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this-is-a-podcast-fanblog · 5 years

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Juniverse Retail AU

this post was too good not to turn into a fic, so I got permission from @acadieum and @rae-kl and went off.

~~~

He’s at that point in his shift where nothing is real, his feet have lost feeling, and every single soccer mom with fake blonde hair has decided to descend on his location at once.

“No,” exclaims the woman in front of him, rapping her long-nailed hands down onto the counter, “I told you, I can only use products that are gluten free, vegan, free of dyes and parabens, free of natural pigments, and lack fiber.” Her roots need to meet this perfect touch-up Juno just got in stock. He could give her so much help if she’d just be nice and let him.

“Yeah, lady, this is a Sephora.” Juno rubs his eyes and resists the urge to look at the clock. “Everything we’ve got in here has dye or natural pigments. If you don’t like what we’ve got, check Lush at the other end of the mall.”

The woman huffs, props up her sunglasses. “I want to speak to your manager.”

“I am the manager.”

She storms out, already whipping out her cellphone to give his location a bad review. Juno doesn’t care. He honestly doesn’t care about anything at this point.

“Cheer up, boss!” says Rita over the Rita-sized box she’s carrying to the dumpster. The front reads Unleash Your Inner Artist palettes. “We only got two hours left!”

Juno huffs. “Yep. Two hours.” He can see someone winding through the aisles towards his help desk. Instantly he is awash with that rush of overwhelming rage that fills him whenever he has to actually do his job and assist someone. I am so not paid enough for this. “Hey, how can I.... help you...”

The person standing in front of Juno’s counter is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. His dark brown eyes are expertly framed with green eyeshadow, his full lips lined with a matte color just a few shades darker than his tan skin. He arches one stunning brow and Juno almost melts. “Excuse me,” says the man. “Do you happen to have this foundation in shade 290?”

It’s the most seductive thing anyone’s ever said to him. “Uh, uh maybe,” stammers Juno, “Let me check in the back?”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

Thank you, I would appreciate that. God, his voice is so hot. Juno grabs a bottle from the back room and brings it back. “That’s $35,” he says.

“Alright.” The man reaches into his purse for a credit card but doesn’t hand it over just yet. Instead, his eyes sweep once over Juno’s face. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he says.

“Yeah, uh, I used to be one of the makeover artists, but just got moved to manager, not sure how.” He laughs and then wishes he hadn’t. A blush creeps over his face, but the man is smiling.

“I see. Are you here every day?”

“Pretty much. We’re short on managers right now.”

“Ah.” He hands over his card. “Well, maybe I’ll see you again sometime...” His eyes dart down to the nametag. “Juno.”

Juno is as much of a mess as a red lipstick spilled in a white Valentino bag. “Uh, uh yeah! Maybe! That’d be great, so here’s your receipt, have a nice day? Have a nice day.” He drops the receipt. “God, I’m sorry. Hey, uh, what’s your name?”

“Call me Rose.” Rose picks up the receipt and tucks it neatly into his bag. “All my friends do.”

And he saunters away, taking most of Juno’s heart with him.

Rose visits again a few days later. He says he’s just picking up a bottle of nail polish, but ends up standing by the shelf as Juno restocks. They chat for half an hour. After Rose is gone, Juno realizes he must have counted inventory wrong, because the shelf he just filled with what was supposed to be twenty blending sponges is only nineteen blending sponges.

But he thinks nothing more of it after he gets another sponge from storage, and the next day Rose visits again. And again, a few days after that. They talk about makeup at first, but then about themselves, and the things they like, and the way they live.

“I’m just doing this to pay rent, save up some cash.” Juno explains. “I wanna go back to school, get a degree in criminal justice.”

“I didn’t take you for a lawyer.”

“I was thinking more like a detective, actually. Private investigator or something. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m between jobs at the moment.” Rose doesn’t quite meet his eyes on that line. He’s a man of mystery just as much as he’s a man of glitter highlighter. And damn he kills that glitter highlighter.

It’s nice, for a while, having someone to visit him at work and someone he can flirt with when shifts get slow. But then a few problems arise.

The first is that Juno gets distracted by Rose, and doesn’t service his other customers as well. Which is fine, because he has other employees and, thank god, he has Rita, and all of them are very capable of handling the store without Juno. But they complain about it plenty.

The next problem is brought to his attention by Rita herself: “Boss, have you ever noticed that this tall guy uses a new credit card each time he comes in here... an’ none of ‘em have the name Rose?”

