#(( it’s dead today at work luckily but still being the only person on staff is weird!! ))

[theovergrowth]

(( sorry if I seem scattered today I’ve been very sick and am at work Alone today!! Full of allergy medicine and cold medicine and kombucha and weed ))

#(( it’s dead today at work luckily but still being the only person on staff is weird!! )) #(( imagine you work reception at a ski lodge and a guest tells you a toilet broke )) #(( so you radio for that one older man who’s been in charge of janitorial stuff for like 15 years )) #(( and instead a 5’6 20 something comes up with a coat that’s way too big and a huge walkie )) #(( and then you watch me sneeze and cough my way to the restroom to fix the men’s toilet )) #(( my brain feels like a static tv )) #pardon me i’m dancing for no reason! ( ooc. ) #tw drug mention

[thebowieconstricker]

Hello! I saw you wanted requests for Lucifer, and I would love any sort of angst where Lucifer ends up comforting the reader, like maybe something happened to the reader, or the reader is just really stressed and just breaks down

Ease My Mind

(Lucifer Morningstar x reader)

AN: To this request: yes yes yes yes YES I just KNOW that he gives the best hugs and is so ready to comfort the people he loves. For this fic, I decided the angst is a little of everything, job struggles, moral dilemmas, and some self-doubt, so I hope I delivered. This isn’t proofread so please alert me to any errors! Thank you for your request! <333

Summary: You have a bad day at work and it triggers a breakdown. Luckily, your big bad boyfriend is here to help.

Tags: Gender neutral reader, could be read as platonic if you reeeeally squint but it’s implied romantic, heavy on the angst, a dash of fluff, Lucifer is trying his best, you guys are precious.

Warnings: Reader is afraid they’re being used by the people around them and they have lots of thoughts about being useless and others not liking them.

Also, the title is inspired by the song “Ease My Mind” by Ben Platt, go listen to it! Enjoy ya heathens!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been used by others for your entire life.

And now you were stuck in that same cycle in death.

As a young, naive, alive-person, you were desperate for some one to love you. Growing up in an environment where compassion was scare, you decided that the only way to get people to notice you was by offering to help them in some way. A favor, a ride, somewhere to crash, and, for one specific person, a place to hide the bodies. In life, you had gotten so deep into your desire to please others that you had latched onto the first person to give you the time of day. Unfortunately for you, that individual happened to have a thing for serial killing.

Looking back on it now as you miserably walked back to the hotel, tears threatening to fall down your face, you couldn’t think about anything other than how stupid and useless you were. It was your fault that they were found out, your fault that the innocents were dead in the first place, your fault you were stuck in hell and that fucker was still out there.

How much time had passed on Earth? How many more had they killed?

On most days, you could compartmentalize, putting the bad thoughts in a little box and shoving it in the back of your brain, but work had broken you today. You worked for the Vees, specifically Velvette, and it was no secret how they overworked and abused their staff. You were stuck picking up Velvette’s leftover energy drinks for as long as she had control of your soul.

And yet. You thought maybe someday, someday you might make a connection. You might impress her, or surprise her, or something, and maybe she would give you a break.

But no. Today you had been an hour late for the first time and Velvette had screeched at you, calling out all of your flaws and insecurities and bringing all of the horrible memories that you had oh-so-carefully stowed away to light. But you held back tears and did your fucking job, the emotions boiling all day and the hectic office space doing nothing to calm it.

You had needed this cry for a long time, and now there was no stopping it.

Walking along the brimstone pathways, you finally made your way to the rickety Hazbin Hotel. Its incomprehensible height only worsened your now growing headache as you walked up to the doors, grabbing the handles and swinging the heavy iron frame and red-stained glass open.

You immediately started towards your room, but you were blocked by the obnoxiously cheery Princess of Hell herself, Charlie.

Charlie’s not obnoxious, you’re so vile for thinking that.

Shit, the thoughts were getting worse and you could not do this right now.

Charlie, oblivious to your mood, smiled brightly. “There you are! How was work? I’ve got someone here who’s been waiting-“

You shoved past her, bumping her harshly.

“Not in the mood.”

Charlie frowned in confusion behind you.

“But, wait, hey-“ You ignored her pleas and- ah shit, now Angel’s in front of you.

