#joja corp

You barely got any work done today. Feeding the animals had taken nearly all your energy, and even that had been slow and clumsy, with more than a handful of breaks where you had to lean against a fence post and breathe through the throbbing ache. 

Thankfully, past-you had been smart enough to invest in a few sprinklers, so at least the crops wouldn’t all shrivel up in the time it took you to heal up a bit more. Still, the thought of the new season creeping closer makes your stomach twist.

There’s so much to harvest. Soil to hoe, seeds to buy and plant, animals to care for, foraging to do, things to mine, and repairs to finish that you couldn’t afford at the moment to ask Robin for– 

Oh, and you had to get the best quality crops you could by mid-fall. (2 years in, and you had yet to beat Pierre at the Town Fair)

Yoba, there is so much to do, and–

Pain flares up on your side, spreading into your ribs and shoulders. Your hand shoots up, pressing instinctively against the bandaging beneath your shirt. 

Right, and you can barely walk across your own fucking farm without wincing. Great. 

Of course, you just had to go into the mines. Your generous, helpful heart, seeing Abigal's request pinned on a board, decided to head into the mines on a whim-- only to get slimmed out by a slim.

Now, a thousand gold later, thanks to your even kinder, very expensive doctor friend, you’d actually lost money trying to do this favour, and you were not happy at all.

Recalling your shitty luck adds to the stinging of your eyes, exhaustion and frustration blurring together as the weight of everything still waiting for you settles heavily in your chest.

How the hell were you supposed to manage any of it like this?

Your laptop sits abandoned beside you, half-buried in blankets where you’d shoved it earlier while rewrapping your bandages. You stare at it for a long moment, mind foggy from medication, before reaching over and dragging it into your lap.

You don’t even remember opening the town’s new online request board in the first place. Mayor Lewis had been stupidly proud of it (which he got Sebastian to program and set up for him), some attempt to “modernize community engagement.”

Pfft, as if anyone besides you ever checked the thing--

A small, sharp spark of pettiness flares in your chest as your brain latches onto the injustice of your unrequited generosity.

Fuck it.

Let someone help you for once.

Before you can overthink it, you click into the request form, and your fingers fly over the keyboard as you begin to type.

HELP WANTED:

- Farmer’s assistant. - 5 month position. - 1,000g per month. - Live on farm + Meals included. - No resume needed, just pull up–

By the time you hit post, you’re not even sure what you included in half of it. Still… a strange flicker of satisfaction settles in your chest as your notice appears on the board.

Finally, on the other side of this stupid board.

You don’t bother rechecking the post as you smack your laptop shut with a groan. The pillows shift as you sink back into ur bed, barely managing to shove your laptop on your nightstand.

Your thoughts blur as the medication wins and pulls you to sleep, your worries for the weeks to come melting away just long enough for sleep to finally take you

By the time you wake, the post you made was completely wiped from your memory. 

Instead, every waking moment for the next week was full of pain, stress and anxiety as you tried to keep up with your life.

You somehow managed to keep up for the most part, though undoubtedly less than half the speed you used to before the injury and also most certainly pushing back your recovery time tenfold.

At the moment you’re in the kitchen, forcing yourself to make a cup of coffee for the extra kick needed to fight through the medication’s heavy drowsiness, when a knock sounds at the door, making you jolt.

You pause, who the hell could it be?, frowning you glance at the oven clock.

5:30 AM. 

It's early… really early. The only person in Pelican Town who was usually already awake at this time was you, given the amount of work you had to do each day, which meant you spent many mornings as the sole person conscious.

An immediate sense of unease washed over you as you realized your peaceful, quiet morning was lost to whoever was on the other side of the door.

Please don’t be Lewis, you think, already bracing yourself for some new “small favour” that definitely isn’t small.

With a quiet sigh, half resignation and irritation, you make your way to the door, expecting to look down at the mayor.

Instead of meeting the older man's eyes, all you see is red. 

A red shirt, to be specific, worn but clean stretched across a broad solid chest that very much does not belong to Mayor Lewis.

Your gaze lifts slowly, up past strong shoulders, the line of a few beauty marks over a nice neck, and finally to a face that steals the breath straight from your lungs.