And once he notices that, he notices another problem: makeup goes missing when Rose visits him. Like, a lot of makeup.

“That’s nice eyeliner you’ve got today,” Juno tells Rose. “It’s Maybelline?”

“Maybe.”

“Neat. On a totally unrelated note, half of our Maybelline shipping vanished last week.”

“Hmm, how unusual,” muses Rose with a straight face. “You know Juno, I’ve been thinking...”

He doesn’t get to say what he’s been thinking, because at that moment a screaming toddler smashing up the perfume aisle demands a manager’s attention.

The next time Juno sees Rose, he’s wearing dark red nail polish the same color as the ones Juno was reshelving last time they spoke. But he’s brought Juno a smoothie from the mall cafeteria, and there’s a smile on his gorgeous face, and Juno decides to let it slide.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rose says. “Perhaps one day we could meet up outside of your work.”

Juno’s heart flip-flops. “Oh?”

“Certainly. I could - well. Buy you lunch, for example - because you see, Juno...” He fidgets with a spare thread on his jacket. “I’d like to spend time with you, somewhere that isn’t also full of flouresents and stress.”

Juno laughs a little at that. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

Rose grins, those sharp teeth flashing behind black lips. Juno’s pretty sure he’s just signed up for a date with a criminal.

“May I ask you something?” asks Rose one day while Juno’s filling in ledgers. The store is closed, but Juno can’t bring himself to kick Rose out.

“Shoot.”

“Do you like working here?”

He snorts. “Want the honest answer or the cute one?”

“I’d hope you can always be honest with me.”

Juno thinks about that for a moment. He sets down the pen and turns his head to see Rose’s eyes better. “I don’t like it,” he says, “that the only way I can pay my rent is to come to this store and give up a small piece of my humanity. You know?”

Rose nods, like he really does know. “I...I may have an idea,” he says. There’s caution in his words. “In my line of work, I’m, shall we say, self-employed. Reliant on myself for financial stability. But recently I’ve begun to consider taking on a partner. I wondered if you would be interested.”

It’s all he can do not to say “Hell yes” and sign up there on the spot. Instead he ducks back to the ledger to hide his blush and says, “Oh yeah? What’s your line of work?”

“I suppose I can tell you more when I take you out to lunch.” And Rose winks with his eyeliner wings sharp enough to cut.

They don’t end up going out to lunch.

“Did you hear?” asks Rita as soon as Juno walks into the door for his shift the next day. She drags him to the back room, practically bouncing foot to foot; and once they’re out of earshot of the customers, she says, “Your friend Mistah Rose got ARRESTED!”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah! Mall cops nabbed ‘im with five thousand dollars of designer merch after he left visiting you yesterday! An’ you wanna know the real kicker?” She leans in closer. “He got away. No one knows where he is now!”

“Oh.” Juno’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to process all of this information at once. “That’s... I wish I could say that’s surprising.”

What he means is, he wishes he could say he isn’t crushed.

He was right about Rose, but it’s worse. He might never see Rose again. And it’s still worse: they came so, so close to having something, it’s just so unfair.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go tell the others!” Rita skips off, leaving Juno alone with his emotions, office files, and a clutter of still-boxed makeup. He sits down at his desk, just to think for a minute before going onto the floor.

And that’s when he sees the note.

“Juno:

By this point you’ve likely uncovered the truth. What you haven’t surmised from the security footage and accounts of your workers, I will trust to your inner detective to piece together.

Where do I begin? You are wasted as a makeup manager. The world deserves to be seen by you, and suddenly I wonder if I could be the person to show it to you, even if I am no longer the person you think I am. If you still want to take me up on my previous offer, hold out hope. I’m sure we’ll meet again.

I’ll be counting down the minutes until we do.

Signed,

Peter Nureyev

Master Thief.”

And sealed with a red lipstick kiss.

#if i wake up tomorrow and my inbox is full of angry james charles fans i'm throwing myself out a window #all of the brand and trend teasing is meant to be lightly poking fun #there are so many makeup jokes in here #props if someone understands literally any of them #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #rita #jupeter #au

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sinkingorswimming · 7 years

Note

"Sunrise" of the In the Heights OST

*these are just all gonna be the x-men au now, i got eaten by it, i have no control anymore sorry*

“I have no idea what to do with this,” Celestino admits an hour after the commotion at Webster Hall with a vague wave of his left hand.