“Hey, babe, you might wanna hang around for a sec-“

You shut your eyes tightly and moved your hands towards his chest, your fight or flight kicking in as you pushed him.

“ANGEL, leave me alone.”

Why would you yell at Angel like that? He’s just being nice.

Shut up shut up SHUT UP

Everything was only getting worse. You bolted to the grand staircase and raced up the steps. As you sped down the seemingly infinite hallways, the tears you had been fighting back for the last millennia finally fell. With a choked sob, you finally spotted your bedroom and lurched for the doorknob, swinging the door open and slamming it behind you as you bursted into your room. You ran to your bed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly as you loudly cried.

Charlie only keeps you here because she needs the guests, you know. She hates you. They all hate you. They wish you weren’t here. You’re just lying there, crying, why would they want you?

The hateful thoughts were all you could hear in your mind. As you pulled your knees to your arms holding your pillow, you wanted nothing more than to disappear. To just pop out of existence and finally be free of the burden of yourself.

Then, suddenly, three knocks at the door.

“GO AWAY.” You screamed, throat on fire from your sobbing.

A voice came from outside. A smooth, relaxed, kind male voice.

“It’s me, hon.”

You froze, terrified. Quickly you climbed to the floor on the left side of your bed, blocking your body from the view of the door. You took several deep breaths, trying to steady your nerves.

“Come in.” You said shakily.

You heard the door creek open, then footsteps.

“Where ya hiding these days?” He awkwardly chuckled, clearly trying to lighten up the mood you were in.

“Just- stay over there.” You were still holding your pillow, and you gave it an extra squeeze.

“I’m a mess right now.” You sniffled.

He paused, like he was thinking. “Well, if that’s what you want, but I hope you know by now that I’m always happy to see you. Even when you’re a mess.”

You felt the bed shift. He was sitting on the opposite side.

Like a child looking for a secret, you turned around to look at the back of his head. His hat was gone, probably left downstairs, and all you saw was his sweep of blond hair.

He made a ‘hm’ sound. “Bad day?”

You nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see you. “Y-yeah.”

You watched him nod. “I’m sorry about that.” He fiddled with his cane, his hands tightening and loosening around it. “Would you… like to talk about it?”

You paused.

Lucifer had been a confidant of yours since you first arrived in Hell. He was the one to tell you what was going on right after you died, calming you down and offering you a place to stay. Sure, you didn’t know that he was literally the Devil, but everything about him made you feel at peace. Like you could deal with the hand you were dealt.

Secretly, though, you were waiting.

Waiting for the moment when he would reveal that he only kept you around because he needed you to do something for him.

No one was that kind, or caring, or wonderful.

He wants something from you. Why else would he keep coming back?

You had yet to answer his question. Lucifer sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”

The voices were still wringing in your head, you were still crying, and you felt pathetic.

“I- I don’t- fuck, would you please stop acting like you care?” You knew your words were harsh but they were begging to be said.

His posture straightened in surprise.

“I do care! What makes you think I don’t care?” He sounded hurt.

Nice going, you hurt his feelings.

You bent forward, hands covering your face in frustration. A fresh wave of tears rises through your body and you loudly cried out, too scared and angry and sad to hide it anymore.

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay, hon.” Lucifer’s voice was nearing your form on the ground, and he was quickly at your side. You could feel his presence beside you.

He sighed in exhaustion. “Listen, I’m not- I’m not the greatest at this, but I’m gonna ask so I don’t upset you. Do you want a hug? Or a hand on your shoulder-“

Your arms were wrapped around him before he could finish his question, clinging to his waist and biting your face in his neck.

“WOAH there- well hey, sweetheart, there you are.” You could hear him smiling as he gently brought his hand to rub your back.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ve just had a shitty day at work and I’m worried about a lot of things and- I don’t want to take it out on you.” You were shaking, but he held you steadily.

“What kinda things are worrying you?” He asked.

And so you told him. In the comfort of his embrace you were able to somewhat coherently explain all the things that had been freaking you out. Velvette’s torture at work, your own moral dilemmas about your life on Earth, and you were just getting into your feelings about others using you when you felt Lucifer’s breath hitch.

He leaned away from you to look you in the eyes and gently put a finger to your chin.

“Honey, I want you to know that I know for a fact that the people here really care about you. Not because you’re an extra pair of hands, but because you’re you. You’re wonderful to be around. People like you.”

