#hate the political prop! hate that it was and still is used as an excuse for war and killing innocent people and hate crimes!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Healthcare Boys get a Work Vacation! Part 3

(@hermitdrabbles56)

Legend rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stood in the registration area, holding onto his energy drink for dear life. Hyrule had already left in a frenzy, both excited about the fact that there were escalators inside a hotel (Legend quickly realized this was Hyrule's first conference he'd ever been to), and eager to get to his classes.

“I’m surprised you didn’t immediately hiss and melt the instant the sunlight hit you.”

Grumbling, the night shifter turned to see Warriors approaching with a cup of coffee in hand. He was honestly too tired for the banter, and his friend picked up on it quickly, shouldering the bag registration had given him and throwing a casual smile. “Come on, I know where our first lecture is.”

Legend walked alongside Warriors as they headed to a class about pediatric resuscitation when his friend paused, waving someone over. The travel nurse watched a stranger approach and smiled politely as Warriors greeted her cheerfully.

The nurses exchanged pleasantries with the new person, who turned out to be a nurse administrator for a nearby hospital’s emergency department. Warriors had apparently met her back in the war. When the brief conversation ended, Legend gave a nod and a little nice to meet you before awkwardly excusing himself.

Warriors chuckled. “You know for someone as mouthy as you are, I expected you to be more talkative.”

Legend rolled his eyes. “I don’t mind people as a general rule, but I hate networking.”

“You know that’s a big thing with these conferences, right?”

Legend waved a dismissive hand. “I’m here for the knowledge, not the people.”

Warriors shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. I used to hate networking too.”

That made the travel nurse pause. “You? You’re like the most sociable, confident person I know.”

His friend laughed at that. “Being confident in myself doesn’t mean I always know how to interact with others. Also, I’m a pretty straightforward guy, and networking doesn’t always allow for that, so it wasn’t something I was all that good at in the beginning.”

Legend hummed, smiling and then chuckling. “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when you fumbled your way through it the first few times.”

"Pff," Warriors blew breath and gave Legend a playful shove. "You'll never have the privilege of seeing that."

"I suppose I'll have to make up my own stories, then," Legend surmised before smirking. "Or just ask Time, Sky, and Wind."

Warriors bit his lip, clearly holding a rebuttal back, and he grabbed a granola bar off the snack table provided by the hosting hotel. The pair entered the next conference room to settle in for the presentation.

XXX

Time paced the hotel room nervously, reviewing the material in his mind.

He was a surgeon, damn it, not a public speaker. He didn’t know why he let Malon convince him into this.

Never mind the fact that passing on knowledge to others excited him. This was—this was different.

There was a noise from the bed and he turned to see Sky stretching and opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbled from under the covers.

Time glanced at the clock to see that it was, in fact, still morning, albeit barely. “You sleep well?”

He certainly seemed like he had, though it was hard to tell over Warriors’ loud snores from last night. Time had spent most of his night tossing and turning.

He honestly didn’t know why the idea of giving a talk to emergency clinicians made him so nervous. Hyrule had helped him recognize better how to speak to his target audience, and the topic was relevant. Time was not usually someone who gave much thought or consideration to things like nerves or other people’s opinions. He just did the job.

Sighing heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sky propped himself up a little with an elbow, tipping his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

He wasn’t going to talk about this. He could handle this on his own. Not to mention he didn’t know how to put his anxiety into words anyway.

Sky sat up in bed and leaned against the backboard. “You nervous about this afternoon?”

Time sighed. This boy was too perceptive for his own good. “I’ve not done this before. Malon may have exaggerated in her submission on my behalf.”

Sky smiled sleepily. “I’m sure she didn’t. You’re the best trauma surgeon I know.”

“I’m the only trauma surgeon you know,” Time reminded him flatly, unconvinced.

“Well…” Sky shifted, rubbing the drowsiness out of his eyes. “You fixed me up well enough.”

Time’s heart clenched a little, and he hesitantly sat on the bed and rubbed Sky’s shoulder reassuringly. His eyes burned through the young man’s shirt at the scar left behind from the bullet wound.

“You’ll be fine,” Sky assured him, reaching forward for a hug.

Time let the pilot hold him, and if he hugged Sky back a little tighter than usual, the young man didn’t comment on it.

XXX

Four stared scrutinously at the two dishes in front of him. On the table sat two identical apple pies, baked to perfection with a barely discernible glittering glaze of sugar on top.

Off to the side, Malon and Wild stood by, awaiting the initial prediction.

“I still don’t get why I can’t be the one to predict” Wind grumbled.

“Hush, you,” Wild shushed him. “Four is the most observant and has the best chance. We’re doing you a favor.”

“Hey now, you saying we ain’t observant?” Twilight asked, his tone mildly annoyed.

“Not as observant as Four.”

A black wet nose poked over the table’s edge, sniffing hopefully between the two pies before Malon shooed Wolfie away.

“Five rupees says he’s wrong,” Wind chimed, smirking mischievously.

“Ten says he guesses right,” Wild fired back with an expression to match.

“I’m guessing the one on the left was made by Wild,” Four finally said, pointing to the pie in question.

“Moment of truth, then!” Wind shouted excitedly, immediately cutting a slice for everyone.

Malon and Wild waited patiently as everyone took a few bites of the slice. Four nodded to himself. “Yeah, this is definitely Wild’s pie.”

“I think we should try the other one to get sure,” Wind noted after wolfing down his bite.

”Ah-ah!” Malon swatted Wind’s hand just as he reached for the other pie. “The game rules state that Four guesses which pie is Wild’s, y’all taste test and come to a decision whether he was right or not, and if y’all can agree and you guess the correct baker, you can eat both pies.”

Wind pouted and took another tentative bite. “It tastes good.”

Malon raised an eyebrow. “Honey are you saying my apple pie doesn’t taste good?”

“Wha—n-no it tastes good too!”

“No, this is definitely Wild’s apple pie,” Four argued. “His pies have a specific texture—“

“Specific texture?” Twilight repeated, rolling his eyes. “Give me a break. This is Mama Malon’s pie. She stuffs way more apples in her recipe than Wild. All you gotta do is pay attention.”

Wind suddenly grew frantic at the disagreement, waving his hands. “No, no, no, we gotta get this!! Is it Wild’s or Mama Malon’s?!”

“Wild’s.”

“Malon’s.”

“GUYS!”

Four crossed his arms. “I stand by my choice.”

Twilight mirrored his posture. “You do realize you can’t out-stubborn me, right?”

The pair glared at each other, leaving Wind to be the deciding vote. Sighing heavily, the student took another tentative bite and looked no more certain.

“”Speak now or forever hold your piece,” Malon said gravely.

“And forfeit your pies,” Wild added.

Wind latched onto Twilight. “I’m going with Twi! It’s Mama Malon’s pie.”

Four’s certainty faded just a hair and then he crossed his arms defiantly.

Malon walked slowly towards the group. “The answer is—“

At that moment, the table shook as a nose poked up once more, reaching the top of the pie platter and giving it just enough wobble to stumble to the floor.

Everyone gasped. “Wolfie!!”

The perpetrator started lapping up the pie shamelessly before being chased away by an incensed Wind.

#writing #lu in healthcare #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu four #lu sky #lu time #lu twilight #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu warriors #lu malon #lu wolfie #It's ok Time you're gonna be fine #Legend and Warriors are perpetually trying to outsnark each other #but then they're also classroom besties and will whisper to each other in the back when they get bored and snicker and cause trouble #Wolfie is a Menace

[lifewithchronicpain]

One thing I have learned through experience is that religion is not the cause of bigotry like sexism, racism, homophobia etc... It's just the reason, the excuse, the logic they use behind their hate.

Atheist men can be just as sexist, their reason and logic just isn't based on religion. Oftentimes it's the inflated sense of superiority propped up with shitty science. Failing to realize that reason and science is still created by people and subjected to our biases unless we're really fucking careful.

You could remove religion today and none of those biases and prejudices would disappear, they'd just find an anchor somewhere else. People being selfish or fearful are the cause. Hence I've long sense abandoned this idea that religion is the source of evil. It can harbor evil depending on the people with the power and loudest voices.

All I care about is finding and joining with the people who put caring for people at the forefront of their politics, religion, and community outreach.

[mecharose]

but do I break my vow to never post opinions to post my obligatory New Yorker/New Jersyan 9/11 #rant

#like hey maybe dont make memes about a tragedy that decimated my community lol! #hate the political prop! hate that it was and still is used as an excuse for war and killing innocent people and hate crimes! #u should hate those things! don't see who wouldnt! #but maybe dont mock ppls deaths #in fact the things you hate about 9/11 (the day/the propaganda element) are very disrespectful to the actual victims as well #if u think about it. having senseless death of innocent ppl turned into a tourist attraction is like bad to the original event and victims #like im very certain the friends/co-workers of my neighbors and teachers would not want to be used as excuses #to turn the entire country into a disgusting nationalist war-mongering propaganda machine #or to kill more innocent people in america OR in any countries victimized by the military #just saying! #ok fine. rant is in tags. might post the post anyway bc I am very upset! #liv shouts into the void

[neoheros]

what would kuroo say to your new boyfriend?

nothing rude or disrespectful — he’s still someone with a sense of respect. his attitude and personality depends on the sole fact that he’s a built leader with an impressive set of manners to match.

he cherishes his memories with you well, accepting that even if the two of you didn’t work out, everything you both shared would always be worth it anyway.

but even if that was the case, if it was up to kuroo, the two of you would’ve never, in a million years, broken up.

in the world he dreams of — you would still run his way to give him a quick kiss in the halls instead of making up excuses to avoid him. and there, he’d still see you walk around campus in his nekoma team jacket instead of remembering your tear stained features when you insisted on returning it to him.

if kuroo had his way, he would’ve never let you tell him that he lost you and that there wasn’t a chance to get you back.

“kuroo? this is for the graduation video seniors have to participate in but uhm, i can go if you’re too busy.”

kuroo blinks and the reality sets in.

he finds himself next to his friends, a shy girl with a video camera in front of him as she scratches her cheek in nervousness.

“it’s okay,” he nods, “i’ll pay attention, i promise.”

the younger student exhales a breath of relief, propping up the camera steadily and the urge to get the whole thing over with is evident in the way her fingers shake.

he answers her questions with a breeze, including the part where he had to give his future self a message (that bit he found way too cheesy by the way), and before he knew it, the interview was almost over.

“last one — it’s kinda silly but — if you had anything to say to your ex’s new partner, what would it be?”

kuroo could hear the delight in her voice as she realized that this nerve wracking experience was coming to an end, but he really couldn’t get a grip on what answer would be suitable for that kind of question.

what would he say to your new boyfriend?

out of instinct, his glance falls to your regular lunch table where you’re surrounded by your usual crowd. you sit in your usual seat and he distinctly remembers how you always used to save him the spot next to you.

you look so nice today in your cashmere sweater, and he doesn’t fail to notice the smile that dangles on your lips as one of your friends says something funny.

“kuroo?” the interviewer calls out to him, and this time he realizes he’s been spacing out - staring at you.

he laughs nervously, scratching his cheek as he blinks back into reality, “sorry.”

and he’s brought back to the question.

what would he say?

he thought of the things he’d want to say to your new person, bouncing back and forth from the fact that they shouldn’t give you daisies because they made you sneezy or that they shouldn’t lend you sweatshirts because chances are that you wouldn’t be giving them back.

he‘d tell them to never bring you to arby’s because you hated their service with a burning passion or to never drive with the windows down because you’re too sensitive to the cold — all that among a million other things he memorized about you for the reason that in his eyes — you were the kind of person worth memorizing.

he’d tell them to never let you drive since you have a worthless sense of direction, he’d tell them to always bring you an extra jacket because you always forget — he’d tell them your favorite place to be kissed is by the nape of your neck.

kuroo would tell them that he met you first, and that the only person actually deserving of you is no one else but him.

and it isn’t until now that he realizes that he knew so much about you that it‘s so hard to believe that he isn’t your soulmate.

who could he love more than you?

your gaze falls to him mid laughter, the joy on your face dropping almost instantly as you realize that he’s been looking at you.

you send him a reluctant nod, a small polite grin to keep it pleasant, but once your friend asks for you attention again, you don’t hesitate to forget that he was there.

kuroo sighs, a wavering smile on his lips. his shoulders are tense, relaxing a bit when he says, “i’d tell them to give them back to me.”

special thanks to @tsutsukki & @volexis for beta reading <3 i love you both forever :(

#deja vu by olivia rodrigo #REVISED AN OLD POST BC I LOVE IT SM #i wrote the original version a year ago so it’s really hella cool to see how much my writing has changed in the span of 12 months #i love this piece so much #i hope you like it too #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu time stamps #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu blurbs #haikyuu songfics #haikyuu soft hours #haikyuu sad hours #x reader #fluff #haikyuu #angst #haikyuu x reader #imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #hq!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!

[yourmcu]

102

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary:

Songfic based on ‘102′ by the 1975. Moments when Natasha’s really in love with you.

A/n: listen to that song here, it’s good

Word count: 2,442

Warnings: fluff. pining. angst. angst. one sided relationship. r’s an idiot

Well, we’re here We’re at the common again

To put it simply, Natasha’s in love with you. It’s been a while now and she’s positive about her feelings. She’s not even in denial of it.

Natasha loves everything about you especially those little things and how you can make her day a thousand times better just by being around. Only realizing it a few years after you became a full time Avenger, you’re still unaware even though you’ve got this wonderful friendship with her.

Friendship, she sighs. She thought she could do anything, unfortunately admitting her stupid feelings isn’t one of them. She’d be risking the friendship and bond you two have, or, you could admit that you felt the same and everyone’ll be happy.

However, the thing is, you don’t.

“I like the way that your face looks when I’m arguing with you”.

She finds you adorable even if it's just the dumbest thing ever.

"Nat!" You whine, flailing your hands at your sides like a child. "I called shotgun!"

"I got here first, didn't I?"

"Children, better hurry it up or we'll miss the premiere." Tony gets in the driver's seat.

Natasha sticks her tongue out and crosses her legs to get comfortable, teasing you. The way your eyebrows furrow and your lips turn into a pout, sometimes you'd flail your arms or cross them is so adorable to her.

"Nat," you drag out, crawling in to sit on her lap and attempt to push her out. You don't think of it much because you're frustrated. "Come on, Nat!"

"There's room for both of us here, this is fine." She smirks, wrapping her arms around your waist making you jolt. You're ticklish like that.

Natasha teasing you is the norm for the team so they barely react, so normal that Tony just goes ahead and drives while you're still on the redhead's lap.

"Stop! We're gonna get pulled over!"

"Eh, they owe us an unpayable debt, remember?"

Even if the matter's more serious, she couldn't help but feel soft for you. Every time.

Inside you were freaking out. It was when the Avengers were handed the Sokovia Accords. They were all your friends and to see them split in two sides was - crazy. You remained undecided, but you knew if you didn't sign you'd probably be behind bars.

Both sides made valid points. After Steve abruptly left you were with Natasha most of the time. She tried her best to persuade you that signing was the best option for the team.

"You know I'm not one with politics, I just don't trust them, Nat," you sigh, gently taking her hand to fiddle with. "But - but then again, we've done enough collateral damage through the years."

Natasha nods. "you know I'm with you no matter what happens, right?"

You nod as well and offer a thankful smile. She truly is your bestest friend.

"Just because it's the path of least resistance doesn't mean it's the wrong path," she continues. "Staying together is more important than how we stay together."

Her hand now intertwines with yours. But she gently removes hers, that's way too... weird. You can't just do that, Romanoff.

She mentally sighs in relief since it doesn’t look like you noticed. You remain silent, deep in thought, but you snap out of it when she gets up.

"I'm making a quick stop to London then I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords. You're welcome to join me."

And so when, when we all grow old I hope this song will remind you that I’m not half as bad As what you’ve been told

Here we are, sort of like your origin story on how you met the Avengers.

Steve introduced you to the team when you've settled, healed, and able to control your pyrokinesis. You were thankful for them saving you from the HYDRA base because unlike the others, the experiments they ran on you were forced.

As Natasha first laid her eyes on you, that cliché moment in movies where in the character's surroundings seem to slow down and the only thing you're focused on is that one particular person-

She didn't believe in that shit. She would scoff and roll her eyes whenever she saw a scene like that.

But it happened to her. She hated it and would've accused you for taking her breath away.

"Yeah. Natasha Romanoff." She curtly extends a hand for you to shake and you smile at her, taking it.

And for a while she ignores you while simultaneously looking you up behind your back.

Why would someone like you, a genuine and beautiful ray of sunshine, want anything to do with someone like Natasha?

She's terrified of the thought of what your reaction would be if you realize what she'd done in the past. Ah, her past, something she isn’t proud of.

You finally confront her one day, hating how you seem to get a long with everyone just fine except her.

Your real reaction being, "we've all done something really bad that we regret. I mean, look at me, I was treated like a weapon for a quarter of my life and I can produce fire anytime, which I didn't ask for - sorry, I guess what I'm saying is, I don't think you're a bad person Natasha. You're here, aren't you? Saving people's lives? You're a better version of yourself, you're changing and if you ask me that's what really matters. Now, can we get some coffee?"

Natasha's been in love with you ever since.

And when I knock at a hundred and two, And I see your pajamas I can’t stop smiling at you

Natasha heard soft knocks outside her door one night. To be honest she'd be most likely to ignore the harsh and hard knocks, so she got up and made her way to open the door.

