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solohux · 5 years ago

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I have a strange prompt idea from a fic I wanted to write (but may not get around too): Hux works at Starkiller Magazine, a gossip type magazine where he absolutely despises his coworker Ben Solo. He finds Ben arrogant, self-centered, goofy, and his work to be just sub-par. However, Hux adores local black knight superhero Kylo Ren who always swoops in to save him from harm, and who makes him feel so safe flying in those big strong arms, if only Hux could figure out his secret identity!

Even without looking, Hux can feel Ben’s gaze upon him from across the office. The scruffy-looking man is laughing loudly with a co-worker, touching him on the shoulder as he cracks another joke. Hux growls quietly. Annoyed by Ben’s persistent choice to do as little work as possible but still be praised by their boss, Hux rolls his eyes, ignoring him, returning to his work at the printer and resisting the incredible urge to hurl the nearby office plant at Ben’s head.

What a brat. The son of a politician and a rogue cop, Ben Solo is the example of nepotism that grates against Hux’s psyche every moment of every day. Starkiller Magazine would be the most popular gossip magazine in the country if Hux were in charge but instead Resistance! magazine remains the most favoured: the company that employs Ben’s cousin as its Head Editor. The words ‘traitorous informant’ spring to Hux’s mind.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

The sound of his voice annoys Hux to no end; Ben even sounds arrogant. The man stands irritatingly close to Hux, staring at him with big, brown eyes through black-rimmed glasses, his dark hair tied up in a messy bun. As always, he’s holding a half-empty mug of black coffee and his white shirt is half-untucked from his black jeans. Hux, in his pristine navy suit, looks upon his co-worker with unreserved disgust.

“Not feeling chatty this morning, Hux?” Ben quips, following Hux when he collects his work from the printer and walks back over to his cubicle with Ben in tow. Whilst Hux sits, Ben leans on the short wall of the reporter’s booth, smiling devilishly. “Did you have a late night?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Let me guess,” Ben pouts. “Chasing that Dark Knight of yours?”

“Kylo Ren answers to no one, so he certainly is not ‘mine.’”

“A bit old for chasing superheroes, aren’t you?” Ben leans over the wall and swipes a half-blurred photograph of said superhero from Hux’s pinboard, adjusting his glasses so he can analyse it. “He’s just a freak with telekinesis.”

Hux swipes the photo back, causing Ben to feign a paper cut. “He isn’t a freak. He was born psychic powers that he honed and trained for years when his family cast him aside for his supernatural gifts. He can read minds, he can move things with his own mind, he can fly.”

“So a clairvoyant superhero.”

“No. Kylo isn’t a superhero. He walks the fine line between order and chaos.”

“Ooooh,” Ben winks, pretending to fan himself with his hand, smirking. “Is that what gets your dick hard, Hux?”

“Fuck off, Solo.” Hux has heard enough. Reaching for his earphones, he settles them in place and delves into his work with Katy Perry serenading him. He glances up and sees that Ben is still here, lips moving and with just a hint of a smile on his lips but Hux points to his blasting earphones and shrugs, mouthing ‘can’t hear you’ to his annoying co-worker before going back to his computer.

When he next looks up, Ben is thankfully gone. Hux leans back in his chair, sighing, staring at the photograph of Kylo in all of his anti-hero glory, wondering where his beloved protector is now.

And as the day passes quickly, Hux thinks of nothing else but Kylo Ren, and it isn’t long before 11pm hits and Hux is standing on the roof garden of his apartment building, looking to the dark skies of New York City in the hopes of spotting his love before he crashes down to him.

It’s another ten minutes before Hux feels the winds change around him and he quickly stands from the garden chair to look around, desperate. Above him, a silhouette appears in front of the glowing moon, one strong and recognisable. Shivers run across Hux’s skin, making him pull his ice blue coat tightly around himself as he smiles, watching Kylo descend from the dark skies and onto the ledge of the building, standing proudly, looking something akin to a dark deity descending from the conquered heavens to Hux’s eyes.

Kylo’s outfit is entirely black. Leather trousers are tucked into sleek but heavy black boots, giving him an inch—or two—of extra height on top of his already-tall stature. His plain top has long, pleated sleeves but are mostly covered by the large, billowing black cape behind him, the item of attention. His beautiful dark hair cascades in waves upon his strong shoulders, stands blowing in the night breeze. How Hux wishes that Kylo’s face wasn’t hidden by a mask; he can only imagine the beauty that lies hidden underneath such a ghastly mask.

“You’re late,” Hux huffs, folding his arms.

Kylo floats down from the ledge and onto the ground, marching forward with confidence until he’s toe-to-toe with Hux.

“Forgive me for stopping a jewellery store fire,” Kylo retorts, his voice distorted by his mask. “I got the owner and his four children out before the smoke killed them.”

“What a hero,” Hux says, raising his eyebrows. He allows his hand to trail down Kylo’s strong chest, feeling his pecs underneath the tight material of his tunic.

Kylo is silent for a moment, reaching out to Hux with his palm open. A silver necklace with a heart-shaped diamond pendant floats from behind him and into his palm, hovering gently above his hand.

“Not quite a hero,” Kylo cocks his head. Hux imagines a gorgeous smile beneath the mask.

“Kylo, it’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.” With a wiggle of his fingers, the necklace gets a life of its own and floats towards Hux, settling around his neck and fastening, resting upon the top of his coat and shining in the moonlight. Hux takes hold of it, overwhelmed with such a gift, and ignoring the situation in which it was obtained.

“Thank you, Kylo,” Hux smiles, stepping closer to Kylo to close the gap between them. He stares into the visor of the mask, realising that it isn’t fully opaque from this side and he can see a hint of brown eyes through it. He reaches up, cupping the cheek of the cold mask, staring into Kylo’s eyes. “Will I ever see your face?”

“Hux. You don’t understand the concept of a secret identity, do you?”

“I do,” Hux winds a piece of Kylo’s dark hair around his finger teasingly. “But what harm would it do if I saw your face?”

“So you can plaster it all over your gossip magazine?”

“You’ve read my articles. They’re…inquisitive. I’m intrigued by you. I want to know everything about you.”

Surprisingly, Kylo seems to pause and ponder over Hux’s words for a moment. The air remains electric between them, Hux’s heart is racing as he watches Kylo’s gloved hands rise up to unclip the front piece of his mask, letting the mouthpiece fall away to reveal a small portion of his face; pale skin and plump lips and a strong jaw. His eyes, nose, cheeks and forehead are all still hidden by half of his mask—but Hux knows what a big deal this is.

“This is all you’re getting,” Kylo says—and his voice is like warm honey, a deep symphony of delight to the ears.

But there’s something else. Hux cocks his head, swearing that Kylo’s real voice and not the one generated by the front of his mask is something he’s heard before. The deep, unique tone stirs something in Hux, as though his brain is telling him to be annoyed by the familiar voice but his heart is telling him to just delight in it.

“You sound like someone,” Hux says slowly, staring at Kylo’s plush lips.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Your voice sounds familiar. Like someone from work—mmpphhh!”

The kiss is a little more forceful than Hux imagined it to be but it’s how he likes his kisses; with his partner dominating and touching him all over. Kylo’s hands may be on his hips but there’s no doubt that he’s using his telekinetic powers to simulate the touch of a half-a-dozen hands that roam around his ass and chest, even brushing through his hair and making him moan.

Thoughts of Kylo’s secret identity melt away from Hux’s mind—though whether it’s a result of his own conscious efforts or a little influence from Kylo himself, Hux doesn’t know.

All he knows now is that he can’t wait to tell that brat Ben that he’s kissed Kylo Ren, the city’s anti-hero.

Kylo smirks into the kiss.

#kylux #benarmie #modern au #superhero au #m:writing

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losingmymindtonight · 6 years ago

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The Reinvention of Tony Stark

AN: I scrolIed through about a 10,000 messages to find this (since this was originally just a stupid idea I decided to scream at @dazzlingtony because I was bored one afternoon), and then it took me literal MONTHS to clean up because I’m extra like that. I’m sorry in advance.

A little background before you read: this is set in a post-Endgame universe where Tony survives. It’s written as if it’s an interview article for a blog/magazine. I kinda wrote it in a style that I see used a lot in Rolling Stone and Vogue. I have no idea if it has any kind of formal name, but I love how this kind of article reads more like a story and internal monologue than a plain interview. It also happens to lend itself really well to what I wanted to convey. It really enjoy character studies through an outsider’s POV, and I also enjoy playing with different genres. I hope you enjoy my little experiment too!

Some people have done some wonderful art about this concept as well, all of which have really inspired me to get my ass back to writing this! Here are some links if you're interested in some jaw-dropped talent: @ceruleanmindpalace's art of Tony looking like a regal king as Time’s Person of the Year. @argieart‘s portrait of Tony smiling on the cover of Time that literally makes me want to cry.

(Note: this one is VERY long. If you’d rather read it on the AO3, I’m linking it here.)

“There are a lot of things you worry about when meeting Iron Man, and there are even more things you worry about when meeting Tony Stark.”

From playboy to the pinnacle of heroism: Tony Stark's life has been anything but quiet. In his first face-to-face interview since wielding the Infinity Stones, Iron Man lets the public in on a glimpse of his life as a retired superhero and stay-at-home dad.

There are a lot of things you worry about when meeting Iron Man, and there are even more things you worry about when meeting Tony Stark.

I worried about my clothes, my greeting, how he would perceive me. Despite my friends’ and coworkers’ near constant reassurances, I felt justified in my anxiety. Not only was this one of the richest men in the world, but he’d held the fate of the universe in the palm of his hand. What could he possibly think of me?

The morning of our interview, he texted me (yes, Tony Stark actually texted me, himself, on his own), and asked me to meet him at a park near his house. He said we could talk there, before meeting his family, because that was, of course, the whole point of the interview. I was going to be the first and, possibly, the only reporter allowed within ten feet of Stark’s personal life since the Decimation was reversed.

He was five minutes early. He drove an Audi prototype that I knew wasn’t on the market yet, and my nerves were instantly reignited, if I could claim that they had ever even remotely began to settle.

I had a lot of expectations for that first meeting. I’d built this man up in my head, and I wasn’t the only one. There were murals of him littering the streets of New York, statue after statue being erected in his honor across continents. The admiration of Tony Stark transcended differences in ways few things could. Political, racial, gender, religious, or any other number of societal divisions: Tony Stark built bridges between them all.

What could a man like that possibly be like? He had been ready to sacrifice himself for me, for us, for everyone. There must be something that set him apart, something in his demeanor that was just as awe-inspiring as the looming monuments built in his name.

Except the moment that he stepped out of the car wasn’t grand. I’d expected to be immediately overcome with a sense of his superiority, but he was shockingly unassuming. That isn’t to say that he didn’t carry with him a sense of easy confidence, which he did, but it was the kind of self-assurance that built my own up instantly.

He wasn’t dressed like I’d expected, either. I’d been looking for Armani suits or, at the very least, a set of street clothes that looked like they cost more than my entire wardrobe, but instead, he was wearing a worn leather jacket and dark wash jeans.

He shook my hand, and I ended up staring at his t-shirt for just a few seconds longer than I should’ve. It was light blue, which was, for some reason, not a color I’d expected the savoir of the universe to wear, with a cartoon Earth on the center, the words the rotation of the Earth really makes my day circling it.

I let out a little laugh before I could even consider the repercussions, and he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. In that instant, he didn’t look like a man who had built an empire on military funding and war profiteering. He didn’t look like the richest man on the planet. He didn’t even look like a superhero: the man who had cradled destiny in his palm and forced the scales back into balance.

Instead, he reminded me, strangely, and a little embarrassingly, of my grandfather.

“It was a gift,” he said, shrugging, gesturing almost lazily around the shirt’s graphic. “from one of my kids. A, uh, I’m glad you didn’t die saving the entire universe kind of thing. You know how it is.”

I definitely didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

He asked me if I’d like to take a walk around some of the hiking trails, and I quickly agreed. As we set out, he offered me his arm, and I took it. There were a few bizarre seconds when I forgot to interview him, too overwhelmed by the fact that this was probably going to be one of the most surreal experiences of my entire life.

Eventually, he was the one who reminded me.

“I suppose you have questions.”

I jolted, letting out a nervous laugh. “Right. I’m so sorry.”

He waved a hand around in the air, dismissing the apology right away. “Don’t sweat it. I’m used to it.”

I imagined that he must be. He’d been striking people dumb since childhood. On paper, it looked like Tony Stark had always been destined for greatness. Born into riches, raised in the cradle of a patriot’s legacy: there was nothing out of reach for Howard Stark’s heir. He’d graduated MIT at just 17 years old, long before most children had gotten their high school diplomas, and been thrust straight into the life of a celebrity. Even after his parents’ deaths, Stark Industries only grew under his leadership.

And then, of course, came Iron Man.

The kidnapping, Afghanistan. The press conference that ushered the world into the age of superheroes. Tony Stark was at the forefront of it all, pioneering in every field he dared touch. Of all the Avengers, he was the one we knew. The one we recognized. Despite the suit of armor, every single one of us knew that underneath the exoskeleton, Tony Stark was painfully human.

Just like us.

And yet somehow, it still managed to be a surprise that, at the climax of it all, he was the one to offer the final sacrifice.

Except… it hadn’t been a sacrifice.

Or, at least, it hadn’t been as large a one as he must’ve imagined it would be, when he wielded the universe on his fist.

And, for the second time in our very brief acquaintance, I found myself torn back to reality by Tony Stark’s gentle voice.

It wasn’t until the moment he spoke that I realized that I had been staring at the red and gold prosthetic that sat in place of the man’s right arm. Stark held it up with a wry smile, letting the sleeve of his jacket slip down to give me a better view.

“Yes, well,” he regarded the metal with a hint of amusement, “suppose we ought to get that out of the way, too. Yes, the rumors are true: it’s very much gone. A shame, really. I had a fun little scar on my thumb. It looked a bit like an upside-down squirrel.”

I laughed despite myself, then sobered. “I… I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine…”

He shrugged, as if the loss of his arm was a minor inconvenience instead of a life-altering change. “Small price to pay. The prosthetic is a lot more durable than the real thing, anyway. Built it out of the same stuff as the suit, stuck with the color scheme, too.” He grinned. “Branding, y’know?”

“Now you’ll always be Iron Man,” I said, not thinking.

I’d been mortified the moment the words had left my mouth, but Stark had just nodded, as if it was the most obvious comment in the world.

“Funny,” he murmured, “that’s almost exactly what Peter said.”

A part of me knew that I should be prying for more stories from that final battle, gathering the blood-stained details that would get readers’ hearts pumping, but I was suddenly far more interested in Tony Stark, the human, rather than Iron Man, the hero.

So instead, I asked him how retired life was suiting him, and he seemed pleased by the question. He gestured grandly around the path we were taking, at the lake and the trees and the sloping landscape: the violent reverse of the concrete jungles we had both been raised within.

“As you can see, I certainly can’t complain about the views.”

“Are you bored?”

He chuckled to himself, as if I’d just hit on an inside joke without meaning to. “Bored? Never. Even if I wanted to be, I can’t imagine how I’d find the time.”

“Some people call you Pepper Pott’s trophy husband,” I joked, and I was surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. “I’ve always found that amusing.”

This time, he laughed full-out, open and bright. “Oh, it’s very accurate. These days, I leave nearly all the business to her. I’m just a stay-at-home dad.”

“And that works for you?” At his questioning look, I scrambled to clarify. “It’s just… I can’t imagine going from the life you’ve had to the life you have now. It’d give me whiplash.”

“It is hard, every once in a while,” he admitted. “But, mostly, I enjoy the peace. Or, the peace that the kids let me have.”

That was the money topic, perhaps even more so than Thanos’ defeat, and it was something he’d brought up himself at least twice now: his children. When I had been preparing for the interview, I hadn’t known how to approach it, but it felt surprisingly natural in the moment.

“How is your family? I assume by kids, you mean Morgan, and, well…”

He paused at a picnic table, and gestured for me to sit. I did, and he settled down across from me, finishing my sentence.

“And Peter.”

“Right. And Peter.”

Peter Parker. The child that Tony Stark created a memorial fund for in the wake of the Decimation, and the child that, on the few occasions when he’d ventured into the city since using the Stones, he always seemed to have trotting along at his heels.

Before Thanos’ defeat and Stark’s resulting dance with death, all questions about Peter had been answered with the same harsh response: that the kid was his intern, and nothing more. Afterwards, however, there had been a sudden switch. In the few recent press releases that had mentioned Tony Stark and his family, Peter had been unanimously included.

I decided to inquire specifically about the health of his children at this point, careful to use the plural to watch for his reaction, and everything about Stark seemed to soften. A layer that I hadn’t even realized he’d had raised suddenly dropped away, revealing an adoration that was entirely uncensored. It was as if I’d just hit on his favorite topic in the world.

It was nothing like I’d imagined from him, but it also felt as if this was his most natural form. The superhero, the weapons dealer, the playboy: these were all just facades.

I wondered if I might be one of the first outsiders to truly catch a glimpse of who Tony Stark actually was.

“They’re both brilliant,” he breathed. “You’ll meet them later, when we head back to the cabin. Peter’s, uh, Peter’s 16, which I’m sure you already know. He’ll go back to high school in the fall, as a junior. We’re waiting for the College Board to get their shit back together so he can take the SAT. Morgan just turned 5. She’s in preschool, kicking ass. She’s already reading way above her level, because she’s just that smart, and we’re in a phase where I have to pretend to like something from her Easy-Bake oven nearly every day. They’re both a lot nicer than me.”

