was easy to smile back at her, this time with sincerity and friendliness as opposed to the jagged smirks born of competitiveness they shot each other over the day.

Erzahler looked almost confused, a micro expression really. He had certainly seen their antagonism throughout the competition and couldn't get why they were being civil now. Dylan almost wanted to laugh but figured that wouldn't be a good first impression for the guy he's trying to score a date with. Maybe if their relationship makes it beyond the "decathlon rivals" stage he could tell him about his semi-complicated dynamic with Laura.

"You too, Kearney. But as lovely as it is seeing your face, I gotta say, kicking your ass today was certainly the highlight." His tone was light and teasing, falling into banter was easy with Laura. The following glare she gave him had laughter tumbling out of him, it was too easy.

"Shut the fuck up, Lenivy," Laura crossed her arms, giving him a playful yet pointed look. "I know you didn't come over here just to gloat, if you were you would have done it earlier. What do you want?"

The accusation had him clutching his chest and whining with overdramatic flair. "Oh, come on, Kearney!" He dragged out the syllables of her name. "Can't I talk to you without an ulterior motive?"

His pouting didn't faze her one bit. "Yeah, you can but I'm not stupid, Lenivy. You literally called out to Ryan, you obviously weren't planning on talking to me." She explained with her innate ability to shut down all his bullshit.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah, Ryan Erzahler, thats his name."

'Oh. Um- yeah, of course." He felt a little stupid asking now but regardless it suited Erzahler. A pretty name to a pretty face.

Speaking of Erzahler, the guy had gone from slighting confused to blatantly uncomfortable 3rd wheeling his and Laura's conversation. He's really hoping he hadn't somehow managed to put Ryan off forever, hopefully he can salvage this.

"But um, yeah I did want to talk to Erzahler er- Ryan?" He looked over to Erzahler to see if he expressed any discomfort with being called his first name, thankfully he just nodded with this really awkward, really cute smile. He quickly looked back to Laura.

"Do you think I'd be able to talk to him alone for a sec, I promise I'll give him back unharmed." He masked his nervousness with an amused smirk, but Laura has known him for 5 years and she's far from emotionally dense. when she takes a moment to search his face, her eyes soften and she nods.

"Go right ahead," She turns to put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, "You good with that big guy?"

Ryan seems a little hesitant and Dylan cant really blame him. Their teams did spend all decathlon antagonizing each other and he's not sure if anyone explained to him the nature of their teams' relationship, its all out of good sportsmanship at the end of the day.

Ultimately he agrees, and not long after they're left alone.

Once Laura had left, the easy and playful atmosphere had gone with her. Now there was only a stale sort of tension in the air. He's starting to doubt his chances of walking out of here with Ryan's number.

Ryan fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, looking slightly above Dylan's eyes when he addressed him.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about... Lenivy, was it?" Ryan got straight to the point. The high from winning was dulling down, his confidence dwindling with it. He could probably back out now but worse case scenario, Ryan says no and they never see each other again since this is his last high school decathlon. So he figured he might as well see this through, he refuses to let a cute guy be his undoing.

"Oh um, yeah its Lenivy, Dylan Lenivy," Asking out the cute rival team member was feeling a lot harder than he made it out to be in his head. "I know this is like super sudden because we've never met before but, I just um...." He paused, his face growing warm, he didn't really know how to go about this.

Weirdly enough, Ryan's eyes seemed to light up a bit, his posture relaxing as he made to fill the silence left by Dylan's stumbling.

"Is this about the fact you've been staring at me all day?" It wasn't said as an accusation, simply a fact, an observation. Dylan froze regardless. He knew he wasn't being subtle per se but even still he figured that Ryan would be too caught up in the competition to notice. He was wrong and now he's paying for his carelessness.

At the sight Dylan's tensing posture, Ryan tried to clarify his words.

"I'm not like accusing you of anything, its just something I noticed. You weren't that subtle."

"Ah, God I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything, I just- um- I just think you're super cute, is all." He felt a little better after saying it.

Ryan's lips parted slightly, understanding crossing his face at his confession. "Ohhh, that... makes sense."

Dylan's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "It does?"

Ryan huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah, I thought you were staring at me because of whatever weird hatred- or not hatred? You have for my team. but it didn't fully make sense because you weren't being antagonistic with me like you were with them."

Dylan let out a nervous giggle. "Uh yeah, I knew you were new and I wasn't sure if you'd be down with the annual decathlon assholery that I dish out. So I decided against it. plus you were really cute and I didn't wanna uh, ruin my... chances..."

"Your chances?" Ryan raised his eyebrows, playful but tentative.

Dylan sputtered, his face getting redder. "Uh, I mean? Not chances? I mean I was gonna ask you out but like, you know..." He prays that Laura can't see his pathetic display from wherever she's standing. He knows that she'll tell both Kaitlyn and Max about his inability to function near a cute boy and he'd never live it down.

An amused smile grew over Ryan's face at his struggling. "Actually? I don't know."

Jesus fucking Christ he should have known that anyone who hung out with Laura was gonna be cut from the same cloth of "Demon" that she was. Ryan is actually gonna kill him. He was gonna die at his senior year decathlon in front of a boy he's had a crush on for barely a day.

The word vomit spilled from his lips with disgusting ease. "Well, I mean I meant to come over here to ask you for your number? Yeah, like I noticed you earlier today when you were talking to that ginger kid on your team and you were really pretty oh my god. and I figured like ah what the hell what's the worst that could happen, it was harmless really. I wasn't- I'm not really expecting anything from you? I'm just a little high on victory and I wanted to see- to see if... I don't-"

He was, thankfully, cut off by Ryan laughing. It was sweet and almost fond? He's not too sure but he's positive he isn't making fun of him.

"Oh god, I don't really know what I was expecting when you came up to me but you're actually pretty cool." Ryan's laughter had died but his voice held the same lightness to it.

"Me? Cool?"

"Yeah, I'm a bit surprised. You spent all day being this half-terrifying, overly competitive, insanely intelligent uh- thing and now you're here, tripping over yourself trying to ask me out. Its.... cute." It took Ryan a second to pick out the word but he looked like he meant it nonetheless.

"Me?"

Ryan gave a barely there smile. "Yeah, you."

This was going way better than Dylan imagined. "So um, by logic, if I think you're cute and you think I'm cute- that means we should go out some time?" He really hopes he was picking up these signals right.

Ryan looked off to the side in thought. "Hm," When he looked back he was nodding slightly to himself, confirming his decision.

"How about this? Laura invited me to get lunch with her and her boyfriend next Saturday. You two seem to know each other so I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I invited you, then I won't have to third wheel those two." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a blue gel pen.

"Give me your arm."

"Wha- are you gonna write your phone number?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "No, I'm writing the address to the cafe we're going to."

"Oh." He's a little disappointed but considering he's gonna see Ryan again next Saturday, it isn't too bad.

"Don't be like that," Ryan mumbled while writing the address, the ink stood out sharply against his pale skin. When Ryan was done he pulled back and put the pen in his pocket.

"Text Laura for more details, I assume you have her number or some way to contact her." Ryan looked back to where Laura went off to.

"Uh- yeah, I do." Considering they've known each other for 5 years and he dated her boyfriend in freshman year (before they got together), it'd be weird if he didn't have her number at this point.

"Great, now if everything goes well next Saturday then maybe, just maybe, I'll give you my number. Maybe even an actual date too." There was a slight mischievousness to his tone but Dylan was too delighted to care.

"Wait, really?"

"I don't see why not."

Dylan was really trying to contain himself from being too eager but he just scored a not-date with a really cute boy for the first time since freshman year (you can't just date someone else after dating Max Brinly okay? not just anyone can measure up to that,) it's not hard to be eager.

"Fuck yeah, okay. I'll see you next Saturday." He breathed out, giddy and relieved.

Fucking score.

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peppertaemint · 2 years

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Weird question because I'm sure you don't talk about EXO much but I'm an EXO fan and have been since 2018. What's your opinion about the hate that SM gets from fans of SM groups? I know they're not a perfect company and they've made a loooooot of mistakes towards their artists some that proved tragic and also business wise but purely speaking as an EXO fan, I don't understand why SM gets constant hate from fans. Yeah they could treat certain EXO members better imo but that said, they've done nothing but give EXO the best writers, producers, choreographers they could ask for. Their discography is almost flawless as I'm sure you feel the same about SHINee and the members as soloists. I'm Baekhyun and Kai double biased and their albums are great. EXO subunit groups EXO-CBX and EXO-SC are also great. SM has also backed them with great teams. I know Lay didn't resign with SM but but he's also very successful in China and is CEO of his own company there so it makes sense he wouldn't resign with SM again. He did say his company was working on a deal with SM where they can work together and essentially still be part of EXO I take it so all of that said, do you as a SHINee fan see anything that I can't regarding SM mistreating them? I mean if it rains, SM is somehow at fault for some fans it seems. Do you think the hate is warranted or do you think this is the result of entitled overly dramatic instigating international fans?

