#why am i thinking about this at 4am? excellent question | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

checkoutmybookshelf · 6 months ago

Text

Remember to Vet Your Teachers

On my original read of this series, this was my leat favorite book. Not because it's not excellent, thats just where it fell in the overall rankings. On reread though? My appreciation for precisely what this book does and what exactly Joanne learns increased by a factor of ten. Again, undergrad me was doing her best, but she didn't have a lot of patience with the "you screw up catastrophically and you learn better life goes on" lesson. Postdoctoral non-academic me has a lot more patience and appreciation for that, and I've never screwed up so badly it cost two lives and only didn't cost six because I got lucky and have a damn good moral compass when I bother to listen to it. Let's talk Thunderbird Falls.

This is you SPOILER WARNING. Consider yourselves warned.

I don't remember where I read this, bit I remember reading that the first three (original publication)/four (rerelease) Walker Paper books are Joanne's apprentice shaman adventures. I honestly have to say that one thing I forgot (and often still forget) is that part of learning and being a student or apprentice is royally fucking up. You're learning, you make mistakes, that's just life. This book is entirely Joanne making a HUGEASS series of mistakes, but what makes this so human and so in character is that every single one of the mistakes comes from a place of trying. Trying to learn, trying to do better, trying to understand. And thats why when a "teacher" randomly shows up in her garden, Joanne kinda doesn't question it too hard.

The fact that the teacher ended up being a malevolent demigod trying to break into the middle world and cause absolute fucking havoc was honestly just bad luck, and really, who actually EXPECTS their teacher to be from the Black Lagoon?

Unfortunately, Judy says just enough things that bridged Joanne's understanding of shamanism with things she does understand and believe in that Joanne thinks she's finally understanding and making connections, not that she's being led astray.

And when getting caught up in a literal coven reinforces a lot of what Judy is quietly teaching, well...it just reinforces the idea that actually Joanne has found a reliable teacher and is beginning to make progress. There's probably also a lesson in here about how nobody is truly immune to manipulation, because Joanne definitely experiences this.

It starts even before she meets Judy, because Faye Kirkland murders her best friend and drops the body right in front of Joanne, which really kicks off Joanne's intention to search for a teacher, her entanglement with the coven, and her introduction to Colin. And it gets worse, because the moment Joanne runs into something she DOES think to question, Faye gives Gary a heart attack. So Joanne is super off-balance because everything is going to shit, she's caught up in a couple of things she wants to have faith in but can't quite get there, her magic is going absolutely BONKERS, and she can't get ahold of her Coyote.

Oh and to top it all off, the coven sets off a 6.2 earthquake that sends Petite into a crevasse. And honestly, that almost breaks Joanne, because that car is the real-world manifestation of her heart and soul.

So because she is a student shaman and lacks background knowledge and experience, Joanne makes a TON of mistakes, fails to question things that ping the back of her mind, loses Cassandra Tucker and Colin to a demigod, nearly loses Gary and a pregnant Melinda Holliday, and Petite takes a massive wound (although that leads to one of my favorite things in the book, where Joanne is told that her car being in a crevasse has been called in. Dispatch recognizes her car, and Morrison gets hauled out of bed at four am because one of his people is missing. Joanne then goes, "I have no doubt that Morrison would get up to lead the search for a missing officer at 4am. But I didn't think he'd do that for me." Like...GIRL.)

I so deeply appreciate that Joanne can fuck up THIS BADLY, learn from it, and keep going and find happiness. Because honestly? About four different fuckups should have ended either her, the world, or both but they DON'T. She has the opportunity to feel her mistakes, understand the consequences, and then grow. Like, it's not perfect, and things have changed, but she learns and grows and gets to do better tomorrow. And that's a lesson that we have somehow really lost. Students think an A- is the end of the world and a career ender. People think that a single honest mistake on taxes will land your ass in jail for fraud. But the reality is that we make mistakes and we have to live with them, but we also have to grow and change. And I have a lot more appreciation for that at this point in my life than I did when I first read this book.

So that's kind of my biggest takeaway from this reread. Before we wrap this up though, I want to spend a little bit of time with Joanne and her relationships. And we're gonna do headings for this bit, because I'm tired and need a little extra help with structure.

Joanne and Faye

Ok, so Faye Kirkland is...a really interesting case because she is absolutely in the pocket of the bad guy, and that theoretically (as far as Joanne knows) should show up in her magic. But what Joanne doesn't have experience to know is that faith shows up as faith regardless of whether that faith is in a positive, benign figure or a malicious one. And Faye is SUPER under the thumb of Virissong because she has faith in him and what he has told her. So there isn't a big fat red flag to point to. If you trust the look of Faye's power and are too stressed and overwhelmed to look more closely at her words, actions, and the subtle ways she has twined herself around you, then you miss the subtler flashes of red that should have been warnings.

Especially since Faye brings Joanne into the coven by deception at every turn. She doesn't tell Joanne she's inviting her to a coven meeting, and once Joanne agrees to participate, Faye repeatedly does not give her any warning about what coven rituals will entail. Which gets both hilarious and deeply uncomfortable when Faye doesn't tell Joanne that one of the rituals is sexual and Joanne is over here going "HELL NO" and even the guy in the coven who was supposed to participate is like, "Yeah, I gotta agree on hell no." It's really funny on its surface and deeply red flag-y when you think about it.

It gets even more twisted when you find out that Faye killed Cassandra and you remember that Faye was at Cassandra's funeral and was comforting the toddler daughter than Cassandra was taken from. It's so twisted, and it's a really interesting way to complicate faith. Because the thing about faith is that theoretically, it doesn't require proof or evidence, it just is. But blind faith? That's how you get Faye and the truly monstrous things she does. And it's really on the nose that her whole thing is attacking hearts. Literally--she worsens a congenital heart defect to kill Cassandra and gives Gary a heart attack--and figuratively, because Cassandra and Gary are the hearts of other relationships in the book.

I love how complicated Faye makes faith, and everything she teaches Joanne about it.

Joanne and Colin

Colin is a pretty minor character in this book, but what I really want to focus on is how my relationship with him changed on this reread. On my first read, I had lived with asthma for my entire life (still do). I thought I understood what long-term illness does to a mind and heart. I didn't understand why a magical cure sounded better to Colin than working to live. I was a sweet summer child.

Since then, I was diagnosed with RA, and holy cow has my relationship to Colin changed. It's not cancer treatment, but for a while, I was getting medication every two weeks that I was EXTREMELY allergic to. Like I lost track of how many times we had to go to the emergency room and that medication ended in an ICU admit. And I understood Colin's refrain of "it's better than the cancer ward" far better. I still wouldn't take a demigod's deal to get better, but I understand the impulse way more.

That said, understanding the impulse doesn't mean that I love that Colin had to die. It makes sense in the context of the story and the choices he makes, but I don't love it.

Joanne and Virissong

Ok, so THIS MOTHERFUCKER. Virissong is one of the faces that the demigod antagonist wears throughout this book (Judy being the other one), and he is just...evil, frankly. There is arrogance, there is a desire to be worshipped as a hero, and there is a disregard for life that is deeply antithetical to everything that Joanne understands Shamanism to be. Which is why he needs Faye to keep Joanne so distracted, because Joanne understands enough to be able to see if she takes a second. So they don't GIVE her that second.

Virissong also leverages the soft heart Joanne hides from the world, because instead of sharing a memory that would damn him, he pulls the "it's too painful for me to relive, can I tell you instead?" And because Joanne understands that kind of trauma, she rolls with it. And it is nearly too late to defeat him, but Joanne eventually gets there and pulls most of the bacon out of the fire.

Joanne and Morrison

Morrison is...kind of amazing and while I adored him on first read as a romantic interest and just generally good guy, I'm getting way more details on this reread that just amplify how deeply amazing he is, and how human he is. Possibly my favorite Morrison quote from this book is this one:

"I don't like what you can do at all. But I like you setting yourself up for the sucker punch even less. It's degrading, and you're better than that. I won't tolerate it."

Morrison doesn't like magic, he doesn't like mystical stuff. But none of that is as important as Joanne respecting herself and her abilities. Seriously, this man.

This is also the book where Morrison finds out that there is more to Joanne Walker than her records say--she tells him her full name, knowing full well that he's going to go away and do a background check because that's a LOT to hide from someone. That's an extension of trust that was hard for her to give, but it is another small step in getting the two of them together.

Joanne and Gary

We LOVE Gary in this house. Gary is the best. Gary did not deserve a heart attack, but it does mean that Joanne gets to give him a tortoise to look out for him, and those are an amazing few scenes that do come back in later books in some awesome ways. I also love that this is where we see that Gary has adopted Joanne as the daughter of his heart. She's listed as his next of kin, they're functionally family, and Gary is here to support Joanne and have a kickass time doing it. It's honestly just that simple and that amazing.

#thunderbird falls #the walker papers #urban fantasy #fantasy novel #fantasy books #books and reading #books #books and novels #books & libraries #book recommendations

1 note · View note

seijch · 4 years ago

Photo

of slushies and shitty coffees ft. iwaizumi hajime.

🍬 iwaizumi hajime + gender neutral!reader

🍬 1.5k, convenience store worker!reader, vague immortal and reincarnation au

🍬 this was for vee but i think she deactivated 🧍‍♂️ its also the first one i wrote back in october so its ... maybe not my best

"you know what i am, don't you?" + being immortal boils down to 70% loneliness, 20% doing whatever the hell you want, and 10% recurring nuisances that bear an odd resemblance to your first love.

To say you hated working the night shift would be an understatement.

Sure, most days it passed with relative ease and allowed you to study on the clock, your studies rarely interrupted. A group of friends with the munchies here, a fellow student in need of a pick-me-up there, and an elderly woman that came in like clockwork at the 4am mark to buy cat food for the strays living nearby. You were well-acquainted with the few regulars of your shift and fond of the night manager, Saeko. On paper, there would be little to hate.

But the classes you had a mere three hours after your shift ended were nothing short of a living nightmare to push through; at this point, you’re sure that your blood is almost entirely comprised of the slushies and shitty coffee you spend your shift helping yourself to.

In fact, you’re in the middle of making yourself one of these slushies when the door opens behind you. “Welcome,” you throw over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the customer as you achieve slushie-making self-actualization.

Your mouth goes dry instantly.

You’re sure they don’t just let Greek gods walk into the nearest 7-11, but there’s clearly a first time for everything. He’s handsome, with a jaw sculpted from the highest quality marble money could buy. In an attempt to prevent your jaw from hitting the floor, you take a long sip of the slushie. “Fuck!” you hiss, clutching your head as you wait for the brain freeze to recede.

In the time that it takes you to get back to the register, the attractive stranger is about ready to check out. “Just this for you?” you ask, the only noise being the whir of the air conditioning and the scanner beeping at the energy bars. When you don’t get a response, you glance up at him. He’s looking right at you, but there’s something deeper behind it.

It’s like he knows you, that you’re as familiar to him as the beat of his heart, the air in his lungs. It’s both too heavy and entirely too intimate for an interaction that consists of you ringing up his 2AM transaction of three protein bars. ”That’ll be $4.17.”

He pays in exact change. Not another word is exchanged between you, but the intrigue and infatuation you have for the stranger lingers, even into the classes you have the morning after.

The next time you see him, he’s with someone else. A friend, you assume — the man with the perfect brown hair ribs at him as they walk in. Once he makes eye contact with you, however, he falls silent.

You’re beginning to feel like you’re missing out on something, especially when the stranger’s friend pulls him over, saying something in a hushed whisper. Something begins to prickle at your skin, and it’s not (just) the way the AC vent blasts on you from where you‘re sitting.

Thankfully, Saeko has excellent timing, bringing the mop out and greeting the two with a wide grin. “We doing alright over here, boys?” They nod, Mr. Shampoo Commercial saying something about midnight cravings before they make their way to the slushie machine.

”Listen,” Saeko whispers to you as the mop passes your spot at the register, “if those boys do or even say anything strange, you know what to do.” When you’d first started working the night shift, Saeko had been very clear that your safety was her top priority.

(“You college kids remind me of my baby brother,” she’d told you one night as you dusted the shelves. “I know it’d kill me if any of you got hurt.”)