I knew that my next question was verging into dangerous territory, but I asked it anyway.

“Peter was one of the Vanished, wasn’t he?”

He regarded me with a sharp gaze, and I suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. This was the look of a man who had run a multi-million dollar business for the entirety of his adult life. It was calculating, cold. The switch happened so suddenly that it made my head spin, and I felt the loss of his warmth keenly.

“That’s not a secret.”

I stuttered out an apology, but he pushed it aside. Instead, he shot a question back, which wasn’t uncommon but certainly wasn’t usual with these kinds of interviews.

“Were you?”

I nodded my affirmation, and he seemed completely unsurprised.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“Did you look me up, before today?”

“No, I can see it in your eyes.”

I asked him what he meant by that.

“The people who didn’t Vanish are colder,” was all he said in return, but it was enough to send chills down my spine.

“You don’t seem colder.”

“You don’t know me.”

I dropped it. I just wanted to stick to the script, for a while. Tony Stark was proving to be even more complex than I’d imagined, and that was saying something. He seemed to bounce from guiding warmth to flinty steel in the slip of sentences, and the changes were as predictable as the summer thunder storms that used to tear through my grandparent’s Georgia lake house. One second the skies were sunny, humid heat beating down on your sunburnt shoulders, and the next the trees were quivering under the weight of wind-howls and lashing rain.

“Can I ask about the battle?”

A tiny smile pulled at his face. For such a sensitive topic, he seemed to relax. “Which one?”

Which one? It baffled me, for a moment, that the man sitting with me at a splinter-heavy picnic table, wearing a science pun t-shirt that looked like it had been ordered off of Amazon Prime, had been in enough life-or-death conflicts that he had to make me clarify which one.

“The… The final one.”

“You want to know about the gauntlet.”

And, yes, that was exactly what I wanted to know. It was exactly what my editor wanted me to know, too, what we knew our readers would gobble up. The Infinity Stones were fascinating, in the way the human species tended to covet and idolize the things that filled us up with horror.

“I do. Why did you put it on?”

“I knew that I had to,” he said, like that one decision hadn’t been the most monumental of our generation.

“Did you know you were going to survive?”

There was a profound sorrow in his eyes that told me my answer before he even opened his mouth.

“I thought I was a goner, actually. Thought I still was afterwards, too, although I barely remember it. My memories really start back in the hospital, about a week later.”

“Were you scared?”

It was such a childish question, but it seemed appropriate. He must’ve been, of course, but my mind couldn’t quite grasp the concept of someone like him experiencing the same reality that I did. I felt fear, but did he? He seemed so much more than human, now, so much more than me.

He smiled. “Terrified.” He shifted, fiddling absentmindedly with his watch. “The thing is, everyone thinks that I did it for the greater good. And… maybe I did, to some degree. But when I snapped, I was only thinking about my family. You can judge me for that however you want.”

“I don’t think that’s wrong. I think that’s… I think that’s just human.”

He watched me quietly for a few breaths, studying. “You know,” he finally said, “you really do remind me of Peter.”

It wasn’t long after this that I finally got to meet the teenager in question. Stark brought me back to his car and, as soon as I was settled in the passenger’s seat, handed me a security badge.

“Here, put that on. Don’t take it off.”

I did as I was told. “Does everyone who comes to visit you have to have one of these?”

He pulled out onto the road with a tiny smirk on his face, eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses he’d slipped on once we’d gotten into the car. “Most of the people who visit me are already in my AI’s systems. But, yes.”

“Are you worried about your safety?”

He shrugged. “Not necessarily my safety. Despite retiring, my AI can operate the suits, and so could I, given enough reason, although I’m sure that this,” he held up his prosthetic again, “might make things a little more difficult.”

“So why all the security?”

“Reporters,” he said, glancing over at me, and I suddenly felt a strange sense of shame. “I want Morgan to grow up as normal as possible, and I don’t want Peter’s life ruined anymore than it already is. The least I can do for them is make sure that no paparazzi can get within range to take photos of them at the house. That’s a safe space, for all of us.”

And yet he was bringing me there: directly into their safe space. I couldn’t help but wonder why, so I asked, hoping that I wasn’t about to drop yet another dark veil over the atmosphere.

Thankfully, Stark took the question with ease, as if he’d been expecting it, eventually. “People are fascinated with forbidden things. If I make my house and my family entirely off-limits, the public’s interest only grows. But if I let a few people in, people we’ve carefully chosen, then it starts to lose its appeal.”

“That’s clever.”

“I’ve been playing this game for my whole life. I know how to gain the upper hand.”

I paused. “Do you want me to print that?”

He hit the brakes at a stop sign, and turned to look at me over the rim of his sunglasses. Maybe I was imagining it, but I swore that I saw a flicker of respect in his gaze. “You can print anything I say. I’m not afraid of public opinion. It’ll swing whichever way it wants, and it really doesn’t matter what I do about it.”

“It’s pretty in your favor right now.”

“The key words of that statement are right and now.”

“So you don’t think it’ll stay that way?”

“I know it won’t.”

I didn’t know if I agreed with him, but I stayed quiet. I imagined, though, that it would take a truly ungrateful world to tear down the man that had saved it. I wanted to think better of humanity than that, even if Tony Stark himself seemed to struggle with the optimism.

We drove through three security checkpoints before pulling into the cabin’s driveway. It was smaller than I’d expected, but that still made it larger than an average house. In fact, its size made Stark’s designation of it as a cabin seem almost comical. Dark brown siding melted into stone accents. A chimney rose up through the trees that clustered around the front porch’s carefully-maintained railing. In the distance, I could see the sunlight playing on the lake. There was a boat in the dock, bobbing peacefully in the morning waves.

It didn’t look like a museum, or the palace of a king. It looked like a home.

Morgan Stark herself was waiting on the porch. She looked smaller in person, but more lively as well. In the few paparazzi photos I’d seen of her, she’d always seemed frightened and unsure. Now, though, she came barreling down the porch steps like a rocket, overexcited shouts of Daddy! filling the air.

Stark scooped her up as soon as she got to us, face melting into a smile. He looked calm, again, and perfectly in his element. It hit me rather suddenly that the savoir of the universe was, at the end of the day, just a father who loved his children enough to lay his life down for their futures.

I liked Tony Stark better as a man than as a god, I decided. And from the look on his daughter’s face, she agreed with me.

I was introduced to Morgan right there in the driveway, and it seemed to take her all of a minute to decide that I was a perfectly acceptable addition to the scenery. I’d been expecting more resistance, more of Stark’s wariness, but in the end all I got was a childlike acceptance.

I met Pepper Stark next. Her new last name still tripped me up, even four years after her wedding. No matter how much I tried to condition myself, I could still remember her as Pepper Potts: a lingering presence over New York, formidable CEO and, by all accounts, the only person on Earth who could control the great Tony Stark.

She was sitting in the living room, which happened to be the first space I saw when Stark ushered me through the front door and into the cabin’s cozy warmth. There was a fireplace against the wall, leather couches and armchairs tucked up against it’s glow. A simple staircase led upstairs, but we walked past that, further into the house.

Mrs. Potts was kind in a controlled, well-groomed sort of way. Her demeanor wasn’t fake, necessarily, but I recognized the carefully prepped exterior of a woman who had learned to fight battles in a man’s arena. Besides that, I could also see that she wasn’t certain of me. There was something in her eyes that told me that while she didn’t dislike me, she didn’t necessarily want me in her house, either.

I could understand the trepidation. She and her husband had fled the public eye five years ago, when the Decimation had turned all gazes to the Avengers for answers, for someone to blame. Then, six months ago, her husband had very nearly become a sacrificial lamb.

She had very nearly been forced to raise their child all alone. Staring that in the face must change a person. It had to.

After the introductions had faded into idle conversation, Morgan declared that she was going to go “get Petey,” and raced off up the stairs. A minute or two later, she returned, dragging a teenage boy along by his hand.

Peter Parker was, for lack of a better word, shy. When he met my eyes, usually by accident, he immediately darted them back down to the carpet. He was a little awkward, a little nerdy. His hair was curly, and way too long. A few strands stuck out from the rest, and he stuttered over himself when he spoke. In many ways, he didn’t seem to have any of the suave, easy-going charisma that Stark did.

But Stark loved him. That much was clear from the moment he stepped into the room. Tony Stark looked at his children as if it was a new experience every single time, and it only got more and more breathtaking as the years wore on.

Once we’d finally made it through all the necessary greetings, Morgan tugged on my sleeve and asked if I could give her an interview. I looked to Stark for permission. He went to sit on a couch a few feet away, guiding Peter along with him by pressing a hand against the small of his back, and made a lazy gesture for me to go ahead. He propped his feet up on a crayon-stained ottoman as he watched me, calculating.

I had never interviewed a child before, although I knew at least one of my colleagues who had. Still, she seemed like a smart kid, eyes blinking up at me with barely-contained excitement, so I proceeded just like I usually would.

“How old are you, Morgan?”

“Five!”

“Do you like school?”

“Yeah!”

“What’s your favorite thing to do, there?”

“I like art.”

That was surprising. The daughter of Tony Stark, an artist. It wasn’t what I’d expected at first, but the more I considered it, the more it made sense. What were the Iron Man suits, if not a work of art?

“Do you do a lot of art at home, too?”

“I do! I like to draw portraits of Mommy and Daddy and Peter.” Her face lit up, and she bounced to her feet. “I can draw you one now, if you want!”

“I’d love that.”

As she raced off towards her bedroom, presumably to gather up what were sure to be absurdly expensive art supplies for a five-year-old, I marveled at the fact that she seemed so… normal. Perhaps that was another way that my warped concept of Tony Stark had led me astray. I’d expected his children to be, well, more than normal children. Different, somehow, more serious or solemn or conscious of the power they wielded in the world, and yet even Peter seemed detached from it all. In the few moments when I managed to forget that I was sitting on Tony Stark’s couch in Tony Stark’s living room, the family life sprawling out around me had the same domestic taste as my own childhood memories.

Maybe that was a testament to the Starks’ parenting techniques, or maybe it was a testament to the power of hero worship. The human race could, it seemed, build any man into a legend.

The next few hours slipped by in a domino chain of normalcy. Morgan came back downstairs and covered the floor with crayons and pencils and three different sketchbooks. She drew me a portrait of her family. I’d been expecting stick figures from a child her age, but she drew a series of people that were so well-formed that I could point out which person was which without her telling me first.

Stark got up and made sandwiches for lunch, and everyone ate in the living room except for Peter, who disappeared for the meal but came back in just as it was finished. Nobody else seemed to think that his vanishing act was atypical, so I didn’t comment on it.

As the day crept forward, and my awe at the unexpected normalcy faded, I started seeing those kinds of gaps in greater frequency. Yes, this family wasn’t as abnormal as I’d originally anticipated, but they weren’t entirely normal, either. And the more I looked, the more I saw those blips. Even as Stark worked so hard to leave the superhero life behind him, it still bled through the cracks.

Morgan Stark didn’t seem to notice her father’s prosthetic arm, or the ugly scars that marred half of his face, but Peter Parker did. He danced around the man’s injured side, always brushing shoulders with the left but giving the right as wide a berth as possible. Every once in a while, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, his gaze would linger just a little too long on the back of the prosthetic’s hand: the space where, according to rumors, Stark had born the Infinity Stones.

Pepper Potts gave less obvious signals, but they were still there. When she handed Stark a new mug of coffee, she went out of her way to place it in his flesh hand. Even more than that, she was always half watching her husband, as if a stray wind might tear him away from her.

The paranoia was in Stark, too, although that was far less of a surprise, considering his reputation. He was almost predatory about the way he guarded his children, and Peter in particular seemed to spark something fierce and mother bear-ish in him, which was a phrase I never would have expected to use in relation to one of the most powerful men in the universe.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Morgan or Peter understood that: the concept that their father, the man who fixed the broken wheels on Morgan’s doll carriages or shamelessly bragged about Peter’s intelligence to anyone who would listen, had the whole world, the whole universe, breathless in awe. His endorsement or censor could build or topple political campaigns. His name made people pause mid-step. The very concept of his existence was enough to influence the unfolding of strangers’ lives.

I doubted that Morgan knew, but I had an inkling that Peter might. But even more than that, I had a pretty solid suspicion that even if Peter did know, he just didn’t care.

Peter fascinated me, both as a human and as a reporter. He was sweet and shy, and yet I knew that there must be something else underneath it. The way Stark looked at him was unique, and unlike Morgan, he was old enough to perceive that.

I wanted to talk to him. So, I jumped on it.

“Do you mind if I talk to Peter, before I leave?”

I’d deduced that Stark was fiercely protective of Peter, and the man’s reaction to the question did little to contradict that conclusion. I supposed that it made sense, considering the Decimation. To lose a child and gain them back was a complicated thing, and he wasn’t the only parent struggling through life in the aftermath of that whiplash.

“If Peter wants to talk to you,” he finally said, jaw tight.

As it turned out, Peter did want to talk to me, much to Stark’s barely concealed displeasure. In fact, it seemed like he’d prefer an emergency root canal to letting me go just about anywhere with the teenager, but he didn’t stop us. From the surprised look on Peter’s face, that was probably some kind of progress.

We went onto the front porch, at his request, and sat on the wooden steps rather than the rocking chairs carefully placed to offer views of the lake.

“So,” he said as soon as we were seated, “how do we do this?”

“I ask you questions, and you answer them.”

I didn’t mean for the explanation to sound so sarcastic, but he grinned, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, okay,” he laughed, a hint of nervousness in the sound, “I probably should’ve guess that bit. Well, ask away, then.”

“Do you live here now?”

He shrugged. “Kinda, but kinda not. When school starts I’ll have to spend a lot more time at my aunt’s place, but for now I try to split it fifty-fifty.”

“You’re not Stark’s secret biological kid, right?”

That question earned me a sly glance. He seemed to toy with his answer, mischief growing with every passing second.

“I think I’ll let people keep wondering about that, actually. Mister Stark thinks it’s fun to watch them stew.”

“And Stark said you were nicer than him.”

Peter snorted. Obviously, that piece of information wasn’t a surprise. “Yeah, he does that.”

“And you don’t agree?”

“You’ve met him, right? You know he’s wrong.”

“He’s… a lot nicer than I expected, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah. A lot of people say that, if they actually give him a chance.”

I could tell, just from that minuscule exchange, that Peter loved Tony Stark just as much as I’d seen Tony Stark love him, that the teenager saw something in the man beyond what I did. That knowledge wasn’t necessarily surprising, but it was refreshing. In some ways, it made the savoir of the universe that bit more human.

“Stark told me you’re going to be a junior in the fall.”

Peter’s face turned a little red, every bit the embarrassed teenager who just found out that their parent had been bragging about them behind their back. “Oh, no. What else did he say?”

“That you were brilliant.”

“Ew.”

I laughed. “I assume you like school?”

“Uh, I mean, yeah. I like learning.”

“You must be very smart, to have caught Stark’s attention in the first place.”

“I’m alright, yeah.”

I knew that he was being modest. All of the information I had on Peter Parker told me that he was a proper genius, rivaling even Tony Stark’s IQ.

“Do you remember coming back, after the Decimation?”

Peter’s shoulders tensed, and I wondered if I’d just crossed a line. There seemed to be a lot of those, in this house, in this family. An unspoken guidebook of limits and cautions that I hadn’t been made privy to.

“I do,” he finally said.

“I assume that you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, not really. Sorry.”

“That’s fine.” It was, too. Talking about the Decimation didn’t bother me, but it did bother some of my friends. It was just different coping mechanisms, I supposed, and I understood not wanting to go into such a traumatic experience with a stranger. “When did you find out what happened to Tony?”

He seemed to choose his words carefully. I’d been interviewing people for long enough to know when an answer had been rehearsed, and Peter just wasn’t as good at lying as Stark.

“Pretty soon after.”

“And the first time you saw him was in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

Another lie, which was interesting. In any other interview, I probably would’ve tried to pry for the truth, but I had a weird feeling that Stark would know the second I so much as mildly upset Peter, and it wouldn’t end well for me if he did.

“It must’ve been hard, when you heard about what he did.”

Peter watched me carefully for a few seconds, and my previous evaluation of him gave way to something new. He was shy, yes, but he was smart. Even smarter than Stark, maybe, or maybe he just wasn’t as good at controlling it yet. Still, I could see the raw, borderline brutal intelligence in his eyes. He was running every inch of me through his brain like I was an equation to unwind.

“It wasn’t my favorite day of my life, no.”

“Is that why you spend so much time here, now?’

A pause. He was still sizing me up. I could tell.

“Sort of.”

“I never thought of Tony Stark as a father, you know,” I said easily, testing his reaction. “Even after we heard about Morgan being born, it was hard to imagine.”

“That’s because everyone thinks that they know him, but they don’t.”

I was caught off guard by how quickly he said it and, from the look on Peter’s face, so was he.

I asked him if there was one thing that he wished people did know about Tony Stark.

“He’s complicated, but that doesn’t make him bad,” is all Peter said.

Stark was lurking by the door when we come back in, and Peter didn’t even try to hide his eye roll. He made a joke about having survived the interview without spontaneously combusting, which didn’t seem to land all that well with Stark. For a second, it looked like he was about to scold the teenager, but then his eyes darted over to me and he silently glared instead.