There you stood in your pajamas. You hate the matching ones, just like the pair you had on that night. But you also hate mismatching them. Natasha wouldn't admit to think that you look nice in them though. "Hi," you manage to say, avoiding looking her directly in the eyes since you already doubt she'd let you stay just this once. "I... uh, m'sorry for waking you up, Nat-"

While you find the words to say Natasha just observes - that's creepy - admires - she looks, she looks. You're clearly dying inside, probably regretting you knocked, the way you prefer looking at anything but her as you try and get words out, and how you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"God, you know what? Never mind, I... I'm sorry for waking you up."

Before you could walk away Natasha opens her door wider, her face displaying full concern. "Hey, what happened?"

"It's nothing serious, I was just-"

"As your friend, I'm here for you no matter what," she wonders what'd it be like if it’s more than that. "Plus, I won't be able to go back to sleep either if you end up not telling me." She offers you a smile.

You sigh, looking her in the eye for the first time that night. "Had a nightmare. It was one of those kinds where I had no idea if I was gonna wake up from it - it was just - I feel like if I went back to sleep I'd see it again, you know?" You exhale, frowning.

She's glad you chose to show your vulnerable side to her, it just goes to show that you trust her that much, feeling like you could tell her anything.

You bite your lip, looking away. "I'm being such a baby about it, sorry-"

"Y/N," she states. "Stop apologizing and come here,"

Natasha motions you inside her room and almost immediately you latch yourself onto her, hugging her as you near the bed. It must've been bad, you seem shaken up about it.

You sigh in relief when Natasha pulls the covers over both of you, enveloping you into warmness.

Natasha lies beside you with her elbow propped up to look at you. "Do you... want to talk about it? Or I can put on a movie if you'd like."

You shake your head slightly, scooting near her. "I'm all good now."

Natasha's heart skips a beat, knowing that she's the one making you feel at ease, calm. She smiles and nods, turning to turn off the lamp.

Friends can cuddle, right? She wonders. She wants to wrap an arm around you more than anything but she feels that would be some sort of violation. So she hopes that the closeness of your bodies would be enough, for now. Hopefully.

I said “well I, I like the cut of your jib,”, “I like the way that your face looks when you're yapping on about him,”

Even though you were being affectionate with Natasha sometimes, you never returned her feelings.

Only a total asshole would hang around with someone often and do something that would cross that barrier, giving signs and subtle hints that you liked her, at least that’s what it looked like to Natasha but it ended up actually didn’t. Were you really the one to blame though? You have no idea Natasha likes you more than a friend.

Which lead you to making a very poor choice of opening up about someone you liked, to the one who liked you.

Natasha’s heart was racing when you mentioned you liked someone and planned to take them on a date, but you decided to go to her for advice first. 

It was a fifty-fifty chance for her, really.

“I mean, she is very mysterious,” you thought while running your thumb across your bottom lip. “Wanda.”

From there, Natasha just tried to ignore the sudden ache in her chest, pulling herself together in your presence. Of course it wasn’t her, you would never like someone like her. Plus, it was expected. You and Wanda shared a few more things in common than Natasha.

Noticing that the redhead hasn’t spoken a word, you continue. “I’d like to get to know her better but... you’ve known her longer than me, right, Nat? I want her to be comfortable if I ever get to go out with her.”

She tried to swallow the lump on her throat subtly, avoiding your eyes. She wanted nothing more than to walk away, out of anybody’s sight so no one could see her mercilessly destroy anything in her sight.

“You don’t need to,” she finally replies. “You could watch her favorite sitcoms together and you’ll win her over.”

“Sitcoms?”

“She likes them.”

You pout, pondering about the idea further while Natasha sighs to herself.

And after you excuse yourself to talk to the young witch, Natasha wastes no time to head to her floor to have some well deserved alone time to herself and mope, telling herself that she doesn’t and never will deserve someone like you.

But on this shirt I found your smell I just sat there for ages Contemplating what to do with myself

You and Natasha are both lucky to have each other on the team. The both of you are a match made in heaven on the battlefield, you have each other's backs.

"So... that went well," you state, referring to the mission, putting your hands on your hips as Natasha packs her stuff to get ready to leave for the next day. You bite the inside of your cheek, cursing yourself for packing lightly. "Can I borrow a shirt?"

Natasha just finished showering, now in the process of doing her usual routines before going to bed. She grabs a shirt from her closet and pulls it on.

She sighs exhaustedly, running her fingers through her hair. The fact that the shirt she put on was the same one you borrowed from her that day doesn’t click immediately.

But when it does,

"Fuck."

Natasha told herself to slowly move on because a more-than-friends relationship with you is not happening.

Well, not that she's ever told you directly that she's in love with you, but she can take a hint. You clearly aren’t interested.

And now she sits there alone with a shirt that fucking smells like you, her favorite person. At that moment she wants to just march over to your room and confess.

Trying to move on isn’t a good look on her, key word: trying to.

You’re something else. No one's made her feel this way before.

I called you up at a hundred and two, We just sat there for ages Talking about that boy who was getting on to you

You just might be the most oblivious idiot ever.

Because after your first, second date with Wanda you still failed to notice the changes in Natasha’s mood. You should know, you considered her your best friend, but being with Wanda became your priority ever since you pulled off impressing her on the first date.

Instead of letting you be, Natasha had to call you. At the time you were on your break, taking time off out of the compound. She just wanted some sort of closure at least, wasn’t even sure if that’s what to call it considering you both would still be friends, but she needed it.

“Hey, I won’t take up too much of your time,” she starts, but you immediately bombard her with what happened with your day with Wanda.

Natasha bites her lip as you do, every little thing you mentioned that she could only imagine doing with you sends her heart throbbing. But at the same time she’s happy for you. She simply loved seeing you happy. 

“I couldn’t have managed to do any of it let alone talk to Wanda without your help. Thanks, Nat,” she smiles sadly at your words, completely scrapping the thought of confessing her feelings to you. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. “We should hang out when I get back. I miss you.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t, I... I’m being sent off for a mission soon,” she blinks back the tears and she could’ve sworn the ache she felt just got worse. Before she could utter another word, you sigh.

“Oh. I’ll see you when you get back, then?”

“I guess.”

When the call ends she goes to her messages to type out the things she’s been dying to say. She’ll be gone when you get back, she won’t have to face you once you’ve read it. After everything I still love you. It’s been too long, you deserve to know.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natalia alianovna romanova #black widow imagines #black widow fluff #black widow x reader #black widow x fem!reader #avengers #the avengers #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #tony stark #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu imagines #x reader #reader insert #fluff #angst

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross’air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

#tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb sergeant hunter #sergreant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch series #sergeant hunter #hunter x reader #hunter clone #hunter x you #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #jessiebanethedragon #white sands warm the cold sea

[tessiete]

hii so idrk if u take reqs but can we have some korkie and obi-wan on fathers day?

Well, I have no concept of time, BUT I have finally completed this prompt! Hope you find it, anon, and I hope it lives up to your desires! Featuring cameos from Anakin, and Satine! Buituur = Parent's Day (It's become a full week, at this point!) Ijaat'ilor = Honour Meal Amalios = August(ish) (Basic) Haa'Tabguri = February(ish) (Mando'a) Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you. Alright, I think that's all the preamble! HERE WE GO!!

Master Kenobi has never missed a single Buituur Festival - not in all the seven years that Kiorkicek has been on Coruscant. Every year, with careful diligence, his master has marked off the dates on the little chronocalendar posted just at the door of Korkie’s room. It is always one standard week, but it always changes.

“It is based on the cycle of the moons,” his master says. “And there are two to keep track of, you know.”

“Yes!” Korkie agrees, eager to display the quality of his education. “Concordia, for eternal friendship, and Amity, for change.”

“Very good, Kiorkicek,” says his master, as he uses his stylus to draw a thick line across five days near the end of Amalios, which Korkie knows will be sometime in Haa’Tabguri on Mandalore.

“And will we go again this year?” he asks, bouncing on his seat. The thin pallet of his bed doesn’t rebound with the same elasticity as the one on Mandalore, but that’s alright - his enthusiasm is buoyant enough.

“Of course,” says his master, just as he knew he would, and Korkie grins.

“Thank you, Bebu! Thank you!”

His father understands, and his father would never miss it.

--

But the turn of the stars serves no single man’s purpose, and events conspire to grind promises to ash. Four years later, they are somewhere else, somewhere far away when Buituur Festival comes, and they cannot make it.

“You promised,” he says, cloak drawn tight to his body as he slides down the co-pilot seat, propping his feet on the dash. “You said we would be back in plenty of time.”

“I know what I said, Kiorkicek, but I was wrong.”

His master flicks a switch, calculating a sedate and altogether conservative flightplan back to Coruscant. Korkie watches the numbers scroll, and scoffs. Anakin would laugh at such a course. Anakin would die of shame if Obi-Wan were his master.

“So you lied,” Korkie says, toeing at one of the atmocontrols with his boot.

“Feet off, please,” says Obi-Wan. “I didn’t lie. I miscalculated.”

Korkie swings his legs to the floor, and stands with all the indignant wrath of a sullen fifteen year old. “Same thing,” he sneers, then he sweeps out the door to find his bunk.

--

The ship is too small for true privacy, and he’s compelled to share the narrow quarters with his father, but he’s not feeling particularly generous right now, so he shuts the door, and locks it behind him. Master Kenobi can sleep in the cockpit for all he cares.

He flops onto his bed, and throws his boots aside, unpolished. His cloak he drops in an untidy pile beside his bed. Let it crease, he thinks, as he pulls his tabards loose and flings his belt to the floor to join them. Let them wrinkle. I hope I lose them all. From the depths of his rucksack, still splattered with mud from their uncivilised flight, and hasty departure, he digs out a battered Temple issued comlink. Beneath his feet, he feels the rumble of engines drop to something subaural, and his stomach bottoms out to follow. For a moment, he feels weightless, like he sits at the top of a huge fall, but then he comes back to himself, and he flings himself backward over his bed. They’ve entered hyperspace.

No matter. It won’t get them anywhere fast enough to turn back time. Forget Anakin’s embarrassment - if it takes them sixteen years to return to Coruscant Korkie couldn’t care less. It’d still be too late.

He flicks through his comdeck to find Anakin’s number, and pings him.

“What?”

Anakin’s voice fills the room, staticky with distance and movement. There’s no image, so Korkie assumes he’s in the middle of something.

“Hello to you, too.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” says Anakin, confirming Korkie’s hypothesis.

Korkie runs his hand through his hair in distress. “Well, I’m absolutely in the middle of nowhere,” he bemoans. “You should see the course my father set for this trip. I think Master Yaddle is a braver pilot than he is.”

“That sounds like Obi-Wan,” says Anakin. “One sec.”

There is the shuffle of fabric over the amplifier, and then muffled voices in the background. He thinks he hears Master Qui-Gon, and maybe distant blaster fire. A typical mission for the Jinn-Skywalker team. At least they have some excitement.

“You still there?” asks Anakin, a few minutes later.

“Nowhere else to be,” Korkie sighs.

“What’s wrong with your dad?” he asks, and Korkie frowns.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Why would you ask?”

“I dunno,” replies Anakin. He can hear the distraction in his voice. “Why else would you be calling me?”

Korkie sighs, making sure it is extravagant enough to be heard over the com. “Because I’m suffering,” he says.

Anakin’s tone hardly changes. Still that distracted disinterest. “Okay, well, tell him to call Master Jinn when he can. Something about remembering to bring back some nadashaap leaves from Sundari, or something.”

“We’re not going to Sundari.”

“Mandalore,” says Anakin. “Wherever. Look, I’ve really got to go. I - yes, master! I see them!” A lightsaber hums. “Korkie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got to go.”

“May the Force be with you,” he says, but Anakin’s already signed off.

He ought to call his mother, and explain. She answers almost immediately, and he feels guilty - had she been waiting?

“Korkie, my love!” Her face appears, tinted blue and blurred with the flickering light of a hologram, but it is her, and Korkie aches to see her smile. “How are you, darling?”

“Fine,” he says, but he cannot smile in return.

“Are you keeping up with your studies?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Your father says you have top marks in Core History, and Outer Rim Politics of the Colonial Age, but that you failed your last assignment in Pollinators and Pests in Basic Agriculture.”

Korkie frowns. “Well, if you already know that, then why did you ask?”

“Korkie?” she says. Her voice turns inquisitive, and he hates the fragile note of hurt in the tone. He wishes now there were no hologram, and that he hadn’t called at all.

“Sorry, Belli,” he says, bowing his head, and picking at his fingers so that she can’t see the shame burn across his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, all hurt transformed to concern, and that is almost worse.

“Nothing,” he says.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Is your father -”

“Master Kenobi is fine,” he says. “Why does everybody ask?”

His mother recoils. Her image flickers as her expression shifts, and she lifts a brow in suspicion.

“Master Kenobi?” she repeats. “Not Bebu? Not father? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a groan, knowing that he cannot hide any longer. “It’s Buituur week,” he says.

“And?”

“And, perhaps it is nothing to you, but you may have noticed we are not there!”

“I had noticed, cyar’ika,” she says, calm and soothing even in the face of his simmering upset. She speaks as though it is not the betrayal he knows it is. “Your father called me before you left Parvis to tell me you wouldn’t be back.”

“Oh.”

“Did he not warn you?” she asks.

“No,” he replies. “He did.” He is angry, but he cannot lie. He will not slander his father with falsehoods, but neither will he defend him. “But he promised. He said - every year we would always go home for Buituur. Always.”

“And you have,” she says. “This is the first year that hasn’t been possible.”

“So he lied.”

His mother is taking none of this. He turns away so that he cannot see her lips press into a frown, and her brows draw together in displeasure.

“He didn’t lie, Kiorkicek,” she says, with the dreaded use of his full name. His mother never uses his full name. His father never shortens it. “He didn’t know you would be stuck in weeks of negotiations.”

“Then he shouldn’t have accepted an assignment so far away!” he retorts, some of the heat in his cheeks moving to his stomach to stoke those banked fires of indignation.

“It is his duty,” the Duchess reminds him. “And yours. Or do you think yourself above your vows?”

He rolls his eyes, and flicks his braid. “No,” he says.

“Excuse me?” his mother asks, a warning in her tone.

“No, ma’am,” he replies, just as testily.

His mother tuts, and Korkie tightens his jaw, biting back his resentment. For a moment, there is a strained silence between them, like the elasti-band tension between two armies before the first shot is fired. But some of his father must have rubbed off on him, because Korkie relents first, the rigidity of his spine softening, and he wilts into loose limbed resignation.

“I’m just...disappointed,” he says. “I miss you.”

“Oh, my love,” Satine says. “I miss you, too. Always. But I will see you soon, yes? Your leave will just be a bit later this year.”

“But we’ll have missed the festival.”

“Do you miss me, or do you miss the festival?” his mother demands, with a playful lilt, intent now on jollying him out of his gloom.

“You, of course,” he says, tucking a reluctant smile away before she catches him at it.

“Then it doesn’t matter when I see you,” she says. “The festival is only meant to be a reminder: honour your parents, and celebrate them.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s what I wanted to do. Honour you.”

“You know, Korkie, you have two parents.”

He cocks his head, and looks up at her sharply. “Well, yes!” he says. “But I’m always with bebu.”

“So?”

“So I wanted this week to be about you.”

“But we have decided that is impossible,” she says. “So how else might you celebrate it?”

--

He finds his father slumped over a datapad in the tiny galley, a cup of tea at his elbow. Korkie touches it as he sits down across from Master Kenobi, and feels that the ceramplast has grown cold with time, the liquid in it only half drunk. Obi-Wan looks up, blinking away the blur of distraction at his arrival.

“Kiorkicek -”

“I just wanted to apologise,” Korkie says, not waiting for his father to speak. Perhaps that might be considered impolite, but he knows that he is in the wrong, and he doesn’t want his father to excuse him before he can express his regret. “I’m sorry that I blamed you for the delay in Parvis, and I’m sorry that I was so unkind to you. I know that you couldn’t have foreseen that we would miss Buituur Festival, and that it was unfair to accuse you of lying. I was disappointed, but that is no excuse for my behaviour, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

His father is nonplussed. “Well…” he says, slipping his hands into the folds of his cloak. “Well, thank you. And I apologise for being unable to -”

“- To command time?” Korkie cracks a smile. “It wasn’t your fault, bebu. Don’t apologise.”

“Bebu?” says Obi-Wan, eyes sparkling. “Now I know I am forgiven.”

Korkie leans over the table to bring his father close, and pulls his hand from out his sleeve. He holds it between his own, and draws it to his lips leaving a delicate, reverential kiss upon the knuckles.

“Always,” Korkie vows. “And just because we can’t be home for Buituur Week doesn’t mean we cannot celebrate it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes!” Korkie says. He releases his father’s hand, and leaps to his feet. “Now, I know that we are rather limited in our supplies, but I am not limited in my creativity, and I have a plan. Belli says that one of the most important traditions of Buituur is the Ijaat’ilor.”

“The honour meal.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am certain that we might come up with something suitable enough, and arrange a holocall with your mother so that you might dine together -”

“No, not with belli, alor,” says Korkie. “With you.”

“Me?”

“Are you not also my buir?”

“I am,” says Obi-Wan.

“Then I would honour you,” says Korkie.