You ring up two slushies: one cherry and one cola. Mr. Shampoo Commercial’s the one paying, and it’s as you‘re returning his change that he decides to speak. “Don’t you remember us?” His voice is smooth, with a dangerous lilt to it.

”Oikawa,” warns Mr. Protein Bar. “Don’t.”

”Why not, Iwa?” To you, Oikawa asks, “It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

”I’m sorry,” you say, trying to keep your voice even in the face of his questions, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your foot is poised to knock over a busted shelf behind you; it was Saeko’s alarm system, something she claimed could be heard from anywhere in the store.

A look is exchanged between the two men. You don’t bother trying to read it; it’s the sea and the storm, roiling with a language only the two of them are fluent in. “Sorry,” Iwa says, taking his slushie and shoving the cherry one in Oikawa’s hands. “Have a nice night.”

You don‘t see Iwa for a few weeks. The next time you do, he’s alone. It’s another wordless exchange; this time, he’s buying two cans of shitty coffee. “Is your friend waiting outside?” you ask. He looks surprised to hear your voice, probably expecting you to give him the bare minimum after your last encounter.

”Actually,” he rubs the back of his neck, sliding one of the cans your way, “that one’s for you. Sorry about what happened last time.” He pops open the tab of his coffee. “Oikawa doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

You nod, opening your own can. ”What was that all about?” you ask, taking a stab in the dark. You miss, unfortunately: he almost chokes on his coffee, the lines on his face growing more defined as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

”Don’t worry about it.”

It‘s a shitty answer paired with shitty coffee, but you take it.

And if you notice that he almost glimmers with an unreal sheen under the flickering fluorescent light, you dismiss the thought. Nothing else seems very real at three in the morning anyway.

He becomes another regular, swinging by twice a week. Two cans of coffee, paid for with exact change. You don’t have the heart to tell him that as an employee, you could just take from the pot whenever you wanted before you had to brew a new one for the morning rush. At first, he slides the can to you and wishes you a good night on his way out, but he grows more chatty as the weeks go by.

He asks about your day, asks about class, asks about work. Never does he share anything about the life he leads outside of shitty coffee and the four walls of the humble convenience store.

But it comes, little by little, like mismatched pieces forming the mosaic of Iwaizumi Hajime. You see it in the weight of the world trapped in his gaze, the way he rolls broad shoulders as if expecting the bones to crack. Most of all, you realize as you take a sip from your can one night, it’s the way he seems to know you better than you know yourself.

It started simple enough, a nod and a flash of something on his face when you told him what you were majoring in. A knowing chuckle, more to himself, when you mention how the old woman that bought cat food was one of your favorite customers. It comes, little by little, until one piece remains. The only way to get it is to ask.

He beats you to it. “You know what I am, don’t you?” he asks as you’re lifting tonight’s can of coffee to your lips. You spare him a glance before taking a long sip, delaying a response for as long as possible.

“You definitely look too good to be human.”

The corners of his lips twitch. “It’s good to know you never change.” You set the now empty can on the counter.

“Have we met before?” Iwaizumi, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Your friend with the perfect hair asked if I remembered you.” He snorts with the identifier you’ve given Oikawa, but you press on. “I don’t. But I think you remember me.”

You wait with bated breath for the final piece to fall into place, but he regards you with a look you can’t read.

You’re about to chalk it up to another swing and a miss, but he pulls out his wallet, a worn leather thing. From it comes a single picture, the color faded yellow, the image predating even black and white photography.

It’s Iwaizumi, looking just the same as he does now. He’s got his arm around the person next to him, pressing a kiss to their forehead. The other person is grinning from ear to ear, and it doesn’t take long to recognize who it is.

It’s you.

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi scenario #haikyuu scenario #iwaizumi hajime #half-assed tagging bc i dont rlly care anymore #anyway this is a fun concept but to me its clearly one of the ones that cant be made into a 500k epic spanning all of time itself #oh to reach slushie making self actualization #me googling for firsthand experiences of 7-11 night shift workers #i see room for expansion but hm . maybe for the ao3 post #anyway . hee #shoutout vee idk if she remade but she was my first req

87 notes · View notes

notnctu · 4 years ago

Text

nct 127 as cliche quotes❀

『 nct 127 as cliche quotes about love & some more 』 genre - pure fluff member x gender neutral reader (i tried my best ;-;) [a/n] hi yall this is author doie❀ i really ditched watching my lectures to write this so pls leave me feedback if u like dis bc would really appreciate it hehee i am now behind on school work hahaha i love bad decisions!!

➳ MOON TAEIL - ❝ i love you to the moon and back ❞

“sugar”, “my only one”, “bubby”, long phone calls, suffocating hugs, goofy dancing to loud music, jumping on the bed, picnics in the field, regular date nights, goodmorning/night kisses, food adventures, light snores, tiny grins at the mention of you, wherever he goes: the sun follows, you are his stars.

taeil has the whole universe to thank for your simple existence. he’ll take you star gazing and point out everything he loves about you. because if there is anything he loves more in the world, is how his night sky complemented you. His love for you runs deep and stretches far, resonating high in the galaxies. Incomparable lengths of love that cannot be expressed without metaphors. He’s constant reminders of how fitting you two are. he’ll make way for your shining light, even if that meant he disappears during the day. but he’ll always be there for your nights.

➳ LEE TAEYONG - ❝ love is patient ❞

“darling”, “bub”, “angel”, 3am cuddles to calm your nightmares, hours of gentle whispers of sweet nothings, softest touches, nose kisses, quick pecks on the lip, afternoon naps, long walks in the park hand in hand, he is the light in your darkness.

taeyong would wait until the ends of the earth for your healing. for your journey to self love, he’ll be there every step of the way. he’ll make sure every hurt disappears, if that had to mean small sacrifices of himself. because to him, you always come first. he’ll listen to your complains, he’ll understand your burdens, he’ll remember your heavy sighs. he’s the first call you make in the morning. you are his last call he makes at night. he is meaningful talks and supportive words. he’s the reassurance that never falters. he’s the strength at your weakest.

➳ SUH JOHNNY - ❝ i love you, not only for you what you are, but for what i am when i am with you ❞

“hottie”, “tiny” (regardless of height), “babygirl/boy”, most comforting hugs, humbling conversations, piggy back rides, hand on your thigh while driving, comfy hoodies and pj pants, weekend adventures, long road trips, polaroids, subtle matching outfits, he makes you a better version of yourself.

johnny’s big heart had the ability to touch even the coldest of people. he’ll hold you in his lap and tell you to reach beyond the stars. he is your number one supporter in every aspect of life, the world’s best hype man. you complement everything. he’s lucky to have you. he wants absolutely no one else in the world, but you. you are an evolution to be explored. he has an attracting personality that you can’t get enough of. he’ll show you the world through his modest lens, correcting your ignorance in the most respectful way. role model, constantly improving. he is your guide through a complex world.

➳ NAKAMOTO YUTA - ❝ love has no flaws ❞

“cutie”, “love”, “your name”, intense admiring stares, a love that cannot be contained, cheek kisses, kissing to the sunset, happiness at your fingertips, constant teasing, small screams of excitement, honey dripping praises, you are his daydreams.

yuta acknowledges you for who you are, what you make up. there is no effort for change because he genuinely loves you for all of you. to him, you are the perfect human being, where flaws are seen as a part of your beauty. he loves you enough for the both of you. encourages, versus criticism. he has nothing but admiration for your physical attributes and stunning personality. all he needs from you is a simple loving gaze, or a comforting hold. you could do no wrong. you are excellence in your own uniqueness. you are the reasons behind his growing smiles. he never asks for more than needs, though over extends himself to you. he sees you truly for the real you.

➳ KIM DOYOUNG - ❝ actions speak louder than words ❞

“sweetie/heart”, “honey”, always reaching for your hand to hold, flustered compliments, nervous laughter, sweet red cheeks, dainty promise rings, comfortable silences, homemade dinners, reassuring hand on your knee, your favorite book of poems, thick skin, confused funny facial expressions, you are his comfort.

doyoung often times stammers over his thoughts. he is usually a collected person, but you always break his guard down. he is unspoken words, and sweaty hands. he’s tender touches and quiet looks. the mutual atmosphere of knowing you love each other. Sweet talks on your end, and shy, bashful smiles on his. he’s at your will and call. he’s drop everything for you. he’s daily gestures to minimize inconvenience. if his love for you is questioned, he’d respond with a snarky none of your business. because frankly, he didn’t need anyone else to know besides you how much he loves you.

➳ JUNG JAEHYUN - ❝ it was love at first sight ❞

“baby”, “princess/prince”, “my dear”, charming smiles, arm around the waist, bouquet of your favorite flowers just because, the sweetest love you’d ever find, shy gazes, butterflies in your stomach, comfort in his cuddles, blissful sugary kisses, don’t blink! or you’ll miss him: he’s every meticulous, beautiful detail of life.

jaehyun knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he wanted to spend his days with you. on the contrary, he loves your personality the most but never fails to boast about how you are the most beautiful person ever. you take his breath away. he makes your heart race. gets shy at the thought of you, but drones on for hours about how happy you make him. he’s every love language combined into one. he’s sometimes a timid character, a bit shy. you are the center of attention because he loves to see you glow. he knows he’s in love with you. he’s found the only you, who makes him fall in love with life. he’s a happily ever after.

➳ KIM JUNGWOO - ❝ opposites attract ❞

“bud”, “babe”, “pumpkin”, staying up and loving you until dawn, teary eyed uncontrollable laughter, loud confessions of love, a love so random that it keeps you on your toes, love bites that are purposefully hard to cover, gentle hand squeezes when he holds your hand, adorable sound effects, half of a whole: he completes you.

jungwoo loves your differences the most. it gives him another perspective to marvel in. bc it gave you two a stronger bond. he didn’t believe in a perfect love --- no --- he believes in hard work and dedication. he knew the day you two met, he was determined to make things work. because he fell in love with everything you were that he was not. you are the caution to his wind. unknowingly, you fill the rest of who he has always admired and wanted to achieve. and together, you two are unstoppable. you are his missing puzzle piece. he is the acceptance you needed. he’s an one in a million.

➳ LEE MARK - ❝ loving you is too easy ❞

“my person”, “best friend”, “love of my life”, truly a boy next door who falls for the person next door, always thinking of you, secret kisses when no one is looking, playful shared giggles, the widest smiles, never a doubt in mind, late night drives, you are his match made in heaven.

communication is your strongest asset in the relationship. the best parts of mark are his understanding and considerate nature. he gets you better than anyone you’ve ever known. he makes sure you’re seen, appreciated. you are everything he’s been searching for. you are the definition of an ideal partner. there’s never a question of your relationship, he makes sure you are loved. whether that be through grabbing you lunch out of his way. whether that be asking about your day. whether that be forehead kisses in the mornings. whether that be a long speech of why he loves you. he is the true meaning of good vibes. he didn’t have anything to dislike. loving him was the best and easiest decision of your life. he is the best you’ve ever had.

➳ LEE DONGHYUCK - ❝ love comes when you least expect it ❞

“wifey/hubby”, “my everything”, “soulmate”, the emotional 4am thoughts of self worth, a cathartic epiphany, a love that’s always been in front of you, light banter, snarky sly smirks, always holding you in some way, belting notes in the shower, late night serenades, cheek squishing, he’s a wish upon a star.

donghyuck has always been there for you and that is something unchanging. he’s bringing you dinner after long nights of studying. he’s showing at your door step when you need someone to comfort you. he is there for every lost cause of a relationship. the pick up the pieces and mend you back together. when you had given up on love, he never gave up on you. it took one fun drunk night and a lingering touch on your cheek for you to realize that his love for you had always been there. he wanted you more than any person in your life. all it took was him to realize that he was never going to leave you. he is the last person you would expect to be your’s. but you are the first person he wishes happiness for. he is a one true love.

456 notes · View notes

synmorite · 4 years ago

Text

Behind These Eyes- Chapter 3

Summary: Life in the bunker, a hunt gone bad, cuteness, and goodbyes.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3642

Warnings: fluff, angst, injuries, more angst

A/N: This section was definitely written to be more “slice of life.” There’s a few time jumps. One more part after this!