Hello EXO Anon!

I think it's very fashionable to hate on SM for the smallest things. In all fandoms, I think there's quite a healthy number of "damn the man" stans who love to shit talk the powers that be. Because that's what SM, Hybe, YG etc are - they're "the man" who supposedly have all the power and call the shots, and when anything goes wrong it's their fault but when everything goes right, it's the artist who clawed their way to success, right?

As always, I'll be brutally honest in my reply. I think SM has done a fair (and I use that word carefully) job of learning from horrific mistakes and creating a talent agency that does look after its talent. It promotes from within, for example Changmin taking an director role and BoA working with younger talent to ensure their voices aren't drowned out by management. Is it a perfect place? Not by a long shot. Is your workplace perfect? Mine isn't even close LOL.

I can understand how a "hate SM" culture arose, however, given all the things that have happened. I'm not going to list them here because any quick google search will bring up a plethora. I judge SM in the present. I see senior artists getting great opportunities to take artistic direction in their work. I see younger artists working incredibly hard but again, getting opportunities to develop their craft with top talent. I do see inklings of changes with girls groups. GoT was perhaps misguided with the whole mean girl shtick but I don't think the tough attitude we see from Aespa, and the enriching meta world they're involved in, should be overlooked in a country where women have a lot less agency than their male counterparts.

And the other thing I see at SM is a lot of variety in the art they're putting out. When I watched NCT The Link, I was astounded by the solo performances. Each artist brought different vibes — they weren't all crazy kinksters like Johnny and Taeyong, but this more adult content was side by side with different music and performance styles.

And I agree that in terms of quality of music, such as EXO's discography, SHINee's, etc, the quality is astoundingly high. That's not to say there aren't duds or songs I don't vibe with, but there's a lot of well-crafted music with meaning and artistry behind it. I don't get the cookie-cutter feeling. Look at Red Velvet's MV for Feel My Rhythm and the countless art references in there. Maybe the sound of the song doesn't feel new for a girl group, but the content of the MV, even if perhaps flawed by trying to do too much, hit many different levels. It's not 14 year old girls singing about someone looking at their cookie. Yes, I'm going there.

SM shed the questionable pedo-oriented content and Hybe picked up where they left off. This is where a lot of the criticism comes in because Hybe is supposed to be a new, forward-thinking company that puts its artists first. SM hasn't debuted a minor since the producer Min Hee-jin, who is NewJeans' creative director, left.

On the balance of things, I think SM fans have a lot less to complain about and they lose sight of reality. I don't know if this happens in EXO-L spaces, but in Shawol spaces, there's a lot of victimization of the members. Since Key's last comeback, it's all been about how he had to claw his way forward with that comeback and then everyone just copied him, when in reality the retro-futurism concept, although uniquely and superbly executed, was hardly new when he used it, and SM repurposing their props/creative ideas is not exactly a crime. It's likely the same product designers etc working on the next project. What is remarkable is that Key did his own creative direction, in essence, and he was given the space to do that and has been given the space to do creative direction from at least 2015 when he started designing costumes. He's not a victim. He's a creative working in his industry and excelling in it. 💀

Re Lay not resigning and the company — there's basically laws in China that make it necessary for actors and talent to operate their own studio. The studio becomes a legal entity for them. And that entity can take responsibility for bad fan behaviors legally speaking. I'm no expert but I would imagine Lay leaving to create his studio would help him work safely in China given the legal landscape. As far as I understand, this has all come up after the YiZhan controversy that highlighted the negative behaviors of large fandoms, and the government wishes for actors or singers etc to be ultimately responsible for that behavior. This is my understanding but people are free to correct me if I've got it wrong.

#EXO ask #EXO and SM #SM #EXO

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thoughtsofadyingsoftwaredev · 6 months

Text

Hello, Tumblr world! For some reason I am drawn to you in the Fall season. My last post was just over a year ago… sorry about that. Not that you, my lovely reader, care - and that is IF anyone reads this! I won't lie I don't care if people read these or not, this is essentially an online journal for me at this point, ha.

So, what's new with me lately, you might ask? Well, I'll break it down:

Still happy with our house. We've made gradual updates to it since moving in, including redoing some old flooring with some new vinyl faux-wood looking stuff. Super nice. Also replaced an old toilet in the process. Next we're eyeballing a bathtub upgrade for one of the bathrooms and big landscaping changes to our back yard.

Got promoted at work to Senior Software Engineer after 3 years. Not bad turnaround time for that title change, in my opinion. My responsibilities shifted from managing the IAM software to managing our search experience for the many different applications we provide.

This primarily means I'm responsible for drafting search document schemas, working with these other teams to get answers on questions they refuse to provide answers to without me having to ask first, and handling the logic for ingesting hundreds of thousands of items of varying types to different search engines. In my 3.5 years of working here, I have enjoyed the challenges of the job. Of course, it's not without it's awful days or days where my head is screeching, but the good days outweigh the bad for me.

Wife and I are still on speaking terms. That's my way of saying we're both as good and happy with each other as ever lol she's my best friend. We both got super interested in NFL this season and watch every Monday and Thursday game and watch Minnesota (wife's favorite team) on Sundays. RIP Vikings post-Cousins injury.

That's about all I can think of life-wise. My 31st birthday was a few weeks ago, and I feel old as shit sometimes LOL I look in the mirror and I see what seems like new wrinkles in new places, my hair is graying in small parts, and I find it hard to stay up late. It's 1:04AM right now and I find this to be the upper range of my limits lol

I had a dream recently that my wife and I died in a freak accident at some theme park (not a specific one, just some weird abstract dreamy one) - from what I can remember we were on what we thought was part of a ride, but what ended up happening is we both fell to our deaths.

After we died, we both were floating over family and friends as spirits, watching our bodies get carried in open caskets. For some reason, I had two huge pieces of hair that went down both sides of my face (this is nowhere near what my hair looks like so no idea why this was).

At first, when I woke up, I kinda had to laugh at it. The overall sequence of events was a bit silly. But I found myself thinking more and more about it throughout today. Who will care if I die? Not in a "bad thoughts" kinda way, but genuinely - what kind of footprint am I leaving in this world? Will people know or care that I die? Probably not, and I think ultimately I'm fine with that, but the dream gave me pause and kinda fucked with me today haha.

Can I tell you a secret Tumblr? I have a burner Facebook account that I use to see how my old friends are doing. I am very anti-social media, and as part of that, have no real ways of keeping up with people from previous parts of my life aside from those who have my cell or email, so this gives me an outlet to see how friends I've made over the years are doing now.

Some of them never left my hometown, which kinda bums me out, because when I think of my time there, I couldn't imagine having stayed. But I have to consider that they may really love the place and have strong ties to it. I don't want to sound mean when I say that, but it's just a very small, quiet town that seems like a place you'd stay if you decided not to attend university or a trade school. And that's perfectly okay, too.

Some are thriving, too! A very good friend of mine recently got married, and I'm thrilled for him. I remember late nights at college talking with him outside of his dorm in the night air, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, like the ones you see at Cracker Barrel. We'd talk philosophy, religion, girls, music, and much more. He's an awesome, genuinely kind hearted person and I'm glad to see he's doing well. He's not the only one, there are others who are all out there doing their thing, so to speak. I can't say why, but seeing these people I've known at some points in their lives doing well makes me incredibly happy.

Music is always a wonderful memory and hobby for me. Music is what brought most of my friends I've made and I together. I recently started playing guitar again (thank you Rocksmith 2014) and it has been a blast! I recently acquired a dream guitar of mine for awhile now: a Surf Green Fender MIM Strat. I fucking love it.

Piano is still on hiatus and has been for many, many years. I think it might intimidate me a bit. I eventually will have to bite the bullet and revisit it. I plan on using ABRSM resources to find some appropriate pieces for where I'm currently at. I'm hoping I can ramp back up to SOMEWHERE close to where I was when I went to school for music. I realize it may take years, but I think if I devote myself to it, I can achieve it. Honestly the hardest thing will be getting that dexterity back and remembering scales/fingerings/etc. Hopefully by the time I post next, I can report back with some success on that front!

Hobby coding-wise, I'm starting a new project using a new stack (for me): Java (Spring), Vue, and Postgres. My goal is to create a web application for Veterinarians offices for administrative use. This app will handle invoicing, communications with patients, store pet/owner data, store data regarding prescriptions, surgeries, etc., and probably more I'm forgetting. It's a lot of moving pieces, but it presents a fun challenge on both front-end and back-end, and frankly I've seen the most popular competition (Avimark) and it looks like dogshit. So my plan is to work on this for the foreseeable future, get an MVP up, snoop around my local area and see if anyone is interested in testing it out. This will be a long-term project, though. I have some ramping up to do with Vue as I have not used it since it was still in v1.0, so many things have changed!

Started watching Frieren and that shit kicks ass! The music, the animation, the art style. Only 4 episodes in, but it is easily top 5 anime.