He shifts away to search the stores and cupboards, seeking something moderately edible, something that may be reconstituted into a feast fit to exalt his master suitably enough, but in the hollow, ascetic reserves of their tiny ship there is nothing to match his desire. He gathers what he can, combining this packet with that tin, and adding the few spices that he knows his father can tolerate. He is done in minutes, thanks to the dull efficiency of ready-pack meals, and he sets a steaming plate of instant noodles, and nutricubes before him. As a last minute touch, he boils a little more of their precious water reserves and steeps a fresh cup of tea for his father.

Then, he sits, and together they lift their grub-sticks to sample his work.

His father chews, swallows, and sips at his tea, wincing slightly at the heat. Korkie grimaces in distaste.

“Well,” says Obi-Wan. “At least it’s hot.”

Korkie shoves his plate away, his heart sinking down to his scuffed up boots.

“I’m sorry, bebu,” he says. “I did try.”

“I know you did, my one. It is not your fault. There is nothing to be salvaged from ration packs.”

“But I wanted to please you,” Korkie protests. “I wanted to show you how I admire you. I wanted to honour you for Buituur Week.”

Obi-Wan pushes his plate to join Korkie’s at the side, and stands. With a single step, he is around the edge of the table, and kneeling at his son’s feet. Korkie doesn’t resist when his father tugs him to the end of the bench, turning him to face him where he waits, and taking his hands in his.

“You always please me,” his father says. “You always honour me. Kiorkicek, I do not need Ijaat’ilor, I do not need Buituur Week. You honour me every day, just by being you, and it is my admiration I must express. I am so proud of you, my son. So proud. And I am honoured to be your father.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, bebu,” Korkie says, throwing his arms around his father’s neck.

His father wraps his own around him in turn, and holds him close. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Kiorkicek Kryze. Always.”

#korkie kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #anakin skywalker #my fic #prompt fill #hereeeeee for the anon! #father's day #thank you! <3

[antiloreolympus]

8 Anti LO Asks

1. the thing is like even the poets we draw from get critiqued too. a lot of people thought hesiod was an evangelist with an agenda to push, homer (if they existed) was often lampooned for contradicting lines and spending too much time making lists than developing the story, aeschylus and euripides were both seen as biased and cynical and were often mocked, along with many more, and yet LO fans think their kiwi tumblr fave is somehow above all of them and shouldn't be critiqued? Get over yourselves

2. the problem with the 'make your own story" argument is that, assuming you try to retell hxp at least, youll have LO fans attacking you for "stealing" from rachel, who in turn never promotes or supports other retellings unless it adheres to her worldview (such as OSP). say what you will on punderworld or ficlets, but they always prop up lesser known creators with their platforms, meanwhile rachel when tasked with helping others (like Lets Play) she made it about herself. that speaks volumes.

3. a lot of LO fans think antis are just randomly haters but that's not true. Most of us were once devoted fans who couldn't ignore all the issues anymore and who still remember when it had promise and effort put into it, not the rushed husk it is now. It isnt just blindly hating it, it's being annoyed & disappointed of what could have been and how much the comic has declined and how the fans refuse to acknowledge its faults. How would we know how badly its gone down if we weren't fans once?

4. idk man i wouldnt tell people who dislike lo to make their own comics because those end up being way better. reylos did the same thing to disney over how badly they hated the last star wars movie and now their fanfics are becoming NYT bestsellers. just saying.

5. Maybe I'm dating myself here but one of the funniest parts of fandom used to be the most devoted fans calling out the bad stuff in what we liked and discussing it, because it was fan to pick it apart and clown on it. IDK why now LO fans and people like them are so convinced they can only mindlessly praise with no dissent and all critique is invalid. It's basic critical thinking skills that one can like something and still acknowledge the flaws. It's a bad look to admit you can't do so IMHO.

6. lo fans really need to get off this high horse that lo is perfect and therefore can never be criticized. even the best pieces of work ever have actual things to critique within them, and lo is not somehow better than all of them  to not be critiqued as well. its an ever growing list of issues lo keeps adding up because of who is behind. sorry, rachel, if you want sole credit for the writing and art, you have to own all the critiques too, and the fans needs to accept it. 

7. sorry, LO fans, but we are allowed to critique a work that gets so much privleges that even other webtoon creators dont get (seriously, the majority stull have to live off commission work while working on a full time comic) meanwhile rachel gets away with bad writing, cliffhangers that aren’t resolved for years, worsening art, and her bad and entitled attitude all while the company constantly promotes her while the majority of their catalog doesn’t, she has a full team rushing work for her while she at best does sketches and the occasional banner art, and gets her a bunch of media deals that the rest won’t ever get even a scrap of, all while already being a well off, privileged white woman who cries to her thousands of fans when her ego is bruised because more and more people are noticing her shitty politics and morals put into her work and are rightfully calling it out. at the very least you’d think someone in such a high rank at one of the worlds biggest media houses would actually put in the effort to make the best product she can and respect the people and culture she’s making bank off of, but she’s not and frankly does not seem like she ever will. She quite literally said it’s HER story and she’s allowed to do what she wants with it, and has spoken over Greeks time and time again that their input doesn’t matter over her personal feelings and thoughts. you don’t see other people in her position who also made bank (such as Rick Riordan or Madeline Miller) treat Greece and it’s people so awfully as her, her fans, and her product do, yet she gets all the excuses in the world while the above mentioned and others work on their mistakes and try to always put their best products out there, all while respecting Greece and it’s stories and even giving platforms to the underrepresented, meanwhile Rachel herself can’t even keep colors in line or keep designs on model while her writing gets more and more nonsensical, with her status only going to enrich herself and her ego while the rest are clinging to survive. God willing, maybe another mythology webtoon will be picked up to give her some competition and actually force her to put in the work for the rewards she earned off the backs of others, and that can’t happen soon enough.

8. NGL, kinda funny that LO Stan defends it by claiming people who dislike it are just “hacks like the woman behind 50 shades” like … uh … you know LO is ripped off from 50 shades, right? Like quite literally, it’s almost point for point exactly the same as 50 shades, down to the CEO with mommy issues and BDSM mixed with weird obsessions over a college girl’s virginity and a jealous ex who is into it versus the pure MC. Rachel is literally the hack ripping off 50 shades that that stan is claiming antis are. Wild stuff.

Anyway both the 50 shades woman and Rachel owe Stephanie Meyers a lot of money Bc they both in turn just ripped off Twilight anyway lol

Based on this post:

https://alatismeni-theitsa.tumblr.com/post/663420719494053888/why-not-write-a-take-of-your-own-on-the-myths

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

[ligiawrites]

Some day of 8:36

Hematita. #2. Filtchen.

(friendship) + "Did I ruffle your feathers?" + Filtchen

Some day of 8:36

“YOU are absolutely insane if you think I’ll allow that!” she said.

Helena Filtchen raised her chin another inch and looked down at the man before her. Sure, she barely reached Mercúrio’s chest—which was not, mind you, very difficult to happen with how tall he was—but a glare like hers had nothing to do with height and everything to do with intent...

And her intent, in this case, was to boil a sleep potion so strong and so mean, Mercúrio wouldn’t even remember his own name after waking up. She narrowed her eyes and waited. Her assistants must’ve felt the brunt of that silent threat, for all three of them excused themselves for supper at the same time.

Mercúrio looked around and schooled his amused expression before lowering his voice.

“Helena, please. You know I have only their best intentions at heart. I know the kids will learn much with this.” They leaned in again and tried to whisper something in her ear, but Helena sidestepped to avoid them.

She hated when people dared to get too close to her, even if that person was Curio.

“I’m serious, Mercúrio.” She pushed them back with a sulfur-covered pestle. “This potion is not a toy to be used in your silly jests.” Helena focused on her alchemy book again and used the heel of her barely-clean hand to try and adjust the leather cord of her glasses. “Besides, I’m out of Topazian walnuts.”

Mercúrio didn’t even say anything. He had just arrived at the castle after three months traveling around Five Kingdoms, so all he needed was to reach inside his sleeve and tug a small pouch from it. He had an infuriatingly knowing smirk on his lips when he dropped the pouch in front of her.

Topazian bloody walnuts, if the sound the pouch made and Curio’s attitude were any indicators.

“Curio—”

They raised their hands. “I know! I know.” Curio dragged a stool and placed it beside Filtchen, climbing on it like a horseman on their steed. “But think about it, Helena. Imagine their faces!” Mercúrio's voice softened. “Besides…” They half-lay on Filtchen’s table and propped their chin on a hand. “Elias was their father. A terrible king and an even worse pops, but... they are kids.” Curio peeked at her from under their thick eyelashes. “They are feeling the loss despite everything, and the least I can do is to cheer them up and show how much better off we are without him.”

Helena pivoted around to avoid those two intense black eyes.

The mood in the castle had been quite gloomy since King Elias was beheaded. With reason, sure, but she never thought anyone would actually be sad about a man like that losing his life. She massaged her chin and took in a deep breath.

Mercúrio let out a bark of laughter. “I knew I could count on you!”

“Oh, spare me.” She took her alchemy book and leafed through the pages with more care and self-control than her expression would suggest. “So all you need is a vocoid enhancer?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “It’s a simple one; you can do it yourself, Master Arcano.”

Curio scoffed. “But then you wouldn’t be helping to cheer them up, would you?”

Helena raised her eyes to him and stared. He smiled. There were only a few people in this world that could still surprise her... Curio was definitely one of them.

She cleared her throat. “All right. Bring me my cauldron number three.”

“Don’t you think number two would be better?”

“Do not test my patience, Mercúrio.”

He laughed and obeyed, then sat at her side again. They talked and shared stories, from the political scene in other kingdoms to silly anecdotes about their journeys. It was comfortable, she thought, to be beside someone who had seen the same kind of horrifying truth that she had. More than that, it was rewarding to think about how much the two of them had fought within themselves and with each other to reach that point in their… in their friendship, she thought with a fond smile.

And as the potion glimmered green in its small vial, and Helena finished threading the glass to protect it from the light, her expression grew serious.

“Wait. I didn’t ask you what exactly you’re using this for.”

She raised the vial as if to show it, but Mercúrio, that dextrous old fox, snatched it from her fingers and all but slid away towards the door.

“I’ll give it to my darling Mathias’s mount, of course.”

Helena’s eyes widened. “You’re creating a talking horse, Mercúrio!” Her voice raised an octave. “Do you have any idea of the chaos this will… Mercúrio. Marcúrio!” She raced to him, reaching for the vial. “Give it back to me immediately!”

But she was shorter and slower, and they were as tall as slippery.

“What, Helena? Did I ruffle your feathers? C’mon now, don’t look at me like that.” Mercúrio opened the lab door like a charlatan in a magic show. “It’ll be hilarious, you’ll see. I’ll make them recite poetry the entire afternoon.”

“Oh, for Kerana. We have so many dignitaries from other kingdoms here, Mercúrio!”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them the potion was yours.”

And with a final wink, they disappeared down the corridors.

—— THE ANNIVERSARY MASTER POST || KO-FI || PLAY LTGBTK! || PROMPTS ——

#1yearofltgbtk #love the guard be the king #visual novel #writing prompt #prompt: hematita

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 3

Content Warnings for:

murder, blood, slut shaming, implied/referenced mutilation (nonconsensual glossectomy), smoking, mentioned domestic abuse

The blood on your shoulder starts to itch by the time the cousin is gone, and Lady Dimitrescu finally deigns to acknowledge either you or her pet. Daniela has long since disappeared in a cloud of buzzing insects and you’ve kept your hands busy by doting on the Lady as she sees fit. It doesn’t help, and her odd silence annoys you.

She lounges comfortably on a chaise lounge, mulling over a single bottle of wine, a book she isn’t reading propped up on a lectern before her. The room is hazy with cigarette smoke, muting the redness of the walls and blurring them into a dark maroon. She points at you with her chin, and you clean away the stain at the corner of her mouth.

Lady Dimitrescu tilts her pet’s head up by the chin too gently than she usually does in front of an audience and her tone is thick and syrupy in the cold silence, “Where were you, pet?”

Her pet doesn’t speak.

“You want me to believe you were attacked,” Lady Dimitrescu muses, and you take the cup from her, “You want me to believe you weren’t down there for a reason. You want me to believe you didn’t have a secret room. So many wants but you won’t speak. What rules are you breaking, pet?”

Lady Dimitrescu had postponed dinner, which meant that you had to hole Rachel up in the communal bedroom rather than bring her out immediately, so now you were understaffed. You suppose, technically, that they are the Lady’s staff and if she wishes to have less staff members she is entitled to do so. You just wish it wasn’t so bloody inconvenient.

Lady Dimitrescu leans forward, cupping her ear as if she was straining to hear something, “Speak up, dear. I can’t hear you.”

Her pet still doesn’t speak.

The Lady sighs and she has you hold her wineglass as she drinks. An action she only lets her pets do. She closes her eyes for a second after you pull the glass away, and her pet cringes back a step.

Lady Dimitrescu extends her claws and sends you from the room without a word.

…

Dinner is served at 12:30 in the morning and Lady Dimitrescu still has not spoken to you.

The only food that could be properly warmed in time, by sheer coincidence, is the broth you had insisted upon. The Lady’s pet, you’re surprised to find, is still alive but Lady Dimitrescu has never been one to kill her pets on purpose. For as long as you have worked for her, at least. The only caveat is that Mihaela has to spoon feed her carefully and her bloody drool and tears must be wiped away after each spoonful. Her pet has already ruined the front of her new dress.

You positioned Rachel nearest to the Lady and she practically vibrates with nerves while she fills Lady Dimitrescu’s wine flute. She isn’t as nervous as you think she should be. She doesn’t know that her husband is currently with Miss Daniela, though. Or that the Lady knows of her extra martial activities. The stringent adherence to the supposed sanctity of marriage is the only hold over from her protestant upbringing.

Other than the broth, there are a series of rainbow-coloured jellies shaped like butterflies and flowers, arrayed together on their plates to form a meadow. There are a range of cakes; cheesecakes and pound cakes, red velvet and the ever-present chocolate cake that Miss Bela has already smeared all over her sleeves. Miss Daniela’s favourite, pineapple cake, remains untouched near the candelabra.

It isn’t until two in the morning, once the main course is served, that you bring Rachel’s husband into the dining room and Daniela forces the gardener next to her mother. Lady Dimitrescu kept intensive records on all families under her duty of care; she knew the time and date of all births, deaths and marriages of her subjects. She knew when they ate well and when they starved, she knew when they prayed and to whom, she knew when their children came of age and when their adults reached old age.

The Bradley’s were what she had deemed a trial group. Given special privileges to inspire a new flavour. But that was rather tangential. What mattered was that Lady Dimitrescu found their taste unsuited for any palate; Rachel’s indiscretion was merely the icing on the cake.

Lady Dimitrescu rubs the drool off her pet’s chin, “Mr. Bradley.”

Rachel’s husband has a voice that sounds strange with how quietly he talks, his accent slurring the ends of words with the start of the next, “Yes, my Lady?”

She smiles, her teeth stained pinkish. She pulls Rachel’s corpse forward with a finger hooked around the collar of her dress, and it falls forward and splatters a bowl of broth over him. Her throat is a mess of bitten out tendons and mangled vocal cords. You are impressed, as always, that Lady Dimitrescu has not one drop of blood on her dress. “I believe you lost this.”

He breathes through his nose, “Rachel.”

She drags her finger through the weeping hole and licks a drop from her finger.

“Why?” He asks with an emotion you can't identify. He doesn’t try to run, or freak out, or even go for the steak knife sitting pleasantly on the table next to his plate.

“She was an unfaithful whore,” Lady Dimitrescu sneers, “You didn’t beat her hard enough.”

He doesn’t blink, “That’s barbaric.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bradley. Your face isn’t suited for it.”

A muscle feathers in his cheek when she looks away from him. He isn’t old, but he isn’t young either and he’s missing fingers from frostbite. He has a ruddy complexion, but you suppose he’s handsome. In the way that stuffed elk heads are handsome.

Daniela, blissfully unaware, picks up her blood covered cake. “Oh, I love pineapple cake!”

…

“You were nervous earlier,” Lady Dimitrescu says, after the table has cleared, “Why was that?”

“It’s already been corrected.” You reply.

She sighs out a long string of smoke, “Has it?” You don’t answer and she laughs, a quiet chuckle that’s more a sigh than anything. She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette. “Mother Miranda wanted to speak to you. A call will be coming through later.”

You nod. “Very well, Madame.”

Lady Dimitrescu looks at you, and you look at her. She blows smoke in your face and you squint against it. It means you don’t see her hand as it comes to stroke idly at your cheek, or the way her pet looks at you from under the table.

You frown at her, “You’re upset with me.”

She doesn’t answer.

You lean into her hand a little and she twirls a strand of your hair around a finger, pursing her lips. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” She mumbles, and you lean towards her to catch her next words, “I just hate not knowing things.”

You step away from her and head towards the door. “Don’t look at me like that. I told you to get used to it.”

She doesn’t speak again, the usual banter she responds with lost in the vague expression of disdain on her face.

…

The phone rings late the next day, while you’re busy scrubbing at the dishes to help keep everything running on schedule. You end up taking the call while folding the loose clothing that hadn’t been folded in a week.

“Dimitrescu residence.”

“Finally,” Mother Miranda sighed through the phone.

“Mother Miranda.”

“Wesker.” She replied.

You pause, wrestling down a sudden lump in your throat and settling the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “Hello.” You say unevenly.