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

You settled into life in the bunker quicker than you thought you would. Dean took you shopping and you picked up some essentials so you could be set for the next couple of months with them. You also insisted on picking up food so that you could cook for them. Mostly, you wanted to return the favor. They took you in and welcomed you as part of their family. The least you could do is give them some good home cooked meals. The first time you cooked, Dean moaned at the first bite of chicken. Sam smirked at his brother.

“Hey Y/N?” Sam turned to you.

“Yeah?” You asked, looking over at him.

“Clearly, you’re an excellent cook. Can you bake?”

You frowned at the random question, missing how Dean’s gaze zeroed in on you. “Yeah, I can bake too. Why? Something in particular you’d like?”

“How about cake?” Sam said, smirking at his brother before dodging the spoon that Dean threw at him.

“Sammy!” Dean growled. You looked between the brothers, utterly confused at what was going on.

“Can you bake… pie?” Dean asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“Yea, I can bake pie. Apple, cherry, blueberry, strawberry rhubarb, peach, basically any type. You got a preference?” You shrugged.

Dean was staring at you. “Can you make all of them?”

Sam burst out laughing. You frowned at them. “Can you guys eat that many pies?” You asked. Sam dropped his head into his hands, practically choking on his laughter now.

Dean glared at him. “Sammy doesn’t get any pie. They’re mine!” You joined in with Sam’s laughter, finally realizing that Dean must REALLY love pie.

***

One month later...

The boys still looked for hunts, but for the ones they found, Sam usually called another hunter to take care of it. They had a fairly large network of hunters set up. Dean explained that they had ended up in an alternate universe and brought back several people with them from that world. You weren’t surprised when Dean informed you of the existence of other worlds.

“I have an angel inside me. Why shouldn’t there be other worlds?” You shrugged.

It wasn’t long before there was a hunt that they needed to take. Something was killing soldiers that had returned from the Middle East. Wounds they received in the war and had long since healed, were reappearing and killing them. Sam and Dean had never come across this before and didn’t want to send someone else in to investigate something unfamiliar. There was no question that you would stay behind in the safety of the bunker.

Before they left, Dean cupped your cheek in his hand and ran his hand over your cheekbone. He’d been doing this a lot more. Little touches here and there. His olive green eyes burned into yours.

“Sometimes I swear I can see Arti behind your eyes.” He whispered.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

His hand dropped and he shrugged. “I dunno. I just feel like I see something that isn’t you.” You frowned at him and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Stay in the bunker. Stay safe, sweetheart.”

“You too, Dean. And you, Sam!” You called over to him where he was climbing into the impala. Sam gave a short wave and Dean climbed into the driver’s seat. He flashed a grin at you. “See you soon, princess.”

***

Dean checked in with you each night to ensure you were still safe and inside the bunker. They still didn’t know what was killing the soldiers, but they had tracked down that they all signed up and served together. Sam and Dean couldn’t get a hold of any details of where they served that may have caused them to become targets for whatever supernatural creature was now hunting them.

However, on their fourth night away, Dean didn’t check in at 10pm as he usually did. You waited and waited, but he didn’t call or text. Neither did Sam. You’d tried calling them both, but their phones went straight to voicemail. You paced through the halls in your PJs, clutching the phone that Dean gave you. You tried not to worry, but as the silence from the boys continued, your anxiety over something being wrong grew. As 4am approached, you heard the growl of the impala and bolted to the garage. Sam was getting out of the driver seat and Dean was leaning against the passenger window asleep. Sam gave a small smile as you approached and gave him a hug. You could smell blood and smoke on him.

“I was so worried when Dean didn’t check in.”

“Yea, sorry about that. My phone died and Dean’s got...damaged.”

“Are you guys okay?” You asked.

“Yeah. Turned out it was a valkyrie. She posed as the army recruiter, and when her recruits didn’t die in Iraq like she planned for them, she decided to take care of it herself. FYI, fire kills valkyries. She hit Dean pretty good and he thinks he has a broken rib so he asked if I could drive us home.” Sam explained. He leaned down and called over to Dean. Dean didn’t move.

You leaned down to the open driver’s door.

“Dean? Wake up, you’re home.” You called to him. He still didn’t respond. It was then that you noticed the light sheen of sweat across his face and the paleness of his skin.

You ran to the other side of the car. “Sam! Something’s wrong!” You pulled the door open and Dean fell out into your arms. His skin was clammy, but still warm. Sam was right behind you and helped pull Dean from the car to lay on the garage floor. Sam didn’t hesitate to pull Dean’s shirt up to expose his chest. There was dark bruising all across his skin. You could see his chest rise and fall shallowly so he was still alive luckily.

“That’s where the valkyrie hit him.” Sam whispered.

“What do we do?” You looked at him, panicking. Sam just stared at his brother. “Sam! WHAT DO WE DO?”

He shook his head. “I-I don’t know. The closest hospital is half an hour away and he has been bleeding internally for at least 8 hours while we drove back. I- I thought he was just asleep. I didn’t know.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Cas is too far. He can’t help in time.”

“Wait, Cas can heal because he’s an angel!”

“But he’s too far, Y/N.”

ARTI! You screamed internally. You forced all of your urgency and panic into the scream to hopefully reach him.

Little one? Arti’s soft voice echoed through your mind.

Please Arti. Please heal Dean. You choked on a sob.

You felt Arti’s presence move through you and had the odd sensation of him looking through your eyes to what was happening.

Little one, I am still weak. To heal him will weaken me further. I am not recovered enough to even fully heal him.

Please Arti. I need him. I need you to heal him.

Very well, Y/N. Press your fingers to his forehead and let my grace flow from you to him.

You did as Arti said and pressed your fingertips to his forehead just as Cas had done for you. You felt Arti’s warmth spread from your own chest, down your arm, and into Dean. You watched in amazement as the bruising on Dean’s chest vanished. His breathing strengthened and he let out a low groan.

He is as healed as I can make him, little one. He will live. Arti replied weakly and you felt him recede.

Thank you, Arti.

Sam was staring at you. “Arti helped me.” You said softly. Sam nodded slowly and reached down to his brother. He pulled him up so that Dean’s arm was around his shoulders. Sam dragged his brother down to his room. You followed behind, suddenly feeling very tired. Sam laid Dean down on his bed. You reached forward and tugged Dean’s boots off before tugging the blankets out from under Dean to pull over him.

Sam walked out of the room and you looked at Dean again before following and pulling the door behind you leaving it cracked. Sam was on the floor with his back against the wall, shaking. You slid down the wall next to him and grabbed his trembling hand.

“Thank you, Y/N. I thought I was going to lose him.” Sam whispered, squeezing your hand.

“I don’t want to lose him either.” You replied softly.

Sleep didn’t want to come that night. Or rather morning. Sam had retreated to his room and you to yours, but you couldn’t stop worrying about Dean. Eventually, you got up and went back into Dean’s room. He was still fast asleep, but he looked much better than he had earlier.

You tentatively climbed on top of the bed and laid down on top of the covers next to him. You finally fell asleep watching him.

***

When you woke, you could feel fingers threading through your hair. You blinked your eyes open sleepily and realized very suddenly that you were curled up into Dean’s side. He was sitting up slightly in bed, with his computer on his lap. He had a tv show that you instantly recognized playing. Dr. Sexy.

“I love this show.” You said softly and Dean looked down at you.

“Hey sleepy head. Was wondering when you were gonna wake up.” He smiled at you.

You scoffed. “Some of us didn’t spend most of the night unconscious. Some of us spent it worrying because someone missed check in and then showed up half dead.” You glared at him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. That valkyrie broke my phone when she hit me. And I just thought it was a couple of broken ribs.” He looked sheepish. “Sam said that Arti healed me?”

“Yeah, he did. He depleted his grace again, but he helped me and saved your life.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His green eyes held your Y/E/C ones. You broke the eye contact and looked at the computer screen again.

“This is a good episode.” You murmured.

He hummed his agreement and continued to comb his fingers through your hair as you tucked back into him.

***

Another month later...

Dean pulled Baby up to a small park with a little pond.

“Why are we here, Dean? Thought we were doing a supply run?” You asked.

He shrugged. “You spend most of your time cooped up in the bunker. You said most of the places you visited in your haven were nature related so I thought you’d like to get outside a bit.”

You grinned at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know the bunker covers the libraries part of your haven, but there isn’t much variety to Kansas nature wise. There’s a little pond here. It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thank you.” You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, missing his blush. You opened Baby’s door before climbing out and running over to the pond. You leaned over the edge of the water and saw the tadpoles swimming in the shallows. You sat down on the grassy bank and sighed happily. You liked the bunker. But there was no sunlight. No breezes. No nature. Dean came over and sat down beside you. You dug your hands into the grass and felt the warm dirt beneath your fingers. You laid back onto the ground and closed your eyes against the bright sunlight.

“I forgot what the warmth of the sun really feels like.” You murmured.

“I never really thought about what it feels like. But it’s nice. It’s not just a warmth on your skin, but it’s down to your soul.” Dean replied just as softly.

You peeked your eyes at him and saw him watching you with a soft expression on his face.

“Will you miss it? Will you miss… us?” He whispered. You sat up and laid your hand on his knee.

“Yeah. I’ll miss the bunker. I’ll miss Sam. I’ll miss you.” You rubbed your thumb gently across the fabric of his jeans and he was looking at your hand instead of your face now.

“Do you ever think of not going? Of kicking Arti out?”

You let out a slow breath and looked across the water. “Yes. I do.”

Dean hesitated. “I don’t think you should.” You looked over at him, surprised. “Arti can protect you. I don’t think you should kick him out.”

You felt a pain in your chest at his words. You nodded slowly to show that you’d heard him. You sat in silence with him for a few more minutes, but the comfort the pond had given you was gone. You stood up and dusted your jeans off.

“C’mon. We should get the shopping done before it gets too late.” You were quiet during the drive to the store and you separated in the store to get everything you needed. As you checked out, Dean kept glancing at you. When you got back to the car and were loading the groceries into the trunk, Dean smiled and said, “Would you like to drive Baby back to the bunker?” You dropped the bag you were holding in surprise. Luckily, you had already moved it to the trunk and nothing spilled out or broke.

“What?”

“Do you want to drive Baby?”

You looked towards the car and then back to him. “YES.” He laughed and tossed the keys to you as he returned the cart to the corral and went to the passenger side. You sat in the driver’s seat and stroked your hands down the wheel. You pushed the key in and started her up. Listening to the roar of her engine, you glanced towards Dean. “Are you sure?” You asked.

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s get home.”

The drive from the store back to the bunker was all too short for you. You pulled into the garage carefully and shut the car off. Sam was leaning against the garage door, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at his brother. “You let her drive your car?” Dean shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Gotta give her something to reference when Arti takes over again.” There’s a weird note in his voice that you catch, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. When you turn to look at him, his face is smoothed out with no sign of what it was. Sam raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

“So you gonna help us unload these bags or what, Sammy?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head and walked to the open trunk to start bringing the groceries in.

***

Two weeks later...

“Wanna go outside, Dean?” You asked, bouncing up to him. Dean raised his eyebrow at you.

“It’s raining.” He replied with a frown.

You grinned at him. “That’s the point.”

“What? To get wet?”

Still frowning, he said, “I don’t get it.”

“Haven’t you ever danced in the rain, Dean?”

“No? Why would you?”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed at his hand and pulled him towards the bunker door. He offered little resistance as you pulled him outside into the summer storm and to the little clearing near the bunker door. You let go of his hand and toed your shoes off so you could feel the wet grass beneath your toes.

“Sweetheart, I’m getting wet.” Dean whined at you. Closing your eyes, you laughed and tilted your face up as the droplets ran down your cheeks and through your hair. You could feel the warm water soak through your t-shirt and you spun in a slow circle. You opened your eyes and smiled at Dean who was just standing and watching you.

“C’mon, Dean!” You reached for his hand again and pulled him toward you. You gripped his other hand and tugged him further into the clearing and started pulling him back and forth.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to dance!”

He frowned slightly at you before looking around. He pulled his hands from yours and moved them to your waist. You rested your hand around his neck as he started to sway with you in the rain.

“Why do you like the rain so much?” He asked with a cock of his head.

You shrugged at him. “It just feels freeing. Like I can do anything. Be anything. Smelling it on the summer air, feeling it run across my skin. The sound of it hitting the trees and the earth. Seeing the clear puddles and the drips off the leaves. It lets me just BE, ya know?” You blushed at the admission, knowing that Dean would think it’s silly.