This being Longshot, who smiles at him, his mouth shaping into a pink heart.

“It’s why we brought him to you,” Phichit says. “You’re the one who knows weird.”

Celestino gives Phichit a sigh and an exasperated look. “Television,” he says as he absently ties up his hair. “A dimension ruled by television.”

Longshot shrugs with a softer smile.

“Well,” Celestino says. “We’ll find a way to get you home, Longshot, since your revolution sounds like it can use all the help it can get.”

Longshot nods with a combination of gratitude and resignation. He folds his hands over his mouth, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

It’s Sunday in the West Village loft Phichit and Yuuri call theirs. They share bunk beds so Yuuri can have a workspace for his studies and his writing and so Phichit has space for his rigs. Phichit’s an NYU student too, he’s in Tisch, and he single-handedly keeps the corner bodega in business because of an addiction to their egg sandwiches.

Celestino gets up, and he makes a face like he just recalled something. “Right,” he says. He picks up a large shopping bag that says Intoxicated by Giacometti on the side. “Chris had prototypes for Fall ‘18 lying around. Longshot looks like he’s a sample size—he said he figured he shouldn’t draw as much attention in these.”

Longshot takes the black bag with metallic blue and purple writing. He holds up a grey and black sweater, pawing at its fabric like he’s a stranger to the concept of wool.

He may be, Yuuri realizes. “We’ll get you showered and prettied up,” Phichit says to Longshot with a wink.

“I’m already pretty, it’s part of my design,” Logshot says with a raised eyebrow.

“You have a mullet,” Phichit counters. “No one in New York City has a mullet. It’s gotta go.”

Longshot gives Phichit a confused stare, and Yuuri clears his throat. “He means you need a haircut. Between the color and the style, you’ll stand out too much. It’s either we dye it or we cut it.”

Longshot touches his hair, the strands sliding through his (four still how the fuck) fingers. “Cut it,” he says after a few minutes contemplation.

Phichit smiles and Yuuri nods. He leads Longshot to the bathroom—it’s surprisingly decent for its size, no bathtub though. Just a decent shower and pair sinks. Yuuri gets a spare towel and wash cloth of him. “Okay my soap is the white and green bar, Phichit’s the blue one—mine smells like cedar, is flowers and—”

Yuuri stops and swallows like a huge rock is in his throat. Longshot’s already mostly naked, and yes he’s beautiful, like a Greek statue, but his spine—

Instead of a subtle ident curving down his back, his vertebrae protrude like if an invertebrate made him. Yuuri stares, partially because it’s a new sight, but also because it’s…appealing “Do they hurt?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Longshot looks over his shoulder at him. “Not really,” he replies. “You can touch them, if you like.”

Yuuri comes close, reaches to the one at the base of his neck, and runs his hands over it, the holographic teal glitter nail lacquer bright against Longshot’s pale skin. It feels like a really large knuckle, but on his back. His skin is warm, smooth, and soft.

Longshot smiles over his shoulder. “That feels good.”

Yuuri clears his throat and takes two steps back. He clears his throat. “Well, um—” He turns to the sink, grabbing the MAC wipes and his glasses. He deals with his make up at his desk since the light’s better. “Hot water runs out after fifteen minutes. Try to be quick.”

He hightails it out of the bathroom with his face like a tomato, falling gracelessly into his make up chair and wiping his face down. Once there’s only a touch of blue in his eyelashes, he throws the used towelettes out and groans.

Phichit hangs upside down from the top bunk by his tail. “Your merch sales are improving,” he says. “We’re out of a few t-shirts and some posters—should I restock or should we make new designs? We have that one photoshoot we did with the blue and gold jacket—”

“The alternate take of the indigo outfit with the crystals,” Yuuri answers as he removes the purple lenses and puts on his blue half-rimmed eyeglasses. He shakes his hair loose out of his stage style and puts on a plain lip balm flavored like melons.

“Oooh yes!” Phichit accesses the file on the cloud and sends it to their printshop. “Perfect.”

Yuuri puts on a pair of skinny denim jeans and a slightly-oversized oatmeal and navy striped sweater. His socks are navy with cream colored dogs on them. The water cuts off and he grabs his clippers and a pair of scissors. Phichit flips upright into his bed. “I’m gonna nap.”

“Kay,” Yuuri answers. He knocks before entering to a Longshot in a burgundy t-shirt with a silver abstract print and dark gray denim. Chris provided him a pair of Chuck Taylors the same color as the shirt, and there’s a soft looking leather jacket on the back of the toilet. “Sit please, back to me.”