Mother Miranda’s laugh is no less lovely through the speaker than it is in real life, “You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Very well, Mother Miranda,” You flex your free fingers, then grab another pair of stockings, “You wished to speak with me?”

“I did. Have you had any relapses?”

“No, Mother Miranda.”

“You're healing properly?”

“Yes, Mother Miranda.”

“Excellent. Vanessa wanted me to inform you that she’ll be there on the morrow.”

You drop the shift you were folding. “Excuse me?”

“Did Alcina not tell you?”

“It must have slipped her mind.” You say lightly, placing the shift back into the basket.

“Vanessa will collect more data, but your condition is promising. I’ll call again in a week with the results.”

“Thank you, Mother Miranda.”

She laughs again and you can imagine her clearly. The dark red velvet of her armchair, the hewn strength of her face, the glimmer of her dark eyes. “Take care.” She cooed and hung up.

You place the phone down gently and stand there in silence until Mihaela calls you to the Lady’s room.

…

You try to keep your temper in check when Mihaela leaves but struggle with it to a point that you have to look at her pet instead. Even that doesn’t help, because her pet has dropped all pretence of being meek and glares at you from her spot. She isn’t near the Lady, curled instead behind the bed with a glare towards you.

She should be grateful that she only lost her tongue.

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve let the silence drag on too long to be polite and that Lady Dimitrescu has abandoned her own charade of being engrossed in a book of poetry she hasn’t touched in years. You flex your fingers.

“Madame.” You say but forgo a bow.

“You’re upset.” She observes mildly.

“God forbid I have a temper.”

The room goes silent again, but you aren’t in a hurry to smooth it over, cataloguing the shock that twists her face. Her eyes are wide, and her smile shows too many teeth, but you’ve never been one to shy away because of a few fangs. She rises from her chair, stepping over the bloody stain in the carpet as she looms over you.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I could ask the same.” You snap.

She raises a brow.

“How dare you,” You snarl, jabbing a finger up at her, and you struggle with your words, “How fucking dare you!”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil 8 #A Good Servant #my writing #little more disjointed but whatever #mother miranda makes an appearance

[writersrealmbts]

If You Have Half a Brain

Description: Part of the summer #btswritingbingo, hosted by @bangtanwritingbingo! For the Pina Coladas prompt. You’ve been a bit down on your luck, until one of your customers, who is definitely drunk, strikes up a conversation with you and offers you a job. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, drunken antics (mild), mild language, mentions of blood/injuries (very briefly)

Posted: 06/04/2021

Tags: Hoseok x reader, business au, 

Slice of Life/Angst/moments of fluff: 11,698 words

A/N: I think it’s been over a month since I posted a story, so here’s over 10k words. Enjoy! Thanks to @kerikaaria​ for beta reading this

“Sir, you ordered a virgin.”

“Whoa, no! I didn’t even know that this was that kind of place, I mean, kudos on the confidence and I mean that in the best way because you shouldn’t be ashamed—“

“Your drink,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “It’s non-alcoholic. You ordered a virgin drink.”

“What? No I didn’t, I ordered a pina colada!”

“No, our menu doesn’t offer pina coladas. What you ordered was our Niño colada, which is from our non-alcoholic menu. I apologize for any inconvenience, but if this is you with a little bit of alcohol, then I think you should stick to sobriety.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed and blinking. “Why don’t you have pina coladas?”

You sighed. “We don’t stock rum.”

He made a choked sound. “The…rum…is gone?”

“Yes. The rum is gone.” You had a sinking feeling that you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Why is the rum always gone?!” He exclaimed, flopping onto the table.

“From your behavior, I’m going to assume you’ve consumed every last drop of it, Captain Sparrow,” You replied dryly. Well, your boss was right. You were not cut out for this job. “Now, if you’re not going to order something else, I’m going to go turn in my apron and start job hunting again.”

“Wait! Wait! Do you like piña coladas?” He asked, catching the pocket of your apron.

“I swear to God, if the next words out of your mouth are anything along the lines of ‘and getting caught in the rain’ I will murder you without regret.”

His teeth clicked shut. His eyes darted over your face. “But do you?”

You took a deep breath. “I can’t stand coconut.”

“You…don’t like…coconut?” He looked horrified. “Then…coconut chicken?”

“Ew.”

“Coconut ice cream?”

“Waste of sugar and time, a lot like this conversation. I don’t like coconut. I hate it when people cook in coconut oil because saying it’s tasteless is Bull.” You crossed your arms. “New drink or what?”

He stared at you for a while, then smiled softly. “You’re too good for this job, anyway. You should work for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come work for me.”

“Repeating that doesn’t tell me what you’re saying.”

“I own a company. I need someone who can deal with trash like me and keep them away from me. You do not have to be polite to the trash either.” He leaned his chin on a propped-up fist. “Your job would quite honestly be saying what was on your mind and telling me and anyone else off.” He looked and sounded surprisingly sober compared to before.

“Please tell me you didn’t use piña coladas to test a potential hire.”

He grinned. “Not intentionally.”

I folded your arms, trying to gauge whether or not he was being serious. “You’re not saying this because you’re drunk, are you?”

“I’m not drunk!” He argued, eyes wide. “I’ve only had one glass of wine!”

You cringed. “At least tell me it was a large one.”

“N-not particularly.”

“Oh dude, either your acting is pretty on point, or you’re a serious lightweight and should stick to the non-alcoholic menu.” You shook your head.

His already flushed cheeks turned more red. “Wha—“ he huffed. “Do you want the job or not?”

You considered it, a little surprised you were even considering it, and shrugged. “Not sure I believe you still.”

He huffed and fumbled to pull out his wallet, fumbled more, then handed you a business card. “That’s me. Call or show up or anything. My personal cards are like golden tickets.”

You took the card warily.

The side of the cards facing you had a phone number in shimmering gold lettering, and the other side looked like a splash of summer colors—Bold black lettering spelling out his name and the name of the company.

“Hoseok Jung, CEO of HopeWorld Incorporated,” you read aloud, a little…skeptical. “If you are this person, what the heck do you want me for?”

“Honestly…I need someone sensible who won’t just try to stay on my good side. I need someone who will risk their job to threaten anyone that is being ridiculous with murder. I’m bad at that. I need a spiky person cause I’m just…I have things I’m strong on, but there are times when I just need someone to say things like they are. No bull.”

“And based on our interactions here, you think that’s me?”

He nodded. “I only played up the antics a bit.”

“Do you often hire your waitresses?”

He grinned. “No, but I have found most of my best people by chance. One other waiter, but I knew him before.”

“Your best people?”

“You’ve heard of my company?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Then you’ve heard the names Suga, RM, and V.”

You paused. “Yes.”

“Suga and I met at a club. RM and I met in a museum, and I met V when I was at an animal shelter.” He shrugged. “We had a good rapport. I offered them jobs. My friends over there are also part of my inner circle. It would have been better if you liked piña coladas, but you should still be okay with them.”

You stared over to where his friends were goofing off in the pool. Those idiot men were part of the inner circle of one of the biggest companies ever? The company that….

Two screeched as they went into the water, losing the game of chicken.

“They are part of your brain trust? Is the one even old enough for alcohol?”

“Yeah, he just tends to pick people up when he’s buzzed.”

“So, scandal prone.”

“No, no, I mean physically lift them. Usually just us. He’s not really a social person. Just us.”

“Ah.” You weren’t sure what to make of that.

“Actually—“

“Y/n! I’m not paying you to stand around!”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m done after I finish discussing our menu with this gentleman, Sir.” You called back, then turned to Hoseok. “How much would I be paid?”

“To start...how about $16 an hour?”

You stared at him. “$16 an hour?”

“Plus benefits, we have an excellent benefits program.”

“$16 an hour?” You repeated, a little shocked and numb. Plus benefits, even if you only worked there for a week, you’d be able to cover all of your expenses.

“Alright, okay, fine, $18 an hour—but no more than that until we know if it will work out. Then we can discuss raises. Deal?” He stuck his hand out.

You considered it for a moment, then shook his hand. “Right. Okay. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow, 8 a.m.”

You nodded. “Business dress?”

He shrugged, “If you like. Just dress nicely.”

You nodded. “Fine. Okay. See you then. I have a job to quit.”

He nodded with a smile. “I look forward to working with you.”

———

If you had thought that your means of obtaining this job had been strange, nothing had prepared you for your first day working there.

You had dressed well, wearing your favorite interview outfit because it was the nicest outfit you owned and you would be shopping later today so you knew what you needed to buy.

You entered the sleek looking building, and went to the reception desk. “Hello, I was told to come in today.” You pulled out the business card and showed it to the secretary.

Her eyes widened. “Whoa. You met Mr. Jung?”

“Uhm, yes. Yes I did. And he told me to come in today, at eight.”

“Right, okay, um, let me get you a temporary I.D.so you can get around today, and you’ll have to talk to H.R. later about your permanent one. Take this, and then head up to the top floor, he’ll want you to report straight to his office. At least, that’s what protocol states.”

You nodded, absorbing the information easily. “Top floor, his office, report to HR later for a permanent ID. Return this at the end of the day?”

“Yes, thank you, and good luck on your first day!” She practically sang, going back to her computer.

You slid the ID necklace over your head and went straight for the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor.

The way she spoke was almost like she had never met the CEO, which seemed unlikely to you, but maybe you were just misreading it.

The top floor was as quiet as the rest of the building, and you had a feeling most employees didn’t start until 9. But there was faint music coming from the biggest office—the CEO’s office.

You took a breath to steady yourself and then knocked on the door.

“Come on in, y/n!”

You shook your head slightly and did as told, walking into the office.

Entering the building, you had been pleasantly surprised by the way everything seemed light and airy, with bright splashes of color in appropriate amounts in the appropriate places, making it feel less like an office and more of a...you weren’t sure what it felt like, but it felt nicer than an office.

Entering Hoseok Jung’s office had a similar effect. There were knickknacks, but they weren’t overwhelming, and splashes of color were all throughout the room, but was balanced by a sort of modern elegance of his sleek office furniture and the immense natural lighting.

“Do you like it?”

You considered it all. “It’s not to my taste, but it is well balanced and I can appreciate the aesthetic.”

He grinned. “See, you’re already doing better.”

“The receptionist acts like she’s never seen you before.”

“Oh, well, most people only see J-Hope, one of the senior workers who reports directly to Mr. Jung. That’s how I got into the business to take it over from my father.” He shrugged. “Eventually, they’ll find out that J-Hope is me, but for now, J-Hope is well-liked. My ‘brain trust’ as you called them, will be here in about half an hour, which gives us time. Come on, I’ll show you to your office. Remember, it’s not your job to make friends, it’s your job to call things as you see them.”

You shrugged. “And if that means holding my tongue?”

“Then I trust you to say something later, when you deem the time to be right.”

“You know this is crazy, right?”

He grinned. “I know that you think it’s crazy, but I’m glad you’re telling me.”

You shook your head as you followed him out, noting that he wasn’t wearing a full suit. More like slacks and a shirt that wasn’t a button-up, but also wasn’t a plain t-shirt? Very loose-fitting, possibly a few sizes too big. His slacks weren't even slack, not really. Just grey, loose-fitting pants.

“You don’t dress much like a CEO.”

He chuckled. “I know. Jimin tells me that all the time, trust me, I do when I have to. But J-Hope likes loose clothing.”

You shook your head a bit.

“This will be your office.”

“It’s right next to yours.”

“Well, you are going to be my left-hand person. Left hand office.”

You followed him into the office that was way too good to be true.

“Obviously you can decorate it as you like, outside of the desk. The desk chair you get to choose from a magazine that we use for office supplies. We also ask that you don’t break any walls or windows.”

“I have a balcony,” you breathed.

“Yeah. There’s actually a door out there that connects our balconies, my side is pretty much never locked, but you can lock your side as well.”

“Like in hotels.”

“Yes.”

“So, if I'm your left, who’s your right?”

“Suga. Yoongi. You’ll like him, I think.” He picked up a random sticky note, looking amused. “Last guy didn’t clean out very well, sorry.”

“Shouldn’t a janitor have made it in here since?”

He paused. “Oh. Yes.”

“Which makes me wonder when the last time anything up here has been cleaned.” You ran a finger over the desk, nose wrinkling in disgust at the dust on your fingers.

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”

“I need to wash my hands,” You said, feeling a little contaminated. “Bathrooms.”

“This way.”

The bathrooms on the top floor were actual bathrooms, as in, one toilet and sink per room instead of the public bathroom style. There were three of them, mostly the same size, but one also had a larger vanity area with drawers under it.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to follow you in, but this bathroom is one that we usually keep locked, so if you want to keep makeup or other things in here, no one uses the third drawer over right now.” He tapped it. “You’ll be getting a key to it later today, so you can put it in later if you need to.”

You nodded, wrinkling your nose at the smell of the soap. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Piña colada soap?”

He chuckled, scratching his neck. “You can also bring in your own soap. Yoongi does. He just hasn’t replaced his yet.”

You shook your head. “Right.”

“If it helps, it’s only that during the summer.”

“What is it in winter? Eggnog?”

He shook his head. “Cinnamon rolls.”

“Are you all trying to psychologically torture yourselves?” You asked, drying your hands. “Piña coladas when you have to work, cinnamon rolls to make yourself hungry….”

Hoseok shrugged.

You sighed. “Alright. Where to now?”

“Morning meeting.” He waved for you to follow him, and led the way down to a conference room. “Jimin and Tae bring coffee and pastries and we go over our agendas and projects. Today that will include introducing you. I do have one thing to ask, and it might be inappropriate so if it is you can just hit me—“

“Or you could just not ask it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Right. Yeah.”

You helped straighten the chairs, seeing the frown on his face at how disheveled the room was. “So, what will I be doing today, besides accompanying you to fire the janitor.”

He cringed. “Well, tour the company. Stop by HR. Meet the security team. Talk to the janitorial staff and threaten firing them to improve their work ethic. Then if that doesn’t work, yes, you will be there to help me fire people.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be the bad guy. You keep your J-Hope persona.” You sighed. “Really? No one caught onto you being the CEO with the name J-Hope?”

He just grinned again. “Best disguise is right under your nose.”

“The best disguise is an effective one that actually exists.”

“I’m glad I met you,” He responded with a light laugh.

“I’ve been criticizing you since I arrived.” You actually felt guilty about that, but only slightly. You weren’t about to lose sleep over it.

He just smiled. “You’ve been honest. I…I really missed honesty.”

“Your inner circle aren’t honest?”

“They are…but they’re…it’s different. Sometimes you need to shake things up. I think we all need shaking up.”

You frowned. “Okay. Level with me: what happened?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to make you think that things need to be shaken up?”

His face relaxed, eyes seeming to glaze as they shifted to the meeting table. “I…uh, I lost someone I cared about. You know that cruise ship disaster?”

You nodded. “HopeWorld donated a whole lot of money to cover the bills of those injured, and help cover funeral bills for others. Some people wondered if you guys had some sort of stock in the cruise ship or had been involved in the explosion, but you were just being kind. Plus by helping them out financially they could stand up to the cruise company.”

He shrugged, but also nodded. “And I needed a reason to be there. Looking.”

“Girlfriend or boyfriend?”

He choked out a laugh. “Yeah. And my sister and her husband. And my parents. I was supposed to join them at a different port.”

You felt like you’d been sucker-punched. “Oh my God.”

“Didn’t lose all of them. My dad is still in the hospital, Mom is home but she visits him everyday.” He rubbed his neck. “My sister's husband went back to work just a week ago, and he’s not having an easy time of it, but he’s pushing on. My sister hasn’t woken up yet, but we’re still hopeful. I hope she wakes up soon. She’s the other person I always relied on to be honest with me.”

You slowly nodded. “And your…significant other?”

“Idiot died. One of the lifeboats got stuck on release. Climbed out and cut the rope. Snapped back.” He shrugged again.

“Could have been worse,” You murmured, clenching a fist. You knew that description. You gave that description.

“Ok, this is one time when maybe you shouldn’t be honest.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Hey, my step-dad died because he thought he could swallow a golf ball and decided to try when no one was home. My younger brother tail-gated a semi. My father died from a sliver after saving eight school-age children.” You shrugged. “There are all sorts of ways to go out of this world. Doing the right thing…the heroic thing, that counts for a lot in my book. But there is such a thing as stupidly heroic.”

He stared at you wide-eyed. “A…golf ball?”

You shrugged. “I believe I implied that he wasn’t intelligent.”

Hoseok snorted and then started laughing. “I-I’m sorry!”

You smiled. “Good. Your brain trust will be here soon.”

“Did he…did he really…?”

“It was a little more complicated, and there was booze involved, but essentially, yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so heartbroken.”

You shrugged. “Life goes on.”

“What does it go on from?” A new voice asked.

You turned to see one of the boys from the pool yesterday.

He looked you up and down, and offered a slight smile and his hand. “Hey. You must be the waitress that Hobi got so excited about hiring yesterday. I’m Taehyung, or, as the media knows me, V.”

You shook his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you like Pina Coladas?” Taehyung asked, setting the box of what you assumed were pastries on the table.

“No.”

He froze a bit. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But...why? Wait...oh no...you don’t like them?” He stared at the box of pastries.

You looked at the box. “Let me guess, non-alcoholic pina colada donuts.”

“We don’t normally get them, I just saw them and I thought it’d be fun….” He looked completely dejected. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I ate breakfast anyway. I had an omelet, and I have a chocolate muffin in my packed lunch in my office. So, if you would like, I can get that and you can pretend you got it specially for me because I got it from the same shop.”