You looked up and met his eyes. His normally bright green eyes were darker as they looked at you now. You pulled your lower lip between your teeth at the intensity you could feel in his gaze. He started to tilt his head down towards you and your breath froze in your chest as he got closer.

“What are you guys doing? It’s pouring out here!”

You and Dean jumped apart at the sound of Sam’s voice. You looked over at Sam to see him trying to hold his coat over his head to keep dry.

“You worried that it’s gonna ruin all that hard work you put into your hair, Sammy?” Dean said, walking over to his brother. Before Sam could even retort, Dean grabbed Sam’s coat and pulled it off. He ran further away, laughing at Sam’s startled look.

“DEAN!” Sam yelled and he took off after Dean. You laughed, watching the brothers chasing each other through the rain. Your heart panged at the realization that you were running out of time with them. With Dean. You could feel Arti inside you again and knew that any day now, your time was up.

***

It was close to 3am and you were still sitting up in bed reading a book when you heard it. Dean was having a nightmare again. His grunts and whimpers could be heard through the wall. You could hear him having nightmares almost every night. You listened for a few more minutes before deciding that you needed to help him. Setting your book down on your bed, you got up and went to his room. The door was cracked open slightly and you could see Dean in his bed. His fists were clenched in the bedsheets and the veins in his neck were sticking out from how tense he was. His brows were furrowed and there was a slight sheen of sweat on him.

Carefully, you made your way to his bed and softly climbed over the top to him. You reached out and stroked your hand through his hair gently. You started to hum ‘You are my sunshine’. Your mother used to sing it to your little sister when you were a kid, so when you needed a distraction, you’d hum it to yourself. Slowly, his body relaxed under your fingers and his breathing evened back out. His head turned towards you and he let out a soft sigh.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He whispered as he fell back into a deep sleep. Once you were sure he wouldn’t wake up, you leaned over and kissed the top of his head before slipping back to your room. You read your book for another hour and waited to hear if Dean had any more nightmares before cuddling down into your blankets and shutting off the lamp. You drifted to sleep quickly.

***

You were sitting in the library of the bunker and Arti was sitting across from you. A grin stretched across your lips.

“Arti! You’re okay!”

He nodded. “Yes, little one. I have recovered my grace. It’s time I take control again.”

Your smile dropped instantly.

“O-oh.”

“Is everything alright, Y/N?”

“I just- I’ll just miss the boys is all. Can I say goodbye to them first?”

He tilted his head to the side and frowned a little. “If you wish. Let me know when you are ready.”

You blinked your eyes open in the darkness of your room. You took a shuddering breath. How were you supposed to say goodbye? Dean and Sam had quickly become your family. You didn’t want to give them up. But you had given yourself to Arti so that he could help people. People like you. Rather, like you had been. You realized that for the last couple of months, you’d been happy. Truly happy. And most of that had been because of Dean. You felt so whole when you were with him. How could you say goodbye? You couldn’t. Not really. You pulled a piece of paper and a pen from the desk and wrote a note.

Dean-

I’m sorry. Arti’s recovered and I made a promise to be his vessel so it’s time for me to go and I’m too much of a coward to say goodbye directly to you. I want you to know that I won’t ever forget you. Or Sam. You gave me some great memories over the last 2 and ½ months. Singing along to music in Baby. Watching Dr. Sexy. Family dinners. Baking pies (and eating them!) Dancing in the rain... I’ll be reliving them in my haven forever. Thank you. For everything.

Love, Y/N

You folded the note in half and wrote Dean’s name on the front. You propped it up on the desk and looked around your room. At your home. You debated going back to Dean’s room one more time to look at him. But you doubted that you’d be able to walk away from him if you did. You sighed.

“Ok, Arti. I’m ready.” Everything went dark.

Go to Chapter 4 >>>

#spnfanfic #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #fluff #angst #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural #behind these eyes #synmorite #synmoritewrites

16 notes · View notes

wefoundloveunderthelight · 4 years ago

Photo

The Love Cruise - by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Or on FF

Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda

Chapter 7: A Sky Full of Stars

Emma’s eyes squeezed shut as the door creaked closed behind her, letting the latch click quietly in place. She quickly toed off her shoes, setting them down softly in her closet, grabbing a pair of pajamas and tossing them over her head in the darkness of her room. She tiptoed toward her bed, pulling back the covers just as the table light clicked on.

“You did not think you could disappear all night and then try and sneak into bed without an explanation, did you?”

Emma’s shoulders sagged forward with a groan. “I’m not sneaking, I just didn’t want to disturb you.”

She turned to see Ruby sitting up in bed with her arms crossed in front of her.

“We waited for hours for you to show up tonight. Where were you?”

“I’m not a child, I just didn’t feel like dancing.” She sat down on her bed.

“So, you were just out, walking until…” She looked over at the clock. “Oh my God, Emma it’s 4am.” She leaned toward her. “Is that a hickey?”

Emma’s hand instinctively went to her neck. “What? No, of course not.”

“Emma, I know a hickey when I see one, and that one is right above your breast.” Emma looked down, seeing the reddened bruise above her breast line, she blushed, remembering Killian’s mouth sucking on her flesh earlier this evening. “You’re blushing. Oh my God, Emma, who is he? Have I met him? Holy shit, did you have sex?”

“Ruby my God, would you stop with all the questions.”

“Well, I know it wasn’t Graham, cuz he was with me all night asking questions about you. And I thought you didn’t like this Walsh guy?”

“Eww no.” She answered in disgust.

“Ok, so it’s not Graham and it’s not Walsh.”

“I’m not talking about this.” She grinned, lying down on her pillow, and pulling the blankets up over her neck.

“I can’t believe out of all of us, you’re the first one to get laid out here.”

“Good night, Ruby.” Emma protested.

“Emma you have to tell me something, anything.”

“I suppose I should thank you.” Emma laughed.

“Me? What did I do?”

“If it hadn’t been for those condom’s you gave me, tonight would have never happened.” She turned over toward the wall, a smile growing on her face. “Though I’m out now, so I’m going to have to get more from you.”

“Emma, oh my God, I gave you a packet of five.”

“Night Ruby.” She heard her friend mumble and turn off the light. She was sure she would face a barrage of questions tomorrow, but tonight she needed to sleep, her body exhausted, her skin still on fire from the memory of his mouth, the touch of his hands, and the warmth of his body.

~*~

Killian managed to get to the bridge an hour later than he normal would have. “Evening Captain.” His first officer greeted him as he reached the bridge at 4 am.

“Evening, Smee. I apologize for my lateness, I was…” He paused. “Delayed.”

“No problem, sir, it has been quiet tonight.”

“Get some sleep sir, I have the helm.” He dismissed his first mate, taking a seat in the Captain’s chair and staring out at the moonlit water. He was still hours from sunrise, his favorite time of the morning. He should be tired, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried. His mind was still on Emma, he had only just left her, but he longed to still be holding her, snuggling into her blonde locks, breathing her in as she nestled into his embrace.

He needed to do something, show her that the night had meant something to him. Beyond the carnal activities she had provided, he enjoyed spending time with the woman, talking to her, getting to know her.

Was that what he was doing with Emma?

Did he intend to get to know her, did he want to continue to know her past these next 8 days?

“Excuse me, Quartermaster?” The man turned toward him. “You are younger than me, you must have experience with members of the opposite sex.”

The man looked at him questioningly. “Yes, sir. I suppose I do.”

“Excellent, if you wanted to tell a woman that you had a pleasant evening with her, without also scaring her off, what would you do?”

“Flowers are always nice, Sir.”

“Flowers, why the bloody hell didn’t I think of that? Thank you, Mate.”

Killian scribbled down directions with a note to Emma and sent it with the Deck Cadet to place the order with the florist. He may not have intended to “hook up” with anyone on board, but he’d be damned if he was going to be anything but a gentleman, now that he had.

~*~

“Can you get your manager or something because I need this taken care of?” Emma stood firmly at the desk, holding the large painting in her hands.

“Yes Ma’am, one moment please.” The woman disappeared behind a door and returned with the man who had approached Killian the night they first met.

“How can I help you Ma’am?”

“As I was explaining to her, this painting was delivered to my room and I need to return it to the owner.”

“I’m sorry, was it delivered to your room by accident?”

“Well, no, it was gifted to me by another guest, but I don’t want the gift.”

“Can’t you just return it to the person who gave it to you?”

Emma exhaled, “I would love to, but seeing as I don’t know his last name, nor do I want to interact with him again, I would prefer you do it.”

“Alright, so you don’t exactly know who the guest is, but you want me to find the guest and give them back this painting?”

“I know who the guest is…well I know his first name.” She paused. “Look, I don’t want this damn thing, do you? Cuz I’d be happy to just give it to you.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut when she heard his voice behind her, spinning around she smiled up at him. “No problem, I just need to get rid of this damned painting, and as I was telling these two, I only know his first name, but I need this to get back to him.” She shoved the note that Walsh had left with the painting into Killian’s hands.

“And as I was just telling the lady, if we don’t know the guests full name then we…” Robin was explaining.

Killian crumpled the note in his hands. “We will take care of it.” he added quickly.

“Exactly. Wait, what?” Robin turned toward him incredulously.

“Please take the information she has, and we will make sure to find the mysterious suitor to return the artwork. If you’ll both excuse me, I have a tour to attend.” Killian nodded to Robin, and then met her gaze, passing the crumpled note back to her before winking and walking toward the atrium.

Emma pushed the painting across the desk, smoothing out the note to lay on top of it, “As you can see by the note, his name is Walsh. I have to go.” She turned and ran off in the direction Killian was headed, ignoring Robin’s protests behind her.

She caught up to him as she turned the corner opening into the large atrium. “Killian.” He turned toward her.

“Emma.” He said with a grin. “Sleep well?”

She bit her lip, “Very.” They began walking through the atrium. “Thank you for assisting back there, I just can’t have that painting in my room anymore.”

“Well at least he didn’t lie in his note to you. You are very beautiful.”

She blushed, “That was not the point.”

“Of course not.” He paused his steps, coming to a halt. “I apologize for needing to leave, but I really do have a tour.”

“I know, I thought I would try and warn you first, I’m in the tour, with my friends.”

“Oh, I see.” He stammered out nervously.

“And my brother.” She added.

“Oh my, and do they…”

“Know that I spent the evening being ravished by the Captain? No.”

He smirked, “Ravished, you say?”

She felt her cheeks heat up before she ran off ahead of him to join her group who were getting an introduction from the ships Cruise Director, Regina, who was leading their tour.

Her friends were waiting for her at the tour start location. “There you are, I wasn’t sure if you were going to skip out on us again.” Will whined as she approached him and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“And miss seeing you, never.” She saw Belle standing next to him and smiled.

“I convinced him to take a scuba lesson with me tomorrow.”

Emma peered at Will. “Oh really? I am impressed, you told me you would never do something that required you to breathe under water.”

“Oi, don’t rub it in, I’m still not happy about it.” Emma winked at Belle as he continued to complain.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I am your Captain, Killian Jones and I’ll be joining your tour today, Ms. Mills does an excellent tour and I try and join when I can to answer any of your questions.” His eyes were directed at her, his smile spreading across his face before he quickly looked away. “How many of you have been on a cruise before?” When there were not many hands raised, he laughed. “Seems we are all newbies.” He paused.

“Oi, you mean you’ve never Captain’d a ship before?”

“Not a cruise ship, no, my last job was just a small skip, but before that I was sailing battleships, I can assure you, I am quite experienced and it’s much easier to sail a cruise ship when there are no enemies lurking around the corner.”

“Like pirates?” Will responded and Killian chuckled.

“I haven’t seen any pirates on the waters since we set sail, I’ll be sure to alert you if I see any.”

Emma jabbed her elbow into Will’s side, “Stop harassing him.”

“If we have no more questions, I’ll let Regina lead the way.” She followed him down the hallway, Regina pointing out different parts of the ship, Killian stopping to answer all the questions they had. Regina was a very experienced tour guide, but she preferred her private tour with Killian better.

When they got to the bridge, Emma wandered through the area, stopping to remember the kiss she shared with the Captain at the helm.

“I bet you get all the ladies being a Captain.” Will continued to barrage Killian at every step.