JJK Season 2 has been fucking insane. It started off so crazy, I ended up binge reading the manga up until the end of the Shibuya Incident and holy shit. Seeing the Yuuji vs Choso fight animated was a fucking masterpiece!

Games-wise, I've been deep into WoW classic and FFXIV. FFXIV has always been my go-to, but lately I've been doing WoW and I love the customization that is possible within a class (priests, wars, etc builds can vary wildly and that's awesome!).

And I think that's all I've got! I've been drafting this post for the past 20 minutes-ish. I have to start winding down for today. This may be my longest post so far? Not sure, I'll compare it to my others word count-wise after this and confirm!

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niaswish · 7 months

Text

For Want of Common Sense

Chapter 7 Summary:

In need of a distraction while he walked through his worst nightmare, Wato solves the Quartering Duke Cases. Then finds the detectives.

Chapter 7: As the first Ideal Detective, he was going to lecture Seika on the need for some common sense.

As he walked, Wato went over the information on the Quartering Duke's cases. He needed something to focus on while he walked through the maze that once imprisoned him, and it had been the reason for the DA to gather so many detectives. It would take him at least a few hours to get through to where the others were, even if he met them on the way.

At least this time, he wouldn't have to worry about the sentries.

Wato heard them before he saw them, Posh's voice loud even through the wall. With a smile of relief -the dots had been comforting but nothing could beat seeing them in person- he reached out and activated the hidden door. It slid open with a low grinding noise which drew everyone's attention.

The last bit of his worries slid off his shoulders as he finally saw them. They were all alive. They were... He frowned as he saw Senior. The old man was cuffed and had new bandages over his forearms. Then it clicked and he sighed, it was another piece of evidence confirming his deductions.

He had no more time to think about Senior as something slammed into him, forcing him back a step. "Wato! I thought you died!" Seika hugged him tightly. "How? Your room was completely gone by the time Rowdy smelt the smoke! How are you alive?"

Wato hesitated a moment before reaching out to rub her back soothingly. "And here I thought you weren't as much of a crybaby as back then." He tried to keep a teasing tone to his words but he was worried about her.

"Back then?" Seika suddenly jerked away, eyes red from barely held tears but firmly searching. "Did you...?"

"Get my memories back?" Wato finished with a nod. "Some. Enough to know we're going to need to talk about things once we get out."

Before he could say anything else, someone started clapping from the back of the group. "How touching." Renegade declared dramatically, "As disappointing as I find your survival, Incompetent, perhaps you could explain how you managed to escape the flames?"

"Renegade!" Workaholic snapped at the man. Posh just a moment behind in her recrimination.

Still, the interruption was enough for Seika to step away from him and regain her composure. As she turned to deal with the brewing argument Renegade had started, Armor and Rowdy came over. "Glad ta see ya alive, Incompetent." Rowdy smiled awkwardly before suddenly bowing to Wato. "Sorry for not being able to protect ya!"

Wato was taken aback by her words, doubly so when Armor followed suit a moment later. "What? No! It's fine. I'm sure you did everything you could." Wato scrambled to wave their apology off. "If anything, I should be thanking both of you for protecting everyone since then. I'm sure it can't have been easy." That seemed to do the trick as Rowdy and Armor started sputtering that they were just doing their jobs.

A few minutes later, Wato found himself explaining what he'd been doing since last night. "I survived the fire last night because I wasn't in the manor to begin with. Long story short, I snuck out of the manor shortly after checking in on Mystic to call for help from the DA."

" 'Snuck out but how?' The girl demanded more information from the source of her confusion."

Wato smiled, "The same way I first entered the manor." He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him at the blank stares the detectives were given him. "Honestly, none of you have any common sense."

He turned to address Bookworm and Techie specifically, "Both of you should learn from this, and work on always keeping up with what is considered common sense, unlike these guys."

Posh's outraged demands for an explanation was ignored as Wato returned to his explanation. "Look, none of you ever asked me how I got into the manor, even after I told you that the main door was part of a trap meant to kill Senior and whoever opened it in the first place." He turned to the old man and Downtown, "Which was part of a suicide pact between you two, right?"

"How?" Downtown gasped.

"Because it was too similar to the Quartering Duke's cases. All of which were mutually assured suicides." Wato's declaration stunned the group.

Seika's smile was proud and affectionate as she murmured, "I knew you could do it." In a louder voice, she asked, "Do you have proof of this?"

Wato shook his head, "Not yet but I know how to get conclusive proof. And that's on top of whatever testimony those two are going to give about their involvement with the Duke." He motioned towards Downtown and Senior. The rest of the group, minus Renegade, suddenly started demanding explanations from him until Seika raised her voice to put an end to it.

When she motioned for him to continue, Wato did so. "We can discuss the Quartering Duke case on our way back. To finish my explanation, I managed to get to your boat and use the radio to contact the DA. They should have sent a rescue team by now, though I have no idea when they might arrive. I... kinda panicked when I noticed the smoke and realized the manor was burning. I told them as much, then bolted, only to find the manor more or less destroyed by the time I arrived." He scratched his cheek in embarrassment.

"Well, I am very glad you were not hurt." Workaholic sighed. "However, I have a lot of questions to ask you as we walk. So please don't stray too far, alright?"

Wato ducked his head in a quick nod, he figured something like that would happen. He could hear Seika giggling at his situation by his side, yet couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. He was just glad to have found everyone safely.

#tantei bokumetsu #process of elimination #Wato has common sense

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kurokens · 3 years

Text

You are a monster from Hell | Gojo Satoru

anime/manga: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru

words: 1.1k

pronouns: none

request: "hey~~~ can i req an angst with gojo where the reader and him like each other but he pushes the reader away by being mean, you can come up with whatever reason you think will be best for gojo being mean UwU"

notes: hey! i'm so sorry this took me so long to write, i made it really angsty and it may have not been what you were expecting, im sorry... I hope you will still like it! again, still not an native english speaker so sorry for any mistakes.

not proof read

song rec: wrote this listening to this magnificient cover

genre: angst

warnings: a lot of angst, death, gojo is a fucking asshole, my writing

The first time Gojo met you, he thought you were the nicest person he had ever met, always so polite, unless the person didn’t deserve your kindness, and your smile always seemed to be illuminating the entire place. So, it was no surprise that he found himself gravitating towards you whenever you were in the room, searching for the warmth you would provide him just by being the amazing person you were. It wasn’t long before he realised that his feelings for you were growing stronger, and he wasn’t dumb, he could see that it was the same for you. The way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, or how you would always get out of your way to find new sweets for him to taste. Gojo knew that all he had to do was to confess to you and you two could be together, but he couldn't. Something was scaring him, maybe the concept of love, or just the thought of not being able to protect you and losing you to a curse. And this was enough to completely change the way he acted towards you, he went to being the nicest when you were around, to a complete jerk every time you were in a hearing distance from him.

“Heard you failed to exorcise yet another curse, quite a shame for a special grade 1 sorcerer don’t you think?” The white-haired man said in a taunting manner.

“Not now Satoru, I’m not in the mood.” You replied, truly not in the right state of mind to deal with another day of the annoying teacher bullying you.

“Oh, what’s that? Is someone moody because they couldn’t get rid of a weak ass curse, and had to get saved yet once again by the one and only Gojo Satoru?” He mocked you once more, looking down on you while floating above where the curse once was.

“Satoru, I said not now.” You started losing your temper all while trying to keep applying pressure on your wound, all you wanted was to go back to the school, get treated and sleep. But Gojo apparently had other plans.

“Why? Are you too scared to face the truth? About how you’re not, and never were fit to be a jujutsu sorcerer, and yet you keep being stubborn, and risk your life while you know you should just quit.” He continued, not once asking if you were okay.

“Stop it, please.” You barely managed to let out between broken sobs, but it didn’t stop him and he just kept going on and about how you were an incompetent sorcerer, and you just tuned him out, too tired and used to his harsh words to care anymore.

In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you were crying. Was it because Gojo’s words were hurting you, or was it because deep down you knew he was right? You knew you never really were cut to be a jujutsu sorcerer, and you never wanted to. Yet, here you were, bleeding out from the injury the curse inflicted you, having to listen to the person you once liked tell you how you sucked at your job and how you were sure to lose your life one day, and he was right.

‘What a pitiful way to die.’ You told yourself, sitting yourself down against a wall, Gojo’s voice gradually fading to a mere buzzing sound in your ear. And while you were slowly losing grip of your consciousness you wondered to yourself how the two of you ended like this, you used to be so close.

“And how is my favourite human doing today?” You asked after feeling a presence behind you.

“I’m honoured by this title. I would say I’m doing amazing now that I’m with you. How is the second best sorcerer doing?” Gojo replied, throwing an arm around your shoulder to walk with you.

“Well, you already answered that one.” You teased, laughing when you heard him gasp right in your ear.

“I would have you know, that I am the best sorcerer there is. Apologise right now or face my wrath.” The extravagant teacher urged you with a pout forming on his face.