Longshot does. Yuuri combs out his wet hair, then gets to work shearing off the length first and then clipping down the sides and back, leaving it long in the front and on top. It’s a respectable yet fashionable hairstyle. Yuuri uses the blow-dryer phichit uses for his body and when he’s finished, he puts a bit of product in it.

His hair is soft and smells like Yuuri’s shampoo, and Yuuri has to step back a second time.

Longshot stands and looks in the mirror. He nods with approval. “You do good work, beautiful,” he says.

Yuuri gives him a strange look.

“You look good with the make up,” Longshot elaborates. “But this is better.” He rakes his eyes up and down Yuuri.

Yuuri stammers with his eyes wide. “Pancakes.”

“What?” Longshot asks.

“Breakfast food,” Yuuri manages. “Uh—eating? We…eat. Yeah.”

He turns away and scoots out of the bathroom, Longshot following. Yuuri texts Phichit that they went out so he’ll see it when he wakes up. He locks the door and they walk down the six flights of stairs to the street. Empire Diner’s not a long walk, and Longshot keeps looking up and around as they head to the restaurant.

“What’s that?” he asks. It’s a building with a red awning, bins of bright flowers in the front, and smells wafting from it.

“A bodega,” Yuuri replies.

Longshot gives him a curious look.

Yuuri blinks. “Right um—it’s a Spanish word for corner store, basically. They sell flowers, groceries, sandwiches, beer—it’s easier than a big grocery sometimes.”

“Gro-cer-ies,” Longshot sounds out. “I don’t know—”

“Food,” Yuuri answers, kind of taken aback. “We have to buy food to cook and live off of. A grocer provides it.”

“Major Gosha fed us,” Longshot says. “When we’d be taken out of stasis to perform for Yakov’s shows. He’d wake us, give us the food, wardrobe, hair, and make up, and then showtime!”

“Well, we make three meals a day or buy them from a restaurant,” Yuuri elaborates. “Restuarants are expensive, but I got paid for the show last night even though—well you were there. Anyways, I’m buying you brunch. My treat as a Welcome to Earth, Longshot! gift.”

“Victor,” he says. “I want you to call me Victor. The others can call me Longshot—but please, beauitful, call me Victor.”

Yuuri feels the heat flood his face. He bites back an awkward reply, opening the Diner’s door instead. They’re shown to a window-side booth, and Victor looks up and around with wonder like a child.

The waitress comes over. “Hi guys, what’ll it be to drink?”

“Coffee please,” Yuuri answers. “Two of them.”

Long…Victor gives her a bright smile. “Yes this…coffee!”

She flushes and giggles before leaving, and Yuuri’s less flustered the next time his dining compainion smiles at him. He does it to everyone, Yuuri realizes.

Okay.

“What is…a waffle?” he asks, saying “whuffle” instead of the correct pronunciation.

“Waffles are like a bread thing that’s sweet,” Yuuri explains.

“Avocado?” he’s asked.

“It’s a vegetable that’s soft and green on the inside,” Yuuri says, feeling like Human Google.

His companion keeps looking. “We just eat this Nutrient drink; it’s peach and flavorless. This is all very complex.”

“Wait you’ve…never had food?” The disappointment vanishes because what the fuck?

“The Spineless Ones get to have the food,” Victor says. “Entertainers get nutrients.The Spineless Ruling Class eats real food.”

Of course Yuuri’s heard of socities like this—pre-Revolution France, third world nations—but it’s different knowing someone from one, seeing them in real life and hearing them discuss it.

Especially since he sounds so calm and matter-of-fact.

“Order whatever you like,” Yuuri says. “However much of it you want.”

Victor looks at him, but he doesn’t seem to understand the bit about the financials. His eyes are confused but grateful, like he understands Yuuri’s gift but doesn’t at the same time. The server brings their coffee and asks for their orders—Yuuri gets the salmon pastrami avo toast, and Victor orders both the pancakes and the waffle.

The way he lights up when he gets his first bites, the happiness and excitement in his expression and voice—risks to himself be damned.

Yuuri’s gonna help him.

#Anonymous #asked and answered #dazz and longshot au #dommi's fic #victuuri fic #yoi fic #dazzler!yuuri #longshot!victor #lost in your light #sexy haircut is sexy #sexy pre-shower is sexy #yuuri misunderstanding again

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