My last hour at the Starks’ cabin was spent getting a tour of the house and surrounding acreage. The kids stayed back in the living room with Mrs. Potts, so I found myself alone with Tony Stark once again.

I’d seen photographs and videos from inside the Stark Tower penthouse, and the décor in his cabin was as far from that style as I could imagine. Where the Tower was sleek and steeped in modern, minimalist designs, the cabin was more rustic. It had a farmhouse vibe, and the furniture was worn and used. It was, without a doubt, a lived-in space.

I only saw a single room upstairs: Stark’s office. Otherwise, I was told that the floor held his and his children’s bedrooms.

“Peter would disown me if I let anyone into his room, and, besides,” Stark said, leading me back down the stairs and away from the hallway of locked doors, “some spaces ought to stay private.”

We spent the rest of the house tour chatting about superficial topics, like the Yankees’ most recent loss and how awful it is to drive in New York at rush hour. Once we stepped outside, however, the conversation got a little more interesting. One of our first stops was a half-downed tree, which Stark pointed to while looking unexpectedly somber.

“The roots gave out during a few days of pretty bad storms about two weeks ago,” he said. “It’s a shame, I guess. Morgan and Peter used to climb all over it. Gave me a good few heart attacks while they were at it, but at least they were having fun.”

He took me down to the dock, where he showed me the boat they kept tethered there. I asked him if he did any fishing, and he laughed.

“Not a chance. I’m rotten at it, Peter’s too nice to kill anything, and Morgan just doesn’t care.”

“And Mrs. Potts?”

His smirk was fond and knowing. “If she ever slows down long enough to even consider fishing, I’ll let you know.”

The cabin’s ground were nice. They weren’t immaculately well-kept, but they weren’t entirely wild, either. It felt very natural, and when I asked Stark who did the landscaping, he told me that he took care of most of it himself.

“Don’t look too carefully at some of the details,” he warned. “I’m an amateur at best, and it doesn’t help that I’ve usually got at least one kid quote-unquote helping while I work.”

“It seems to me like you’re good at just about everything you do.”

“That’s because I rarely do things that I’m not good at.”

I couldn’t help but ask if he was at all grateful for Thanos as we walked back to his car. I knew that it sounded a little perverse, a little brutal, especially considering the prosthetic arm that was a constant reminder of the physical losses he endured, but it was a curiosity that I couldn’t scratch. At the end of the day, it seemed like Stark had come out of that tragedy far more solid than he’d gone in. He had a family, a wife, a beautiful cabin on the lake. He was living in a paradise.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say I’m grateful for something that resulted in five years of grief for a universe, but I am grateful for the way it ended up. There are worse things to lose than an arm.”

He drove me back to the park, where we’d met so many hours before. My Chevy was the only vehicle left in the lot, that late in the evening. He got out once we parked, came around to open my door, and walked me the few steps it took to get to my car.

“Any last words?” Stark asked, and while he didn’t seem to get the irony of that question, I certainly did.

This was a man who once had chosen his final words. It felt ridiculous to compare that moment to this one: a dusk-stained parking lot, my 2008 Chevy Cobalt, and the biggest problem in my future being late-night New York traffic.

“Why did you choose me?” I asked, hand paused on my door’s handle. “You’ve denied every other reporter’s request for an interview, so what made you pick me?”

He smirked. The streetlight glinted off his metal arm.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Peter did.”

He patted the roof of my car, then stepped away.

“Drive safe.”

#hi y'all I'm back on my bullshit #been writing this for MONTHS #help #irondad #tony stark #peter parker #morgan stark #tony & peter #tony & morgan #losingmymindtonight writes

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cmagines · 5 years ago

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Fell Over and For You

Summary: Following season one episodes (“Broken Mirror,” “What Fresh Hell?,” “Somebody’s Watching,” and “The Fisher King: Part 2”), the BAU’s newest and youngest agents fall in love.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader

Word Count: 2,379

You literally ran into him. You smacked right into his chest and fell against the wall, which was luckily right there to break your fall. It was your fault, really; you’d had your nose so far into a Harry Potter book that you wouldn’t have seen a mob with pitchforks and torches stalking your way.

Your glasses were skewed on your face. You fixed them anxiously. “I- I’m so sorry,” you apologized profusely, blushing heavily with so much heat in your face you were amazed you weren’t on fire. “I’m not usually so clumsy, I swear-“

The man was tall, but all you saw of his head was his brown hair when he bent down to pick your book up for you. You turned an even brighter color as he looked at the cover. I’ve done it now, you’d thought, mortified. The newest agent’s literary interests are comparable to a twelve-year-old’s. How long would it take to get through the halls?

Instead of picking on you, he broke into a wide smile and beamed, brushing his hair back behind his ears and looking up to grin. His sweater vest made him look skinny and his lack of a gun made him look unthreatening. He looked more like a student from the college you’d just left than a suited agent prepared to take on killers, so you relaxed slightly. Maybe he wasn’t as rigid in the status quo you assumed existed.

“I loved this one,” he told you with a big grin, turning it so the cover faced you as he handed it back over. “Let me know when you get to page 286. That one has some important foreshadowing; I hope you notice.” His face flushed, and suddenly he was just as embarrassed as you. “Well, I mean, not that you wouldn’t have on your own; although now that I’ve pointed it out and you know it’s there, it’s not like you’re reading it on your own-“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, smiling nervously. Your heart still beat in your chest. “I’ve read them all at least a dozen times.” Your hands felt clammy and you held your book tightly. The man was cute, and nice, and you already shared an interest.

You were quiet and soft-spoken. Spencer was… well, not always loud, but he certainly seemed to have trouble shutting up at times! That was okay, though. You were patient, and you liked when someone else would talk with you, even when you weren’t the most engaging partner. Spencer more than made up for your shyness, and you bonded quickly. He was adept at reading when you were having a particular bout of timidity and was always happy to help you out, whether it meant relaying a message to someone from the local department for you or asking what he assumed you were questioning.

Elle and Derek took the two of you to restaurant to celebrate the successful capture of an unsub who’d been tormenting two twin sisters, going as far as to capture one and attack Derek to get to the other. Derek kept rubbing his chest where he’d been hit with a taser, but he insisted he was okay.

Your handsome waiter came back over after you’d finished up your entrees. He looked like he could’ve stepped right out of a men’s health magazine. The shirt he wore was tucked into his pants, but pulled so tight to his body that you could see the defined tones of his abdomen. When he came over to ask for dessert, he took the orders from Elle and Derek, and when he looked to your side of the table, he winked.

“And for you, gorgeous?” He flirted. He wasn’t lewd, but you’d become the center of attention, just like that, even from the people at the table across from you, who started to giggle at your deer-in-headlights expression.

Spencer had come to your rescue. “She’d like the crème silk pie,” he said politely, setting his hand down near yours on the table. You quickly moved yours to hover over his and looked like you were holding his hand, staring down at the table in front of you and waiting for the waiter to go away. “And a refill of water,” Spencer added for himself as an afterthought.

A little girl was kidnapped and your leads of finding her looked like they were all going nowhere. You’d broken into the suspect’s house, and couldn’t find her. Where were you supposed to look next? Everyone else had checked out with firm alibis, and the one person who didn’t had been excluded by the profile.

You went and stood on the porch, wrapped your arms around yourself, and shivered. When you’d been recruited, the pitch had been that you’d work to bring justice for the families of victims, save lives and rescue the next victims – ‘when you stop a killer, you save their next victim.’ It had sounded nice, until now you were facing down a bleak prospect of telling a heartbroken mother and a father slowly falling to cancer that their daughter was nowhere to be found. You couldn’t even imagine how terrified the little soccer player must have been, if she was even still alive.

“Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice made you look up. He stepped over the threshold and into the open air with you, hands in his pockets. He looked like the shy one for once, worried about approaching.

You contemplated nodding. You had to be able to do the job. Everyone else seemed like they could handle it, even Hotch, who had his own child and could relate to the family more than you could. Then again, you’d known Spencer for six months and not once had he ever invalidated your feelings or treated you like he expected you to be tough. He had shown you his sensitive side the month before, confiding in you that he’d been having trouble sleeping from nightmares.

You shook your head and covered your mouth before you could start crying. Spencer frowned, shuffling his feet, unsure what to do.

“This always happens,” he told you quietly, looking up and scanning down the street of the residential neighborhood. “Something like this, I mean. We always do our best, but sometimes… we just can’t.” His voice broke. “But we won’t give up until we find who took her, even if we have to stay and work on our own time.”

That was when you heard the most beautiful sound you thought you had ever bore witness to. “I’ve got her!” Gideon shouted from inside the house. “Hotch, she’s alive!”

“A group of employees in a hospital in Las Vegas were actually fired because they had a betting pool on when certain patients with terminal illnesses would die,” Spencer told Elle, who listened intently, nodding her head. You suspected she was thinking about something else and just indulging him. “That was in 1981, but since then-“

“1980,” you corrected quietly, and then froze.

Elle, Spencer, and Hotch all turned to look at you.

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. “I – I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to look at Spencer’s eyes but unable to make contact. You flushed and looked down, feeling your stomach twist. “I shouldn’t’ve interrupted…”

“It’s okay,” Spencer promised. You chanced a peek back up. He was beaming at you proudly. “You’re absolutely right, Y/N. I was distracted.”

“By what?” Elle snorted, not believing that the boy genius was distracted by anything when it came to his trivia.

“It’s possible,” he said defensively, sending her a betrayed look. “And I’m not the only traditionally-labeled genius on the team anymore.” The smile he sent you was encouraging and warm, and you looked down with a slight smile.

You realized you liked Spencer when you saw the magazine cover that was printed the morning after you closed a case in Hollywood. It was of Spencer swimming in a pool with Lila Archer, a gorgeous, up-and-coming TV actress. He was holding his head up away from hers, while she tugged on his tie.

It was a slow realization that took you a while to come to. After all, Spencer was just your friend, right? Sure, you liked spending time with him, and he helped you out when you were uncomfortable in social situations, and he comforted you when you were upset, but those were all things your best friend had done in college. Except – you’d never wanted to hug your best friend as frequently as you wanted to hug Spencer. You’d never wanted to kiss them before. It was just the scarily clever doctor whom made you want that romantic companionship. You’d fallen, and it was possibly you’d been falling since you bumped into him and fell into the wall.

You showed him the magazine before you got on the jet to go back to Quantico, smirking shyly behind the safety of the paper. “You made a friend,” you said, disguising your subtle question behind an observation.

For once, you weren’t the one turning scarlet. Spencer took the magazine from you with wide eyes and stared at the cover, cheeks going all rosy. “She wanted to kiss me,” he explained, justifying why he was in her backyard pool with all of his clothes on, gun holster included. “She dragged me into the pool and-“

“Why didn’t you kiss her?” You couldn’t help your curiosity, although you thought you might have blown your secret.

Spencer paused, tilted his head, and frowned thoughtfully down at the high-definition photograph. “I guess I had someone else on my mind,” he admitted to you, his voice small and quiet. You bit your lip and nodded, taking the diversion of Derek calling for you to hurry up.

So Spencer liked someone. That was… it was fine. He was a coworker, and it was a crush. You would get over it.

Except you didn’t get over it, and a few months later, after Rebecca Bryant had been rescued from her insane and apparently suicidal father, you stayed late to finish up your statements on the case so you could sleep in the next morning. You were getting ready to leave when you noticed the light in the kitchenette turning on. Investigative, you crept over to see who was in at the late hour.

“Spence,” you said quietly. He jumped skittishly and “accidentally” dumped some more sugar into his coffee. “What are you doing here? You should be with your mom.”

His mother had come to the FBI to help, and that was how you’d met her, offering to help the woman who looked lost without realizing that she was your best friend’s mother. Spencer had taken you aside and carefully explained to you with a frightened expression that his mom was schizophrenic. You’d smiled sadly at him and said that you were there for him if he ever needed help, or even just to talk, and then had kindly excused yourself to let him talk to his parent.

Spencer turned around to lean back against the counter, leaving his coffee mug on the table. “She’s at the hotel,” he said, matching your low volume. You felt a little bit of a thrill, like you were being secretive by being so quiet. “I wanted… I wanted to see if you were still in.”

Sympathetically, you smiled at him and held your hands behind your back unobtrusively. “I’m here. What do you need?”

Spencer held his arms out, sucking on his lower lip. He was nervous and tentative. He wasn’t a very touchy person, so you knew it was special… you reached out for his waist, putting your hands on his sides, and slid your hands around to your back as he leaned over, tugging you to his slim form and holding you carefully, like you would change your mind and scamper away if he was too firm.

“This always happens,” you told him softly, standing on your toes to rest your chin gingerly on his shoulder. His hair tickled your nose. You breathed in his shampoo and soap and shut your eyes, feeling him shaking slightly in your arms. “Something like this, I mean. We always do our best, but sometimes… we just can’t.”

Spencer stilled as he recognized the words you were reciting to him.

“But we won’t give up until we find who took her, even if we have to stay and work on our own time. … This time we don’t have to. We already found her. Her father chose to end his own life, but we saved her. This was a victory, Spence.”

He sniffled. “I told you that.”

“Yeah.”

“You know… the reason I didn’t want to kiss Lila…”

“The girl you have a thing for?” You asked, disappointed that the conversation was going back to the mystery girl you were definitely jealous of. Still, you couldn’t be too upset. He’d come back to you while he was upset, instead of going to her. That had to mean something.

Spencer nodded against you while you embraced, his cheek rubbing against yours. “I want to tell her how I feel,” he whispered nervously, his long fingers dancing nervously as he loosely held onto the back of your shirt.

“So tell her,” you gently urged, putting him before yourself. You were a genius, sure. According to every IQ measurement test you’d ever taken, at least. The one thing you weren’t able to do, though… the one problem you weren’t able to solve… was to tell him how you felt.

Spencer pulled back from you. You sank back onto your feet and looked up at him tiredly. There were dark shadows under his eyes, just like there were under yours. He held your waist in his hands, reluctant to let go, and leaned down. You held your breath, internally panicking, as he closed the distance and touched his forehead to yours, the warm heat of his breath rushing gently over your face.

“I am,” he answered, just as carefully.