He gasped. “Their chocolate muffins are amazing.”

“Do you want me to pretend?”

He considered it a moment.

“He doesn’t want everyone to be eating and not you,” Hoseok chuckled. “He’s sweet like that.”

You nodded. “Did the door to my office get locked?”

Hoseok shook his head. “I left it open so that you could get in and out without your keys, and so we could send a janitor in after the meeting. Maybe put your things in our breakroom for now.”

You nodded sharply.

“I’ll get it, if that’s okay with you?” Taehyung said.

You shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

He bounced a bit as he raced out.

“Good job, offering to lie on your first day.” Hoseok looked amused.

“He looked like a kicked puppy. I’m honest, not abusive and heartless. Besides, it’s more to make him feel good. Most people would figure it out, right away.”

Hoseok nodded. “I guess so.”

“It doesn’t breach my not-yet-existing contract to lie, does it?”

He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

Both of you fell quiet as Taehyung came back and slipped the muffin into the box of donuts (carefully).

Then several men arrived at about the same time.

“Hi, y/n! I’m Jimin, and I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got you a chocolate crème frappuccino. Is that okay?”

You nodded, smiling. “Sounds good. Thank you.” You took the cup and studied where they were sitting before taking a seat yourself--at the left hand of Hoseok--when he indicated for you to sit there.

“For the future, what do you normally drink?”

“This,” You answered, smiling. “I try to limit my caffeine intake.”

“Great, I’ll add it to my list and we can discuss alternatives later.” Jimin opened the donut box. “Tae, what have you done?”

“Pina colada donuts,” Tae answered, grinning. “And a muffin for y/n.”

Half of the boys had already grabbed a donut, or were in the process of doing so, but all seemed to freeze a bit.

“Why a muffin for y/n?”

“I don’t like coconut,” You answered, shrugging.

“Wait...at all?” One of them asked, eyes wide.

You sighed. “Nope. That is possible, you know. Just like I’m sure the odds are in my favor that at least one of you doesn’t like seafood. One of you probably doesn’t like coffee, one of you probably doesn’t like tea, and a few of you probably don’t like mint ice-cream.”

They all seemed to be surprised and yet also guilty.

“Well….”

One huffed. “Why did you hire her again? She doesn’t even like pina coladas.”

“Not everyone does,” Hoseok replied easily. “Shall we start our morning download?”

You studied the others as they dug into their donuts, wondering where the odd obsession with pina coladas came from--not for the first time. But they weren’t the only people you’d ever met with the obsession, and you doubted they would be the last.

“Besides, it can’t hurt us to look at things other than pina coladas.”

“Please,” One of them grumbled. “I don’t want to get sick of them.”

“Fine. Then let me ask this,” the huffy one asked. “Y/n, what is your beverage of choice?”

You met his gaze evenly, calculating all of the answers he could expect and all of the answers you could give him. But one stuck out as particularly perturbing for someone like him and a situation like this.

You leaned forward, smiled slightly, and answered, “Water.”

His eyes widened and he spluttered. “Water?”

“Water,” You confirmed cheerfully. “If I have to choose anything, I choose water.”

“Great, you can be the designated driver,” Taehyung joked, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Huffy sat down, looking like he lost five years off of his life. “No way can we do a water theme….”

“If we could get back to what we’re being paid to be here for, that’d be great,” You said, in a tone that was too sweet to be honest.

Hoseok chuckled a little. “Right. Y/n is here to keep things...possible and practical. Her job is to be bluntly and brutally honest about things. After she gets a feel for this place, I’m sure she’ll feel more comfortable giving us all a piece of her mind. She’ll be shadowing me as J-Hope, and I’m not going to announce her job title for a while.”

“Because you don’t know what to call my job?”

“Pretty much. Anyway, as you guys know, we’re...running a little thin right now, and that’s on me. We’re going to be tightening up the ship, and making sure we’re running properly. Jimin, I need finances from across the company. Tae, I need all of the reports from HR. Jin and Jungkook, I want a list and summary of all of the projects we’re working on right now. Yoongi and Namjoon: keep working on that one project. Anything I need to know right now?”

“We have that event tomorrow, with the food trucks, and we need to decide on the judges.”

“Okay, so, we let everyone who wants to judge put their name on a list, then we’ll draw names from a hat. Jimin’s on the judgement panel as well.”

“I am?”

“You’ll eat anything, the rest of us are too picky. And Jungkook will be filming.” Hoseok made a couple of notes. “I have to talk to our janitorial staff, and y/n will be with me. They haven’t been cleaning up here like they’re supposed to. Y/n’s office was disgusting, and this room was a mess.”

“Uh oh. Firing anyone?”

“He wants to see if talking to them will fix the issue first,” You said dryly. “Which, in my experience, is a waste of time. There’s always someone dragging their feet and I bet if we looked through the HR reports, or even sent me in under cover for a few hours, we’d be able to pinpoint the weak link and remove it from the chain.”

“She’s got a point. I could take her down and tell them she’s doing some work in each department. We’ve done that before, for people who were actually working for one of the departments.” Jimin clicked his pen a couple of times.

Hoseok considered it a moment while he worked on a bite of his donut, then nodded. “Alright. Then we’ll do that. You might need different clothing. If it takes more than a couple of hours, don’t worry about it. If this works, we’ll put you in different departments as though you were experiencing everything. Because I think we need a spy in the HR department as well. Plus anything you find about employee welfare and happiness, that’s always a good thing. We’ll say you’re one of Jimin’s random hires. Get it done.”

Jimin nodded, then checked you over. “They’ll give her a uniform, so we don’t need to worry about her clothing. Maybe just fix your hair so that you look more like ‘random girl’ instead of  ‘sophisticated lady’.”

“Did you just call me a lady?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Jimin shrugged.

“Anyway, finish things here, then y/n dress down and we’ll discuss your work later today. You’ll eat lunch with us, Jimin, make sure to mention that.” Hoseok wrote a couple more things down. “I’ll be in my office, reviewing things. I’ll let you know at lunch what the real plan is. We’re gonna change things.”

“Okay,” Huffy said firmly. “That’s that then. Donuts done, coffee drunk, work to do. Off we go. The sooner we work, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get a drink.”

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to get up and get moving.

You followed Jimin out, letting him lead you to the bathroom. “Sophisticated lady?”

“Make your hair more casual, maybe remove some of your makeup. And lose the jacket.”

You sighed and did as you were told as he disappeared for a moment, returning with a different shirt and a sweater.

“Try these.”

You looked at them, a little concerned.

“They’re clean, trust me. And they’re more casual than what you’re wearing.”

You waved him out of the room again, changing into the new shirt and sweater, a little disturbed at how well they fit. “Where did you get these?” You asked, opening the door again.

“Someone left them behind. Can’t remember when, can’t remember who, just remember they didn’t work here.” He checked his own hair while you switched your hair from a bun to a nice-looking pony-tail. “Can’t even remember why her shirt and sweater were left behind. Think she borrowed one of mine?”

You stared at him. “Did you sleep with this girl?”

He turned back to you with a half-smile. “No. I was drunk, but no. My boyfriend at that time wouldn’t have been too thrilled.”

“Do you have baggage about said boyfriend as your friend does about the significant other that he lost?” You asked, studying the impish man in front of you.

Jimin’s smile died a bit. “Told you about that, did he?”

“More or less. Focused more on the ones that survived rather than the one that died. So, baggage: yes or no?”

Jimin came and stood right in front of you, then moved closer, reaching and closing the bathroom door, locking it.

You clenched a fist, just in case.

“Baggage...yes. Same ship. All of us, the whole board, everyone in there. My boyfriend...we were at the point of breaking up anyway, so I feel guilty about that, because he wouldn’t have been there if I had. Hoseok was going to propose. Namjoon’s childhood friend. Yoongi’s girlfriend was paralyzed, and her brain...she only recognizes her family and she’s...not doing well. Two of Taehyung’s friends. Jungkook’s brother. Seokjin’s whole family, except his nephew. He jokes about drinking, but he really just wants to get to the daycare at a decent time. If he knows he has to stay late, he has a babysitter that brings his nephew here. Hoseok feels a lot of responsibility because he was the one who suggested we have a board retreat and invite family and friends. Seokjin, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jungkook were all there when it happened. Myself, Yoongi, and Hoseok were delayed because of an emergency on a project we were heading up.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. So, this company is being run by seven people who have undergone a whole lot of trauma and grief in the past six months. That doesn’t sound at all like a recipe for disaster.” Eight, a little voice whispered, eight if you’re included.

Jimin nodded a bit. “Right. What did you lose in that accident?”

You held his gaze steadily. “The will to please others with false actions and honeyed words.”

Jimin’s head tilted slightly and his eyes narrowed just a bit.

“My older brother worked on that ship, one of the engineers. He’d been filing reports like a good little worker bee about some of the issues they were seeing, but the reports were being ignored. He was threatened, and told to keep quiet if he wanted to keep his job. He told me, I told him to fight, to make sure no one got on that damn ship.”

“But he didn’t,” Jimin whispered, gaze shifting away from you.

“But I gave the people suing that company everything they needed to win their case, especially with HopeWorld providing the financial means for everyone to fight. It was serious neglect on their part, but even I was too pliant to do anything about it. So I’m done. I’m done trying to please others and put up with their crap and if you don’t unlock that door, I’m sorry, but I might punch you.”

He unlocked it. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ve been dealing with too many thugs from the cruise company. That’s why I was job hunting. That’s why I got that job at the bar. It was a favor that a friend called in from the owner, but they both thought I was a bad fit. I was just desperate. And then Hoseok came in drunk on one glass of wine and complaining about a virgin pina colada.”

“That’s why he wouldn’t stop talking about virgins,” Jimin muttered. “He kept saying something about virgins being confident, and that he wished he was that confident, and that he was joking about not ordering virgins and it was all weird.”

“He should not be allowed to drink.”

“Well, normally he’s a sober and sleepy drunk, so, yesterday was a bit of an outlier. Happiest I’d seen him in a while, though. Especially after he met you.” He was studying you again.

“If you have something to say, then say it. I told you, I’m not waiting around for BS.”

“You’re not like the person he lost, I can tell that right away. But you’re the first person he’s shown...interest in. I guess I’m just curious about what he saw that intrigued him so much.”

“My winning personality and barbed words,” You answered, then grabbed your wallet from your purse and tucked it into your pocket, shoving the purse into the empty drawer that Hoseok had pointed out earlier. “What was the person he lost like?”

“Soft, a little...out-there, artistic, wild dreamer, adventurous, spontaneous,” Jimin listed, then shrugged. “Different.”

You paused to look at Jimin again. “When you said he’s taken an interest in me, did you mean….”

“Possibly romantically. Not definite, but there’s always a few different paths interest in other people can take us, isn’t there. If you’re anything like I’m assuming you are, you’d actually be a good match for him.” Jimin walked out. “Now, come on. We’ve got work to do.”

-----

-----

You were undercover in HopeWorld for a week before you finally were able to return and start moving into your office--having turned in a twenty-page report on your findings while working undercover.

And it was spotlessly clean this time, and there was a computer there. It was even sporting a nice, new plant in the one corner with a card that read it was from all of the other board members.

The winky-face said that Taehyung had been in charge of delivering it and writing the note.

So you set to unpacking the small box of office supplies that you were bringing in.

You were getting a corkboard and a whiteboard later, plus two more chairs so that anyone else in your office could sit down (or you could switch seats through the day if you needed to), and you definitely planned on bringing some more plants here since it got more sunlight than your tiny flat did.

So you unpacked a couple of empty binders, sheafs of paper, a few notebooks, your new pens and pencils, and your pen and pencil holders. You set a photo-frame on your desk. You pulled out a bottle of lotion and put it in one of your desk drawers.

And that’s where you found the photo of Hoseok with the person that had to be his lover.

“Of course,” You murmured, sighing, then you set the photo aside to return to him at your meeting later.

In the past week, you’d gotten a pretty good read on most of the boys, even Yoongi.

But Seokjin was distant, and kept you distant. He didn’t stick around on the days you were in what was technically his department, instead finding an excuse to be elsewhere.

Taehyung and Jimin had both shrugged when you told them that Seokjin was avoiding you.

“Don’t see why he would,” Jimin said, and you knew he was being honest.

It was fine. The boys weren’t your job anyway. Your job was to look at things practically, find problems or potential problems, and present them to people who could fix them. Your job was to question everything so that every eventuality is considered and the best product of the workers' time is produced.

“That’s not a very big box for such a big office.”

You jumped and dropped the stapler, but jumped back so that it wouldn’t staple you on accident (something that had, unfortunately, happened before). “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Seokjin shrugged, strolling in casually and picking it up. “Not my intention.”

“Then what is your intention?” You asked, wondering what could have brought the illusive man to your office before the morning meeting. According to the others, and your own experiences, he was always just barely on time for the meeting.

He just looked at you carefully. “Can I ask you a question, and get an honest answer?”

“Fire away,” You replied, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

He moved closer so he was looking you in the eye. “Why did you take this job?”

You frowned a bit, stepping back and trying to figure out why he was asking that. But also, how to answer.

“Please answer honestly.”

“Jimin told you about my brother, the cruise ship?”

“Yes. He told all of us, Hoseok too. Hoseok had his suspicions. I don’t think they know that you were on the ship as well.”

You huffed out a laugh and leaned against your desk. “Good. I don’t need any of that nonsense.”

He nodded. “You were answering my question.”

You took a deep breath and then released it, looking at the ceiling. “Desperation. Have to pay the rent. And he seemed...optimistic.” There was something appealing to that optimism. Something familiar and comfortable. Refreshing.

“What did he tell you your job was going to be?”

“Dealing with trash that tried to get near him.”

“What’s on your resume?”

“Nothing to make me qualify for this office. And if you think I’m here because I’m taking advantage of his kindness...I can’t say that you’re wrong, but I’m also just curious about what he intends for me. Don’t think that I enjoy saying that someone is dead weight. They’re people, and they need to make a living somehow, but they need to make that living honestly. THere are people who want jobs, who need jobs, who are actually willing to put in the work.”

“So, going undercover…?”

“It was a solution that would alleviate the feelings of guilt that our boss might have felt if we hadn’t fully investigated and ended up firing someone. Besides, he strikes me as a bit of a neat freak, so I figure the janitorial staff should be top-notch. I did hear a rumor that J-Hope had liberated a cleaning cart and taken it to the top floor, though.”

Jin sighed, shaking his head. “He really hasn’t trusted the cleaning staff since your first day.”

“Lovely. Did he clean this office?”

“Gotta admire his work ethic.”

You shook your head. “So, I’m not the only person who’s almost completely in the dark about what my job actually is, am I?”

“I think he keeps rethinking what he wants for you.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me because…?”

He shrugged a bit. “I haven’t. It’s been a bad week for my nephew. I’ve been in and out of the office all week. Plus I’ve been working with Hobi.”

You both jumped as someone banged on your office door.

Hoseok threw it open with a grin, then halted, surprised. “Oh, hyung.”

“Hey, Hoseok-y. Y/n and I were just talking. I’ll leave you two to discuss y/n’s job. Because I think we’re all confused about it.” Seokjin took one of your paperclips and left.

Hoseok looked after him in confusion. “Did he ask if he could take that paperclip?”

“Um, no, but it’s just a paperclip. You read the report?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Good work on that. Sorry you were thrown into it so soon after starting.”

“You mean my first day.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Your first day. So, I’ve figured out what your story is going to be.”

“My story?”

“Whenever a higher-up is brought in, they’re presented to the company. There are already rumors about a higher-up being brought into Mr. Jung’s board, and it’s extremely unorthodox for us to not present you within the first two weeks. So, we’ve got a couple days leeway to get you settled into your actual job.”

“I’m pretty sure that was part of my actual job.”

“Right. Anyway, I thought we might tell people that you’re the eyes and ears of Mr. Jung, and that one of your jobs is ensuring that we are at top potential.”

“Ok.”

“Which is basically what we already said, but I want to make it clear that you are in direct communication with HR and all reports go to you at the end of the day. I’m just having trouble coming up with your title.”

“Quality manager?”

He paused. “Ok, you’re really good. How have you not worked in a job like this before?”

“Hard times, big sacrifices. So, if I’m understanding things correctly, you want me to look through the reports on behaviors and such and make sure they’re looked into and that we’re paying attention, but also you want me to check in on projects and make sure we’re asking all the right questions.”

“Exactly. Quality manager is an excellent way of describing that job. But also, your job is to keep people from trying to see Mr. Jung. Mr. Jung has enough on his plate.”

You nodded. “I can do that. Shall we practice? I read through the notes on that memory core device.”

He grinned. “Sounds great. But first, the morning meeting.”

You nodded. “Thank you for cleaning my office, by the way.”

He just smiled back. “I can’t stand messes.”

“I gathered. You’ve got a pretty big one downstairs, though.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of dreading firing people though.”

“Then let me handle it. You can be there as a known authoritative figure and I’ll do the talking.”

“They might get mad at you for spying.”

“Then I trust you to handle their subsequent anger appropriately. I’ll try to keep things professional.”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Even offering to do any of this. I wasn’t really ready to take on the boss position. But I can’t sit by while people abuse their place in this company. I have to deal with the messes. My family didn’t build this legacy for me to let it fall apart.” His gaze was darker, but held determination to continue forward. A sternness to see things through.

The side of J-Hope that was the CEO of HopeWorld.