Sharp features softened by the warm morning light. Scarred skin framed by dark hair with a tuff of white by his forehead, and blue-green eyes that could rival the colours you see when you walk by the river near your farm.

For a moment, all you can think is that this is probably the most handsome stranger you’ve ever seen in your life.

The second moment that passes has you questioning what type of medication Harvey has you on to be having your wet dreams this vividly–

Your mouth opens, and not a single sound comes out by the time you shut it.

The stranger tilts his head slightly, just enough to show he’s noticed. His gaze flicks over you with enough intensity that makes you aware of your rumpled clothes, your messy hair, and the faint hunch in your posture from favouring your uninjured side.

“Morning,” he says.

His voice is low and captivating, the impulsive part of your brain wants to tell him he would make a fortune doing those ASMR videos, and the more reasonable part of you finally realizes he and this exact moment were, in fact, not a dream.

You straighten despite the pain that shoots up your side, clearing your throat, mortified by how long you’ve been staring. “Uh... Morning.”

You don’t follow it with a ‘can I help you?’ or anything that would suggest you had more than 1 neuron in your brain. (In your defense though, it’s too early for this, and you hadn’t even taken a sip of your coffee thats definitely growing cold on your counter.)

Silence stretches between you, broken only by the distant sound of birds waking up and the quiet creak of the farmhouse settling. The house still smelling like the warm baked goods that Jodi had delivered to you last night that you left on the counter.

The man shifts his weight, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his brown jacket, like he’s trying very hard not to look intimidating. Which, unfortunately for him, is not working.

“I’m here about the post,” he says finally.

 “The… post?” you ask, stupidly your brows furrowing– and a small grin tugs at his lips in response, making your chest ache inaway that didn’t make you grimace in pain for once.

He nods once. “Yeah. Farm assistant?”

For half a heartbeat, your brain is blissfully empty as you stare up at him, nodding like you know exactly what he means.

But it doesn’t last long as everything crashes back in at once. The job post. The one you deep down never actually believed anyone would answer, most definitely not someone like him.

“Oh,” you manage. “Right. That post.”

You shift in place for a moment, unsure of what to do before deciding to smooth down your shirt, well aware that you are not giving off the more professional first impression.

“I didn’t think anyone would come,” you admit, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I mean– Pelican Town isn’t exactly overflowing with people looking for farm work. Especially not–” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at him. 

The man gives a half-shrug. “I needed a job,” he says simply. “You needed help.”

He then sticks out his hand, making you look down. You catch sight of a suitcase at his side, but you pry your eyes away back to his face as you shake his hand. “Jason”

Jason. That name suits him, you decide.

You repeat it as you instinctively respond to his gesture, taking his hand and sharing your name. His grip basically swallows yours whole, his skin calloused.

Hmmm, that’s a good sign, evidence that he’d gotten his get his hands dirty, and quite often.

You discreetly turn his hand in your grip, eyes travelling up the little skin you can see of his forearm. Visible veins disappearing under the cuff make you unconsiously bit at ur lower lip.

Strong, he seems strong, and above all else, more than capable. Your shoulders sag a little at that conclusion; you do need help afterall.

The farm has been limping along on sheer stubbornness, caffeine, and painkiller-drugged delusions for the better part of a week now, and he just had to be a gift from Yoba.

Releasing his hand, you step back from the doorway, beaming at him, “Just the attitude I’m looking for! Thank you for coming, Jason– please, come inside.”

You actually had no idea what you were looking for, but it’s too late to back out now, it seems. Your grandpa did say you hated to admit your mistakes, and well… he wasn't wrong. 

Jason steps over the threshold without another word, pulling along his suitcase, which he settles near the door. The floorboards creak softly under his weight, and you finally process how much taller he is compared to you.

Wow– you feel a small thrill of excitement. You were going to put him to work so hard, maybe starting with that one stubborn tree you hadn’t managed to chop down even before you were injured.   

You close the door behind him, wincing faintly at the movement before trying to pretend you didn’t. 

“Sorry about the mess,” you say automatically, even though the farmhouse isn’t actually messy. Tools by the door, a watering can you forgot to bring back outside, and seed packets scattered near the table where you’d been trying to plan the next season through a haze of pain meds and mild despair.