“Okay here, would that be enough for you, your majesty?” You laughed while offering some sweets you brought back from your last mission.

“Hm, let me taste them and then I will decide your fate.” The sorcerer answered, taking one of the treats from your hand.

“You’re a man child.” Shaking your head at his antics.

"But that's how you like me." The tall man teased, sticking out his tongue like a 4 years-old would do.

“Cat got your tongue now? Can’t give even your snarky comments anymore?” The white-haired man haughtily said, shaking his head at your lack of reply. "And I am the man child, you're pathetic."

“Your senior is talking to you, the least you could do is answer you know, that’s called common decency.” He insisted, only to be once again met with a morbid silence.

“Stop ignoring me now, you’re being childish. You should be used to all of this by now, you’re not telling me that this was the last straw? Are you that weak?” The jujutsu sorcerer mocked.

“Hey, I’m being for real now. Answer me.” He tried once more, slightly growing worried at your lack of response.

Gojo slowly landed a few feet away from you, calling your name restlessly only to be met with silence each time. Before he could even think it through, he was crouching next to you, shaking your body in hope to hear you say anything to him. The strongest sorcerer of them all crumbling down at the sight of your bloody body.

“Please, say anything, please talk to me, just say you’re not dead, please.” His words came out rushed, his panic evident for anyone to see, but he couldn't care less, not when your life was on the line. “I’m begging you please, anything. Please not you too, please don't leave me as well.” His movements were frantics.

Part of him knew his actions were useless, he could definitely feel the weight of your lifeless body in his arms, and how cold your skin was growing, but another part of him refused to believe it. And the reason was simple, he could have saved you, he arrived in time, he could have taken you to Shoko, he could have definitely prevented this, but he didn’t. You died, and it was all his fault. The sole reason he started acting this way towards you, his biggest fear, actually came true, and he was the cause of it.

Gojo Satoru was always told he was the strongest sorcerer, that he would save a lot of lives with his six eyes, but right now he couldn't see it. Not when he couldn't protect you out of all people. Gojo wasn't the greatest sorcerer, he was a monster from hell.

#saturn's writing #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

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shelby-love · 3 years

Text

HANK VOIGHT

Dating the Big Boss.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): mentions of r*pe and p*dophilia (it's a tough case)

Author's note: I had a lot of fun writing this one. Especially since everyone is a lot older so I could play with maturity a little. Hope you enjoyed and sorry for the long wait! I'm just starting to get back to writing.

"What's up with him?" Erin whispered when she saw Voight barge into the unit's personal quarters. Hank didn't look at any of them as he strode into his office with a frown on his face.

He was angry, that's for sure.

Still hot on his tail, your senior detective self arrived right on que with him. Every pair of eyes was on you, knowing that you were the only one who had magic to calm him. You waved your hands, dismissing their burning questions all at once. You just crossed your fingers for them all to see and walked into your lover's office without knocking.

"Hank let's talk about this," You approached him carefully.

"There's nothing to talk about here Y/N."

"Yes, there is." You sat at the edge of his desk casually, although your heart was still racing upon hearing the news delivered to you this morning. "We have a serial rapist and pedophile out there. It's okay to be affected by it honey."

"Well I don't have any leads on this case," He told you strictly, although the anxiety was visible on his shoulders. He had his back turned to you and face focused on the city in front of him. The wheels turning and working in his brain were practically visible for the whole world to see.

"Then maybe we should look into our contacts and see who can help us," You proposed quietly. "This is far from over Hank. We can still turn this around."

You could see him nod, which instantly calmed you down. "Come here."

He, as surprising as it may sound, listened to your words, and walked over to your arms.

He placed his rough hands on your thighs while you ran your hands over his arms soothingly. Eventually your cold hands grasped his face as you gave him a soft look, "Do you want me to brief the team?"

"Thank you," You giggled, still not used to those words leaving his mouth.

The two of you shared a kiss before you left him alone with his thoughts to brief the team. Upon joining them you felt tension rise again, it made you remember what you were meant to do at that moment. "Is he alright?" Erin asked you quietly. You only managed to nod your head before ushering her to her seat.

Then you took a stand in front of them, a file filled with gore pictures secure in your hand. "A few days ago we found a female that was beaten, raped and murdered just outside the Riverwalk area. She was found in a dumpster just outside the Belle Hotel. Roughly 9 years old and unfortunately not the only case."

You spoke with authority that matched Voight's to a certain level. As a senior to all of them it was your job to deliver the details loud and clear. "There have been a few more cases similar to this one. Brody Thompson declared as missing just over a week ago was found two days ago in an area like this one. His left pinky was cut of just like the first victim's..." You placed a picture of a little boy on the board.

"Same MO?" Erin asked, scribbling things vigorously into her notepad. You nodded sadly.

"Are all of the victims children?" Burgess asked from the other side of the room. When you bobbed your head to her in confirmation you could practically see the heartbreak that struck her.

"We believe that we're dealing with a serial rapist and pedophile." You sighed.

"The MO is unique, and it doesn't look like he's been very careful with where he dumps the bodies," Jay notes. "It should be easy to find him since he's bound to make a mistake."

"That's where it gets tricky," You tell him, appreciating his quickness in noticing the details. "These are only cases reported in Chicago within the last few weeks. If we expand the search, which we did, there are dozens of other reported cases all around Ohio, Virginia, Rhode Island and lastly… New York."

A cool cloak of silence fell over the room once you've finished marking the spots. "Some date back to 10 years so we're looking for someone in his early to mid-forties. Maybe even older. Virginia State Police was only able to give us cases within the last 5 years, and we've hit four matches so far."

"Why are they handing the case to us? NYPD should be able to handle this." It was Alvin who had asked that question to which you opened your mouth to answer immediately.

But Hank, your boyfriend and partner, was quicker.

"Because we're the most qualified to do it," He explained, voice booming across the room. He joined your side and placed his hand on your hip; it was that after all, only the members of this very unit knew about you two. "Now, I've pulled out some old contacts from New York. They should be arriving here on the first jet they get their hands on. Until then I want you guys everywhere."

When his gaze slid to yours a twinkle of determination shone within his irises, "Let's get this son of a bitch."

***

"Sargent Benson," you greet the woman that just descended the stairs of the jet. The only people on the tarmac are the two of you and the officers you brought here. "Thank you for coming on a such short notice."

"Voight sounded stressed when he called. Is he alright?" She asked you quietly, matching your footing and walking toward the black SUV next to you.

You shook your head, "This case has been really hard on us is all. It's not every day we have cases like this one."

"Well, our job isn't pretty." She agreed. "Rape cases are already hard on their own."

"But when it's kids…"

"Do you have kids, detective?"

"None that are my own."

"Then I guess you're lucky."

"I suppose so."

***

The drive back to the district wasn't all that comfortable. Benson carried an air of importance around her that would get some rookies sweating with nerves.

Decades in this line of work showed just how good of a match you were for her.

"Hey Trudy," You greeted your friend in passing. Benson was hot on your heels as you lead her upstairs.

Upon reaching your destination you felt her walk straight pass you into Hank's arms. She brushed her hand against the lapels of his jackets when she asked him how he was doing. You felt your chest rise with jealousy but that diminished quickly when you saw him lead her to his office.

"You're not seeing that?"

"Seeing what Jay?"

The younger man narrowed his eyes at you, "She's obviously into him."

You sent him a glare. "We're not kids Jay, we're adults that lived long enough to see what's worthy being petty about and what's not."

"If you say so."

You rolled your eyes, but still went to retrieve your man, nevertheless.

***

You knocked twice before Voight let you in. "Sorry detective, this is a private conversation."

It was Benson who had told you this. You fought an eyebrow that wanted to rise.

"Y/N runs this unit as much as I do," Your boyfriend interfered. "She can stay."

You smiled, that not being able to suppress. "What do you have?"

"A possible location," She told you, still eerie about you being there.

You perked your eyes at that, taking your usual seat in Voight's office. Hank came to stand behind your chair, hands on the back of it. Olivia eyed you quietly and came to retrieve some papers. With her back turned to you both you turned your head, eyes travelling to Voight. Silently, you asked about what was going on. He only shook his head and pressed his hand against your shoulder, rubbing it in comfort.

Olivia saw the interaction and raised her brow.

***

You held your M16 in your hands securely. Officers were bustling all around you, greeting you in passing. The house in front of you looked like a fortress having god knows what protecting it. "We don't go in by force. There are still kids inside."

While the members of your unit nodded in agreement, a few voiced their distaste.

"We go in now. Cut off his ability to retaliate."

"I understand Olivia, but-"

"Sergeant."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm your sergeant. Let's keep it that way."

You gritted your teeth, seemingly offended by the fact that she had used the chain of command to put you in your place.

"My sergeant is Voight. I answer only to him," You corrected her. "I just want those kids to come out of there alive, and that's not going to be possible if we barge in. He'll panic. Kill them instantly."