She watched as his head dipped, a blush darkening his cheeks as Regina spoke. “Generally, the Captain is much too busy with the duties of the ship to chase women.”

“Is it against the rules for a Captain to date his passengers?” Ruby flirted in the Captain’s direction.

“It is definitely frowned upon and a rule the Captain employs with all of his crew.” Regina answered once again.

“Too bad, he’s hot as hell.” Her friend whispered into her ear.

“Shh.” Emma looked up to see Killian grinning at her before showing Will how to steer the ship. She could feel her ears burning, pulling her hair over them to hide the blush.

The tour continued to the back of the theater, Regina providing her background as an entertainer on her previous ship while everyone watched the crew building a large staircase for the show that evening. Emma saw Killian standing at the back of the group and quietly made her way beside him.

“A Captain who doesn’t follow his own rules? Interesting.” She said softly.

“It is quite scandalous.” He said, staring straight ahead. “In fact, I broke many rules just sneaking you down to my quarters.”

Her head shot up to meet his eyes, a smirk deviously planted on his face. “You are a bad boy.”

“I am behaving quite terribly indeed. Perhaps we should end this at once?” He sang softly in her direction.

“Considering you have already broken so many rules, it’s not like obeying them now will change anything.”

“Are you suggesting I continue with this disreputable behavior?”

“That depends?”

“On what, love?”

She started to walk back toward her friends before glancing in his direction, “Whether or not your balcony is involved.” He licked his lips and Emma’s heart rate increased as she joined her group, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. She was playing a very dangerous game.

What was it about this man that made her feel so bold?

“You said you sailed a battleship before, were you in the Navy?” Emma tuned back into the conversation as her brother approached Killian.

“Aye, I was discharged a little more than two years ago.”

“Must be crazy going from a ship like that to a luxury liner. Sailing in the line of duty is much different than doing so for pleasure I would assume.”

“Aye, but there is still much to be done. In the Navy we fight for each other, we sail to survive. Out here, I carry precious cargo that needs to be tended to. Either way, my job is to ensure the safety for all onboard.”

“My brother is a cop, so you are speaking his language.” She joked, inserting herself into the conversation.

“A very commendable profession indeed.” Killian added with a nod.

“Our friend, Graham over there is a Sheriff. Been trying to set my sister up with him all week. She needs a little law and order in her life.”

Emma paled and choked out a laugh. “Ok, enough information David, I’m sure Kil…the Captain is not interested in my love life.” Killian’s devious grin had her nervously shifting on her feet, her arousal making her uncomfortable.

“Good luck in your endeavors for your sister, David.” Killian nodded in her direction and went back to the larger group.

As soon as he was out of range, Emma slapped her brother on the arm. “Oh my God, don’t tell everyone you meet that you are trying to hook me up with random men.” Emma scolded her brother.

“Come on Emma, live a little. Graham would be very suitable for you.”

“That sounds like a code word for boring and not at all interesting to me.”

“Not everyone can be a criminal whisking you off your feet into a life of danger and intrigue.”

She narrowed her eyes, “I made one mistake, that doesn’t mean I need you to control my life going forward.”

He stepped back, “You’re right. I’m just trying to find you a nice man.”

“I can do that on my own.”

“You have a type, Emma. And it’s not usually good for you.”

“I appreciate that you care about me David, I do. And I love you, but please let me handle my own love life.”

“What love life? You avoid men like the plague, I’ve yet to see you interact with anyone on board this ship. I worry about you being alone and Henry not having a father as he grows up.”

“Woah, look, I’m here to have fun, which by the way, I am, thank you for asking, but I’m not here looking for a dad for my kid.” She knew her brother meant well, but he tended to go overboard when he was playing the father figure role. “David, you’re supposed to be here for fun too, not babysit me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know, you’re right. I just want to see you happy. You deserve that. You do so much for Henry, I want you to have something for Emma too.”

“I appreciate that. And I have been talking to people on this trip. You aren’t with me 24/7.”

“Oh really, and who would you be talking to, is it this Walsh guy I keep hearing about?”

“God no, not him. But maybe I’ve been enjoying time with someone, but we are most definitely not going to talk about it.” She winked at him and then grabbed him by the hand, dragging him back to the group.

~*~

Killian managed to get through the rest of the tour unscathed, doing his best to avoid any additional awkwardness with Emma. When the tour ended, he parted ways with the passengers, reluctantly leaving Emma with her friends, joining Regina in the atrium.

“Very well done, you give a great tour.”

“Thank you, I’ve trained hard for this job, it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it.” He laughed lightly, walking toward the Purser desk to check in on Robin. “However, maybe next time you should work on not making eyes with the passengers.”

“I beg your pardon. I was not making eyes at anyone.”

She scoffed. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“There you are.” Robin announced, popping up at the desk. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to find a passenger with no last name.” he looked up and saw Regina standing next to him. “Hello, love.”

“Good afternoon, Robin. Please tell me what reason we have for trying to find a passenger with no last name?”

“No need, I can find him, I’ve seen him around.” Killian interrupted.

“How do you know who he is based off his first name, there has to be more than one Walsh on board, how can you be certain it is the man who gave this woman a very nice painting?”

“Let me worry about it.” He picked up the painting from behind the desk.

“Do I want to know what any of this is about?” Regina asked.

“I’m not sure I want to know what this is about.” Robin complained.

“For once it’s not you that’s acting shady, Rob.” Regina smiled in Robin’s direction, which caused Killian’s eyebrow to rise in surprise.

“I can if you want me too.” Robin flirted leaning into the counter as Regina tapped her fingers on the desk.

“Maybe after a few drinks.” She turned toward him, ignoring his questioning gaze, and walked away.

“Um, suddenly she’s calling you Rob?” Killian inquired.

“Why do you know who Walsh is? And does this have anything to do with you not attending the crew party last night, or that blonde woman I keep finding you with?”

Killian tapped his ear, realizing it was better for him to retreat than continue his discussion. “Fortunately, I have Captain duties to perform, so I will see you later, Mate.” He shouted over his shoulder, carrying the painting with him as he whistled a tune.

~*~

“Ruby says that you’re a bouncer at the bar you guys work at?” Emma looked up as Graham spoke. She was sitting nervously alone with the man at the bar. Everyone conveniently coming up with plans they had as soon as the two of them sat down at the table.

“Um, yeah, I know it’s not as cool as being a Sheriff or a cop, but I like it.”

“I have never really thought of my job as cool. Frightening at times, but never cool.” He paused. “It doesn’t really give me a lot of time to do things on my own, like date or have a life.”

“Yes, trust me I understand that. I’m not sure if everyone told you, but I have a son at home, he’s six.”

“I think I heard David mention him in passing. That must be difficult to handle on your own.”

“He’s a great kid, and everyone helps out, honestly I don’t know what I would do without my friends. Ruby and her mom babysit all the time. David is always helping out with yardwork and repairs, August gives me time off for parent teacher conferences, soccer games, and Will…” She chuckled thinking about all the times that Will had stepped in to be the father figure Henry needed when he didn’t have one. “Will has been the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”

She smiled at him, he was very attractive, friendly, and she could tell he was an honest and good man. But Emma wasn’t interested in him no matter how much she tried to seek an attraction like her brother and Ruby kept pushing for. Maybe it was because he was too settled, too secure in what he wanted and had in his life. Emma knew that wasn’t fair, she should want that in a man.

“It’s nice to get help from those around you. Perhaps you would have room for others who would be interested in participating in your life.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Graham. You seem like a really nice guy…”

“But…” He laughed.

“I’m not really looking for a relationship, I’m not in that place in my head. And you seem like the kind of guy that would want that, and that’s great, any girl would be lucky to get that from you, but that’s just not me.”

“Ah. The kiss of death, you’re giving me the it’s-me-not-you-speech.”

“I’m sorry, that sounds awful. I’m really not an awful person.”

“No, you’re not. Just very honest, which I appreciate.”

“Have I told you how great Ruby is?” She laughed. “Because I have stories for days about why she is deserving of a nice guy like you.”

“Your friend is very nice, honestly the only reason I came over to talk to your group in the first place was because of her, but then she kept talking about you the whole time that I got the impression she wasn’t interested.”

“That sounds like Ruby. She’s always willing to push the good guy to me, despite her own interests.” He looked around the bar awkwardly. “She usually goes to the pool for a late swim on the lido deck about this time.”

“Oh, did I make it that obvious?”

“No need to apologize, please, you won’t offend me if you suddenly feel the need for a swim.”

He excused himself politely with an eager look on his face and Emma headed back to her room, exhaustion finally hitting her from lack of sleep from the previous evening. Turning the corner to her room she spotted Will and Belle exiting his room. When they passed her in the hall, Will’s face was red from embarrassment. “Enjoy your evening you two.” She teased.

“Goodnight Emma.” Belle adjusted her hair, tucking her blouse back together.

She clicked her card at her door and opened it into her room. The first thing she spotted was the giant bouquet of flowers and she groaned as she shut the door behind her. She was going to find out where this Walsh guy was staying and give him a piece of her mind.

She sniffed the flowers, yanking the card from the plastic stem. They were beautiful. Sliding the card from the envelope she peered down, bracing for the next creepy thing Walsh would say to her, only to be surprised by the sender.

“A sky full of stars, and he was staring at her.”

Until we meet again, CJ

Emma stared at the flowers, her heart racing. She lay back on her bed, staring at the card in her hand, a smile on her face reserved only for Captain Jones.

#TLC #The love cruise #killian jones #emma swan #stacy's fics #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au

20 notes · View notes

saltskinandasociopath · 4 years ago

Text

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

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

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

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

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

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

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....' he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

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

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

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

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

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

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

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

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.

#salt writes #shinee fic #onew x key #minho x taemin #onkey fic #2min fic #onkey #2min

15 notes · View notes

drake-the-incubus · 4 years ago

Text

Y’know. I feel bad for teachers, they struggle, but I’m not gonna bend over backwards about my trauma and the shitty teaching habits I grew up through, and say it wasn’t their fault.

I sat through struggling with the same social issues that got my cousin diagnosed with ADHD and got told I was just “disruptive”. I was doing book projects on complex books and reading through my homework with ease, only to have my teacher get mad and accuse me of cheating, to which my mom and I had to defend me.

I was accused of cheating my reading assignments because I didn’t have to take them home, it would take five minutes to speed through the books. Tiny little 12 page books were supposed to take us a week.

I excelled in English. Actually I was great in everything but math. When it came to math, I was put down by my teacher, “you’re smarter than this”. “If you really struggle, go ask your parents.” My parents weren’t home, neither had graduated and my step-father was god fucking awful. The solution wasn’t to offer me help when I broke down over not being able to do math, it was to get upset I wasn’t good enough, and get MORE upset when I figured something out that wasn’t an appropriate method.

This is elementary. I was 5-9. These years were fucking horrible for me. From being called the wrong name and being in trouble for correcting it (my name was written down the teacher just would not say it right) to being fucking harassed by students over my last names.

Gifted child with Autism and genuinely has the issues backed up.

School was fucking horrible and most of the time it was the teachers. I don’t care if “they didn’t get paid enough” that didn’t excuse the trauma.

Being a teenager was just as bad.

My nephew has given up on school because they don’t want to help him cope with his dyslexia. They’re cruel about it.

My cousin never graduated because they refused to give him assistance in anything and told him the same shit as me, he was barely passing and had no drive for school because of it.

Kids would receive sexual harassment and the teacher would shrug it off. We had sex in our movies which we should “just close your eyes” which was fun! I can’t tell you how traumatizing being forced to a sex education camp was when I was adamant I didn’t want to go, and being forced to pay the bus fee, when I told my teacher I didn’t want to and had my grades held over my head.

Didn’t matter that I was genuinely uncomfortable, ended up getting an infection with my stitches and was treated like shit for asking “stupid” questions.

I am 22 now, want to know how many times I’ve had sex? 0. Want to know what stuck in that course? Only how to put on a condom.

We didn’t learn consent, we learned some self defence. I was told because I was a girl I’d likely be assaulted!!

A camp that left me with more trauma that I was forced to, because I needed to know the information on STDs. Why? “Because you’re going to have sex before you graduate and I’m not going to be responsible”. Even when I’m saying I wanted to not.

Being berated for not entering science fairs, being pressured into a club where you had to know very specific things that other gifted kids knew and shit.