For once in your life, you did the bold thing and confronted your shyness head-on, reaching up to the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss his lips, feeling the last year of friendship finally come to full fruition.

~~~

A/N: Welcome! This is my new side blog dedicated to Criminal Minds fanfic. This is a repost from my main blog because I want to show that I write pretty well. If you want to commission specific content, please consider buying me a low-priced Ko-Fi.

#cmagines #oneshot #plot-based #hotch #hotchner #daughter reader #reader #reader insert #spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds x reader #fic

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

Text

My wannabe fashionista coworker always threw shade at me for being frumpy. She looked frumpier, unemployed!

TL;DR at the bottom

*******

I worked at a popular, high end clothing store while I was in graduate school (I'm an engineer). I won't name the brand, but it's the sort that charged $50 for a pair of male boxer briefs, $200 for a lady's fancy bra, or $400 or more for a pair of jeans, $1,000 or more for those skinny suits that hip guys wear to their job, where the hems of their pants reveal that they're wearing loafers without socks.

The clothes there weren't really my style but the starting pay was two dollars higher than minimum wage, and higher than most of the other, surrounding stores. This was at a rich people shopping center, where lots of people who shop there are wannabe celebrities and constant selfie-takers.

I was surprised to get hired there, but was relieved that I wouldn't have to really do customer service, as I worked only in the stock room. I'd put out clothes on the shelves and racks before and after closing, and also arrange everything in the back to make it organized. I was also trained so that in emergency situations I could cover register if we were short handed, so that the regular associates could go on break.

I was hardly seen by customers, but I still had to wear the clothes the store sold, to promote the image of the company. I didn't, thankfully, have to wear the dainty little suits, but I did sport the jeans and other casual things we sold.

It was a job. I didn't love it and I didn't hate it. I just worked, took my pay, went to school, and went home.

At least that's the way it was for two months.

After those two months, "Jessica" began to work during the same hours as me. She was about my age (I was 22), maybe twenty five, tops. She didn't work in the stock room (it was just me back there, with one or two other college guys), but worked the front. She wasn't the manager, or even a supervisor, but she SWORE she was in charge of me.

She made it known to everyone, even customers, that she graduated with an associates degree in fashion marketing from FIDM. I suppose it's a big deal but I was thinking girl if you're a college graduate why are you bragging about it as if it has something to do with you folding jeans and ringing people up at the register? She talked like she was fashion expert and in the "fashion industry," and would talk about the New York or Paris fashion weeks in a familiar way that implied that she just got of the plane after attending these events personally. You know the type, the kind that talks about famous fashion designers by their first name, as if they knew them.

Well she always criticized the way I wore the jeans because I didn't tuck in my T-shirt like the mannequin, or that I work Chuck Taylors on my feet instead of the little leather Sperry Topsiders knockoffs we sold for $300.

We were given a clothing allowance as employees. As a stockperson, I was allowed three complete outfits for free, everything from tops, to underear, to socks, and pants (but not shoes). If I wanted more and it was specifically for wearing at the store, I could mark it as a "uniform purchase" and have the price deducted from my check a little at a time. This was advantageous because they wouldn't charge you tax for them, and charge you only a third of the retail price.

Uniform Purchase was distinctly separate from "Store Discount," for which we also received a percentage off, but it wasn't the incredible 66% discount we got for uniform purchases.

Jessica would snicker at me when I took over register for someone, shake her head or roll her eyes at me as if I looked really ugly. I'm always thinking, whatever girl, you wannabe model you aren't even hot and you're not the boss, who are you? But I held my tongue.

She'd also complain if I was supposedly not fast enough in grabbing a size medium from the back because a customer is requesting the dress and all we have on the floor are smalls and larges. She'd trash me to the customer and when I showed up would sarcastically say "finally!" and turn to the customer with a "see what I have to put up with?" expression.

She was especially mean if any customers got chatty with me and treated me with respect. And if those customers were female and were getting flirty with me, Jessica would be a total cockblock.

The real manager, Paula, had their own issues to deal with beyond petty bickering between a stockboy and an entry level sales associate with delusions of "Project Runway" grandeur. The assistant manager, another fashion industry wannabe named "Heather," was just like Jessica, but thankfully I hardly interacted with her. According to my coworkers, Heather was just as bad as Jessica.

Even though I didn't plan on making this store my career, and even though Jessica didn't bother me THAT much, I thought it won't hurt to get this bitch fired.

To her face, I'd just smile and act like I was following her orders happily, or didn't mind when she would point at me rudely, or snap her fingers at me like she was calling a dog.

Jessica would always hear a directive from one of the managers, and then go around telling the other employees what to do, as if they didn't have ears. She'd try to act as if it was HER directive. LOL.

Her coworkers who were the same "rank" as her would sometimes vent to me about how Jessica acted like she was in charge, when in some cases she had even less time in the company than other employees on the floor.

I noticed that when I arranged clothes in back, especially big ticket, desirable clothes that were seen in magazines in our company's advertisement campaigns, she'd "order" me to set aside things in her size.

I'd do it, because it's my job to set aside things if employees want to buy them outright at a discount or put it as a uniform purchase.

Whenever an employee was on register (really, a big Ipad with a cash drawer beneath), you could tap in a code and the register would show a rundown of every non-customer transaction that employees performed that day, and with a few more keystrokes, their transactions over MANY days. The managers knew this code, of course, and I'll assume Jessica knew the code too because Heather shared the code with her.

I WASN'T supposed to know the code, but I did, because there's a mirror in the wall behind the register, and I was re-stocking paper handbags behind Heather when I saw her tap in her four digit code. She assumed I was stupid and didn't understand the incredibly complex wizardry that is a two year old, low-end spec Ipad.

I knew Jessica was getting rung up for "uniform purchases" when she should have been getting rung up for regular employee discount.

She assumed that when I set aside all those expensive items for her, that I was too dumb to know what she was doing, just because I might have something of a mouth breather countenance.

Even if I look on the surface like a fugitive from the trailer park, something told me Jessica wasn't going to be using $800 heels, a $500 dress, and $1200 motorcycle jacket while working at the store.

And anyway, I asked around. No one saw Jessica wearing any of the truly fancy clothes she bought at our store at what the other employees assumed was simply a regular employee discount.

I thought maybe she was being honest, too. It WAS possible, after all, because I didn't always work with her. Maybe she wore evening dresses to work on her other shifts? Whatever, I decided to make sure.

One time when everyone was busy doing other stuff and the store had to resort to putting me on the register, I typed in Heather's code and pulled up Jessica's purchases. As I suspected, she had bought thousands of dollars worth of our store's best items, but put them all as "uniform purchases" and not at her regular discount.

So I swiped "print" and the register switches from the regular tape to the 8.5"x11" printer beneath the counter, and a complete rundown of all of Jessica's purchases come out.

I highlight all the most expensive items that she was charged for "uniform purchase" (such as, her $1200 jacket would only be $300, and even that was tax free and she got to pay it little by little).

I knew that my manager, Paula, wasn't exactly a nuclear physicist and she was more interested in moving up the chain of command to be working at a job higher than store manager in the company, so as long as her store's sales numbers looked good she didn't care what her assistant Heather did.

Except, if it was a violation of company policy that might reflect badly on her.

I knew Heather was in on Jessica's scam because you're not allowed to ring yourself up at the store, you have to have someone else do it, and none of the other associates would want to conspire with her for fear of getting fired or worse.

To make sure, I printed HEATHER's purchase history too. I didn't see Heather as often as I saw Jessica, but I could also see really glaring red flags on her purchase report. Like, she bought a $900 nightclub dress as a uniform purchase, which I'm quite sure she never wore to work. I did the same highlighting on suspicious items as I did with Jessica's.

Then, because none of this was REALLY my business, I was just a part time asshole who worked in the stockroom, I waited for the most fun opportunity to lower the boom.

Jessica got on her little bluetooth earpiece that she wears on he sales floor that she thinks makes her look like a VIP, and says, "OP, I'm going to need XXX in a size small, customer waiting, get the lead out." So I bring the item, and Jessica says I'm "not passing muster." I thought wow Jessica you sounded really 1940s there, you wannabe pinup girl LOL.

After the customer leaves, Jessica says, "I'm going to need you to go on a trash run and sweep out the receiving bay. And I need you to cover Annie's lunch."

I laugh and tell her, "who died and made you supervisor, you fucking headass burnout?"

She looks like she was the fucking Crypt Keeper for a second and that she wanted to punch me, before she remembered that I'm 6'2" and outweigh her by a hundred pounds.

She hisses, "You are SO fired, you fucking geek. Heather's going to hear about this."

I tell her, "Fuck you, I'm going to lunch."

And I clock out and leave.

When I come back, I see Jessica immediately get on her little earpiece.

Before I even reach the stock room, Heather is there, and the manager Paula intercept me.

"Annie, can you cover register? We have an urgent matter to deal with."

I know I'm supposed to be fired.

Which is why, during my lunch, I went to the copy place and made PDF scans of the printouts I made for Jessica and Heather. I had all the corporate bigshots' emails. They were in the new hire handbook all of us get when we start working. I saved a draft to each but didn't hit SEND yet. I had the printouts as attachements. In the BODY of my email, I described exactly what had been going on. I did send ONE email. And that was to Paula the manager, herself.

But I didn't press SEND until we were on our way to the employee break room.

Paula tells me, "OP, Heather sent me a text that says you were verbally abusive to Jessica. Heather herself says that Jessica has complained to her on numerous occasions that you are a substandard employee, and only her own, personal kindness has presented her from firing you. I came in myself to see if you have anything to say in order to save your job."

It's been a couple of years so of course that can't be exactly what she said, but it was something typical and rehearsed and faux-professional that any low-level boss would say when trying to sound important.

I said I didn't have anything to say in my defense, and that in fact I quit.

Jessica and Heather looked surprised, but then Jessica started smiling.

Paula looked disappointed, and said, "I'm very sorry to hear you say that. You may collect your last..."

"Oh, but before I go, I think you should look at these printouts. I know you don't spend a lot of time studying this stuff, but I thought you might find it interesting. It's the last three months of Jessica's and Heather's employee purchases. Notice how they always ring each other up, and notice all that stuff they're claiming to use as uniforms. If you're having trouble understanding it, I explained it in an email I sent to your cellphone. You should have it already, if you check.

I have the same email ready to go to Dan and Pam and Kimberly and Victor and Kevin but I haven't sent it in yet. I was hoping you could look it over and email me back when you're ready, I mean if you want me to edit anything."

Then I got up and left.

Later that afternoon, my phone was ringing.

It was Paula.

She was practically crying, telling me, please don't send those emails, "I've fired Heather and Jessica. They're GONE. And please don't quit. Please don't tell anyone about--"

I tell her to relax.

I already quit. And I'm keeping my mouth shut.

A few days later, I showed up for my final check. I learned from one of the sales associates that corporate Loss Prevention was called in (our corporate office is only a few miles from the retail location) to interview both Heather and Jessica about their fraud.

In lieu of arrest and heavy fines for what amounted to outright theft and fraud, they were simply fired and unable to use the company as a reference, and due to being fired for cause, could not file for unemployment.

Paula was actually in the store that day, and practically ran to me to thank me for "keeping this scandal at a store level. It's been handled."

I told her no problem. What I didn't tell her was that I never did delete those drafts.

She offered me a reward of free merchandise.

No thanks.

I'm going to look awfully silly in those dainty little suits at my super cool new job of working at Sizzler.

It all ended okay.

A year later I finished my degree, and now I'm doing what I really want to do. Except now at my job, guess what we have to wear. Yeah. Dainty little suits.

I wear socks, though.

I would have never torpedoed Heather and Jessica if they just left me alone to do my job in peace, and didn't try to feel big and important at my expense.

I would have left them to live in their self-medicating lies, live and let live.

Other than some difficult customers, people like Heather and Jessica are what make working retail such a nightmare for so many.

And that's why I feel no guilt about destroying them.

I'm sure Jessica had lots to talk about at that year's Milan Fashion Week.

Hold this L, bitch.

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

TL;DR: I was stockboy at a fancy clothes store. A low level associate would always boss me around and call me stupid even though she wasn't in charge. I found out she was stealing from the store. I was mean to her on purpose so that I'd be called in to a manager meeting to be fired. I quit, and presented proof to the manager that the associate and the assistant manager were both thieves. They both got fired. I began work at Sizzler.

(source) story by (/u/SaggingSkinnyJeans)

#prorevenge #by /u/SaggingSkinnyJeans #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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minah-delacroix · 5 years ago

Photo

7 DAYS, 7 DATES Inside the world of Suho Kwon

A week in the life of quidditch star, Suho Kwon Delacroix

By Sarah Hughes- Freund

Beyond the paparazzi flashbulbs, masterful personal branding, and fashion and sporting prowess, lies the day-to-day business of family life. Quidditch champion, Suho Kwon gives us a sneak peek of his daily life as part of the greatest wizarding family of France.

DAY 1 : ROMAN HOLIDAY

Suho Kwon and his sister Minah pose in a high fashion impromptu shoot and sit down for a Q&A during a trip to Rome, where they traveled to attend the launch event of Agnes Seybrook’s jewelry collection, Lumière. The French stars open up about a wide range of topics from their Parisian residence to their pet peeves and biggest inspiration.

At this year’s BAT Gala in May, our friend, CHARMED alumnus André Leon Talley welcomed Minah Delacroix and Suho Kwon to the red carpet by enthusiastically proclaiming them the future of fashion. We happen to agree with him—and not just because the two of them project a classic, yet avant-garde aura that happens to align with the fashion industry’s present tastes— we believe that Elise Delacroix and Junho Kwon’s children are the future, and we wouldn’t necessarily even narrow the claim to fashion alone.

The last name Delacroix instantly brings to mind fashion house Maison Delacroix, which has become one of the biggest names in the industry throughout the last decades. In recent days, it is the younger generation of the family who dominates the fashion scene with Minah Delacroix toggling between the debut of her first clothing collection in Paris (a collaborative project with fashion powerhouse Lana Paradis), photoshoots for muggle luxury brand Dior—the 22-year-old recently became the brand’s youngest global ambassador— and the rumors of an upcoming business partnership with Enzo Saint Pierre.

The latest to add fashion to his CV, though, is no other than quidditch player and Minah’s older brother, Suho Kwon, who only a few years ago founded the successful sports brand, Quidditch Republic.

Of late, it’s been his personal life —and not the fact he signed up a millionaire contract with U.S. apparel emporium, Power Play—, under the spotlight, after a supposed split with long-time rumored girlfriend, Claire Dancourt, Suho was spotting passionately kissing none other than quidditch prodigy, Emma Muller.

Suho, who started his career in the quidditch pitch at age 16, already has five German League Cups and three European Championships under his belt, as well as captaining the South Korean National Team on the latest World Cup, on which they reached the final after having cleared Norway, vice-world champions, in the quarterfinals, in record time. Yet when your mum is the heiress of the Delacroix Group, your sister is Minah Delacroix and your dad is one of the most important figures of the British Ministry of Magic, making out with one of the most famous women in the world isn't quite as crazy as it would be for pretty much anyone else.

Sitting in a room of his sprawling holiday home in Rome, before the launch of Lumière —the latest enterprise of his second cousin, Agnes Seybrook—, Suho is down-to-earth, offering up champagne and Cauldron Cakes ("no seriously, take some!") as we chat about his love for fashion and how much he’s learned growing up with a house full of female figures. "I’m lucky to have been raised by great women and have them supporting me through thick and thin“ Suho says. "I love them, I think there should be more women like them in positions of power.”

On his sister, Minah, Suho says “She is an inspiration to me. When it comes to fashion, she’s always giving me little tips and making sure I understand that fashion is a way bigger world than what everyone sees. There are so many different components that allow a project to move forward and so many different people involved in the process.“

Reminding me that an industry friend said Minah was one of the nicest models he'd ever worked with, I tell Suho and he lights up. "That’s all I could hope for," he says smiling proudly. “That goes back to how we were raised. As our dad always taught us that you should treat everyone the same, whether it’s the president, a coworker or someone working under your command. I’m glad people regard my sister that way”.

Just on cue, Suho’s younger sister and socialite, Minah Delacroix walks through the door in route to her room. She wears a pink satin robe, slippers and her shower-wet hair pulled into a bun. She initially seems flustered, but when I ask, she kindly agrees to an interview. “This is for Suho’s cover story right?” She asks politely enough for me to understand that she won’t be answering questions that take the spotlight away from her brother. Twice reassured, Minah sits on a velvet sofa next to her brother in a leisurely, offhand way, and pours her cat, Minho, in the empty spot beside her.

Nevertheless, Suho appears skeptical “We’ll have to see about that” he predicts “She’s always in center-stage without even trying”.

Without further ado, we move onto an interview where I ask a few questions to the most famous French siblings of the Wizarding world.

Q&A

CHARMED Magazine: I’d love to ask a few questions about your personal life: Do you two live together or separately when you’re in Paris? Suho: I have my own place few blocks down the family residence; it’s sort of a necessary thing, I think, as we get older especially. It kind of happened coincidentally —the building went on sale while I was in Paris, so we went to visit it with my family and we loved it. I still spend a lot of time in the family home, but it’s important that I have my own separate space. Minah still stays with our grandparents and aunts when she’s in Paris, but she has her own apartment too. Minah: I do, but it’s just more convenient to stay with the family. It makes Paris feel more like home.