"Why don't you go in then?" She proposed. "Scope and give us inside information so we can work our way around it. You find the kids and let us do the rest."

You thought about it. "I need –"

"Nothing." Your sergeant appeared by your side, eyes hard and body as still as a rock. Unlike Benson, you could see his anger. You almost reached out to calm him. "You're not doing it."

"This could be our shot." You told him.

He only shook his head, "Trust me it's not. A word, sergeant?"

She nodded and followed him.

You watched as the distance became bigger.

Jay and Adam came to stand next to you, Adam at your right side and Jay at your left.

"Holy hell." Adam muttered.

"She almost got you killed." Jay commented after him.

"Holy hell indeed guys."

***

"Hank I'm trying to do right by these kids!"

"The hell you are," Hank outright yelled at her. As the only person at the scene that had guts to stand up to her, he took the chance to put her in her place. "The way I see it you want Y/N in direct danger with no back up."

She stayed silent.

"You don't get to boss around my unit. Especially not my most trusted detective."

"Oh, come on Hank." She sighed, not quite believing what she was hearing.

"You're here to assist. The case is still mine so don't get ahead of yourself."

And with that, he left her to be.

"We're waiting for him. SWAT is on standby."

You smiled gratefully at him before mouthing a thank you.

***

"You did great today," You complimented him, smiling from ear to ear. All the children that went missing within the last few weeks have been found alive. Wounded yes, but alive. And the man was, much to your satisfaction, shot dead when he tried to run. By none other than yourself. Being able to put down a monster like him brought you satisfaction.

It brought Hank pride too.

He pulled you in by the hip and rested your back against the wall. Chicago was lightly lit up outside, bringing peaceful atmosphere to the district. Your fingers brushed against his rigid jawline; eyes locked with his.

Kisses between you two were shared ever so often at work. While you would both usually leave to the privacy of your home, today was a day you both needed reassurances immediately.

Your lips were pressed together and moving in a way possible for only people with experience.

When someone opened the door without knocking, you pushed him away in fright. Hank didn't even stumble as he narrowed his eyes at the person who had intruded.

"Sergeant Benson?!" You shrieked, cheeks flushing a bright red.

"It all makes sense now." She mused.

MASTERLIST

#hank voight #hank voight fanfiction #hank voight imagine #hank voight imagines #hank voight x reader #chicago #Chicago PD #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years

Text

THE SINS OF THE FATHER - a Molly York story PART 2

(gif by @pajamasecrets)

PROLOGUE - PART 1

MASTERLIST

Characters: Dave York, Molly York (Carol and Alice, too)

Words: 3500

Rating: T

Warnings: character death (canon), loss of a parent, angst, training your daughter to be an assassin?

Summary: After contacting a mysterious acquaintance of her later father's, Molly York learns more about the man. And about his death.

a/n: I'm a little obsessed with this fic right now. I love writing soft!Dave and his daughter. I know this isn't the mean daddy Dave smut we usually love, but I'd love to hear from you if you're enjoying this!

Thanks @purplepascal042 for helping me with this part! Love you, B!

/ / / / /

Dave is exhausted from jet lag, sprawled on the bed, still in his shirt and slacks. The last job took a lot out of him. He needs a shower but his body won’t budge.

“Daddy are you sleeping?” Molly asks from the doorway in a stage whisper.

“What’s going on?”

“Will you help me with my homework?” she asks. She’s clutching a worksheet and a pencil.

“Sure. Come here,” he says and she climbs onto the bed beside him. “What’ve we got?”

“I have to interview a grown up about their job. For Career Day,” she explains.

Dave looks over the page, his tired eyes barely focusing. “Did you ask Mommy to do this?”

“I want you to do it,” Molly insists.

He lets Molly read him each prompt and he answers as simply as possible. She dutifully writes down each answer in scrawling pencil.

“How do you spell ‘investigation?’” she asks.

“Sound it out,” he encourages. He’s so burnt, he’s not sure he can manage to spell it either.

“‘What is your favorite part about your job?’” she reads.

Dave sighs longer than he means to. “Coming home to my family.”

“No, Daddy! It has to be about work!”

The address Capra had given Molly was a boarded up movie theater off the highway about 30 miles outside of DC. Molly told Carol that she was shopping for dorm decor when she’d left the house full of nerves. She’d gotten so good at lying, sometimes she believed her own.

The parking lot was empty, the cracks in its pavement filled in with grass, punctuated by street lights every few yards. Molly had expected to meet at a coffee shop or a restaurant, not some out of the way place. She was sitting on the trunk of her car, her leg bouncing, when a black BMW pulled up. The woman driving it looked to be in her late 40s, her hair pulled back neatly. When she stepped out of her car, she pulled her sunglasses down her nose and eyed Molly up and down.

“How old are you now? 20?”

“18,” Molly told her.

“You’re the older one?”

“Yeah,” Molly said.

Capra approached her and she hopped down from the bumper.

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” she asked.

Molly hesitated. She had her pepper spray in her back pocket and she was much younger, probably quicker than this woman. But Dad wouldn’t give her Capra’s number if he didn’t trust her. Still, Molly decided to lean against her car and keep her distance.

“You know a lot about me for a stranger,” Molly replied.

Capra grinned. She nodded her head back and said, “Walk with me.”

Molly paced the pavement with her, glancing at the woman beside her. She was slim with sharp features, whispers of frown lines in her face. Capra offered Molly a cigarette which she declined.

“Is Capra your first name?”

“It’s what my friends call me,” she replied.

There was a darkness in her tone that made Molly edgy.

“Did you work with my dad at the agency?” Molly asked.

That would explain some things. But Capra laughed.

“No.” Capra observed Molly and then her lip twitched up into a wistful smile. “Jeez I bet everybody tells you you look just like him.”

Molly’s stomach churned.

“Were you and my dad-”

“No,” Capra said. “God no. Your dad was...a complicated guy but not when it came to his family.”

Molly nodded, not sure if she felt relieved or if that just gave her more questions.

“So how did you know each other?” She asked.

“It’s a long story,” Capra said, scratching her forehead. “We did some freelance work together.”

Capra made some small talk, asking Molly where she was headed for college, what she’d be studying. Molly had so many questions of her own she could only manage short answers. Finally, she had to ask the question that had been nagging at her the loudest.

“Do you know what happened to my dad? How he died?” She’d stopped walking.

“I know the same as you,” Capra said.

“Which is?” Molly asked. She wasn’t going to accept such a vague answer.

Capra gave a wry smile. She flicked her cigarette butt to the ground and twisted it into the pavement under her shoe. Molly’s heart sped up. She’d caught Capra in a lie.

“You’re a clever one,” she said.

“It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Molly asked. She searched Capra’s face for an answer. “Please.”

“I wasn’t there,” she replied.

“But you know. Please. I need to know.”

Molly felt like she was holding her breath. Capra looked away, then back at Molly.

“You don’t want to know,” Capra said.

“I do,” Molly said. She balled her hands into fists so she didn’t shake Capra by her shoulders.

“He wouldn’t want you to know.”

“How do you know that?” Molly spat. “What the hell do you know about him? I’ve never even heard of you. You don’t know.”

“Trust me, there’s plenty about your father you didn’t know,” Capra snapped back.

Molly was so frustrated she wanted to cry. Instead she let out a growl and turned back towards her car.

“Fuck this!” She stomped away.

She’d crossed half of the parking lot when she heard Capra call after her. Molly squared her shoulders, tried to compose herself, and turned around to glare at the woman. Capra was clutching the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut. Finally she dropped her hand with an exasperated sigh and pulled out another cigarette. Capra lit it as she closed the distance between them, blowing smoke out of her mouth and shaking her head. She held the cigarette out to Molly.

“You’re going to want one of these. And you’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dave parks the car in the driveway. Molly is sitting in the passenger seat, still grinning from her first experience at the shooting range.

“Now remember,” Dave says before he opens the door, “this is our secret. So if Mom asks where we were, just tell her our cover story.”

She nods eagerly but then her lips twist into a thoughtful frown.

“It’s lying,” she says.

Dave feels guilty for a moment. Deceit is practically second nature for him but what kind of father teaches his daughter to be dishonest?

“But it’s a white lie,” she justifies to herself. “Right?”

Dave kisses the crown of her head.

“It’s alright, baby. Everybody has secrets.”

Molly felt dizzy. The story Capra told her made her feel like she’d gone from a tilt-a-whirl into a funhouse. Everything was distorted and she was upside down. Already, she was replaying her memories of Dad with this new context tinging them like a dark filter.

Dad kissing her on the forehead before bed. Hoisting her onto his shoulders on the 4th of July. Singing along to “Baba O’Riley” and drumming on the steering wheel. Dad killing people. Earning blood money. Dying by someone else’s hand.

“It’s a lot,” Capra said. They were sitting in Molly’s parked car, the windows rolled down, the sound of the highway traffic washing through like white noise. “But he did it for you.”

Molly’s eyes flicked to her. She hadn't asked for anybody to die.

“He was trying to take care of his family,” Capra clarified.