“I think once you get over the first trials you’ll be just fine.”

He looked at you in surprise. “You think?”

“I believe,” you amended. “I believe you are capable of being a great leader. I believe even though you are generous and compassionate, you will be able to handle the harder parts of this job for the good of the many employees who are doing their jobs to the best of their ability. Because that’s what it means when people are fired. The waste they accumulate is returned to the company and those that are still with it can benefit, or others who need the job take it and actually accomplish it. You’re improving efficiency, which makes the company prosper so you can do more for your employees.”

He slowly nodded. “That makes sense.”

You nodded. “Look at me: I could actually afford a new work outfit.”

He grinned, looking you over. “And it’s a great outfit.”

Okay. You hadn’t expected that.

“Are you implying something inappropriate?”

“Never. I just think it’s a very appropriate look and that it is very good at accentuating your good looks. You’re very good at shopping.”

You weren’t. Not really. Taehyung and Jimin had tagged along and helped you shop because you weren’t sure what would be best for the job and position. You had picked the items out, but Jimin and Taehyung had helped you style them together and decide on them.

“Sounds inappropriate to me.”

He chuckled. “Can’t you just take the compliment? It’s early.”

“If you compliment me, people might think that you’re showing favoritism.”

“Let them,” He answered easily, shrugging and holding the door open for you.

“Are you drunk again? I told you, you really shouldn’t drink.” You folded your arms.

He just laughed. “In. We’re late.”

“If we are, it’s your fault,” You replied, walking in and waving to the other men.

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t dream of blaming you. Morning, everyone.” Hoseok took his seat. “What’s the day look like?”

“Same as yesterday, except whatever you and y/n are up to. My project is almost ready to present, Seokjin’s coming to help me today.”

“I do have my nephew today, he’s having a bad day,” Seokjin said quietly, making notes.

“That’s fine,” Hoseok said firmly, Namjoon merely nodding. “People like seeing him, and we’ve always said that kids are welcome as long as they don’t disturb others.”

“And he can come to my office anytime,” Taehyung said with a fond grin.

Seokjin nodded. “I have a meeting with my division just before lunch?”

Taehyung grinned. “We can color!”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Work, Taehyung. He can color, you can design.”

“Right. Right. That.”

“I need Yoongi-hyung’s help on the memory-core project.”

Hoseok looked mildly intrigued, glancing at you.

“I can head down after I check on my project. Might be an hour or so.” Yoongi checked his watch.

Hoseok nodded. “And we’ll be there in about two hours so that Y/n can look things over as my second set of eyes.”

Jungkook looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “O-oh, o-o-okay.”

The others looked mildly surprised, but quickly moved on.

“I’ll be on phone meetings to organize that event most of the morning. Our employees really enjoyed the food truck war, and it’s summer, so I think it’s best to try and have enjoyable events as frequently as possible during the weeks we can’t give them 3-day weekends.” Jimin twirled his pen as he spoke, looking over something on his planner.

“I’ll leave it in your hands, just don’t go over budget.” Hoseok jotted a few things down. “Okay. Y/n and I have to deal with some unsatisfactory employees, then we’ll be down to see how things are going with the memory core. Not sure about our afternoon, but I might leave that for her to settle in. How does that sound to you?”

“If ‘settle in’ means looking over reports, then that sounds fine.”

He nodded, flipping his book closed. “Alright. Then off we go.”

You got up and followed him out, and into the elevator.

“It’ll be best to go to them since it would draw a lot of attention to bring them up. We need the head of janitorial service with us as well, and I want to apprise her of what’s going to happen before we do it. You were smart to record the conversation, I’ll present that to Chiseul.”

Chiseul had been in charge of sanitation at the company for eight years, she was kind, but firm and had no patience for slacking. When you’d worked under her, even for a day, you could tell she expected the best. She had put who she thought were her best people in charge of cleaning the top floor, but instead they had been doing very basic cleaning and actually stealing from the company.

Her reaction to finding out was silent fury. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fire them?”

“We believe that it’s best for us to handle it, that way others will know that they can’t pull anything. I’m sorry we deceived you,” You said respectfully, because you did respect her. You’d put in your report that she should get a raise.

Hoseok nodded. “We will be implementing a system to keep people accountable soon.”

She accepted that with a sharp nod and then went to call those who would be fired into her office.

Hoseok groaned as soon as the elevator doors closed. “That could have gone better.”

------

You held the ice to your face and shrugged. “Could have gone worse. Security stepped in at the appropriate time. And I didn’t fight back, which means I can’t be charged with assault should they try anything like that. There were also multiple witnesses.”

“But you got hurt,” He argued, rubbing his face. “You got hurt.”

“So, I’ll have a black eye. I walk to work, so it’s not like I’ll be driving while mildly impaired. We got ice on it pretty quickly, and I don’t think it will end up being too bad of a black eye.”

“You got hurt,” He whispered.

“And I’m fine. Hoseok, we’re on our way to look over a major project in your company. Pull yourself together.” You reached over and straightened his collar. “It’s a bruise, not a fatal wound.”

He caught your wrist, holding you in place so he could move the ice pack with his other hand and see, the whole time his expression holding worry and what might have been nausea. “Why would they attack you? I was there too. Why would they only attack you?”

He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t listening.

“Betrayal,” You answered anyway, sighing a little and forcing the ice-pack back to your face.

“Uh, you two coming out of there or do you need another moment?” Yoongi asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked between you, not seeming to care that he’d startled both of you since you’d been too busy looking at one another to realize the elevator was open. But his gaze stuck on the ice pack. “Shit, they hit you?”

“Don’t you start too,” You groaned, exiting the elevator.

Hoseok stopped you, pulling you back so he could look at your eye again. “Hyung, look at her eye.”

Yoongi frowned a bit more, but complied. His eyes widened a bit. “Uh…infirmary.”

“Thought so.” Hoseok pulled you back into the elevator.

“Oh, come on,” You groaned.

Yoongi just shushed you. “Your eye looks bloody.”

“Oh.” Well, that was special. It didn’t especially hurt, but that might be because you were numbing the area.

But Hoseok ended up taking you to the hospital for evaluation.

As the two of you walked out of the hospital, you sighed for the fortieth time. “Told you I was fine.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“He said that I should be fine and to come back in if my eye gets worse or I start having other issues. It was probably her ring that got me.” You glanced at your watch. “Man, I’m not going to experience a regular workday, am I?”

His head dropped. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I’d probably get bored if it got too quiet. And feeling sorry doesn’t do any good. You didn’t hurt me, so you’re wasting energy by being sorry.”

“I know, but I got you into this job—“

“Are you thirsty?” You asked, stopping.

“What?”

“Are you thirsty?” You asked slowly.

“Um, I guess?”

You nodded and pulled him into the restaurant, dragging him to the bar.

“I don’t think you should have alcohol—“

“Hi, can I get a water with lemon and a Piña colada?” You asked the bartender, ignoring Hoseok. You had no intention of drinking, but Hoseok was so tense it was making you tense.

He stared at the piña colada. “What?”

“Drink. You’re driving me crazy. You need to relax and I doubt you’re going to do it on your own. I’ll make sure you don’t end up in a back alley.” You patted his hand.

“So…if you could drink, what would it be?” He asked.

“Probably a gimlet, with extra lime. But like I said, my preferred drink is water. I like to keep my head clear. There’s less golf-ball swallowing.”

He snorted and choked on his second sip of his drink.

You patted his back as he tried to recover from choking, and he was laughing in between coughing which wasn’t helping at all.

The bartender was looking concerned.

“His wife left him for his sister and his brother in law confessed his love to him, it’s a royal mess,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

Hoseok died a little more. “Stop,” He gasped, finally just laughing.

“It’s not my fault he thinks your butt is cute.”

He collapsed off of the stool, thudding to the ground and laughing harder.

“Man, two sips and you’re already drunk. You better not ask me if I like that nastiness again.”

He got up with your help, starting to calm down. “I won’t ask that.”

“Good. But seriously, I’m cutting you off. You’re too much of a lightweight.” You settled the bill with some extra for the bartender, then guided him toward the door.

But both of you stopped at the door.

“It’s raining?” Hoseok asked, still a little breathless.

“It would appear so.” You looked up at the sky.

“Do you like getting caught in the rain?” He asked quietly, holding out his hand.

You laughed softly, taking his hand. “I actually really do.”

“Really?” He smiled as he laced his fingers with yours.

“Really,” You confirmed, looking out at the rain with a little excitement.

“You might ruin your clothing.”

“Clothing washes, as do I.” You tugged and pulled him out into the rain, giggling as the rain started soaking into you.

He laughed as well, looking less comfortable in the rain, but like he was willing to let you lead him through it.

No.

Like he would follow you into anything.

“Why did you offer me the job?” You asked.

He met your gaze with surprise.

“Why me?”

He smiled at you, stepping closer so he could be heard. “I couldn’t say goodbye.”

You tilted your head.

“I couldn’t say goodbye to you, not at that time, and I don’t know why, but I’m trying to figure it out.”

You could work with that.

Hoseok touched your cheek, then moved in.

You knew your eyes were a little wide.

He gave a slight smile and then leaned in to kiss you.

You allowed it, and you didn’t regret it as his lips met yours. It was…new. Different. Right.

Except for one tiny detail.

You pushed him away gently. “Okay. But you need a new go-to drink because I forgot to mention I’m actually allergic to coconut, so, I’m gonna take some allergy meds now.”

His eyes widened. “I like mimosas and daiquiri.”

You nodded, swallowing an allergy pill. “Great. We won’t kill me, then.”

“How allergic are you?”

You shrugged. “I should be fine now.”

“Okay.”

“So, if you want to kiss me, we can do that again.”

He met your gaze, smiling. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

You rolled your eyes, then pulled him in. “Kiss me.”

He grinned. “Man, I love your honesty.”

And in the rain, you kissed your piña colada man, ignoring what might happen in your future.

“Might not be a permanent job, my judgement might be clouded. I might show favoritism.”

“Then call me a consultant pending permanent employment and depending where this takes us we’ll…let the others decide my fate.”

“Works for me. Let me walk you home. Where do you live?”

You gestured vaguely. “That way. About fifteen minutes from your building. Work. Place.”

“When you said you were a virgin—”

“I never said I was a—walk. We’re getting soaked standing here like idiots and I hear thunder.” You started walking, keeping hold of his hand. “That or I start reevaluating what parts you really need.”

He laughed. “You know what’s funny?”

“No.”

“When you’re actually being honest, your hands relax, and when you’re bluffing, they get all tense.”

Huh.

“What is your biggest concern with the memory core?”

You considered it for a moment. “It could just be a matter of wording.”

“That’s still important.”

“The proposal suggests imprinting all of the memories of the player onto the memory core so that full immersion is more stimulating.”

“Right.”

“But it’s wording makes it sound like the game is replacing their memories. Imagine someone overwrites the data: what happens when the player tries to re-immerse themselves?”

He was quiet for a while. “That…could be….”

“Disastrous. This machine is supposed to work with your brain, but corrupted files could shut the brain down or damage it. It is incredibly dangerous if I’m understanding it correctly.”

“It could hurt people. We have to tick every box. And come up with fail safes.”

“To me, it’s not worth the risk. But that’s why I wanted to talk to them, to make sure I was understanding things.” You gestured to a building. “This is me.”

He nodded, only following when you tugged on his hand. “Are you sure you want me—”

“We’re soaked and the wind is picking up, and—” lightning flashed through the sky, “the storm is getting worse. We’ll call you a cab or something.”

“Right. Inside. Good idea.”

You ditched your shoes the moment you got in, rushing to the bathroom to grab towels so the two of you didn’t drip all over everything. “It’s a bit hot in here, sorry, my AC broke.”

“Just means we’re not going to get chilled,” He answered, taking the towel and looking around. “It’s nice.”

You glanced around as well. You’d opted for minimalism since that was the only way to make the place not feel claustrophobic. “It does the job.”

“So, you’re allergic to coconut?”

“Mostly the consumption, but I do have mild reactions externally as well.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Coconut hair treatment with my friend when I was fifteen. They had to cut my hair off because my scalp blistered and broke out and it was…traumatizing. But that was because it was coconut oil right against my skin for over an hour, undiluted. My daily allergy meds help if I happen to use, I don’t know, soap with coconut in it.” You put the kettle on the stove since you were feeling kind of chilled. “Tea?”

“Sure.” He started examining the photos on your wall (all three of them). “So, if I hadn’t been the last straw for that job, where do you think you’d be right now?”

“Dumping a scotch-neat on my boss’s head, if not down his pants, after quitting and looking for a job with less drunk people. My boss was drunk, my coworkers were drunk, everyone was drunk, except me. Do you know how surreal that feels?”

“And yet you accepted a job from me, someone who was drunk?”

“So you admit it,” You pointed out.

He rubbed his neck. “I usually only drink in the evenings, it generally makes me sleepy.”

“You had caffeine with your alcohol, then.”

“Accidentally.”

“That would explain the whole ‘why is the rum always gone’ debacle.”

He was very red looking in profile, but that could have been the lighting. “Yeah. I was embarrassed as I did it and yet I didn’t stop. Stupid.”

“If I hadn’t been having a terrible night, I probably would have enjoyed the reference, honestly. But, as you put it, you were the last straw. I would probably be applying to fast food right about now if it hadn’t been you.” You watched him studying your photos far longer than they were worth studying. “Are my photos that interesting?”

“These three were the ones you consciously decided to display, which means they mean something to you.”

You thought about that for a moment, thinking about all of the photos of families that the people you’d worked under while spying had shown you. Always the kids, always the wife, always the beloved pet.

But Hoseok had no photos in his office.

“You don’t keep any photos visible in your office, and office photos are, arguably, the ones that provide the most insight into people,” You countered, sitting on the floor with the tray of tea on the coffee table.

He joined you on the floor. “It’s a precaution. I keep the photos in J-Hope’s desk, the locked drawer. I’m surprised you noticed, though.”

“I wouldn’t have, but people kept shoving their photos in my face and if they weren’t, then I was redirecting their attention to their photos so I would get away with my snooping. People like to talk about themselves.”

He was watching you, a soft smile on his face. “You really are something else.”

You shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you there.”

“We could hide it, you know. Us, whatever we are?”

“Professional flirtation,” You guessed, holding the mug and surprised at how cold your fingers had been. “Workday dalliance?”

“Wow, um, anyway, we could just not tell anyone about us.”

“9 to 5 lovers,” You quipped, trying to come up with more.

“Are you purposefully ignoring me?”

“Ye-es,” You dragged out, trying to think of another thing to call it.

“You don’t think we could?”

“I think the boys would figure it out before the morning meeting ended.”

“Oh, right, I didn’t mean from the boys.”

“Oh, ok, please continue.” You leaned on your hand and watched him.

“We stay away from anything unprofessional at work, with the exception of in private, and we make sure no one catches on. Then, when I officially take my position...we reevaluate where we are and adjust accordingly.”

“Officially take your position?”

“Technically, I’m not yet the CEO, my father is, but I’ve been acting CEO for about three years.”

He didn’t add that they had been the most prosperous three years of the company’s history, but maybe he was trying to stay humble.

“So, once he’s better and we finish a few things, he’ll hand over things to me officially. In front of the company.”

“Revealing that J-Hope is actually his son and everyone’s boss.”

He nodded. “Which would also be revealing that you have been working for me.”

“All of which could be potentially disastrous.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I bet you’d say I should have been open about it the whole time.”

“Not at all. I think this was the best course of action. Everyone respects J-Hope, they like him. They like his work ethic, they like how he listens, and they like how he cares. They like how bright and cheerful he is. They don’t know if they can trust their CEO, but they know that the board has been taking care of them and the CEO has been allowing it. They’re curious, and a little apprehensive.” You remembered all of the conversations you’d had over the week.

But one stuck out to you.

You’d been getting coffee with one of the employees in the marketing department, discussing the company and it’s leadership.

“I don’t know about the CEO. Or, well,” She flustered for a second. “I don’t know why he feels the need to hide from us. His father never did, but maybe there’s a plan. Every now and then, they have someone who sort of...scopes things out. They had me in project development for a couple of weeks so that I could tell them what I thought of the person that was testing the projects. That person was Mr. Jeon.”

You’d tilted your head, confused.

“Jeon Jungkook, he’s one of the board members, the youngest board member. He’s really good at catching on, which makes him a prime test subject for things that are about to be released. We can’t bring people in, not often, because information tends to get leaked. He’s been a godsend to the company. Mr. Jung found him, too, he’s found just about every top employee, and all of the board members--except J-Hope. He worked his way up through the company, and then impressed Mr. Jung Sr. and was given a job on the board. He looks after employee welfare and we’ve had an amazing increase in our benefits program ever since. It’s a shame Mr. Jung Jr. didn’t start out like J-Hope.”

“What’s that look for?”

You jumped a bit, refocusing on him. “All of the things that J-Hope has done are your accomplishments. You’ve improved the benefits program, upgraded the retirement package, made sure that everyone has received pay increases, and you worked your way up through the company. Your intellect lies in people, and your devotion to your job as their employer has inspired loyalty to you. I’m not saying you should go out tomorrow and reveal that you’re Mr. Jung Jr.”

“Do they really call me that?” He cringed.

“But you shouldn’t fear...telling them who you are. Yes, it could cause problems, but only momentarily. Until then, you want me to help you deal with trash and question everything so that the ship is running tightly when the official transfer happens. Right?” You asked, sitting up straight. “That way if anything happens with stocks, or the market, the company is running smoothly and will stay afloat.”