Being pressured to do the entirety of group assignments. Being harassed when I told a teacher early that I needed my homework tonight because I left at 4am the next day and wouldn’t have net, only to get it 10am the next day with, “you gave me no time”. Despite the fact that said teacher said she could do it.

The vice-principal who was our teacher, that sexually harassed students, was openly abusive and homophobic, who I think still works there! Because all the other teachers defend him, and so does the principal.

The other vice principal who fucking harassed me about graduating. “You need to graduate this year” and got mad when I returned the next year to do exactly what I was planning to before, and upgrade my courses. Same teacher that forced me to the camp.

Teachers literally are in positions of power over students, and are capable of immense trauma. I’ve been near forced to teach a teachers class for her, because she would not look into the subject she was supposed to teach, and even said she should look up the basic requirements for the class and try from there.

She was teaching Gr.10 Astronomy to 7 students. She was constantly giving us assignekents which boiled down to, “make a pretty art project.”

Anyone who wanted to take a serious elective transferred out, and she was adamant that I, the only grade twelve, teach her class for her, “because you know so much”. My knowledge was at a grade 6 level.

At one point I got fed up with this shit because I am there to focus on my studies not teach for her. And I was, “making it so hard on her because she didn’t know what she was doing”.

She tried to make us teach each other.

So when it came to my presentation, I used the appropriate scientific language and got in trouble for, “being too complex”. Mind you this is highschool and I was talking about atmospheric pressure on a planet.

Oh and I had points docked for not drawing a little character for Neptune. Even though I could blindly recite the facts about the planet.

I hate that, “this profession is full of women so it’s the misogyny” that makes people hate teachers. I had wonderful teachers. The majority of them were horrible and would scream at students or give no indication of what was expected from an assignment and would be frustrated.

I had a teacher who broke down to me, because I would do my work fast (and correctly) and she didn’t want me to be ahead of the class so she kept assigning me extra credit I had to complete. And her breakdown was because I told her that I’m not doing more work than was necessary.

Complexities I didn’t understand, my teachers would be upset and tell me, “you’re smarter than this” they would get frustrated at anything below an 80.

The one teacher I had, I met in grade 10, taught the next two years of my social studies. When I told him I hated his course, and why, he actually tried his best to get me to engage with the material. My grades shot up surprisingly, when I had someone who was willing in the side points of class or when he was available, talk to me over this course.

In a school with less than 400 students, for K-12, having the five teachers WITH the time to help me, because they would grade and be there otherwise, is what made me realize that I genuinely could have had help, and was denied it.

Teaching is a two way street, and some teachers leave a real fucking nasty taste in their students mouths, because they cause so much fucking trauma. School can be heavily traumatizing, but blaming the students and everyone but the teachers is a dissonance.

School was better than home, yeah, but not by much. It was hell there. The amount of bullshit teachers put students through, was ridiculous, and the shit they refused the deal with was insurmountable.

It’s not misogyny I hated those teachers, it’s the way they treated me and other students. Specifically, it was how they acted like I was “So Smart” that nay of my struggles were ignored.

I went through school with an undiagnosed neurodivergency, despite working closely with councillors and having them as teachers.

But even still, when I’m teaching the other smart kids in the class the basic mathematics because that’s how bad the teaching is, and the fact that our school was considered the worst of province, yeah I’m gonna be honest here, maybe the fucking teachers have a bigger impact than expected.

#school Tw #abuse tw #mentions of sex #a kid almost died bc she wasn’t allowed her inhaler #from a teacher #we faced misogyny #we faced discrimination #hating teachers isn’t a misogynistic approach and neither is hating school

2 notes · View notes

nokomiss · 4 years ago

Text

deadtedkord replied to your post “taking prompts!”

more excellent jaysteph bonding please you're stuff for them is amazing!!

Even in Gotham, it’s hard to get takeout at 4am.

So after a particularly grueling night fighting crime -- not Arkham-escape bad, but involving the Condiment King teaming up with Mad Hatter for easily one of the grossest in every imaginable way nights Steph could remember -- the troops all ended up at the Cave, fighting over who got into the showers first. The troops in question being Bruce, Damian, Tim, Jason and herself. Steph saw the writing on the wall immediately and booked it up stairs to shower in luxury before Bruce could complain about ketchup in his fancypants rich people showers.

After convincing herself that she couldn’t, actually, just live in the bathroom at Wayne Manor for the rest of her life, Steph reluctantly got out, wondering if she could convince Bruce that installing the same shower at her decidedly less luxurious home was actually a necessary crime fighting expense. The water pressure alone had relieved a few lingering muscle aches she’d been nursing a few days.

She ransacked various rooms for a new, mustard-free outfit -- she had clothes stashed away somewhere, but everyone knew other people’s clothes are far superior, especially when they were Selina’s yoga pants, which she was never returning because damn they were amazing, Cass’ fuzzy socks and Tim’s softest hoodie.

By the time she returned to the cave, smelling like coconut and feeling like a champ, the boys had managed to clean themselves up and were bickering about food.

“I got Stromboli’s to deliver at 3 last week,” Damian was insisting, even though the Batcomputer clearly showed that they were closed.

“Maybe we could bribe someone at Batburger? They’re open all night,” Tim suggested, sounding doubtful about the prospect.

“There’s food here,” Steph suggested, because she, too, was starving.

Silence for a moment, then Bruce said, in a voice that almost sounded sheepish, “Alfred isn’t here.”

Steph felt a little bad about the smears of ketchup she’d undoubtedly left in the bathroom. “Did he… did he take the kitchen with him?”

“Pennyworth is the only one permitted to use the kitchen,” Damian said loftily while also not looking at anyone directly.

“Yeah, but… we’re hungry,” Steph pointed out.

“They don’t know how to cook,” Tim said, gesturing towards Bruce and Damian. “They’re really bad at it.”

“Like you’re any better,” Damian snapped. “Remember when you set the microwave on fire?”

“I didn’t realize there was still a spoon in the bowl!” The tops of Tim’s ears were turning bright red.

Steph looked at the only person in the room not howling about their own ineptitude in the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re not as useless as they are.”

“I’m insulted that you would think I am,” Jason replied. “I certainly didn’t grow up with a butler.”

Steph sighed, and said, “Wanna go make some food?”

Jason looked at the other three, who were suddenly very focused on writing the night’s mission report. “If it means we’re done with the paperwork, yeah.”

So she climbed the steps to up to the manor for the second time that night, and when she entered the kitchen she suddenly understood the silence and sheepish looks.

“I have seen active crime scenes less disastrous than this kitchen,” Jason said with an awed tone.

“How long has Alfred been gone? A year?” Steph said, staring. “And the question is, is he ever gonna return if he knows this is waiting on him?”

“Probably he will, but he’ll finally snap and murder them all in a dishes-fueled rage,” Jason said, poking at the mountain of dirty china piled haphazardly in and around the sink. He poked at a dish. “I’m pretty sure someone ate Spaghetti-Os out of fine china. Is this a real silver spoon?”

The spoon in question had curdled milk clinging to it.

“Okay so ten minutes ago, I would have told you there was no way anything could be grosser than Mad Hatter flopping around in a pool of mayonnaise,” Steph said, “but oh, how I have been proven wrong.”

“How do they even function as human beings?” Jason wondered. “Was it always this bad? I mean, I lived here. I know Bruce is an absolute moron in the kitchen. But…” He looked around. “Wow.”

“Do you suddenly feel so much better about yourself as a person?” Steph said. “Because I gotta say. Really feeling good about myself right now.”

Jason offered a hand to high five, and Steph did, happily. They rummaged through the pantry side-by-side and found that the staples were still intact, though anything ready-made had been ransacked. The fridge offered up similar bounty -- takeout leftovers of questionable providence, some wilting produce, and basics.

“Pancakes?” Steph suggested once she saw the state of the waffle iron -- had someone tried to make a grilled cheese on it? -- and pulled out the dry ingredients. “I’m not willing to eat anything that requires a condiment right now.” Thankfully maple syrup had not been one of Condiment King’s weapons of choice.

“I’ll make eggs,” Jason said, pulling out a carton. “And there’s some fake bacon of Damian’s.”

“We are a breakfast-making machine,” Steph said. It was true, too -- away from the chaos of crime fighting, she found that working alongside Jason in the kitchen was surprisingly easy. Steph stared at the sink again, and said, “I think that it’s time that certain vigilantes learned the domestic arts.”

“Yeah, we can’t let Alfred come back to this,” Jason said. “He’s too valuable. If he quit--”

“We’d never have his cookies ever again,” Steph said in horror.

“Maybe we could steal Alfred,” Jason said after a pause. “Like, let nature take its course, then swoop in and take Alfred for our own.”

“Share custody of him,” Steph said, nodding. “We could put him on a rotating schedule, and give him days off, and… I don’t know. Let him join a book club, instead of spending all his time with these disasters.”

They spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of a life where Alfred showed up and made creme brulee at any hour of the day. Then Steph sighed, giving the pancake batter one last stir before letting it sit and moving to the stove, clearing off several crystal goblets with what looked like coffee dregs in them before finding a griddle. “There’s only one flaw with our plan.”

“The thing where Alfred loves Bruce like a son and would never abandon him to die alone and hungry in his filthy mansion?” Jason flipped the fake bacon.

“That’s the one,” Steph said, deciding the griddle was hot enough and spooning pancake batter onto it in cute little shapes. She thought that Damian’s should be hearts, and she experimented with bat-shapes for Bruce.

Jason peered over and saw what she was doing. “I want stars.”

“Of course you do,” Steph said, though she tried to make one as soon as Damian’s hearts were done. It turned out a little wonky, but still recognizable. She was awesome. “Gotta be difficult, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied, cracking eggs into a bowl. He glanced at the kitchen door. “Are they hiding in the cave in shame?”

“Like, it’s wrong, but the fact that I think they are makes me really happy,” Steph said. “Like, kind of makes up for all those times they acted like I was a moron for not knowing something.”

“Right?” Jason said.

“I mean, how do you master dozens of different kinds of kung fu, but never once master the grilled cheese? I was making my own grilled cheese in kindergarten!”

“There are only three ingredients,” Jason agreed. “It’s a true embarrassment.”

“We should nominate him for Worst Cooks In America,” Steph said. “I really want to see Bruce on reality television, and that would be comedy gold.”

“Just seeing him get an invitation to be one of the worst of anything would be fucking amazing,” Jason said. “Like, congratulations, sir, you suck at this.”

“You suck so hard we want to feature you on television,” Steph snickered. She flipped the last of Bruce’s pancakes onto a plate before they burned, and began making Tim’s. She tried to make a coffee mug shape, but it turned out looking like a blob, so she made teddy bears instead.

“I mean, I kind of get why they’re so terrible at it,” Steph said, “given their upbringings. But I would have literally starved if I hadn’t figured out how to cook early on. Takeout was not an option.”

“Right? Only for special occasions,” Jason said. “The rest of the time, you had to make shit yourself.”

“Exactly,” Steph nodded. They didn’t really talk much about how they were the ones in the family who’d grown up poor, who’d spent a lot of time raising themselves because their parents hadn’t been capable of it. She knew it was why Bruce had compared them so much -- there was a startling amount of similarities between their childhoods, from their mothers’ drug problems to their fathers’ criminal inclinations -- and for once, it felt nice to be the ones with the necessary skills while everyone else floundered.

They grinned at each other, then put the last of the food onto the plates. Steph grabbed the maple syrup, and stopped short, staring at the calendar on the fridge. “Four days!”

“What?” Jason said through a mouthful of fake bacon.

“Alfred has only been gone four days,” Steph said, pointing to the note on the fridge, “and he left prepared meals.”

They gazed in wonder at the chaos around them.

“He’s going to be back tomorrow,” Jason said suddenly, pointing.

“Okay, so we feed the troops, then we start Mission: Learn to Do the Damn Dishes,” Steph said. Sleep was for the weak.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, and followed her to the breakfast nook, setting down Tim and Damian’s plates and going back for the rest. “Wanna tell them now?”

“Let them have a final meal first,” Steph said. “Then we’ll light a fire under them.”

Jason grinned. By the time Bruce, Tim and Damian came out of the Cave, she and Jason had polished off half of their meal, and Steph had to admit that delivering a lecture to Batman about chores was one of the highlights of her week. Possibly the entire month.