Jason’s gaze moves slowly around the room. His eyes pause briefly on your grandpa’s chair by the fireplace, then shift away with something unreadable flickering across his expression.

“It’s nice,” he says simply.

Warmth blooms in your chest at that. Nice, this attractive man thinks your house is nice. That was certainly a change of words from others you heard before. (cough Haliey cough) 

“Thank you! Please take a seat and– uh, coffee’s fresh,” you add, already moving toward the counter. “Or… fresh-ish. I made it before the knocking scared the shit out of me.”

Behind you, you hear the faintest huff of amusement paired with the sound of a chair pulling out. You pour a second mug, picking it up as you place it on the table and slide it toward him.

Up close, you get to take in his finer details. The scars you noticed before are clearer now. What caught your curiosity most was the scar on his face, almost in the shape of a J.  

He shifts his gaze a bit in response to your interest, side-eyeing you at where your attention snagged. Your breath hitches as you realize what you were doing, and your gaze immediately snaps away as you reach to grab your own mug. 

“Thanks,” he says plainly, fingers curling around the mug, making you grimace internally at how rude you’d just been. His scars were none of your business, and you were taught better than tomake people uncomfortable in your own home like that.

You lower yourself carefully into the chair across from him, biting back the small hiss of pain that threatens to escape when you move the wrong way.

You cradle the mug between your palms, letting the heat seep into your skin while you try to remember what exactly you even wrote in that post.

“So,” you say finally, wrapping your hands around your mug more for something to do with your hands. “I should probably explain what you’re getting into. Since I… didn’t exactly do that in the post.”

Jason gives you a nod, taking a sip of the coffee, giving you room to speak.

You take a breath, gathering your thoughts. “The farm’s a bit of everything. Crops, animals, and foraging. Some repairs here and there when things break, which they do. A lot. I usually handle the mines to, but that’s… obviously on pause.”

He nods, his brows lifting in what you assume is interest when you mention mining before furrowing as he leans in slightly to listen more intently. His focus makes you scramble to add some context to not scare him away.

"I got injured a week ago, completely my own fault, so don't worry! But uh, that's what made me put up the post in the first place." You gesture to your side as you keep talking.

“I’m not expecting miracles,” you add quickly, “Mostly I just need someone who can keep things running while I heal. Feed the animals. Help with harvests. Maybe chop some wood.”

You pause, then add, a little sheepish, “Especially someone who can chop wood. There’s also a tree out back that’s been mocking me for months.”

That earns you another soft chuckle as he lifts a hand to push his hair back, as he nods. “ I can do that. I’ve worked with my hands before,” he says. “Long hours, I’m good to stand one my feet and lifting things.”

“Ah–” You straighten interested, “farm work?” 

“Not exactly,” he replies, his fingers drumming across the table, drawing your gaze to them for a moment, missing how he scanned over your frame in the meanwhile. “But I learn fast.”

"That's great--" You nod in acnowlegdment noting it down mentally before lifting your cup to take a drink to give yourself time to think of your next question. “Hm, any experience with animals?”

“I’m fine with them.”

“Crops?”

“I can follow instructions.”

“Mining?” you ask, half-joking. “Because if you’re planning on getting slimed, I’d prefer you not do it on my watch.”

That actually makes him smile and lean back almost cockily in his seat as he picks up his mug again. “I’m a good fighter,” he says dryly and something about the way he says it makes you not doubt him. You nod along in response to his words, your own smile crossing your face. 

He’s perfect. And he’s very easy on the eyes, what more could a humble farmer want? 

“Alright!” you say, clasping your hands together gleefully. “You're a perfect fit, honestly. You’re hired!”

He pauses, mug halfway to his lips, and you swear you see his eyes narrow in almost suspicion. “Just like that?”

You shrug, waving a hand dismissively. “You showed up at 5:30 in the morning with a suitcase and a willingness to work. That’s more effort than most people put into anything.”

You end the sentence with a sigh, leaning forward to brace your forearms on the table, slouching into the position slightly with a bit of vulnerability. “And,” you add, “I really do need the help.”