“You have a business degree, don’t you?”

“I never graduated,” You corrected easily. “But I did study some business, yes. This is what you want from me, correct?”

“Yes. I need you to tell me to suck it up when I hesitate.”

“Okay. Did you read my report on the other departments?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then I suggest you decide what should be done to those employees, and what you’re actually willing to do. Because I outlined my suggestions for each of them, but ultimately, it is up to you. You want to run a tight ship, you need to get rid of excess crew, which sounds terrible, but it’s true. If they’re not doing their job, they have no reason to be on deck. And some of them were on the wrong decks.”

He nodded. “I’ll review it once more, but we’ll probably go with your suggested actions.”

“Okay. Glad we understand each other.” You grabbed your phone, checking it. “Taehyung wants to know if I’m alive, and if I’m alive, is Hoseok alive as well.”

“Crap,” He went into his pocket. “Oh. They just wanted to go drinking. Taehyung is our usual designated driver. He’s not a big drinker like Jungkook and Jimin. I’m going to ask him to swing by and pick me up. If that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know how you felt about where you lived. You’re kind of hard to read.”

“I live here, I pay the rent, it’s small, but it’s mine. Or were you referring more to a bunch of men knowing where I, a single woman, lived?”

“The latter.”

“Ah, sweet of you to be concerned, but Jimin’s already seen my place.”

“He has?” Hoseok frowned.

“He dropped me off after we went shopping. None of the stores had bathrooms. Nature called.” You shrugged.

“I don’t like that,” Hoseok muttered, obviously more to himself.

“You don’t like that he had to use the bathroom? Or that we went shopping together? Because, technically, he was the only board member I was allowed to be seen with as one of his employment experiments.” You pointed out, waiting for him to pull himself together and continue texting Taehyung. “Also, you might want to text him before it’s too late.”

“That he saw your house.”

“Interesting. Text Taehyung,” You instructed carefully. “Before you have to pay for a cab.”

He did, but he was frowning the whole time.

You rolled your eyes. “Jimin was here for all of five minutes. I doubt he could even tell you what color the walls in the bathroom are.”

“Color,” He muttered, getting up and heading to the small hall.

“Um….”

“Purple. Walls are purple. Take that.”

“Oh my god, there is no way you’re even buzzed, why are you acting weird?”

“Purple. Blue. White. Three pictures.”

You rolled your eyes, and shook your head. “Weirdo. I mean, I knew that, only weird people like pina coladas--”

He caught you and kissed you again. “Don’t let Jimin in. He’s a minx. He’s a fox. That magic trickster fox that seduces you. A succubus.”

“Incubus,” you corrected. “Which is a sort of demon. Magical fox thing is a kitsune. You’re mixing your mythologies.”

“You’re so smart,” He said, but he said it in a sort of happy, sighing way while looking at you so softly and gently and adoringly….

You believed him.

He touched your cheek, then quickly pulled his hands away. “Alright. How about a rule?”

“Depends on the rule,” You replied.

“You have good judgement, and self control,” His gaze shifted to your eye, and his fingers brushed the edge of the bruising with a feather-light touch, “So, I want there to be a rule that at work, any...personal things between us are initiated by you. Which means you can shut me down at any time, anyway you feel necessary.”

“You mean, like asking you about your ex?”

“Ouch,” He muttered, looking down. “Yeah. Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Am I replacing your ex?”

He shook his head. “Not even remotely.”

“I’m in their office.”

He looked up, then shook his head. “No, you’re in my mom’s old office. Yesuel never worked at HopeWorld. Too much of a free-spirit.”

“But you loved them all the same.”

“I did. I thought I did. Love is...tricky.”

“Are you ready for another significant other?” You asked.

He met your gaze, holding it. “Do you like getting lost in the rain?”

You smiled. “You know I do.”

“Then you know I am,” He replied easily, fingers resting under your chin. “Are you going to be okay, with your eye like that? They did say it could get worse, and if it does….”

“Are you asking if you can stay? Because you’d have to borrow clothing, or live in a blanket until your clothing is dry. I don’t have much that would fit you.”

“I’m worried about you. I’ll stay on the couch.” He touched a strand of your still-damp hair. “Eye injuries are dangerous.”

“Didn’t you already tell Taehyung to come pick you up?”

He shook his head. “I was just going to walk down to work and get my car and pretend that Taehyung picked me up.”

You hit him lightly. “And if you got struck by lightning?”

“My company would be in good hands,” He answered, shrugging slightly. “But I would miss out on a few things. But you can get hit by lightning and live.”

“Not well,” You argued, frowning.

He gently ran a thumb over your eyebrow, as though to ease away your frown. “Besides, I was already struck by you. I don’t think anything could knock me off my feet like that, I don’t think anything ever has. You’re new and unique. And I want to know everything I can about you. Even if you don’t like pina coladas. Even if you are a virgin.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re addicted to it,” He replied easily, smirking at you.

And yes.

You were.

It was crazy, but you were completely addicted to the banter with him, the way he smiled while you were grumbling, the way he asked what you thought of things and actually listened. You liked his gentleness and compassion.

He brought hope back to your world.

“I agree to your rule,” You whispered.

Hoseok grinned and kissed you.

Your future was going to be crazy...but maybe the consistency of his smile was enough to get you through.

#btswritingbingo #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #reader x jhope #reader x bts #bts fic #jung hoseok #jhope #jimin #taehyung #seokjin #yoongi #namjoon #business au #ceo!hoseok #ceo!jhope #one-shot

[utanoprinces]

Tokki Works Part-time

TN: This is a memorial (bonus text story) from Debut, written from Tokiya's perspective. He's been sent to do some work for the professor (yes, the same one who developed Ai) in exchange for help with operating a complicated video device used during the Master Course. I'm a fairly new translator still, so do take this with a grain of salt! Enjoy, and please don't repost anywhere without permission!

⁂

“Here…?”

Based on the map I received from Kotobuki-san, I've arrived at the laboratory belonging to the professor who developed the monitor.

I look up at the building before me.

Given the dubious name, “Professor’s Laboratory”, I imagined something more ominous, but the exterior appearance gives a very tidy, somewhat ordinary impression.

I press the doorbell and a moment later the door opens to reveal a man wearing a white lab coat.

“Who is it?”

He seems to be somewhere in his thirties. No, maybe even older.

Because of his large glasses, it’s hard to see his face and what expression he has.

“Excuse me. Kotobuki-san referred me to…”

“Oh, I heard~ Ichinose Tokiya, right?”

“Yes. I’m Ichinose. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. Feel free to call me ‘Professor’. That's what everyone calls me.”

So this is the “Professor” Kotobuki-san was referring to… It may be rude to say, but his hair is shaggy and the way he talks has an overall shady atmosphere to it.

There's no way this is actually the person who designed the monitor…

“Right. So what is it you want me to do?”

Kotobuki-san had called it an experiment, but I hadn’t even been told what kind of research this person does.

“Ah, I’ll explain the details inside.”

The professor beckons me lightly and turns to go back inside. He guides me to a room that looks like a lab, with simple desks lined up against a gray wall. However, the surroundings are so cluttered that it’s impossible to set foot anywhere.

A mountain of books, an array of miscellaneous equipment... Because of the whole monitor affair, I assumed he might work in the electronic and electrical engineering field, and that assumption doesn’t seem to be wrong based on these surroundings.

“Before the experiment, I’d like to request that you do some office work for me.”

As he says that, he heads deeper into the room, dexterously avoiding the equipment that’s scattered haphazardly across the floor.

It might be my first time walking through such a messy room.

I take a small breath and follow, feeling as though I’m traversing a jungle.

The professor boots up the laptop on his desk and brings over two stacks of paper.

“I want you to input the data here… and rewrite these handwritten documents.”

“All… of it?”

As far as I can tell, there’s a considerable amount.

“It’s a lot, sure, but it’s simple so I don’t think it’ll be too hard. Still, if we had more manpower, we could get done right away.”

Come to think of it, Kotobuki-san also said four people could finish it immediately… and that it’d take one person half a day.

“Go with the manual data first. The format’s already been created, so you should be able to do it without even thinking.”

The professor opens the spreadsheet software and points me to a chair in front of the laptop.

It’s going to take a lot of effort, but it’s a job I’ve accepted, so I have to do it.

I slump down in the chair, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

I flip through the stack of documents to briefly assess the contents.

It's all numbers lined up in rows. It does indeed seem like it should be done manually.

The one thing that’s bothering me a little is that there is almost no indication of what the data is for. It seems as if it’s been intentionally hidden.

The same goes for the handwritten papers I’m meant to rewrite—it looks as though most of the important details have been omitted.

...he's surprisingly secretive.

“Well, I’m sure you don’t know what any of it means, but since you just have to type it, don’t worry about it, alright?”

I get the impression from his tone that he’s implying I wouldn’t be able to understand it anyway, which makes me slightly irritated.

Even so, he is my employer. I’m a part-timer. Work is work.

“Well then, I’ll get started right away.”

“Sure. If there’s anything you don’t understand, just ask.”

I softly clear my throat and begin to work.

Once I've started, I discover that the formatting and the documents have been designed to be easy to work with, so it makes for surprisingly quick work.

I expected him to be working on something else, but instead, the professor sits beside me and props his elbows on the desk.

“Ichinose-kun. What are your thoughts on the recently-announced discovery that could potentially disprove the theory of relativity?”

When he asks me that nonchalantly, I stop working for a moment.

Why ask me that out of the blue?

It seems strange, but I decide to answer him anyway since I recently read about the news in a magazine.

“Wasn’t it from a foreign research institute? I can’t really speak on it unless I’m given proper evidence. In my opinion, I think it’s a measurement error.”

“Oh, I see.”

The professor nods, maintaining his relaxed demeanor.

“Then… why do you think people get so irritable during the rainy season?”

“That is… it’s probably because of the high humidity.”

“I know, right. Isn’t it awful when everything’s sticky?”

...what the hell is this guy going on about?

After that, the professor repeatedly tries to start a conversation with me.

“Have you tried the latest product from the donut shop in front of the station?”

“I don’t go to places like that too often.”

“Did you know that penicillin was discovered by accident?”

“I have read that. Quite the miracle.”

“Boooriiing~”

“...what was that?”

“An impression of Reiji. Did it sound like him?”

“...that person is even more annoying.”

“You’re right.”

The conversation jumps from topic to topic with seemingly no thread of continuity.

However, it's inefficient to keep talking like this, no matter how simple the work may be.

He doesn’t seem to be the type to enjoy teasing people for their reactions like Kotobuki-san, so just what is he up to?

I can’t help but wonder, but I try to give appropriate replies while continuing to work dispassionately.

Met only by my half-hearted replies, the professor eventually gives up and stops trying to speak to me.

I take advantage of the silence to increase the speed of my work output.

"...kun, Ichinose-kun."

"Yes?"

Before I know it, when I look up, the professor is standing beside me, smiling.

"I’ve been calling you for quite some time. Your concentration is amazing. You must be tired. Here, go ahead."

He offers me something steamy.

Is that… a beaker?

No, a beaker is a beaker… but this thing has a handle.

Is it something he uses for experiments? Inside, a steaming, dark-brown liquid shifts around.

"What is that…?"

"It's coffee."

"I can see that, but…"

I hesitate. To be honest, its appearance is reminiscent of chemicals, which spoils any desire I might have had to try it.

"Oh. It's my special mug. I call it 'bea-cup'."

"Why… the handle?"

"It'll be too hot if you grab it as-is."

Ah...

As I thought, he's a strange person.

I have a headache.

He’s one of Kotobuki-san’s acquaintances. I was prepared for this.

"Come on. Don't be shy. Don’t you like your coffee black?"

"It’s not that. It's just… I appreciate the offer, but I'm not thirsty right now."

"Is that so? Shame."

After I politely decline, the professor responds in a slightly lonely, dejected voice and slinks off to the corner of the room.

Well, the manual data is done. Rewriting doesn't seem to be too difficult either.

I get so absorbed in working that the only ambient sound is that of the keyboard tapping away.

"Finished."

The last one. When I look up after checking over the contents of my work, the professor, who had been reading for a while, raises his brows behind his glasses slightly.

"I'm surprised. You're quick, huh?"

"Thank you."

"Want some coffee?"

"I'm fine."

The doctor stands, pours some coffee for himself, and—bea-cup in hand—peers at me.

"You really saved me. It must have been boring with all those words you didn't understand."

All those words I… didn't understand?

“No, no. I actually found it quite interesting. I thought you specialized in electronics and electrical engineering, but it seems you’ve done a lot of research in a variety of fields like… medicine.”

When I say that, his eyebrows rise even higher.

“...did it say something like that?”

“No. However, with this many units and numbers, it should be easy to make a conjecture. The first half of the data was all about the human body.”

“Oh, I see...”

He shrugs slightly when I present one of the papers to him.

“It’s intriguing data. It seems to me that it entails how muscle and fat tone affect the elasticity of the skin. Not that I can see any use for researching something like this.”

The professor silently lifts the bea-cup to his lips, his large glasses fogging up with steam.

Immediately after, his mouth twists into a grimace.

"Haha. Is that right? Why that certainly strikes a nerve. It’s actually meant to be a countermeasure against middle-aged weight gain."

"Middle-aged… weight-gain?"

“I’m old enough to be curious about it, myself. Even so, when you hear 'macho' it doesn’t fit the image of 'professor', so it’s research to determine how to achieve the ideal body type—not too muscular and not too chubby.”

“I hate to say it, but… Wouldn’t it be better to just go to the gym instead of researching this kind of thing?”

“You don’t get it. It’s not just about how it looks, I care about the feel of it. It’s not enough to simply work out.”

“Haaa…”

“Now that you mention it, you seem surprisingly fit—would it be okay if I take a look?”

“No.”

I duck away from the professor’s outstretched hand and pick up another document.

“Then, how about this one? Chemistry this time. It seemed to me like textile research.”

“Ah, well…”

“This new fiber, when exposed to a certain amount of ultraviolet light, takes in carbon dioxide from the air and—”

“Yeah, I know, it’s my research. Fibers that gradually grow as they’re exposed to sunlight. You want to know why I’m studying something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I like plants a lot, but I always end up killing them by accident. I was thinking I could develop a grass that can grow without water or fertilizer.”

The doctor looks out the window.

“I’m actually growing it right now. Oh—it withered.”

“Isn’t that bad?”

“No… it’s…”

“It’s bad. Next, this one. At a glance, it seems to be a small rocket. A unique feature of this model is that it’s designed to minimize its impact when launched.”

“Don’t all boys dream about rockets?”

“That’s it?”

“You don’t need a reason to dream.”

“...this is all just nonsense.”

I sigh in exasperation.

The person who designed that monitor… I’d been thinking they must be quite remarkable when he was actually just doing all of this...

“I don’t mean to sound like an amateur, but you should at least narrow down your field of research.”

“No! I like doing all types of research, so I can’t pick just one.”

Seeing his flippant smile, I realize he’s even more difficult to interact with than Kotobuki-san.

“If that’s the case, then why not make some sort of composite of the data and try using it for more meaningful research? For example, based on the data about the human body, we can use the fiber to…”

I’m about to turn over the document when the professor hurriedly sets the bea-cup down beside me.

“...?!”

“Coffee… you want some?”

“No…”

The lenses of his glasses glint. I clear my throat and take my hands off the documents.

“So… what do I need to do for the experiment?”

I wasn’t interested in his research from the start. I just wanted to get back at him for treating me like an ignorant teenager twice.

It doesn't seem to be in either of our best interests to pursue this any further.

“Experiment? Oh, it’s already over.”

“Eh…?”

The doctor grins and laughs at my surprise.

“You know how I’ve been talking to you for some time? Lately, I’ve developed an interest in human reactions. I’ve been collecting data from you.”

“And you didn’t even ask for my permission? Isn’t that a little in poor taste?”

“If you’d declined earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to gather accurate data. Besides, I thought the condition was that you were supposed to help with any experiment.”

When he says that, I fall silent. It doesn’t feel good to admit, but he’s right.

“I didn’t think you majored in psychology as well.”

At my pained reply, the professor grins as if to get back at me.

“I research what I want when I want.”

Really… he’s a shady person from top to bottom. Just how serious is that statement?

“You made an unexpected point earlier, but honestly, the reactions of a serious person like you aren’t interesting because you’re so predictable. I would have liked to work with someone with more unpredictability, more erratic behavior, instead.”

“That really is too bad. As you can see, I’m an extremely uninteresting person.”

As I reply, I consider how relieved I am that I hadn’t brought Otoya or [MC] to this part-time job.

I couldn’t endure [MC] being observed this way, let alone Otoya.

Even if it yielded data more akin to what the professor had in mind...

“If you’ve finished your experimenting, then I guess my work is done?”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

“Then. If you’ll excuse me.”

As I move to stand, a thought strikes me, and I turn back to the professor.

“Speaking of psychology, I do know one thing.”

“Oh…?”

I point in the direction of the eyes watching me through lenses.

“The reason people hide their faces with glasses or sunglasses is that they think that by doing so, they’ll be the only one to see the other person, that the other won’t be able to see their eyes. In other words, it makes them feel less anxious to have a psychological advantage. People who hide their faces for most of the time are actually shy and awkward.”

I wag my finger in front of his large glasses and receive a laugh in reply.

“Haha. You’re a funny one, huh? I see how Reiji’s having a hard time.”