It took until dawn, but Alfred came home to a kitchen that no longer looked like it had witnessed the collapse of civilization.

#deadtedkord #my fic #batfamily #stephanie brown #jason todd #this is literally just steph and jay making breakfast and trashtalking everyone else's lack of cooking skills #totally a valid bonding experience

24 notes · View notes

bvlavender · 4 years ago

Text

A Story A Day Keeps COVID Away – 10/25/20: “Delayed”

“Delayed” is doing a frankly ludicrous amount of stretching in that title.

A few hours ago, I submitted an assignment worth 25% of my grade in one of my courses. This assignment was 10 days and 48 minutes late. It is only due to the mercy of my very excellent professor that I was allowed not only the original extension that I asked for (3 days, after which I spent 3 more days still not having the assignment done and losing what should have been 30% all the while), but an additional weekend. Even now, I’m still not sure if she’ll ignore those 48 minutes. I would be immensely grateful if she did, and it falls in line with the kindness she’s shown me so far, but I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.

After I’ve put this up, I have another assignment to do, in a different course. Significantly lower stakes (only worth 1%), and though it’s a bunch of long answer questions, it’s a relative breeze compared to the one I just handed in.

But it’s due before my 8AM lab.

It’s 4AM right now.

I could keep going, but this isn’t my agenda. And this isn’t my diary either, so I will not be detailing the numerous personal issues that have been compounding my stress, except to say that nobody’s hurt (much) and everything’s fine (for now).

Something I was going to mention in the monthly review is that I noticed I’ve been doing a lot of poetry. Which, to be clear, isn’t bad. Ever since I started actively looking for new poetic forms to try my hand at, it’s been a genuinely fun and interesting creative exercise in how best to work with arbitrary and highly specific limitations.

But full-blown story writing was why I started this in the first place. And while I am perpetually brainstorming for my larger stories (the number of times I’ve zoned out of lectures while thinking about characters is getting concerning at this point), the short prose I put up here was meant to be practice. Training for the marathon that would be writing those bigger stories, bigger than anything I’ve ever written before.

And I’ve been writing poems. Which, again, nothing against poems, but – it’s just not the same. I missed prose. And I worried that I wasn’t keeping myself sharp enough.

So, when All Hallow’s Month rolled around, I thought this would be the perfect time to dive back into prose. I’d do a week-long Halloween event, use the Hauntober prompts to give me a foundation, and then I’d write short stories the whole week. I had the Hauntober prompt list open on my laptop all October, just to remind me. And the Saturday before, I took the time to figure out and jot down what the plot of each prompt might be.

The stories were set, the ideas were interesting, and I could do this. I would do this.

I posted the Halloween Event masterpost.

And then-

and then-

there’s nothing quite so adrenaline-inducing in the midst of a half-conscious sleep as the faint thought trickling through your brain “did I miss that deadline?”

So here we are. With a “delayed” 10/25/20 that’s more update than story.

I’ve deleted the Halloween Event masterpost. I said in it that I hadn’t been following Hauntober prompts the rest of that month because “I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep.” Keeping it up would be making a promise I’ve already broken. Apologies to everyone who was looking forward to it – I was too. The rough plot sketches I had for the prompts are still here; perhaps I can write them up someday.

But right now, I’m going to keep writing. Even if it’s small, even if it’s short, even if it’s not the medium I want to master.

I can still learn. I can still experiment. I can still grow.

And that, more than anything, is what I want.

#astoryadaykeepsCOVIDaway #coronavirus #covid-19 #writers on tumblr #“delayed”#10/25/20 should really have an asterisk next to it #what happened in between that hour and now?#well #y’see #[defenestrates myself]#no I’ll be honest #recharged by deleting some of many tabs I had open #and went through all the notifs I had muted to finish the assignment #my best friends are amazing #it’s a shame I couldn’t discuss fandom & identity politics at that exact time

2 notes · View notes

bbygrvr · 5 years ago

Text

⌠ DEV PATEL, 32, MALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, BOBBY GROVER! originally hailing from BLACKTHORNE, this alum specializes in DRIVER’S ED. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (a selfie with a no loitering sign, days old take-out, the crash of shattered glass). it’s the (aries)’s birthday on 06/04/1998, and when they were still in school their most requested dish was RIBEYE STEAK from the school’s chefs. hopefully their presence can help ease the minds of gallagher students. ⌿ tasha, 22, she/her, best ⍀ <- just realized i put best instead of est i swear that wasn’t intentional pls don’t think im up my own ass dfhjg

guess who did a complete 180 n was like .. haha .. what if .. i bring an alum .. a character that i’ve used before in a gang rp dfjhg who was a .. Getaway Driver . and the non-commitment of it was v appealing to me at 4am ! all the good stuff under the read more .. n just the tiniest of plugs .. during my 4am journey i also finally got around to writing luce’s bio . 4 everyone who wanted a powerpoint of all her exes , this ones for u its a doozy xo lov a gorl who is defined by men :))) tw: drug addiction, car crash, murder (FOR BOBBY DFJH) + HIS PINTEREST bc it’s probably my favourite one

BACKSTORY

i am obsessed with the trope that danger breeds from boredom in suburbia but to make it even spicier , why not combine it with someone who might be a literal sociopath ? born in grosse pointe shores , one of the most affluent suburbs in detroit .

was born robert, but that’s a boring name for a boring man, something he is anything but . he’s a third generation american, and grew up in the typical white picket fence neighbourhood , though his family is extremely wealthy from investing in fossil fuels . however , they live modestly which has always been a major gripe with bobby .

he’s been a problem child for as long as he can remember , sneaking into r-rated movies before he was a teen , and he could’ve been a hipster artist with the amount of weed he smoked and bullshit he spewed . however , he excelled in school , his parents unworried as he placed at the top of his class , and only comment from teachers was that he talked too much .

at sixteen he gets his driver license , and soon enough pavements are tracked with tire marks and he’s running reds and hiding the ticket notices from his parents . street racing’s his jam , there’s white powder on the tip of his nose . he’s also the unofficial bookie for an underground fight club ... spending most of his time in the city which is only a twenty minute drive .

his parents start to pay attention , he thinks , finally those dumb fucks . they send him to therapy . therapists are obsessed with roots of trauma and thinking processes . but he’s not angry and he’s never faced any tragedy . what a waste of time , he thinks , but they prescribe him some pretty dope pills .

he wreaks havoc on his parents while rousing suspicion of blackthorne recruiters . under the guise of school recruiters they tell his parents of a private boarding school for gifted young students . they enrol him immediately . he’s planning to escape the first chance he gets , but falls in love before he can . not with anyone , but the school . this place is fucking epic . he keeps using but he’s extremely high functioning .

he’s never killed anyone before , and no one’s wronged him to the point of deserving death , so he goes big ‘cos he sure as hell isn’t going home and kills the ceo of chevron , a multibillion dollar oil company , because nothing has wronged him like climate change has . it’s easy enough , under the right tutelage , but he still pukes after .

his spy career lasts for seven blissful years , but his addiction comes to a boil when he crashes at 120 mph into a brick wall after believing that his car could go through it . to this day , he still believes that the coke he had snorted previously was laced with something . a fellow spy in the passenger seat dies .

blackthorne pulls him out and locks him up , very trainspotting scene except he’s locked up for a year , it’s possibly the worst experience of his life , and still shudders at the memories of withdrawing . they tell him that if they ever find out he’s using again they’ll kill him , no questions asked . then , they allow him to go to a proper rehab facility .

he’s now been sober for three years , and has the chip to prove it .

PERSONALITY

extremely outspoken to the point of rudeness , crass too . always makes every conversation an attempt to provoke for the shits and giggles of it .

pretty hyperaware of everything that’s going on even if it doesn’t seem like it . he’ll like , swat a fly out of nowhere mid-conversation then hold up his palm to whoever’s talking to him to show the fly gut’s on his hand .

self-indulgent , doesn’t have much of a moral compass , goes where the fun is .

super pumped about being an alum to the students , he has made lesson plans .

TRIVIA

would have gone to school for film , even though he could have been able to apply for anything and get in . obsessed with body horror ( cronenberg’s his hero ) and german expressionism .

his last name comes from the original surname of guruvara/gorovare which is a sanskrit word for teacher/mentor so maybe he was destined for this ... king shit .

hasn’t talked to his parents since he was sixteen despite them reaching out multiple times , he hates them for some , inexplicable reason .

from like eighteen to when he got sober .. how do i say this .. his dick .. was not performing as if should have DHJG ?? that just gives u the impression as to how many drugs he was taking at the time .

CONNECTIONS

calling all driver’s eds kids ! just hit me up , because he probably has a detailed plan on how to mentor you .

any other kids who have no experience with driving , but want to learn !

his death count’s low , but any sort of connection to the person he who died in his car when he was off his ass .

alternatively , any blackthorne kids who’ve heard the rumours that he killed the ceo of the oil company , stroke his ego !

he was truly working overtime those seven years he was a spy so any other alum , maybe they worked a job together !

#gallagher:intro #my student chara who i've been thinking on for a month watching this clownery happen instead : 👁️👄👁️

13 notes · View notes

edwardsvirginity · 5 years ago

Note

(vampireguarddogs) when you get this you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (it's non-negotiable because i said so, and positivity needs to be more prevalent.)

oof my personal statement for grad school is kicking my ass (STILL) and i can’t think. maybe this will be distracting enough.

1. I am an excellent friend. Idk if that’s super braggy but it’s true. I’m like.. 5 people’s best friend. If I am within driveable distance of someone, I will drive to see them (even if it’s hours!) You’re moving to a different country? Cool me too, we’re still gonna talk everyday. We were frenemies in middle school and haven’t talked since but you’ve just posted something really vulnerable asking for advice on fb? I’m sliding into your DMs with perfect advice and inviting you to come crash on my couch in Paris. Actually, I’m inviting everyone to come crash on my couch in Paris. The 6 months I lived there, I let... legitimately TEN people stay with me at some point for free. At one point, I was hosting a close friend and her THREE FLATMATES. I’m the type of friend that when you find out I’m gonna be in a neighboring country, you invite me to come live with your family for 10 days (and I do it and learn basic mandarin bc that’s what your parents speak and i’m POLITE). When you find out I have a layover in your local airport you cancel your plans to come hang out with me in the airport for a few hours. I have open invitations for free accommodation at friend’s houses in at least 7 different countries. And you know why?? Bc i’m a ride or die bitch!!! You call me at 4am and I’m picking up. You’re vagueposting on social media and I’m there. It’s your birthday and I’m getting you the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received. I’m sending you long messages about how important and special you are to me for no reason at all except that you’re my friend and I love you!! I’m sending you a package-sized box of candy from another continent because you sound like you’re having a hard time of things. I’m hiding encouraging and thoughtful post-it notes in the books I got you for Christmas. I’m straight up changing your life with my love and support (don’t @ me, I have receipts for this claim). And I’m backing off when you need space because I am respectful and not overbearing and I have my own life and other friends. So no big deal, but I’m a blessing.

2. I’m really thoughtful (in a smart way). I always have something interesting to say that makes people think. I’m out here casually articulating things you didn’t even realize you’ve been thinking for years, no biggie. Alternatively, I’m making you question everything you’ve ever thought about the universe because of a passing, groundbreaking comment I made while I was distracted.

3. I’m interesting. I’m fluent in French, I’ve lived in 3 countries, I’ve been to 24 (25 after Christmas!) My life is a mess of hilarious and bizarre contradictions. I’ve done a bunch of weird shit, and not done a bunch of totally normal shit. I work with refugee kids, which is always An Experience. I can hold a conversation with anyone because I’ve somehow done enough shit that I have something in common with pretty much everyone. I’m a weirdo, but like, the cool weirdo you invite to parties & all your friends end up loving.