CM: Since you grew up together, you obviously must have a major shared interest. Which one is it? M: Quidditch undoubtedly. It is probably obvious for Suho given his career choice, but I love quidditch as well. I got my first broom as a toddler and started playing during my first year in Beauxbatons. S: As children, we played a lot together. I used to train Minah to become a chaser, like me, but in the end, she worked better as a beater. M: Suho is one of those typical brothers who believe his little sister wants to become exactly like him, so when he decided he wanted to be a chaser, he also decided I’d be one too. He used to drill me on free throws, but he hated it when the quaffle touched the hoop before gliding trough because apparently, players who scored that way lacked elegance. If I ever made a throw that bounced on the hoop before scoring, he'd yell ‘doesn’t count!’. It was frankly ridiculous.

CM: Other than quidditch, is there any other way you bond with each other? S: We’ve grown up together, so it’s kind of inevitable that because we’ve shared the same experiences, we’ve also developed similar interests. M: On our downtime, we love going to movies and just being able to enter someone else's creative world. We love it, but we don’t get to watch very much of it. Although we watch all the stuff our friends make S: Another thing we connect over is food. Growing up, we always had dinner together as a family. Obviously, as we’ve gotten more intense with our careers there’s not always the opportunity to do that, but when Minah and I are in the same city, we’ll eat all meals together. That being said, we’re not the same. I’m way more into following sports than Minah is. She has separate interests as well. M: I think I have more of an interest in fashion, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t have an interest in fashion. S: I’m super into fashion! Maybe not in a traditional or expected way, but I love it as well.

CM: Speaking of fashion, which one is more fashion-forward? S: I want to say Minah, but actually, we both are very fashion savvy. I guess it’s more evident for her since she’s one of the faces of the family business and pretty much everybody's fashion muse, but I’m into fashion as well. I have my own sportswear brand and we recently signed a partnership with Power Play. We're doing well. M: I think I would pick Suho. He is probably even more picky about what he wears. When we were younger, Suho and my cousins Gabe and Agnes (Seybrook) actually made up a fashion clique they dubbed the “7 Brand Club”. It was hilarious, they only wore clothes from seven luxury brands and they would brag about it. Thankfully they forgot about it now that they’re all grown up, but I always tease them about it.

CM: Well, it sounds like an interesting group! We all know that siblings sometimes drive each other crazy, and you two spend a lot of time together, so I would love to know how you get on each other’s nerves. S: I think I get on her nerves more than she gets on mine, naturally. I’m her older brother, so I give her a hard time sometimes. M: He has a great sense of humor, which I’m sure so many people appreciate, but sometimes I’m like, ‘Okay, okay, I get it, you’re funny.’ He’s also very overprotective at times and granted, it is nice to have him worrying about me, but when he fusses over the minimal details, it can be unnerving.

CM: Is that your biggest pet peeve about him? What do you love most about him? And viceversa M: In general, Suho is just easy to get along with. I love how genuine he is and how unapologetic he is about it, despite it all. My biggest pet peeve is related to his overprotectiveness… he basically calls non stop when I don’t pick the phone. It’s so annoying, but we’re both bad at staying mad at each other, so whatever happens, we confront each other, forgive and move on. S: To me, I guess, Minah is the person that can make me happy no matter what I’m going through. She really makes everything seem easy. Pet peeves... I don’t know. She is seriously the best, but she never picks the phone and is terrible at texting back. [Laughs]

CM: Onto the most serious topics, the positive path and the trajectory that you guys are on, where does that come from? Who are your biggest inspirations? M: My family in general. Growing up, all I saw was my aunts trying to be the best version of themselves and people coming to my grandparents for wisdom or guidance. It has been very inspiring to grow up in such an environment where everybody is just so accomplished. S: I 100% agree with Min on that one. Our parents and family are definitely my biggest role models. And that’s where we both pull all of our inspiration from.

CM: How would you describe your relationship with each other? M: Suho and I are very similar in a lot of ways. Being close in age has put us right next to each other for a lot of things in life, so he’s always been my greatest supporter and something akin a parent to me. At this point, we’re both very focused on our own lives, projects and whatnot, but my relationship with him is sacred to me, so I try to spend as much time as possible with him. S: We’re each other's support system. If I’m down, Minah is that one person that makes me laugh and turns things around the quickest. I know how cliched it sounds, but we truly are best friends. I mean it.

CM: It’s beautiful that you guys are in such lockstep. Minah, talking about your brother you said that you felt like the two were almost like twins, like you could finish each other’s thoughts. Were you guys always that close? M: We’ve always been incredibly close, but at the same time our family never pushed us to do it all together. I guess we’ve got time apart in order to realize who we really are individually and in the process we’ve developed this close bond and trust for each other. Suho really is an amazing brother, he knows me very well and understands my motivations better than anyone else.

CM: Do you have a favorite memory of each other? M: I just thought of the time we had to be homeschooled. Neither of us was good at focusing on it, quite honestly it was a drag. We’d pretend that we were doing our school work, but the moment our aunts turned their backs, we’d be running around the manor and terrorizing the house staff. I don’t know if that’s my favorite—but it’s definitely a special one. I also loved being in the same quidditch team as him during high school. As the chaser and beater, we carried a big part of the team’s dynamics. We know each other so well that any time one of us made a mistake during practice, we would look at each other and laugh really hard. Of course, a mistake was unforgivable during an actual match for Suho, but it was fun to play together. We complemented each other very well, I’m actually getting emotional talking about it. S: Minah was just ruthless, it was amazing to see her play and I think I agree with most of the things she just said, but personally, I think traveling to Korea together, for the first time was a very unique experience. We both got to experience so many things, meeting our paternal family, visiting all these crazy places and just having each other to rely on. It was just awesome. I’ll forever remember that trip.

CM: Has there ever been, like, some sort of feeling of competition between the two of you? S: We never really felt competitive because Minah has always been better than me at everything. There’s been no competition. M: [laughs] Oh, no! That is so not true. S: It is, Minah was into modeling and basically under the spotlight from a very young age, so I was like “My younger sister is, like, 5, and she’s making all these cool stuff. What’s happening?”. Minah had an entourage of people behind her while doing photoshoots and then she would go to school, learn languages and play muggle sports and I was all like “I’m underachieving.” Minah has always been special and whatever she wanted to do, she did it amazingly. She is a natural, and never forces anything at all. Minah just didn’t have as big as a passion for quidditch as me. But if she did, she could be doing what I’m doing right now and she would be so much better.

CM: Finally, Describe each other in three words. M: “Hilarious”, “supportive” and “loving”. S: “Creative”, “powerful” and “unique”. No, wait, three words it’s not enough, I have to add “inspiring” too.

****

#magazine #edits #oc #minah #suho #delacroix family

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years ago

Note

Maybe 58 and 86?

at first i wasn’t going to do this one because i’ve already gotten these prompts independently but...well, i had an idea based on my tags on this post, although it’s still kinda...light on the prompts. hope you like ~1500 words of fake dating??

warning for mildly suggestive dialogue

(58) Accidental Eavesdropping

(86) I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On

Pidgecursed the day she declined a job at a tech company in Silicon Valley just to stayclose to her family,because the unintended side effect of staying close to her family was that shestayed close to…Lance.

Lance, her college classmate and unlikelyfriend - the only fine arts major whose name she learned - who somehow managedto hit a big break in his acting career less than a year after graduation.

Lance, who so desperately needed to bring aconvincing plus-one to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding that he asked her to “date” himfor the two months preceding the event.

Lance, who stormed through her workplaceignoring an alarmed shout from the receptionist until he halted beside her deskwaving a magazine.

He dropped it on her computer keyboard andcrossed his arms, glaring. “I never expected such betrayal from you!”

Pidge stared unseeingly at the magazine,her jaw set in irritation. “Lance, you can’t just come into myworkplace and—”

“Pidge,how could you?” His finger prodded the magazine, drawingher attention to its cover.

Morbid curiosity and the desire to get himto stop touching her stuff forced herto pick up the magazine - the tabloidmagazine. Bright colors and bold fonts stared up at her over celebritythumbnail photos, a cover model with too much cleavage showing flashing whiteteeth in the center.

But what really caught her eye…was a slightly blurry photo in the corner- a photo of herself tucked under Lance’s arm, laughing while he smiled fondlyat her.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, but only because she recognized it.

The same one stared her in the face frombetween framed pictures of her family at a rocket launch and of her cuddlingher dog, helping her get through monotonous day after monotonous day.

“Thispicture’s on my desk,” she said hollowly. “I-it’s old - from college and before your stupid idea! - so how the hell didthey get it?”Her heart pounded, with anger and not a small amount of anxiety.

Lance’s bribe no longer looked worthwhile.

“Wait,it is?” he said, his eyes widening and taking in her desk, but before she couldreact beyond the heat rushing to her cheeks, he scowled. “The picture isn’t thepoint! It’s the article!”

“The—”Her mouth dried as she finally read the words cluttered around the picture.

New Mystery Girlfriend Demystified! OurLance, Bad In Bed?

Pidge’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”

Lance snatched the magazine back. “That’sall you can say?” he demanded, flipping through its pages.

Pidge inhaled, collecting her thoughts andpostponing her own defense as she stood and grabbed Lance’swrist to drag him away from the prying eyes of her middle-aged male coworkers.

She wondered how likely it was that any ofthem would recognize him (maybe if they had teenage daughters that viewed Lanceas some kind of heartthrob? Ha, in her day it was Orlando Bloom in a long, blondwig…),but who else could’ve shared a picture off her deskthat predated her staged romance with Lance?

Besides, fake or not, it was a privatematter and she did not need anyone toeavesdrop on this argument.

She shut and locked the door to the breakroom before turning to Lance, her palms sweatier than usual and her face hot. “So—”

“Youtold a tabloid that I’m ‘terrible and selfish’ in bed!”

Pidge raised her hands defensively,fumbling for a lie, and retorted, “Y-you are! You’re a blanket hog!”

“Youthrow them off so why does it matter if I hog them?” Lance fired back. “And Iknow you know that’s not what they meant by asking what I’m like inbed!”

Pidge scowled. “Fine!”she said, stepping towards him with her blood rushing in retaliatory anger. “Youput me into a tight spot with this datingthing, and tabloid journalists found me on LinkedInand started messaging me.”

“Wait,why didn’t you tell—”

“Sowhen one approached me in person and asked what you’re like in bed, I panickedand said the first two unflattering adjectives that popped into my head!”

“Whyunflattering?”

“Outof spite, probably!” Pidge threw her hands up, aggravated and with a too-warmface, because the last thing she needed to think about right now was her andLance in that…situation…together. She crossed her arms, forcing her mind backto the matter at hand, and grumbled, “I’m sorry, Lance. I’ll prepare a more flattering lie for next time.”

Lance deflated, most of his anger seemingspent as he frowned at the ugly tile floor between their feet. “Thedamage is already done,” he pointed out. “Now after we split, no one’s going towant to date me.”

Pidge snorted. “Whywould you want to date someone that only cares what you’re like in…bed? And nowthat you know”—a smirk pushed at her lips despite her discomfort with thetopic—”there’s always room for improvement.”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Pidge,I’ll have you know I’m a greatlover that would happily see to your needs!”

Pidge only just stopped herself fromdemanding, Prove it!

Instead she stuttered, “M-my needs?”

Lance’s eyes widened. “What?” He held his handsup, waving them frantically. “N-not yours! A hypothetical future girlfriend’sneeds!”

Oh, her heavy, disappointed, traitorousheart.

Pidge bit her lip, her gaze drifting down. “Isee…”

Her heart skipped a beat when Lance steppedcloser, and she dared to glance up and meet his blue eyes and take in his darkcheeks.

He murmured, “I-I mean, unless you need me to set therecord—”

A sharp knock sounded from the door.

Pidge stumbled backwards, her breathescaping her in a gasp. Lance jumped away from her, yelping when his headcollided with a low cabinet.

Her heart still raced when she unlocked andopened the door to a coworker, who held up an empty mug with a baby’sface printed on it.

“Youdone? I need to make some coffee.”

“Yeah,I’ll just…walk my boyfriend out,” she mumbled.

Pidge grabbed Lance’shand and towed him out of the break room and through rows of cubicles and outpast reception. She apologized for her “boyfriend’s” behavior on her way out,and they made it outside before she dropped his hand and wiped her sweaty palmon her pants.

“Uh,I forgot the magazine—”

“I’llget rid of it,” Pidge promised. She looked up at Lance, mustering a smile fromsomewhere inside, and said, “I really am sorry. I didn’t really think aboutyour”—a grimace twisted her face—”reputation when I answered those questions.”

“It’sokay,” Lance said. “I’ve heard worse - I’ll probably hear worse before the world forgets about me -so…”He sighed and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I should at least…makesure nothing like this happens to you again.”

Pidge shrugged. “Guessit was only a matter of time before they found out who I am.” She flashed him agrin, warmth filling her chest when he returned it. “Besides, how are you goingto rub it in your ex’s face if she doesn’t know about me? And I know you love attention, so it’llbe that much more fun when we break up.”

Her smile faltered just a bit at thethought, chest tightening.

Why? After the wedding she’dhave all the parts and tech she needed for her side projects and the money tofund them…and she wouldn’t have to pretend to date Lance ever again. They couldgo back to being friends that rarely saw each other and steadily drifted apartwhile they pursued their own lives.

“You’rethe best, Pidge.” Lance leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek, agesture that grew more familiar as their ruse continued - though it neverfailed to surprise her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”She rested her hand on his arm, the subtle curve of his bicep obviousunderneath two layers of clothes. “Don’t be late again.”

“Please,Pidge,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I’m never late to game night.”

She scoffed and said, “Whydo I have a feeling you’re late to something right now?”

Lance pulled away from Pidge and checkedhis fancy watch. His eyes shot open as he said, “Holy crow, you’re right! Got a meeting…”

“AndI have to get back to—”

He cupped her face and kissed her forehead,cutting her thought processes off.

Unlike holding hands and the kisses on thecheek in public, this was…unfamiliar.

But not disliked, Pidge decided as a smilepushed at her lips. She raised a hand and waved when he finally left, a smirkon his face as he retreated to the parking lot.

Only as she watched him pull his hood upover his head and don a pair of gaudy blue sunglasses did it hit her:

Did Lance try to proposition me?

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #qna #voltron #reem writes fic #Anonymous

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carmenlire · 6 years ago

Text

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 34

read chapter one

read on ao3

Like Father, Like Son: The Apple Didn’t Fall Far from the Scheming Tree

Byline: Victor Aldertree

Magnus Bane, son of notorious Asmodeus Bane, who is currently serving thirty seven years in state prison for defrauding his clients and shareholders of over one billion dollars in assets, has been spotted out on the town with music’s darling, Alec Lightwood.

Is it love, though, or has Magnus just found a different way to make his fortune?

Dear reader, we at Idris News love good gossip and when a source close to Bane came forward to tell us about the hottest tip in town, we couldn’t resist.

It appears that Magnus Bane, professor at Columbia University, has been hiding an unsavory past.

An insider reveals all. To protect her privacy, she asked that we not reveal her name.

Let’s start the story with one Magnus Bane. Born and raised in Manhattan-- on the upper West Side-- Magnus is the son to notorious swindler Asmodeus Bane.

Bane, who is infamous for his unbelievably successful ponzi scheme that stretched over twenty years.

Asmodeus Bane was a wall street broker from 1980 to his long tumble from his gold-plated pedestal in 2004. Considered far and wide to be a charismatic man, Bane Sr. was a shark on Wall Street, known for having a bloodhound’s nose, always sniffing out the Next Big Thing.

Most accredited his success to sheer luck and hard work.

No one knew that he was swindling coworkers and clients alike out of savings accounts, retirement plans, and talking up potential investments that would become a long string of proverbial gold mines in the Old West.

No one knows for certain just how much money Asmodeus Bane absconded with when all is said and done. Working for twenty years afforded him connections and a sharpened sense of when the chips were about to fall. There were dozens of accomplices and just as many scapegoats as Bane kept his nose clean even as those closest to him were caught and indicted.

Bernie Madoff who? Some estimates have Bane’s scheming amounting to over one billion dollars, most of which has never been recovered.

In 2000, the FDIC launched an investigation with the White Collar division of the FBI. After four years, they accumulated enough evidence to formally arrest Asmodeus Bane of over one hundred counts of fraud and embezzlement. After his lengthy trial-- which was a media circus in and of itself-- Bane was sentenced to 53 years in New York’s State Penitentiary.

Due to good behaviour, that sentence has been reduced to thirty seven years with the possibility of parole after ten more years.

Which brings us to his son, Magnus.

Magnus Bane, now an esteemed faculty member of Columbia University, wasn’t always so sparkling clean.

No, our source reveals that Bane Jr. has quite the sordid juvenile record.

Literally.

Magnus Bane was arrested half a dozen times for petty crime between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, when his record was officially sealed. Our intrepid reporters were able to find the dirty details, though.

After Asmodeus’s incarceration, Bane became part of the foster system where he bounced from home to home in the city. His mother died just a few years after giving birth and growing up, Magnus looked up to Asmodeus as only a son can look up to his father.

By all reports, Magnus was a model student-- at least on paper. That didn’t stop him from regularly skipping class or getting up to no good.

Looking at Bane’s record reveals charges for petty larceny, vandalism, and underage possession. And that’s the mere tip of the iceberg.

Things certainly don’t look good for Magnus, do they?

Still, something changed and Magnus took his SATS, graduated summa cum laude and headed for greener pastures-- Yale as a matter of fact, where he completed his undergraduate degree in three years before moving on to his doctoral thesis, spending part of that time in London.

Magnus Bane will be thirty in just a few months and things have never looked better for him-- he’s the Chair of the History Department at an Ivy League Institution, he’s been published dozens of times and is regularly invited to speak at conferences, both domestic and abroad.

We’ve even heard that he’s been busy working on a new book with an anticipated Summer 2019 release.

But that’s not all. Magnus Bane has been spotted out on the town with Alec Lightwood, the hottest musician in the world right now who just wrapped up a sold out world tour in May.

By most estimates, Lightwood is worth an astonishing 300 million dollars.

That begs the question to any reporter worth their salt: What does Bane see in Alec?

It’s easy to see what could have captured Lightwood’s attention. Magnus is handsome (have you seen his Insta???), successful, and we’re sure charming as hell.

We bet he gets it from his father.

But does Magnus see Alec’s million watt smile and rugged good looks or does he see dollar signs flashing?

Does he see a man who would do anything for his fans or his next meal ticket?