“I’m the one who’s having a hard time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I pick up my bag, and this time, the professor approaches me.

“Ichinose-kun. If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to come work for me again.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m busy with other things.”

“That’s a terrible shame.”

For a moment, our eyes meet through the lenses of his glasses. We exchange faint smiles and I leave the lab at last.

#uta no prince sama #utapri #ichinose tokiya #hakase

[seeds-and-sins]

On the Fly

Pairing: Homelander / Reader

Rating: T (Language, lots of bad language)

Description: You are a loud mouth New York cop that doesn't give two shits what anybody else thinks. Homelander is the hero of America, the stars and stripes of justice. The fans ship you two together so bad, and it was all your fault. If only you had kept your mouth shut.

It was such a cheesy, stupid idea that the Vought marketing team had developed. One single interaction between Homelander and some tiny, pathetic little officer goes viral, and all the fans want more of it, ALL of the fans. You were just doing your duty that day, Homelander and Queen Maeve intervened when your partner and you were about to lead a huge drug raid that had been planned for months. You, always having been the more forward one, approached Homelander, when she just so happened to be addressing the news about the incident.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" His eyebrows rose up at the sight of you, a fleshbag at most, badgering him. Your hair was loose, the NYPD vest fastened tightly on your torso, toned biceps flashing, gun at your side, he was absolutely confused at first. No officer just straight up approached him unless they wanted an autograph, or a handshake. You wanted neither. And you were so angry, your New Yorker accent was shooting out of from your lips without restraint.

"Excuse me?" He then snorted, reminding himself that you were both being watched.

"This was my raid, not yours, you don't just come fucking barging in without notice. We had planned this for months."

"And I understand that, um..." He forced a smile, although he really wanted to just break your neck. No one had ever had the gull to speak to him that way. "You are the real heroes."

"Oh, like that fucking shit is going to cut it, huh?" You pushed Homelander, although it was almost like pushing a wall, you did it anyways. Everyone around you both made a resounding gasp, even some of the emergency services crew members in the backdrop paused what they were doing. "Listen buster, I trained for this shit show, and what did you do? You were born with the power to fucking fly and shoot lasers from your eyes? Big fucking whoop!" Homelander's jaw went taut and he sighed agitation.

"And don't you know who you are talking to? I saved your lives and made your jobs easier." You crossed your arms, lip pouting out.

"I didn't become a cop so that you could make it easy for me. I knew what I signed up for. Next time, mind your own shit! I will keep you on stand by."

"Next time, I will still do what heroes always do." He stated firmly between clenched teeth, then bowed down closer to you, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate you, but to his surprise you didn't even flinch. You came straight forward, faces an inch from eachother as you kept a hard eye contact.

"You fucking come into my establishment again, I will have your ass." You growled, fists at her sides.

"And we'll see how well that goes for you, officer." He snarled right back, then you were storming off. Even though you truly wanted to be the last one standing, you had work to do.

The next day you did the usual routine. You went on your six miler, hit the weights at the gym, and then got ready for the day. You didn't think anything of it, got your coffee, grabbed a whole of the daily paper and walked to work in uniform. As soon as you showed up to the department, it was a shit storm. People were flying back and forth, colleagues of yours sent you stares without replying to your greetings, the whole place was in disarray. Then you saw him, and your blood only boiled more, he was standing with the commissioner and several unfamiliar faces. When the commissioner saw you, his entire expression lit up in that face you knew all too well, the 'I am trying to hide how pissed I am so I will smile' face.

"Officer (L/N)! Come over here!" He exclaimed with feigned excitement, he scurried the lit of you into his office, where you took your usual seat. You had been here before, you weren't usually very good at following the rules as it was. This blonde woman took the seat beside you, two others standing behind her with clipboards. She had this eerie grin on her face, not much different from Homelander's.

"Officer (L/N), its a pleasure to meet you." She held her hand out, you didn't accept it and tilted your head towards your boss.

"What the fuck is going on?" As the woman retrieved her hand, the red head behind her replied in an all too chirpy tone.

"The fans love you! They want you in a team up with Homelander." She explained, you rolled your eyes and then stood with a sigh.

"This is a joke. I am not doing it."

"You have no choice, (Y/N)." Your boss said and he said it all too sternly, surely he would have your badge if you disagreed.

"I don't believe this, why me? Huh? Because I said what everybody else was thinking?!"

"Here are some of what the fans have been saying." The other one handed her clipboard to you, the blonde still staring in silence with that polite and cringy smile. You squinted as you read over the list of comments, particular on the viral video between Homelander and you.

"Aww, they are like an old married couple?!" You read aloud, "What the fuck?!" Then down to the next one. "Why don't they just get a room?! Team up?! What the fuckety fuck?!"

"It appears the two of you have had some chemistry, I suppose." The blonde finally spoke coolly, you then raised your glare to Homelander.

"Do you think we have chemistry? Huh? 'Cause I think you are just a fucked up, flying monkey asshole."

"(Y/N)!" Your boss chastised, you crossed your arms with a sigh.

"Whatever, lets just get this over with. People will get sick of it eventually."

"Perfect, we will have the cameras on you, as soon as within the hour." Your jaw dropped, and you wanted to speak in protest, but the words wouldn't leave your lips. As everyone left the room, Homelander was the lsst one to tap your mouth shut, he grinned.

"You're a celebrity now, (Y/N). Get used to it." You thought you could, but it was so much work trying to ride this out. The cameras followed you for weeks, allowing Vought to post short videos of your encounters with Homelander. Homelander replaced your partner for that period of time, which only drifted your friend and you further apart. The short videos became so popular, soon the two of you had your own TV show every night at nine. It was originally called Justice.

"Do you think we could film your workout routine, (Y/N)?" Vought was insufferable in their addiction for the show, it had gotten a lot of publicity and was a number one hit for the industry. Homelander accompanied you on bank robberies, house calls, domestic disturbances, etc. Meanwhile, the both of you disagreed over everything and the banter only made the two of you more popular. Vought started making t-shirts and memorabilia that selled like crazy. The two of you posing, your playful remarks, and almost all of the words that left your mouth:

Flying Monkey Motherfucker!

It was like a fucking hillbilly porno!

Go fuck yourself with some bullets!

Listen, I have bigger balls than this two bit motherfucking laser machine!

That was when the true name of the show was born:

"Yeah, like you think I am going to be like you, fucking on the fly-"

"That's it!" One of the producers shouted from behind the cameras. Homelander and you glared at him, annoyed that anybody would interrupt the very imoortant argument you both were having. From that point on the show was named 'On the Fly', it ran like crazy, and despite its popularity, Homelander and you still hated each other's guts. The fans expected the picture portrait chemistry off screen, and neither of you really understood what they meant. Until Season 8, that is...

"There's about twenty of them." Homelander stated, as he eyed the side of the warehouse.

"Perfect! Half and half." You cocked your guns and the both of you started towards the double doors, leading in through the back. There was a body cam on you, one on Homelander, and a cameraman, one of several as some of them had been 'accidentally' into the mix of shoots and dangerous fights.

"Last time you said that, you killed one of my guys." Homelander stated, pointing a finger at you in warning not to make the same mistake again.

"We'll just separate everyone as we go, okay?" You stood back as Homelander kicked the chained doors open, the shots started firing almost instantly. One thing Homelander could respect you for was that you kept up very nicely, for a meatbag that was. You were fit and vigilant and would have made a fantastic hero, if you had powers.

Homelander grabbed you by the back collar of your vest, tossing you gently up to a catwalk that crossed the warehouse, where you easily shot at four of the criminals. Homelander skillfully did his work, lasers flying around, punching threw chest and throwing people out of the roof. You both finally came to the last guy, he was unarmed. You were out of ammo and mags. You holstered your gun and grinned at him.

"Is this one mine?"

"Sure is," Homelander cringed a bit, the guy was bit and hefty, twice your size. "Unless you want me to handle this one." The man's eyes widened and he shook his head, then raised his fists toward her.

"Nope, I got it." As always, you struggled fighting against the bigger ones, but you always caught up. Homelander stood off to the side, herring you on even as you got your face punched or as you were thrown against a storage container.

"Keep going, (Y/N)! Just shout if you need help." He would mock, arms crossed, that one camera man looking in in horror. Finally you grabbed the back of the guy's head and drilled your knee into his face, he dropped to the side unconscious. Breathing heavily, bloodied face, fists clenched and sweating pooling off your skin, you kicked him one last time. You nearly fell back if Homelander hadn't been there to prop a firm hand against the middle of your back. "I knew it." He grinned, wiping a hand across the bruise on your cheek. "I could have done better, but..."

"Oh, fuck you, you pile of heroic shit." The both of you started to walk side by side back out of the front, where several cameras waited and the camera crew stood to finish the episode. You both turned to eachother and stared, you placed your hands on your hips.

"Not too bad, supershitter." You said with a huff after finally catching your breath.

"You too, officer, you too." But it felt dull, something was off, the air was thick and the wind was a bit too breezy for your taste.

"Cut!" The director came forward from the crowd, smiling with that off smile, he could feel it too. "We are going to run this ending again. Why don't you guys kiss, or something?"

"What?!" You narrowed your eyes on the director, that was where you drew the line.

"No. Not happening." Homelander chuckled, like it was some joke. You didn't know why his denial offended you right then and there, but it did.

"What am I not pretty enough for you? Fucking jerk." The director slowly started to back peddle, gesturing to the cameras to start rolling again. Homelander held his palms up in surrender and shrugged.

"You have blood and shit all over your face, why would I want to kiss you?"

"Oh, so if I didn't have shit on my face, you would do it?" You saw Homelander hesitate for a moment before returning to that same confident swagger of his.

"No, I never said that."

"Well, then what the fuck is the problem?! Why wouldn't you kiss me? Hmm?"

"Why does it bother you so much?" He jested, hands now on his hips and he stepped closer. He had to tilt his gaze down to consider your tinier self.

"Why does it bother you that it bothers me?" His eyebrows furrowed to contest.

"It doesn't bother me." He spat, you crossed your arms and smirked evilly, only really wanting the last word. It didn't matter if he kissed you, or not, right?

"I think it does. I think you are lying." You teased.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if it didn't bother you, you would just kiss me and get this shit over with."

"Fine." You didn't expect him to just go with it, your eyes widened as you stared up at him, hands dropping to your sides. Then you shook your head, pulling yourself back into thst glare.

"Fine, then." And you both leaned into each other, tight lips pressing together, and you hated yourself but you enjoyed the contact more than you'd like to admit. Everything was quiet, so quiet a pin could drop on the asphalt and everyone would be able to hear it. You gasped when Homelander's hands snaked around your waist, and your own hands found his biceps for support as you were slightly lifted off the ground. The gasp opened your lips and Homelander's tongue slid through and the kiss deepened as your mouths opened up and fought for dominance. Homelander held you tighter as he then ascended thousands of feet up into the sky. You gripped him harder and cried out, cheek pressing to his, now too high up for the cameras to find you.

"Hom-John, what the fuck, man?! Put us down!"

"Shut up." And he kissed you again, then soaring you both through the sky towards a destination unknown. You were so lost in the kiss at that point, that it didn't matter where you were going. This was the last thing you expected to happen, ever, in a million years. But you weren't going to complain...

Meanwhile, the camera crew and director stood down below in shocked silence. The silence was soon broken by the director's words:

"That was absolutely fucking perfect! Cut scene!"

Master List

#homelander #reader #homelander x reader #vought #cops and robbers #the boys #one shot

[le-amewzing]

Afterimage

Some Nick thoughts & Nick thinking bc I love him so much, kthxbai. ;w; *Note: This is set during s19e2, "Nearly Departed," so spoilers ahead.

Fic: "Afterimage" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Nick Torres (Torres-centric; bros!Torres&Knight vibes, also lotsa Ellick vibes, so please tag with Ellick, ty~! c:)

Rating: K+

Words: ~870

Additional info: angst, friendship, 3rd person POV

Summary: Following Knight's explosive response to his welcoming behavior, Torres takes a moment to himself to examine precisely why he wants that empty desk occupied so badly.

      It's always crunch time at NCIS. The bottom of the ninth, due date was yesterday, serial killer about to slip through the cracks yet again—these are items of equal weight in the mind of Special Agent Nick Torres, because the pressure and the pace of NCIS is relentless. And he likes relentless.

      But it's difficult to stay focused on the task at hand when Torres sits at his desk and finds himself constantly glancing at the vacant chair across the room.

      He knows they don't really have any free time right now. Yes, they found "Tom Samuels"—hell, they've got the bastard in Interrogation. But Torres can't concentrate on researching Paul LeMere's fake backgrounds and dead lawyer when his mind is elsewhere and his eyes continue to wander from his computer screen. So Torres pushes away from his desk and walks away down the hall; if McGee spares him a split-second, he'll likely presume a bathroom break, which is the excuse Torres will give him if need be.

      Truthfully, Torres meanders. He winds through the hallways, both comforted and nauseated by the same ol' orange walls, until he finds a spot that's relatively quiet and just…props himself up. He releases a low, long, slow breath that would be a sigh if he weren't so exhausted from the last several days. Then he plucks his phone from his pocket and dials.

      Yet again and forever unsuccessfully, he calls Bishop. (A disconnected number could one day be reconnected. …a guy can hope, right?)

      Torres frowns. He expects as much. Still, he knows better, knows that he needs to set aside time to handle these emotions so that he can focus on his job. And…

      He pauses to offer up a polite smile and nod to a passing agent who gives Torres a curious look, eyeing him standing by himself in the hall, cradling his phone to his chest like precious gems.

      …and Torres knows that, despite him and Knight clearing the air, she only has part of the story.

      He glances at the time on his phone and figures he has a couple minutes more before someone comes looking for or calling him. So he pockets his phone and replays in his mind's eye the scene from this morning with Knight.

      Pushing her to take over Bishop's desk? A jerky move. Moving some of her things to Bishop's desk without asking? Torres winces now, knowing and hating what an ass he'd been. Hence, he'd been glad to discuss the matter with Knight a little bit ago while watching LeMere.

      The only problem is that she, McGee—everyone has it wrong. They think Torres' insistence comes from him wanting to use the appearance of a new team member as an excuse or a crutch to get over Bishop and her sudden departure. In reality, Torres sees a glimpse of years ago:

      A team in the making.

      A hotshot, good agent who plays alone more often than not.

      Knight comes from a team setting, he knows that, but her old team marched to a different beat than that of the Major Case Response Team, and her eagerness to help out now doesn't outshine the way she likes to do things on her own—or just do things her way. Torres looks at Knight and thinks of his younger self when he joined what was then Gibbs' team, and he can't help the comparison because they have a lot in common. Formerly impulsive spirits can spot impulsive spirits from miles away.

      So it's not about replacing Bishop or making things normal around here. If he can convince Knight to take that desk, then—then—it'll be like a fresh start.

      Torres runs his hands over his face, his eyes widening with clarity.

      It makes sense. Helping someone so like him (or, so like his younger self) join their team is almost like Torres getting a partial do-over… He doesn't need to change everything—he stands by what he confided in Knight, about only changing the fact that he hadn't properly expressed his feelings to Bishop, because it's never crossed his mind that this pain might not exist if he'd never fallen for Ellie Bishop in the first place. But Torres isn't so self-centered that he doesn't have a wish for their new teammate and friend.

      Once more, he grabs his phone. Lost in his thoughts, he missed two texts' chirps. One is from McGee:

-?!?

      Obviously wondering where Torres is. Knight's provides better info with a touch of kindness:

-Got some info. McG has everyone @ screen. U good?

      Torres briefly grins. He'll make sure she understands their chat from earlier doesn't bother him; if anything, it helped. And…yeah, Jess Knight's a bit of an acquired taste, but he can see this new team working together fine from now on. Although, Torres thinks as he closes their texts and pulls up his call history to dial just once more before this quick break ends, he sincerely hope Knight isn't so like him the way she's seemed so far, otherwise she's got grief, heartbreak, and yet more loss in her future.

      "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected…."

OH, BOY. Before I dump the garbage bag that is my feels, I'mma say first: The original idea for this ficlet was "I get a bros vibe from Torres and Knight," and I wanted to do smthg with that, so here! XD I do think they have a lot of things in common, dating back to Knight's first eps at the end of s18 when she first shows her impulsive side that has even Torres going "now hold on a minute," because…that's literally early Torres. (*lol* I have a type, I know. X'D) Anyway! I like Knight, she's growing on me, and I liked seeing these two have a spat and then being good teammates/friends by talking it out. Hence reframing s19e2's Torres, so he's not coming from merely an Ellick standpoint (altho WHOA BABY s19 is srsly giving all us Ellick shippers the feels ;w;). Anyway, platonic stuff is impt and fun to write, so yeah! A few random things: Considering the abrupt, shocking ending to the episode, I struggled to figure out where to slot this fic in, oof… Also a bit tired lately, so I went analog and drafted this first in a ntbk! (Been way too long, even tho ntbks used to be my main thing for fic back in the day.) So hooray for my 1st analog NCIS fic. The last line of the fic comes verbatim from s19e1 when Torres tried calling Bishop… ;w; The title of the fic is a reference to Torres seeing is younger self in Knight. Lastly…raise your hand if you're part of my crowd and anytime you see the word "crutch," you start hearing the Matchbox Twenty song. ;P (I will always love Rob Thomas' vocals. TT-TT)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#ncis #ellick #nick torres #fanfic #mew writes too much #have some feels #i'm not hating the current season and that's a good thing