She let Molly sit in silence for a while as she sorted out what she’d just heard. Molly felt like she was grieving him all over again. Except this time she mourned the father she knew.

“My mom-"

“She never knew,” Capra said.

Molly nodded weakly.

“It was a secret because he loved you.”

Molly felt a tear slip from her eye. She didn’t want to feel hurt. She didn’t like feeling deceived. She wiped her face and set her jaw.

“What happened to Mac?” she asked.

She remembered meeting the man who had killed her father. Everything that had happened just before he died was so clear in her memory. She could still see Mac’s face, his friendly smile.

He’d seemed like such a nice guy. She remembered asking him a load of questions as he rode with them to school and he’d laughed and told Carol what a bright girl she was.

It sickened her to know he’d been right there. So close. And she was so small and clueless. Had Dad known what was coming?

“He lives up in New England,” Capra said. “Retired.”

Molly turned to Capra, anger burning in her chest.

“He’s still alive?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” Capra said.

Molly looked back out the windshield, took a deep breath. Retired. Dad would never get to retire. Go golfing or build model cars or whatever old men did.

“And you do...what my dad did?” she asked.

Capra didn’t confirm or deny it.

“You can’t discuss this. With anyone,” she informed her.

Molly nodded again. She wouldn’t dream of telling Carol this. She would protect her from the truth just like dad had.

“I’m sorry about this,” Capra said before they parted ways. “You’ve got my number. Give me a call if you ever need anything.”

As Molly drove home, thoughts solidified in her mind.

Dad was a killer. But he’d been a killer before, in the Marines. He’d still loved her. He went to her karate matches and read her bedtime stories. She might have lived her whole life without ever finding out what Dave York really was.

If he hadn’t died.

He could have taught her how to drive. Taken photos before senior prom. Visited colleges with her.

He would have danced with her at her wedding. Helped her fix up her first home. Held her future children in his arms.

If he hadn’t been murdered.

And what about mom? She wouldn’t have worried about calling plumbers and taking her car to the mechanic. Run herself ragged getting Alice to dance class and Molly to archery competitions. She wouldn't have had to sleep alone every night.

If it hadn’t been for Robert McCall.

Molly could absolve her father’s sins. But Mac she would never forgive.

“Young lady, open this door right now,” Dave barks.

“You told me to go to my room! I’m in my room!” Molly snaps through her bedroom door.

She’s given Carol lip all morning and he’s had enough of the attitude. Every day, his sweet little girl is fading more and more into a stubborn teenager.

“You do not slam doors in this house.”

“Leave me alone!” Molly yells. “I hate you!”

Dave knows that she’s angry and she’s got a bad temper. That these outbursts are the first signs of puberty rearing its ugly head. But, still, her words punch him right in the gut.

“If that’s how you’re going to speak to your father, then you’re grounded,” he manages.

“Good!”

Molly had been reserved ever since Dave’s death but, after meeting Capra, she felt her melancholy harden into bitterness. She went through college. She didn’t make a lot of friends or date many people. She studied, she practiced her marksmanship, she trained.

As soon as Molly turned 18, she was back at the gun range. It had been a long time since Dad had taken her for target practice but she was pleasantly surprised by her grouping. She’d had a good teacher.

She liked everything about shooting. Not just because it had been a secret she shared with her father. She liked the ritual– loading the magazine, carefully picking up the gun. She liked the focus– taking a deep breath and looking down the barrel. She liked the power.

Mac’s grin stayed fixed in her mind. She thought about it when she pulled herself from bed at five in the morning to do push ups. She pictured it when she worked herself into a sweat at the gym’s punching bag. She imagined it when she put holes through the head of the target at the shooting range.

She didn’t think she’d have the chance to do that in real life. But she dreamed about it almost every night.

Molly had always stayed close to home but she visited less and less. Alice started college in New York so Carol had an empty nest. Molly could hardly bring herself to visit her mother anymore.

Molly had always been good at keeping secrets but this one was the most difficult. Every time she saw Carol, Molly imagined how devastated she would be if she knew the truth. It had become too painful pretending and so Molly simply avoided most situations where she would have to.

Capra stayed in touch, calling every so often to check in. It was clear to Molly that she felt responsible for this angst but there was no one else to talk to about it.

Some people were driven by ambition or lust or creativity. During college, it felt like Molly ran on anger. It helped her concentrate, to work hard. She graduated at the top of her class and had no trouble landing a job that paid well.

Adulthood was different.

Dave had been wise enough to set up trusts for the girls so Molly hadn’t racked up student debt. But now she had rent and bills and car insurance. She couldn’t stuff herself with fries from the dining hall and call that a meal. She had to work long hours for a demanding boss. She had to take care of herself. She had to go through the monotony of life.

When it came down to it, she just didn’t have the energy to be mad anymore.

Molly still held a flame inside. Mainly, she kicked herself for not getting to the gym more often. She hated that she was moving on. She had dulled as she got older, as she followed the news every day and saw that the world was a shitty place where justice was scarce.

Molly was in her childhood bedroom, going through layers of old school papers, polaroids from her friends’ bat mitzvahs, and certificates from karate tournaments like an archeological dig.

Carol was finally selling the family home. Downsizing. The girls were there to help clean things out, decide what should go to the Salvation Army and what would be going home with them.

It pained Molly to think about the house with another family living inside it. Even now in her late twenties, she still walked in the door and expected Dad to come around the corner from the kitchen, to say, “Hey, kiddo!” the way he used to. Once the house was sold, she would never experience that sensation again.

It was strange, Molly thought, how you could live somewhere for all of your life and then, one day, you’re locked out forever.

Carol was moving to a two bedroom condo closer to the city so she couldn’t take all of this junk with her. Molly packed a bankers box with some trophies and a few of her favorite books and brought it down to the kitchen.

Alice was leaned against the island, lazily sorting through cookbooks. Although the day called for packing boxes and hauling trash bags, she was dressed to the nines. Molly wondered if her sister owned casual clothes anymore. Alice had gotten a job at a fashion magazine and, although it seemed like she was low in the pecking order, she acted as though she was Anna Wintour herself.

“That’s all you’re taking?” Carol asked, eyeing the box.

Molly shrugged. She already had already taken the things that were most precious to her long ago.

“You know, Mom, if you don’t want to move, I can help you with the mortgage,” Molly said.

Molly had been saving up to buy a place of her own but she would happily give that up for her mother. Nowhere would ever feel like home the way this house did.

“It’s time,” Carol said. “I don’t need this much house to myself.”

Mom didn’t look her age but the bags under her eyes had grown more defined. She’d stopped coloring the streak of grey hair that had come in at her temple.

“It’s a good idea,” Alice jumped in. “Mom needs to get out there again. She hasn’t met any guys in the suburbs.”

The idea of Mom dating always made Molly bristle. She didn’t want Carol to be lonely but couldn’t picture her with a man who wasn’t Dad. The same way she couldn’t see her living in a different house.

“I’m going to work on the study,” Molly said and retreated to the home office.

This had been Dad’s room and, even though it had accumulated a mess of things over the years— old workout tapes, discarded hobbies, books about tidying— it still felt like his sanctuary. Molly picked through a shelf and found Dad’s high school yearbook. She hoped Mom wouldn’t mind if she took that home with her. She liked pictures of her father in his youth, skinny and bright eyed with scruffy hair.

Molly sat on the floor in front of the built-ins and fished out a few baskets and shoe boxes from the cabinets. The first one contained family photos. Vacation in the Bahamas, Alice’s 4th birthday party, Molly dressed as a ninja for Halloween. She went through each one with great ceremony. Molly already had a bunch of photos of her and Dad so she tucked these back in their box and put them in the ‘keep’ pile.

The next box was filled with cards. Sympathy cards. Molly sighed as she went into them. One from Carol’s coworkers with a rose on the front. Sending you comfort. A small card that looked like it had come with a floral arrangement from cousin John. He’ll be missed.

There was a card with a painting of a serene beach scene. With deepest sympathy. Molly opened it and read the short message.

So sorry for your loss. It feels like we’ve lost one of the family. Send my love to the girls. - Mac

The cold rage that had burnt out reignited in Molly’s stomach, her entire body so tight she almost shook. She could feel tears sting in her eyes.

That motherfucker. That fucking asshole had the audacity to send a sympathy card. To send his love. That piece of fucking shit. Molly almost crumpled the card in her hands, as if she could wring his neck through it, but just then Alice wandered in. Molly dropped the card into her lap.

“What are these?” her sister asked, crouching down and grabbing a photo. “Aw! You looked so cute!”

Molly swallowed hard and tried to slow her heart rate as Alice sifted through the pictures.

“Christ, why does Mom still have these?” Alice complained, picking up one of the sympathy cards.

“They’re for Dad,” Molly said.

“It’s not like he got to read them,” Alice replied.

She tossed it back onto the floor.

“Why are you always such a bitch about Dad?” Molly asked, the animosity she’d discovered in Mac’s card spilling out of her.