Alec is talented-- he can sing, act, and is well-known for his philanthropic endeavors. Idris News has long since waited with bated breath for the biggest name in the music scene to find his perfect match.

We just didn’t want to see it happen like this.

Our inside source claims that things went cold between them when she refused to keep paying for Bane’s tuition in London. Apparently, the professor was in dire straights and like a good girlfriend, our source had wanted to help-- until it became too much.

As you can see from our photos, it looks like Magnus and Alec have been getting cozy for quite a while. Those pictures at the zoo are #couplegoals and don’t get us started on the two of them enjoying a romantic walk throughout the city.

Is Magnus in love? Are we witnessing a real life fairy tale or has Bane just duped Lightwood into becoming his naive sugar daddy in a move that would make his father proud?

It seems like a dream come true for an earnest professor to meet a polished celebrity. We just wonder if fate had a helping hand and if Alec isn’t being played for a fool.

Shame on you Magnus for breaking our golden boy’s heart. We’ve seen Alec through many a scandal dating back to his pre-album days and we’ve got to say that we aren’t impressed.

Or maybe we are. It certainly takes a certain je ne sais quois to pull off such a trick. Time will tell what’s truth or lie with Alec and Magnus and who wouldn’t miss a seat to potentially one of the biggest scandals this year.

Whatever the case, the staff at Idris can’t wait to see what happens next.

Magnus looks up from the glossy magazine at the knock on his door. He sends Ragnor a wan smile.

“I take it you’ve seen the news.”

Ragnor looks at the magazine like others would a vulture. “If you’re asking if I’ve read that piece of trash then, unfortunately, the answer is yes.” He’s quiet a moment, studying Magnus before asking in a gentle voice, “How are you doing?”

Magnus laughs and it’s a bitter, angry noise. “How do you think I’m doing. I woke up next to Alec feeling great enough to take on the world. I didn’t think I’d actually have to, though,” he says, shaking his head.

Ragnor’s gaze sharpens at the mention of Alec. “And have you talked to lover boy since the story broke?”

Shaking his head, Magnus sits back in his chair. He looks through his office window and everything seems the same. There are students milling about like zombies so early on a Monday morning and there’s the kid that’s always flying a kite in a dinosaur onesie.

On any other morning, it’d be more of the same.

Too bad that Magnus’s world has imploded.

“I left his place less than two hours ago,” Magnus says, gaze unseeing. “I only found out when I came to campus. I was passing the Student Center when their magazine stand caught my eye. I certainly didn’t expect to see myself on a cover.”

He chuckles humorlessly. “I haven’t been in a magazine since I was fifteen.”

“Is your career at risk?”

Magnus shoots him a look. “I have tenure so they can’t fire me, if that’s what you’re asking. Forget that I haven’t even done anything. No, I think I’d go so far as to say that I’ve just become the most sought after guest at conferences for the next little while. What is it they say? All publicity is good publicity?”

Ragnor is quiet and the silence starts grating on his nerves. He can’t believe how fast things went to shit, after all.

“Goddamnit,” Magnus mutters, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s bad enough that my past has come back to bite me in the ass. I always knew it would if I continued this thing with Alexander. What I can’t stand is that I wasn’t the one to tell him.”

Magnus looks at Ragnor, beseeching. “Alec had to find out that my dad’s a fucking con from someone else. From the press? From his PR team? It doesn’t matter-- all that matters is that I’ve probably ruined everything. Sometimes I hate my father so much I can taste it,” Magnus bitterly whispers and clenches his fist where it’s resting on the arm of his chair.

Taking a seat in front of Magnus’s desk, Ragnor takes his time thinking before looking up at Magnus. “What makes you so sure that you’ve ruined anything, friend? Surely if Alec is as great as you’ve been screeching about all this time then he won’t cast judgement so cavalierly?”

“What is there to judge? My dad is quite literally the worst crook Wall Street has ever seen. For Christ’s sake, his nickname is ‘The King of Wall Street.’ How does someone get that reputation,” Magnus demands before answering his own question. “They get it by being a cheat, by swindling hundreds and hundreds of people out of their money. Shit, he took savings from the elderly and college funds from middle-aged couples. He was a greedy bastard and he got what was coming to him.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should pay for what he did,” Ragnor says quietly. “You dad was a bastard. That shouldn’t reflect on you. If Alec is the man you say he is then he will see that, friend.”

“Yeah? And what if he doesn’t,” Magnus asks morosely.

“Then he doesn’t deserve you,” Ragnor snaps back impatiently. Magnus looks up to see Ragnor looking at him with fire in his eyes. “You’re a good man Magnus and I can’t stand that you let your father weigh you down like this.”

Magnus shoots him a dry look. “I think I’m incredibly well-adjusted for the shitstorm that was my adolescence.”

“Be that as it may, you’ve castigated yourself enough. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at Alec yesterday. From what I’ve seen, Lightwood seems like a decent enough man and anyone with eyes could see the way he’s smitten with you. I’m choosing-- shocking, I know-- to give the boy the benefit of the doubt.”

Thinking over Ragnor’s surprisingly impassioned speech, Magnus reaches for the phone on his desk on autopilot when it starts ringing.

“Bane,” he says, voice clipped.

“Dr. Bane, this is Elle Donovan from Celebrity Magazine--”

“No comment,” Magnus says coldly and hangs up without another word.

“The little parasites have already latched on to you,” Ragnor says easily.

Blowing out a breath, Magnus glares at the phone. “Goddamn rodents.”

“It looks like everything is out in the open now, at least. No matter how it was revealed, at least it’s no longer hanging over you and your relationship with Alec like a proverbial thundercloud.”

“You’re right,” Magnus drawls sarcastically. “Now instead of worrying about Alec’s reaction to learning about my past-- in which I envisioned that we would talk about things and, assuming he didn’t run as far away from me as he could get, we would sit down and formulate a plan to deal with the press-- I get to jump right to the inevitable break-up as well as deal with the fucking media frenzy at the same goddamn time.”

Ragnor raises a brow before standing and straightening his jacket. “I can see that you’re in no mood to listen to reason,” he sniffs. “I’ll leave you to your sulk and trust that you’ll deal with things without too much time spent crying into your damn hanky.”

“Like I have a choice,” Magnus mutters.

Ragnor ignores him. Making his way to the door of Magnus’s office, he spares a glance back.

“I know that this isn’t what you wanted and I know that you’ve been running from your past since the day you stepped foot onto Yale. I know that you had a bit of a misspent youth that’s easily forgiven. Alec makes you happy and I’d hate for you to end things before you even see what your boyfriend is thinking.

“As loathe as I am to admit it, there is rarely a silver lining that can’t be found. Talk to Alec and go from there. It doesn’t do anyone any good to decide the future before it’s even had a chance to play out. Talk to him,” Ragnor repeats and Magnus nods once.

“Thank you, Cabbage,” Magnus says softly.

Ragnor doesn’t say anything, just sends him one last piercing look before leaving Magnus’s office.

Sighing heavily, Magnus scrubs his hands over his face, makeup be damned. Looking at his clock, Magnus laughs a little incredulously that it’s still shy of eight in the morning.

He has class in half an hour and Magnus doesn’t even need to think about it before he’s opening an email and cancelling his classes for the day.

Just the thought of teaching to a room full of twenty year olds with such a white elephant hanging about ominously seems repulsive.

Standing, he picks up his bag-- that he hadn’t even had a chance to unpack-- and calls it a day, leaving his office and locking up.

He heads back to his apartment, hoping to fuck that he doesn’t run into anyone.

Magnus looks up from where he’d buried himself in work. The last of his revisions are due by the middle of August and he still has hundreds of pages to edit and review in the next two weeks.

Seeing that it’s late afternoon-- Magnus has successfully distracted himself for hours-- he stands, working out the kinks in his back from where he’s been bent pouring over his manuscript.

Looking through the peephole to ensure it’s not a particularly perseverent journalist, Magnus opens his door to see Cat and Madzie waiting in the hallway.

“Good afternoon. What are you two doing here,” he asks with an arched brow.

Rolling her eyes, Catarina moves past him as Madzie skips to the living room. “What do you think we’re doing here? The shit has hit the fan and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t check in?”

“No, ‘I told you so?’”

Shaking her head fondly, Cat goes to sit down in the living room as Madzie goes to her cabinet and takes out some crayons and a coloring book, settling down in front of Cat to draw on the coffee table.

“I’m better than that,” Cat says dryly.

Magnus just sighs before sitting down in a chair. “You did warn me, though,” he admits.

Leaning forward, Cat rests a hand on Magnus’s knee. “Yeah, but even I thought you had more time.” She raises a brow. “You know who went to Aldertree, don’t you?”

“I’d have to be a fu-- fool not to,” Magnus scoffs, clearing his throat as he glances at Madzie.

Smile reaching her eyes, Catarina just shakes her head. “All this time and she just can’t help herself.”

"She did warn me in London. I probably should have seen this coming. Maybe I’m losing my touch,” Magnus mutters under his breath.

“Or,” Catarina draws out. “You’ve been a little preoccupied lately. It happens to the best of us,” she teases.

Magnus laughs a little. “Still,” he allows. “I feel like I should have known-- had a feeling, something-- that my world was about to implode.”

Cat shrugs as she leans down to pick up a crayon that fell to the floor. “The only thing you can do now is move forward. Deal with whatever happens and know that you aren’t alone. You have us, of course, but don’t forget that you have Alec.”

“Do I?”

Glaring, Catarina replies, “Yes, you stupid man. You do. Until Alec explicitly ends things, he’s in your corner. From what I’ve seen, I hardly think that an opportunistic viper is going to make him tuck tail and run. He’s made of sterner stuff than that and you do both yourself and him a disservice thinking otherwise.”

“But I didn’t tell him, Cat," Magnus implores. "He found out from someone else and you can’t tell me that doesn’t cast things in a dark light.”

“Please, Magnus. Like we don’t all have things in our past that we’d rather not see the light of day. Like Alec Lightwood doesn’t understand that.”

“Cat,” Magnus says, tone soaked in self-deprecation. “We literally talked about this a few days ago-- about his reputation and insecurity surrounding his career. He’s been used in the past and was rather jaded. I talked him down and we reached an understanding. I said that I didn’t want his money, that I was far more concerned with the person behind the wallet.”

“Well, there we go, then,” Cat exclaims. “He knows your intentions and that you aren’t just another bottom-feeder.”

“Don’t you see, Catarina? I said all of that only for my past to blow up at the worst imaginable time and you must know that any sane person would have an unpleasant case of whiplash.”

Cat sends Magnus an arch look. “Not if that person was as smitten as your boy is over you.”

Magnus opens his mouth to retort but Cat beats him to it. “On the surface? Yeah, Magnus, it looks bad. I won’t lie about that. But that isn’t taking into consideration that you two have been friends for months and Alec should know better. He should at least talk to you before making any rash judgments.”

“I just don’t want to talk to him-- to have that conversation-- and have it be the end.”

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do and sometimes people surprise you, even if you thought you had it all figured out,” Cat counters.

“What’s wrong?”

Magnus looks up from where he’d been brooding to see Madzie at his side. He smiles, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Some people found out some things about me that I’d rather they hadn’t. I’m a little afraid of what the consequences will be.”

Madzie hums a little as she thinks before her gaze snaps back to Magnus. “You’re always telling me that I have to be brave even when I don’t want to. Like, when I fell off my bike and didn’t want to get back on. You told me that I had to face my fears and I did! And now I love riding my bike in the park with Cindy.”

“Are you saying that I have to take my own advice?”

Madzie nods solemnly and Magnus smiles. It’s small, and a little defeated, but it’s there nonetheless.

With that, Catarina stands up, helping Madzie clean up her crayons. As she does so, the shifts so that she can see Magnus.

“When are you going to talk to him? You really can’t let this fester,” she warns.

Magnus opens his mouth to respond just as his phone vibrates. He looks over on autopilot and freezes when he sees the text message.

“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs and stares down at his phone, dread settling in his stomach like lead.

Magnus, when are you free? We need to talk.

#httbt #my writing #malec wip #malec fic

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chellewrites · 6 years ago

Text

In Honor of The News / Also I need to start posting stuff for this

Here’s some stuff for my long and involved Overwatch fanfic about Gabe’s family I’ve been working on for like four months now?

Read under the cut!! 2k words, it’s an interview so it reads pretty quickly | read on ao3

NPR Broadcast, 14 June 2076

Miranda Jennings, NPR News: We’re now sending it over to Karley Pierce, with our special miniseries about the remains of Overwatch five years later.

Karley (Narration): It’s been five years since the Swiss HQ was destroyed in a terrorist attack and the UN shut Overwatch down for good. And while some are writing articles about what could be happening with the possible survivors of the attack, we wanted to cut away the conjecture and look at the lives of survivors we know. Over the next two weeks, I will be interviewing those people whose lives were affected most, as well as possibly some of the people behind the decisions made by the often controversial organization.

My first interviewees are none other than Penelope and Julia Reyes, wife and daughter to one of the most powerful - and some would say corrupt - men in the world, at one time. But the picture they created, both of Commander Reyes and the life they led together, is something very different than the public ever heard.

Penelope: With us, you know, it was very different. He could be - well, difficult - but he wasn’t what you’d see in the tabloids. Complicated, sure, but a genuinely good man.

Karley (Narration): We’re sitting at the marble counter in Penelope’s Central Park-bordering apartment. It’s Saturday, Penelope is finished with her grading for the moment. In the background, Julia is putting the finishing touches on a watercolor piece she is entering in a school contest. A typical familial scene, but there’s a weight in the home that I felt upon crossing the threshold.

Penelope: That kind of thing, it really doesn’t leave you. It’s not that I haven’t tried to pick up the pieces, I just - It’s a heavy loss, not just a husband, but friends, coworkers. A job. With the attack, I lost a huge piece of my life. I’d been there for almost twenty-five years, and then I was just left, alone, an eleven-year-old to take care of, no job. I felt lost.

Karley: What did you do afterward?

Penelope: We did what we could. Julia finished the grade, I signed her up for school and counseling. I got a job at Laguardia, so I could start making my own money again. But - it’s a process, you know, it’s not something that happens overnight. And I miss him every day.

Karley: He was at the center of a lot of controversy and intrigue in the later years of Overwatch, but you were out of all of it - there’s a video of you -

Penelope: Right, that was during the trial.

Karley: May I ask why you didn’t get involved?

Penelope: It was our private life. I didn’t want that out in the open. I know that the trial was about something he did publicly, but it was tabloids asking if we were divorcing, if I knew anything about what he was planning, was he involved with Doctor O’Deorain, all that. I had no desire to answer any of their questions, so I took myself out of the equation.

Karley (Narration): For her part, Penelope says she never stopped loving him.

Penelope: Even through the worst of it, I still loved him. It maybe took some convincing, but I did. I do.

Karley: And what of the allegations he was in league with Talon? According to -

Penelope: I know what they said. No, he never was, nor were the facts of that report straight. Jack and Gabe may have been at each other’s throats by the end, but neither one would risk the lives of friends and family for their petty feud. I think the picture painted is one of Jack trying to keep Overwatch afloat and Gabe trying to undermine him at every turn, but it wasn’t like that. Petras was all over everything after Blackwatch was revealed, and Gabe wanted freedom, yes, but he felt the organization wasn’t doing enough. He’s the reason we went into King’s Row, you know.

Karley: Really?

Penelope: Yes. I remember when we went, months before the orders were given. He genuinely cared about what was going on there, the destruction. I think he saw another Crisis starting. And having gone through one before, we were both… He knew how to force Jack’s hand. So he did.

Karley: So a freedom fighter, not a terrorist.

Penelope: Tired, I would say.

Karley: Do you think your relationship affected how things worked in Overwatch? I mean, were he alone, would he have done what he did?

Penelope: I don’t know. He was headstrong, to say the least. I don’t think I ever really stopped him from doing something he thought needed to be done. But I think - Before we knew each other well, according to people who knew him better, he was pretty… reckless. I think after we were married, and certainly after Julia, he became less so. More concerned with how his recklessness would affect us, back at home. But he still - I mean, Julia was nine when he killed Antonio, so he was still himself, even after us.

Karley: I know you haven’t answered questions about Venice in the past, but I’d like to ask…

Penelope: There were other factors involved. He was right, Antonio wouldn’t have stood trial for anything he’d done. Gabe did what he thought was right. But there was a lot more besides that, and that - we got through it eventually.

Karley: Can I ask what your relationship was like? Not to barge into your private lives, but there’s the Commander Reyes we all heard about, but you knew a different side of him. In our conversation so far, he seems a lot less brash and rebellious than the man I thought I knew.

Penelope: No, no, he was still brash and rebellious, at least, he could be. I - Hm. Well, for example, it took us two years to start dating. We just kept dancing around the subject; I’m sure it was annoying as hell to live through. But that’s the kind of man he could be, too. He told me once, we were actually here, looking at venues for the wedding, he told me that he didn’t think I would have been interested in him, given I was a music theory major and he was a soldier. Can you believe! He walks around looking like that and he thought I wouldn’t be interested.

Karley: Were you one of those women during the Crisis?

Penelope: Oh, God, yes. Not outwardly, of course, I’m too reserved, but I may or may not have bought the TIME magazine he was on the cover of.

Karley: Just because he was on the cover?

Penelope: (laughing) Yes, of course! You’ve seen it, I’m sure. He looked - I mean, let’s just say I was two parts happy and two parts very nervous to be his assistant. Anyway, our relationship.

Karley: Right.

Penelope: He was, well, he was tender with me. With a lot of people, honestly. You were saying, there’s this picture that’s in people’s minds of what he must have been like, all gruff and overbearing and domineering. He wasn’t. He was the man who cried at his best friend’s wedding, who wanted to name his daughter Grace because the concept of divine forgiveness was his favorite part of religion, who stress baked and made our Halloween costumes. He bought me a piano, because I was sad and I missed playing. He and Angela - Doctor Ziegler - would talk horror films while she was working on her Valkyrie suit, just to keep her company. Of course, he was a person and therefore had faults, he could be so aggravating sometimes, but… you know, he was a good man. He really, really was. And it pains me to know that so many people will look at his life’s work and not see the man behind it.

Karley (Narration): I remember when Julia Reyes was born - it was everywhere when I was starting college. Fifteen years later, she’s an amateur artist, ceramicist, and a vivacious girl, despite the traumas of her past.

Julia: This is one I entered in the New York Youth Modern Art Exhibition. I didn’t win anything, but like, I’m proud as hell to have been included.

Karley (Narration): The painting in question is a still-life of a bouquet of half-dried lilies and roses. The paint is thick and expressive, shades of blues and reds staccatoed with bright flashes of neon pink. She directs me to a table in her studio filled with plates, bowls, mugs, and other assorted ceramic creations.

Julia: This is all my newer stuff.