4. Most of the time I think I’m fairly pretty.

5. I have a fun sense of style!

#asks #thx jane!!#also i know yall now think i'm the most concieted person on the face of the earth #but i'm also DEEPLY SELF AWARE #so like #i can say with certainty this is all true #i could just as easily list my top 5 flaws with in depth scathing analysis #and that's chill too!!#people are multifaceted and i'm comfortable with really loving things abt myself #and having things abt myself i don't love!!#anyway i just got out of a 5 year depression and i'm not gonna apologize for liking things abt myself!#i'm pretty cool and i like me #anyway yall are pretty cool too and i'm about to find out HOW cool #bc i'm about to send some ppl some asks!!#shegavemeroses

2 notes · View notes

gretchensinister · 6 years ago

Text

Operation Welcome Mat (preview)

I usually like to post a fic for my birthday, and well, this is a few days belated, but sometimes that’s how it goes. This is a preview of something I’m working on, now, and it’s a branching out of my usual fandom territory! I hope you’re curious, and I hope you enjoy!

It all stems from the question: Why does so much stuff that only Superman can deal with happen on the planet that Superman is on? That’s not the question that Lois Lane asks, but it’s the one she’s going to find an answer for.

Lois Lane always checks her spam folder. In fact, she always opens each individual message in there. Ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, what’s in there is garbage, but garbage is not synonymous with useless. Consider the journalists in Portland who went through the District Attorney’s garbage to make a point about privacy. Her daily ritual isn’t on that level of significance, but she feels the point still stands.

Today, she opens an email that isn’t promising free trials of herbal supplements, contact info for hot singles in her area, or insurance policies that will cover damages caused by any and all anomalous events for as little as $10 a month. (These last annoyed her enough to ask Louise in Business to do a small expose on such companies—turns out, the fine print stated that given the regularity of attacks on Metropolis by aliens, robots, metahumans, etc., etc., these events could not be considered anomalous. Fucking scammers. She’s pretty sure they’re involved in a class-action lawsuit right now.)

Instead, it reads thus:

I am sending this to you because I think you are the only person in the world who might have adequate protection after I tell you this. It is for my safety and yours that I have not used your name or described what that protection might be.

I ask you to use any and all resources you have at your disposal to investigate Operation Welcome Mat. I cannot tell you much more without compromising the slight chance this communication has of reaching you. However, I do not exaggerate when I say that the revealing—anything more I dare not hope for—of this operation will affect every human life on Earth.

Sincerely,

One who works in the organization that knows you always check your spam folder

The remaining message is a long and rambling series of testimonials for anti-aging and potency supplements, but Lois sees no reason to consider these as marks against the authenticity of the original message. Camouflage is important. As is covering one’s tracks. She opens her desk drawer and retrieves a high-quality digital camera that’s nevertheless old enough that it needs an actual physical cord to transfer the pictures on it to any computer. Lois has kept it in excellent condition, save for, oh, the pesky matter of the fact that the delete function doesn’t work on the camera itself, and that she just can never find the right kind of removable memory cards. Darn, what a problem! Fortunately the camera contains a 5000-image capacity non-removable internal memory. She takes a picture of the relevant portion of the email—well, ten pictures—and then sets about blocking every IP address that’s sent her something that ended up in her spam folder today and deleting every email indiscriminately. She’d like to perform a more thorough delete, but she never does that with any of her spam, and she’s got a feeling that now would not be a good day to start.

Amateurs might worry about how she deleted the original email, but Lois knows that if she finds anything, she won’t need that email, and for another thing, the writer of that email most certainly doesn’t want anyone to be able to analyze their word choices and phrasing.

She rests her arms on her desk and starts letting her mind work through everything the email told her. So, she’s the only person who “might have adequate protection” after learning about Operation Welcome Mat? The only unique protection she’s had under any circumstances is Superman. In a few well-known incidents, he’d appeared to give preference to getting her to safety before others. Lois isn’t one hundred percent sure that’s true, as she knows very well that she might’ve been the person in the greatest danger during each incident. Over her career, she’s tended to disregard danger for the sake of the story. And she can argue persuasively that in order to be a successful female journalist, she has to be prepared to face a certain amount of danger; she can argue that her years of experience have given her the ability to accurately evaluate the potential danger of a situation. These arguments have been, and are, vital to her public persona.

But under a few layers of “I have to do this” is the chewy center of “I want to do this.” It’s true! Believe it or not, Lois Lane, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist, is a bit of a thrill-seeker!

Good thing that might be exactly what her email contact needs.

So. Back to the email. Back to Superman. She knows well enough that she doesn’t have a raven-haired alien angel at her beck and call, but, based on what the public has seen, is it more likely that she does than any other investigative journalist? Yes. So, if only Superman can offer her adequate protection, then—

“Hi Lois,” Clark says, setting a paper cup on her desk. “Two sugars, no milk—” He breaks off into an almost cartoonishly exaggerated yawn that Lois nevertheless is familiar enough with to know is genuine.

“You ought to buy some coffee for yourself,” Lois says, digging a few dollars out of her wallet and tossing them at him, which he barely catches. “I mean, if you’re going to volunteer to walk down to Reeve’s every day, anyway. And didn’t you grow up waking up at 4am to milk cows or whatever?”

Clark smiles shyly. Like he always does. It’s a good smile, and on a kid who’s six foot three and probably better built than any of the barns he ever helped raise, it could very well explain why he always seems so exhausted in the morning. Though if Lois’ theory is true, she hasn’t seen or heard any other evidence of it. A gentleman never tells, Lois thinks idly.

“I can and have milked cows in my sleep,” he says. “I can’t do anything in my sleep, here.” He looks down. “Uh, the truth is that I haven’t been sleeping well since the—what did they call it? The Chirauga Incident?”

Lois grimaces. Yeah, Clark and half of Metropolis. Including her. When an army of aliens that big showed up all at once, there was no way to avoid some level of freaking out, special protection from Superman or not. “Yeah, the Chirauga Incident. Ugly sons of bitches, in my opinion. I killed one personally, you know.”

Clark’s eyes widen in shock, and Lois grins. “What? I verified they weren’t bulletproof before going out to start, you know, researching my story.” But, because she is committed to the truth, even though Clark seems like he’ll believe anything she says, she has to add, “Well, okay. I’m pretty sure I mortally wounded it. Superman took care of it before I could find out for sure.” It had been clean. Heat vision through the Chirauga equivalent of the spinal cord. And Superman had turned to her with that red glow still shimmering in the back of his eyes. “Are you all right?” he’d asked, hovering a foot above the ground like it was nothing, looking at her like she was something. And she’d looked into the terrible weapon of his gaze and been stunned by the perfect surety that he’d never use it on a human being.

And for all that, she’d never seen him look so alien.

“Weren’t you watching? I had this one handled,” she’d said, with a rasp in her voice she hoped he’d attribute to the heavy dust and smoke in the air.

“Well, in that case, I guess all I can do now is tell you to be careful out there,” he’d said.

It would be nice if there was a discreet little jump cut in her memory right after that, but, unfortunately, Lois remembers with perfect clarity that she’d responded, “Sure thing, spaceboy,” like a complete and utter dumbass. But then Superman hadn’t laughed at her, no, he’d given her the smile and wink of an old-fashioned movie star before flying away to continue saving the world. She, on the other hand, had staggered off, feeling as emotionally churned-up as a teenager.

The worst part about it, in her opinion, is that she knows very well that Superman has this effect on almost everyone who encounters him.

“Ah, Superman,” Clark says, drawing her back to the present. His shocked expression has been replaced by the little smile she’s often seen him wear when talk of Superman comes up. She’s always thought there was something secretive about that smile, something notably different from the rest of his farm-boy guilelessness. (Though, she doesn’t quite believe he’s as transparent as he otherwise appears. And she doesn’t think that’s just her natural suspicion kicking in. For one thing, the Daily Planet is big, but not big enough that someone who was hired as a journalist could fall through the cracks and become nothing but a friendly coffee boy. She’s read some of his articles, the neighborhood news stuff he generally covers, and the writing is as solid as he is, with words chosen with care and sensitivity. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and if he ever decides to get ambitious, Lifestyle is in for a big surprise. For another thing, he’d moved to Metropolis during a metahuman surge, and that, frankly, was not what normies did, no matter how clueless they were.)

The running undercurrent of what she knows about Clark and the smile that’s the one noticeable discordant note in the melody of the person she works with suddenly gel into a possible conclusion, one that Lois could’ve kicked herself for not even considering earlier.

Talented kid moves from small-town Kansas, where he could’ve been a big fish in a tiny pond. And he doesn’t even move to a city in the same state or region, where he could have been a big fish in a medium-sized pond. Instead, he moves to Metropolis, where he won’t be a big fish at all, but where it’ll be a big project for anyone who knew him in Smallville to ever visit, or know anything about him he doesn’t want them to know. Metropolis, which, despite its dangers, still lives in the cultural mind as a place where the good kind of anything can happen. (Where Superman is often seen.) And when he’s here, he never, ever says anything about even going on a date with anyone, and mentions of Superman bring out that secretive smile. And he started off writing his articles with a clear awareness of issues that Lois has seen other straight white male coworkers fail to grok even after clear, baby-step-style explanations. And he’s never, ever tried to turn getting her coffee into something uncomfortable.

So, possible conclusion: Clark is some flavor of queer, and still closeted/uncomfortable about it. But he can’t completely hide his crush on Superman because, well. Superman. And the kid has an honest face.

Just goes to show, she thinks, how slow and unreliable gaydar can be, even if you are bi.

But this does give her an idea on where to send him as she starts her initial investigation of this Project Welcome Mat. If it is big, bad business like it seems, Clark doesn’t need to get mixed up in it, even to the point of overhearing a phone call. And besides, it might help him accept himself, if he needs that.

“You know what, Clark?” Lois says. “You need something to take your mind off shit like alien invasions.”

Clark grimaces. “I don’t know if anything can.”

“Yeah, it’s a toughie, but you’re a Metropolitan now,” Lois says, with more bravado than she feels. Some things you don’t get used to. But some of those things you have to at least pretend to get used to. “Get outside. Write your cat-up-a-tree article tomorrow. Do something completely out of the ordinary.” And then, as if she’s just thought of it, “Powtown Pride is going on today. Powtown’s a neighborhood. Pride’s something to write about. You could go there and see what you can see.”

“Powtown?” Clark says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s the metahuman neighborhood. That’s…a bit more interesting than where Rowlands usually sends me.”

Lois waves her hand. “Rita is seventy-eight and still thinks anything involving a metahuman is a front-pager. Perry can tell her otherwise when you bring back something nice.”

“Well,” Clark says, warming to the idea, “there are a lot of misconceptions about Powtown that ought to be worn away by a reliable source like the Planet. I mean—there probably are. I don’t know, personally. But if everything written about Powtown was true, no one could live there. It’d be a smoking crater in the ground.”

“So you see? Needs you,” Lois says. She smirks. “Be careful, though. They’ve got twinks down there that could rip you in half.”

“Says someone who just told me about personally shooting a Chirauga,” Clark says. “No, no, I know—you had it handled. Anyway. Yeah, I will go.” He looks towards the windows and sighs. “After all, it’s a beautiful day to be outside.”

Lois waves at him as he leaves, then glances towards the windows herself. It really is a beautiful June day, not too hot, vivid blue sky, puffy clouds slowly drifting by. Does Superman prefer days like this for flying? She wonders. Or would it not affect him at all? What would it be like to fly with Superman on a day like today—Lois sticks her tongue out in an exaggerated expression of disgust. She’s better than that! She has to be!

Anyway, she’s got something new to investigate. Before Clark interrupted, she was thinking of what things out in the world only Superman could be adequate protection from. Well, aside from horrible things from space, that leaves a very short list that prominently features a house of a certain color and a building of a certain shape. And the name—Operation Welcome Mat—it has a very particular ring to it.

But she’s still going to look into the rest of that short list. A direct assault isn’t the correct approach here, and besides, there might be connections, even if the person she’s going to call is officially blacklisted from government contracts.

She scrolls to the contact in her phone for “Louis L’Amour,” and reaches out to someone who definitely isn’t a dead writer of Westerns.

Notes: I’ve decided to have Superman’s code against killing be specifically about humans/earthlings because for one thing, I don’t have to answer to Standards and Practices, and for another, I don’t feel like having every alien army be robots (which with sufficiently advanced AI doesn’t help anyway), and what do you want me to do, have Superman knock all the aliens out? If they’re going down long enough to be essentially counted out of the fight, they’re getting life-threatening brain injuries anyway.

#superman #lois lane #fic #operation welcome mat #my knowledge of superman comes from the DCAU but this is kind of my own 'verse

39 notes · View notes