“Sorry I don’t worship him.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he was ever around. And when he was, he spent all of his time with you.”

Alice crossed her arms and looked away self-consciously. Molly felt a jab in her heart. She knew Dad loved Alice. He’d done awful things so that she could take dance lessons and go off to a good school where she could study whatever she liked. Things that eventually got him killed. But Molly couldn’t tell her sister any of that so she just stared at Alice with her mouth half open.

“Girls, when you’re finished up there, lunch is ready!” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Call me a bitch…” Alice grumbled as she left the room.

Molly pushed the cards into the ‘Trash’ pile.

“Ow! Daddy! Molly hit me!” Alice whines.

“You hit me first!” Molly growls.

Dave glances at them in the rear view mirror.

“Is that true?” he asks.

“No!” Alice says.

He knows she’s lying. Molly’s sitting there with her arms crossed as Alice clutches her elbow dramatically, lips set in a pout.

He knows what he’s supposed to say. Some bullshit about being the bigger person, two wrongs don’t make a right. And if Carol was in the car maybe he would. But the world doesn’t work like that.

“If you hit somebody,” he warns, “don’t be surprised if they hit you back.”

Molly took Mac’s card with her. It was sitting on her passenger seat when she pulled away, Carol standing on the lawn, waving. Send my love to the girls. Every time she thought about it, she got so pissed off she wanted to puke.

She couldn’t even wait to get home before she was dialing Capra, one hand gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached.

“What’s up, kid?” Capra asked.

“I need to find Mac.”

/ / / / / part three soon!

@pascalslittlebrat @purplepascal042 @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorian @danniburgh @originallaura @tuskens-mando @221bshrlocked @wyn-dixie @goddessinwolfskin @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @stevie75 @evyiione @buckwildbarnes @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @silverwolf319 @killermonkeys45 @velia27 @anxiousandboujee @amneris21 @green-socks @pedro4ever @pedrocentric @kesskirata

#dave york #dave york pit #dave york fic #pedro pascal characters #molly york #nothing but respect for my queen carol york

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brillemos · 2 years

Text

So I made it through my first week at my new job! Rambly thoughts below

While I complained before about having to learn how to use MacOS, it's been mostly okay. Somewhat irritating at times, but manageable nonetheless. It'll still probably take another week or two before I feel competent at using it though lol

The main reason I'm posting at all is because... when I applied, I didn't really pay much attention to the level of the job (like junior vs mid-level vs senior etc), I remember seeing the job description and being like yeah I can do some of that so I applied. but now that I've started, it's clear they hired me on as a senior which includes certain responsibilities, like mentoring someone who's job title is at a lower level, but our actual experience level is about the same? and this freaks me out a lot because I am at MOST mid-level, but deep down I still feel like a junior. I wanted to join this team so that I could learn more and start feeling like more than a junior lol so this is a huge yikes. But I keep having to remind myself that I went through the interview process with them, if they hired me at this level that means they think I can perform at this level. but it's still insane! lol I haven't felt impostor syndrome for a long time but now it's back full throttle lmao.

ALSO at one point in the past week my boss said that HR told him I had applied through one of their diversity initiatives (something like that) and I drew a complete blank and just said I remembered applying but not how I found out about it. but it was bugging me so I dug deep into my Chrome history to figure it out and holy shit. So there is a conference highlighting women, esp queer women, in tech called Lesbians Who Tech. I went to it in San Francisco back in 2018. anyway they had advertised an online conference so I signed up for it (and ultimately forgot to check it out) but part of this online conference was an online job board specific to that event. I searched for Salesforce and THAT is how I found out about this job. I thought I found it on LinkedIn lmao I basically low-key came out to HR by doing that and I didn't spare it a second thought until now. unbelievable. anyway the company also has diversity groups so I joined the LGBT one as well as one for women and one for disabilities (not sure I got added to that one yet, I never disclosed that I technically am disabled via my mental illness and substance abuse disorder, but they said allies are welcome in these groups) so this may be the first time I ever actually come out at work. but only because I basically already did lmao

Suffice to say that this is a pretty big change from my last job! Not just in feeling that I can be more open about myself (though I won't talk much about my mental health history lol) but at my last job I was bored out of my mind and felt like they weren't following best practices and that my skills were degrading. Basically the opposite of all of those is happening at my new job, which is basically what I wished for, so once again I am burned by "be careful what you wish for" lmao but I am going to take it one day at a time and just do the best I can do and no matter what happens, that'll have to be enough!

#bri speaks

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

Text

Bonfires

Demigod AU Ficlet [4]

Theo

"Tomorrow evening is Capture the Flag."

Theo draws his eyebrows at the new guy with green eyes and strong jaw as he addresses the demigods gathered for the nightly campfire. He looks only a little older than some of the senior counselors in Camp Half-Blood, but it's the first time Theo has seen him since arriving almost a week ago.

Chiron is at the side with Mr. D -the camp's director- listening as the new guy takes the center. Well, at least, Chiron is. Mr. D -also known as Dionysus, the god of wine and madness- is slumped in his seat, looking bored of the world as he takes sip after sip of coke, done with being sober. Theo sympathizes; he's the god of wine who is forbidden to lick a drop of it. It's negating his entire existence.

When Theo first found out that an actual Olympian runs the camp (as punishment from Zeus), he almost didn't believe it. Then, he woke up one day to half of the Hermes and Apollo cabins dangling in grapevines because they got caught playing tricks against each other that ultimately resulted in children of Hermes spouting the worst haikus and children of Apollo screaming from itch powder. Mr. D despises haikus and over-the-top screeching.

He's also frequently away to Olympus nowadays, for some reason, so Theo's wariness around the god ebbed just a little. The Ares cabin also likes pulling stunts on the Apollo bunch; they are too golden and dramatic.

Theo leans to Fred on his right and nods toward the talking figure, "Who's the new guy?"

It takes a second for his head counselor to realize what he means, "Oh, him? That's Derek Hale, a son of Poseidon," Fred turns to Theo, voice low as to not interrupt the guy's speech. "He was a camper here. Then he attended Camp Jupiter in New Rome for college."

Theo nods in reverie, remembering Stiles's study guide and how it has a section dedicated to Roman gods and goddesses and an introduction to another demigod camp called Camp Jupiter.

"He's a trainer now and helps Chiron manage the camp's summer activities," Fred continues, facing front. "He's cool. He usually sides with Ares during games."

"Why is that?"

"Athena and Poseidon also have a bit of rivalry," Fred explains, curling his lips downward. "But when he left, Cora always went with the other team. He's attached to the hip with Stiles," the head counselor gives him a sideways glance. "You've met him. He's the Athena kid assigned for introductory lessons to the new campers."

At the mention of Stiles, Theo finds himself scanning the crowd for the face attached to the name. He's on the other side, seated with his half-siblings, who are owlishly attentive to the trainer's words. Only Stiles can't settle his eyes on Derek -almost pointedly avoiding eye contact. He also looks sulky.

"Yeah," Theo murmurs, attention on the scowl on Stiles's face. His lips tug at the memory of their official meeting earlier. The boy was nothing like his siblings have told him: an arrogant, pain in the ass know-it-all. Stiles is smart, sharp, and intimidating for those who can't accept that he can outsmart them. "I've met him."

"-lastly," Derek's voice becomes distinct again, taking Theo off his musings. "Ares will lead the red team, while Athena takes blue. Fred from cabin five," he waves a hand to the Ares cabin counselor beside Theo as he speaks, "is the captain for red." Derek turns to the Athena circle to his right, a hesitant look crossing his expression. He clears his throat, "And, um, Haley?"

Haley, the blonde cabin six counselor, smiles. She points a finger to Stiles on her side. The boy finally lifts his head to meet Derek's eyes, defiant in the tilt of his chin and steely eyes. It's like he's daring Derek Hale to say something vicious. Even some of Stiles's siblings exchange private looks, twitching.

"I'm putting Stiles in charge again, Derek," Haley tells him confidently. "He did such an exceptional job last summer."

Fred scoffs beside Theo; it sounds bitter.

Derek takes a moment to speak, quietly assessing Stiles. The Athena boy doesn't back down, either. He allows Derek to examine him, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow. Derek purses his lips, in the end, breaking the eye contact first. He sighs and turns back to the general audience. "Very well. The game begins at 9:00 pm tomorrow, Friday. Good luck."

With those parting words from Derek, the real campfire festivities commence. The Apollo cabin takes center stage, and they begin singing one of the camp's songs, Down by the Aegean, for which the lyrics are on the guide for new campers.

Even though the haikus are pretty bad, the Apollo cabin is undeniably well with the singing and playing instruments. Soon, many are dancing, and roasting s'mores, and chanting along to different campfire songs as cabin seven initiate them. The magical flames of the bonfire are rising high and glowing gold as a reflection of the campers' exhilaration.

Chiron and Mr. D excuse early, expressions impassive, and leave the campers to Derek.