Karley: You’re really good! These plates look like something I’d buy downtown or something.

Julia: Thanks! I really enjoy it, unfortunately for my mother.

Karley (Narration): There is no denying that Penelope and Julia are two very different women. Penelope is clean, hair in a well-kept updo, dressed in an expensive white blouse and dark grey slacks, a Cartier watch on her wrist. Julia, on the other hand, has her hair in a loose ponytail, paint and clay spattered on her jeans and face, wearing a T-shirt for a band that was old when she was born.

Julia: Dad loved Weezer. He grew up in California, so like, I think he had to.

Karley: What do you remember about him?

Julia: A lot, I mean, I was eleven when he died. I remember - like, it’s funny, I was actually just learning about this in my current events class, but I do remember the trial and everything, after he shot that Antonio guy out a window? Mostly I remember that Mom and I moved back here, and they weren’t talking for, like, ever. But that’s not - like, that’s not my dad. Not like I knew him anyway.

Karley: That’s the sense I’m getting from you and your mother. We as a public really only saw one part of him.

Julia: Oh, yeah. Yeah, like, he did shoot a guy out a window, but he was also - I mean, he was my dad. And he was a super good one, from what I remember. Like, he would read me stories at night and stuff. Mom told me, like, he was the one who got me the tutor. Mom wanted to send me to France for school, but he wouldn’t let her, so I got my tutor instead. And I mean, looking back now, I must have had full run of the base, because I doubt anyone would have told him, ‘Hey, get your daughter out of here.’

Karley: That’s right, you grew up on the base.

Julia: Yep. What you were saying before, I mean, there was a lot of focus on all the bad shit he did. And I’m not saying he didn’t do it, I’m just saying that if people had been around him, they would have seen a guy who, like, loved his kids and wife and watched the sunrise. He was definitely not the cold-blooded murderer everyone portrays him to be.

Karley: Do you think he could have been?

Julia: Like, in his heart of hearts, he was actually just a sociopath?

Karley: Something like that.

Julia: Nah. Look, Jack Morrison killed people too. I love him a lot, he was like an uncle to me, but he did. But no one talks about him the way they talk about my dad. Dad had a hard job. He was the commander of a stealth unit, he was going against a terrorist organization, he was sick, like, he had a lot going on.

Karley: Sick?

Julia: Something they did in the SEP, yeah. I was super young, I don’t remember at all, but I know he was.

Karley: So there’s no chance he was part of Talon.

Julia: He almost got fired trying to take them out. There’s no chance.

Karley (Narration): This seemed to be the consensus between the women - Gabriel Reyes, to the two people who likely knew him best, was not a secret agent for the international terrorist organization known as Talon. I wanted to know what else in that report might have been misunderstood, so I headed off to Switzerland to speak to another woman mentioned in the report. Tomorrow, my interview with Dr. Angela Ziegler.

#overwatch #gabriel reyes #wip: my heart is a concert #GOD #i'm v nervous to post this??

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mobianflame · 5 years ago

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BBC - Travel - Turkey's historical custom of 'paying it onward'

At my local bakeshop in Göztepe, near Kadıköy on the Eastern edge of Istanbul, whatever is actually brought in on the areas in a wood-fired stove hidden at the back. Any room not taken up due to the 1,200 white colored loaves they create a day is filled with jewels, rolls, rye, multigrain and also cornbread, in addition to covereds, cookies and delicacies. Among the continuous flurry of clients, I'll often view the owner offer an individual a loaf of bread with no loan modifying hands. At other times a customer will certainly purchase 2 buns of breadstuff however merely take one.

Exists bread on the hook?

In a lot of Western countries, it has actually come to be common in recent times for folks to palm over funds for an additional mug of coffee or even a loading meal when they spend for their very own, to become kept at the counter for an individual in need. In Chicken, this relatively present day tip of "paying it forward" gets back centuries. It is actually contacted askıda ekmek, and it associates primarily to paying it onward along with bread.Askıda ekmek,

which indicates "breadstuff on a hanger" or even "put on hold breadstuff", has its origins in Islam, the dominant religious beliefs in the country. It operates enjoy this: you most likely to a bakery as well as purchase 2 buns of bread yet only take one. On purchasing the bread, you tell the individual that takes the funds that one of them is actually askıda ekmek. Your addition is actually bagged and dangled all together with others so when individuals are available in throughout the time as well as talk to, "Askıda ekmek var mi?" ("Exists breadstuff on the hook?"), they can take a loaf for free.You might likewise be actually

interested in: - - - Turkey's magical hangover remedy

It is actually unclear precisely when and just how the method of askıda ekmek began. There are identical, more recent heritages in various other nations, like the Italian technique of "caffè sospeso" ("put on hold coffee"), askıda ekmekis is actually strongly connected to the local lifestyle and religion. Past teacher Febe Armanios, who concentrates on Christian-Muslim associations in between East and meals background at Middlebury University in Vermont, United States, revealed that askıda ekmekis "a personalized originated in Ottoman opportunities and also is connected to the concept of zakat, the Muslim support of faith that centers on various actions of charity". There are five supports of confidence in Islam, as well as fans need to meet them all to lead an excellent and also moral life. The zakat need may be met through giving money or even provisions.The providing of ekmek(breadstuff)is actually of exclusive value in Turkey given that in Islamic belief, bread preserves life as well as the security of lifestyle is blessed."Breadstuff ... is positively crucial to consuming and also is agent of hunger-satiation/starvation-desperation,"Armanios said.In Muslim hadiths, the collected sayings of the Prophet Muhammed, breadstuff is actually nimet, a blessing sent from God. If an item of breadstuff accidently falls to the ground it have to be gotten instantly before putting it someplace higher. Some individuals caress it prior to doing this to even more demonstrate their respect. Plain white colored breadstuff is cooked two times a day in Chicken and also every food is actually followed by a container loaded with sliced clean bun. Leftovers are actually never discarded; when breadstuff goes tasteless, it is actually made into French toast and breadcrumbs. I often find plastic bags having old breadstuff dangling off fencings along my road, positioned certainly there for people to take either for on their own or even to nourish animals.Ottoman sultans used this regard for bread to legitimise their rule and also garner support. According to Armanios, it was thought that a well-fed population is actually an obedient one and also far much less very likely to revolt if prices of food items staples such as breadstuff were always kept in examination. Market regulators, gotten in touch with Islamic muhtasib, policed the purchase of breadstuff to regulate the price and also make certain low-priced fillers weren't used instead of flour(even today, bread costs are established due to the authorities). The Ottomans additionally encouraged those who can afford it to attend to those in necessity. However heritage has always been that when performing zakat commitments, the bad should not be actually humiliated by possessing their identities disclosed to the benefactors and vice versa.Early on, in traditional Islamic communities, this was actually obtained through positioning sadaka taşı(charity rocks)in mosque courtyards. In his 2014 report, associate behavioral science professor Ensar Çetin of Nevşehir Hacı Bektaş Veli College in Nevşehir, central

Chicken, defined them as "stalagmites ... changed from early porphyry columns with tooth cavities [in] which to leave money. There [were] Dental caries [ in] the wall surfaces. It is actually a design created not to upset poor folks so the giver and recipient continue to be undisclosed to each other."Permit our company help people that survive the roads who can easily certainly not manage bread Nowadays, sadaka taşı have actually been replaced by websites along with internet zakat personal digital assistants, run through philanthropic structures that rely upon gifts to assist those in necessity. Individuals can easily work out precisely just how a lot amount of money they ought to give, generally 2.5%of

their riches. Askıda ekmek has browsed the web, too, along with yemek.com, a preferred Turkish web site featuring regular dishes, talking to readers to nominate community stores promoting askıda ekmek. Their intention is actually to change it from a regional neighbourhood task right into a national information listing participating bakeries, making use of decision to activity, "Let our company assist folks who live on the roads who can easily certainly not manage bread". One male has taken these technical improvements an action even more. In 2012, Oğuzhan Canım checked out bakeries in Kırıkkale, 80km east of Ankara, ensuring the technique of askıda ekmek therefore more bakeries would engage. It made him think of methods to size the personalized in order to connect with additional individuals. Canım knew there was actually limited federal government help for college student in Chicken as well as that there weren't sufficient bursaries, scholarships as well as food grants to go around.His option is a social organization called Askidanevar(What gets on the Hook?), the very first in Chicken to blend the idea of askıda ekmek along with the range of social media sites platforms. The concept may be actually innovative, however the objective is actually extremely easy: to hook up college student in need to the firms that desire to assist all of them."Oğuzhan Canım, the owner ... modified the technique [to] askıda yemek(food

)and developed the venture. Along with the assistance of [the] internet, he determined to create this project much bigger to ensure that it works efficiently, [as well as] reaches as numerous as feasible. Our experts aim to make more options ... using our electrical power to reach youth, "pointed out procedures supervisor Görkem Özaçık.Askidanevar targets pupils since Canım feels they are actually the future of Turkey. He desires young people to possess the opportunity to read poems, participate in the fine arts as well as seek goodness, and also become total, well-shaped individuals. This way, he strongly believes, they'll not simply do well in their studies, they'll additionally pay it ahead and provide even more to Turkish society and also the planet, with a society of sharing.This comprehensive strategy isn't uncommon in predominantly Muslim cultures.

The neighborhood or team overshadows over the private and also the welfare of all is actually critical. It is actually usual in Turkey for people to appear out for others, be it family members, neighbours, coworkers or even unknown people, in the idea this boosts things for everyone.Askidanevar keeps the askıda ekmek feeling of privacy. Students just recognize on their own when they post their college memory cards on joining.

Once they're members, they may select a" Take"button to obtain a code to use for a cost-free food coming from a stable of taking part bistros. Along with another click, they get the opportunity to acquire books, magazines, theater as well as concert tickets and various other items through discussing or retweeting articles from Askidanevar. Companies select a"Give" button to leave their particulars and also details of what they're offering.Around 150,000 trainees are actually currently signed up along with Askidanevar, making use of around 500 given food items vouchers monthly. Since the social venture's creation 7 years back, it has helped around half a thousand individuals, the bulk in Istanbul, Ankara and also Izmir, Turkey's 3 biggest cities.One student member I contacted, Tuğba, discovered Askidanevar using Instagram. "In 2014" she told me, "I started ... educational institution and also did certainly not get to know brand new individuals [or] new friends. Throughout a top, which I went [to] because of [the]

Askıdanevar ticket body, I [made] pals". For Tuğba, acquiring a ticket to a peak at no price, had an influence on her lifestyle beyond that one occasion. It made her brand-new close friends and offered her a feeling of being a member at college, of belonging to a new neighborhood; one thing she failed to believe before.At the heart of askıda

ekmek-- whether that's leaving a bun in a bake shop or even helping trainees get access to opportunities outside their studies-- is an ethos helpful folks, without any requirement of benefit or acknowledgment to make sure that recipients keep their self-worth and also enhance their lives.In a planet separated by the interest of private profit and abused by disagreement, as Tuğba mentioned, "That is outstanding".

Why Our company Are What Our team Are is a BBC Travel collection reviewing the characteristics of a country and also looking into whether they are true.Join much more than 3 million BBC Travel followers by liking our company on Facebook, or observe our team on Twitter as well as Instagram. If you liked this story, authorize up for the regular bbc.com attributes e-newsletter

called" The Essential Listing ". A handpicked variety of stories coming from BBC Future, Society, Worklife and also Travel, provided to your inbox every Friday.

This content was originally published here.

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selenelavellan · 8 years ago

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No Place I’d Rather Be

Concert AU

Deceit, Fear and Dirthamen belong to @feynites

Selene agrees to the move, in the end.

Due in no small part to Des's insistence that he will be moving in with their lovers regardless, and the prospect of finding another roommate sounds like a sort of hell she just doesn't want to deal with.

Getting him away from the apparent lyrium dealers in their building is a good thing, anyways.

The new house is nice. Sturdy, with good bones and much more comfortable after Fears renovations start to take place.

Deceit looks at her funny when she moves in, though.

“Where's your stuff?” He asks.

She blinks, glances to make sure her bag is still on her back and not left on the bus. It is, and she's got her box of books securely in her arms, before slowly answering “This is my stuff.”

“All of it?”

She shuffles awkwardly on her feet. Buying things has been...low, on her list of priorities. Most of the things she had actually purchased for herself were left behind when she and Des hopped onto the boat to avoid the Carta. Without a steady income since then (too overqualified for most entry level jobs, they tell her, and being publicly labeled an 'unhinged dalish mage' accused of arson and attempted murder in carta controlled media means most universities and research foundations consider her too 'high risk') she's been focused on stretching her funds as far as she can manage.

She's got her casual boots, and some heels Des has bought for her, and a small collection of frequently washed clothing. A box of books she uses for her studies, often traded back into the local used book store for credit towards more recently updated collections. She and Des had decided to donate their kitchen items, since Fear's apprehension to the black spots in their old home meant they likely wouldn't have survived 'disinfection inspection' anyways. Des is taking their shared mattress, since he used it more and Selene wasn't particularly attached to it. They'd also decided he should keep the dresser, since he had enough clothing to actually need it.

Selene was taking their fold out couch, to use as a bed for the foreseeable future.

“Des and I are bringing the furniture after he gets off work,” she ultimately shrugs before heading into the room they had selected for her. She closes the door before Deceit can follow her inside with any follow up questions and lets out a breath.

The window is nice. She ended up with one of the second floor rooms, with a larger window to look out over some of the trees in the yard. She yanks open the blinds to let the light in, in an attempt to clear out any lingering dust mites, and contemplates the merits of stacking her books in the corner versus just leaving them in the box for storage.

Des might complain that she's not actually 'unpacked' if he sees them.

Still. She can probably wait until the couch-bed is in here to make any final 'design' ideas.

Selene unpacks her bag though, placing her folded up clothes in the shelf of her closet, since she doesn't actually have any hangers yet. She might see if she can snag a few from Des, when he's done settling in himself. Plugs her laptop and into one of the outlets on the wall to charge, and lays down on the floor, soaking in the warmth from the sunbeam streaming through her window.

The neighborhood is quiet. No loud neighbors on the other side of her wall, no curtain for a semblance of privacy while someone hisses in pain on the other side. Just her breath, and her thoughts, and the wind brushing the tree branches outside.

It's nice, she thinks.

She falls asleep in the warmth of the sunlight, and wakes up embarrassed when her phone vibrates loudly against the hard floor.

Where r u??? from Des.

On my way. Got busy at the new place. Sorry. She shoots back.

One of Des's coworkers was nice enough to let them use her pickup truck to get their furniture out, but there's a very small window of time she's willing to help them for. Mentally berating herself for running late, and already feeling bad, she begs a ride off Deceit who agrees without complaint.

By the time they arrive, the dresser is already loaded into the truck, and Des and his coworker are at the bottom of the staircase with the mattress in hand.

“You two stop for a quickie?” Des teases. Selene just rolls her eyes and apologizes for being late to his coworker. She steps into her apartment (for the last time, she realizes) and carefully lifts one side of the sofa.

Deceit is close behind, and helps her with the other end as they make their way carefully back out the door.

“Gonna miss it?” They ask.

Selenes gaze drifts to the kitchen tile, the green patterning on the edges, and feels her stomach get tight.

“Probably not.” she admits.

Once the couch is loaded into the back of the truck, Deceit moves to go back up the stairs before Selene gently grabs his elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To...get the rest of it?”

“This is everything.”

Deceit frowns. “Seriously?”

“We're minimalists.” she lies.

“Sure, Des definitely gives off that minimalist vibe.” Deceit jokes back.

Selene sighs “Just...this is really everything. Can we head back now?”

Deceit hesitates, but finally nods. The ride back is awkward, and it doesn't really ease up when Deceit speaks again.

“Just the one bed?”

“Nah, the couch folds out.” she corrects.

“That doesn't count.”

“It's comfy.”

“I doubt that.”

Selene just shrugs “Fine, not like I'm begging you to sleep in my bed anyways.”

“Why isn't Des taking the couch bed? He's less likely to stay in his room.”

“We decided he should have the mattress. Suits him better.”

Deceit shakes his head, but doesn't push the matter as he pulls into the driveway.

Des thanks the woman for letting them use her truck once he's gotten everything out of the bed and into the driveway. She tells him no problem, and goes on her way before Des and Selene start carrying everything inside, carefully maneuvering up the stairs and into Des's room.

“We need a bed frame,” he laments, staring at the twin mattress looking suddenly much smaller and just a bit pathetic on the floor of the expansive room. His own boxes of clothes and trinkets are all piled high in the corner.

“You'll need a box spring too.” she points out.

Des grumbles, but agrees as he tosses a few of his pillows on top of it. They descend back down, carrying up the dresser and finally the couch.

He glances around her room, judging not so silently. “You need stuff.”

Selene just rolls her eyes and ushers him out of her room with a soft “Go unpack.”

She turns around, readjusting the couch until it's centered on the wall opposite the window, making it easy to look out of.

It occurs to her, then, that Des has all of the sheets and blankets.

Some quick mental calculations, and she thinks she might be able to swing a set for herself since her bills will be less this month, with her new rent.

She doesn't want to bother Deceit again, so she opts to just walk to the nearest bus stop instead of asking for a ride. Debates whether she should probably take someone with her in a new neighborhood, but a quick look through the house reveals Des already enjoying one of the new showers, and Dirthamen and Fear both still out.

She shrugs, silently stepping out of the house and looking up the closest bus stop on her phone. It's only a fifteen minute wait, the sun just starting to set as she boards and waits for the bus to stop closer to a general store. She steps off twenty minutes later, snagging a shopping basket inside the superstore, and heads off to home furnishings.

The route takes her past sporting goods, and she stops for a second to admire a sea-green bicycle with wide enough handlebars to comfortably support a large basket.

The house does have a garage, she thinks. So she'd actually have somewhere to keep it, if she can manage to budget for it.