Something shifts in his expression then, and some tension you didn’t notice until now releases from his shoulders.

He gives you a smile that dimples his cheek that you can't help but mirror. “I won’t let you down, Farmer.”

--------

Proposed idea:

6 parts [maybe]: each part will follow a heart event with the reader and Jason, where you learn more about him.

Jason has other motives to be at the farm besides just helping you out [Joja Corporation related].

Spoilers for the possible series here.

A/N: Ta-da! This idea is one I had for a while now, though only now came to fruition after I dragged myself out of midterms, burnout and writer's block.

 Ulrich's personality is a fascinating one. He feels as though he has a reputation to uphold, and will often shut down most, if not all critique coming toward him unless they are genuine. He often-times does not stand for attacks on his own character. Usually though, he’s the one giving critique to others, but it mostly comes off as insults rather than from a genuine place of concern due to how blunt he is. The way he phrases things tends to be derogatory in nature due to his lack of filter. He tends to get annoyed when people act offended, and genuinely doesn’t understand why they took his concern the way they did.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of feeling he has to constantly uphold a reputation, he is quite the perfectionist. It's difficult for him to accept his own mistakes without shutting down and having to distance himself from the situation awhile. To put it simply, he feels like he’s failed those around him through his errors. While he gives others the opportunity to correct their margin of error, he would never give himself that leeway. 

Due to Ulrich’s lack of social understanding, he tends to struggle at fraternizing with others and oftentimes misses obvious jokes or sarcasm within sentences. He is particularly bad at this when matched with tone through text, and will often find himself over-explaining something that didn’t need to be explained to begin with just to be met with “blah blah blah its a joke”. Though his lack of tonal understanding is better in person, he can still be found occasionally left confused and bewildered at interactions.  

Speaking of social scenarios with Ulrich, he is relatively introverted, and prefers brief interactions with strangers in person as to not burn himself out. He prefers interactions with little to no people around, and in general much prefers spaces with little to no activity. This is one of many reasons which his line of work involves remote involvement and virtual meetings on his end. While this issue does not present itself in online chatrooms, he still finds himself burnt out of interaction occasionally if he’s had to speak to those hes unfamiliarized with for too long. 

To those he’s come to know, however, he can be a rather clingy, overprotective individual who wishes for nothing more than to be there for the ones he’s come to love. His clingy nature comes from a place of fear, as he doesn’t want to go through losing someone else he’s come to grow close to. Though, he can be a bit overbearing at points. 

Other Likes:  

 - He highly enjoys programming, creating things from scratch through the languages he knows,  and being able to experience anything which was decently coded. He’s actually a total nerd for video games and especially for computer viruses. He loves being able to dissect things like that. 

He enjoys heavy metal music and EDM. His playlist can be a jumpscare for those entirely oblivious to his music tastes.

He enjoys hiking and exploring alone in his free-time. Its relaxing for him to be able to get out and exercise in any way he can. 

He’s a total dork for mythology and the study of all things surrounding mythological creatures. 

He gets overly hyper during the festival of the moonlight jellies 

He’d never actually admit it, but he really likes dancing, the art behind dancing, and is a decent dancer himself. 

Other Dislikes: 

He has a phobia of needles

He’s outright terrified of Krampus. His father told him ONE tale for bedtime and it forever sealed his fate. 

He dislikes overly loud and obnoxious individuals, finding them quick to drain him. 

He dislikes summer, finding himself overheating easily in the harsh sun

Despite being a Joja employee, he somewhat holds disdain for the way a majority of the branches are run. 

Geese. I don’t need to explain this one, I’m sure it’s justifiable.

Strengths:

One of Ulrich’s greatest strengths is how agile he is. Being relatively skilled on his feet, he is able to run away from most confrontations. Of course, he’d find that shameful, so instead he uses this agility of his to get to and from places at concerning speeds. He might have knee issues, but that doesn't mean he's not fast as fuck.

He's a total computer nerd. Got a tech problem? He’s probably your guy to help out. 

He’s a surprisingly good chef

He was also taught a decent amount of fishing by his father, making him decent at it. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

Weaknesses:

He’s ass at farming. Do not make this man do farmwork, you’ll regret it deeply. Please PLEASE don’t make this man do farm work.