Theo mingles with the usual crowd: Aphrodite, Apollo, Nemesis, and Hecate cabins, to name a few. They're also allies of Ares' cabin for the coming game. Now and then, however, his eyes roam the crowd in search of one other face. Theo immediately finds him every time, sometimes amidst the brood of Hermes, laughing with the children of the forges, in some debate with a Nike girl, and then dancing with Cora Hale by the fire. He's well-liked and respected, making his cabin's grudge against his brilliance even more amusing to Theo.

Fred catches him toasting his goblet of nectar to Stiles when they finally meet each other's eyes while he animatedly discusses a strategy to Theo. He cuts mid-sentence, follows Theo's line of vision, and groans. "No, no,"

Theo faces Fred, confused. "What?"

Fred gives him a disapproving look, "You're not actually into Stiles, are you?" He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in resignation. He mutters under his breath, but Theo hears it all the same. "I should not have jinxed that."

When Fred drops his hand, he narrows his eyes at Theo. "Whatever. I can't blame you, anyway," he brings up a finger, meant to be menacing. "But you have to promise to maim him if need be tomorrow night. I cannot lose to a rookie two times in a row."

Theo raises a brow, "He's not a rookie anymore," he points out.

Fred presses his lips together, unimpressed.

Theo laughs, "Fine. If he doesn't maim me first."

Fred snorts, shaking his head, and then pats Theo's back twice. "I have to go talk to the co-captain. See you,"

When Fred is about ten paces away, Theo calls him. The senior counselor whirls around, expectant. Theo smirks and says in a loud voice that many, if not everyone, can surely hear. "Stiles says to remind you how you hung upside-down while he pried the flag and your dignity along with it from your clutch last summer."

Two beats of stunned silence pass, Fred's face turning a violent shade of red before the roaring laughter from the campers drown out Fred's furious, embarrassed snarl as he tackles Theo to the ground.

"Screw you, Theo Raeken!"

But Theo is laughing as he fights back.

~•~

[1][2][3][companion]

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf crossover #camp half blood #teen wolf characters #as demigods #demigod au #tw demigod au ficlet #steo #steo ficlet #steo au #teen wolf demigod au series #word count: 1242 #fics tag #demigodseries

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oldanatomical-heartt · 4 years

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Mishaps

Summary: Spencer is annoyed at you and your friend, and you’re a klutz

“Alright!" You cheer, "Let's get started!"

You're over at your friend (F/N)'s new apartment that they just rented for the year helping them get it ready. The furniture is being delivered in the next few days, which means you have to paint the walls tonight. You both roll up the sleeves to your old shirts and you tie your hair back. You turn up the volume to the radio on your left playing some upbeat alternative song. You walk into the hallway outside the apartment and grab a paint can, but not before seeing one of your friend's new neighbors shoot you a nasty look while unlocking his own apartment, the one directly across the hall. He's young, unlike all the senior citizens who live in the building and has long messy brown hair. Getting back to what you're doing, you grab the paint can and walk into the living room.

"Heads up (F/N), I think your neighbor across the hall already doesn't like you," you warn.

"Really? How come?" they ask while prying the lid off the can.

"He shot me this real nasty look while I was grabbing the paint, which is a shame because he's the only non-elderly person I've seen walk into this place."

"Hey, shut up!" (F/N) laughs, "I like it here, it's close to work and you."

"Yeah, yeah, just hope you like bingo night and smelling like soap," you tease.

You pour the paint into a paint tray, and (F/N) loads up their paint roller. After putting the paint can out of the way, you do the same, rolling your fresh green roller cover in the bright yellow paint. After a few hours of painting, listening to your favorite songs, and singing along (badly) with (F/N), you both had managed to paint three of of the four living room walls.

"Okay, I'm gonna go grab another can of paint, we completely emptied this one," you giggle.

"Sounds goo-OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SONG!" (F/N) screams as they crank the volume up even louder than before, which was already pretty loud.

They began to screech along to the song while you just shake your head. Meanwhile however, a very angry neighbor from across the hall becomes completely fed up with the loud music while he's trying to read, so he storms out of his room and begins angrily knocking on the door. Unfortunately, (F/N) and the music are too loud for you to hear. Carrying the almost-empty paint can to put in the hall, you open the door completely surprised at the sight of a person there. The neighbor doesn't seem to realize that the door has been opened, so he continues knocking, which results in you receiving a knock to your face. Combine the unexpected visitor to the hit to the head, and you are quite startled, so much so that you throw the paint can into the air to cover your face with your hands to prevent another hit. The can spills whatever paint was left in it all over you and the neighbor, and the can hits your shoulder as it falls. When you open your eyes you see the neighbor, either so angry he's calm or so surprised he's forgotten his anger standing there staring at the yellow paint covering his body.

"Oh- oh my god I'm so sorry! My friend just moved in last week and I'm helping them paint and I didn't expect you to be standing here oh my god I'm sorry!" You shout as you pull off your shirt, you were wearing a tank top underneath it, and begin using it to wipe off and soak up as much paint as it can off of the boy.

He just stands there, watching you, as you blot and squeeze his shirt. While doing so you feel a bit of muscle beneath the shirt, which surprises you, because he looks very nerdy and bookish.

"The paint doesn't come out of clothes, I'm so sorry, I think your shirt is ruined. Here! Have mine! Wait, that's dumb, never mind. I'll buy you a new shirt! If you want, I mean. You might want to keep your shirt, because maybe it's your favorite or something. Oh my god is this your favorite shirt? If it is I'm so sorry! Oh my god I’m just the worst!"

"It's... okay," he says slowly.

"What?"

"It's alright," he says again, sounding as if he's not even sure if the words himself.

"Are- are you sure? I can totally afford to buy you one, not that I'm rich or anything. I actually have a minimum wage job, but I don't know why I told you that. But I can afford one, because I can't make (F/N)'s neighbors hate them before they even meet them," you say quickly.

"Yes, it's totally fine," he assures you, slightly smiling at you.

You can't help but think he looks ridiculous, wearing formal business clothes but covered in yellow paint. He has a nice smile, you think to yourself.

"If you say so, then. At least it was yellow paint, the color suits you quite well. For being covered in paint you don't look too bad."

It takes you a minute to process what you said before you palms start sweating from embarrassment.

"Well um, thank you, I guess? I've never had the paint that's been spilled on me complimented, so I'm not sure what to say," he replies, tension completely gone as he seems slightly amused.

In some spur of the moment bravery you respond, "How about you tell me when you're free? Maybe we could go to a pub or get some coffee or something like that. Whatever you want to do, I don't normally ask this sort of thing."

He seems to tense up a bit and become a bit flustered at your sudden request.

"Are you asking me out?" He asks, picking at a seam on his shirt.

"I think so?" You reply, anxiety growing every second he hasn't answered.

"But you don't even know my name," he says.

"Well, you seem like a pretty cool dude, you're nice, and it's the least I can do for someone who's night I probably just ruined," you smile.

"You didn't ruin my night," he replies, looking into your eyes.

"Well, then I mildly disrupted it," you chuckle.

He laughs slightly after you.

You take a deep breath, "So? How about it?"

"Y-yeah, yeah. I'm free this Thursday, but I can't guarantee it because my work schedule is kind of, flexible, I guess.”

"Great! Um, do you want my number in case you have to cancel?"

"Yes, that would probably be the smart thing to do," he says, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Alright," you say, returning the smile, "Do you have a pen on you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says, pulling a pen out of his pocket after searching for it for a few seconds.

With slightly shaking hands you grab his left one, and hoping he can't feel how sweaty your hands are, you scribble out the ten numbers before asking, "Eight good? Or do you like to go to bed early, you'd still have work the next day so..."

"Eight's fine," he replies, staring at your face that's focused on your writing.

"Perfect," you smile, dramatically capping the pen before handing it to him, "See you Thursday."

You grab the paint-can which had been your goal all along and were about to head into (F/N)'s apartment when his voice stops you.

"It's Spencer, by the way, Spencer Reid."

Spencer, so now the face has a name. All your anxiety had made you completely forget about introductions, maybe the same for Spencer.

"(Y/N) (L/N), can't wait to know more, Spencer Reid."

Bonus:

"It's about dang time! I thought you got lost getting that paint!" (F/N) calls at the sound of the door shutting, but you're in a happy daze as you enter the room.

"Woah, what happened to you?" (F/N) asks at the sight of your paint-covered self.

"His name is Spencer Reid," you state.

"Who is?"

"Your neighbor."

"How do you know?"

"I'm going on a date with him on Thursday," you smile, barely aware of your conversation with (F/N).

"What?! Details (Y/N), details!!" (F/N) screeches.

"Shhh, what if he hears you?!" You giggle.

You dreamily spill the whole conversation to them, all while Spencer, just across the hall, has changed into clean clothes and is smiling to himself so much that he hasn't turned the page of his book in over a minute.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #reid #reid x reader #reid imagine #cm #criminal minds #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #david rossi #jason gideon #x reader #reader insert

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