Although she's pretty sure she overheard the others talking about converting the garage into a practice space for the band, so maybe not. Could the basement work? Carrying the bike up and down the stairs might be a pain, and she'll have to wash off the wheels before she brings it into the house, but it could probably be done. For that matter, she might be able to just keep it in her room and out of everyones way.

She does some mental calculations and frowns.

She's not actually sure how much the utilities are going to be now. It's split amongst more people, but surely a house is going to cost more in power and water. Plus band rehearsals. Amps and guitars and Fears electric drum set probably need to be factored in.

She should have asked these questions before she moved in.

Stupid. Moved too fast.

Too late to go back now. She'll have to wait a few months to see what her average bills will look like now, and then readjust her budget. A few months, and there'll probably be new bikes anyways.

She spares one last look at the sea-foam green bicycle before refocusing on what she actually came for.

She finds a nice jersey sheet set in lavender to fit the pull out, and balks at the ridiculous price of most of the comforters, opting instead for a large white afghan that she can just roll up in when she needs to. She runs hot enough, she probably doesn't need a heavy blanket anyways.

She tucks both the sheets and the afghan into her basket and heads towards the front of the store to pay. Going over a mental list of things to get done. She'll need to wash the sheets and blanket, if not tonight then at least soon. Do they have a washer and dryer? Will she need to pitch in for them, or is there a laundromat nearby maybe? She supposes with three bathrooms though, she could probably wash her things in a tub and run a line between the trees to dry them on without too much trouble. Maybe she should pick up a washboard and some baking soda while she's he-

Selene freezes in her tracks as her eyes register a familiar face on one of the magazines in the checkout line.

Carina's smiling face is on the cover of a magazine. The cashier asks Selene if she needs anything else, and before she can think twice, she has them ring up the magazine, and walks out with three items instead of two, hustling to get back onto the bus. She shifts nervously on the crowded bus, holding tight to her plastic bag as it rattles and shakes back up the road and she reaches the stop nearest to the house.

What is Carina doing on a magazine cover?

She's beautiful enough to be, of course. Selenes never doubted that, but it's certainly not how she expected to see her again.

Not that she ever expected to see her again.

She could, though. She threw the phone into the sea so they couldn't be tracked with the GPS, but she knows Carina's number, assuming she hasn't changed it in these last couple of years. It's not like she hadn't considered calling before. Catching up, apologizing for the way things ended, seeing how Carina is doing.

She supposes Carina is probably doing very well though, if she's on a magazine cover.

Half wondering if she's making something out of nothing, Selene decides to glance at the cover again, just to make sure it is Carina and not just her mind playing tricks on her. It definitely is, and Selene is stuffing it back into the bag when she accidentally knocks into Dirthamen in the driveway.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, taking a step back, arms hiding behind her in-what, guilt? (Why should I feel guilty, it's just a magazine, she berates herself) “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“It is alright,” Dirthamen assures her “It is very dark here in the night. Perhaps a few solar lights for the walkway would not be out of place.”

Selene nods, and gestures for him to head in ahead of her. Dirthamen still holds the door open for her to enter first, however and she shuffles into the house as quietly as she can manage, but a shirtless Des loudly announces “There you are!” and blows any hope she had of getting her purchases into her room without being seen away.

“Hello,” she says, attempting to seem calm and definitely not in possession of a magazine with her ex-girlfriends face on the cover. “I just-I had to get some things. I didn't mean to disappear.”

Des grins, and moves to take the bag from her “Ooooh, you got 'things'?” he asks enthusiastically as Fear, Deceit and Dirthamen greet each other over towards the kitchen. “What sort of-”

Selene violently snatches the bag back when he tries to look inside, clutching it tightly to her chest “Blankets,” she blurts “It's just-just blankets. I'm gonna-I'm just going to go set these up and I'll be right back,” she stammers, making her way backwards up the stairs and away from the group “Just-right back.” she finally says with an uneasy grin before disappearing into her room.

All four of them glance curiously up at the closed door.

“That was weird, right?” Deceit finally says.

“She's probably just stressed from the move,” Des covers. “She'll be fine in a day or two.”

Fear gives a skeptical 'hm' before they go back into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

–

Selene, to her credit, doesn't look at the magazine until much later. She eats with the others, works (or tries to find work) during the day for about a week or so and tries not to think about the magazine she hastily stuffed into the back corner of her closet.

It goes well, mostly. She never actually gets the fold out set up either, though. Instead she sleeps on it as a couch, feet and legs dangling off of one side, or in one of the others beds after evenings spent together.

Still.

Curiosity about the magazine eats away at her, just a bit, until she finally can't take it anymore.

She snags the booklet out of her closet, and climbs out her window and onto the roof for a bit more privacy than usual (Des has yet to realize that even on Selenes door, he needs to knock before going in). It's chillier than she expected though, and she eyes one of the closer trees, scooting down over the roof and testing the sturdiness of the branches with one leg carefully. Once she's confident it can support her weight, she climbs into it, settling comfortably against the trunk. Summoning a small wisp of light, she begins to finally look through the publication.

Apparently Carinas personal project finally bore fruit, and she's being internationally recognized for her work. Her RNA mapping led into a gene that's commonly found in both dwarves and materials found within the recesses of the Deep Roads, giving scientific credence to the notion of dwarves coming from The Stone. There's mention of the Assembly bestowing her as a Paragon, if her finding can be conclusively recreated. A large deal for any dwarf, and even more so for one from the surface.

Selene smiles, happy that things have been going Carinas way, and that she seems to be doing very well for herself. She deserves it, really.

“You can take the elf out of the Dales....” someone drawls, startling Selene into almost losing her balance as she clutches the magazine tight to her chest again.

She frowns, looking down to find Des on the ground, both hands on his hips expectantly.

“I made an oath not to climb anymore trees, so you'll have to come down.” he teases.

“It's a nice view,” she jokes back “Plenty of stars.”

“Sure, if you ignore all the leaves and the bugs and the cold.”

Selene just shrugs.

Des groans, and climbs the tree anyways, muttering under his breath before settling on a nearby branch. “Any particular reason you're up here, alone, instead of inside with the rest of us?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” she lies.

Des gives a soft 'uh-huh' before snatching the magazine out of her grip. Selene tries to grab it back, but has to stop before she falls out of the tree. And by then, it's too late anyways.

“Is this Carina?”

Selene is silent, shuffling awkwardly in the tree.

“Selene,” Des groans. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing. I-...I really did just go out to get sheets when we moved in. Then I saw this, and...”

“And you grabbed it, because of course you did,” he sighs. “Probably not a great sign you're trying to keep it hidden, huh?”

“I'm not hiding it...”

“You are. Like porn. Kinky fetish porn.” Des points out.

“That's not true.”

“Have you even told the others about her?”

Selene frowns, and looks away.

Des sighs “Maybe tell the people we're sleeping and living with that you were in a serious relationship before we met them?”

“And when they inevitably ask why it ended?” Selene argues.

“Tell them the truth,” Des shrugs. “Would you feel better if I told them?”

Selene hesitates.

“You're not serious.” she says.

“Sure I am. They should know, in case I relapse. Fear'd probably be great for keeping me straight.” he grins and adds in a teasing tone “Well, not straight, but off of lyrium at least.”

Selene snorts.

“They're going to find out eventually,” Des points out. “Fear probably knows about the charges against you already, and they haven't kicked you out for being an arsonist and attempted murderer.”

“I'm not an arsonist, or an attempted murderer-” Selene groans.

“Exactly. So stop stressing about it.”

She frowns, leans back into the trunk and lets her legs dangle off of either side of the branch. “So you think I should...what, say 'hey here's my ex-girlfriend who's up for Paragon-hood but its cool because I haven't even spoken to her in two years because I ran away with no warning to get away from the carta, by the way who wants ice cream'?”

“I would maybe bring out the ice cream before the abandonment thing.” Des quips. “But yeah. I think you should tell them everything honestly, but the whole...clan and evil ex thing is another thing for another day, probably. I don't think I'm ready to talk about my parents yet either. Pretty sure we could handle the lyrium thing though. I think we're stable enough for that, now.”

Selene glances over to Des, skeptical.

He just shrugs “I really love them, Selene. And you. I tease a lot but this is probably the first time I've felt like I belonged somewhere. And I think our chances of not screwing this up are better if we tell them ourselves, instead of dodging around certain topics and hoping we never see certain people for the rest of our lives.”

Selene sighs, scraping off a small layer off moss from the trunk with her boot absently “When did you become the voice of reason between us?”

“I dunno, but it's throwing off our whole dynamic. Do me a favor and go back to being the smart one, ok?”

“You've always been smart, Des.”

“Nah, I'm just clever.”

Selene snorts. “You wish.” She eyes the roof behind her, deciding that it's probably too far to climb back safely (and if she tries and fails she will never hear the end of it from Fear) and instead opts to climb back down into the yard. She helps Des with his own descent, and he rolls up the magazine and hands it back to her.

“Ready?” he smiles, linking his arm through hers.

Selene carefully tucks the magazine into her back pocket, and squeezes his arm carefully with her own.

“As I'll ever be.”

#Concert AU #Dirthalene #Selene lavellan #Des #Carina #Fear #Deceit

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deborahaphillips54303 · 5 years ago

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The 'Bon Appétit' Test Kitchen and the Myth of the Happy Workplace

The Bon Appétit Test Kitchen and its so-called "cinematic universe" has been described as follows: a "bright spot" in a "sea of garbage," the "internet's favorite cooking show," a form of "Sunday therapy," "an unstoppable force," "meme gods," and even "a Green New Deal fantasy," whatever that means.

Every night, "I check in with the chefs at Bon Appétit like I’m catching up with old friends," Louis Peitzman wrote for Buzzfeed in 2018. Another piece from earlier this year claimed the secret to Bon Appétit's YouTube success was that "everyone is just so damn likable." And having been graced with the crew's presence at the company's "Best Weekend Ever" late last year, writer and Who? Weekly host Bobby Finger recalled, "I felt not just starstruck but crazy. I mean actually deranged!"

Those are just the fawning articles. The Test Kitchen also has fan-run meme pages, an official merch store, two subreddits, and two more devoted specifically to personality Brad Leone and Gourmet Makes star Claire Saffitz. Saffitz, the kitchen's most beloved host, has been described as "the internet's collective crush," about whom people say things like "I would die for Claire" and imitate for Halloween or TikTok fame.

Man Repeller reported late last year that the channel was the fastest-growing in YouTube's food space, with more than 40 million views per month and over 5 billion total minutes watched. It currently has 6 million subscribers. As its hordes of doting fans propped the Bon Appétit Test Kitchen on the highest pedestal, the magazine's staff turned into micro-celebrities, their interpersonal dynamics became objects of obsession, and overall, the workplace was seen as a wholesome culinary ideal. What the Test Kitchen's cult of celebrity obfuscated, however, is that the Test Kitchen is just that: a workplace, like that of any other large—and therefore likely imperfect, if not problematic—institution. So honestly, what did any of us expect?

twitter

As the world found out in industry-shaking fashion this week, the reality of the Test Kitchen isn't the bastion of good that its stans have willed it to be. Last weekend, writer Illyanna Maisonet posted an exchange with Editor-in-Chief Adam Rapoport in which he effectively told her that Puerto Rican food wasn't trendy enough for the magazine to cover, and it read as another example of the brand's diversity problem. On Monday, after writer Tammie Teclemariam posted an old photo of Rapoport and his wife Simone Shubuck dressed in costumes centered on Puerto Rican stereotypes (in the photo, which Shubuck captioned "#TBT me and my papi #boricua," Rapoport wears a silver chain and durag), staffers blew open the door on the company's toxic culture, which has been emotionally and financially unsupportive of people of color. Rapoport—who, amid claims of brownface, maintains that he did not color his skin for the image—resigned the same day.

As assistant food editor Sohla El-Waylly wrote on Instagram on Monday, not only was she hired for her role at the rate of $50,000 per year despite her 15 years of experience (and the high cost of living in New York, where the company is located), but she was "pushed in front of video as a display of diversity" and not even paid for those appearances. Per Buzzfeed, El-Waylly and other hosts of color weren't paid for their video work, which is arranged through contracts with Condé Nast Entertainment, while white video stars were compensated. As the floodgates burst open, Twitter users soon dug up drinks editor Alex Delany's old internet history, which included a 2013 Vine of him saying the F-slur, a Confederate flag cake he'd posted to Tumblr, and a series of sexist tweets.

A damning report from Business Insider on Wednesday showed how far the brand's problems extended. From conversations with 14 former and current staffers, writer Rachel Premack concluded that BA was a "locus for exclusion and toxicity." Ryan Walker-Hartshorn, Rapoport's assistant for close to three years and the only Black woman on staff, was repeatedly denied raises from her $35,300 base salary and treated by Rapoport like "the help," in her words. "There is a big difference in terms of how they monetarily value the white employees versus the people of color," El-Waylly told BI.

On YouTube, BA's channel landed at exactly the right time. Compared to other food channels, which increasingly felt over-produced, the Test Kitchen videos were less polished; they had more personality; and they made the filming and editing processes clear. BA's videos resonated philosophically as well. Saffitz's Gourmet Makes, in which she attempts to recreate popular processed foods, is visibly an arduous and frustrating multi-day process, and at Mashable, Morgan Sung described Saffitz's series as an example of "probably the healthiest, most productive way to approach issues," while Quartz called her the "ultimate life coach."

Though the Test Kitchen's transformation into a celebrity force has been good for business, it's also set things up for exactly the reckoning that's happening now.

As with the recent situation involving Alison Roman (who got her start at BA), Chrissy Teigen, and Marie Kondo, the Test Kitchen's growing popularity and prestige outside the insular food world has complicated our ability to talk about its issues with clarity. Just as the bigger conversation about Roman and who tends to profit from cooking global food (the answer: white cooks) was largely portrayed as just a celebrity "Twitter feud," the changes at BA have been framed as the oversimplified result of a "brown face photo sparking anger" or the resurfacing of a "racially insensitive photo." The celebrity culture of the Test Kitchen begets the treatment celebrities get at gossip rags: reductive, lacking in nuance, and sounding the alarm for critics of "cancel culture." It's more than that, though.

The Test Kitchen's gargantuan online presence overrode its offline truth, as it projected and leaned into what people wanted to see, which was an Office-esque sitcom in which a friendly band of coworkers snickers behind the bumbling boss's back. As writer James Factora suggested in a tweet preceding all of this, perhaps the Test Kitchen's popularity is related to the widespread obsession with The Office. While Factora's tweet reads tongue-in-cheek, it's not wrong, and the love for the show perpetuated the illusion that a toxic workplace can be laughed at and lived with.

The Office has funny moments, but in a way, it led society astray. It suggested that a bad boss who makes clumsy, insensitive comments and makes life hard for employees can be a point of humor, instead of a toxic presence that could be booted. Who does that benefit except bosses? As BA turned the Test Kitchen into essentially its own sitcom, with each cooking star becoming an Office-esque talking head, it furthered the false notion of the perfect workplace, and people online were quick to gobble it up. The interactions between co-workers, even when off-putting, became meme fodder and pushed stans to throw their support behind their chosen star.

The idea that everything gets bad once it gets big sounds like a line ripped from Portlandia, but it is a maxim that applies to everything from emo bands to hashtags to dog breeds to cooking hosts. The higher the platform we give something, the more it can fall, and the discourse around the Test Kitchen seemed unprecedented in its fawning, at least within the food sphere. (Though we might have learned from situations like the downfall of Mario Batali.)

When we laud any product or person to this extent and make it an object of cultural obsession, it becomes easier to ignore the flaws and the parts of the conversation that don't fit what we want to see. This is true for the Test Kitchen, which could never really have met the inflated expectations of goodness that stan culture built up around it; people saw the perfect workplace because they wanted a perfect workplace. The problems at BA are institutional, but stan culture allowed people to compartmentalize the Test Kitchen as something separate and authentic.

In response to all of this, BA's parent company Condé Nast—a 111-year-old company with 6,000 employees globally at the start of this year—has announced that it will be "accelerating" its first ever diversity and inclusion report. On Tuesday, Amanda Shapiro, the editor of BA's Healthyish spinoff, became the brand's acting deputy director, and on Wednesday, the editors of BA said in a statement, "We want to be transparent, accountable, and active as we begin to dismantle racism at our brands."

Still, former staffers have identified Shapiro and other remaining BA employees as complicit in "toxic" behaviors. Despite calls for Matt Duckor, Condé Nast's head of programming for lifestyle and style, to step down over the unfair pay system and his mocking tweets about the gay community, he remains employed, as does Alex Delany. Both of them have issued social media apologies. With this new context, though, the joking tweets and fawning memes about the Test Kitchen don't hold up as well.

No surprise, Test Kitchen stans have responded to this all with even more memes and lionizing statements: "Update: we went to war for Sohla from the Bon Appétit test kitchen," reads one popular tweet. The height of the pedestal hasn't changed, though who's on the pedestal has. But as Bon Appétit changes, will its fan culture change also? To grapple with all of this new knowledge, it should.

Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.

via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network

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cyberpoetryballoon · 5 years ago

Text

The 'Bon Appétit' Test Kitchen and the Myth of the Happy Workplace

twitter

Though the Test Kitchen's transformation into a celebrity force has been good for business, it's also set things up for exactly the reckoning that's happening now.

Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.

via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network

0 notes

carolrhackett85282 · 5 years ago

Text

The 'Bon Appétit' Test Kitchen and the Myth of the Happy Workplace

twitter

Though the Test Kitchen's transformation into a celebrity force has been good for business, it's also set things up for exactly the reckoning that's happening now.

Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.

via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network

0 notes

melodymgill49801 · 5 years ago

Text

The 'Bon Appétit' Test Kitchen and the Myth of the Happy Workplace

twitter

Though the Test Kitchen's transformation into a celebrity force has been good for business, it's also set things up for exactly the reckoning that's happening now.

Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.

via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network

0 notes