He has the depth perception of a literal toddler. If he’s running somewhere, there’s a 50% chance he’ll slam into a pole on the way there.

As stated in his bio, he has difficulty in social situations. This can make bonding with others difficult, and causes him his fair share of conflict. Especially when he mistakes a joke as a snide remark and starts to comment about how it shouldn’t have been said and it spirals out of control.

He’s stubborn to a fault. He has a very stern set of morals which are hard to bend. Not only that, but his strict internal code causes him to react oddly to anything which bends it even slightly, causing even MORE conflict on his part. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

The warm spring rain surrounded Reshmi, as she stood outside the stark white building on the furthermost corner of town. She gripped her umbrella tightly. Not even the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting her umbrella could sooth her in this state. She’d manage to avoid shopping at the local JojaMart for two months now, but after her Grandfather’s old toaster died this morning, Reshmi knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You can do this, Resh. Just run in, grab the damn thing, and run out.

A cold blast of air greeted her as the automatic doors opened. Reshmi shielded her eyes from the harsh white light that lit up the store. Each JojaMart store was engineered in the exact same way, to get customers to spend as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. After fifty years of operating, JojaCorp had it down to an exact science. A science that Reshmi herself had helped push all across the country thorough her work with the legal team. The generic pop music that was playing in the background was interrupted by DJ Joja to let customers know that there was a limited time sale going on in aisle three. Reshmi watched as customers curiously wandered over, in an almost zombie like state, driven by the desire for a bargain. A shiver ran down her back. She swallowed the guilt she felt bubbling in her chest, and made her way to the appliance aisle.

The toaster was easy enough to find. While she hated to admit it, JojaMart really did have shockingly low prices. Driving to Grampleton and buying this same model at the local homewares store would have cost almost double if she counted the money needed for petrol. As soon as the farm did well enough, she was buying her new stove from a local retailer. She had to. With her new found resolve and guilt abated just a little, Reshmi made her way to the checkout queue. While waiting for the lone cashier to scan through the people in front of her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“I can help you with that if you like.” A short man with glasses, and neatly swept back black hair grinned at her. He wore a full three piece suit and an obnoxious red tie. Reshmi mentally rolled her eyes, this had to be the manager. She nodded and the man led her to the customer service desk and scanned through the toaster. Reshmi pulled out her card to pay, but the man just grinned wider. “You’re the new Farmer aren’t you?”

Great, he’s chatty. Reshmi nodded, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

“I knew it, you’ve been the talk of the town for a few weeks now.” He held his hand out. “Name’s Morris, I’m the manager of the first ever JojaMart in the Valley.” She grabbed his sweaty palm and he shook her hand vigorously. “It’s always great to get more people moving here, helps with the economy as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Reshmi made a noncommittal hum in return. “Morris, I appreciate you helping me out, but I would like to be on my way.”

“Of course, I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you. Let’s see here,” Morris rattled off the price and Reshmi tapped her card to pay. While he grabbed a bag for the toaster, she noticed the cork-board behind him. It was filled with news clippings and photos of JojaCorp achievements. One was about the latest mining project they had undertaken, another of the company revenue figures. All boastful corporate language, which was all too familiar. But it was the headline about the Joja Expansion project that really caught Reshmi’s attention. She felt a heavy lurch in the pit of her stomach. Shit. That was her project. Sure enough, underneath was a photo of the whole team, she and Owen right in front. He had her hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, with the both of them grinning for the camera. A wave of nausea threaten to overwhelm her. It was all so fake. So freaking fake. She had to get out of here.

“Done, and I’ve dropped a couple of coupons in there too. As a welcome gift.” Morris winked, he actually winked at her. She had to go.

The coupons were thrown in the trash as soon as she left, with the toaster almost along with it. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead she rushed home in the rain, this time without bothering with the umbrella. Relishing the feeling of the raindrops on her skin, forcing her to feel something other than numb. Her resolve grew stronger with every step, and she knew she wouldn’t be stepping into JojaMart ever again. Instead she grabbed her last packet of parsnip seeds, and head out to till the soil. She had more work to do.