He looked at you with a warm smile and leaned towards you, giving you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I like you. I care about you because you’re worth caring about.”

You stared at him in awe, your mind finally at ease after such a chaotic day. Smiling, you leaned back into him to rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Luci.” You reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in an effort to show him how grateful you truly were for his words of assurance.

He tightened his fingers around yours and grinned down at you.

“Always, love. Now, let’s get you on the bed, okay?”

You nodded and he gracefully picked you up, gently placing you on the bed. With a snap, you were in comfortable clothing with a warm blanket around you and plenty of soft pillows.

“You want me to hang out for a bit?” He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, clearly sleepy.

“If you don’t have anything else going on…” You offered, already half dozing off.

“Even if I did, I would love nothing more.” With an affectionate grin he curled up beside you, and you immediately went to lay your head back on his chest. As you drifted away, listening to the King of Hell’s heartbeat, you took a deep breath.

He was right. Things were gonna be okay.

You had friends.

You were loved.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer Morningstar my beloved

[thomasschabot]

saw you in a dream

quinn hughes x non-binary!oc (she/they pronouns)

they were simply a figment of quinn’s imagination, until she wasn’t

word count: 3.3k

warnings: vivid dreams, cursing, not soulmates!au but kinda soulmates!au without being weird

a/n: hi @puckmaidens!!! it’s me, your fic exchange partner. really hope you enjoy this little ditty 🤍 original idea didn’t go as planned but i’m crossing my fingers this will suffice. a very large thanks goes out to @wyattjohnston​ for creating and managing yet another super successful fic exchange AND for letting me borrow daisy for a fun little moment!!! hats off to you dem. @matthewtkachuk​ gets a big shout out for proofing this love u babe (also as a reminder non-binary people don’t owe anyone androgyny! or anything for that matter. all my little enby babies you’re perfect as is 🥰)

⭑⭒⭑

They were laughing the first time Quinn saw them. 

It was the head tilted back, mouth agape kind of laugh, and it was the most beautiful thing the man had ever seen. Quinn couldn’t tell if any sound was coming from the prettily parted lips, but he also didn’t care. Just watching them was good enough, and if given the opportunity he’d do it for the rest of his life. Fate isn’t that kind, however, so Quinn resigns himself to the idea that this perfect person will have to reside in his memory. There was a split moment where kind eyes met his own guarded ones, and Quinn felt the world stop spinning for a millisecond. Every single feeling, look, thought, was heightened when they smiled and raised their glass in a silent toast, prompting him to follow the lead with a tentative look on his face. A split second later they were gone, pulled onto the dancefloor with friends to enjoy the long night ahead. Once sure they weren’t coming back, and didn't want to actually say hello in the way he so desperately wanted, Quinn closed out his tab with a sigh of defeat and exited the club, kicking himself the entire way home for not having any courage.

⭑⭒⭑

An alarm startles Quinn awake. It’s Sunday, supposedly a rare day of rest for the team, but he needs to put some time into the gym and bulk up ten pounds as fast as possible. The Canucks have been playing well enough, but the team is still below five hundred and has a tough second half of the season ahead. Quinn could stand to be more of a physical force to be reckoned with. He’s so focussed on the goals to complete during the day that it takes several moments to realize there had been no mysterious yet beautiful person at a nightclub last night. In fact, there hadn’t been a club at all — just his cold sheets and the same sadness that’s permeated Quinn’s house for years. 

The realization knocks all the air from his lungs. Quinn could swear up and down that he had seen them with his own two eyes, and tasted the whisky they’d sipped while maintaining eye contact. It was all such a vivid image that he has a hard time reconciling the knowledge it was all fake with how he woke up feeling. It was real to him. Brock would undoubtedly shake his head and rattle off a few statistics about the probability of meeting those found in one’s dreams, ever the pessimist about love and fate, but luckily he isn’t there as Quinn moves sluggishly about, trying desperately to remember everything about the person with kind eyes and the brightest smile he’s ever encountered. 

Quinn doesn’t even get both feet onto the turfed outer surface of the gym before a trainer finds him. “Hughes,” he says, syllables tense and over-punctuated in a way they appear only when ownership gets antsy about poor results. “I need you working today until it feels like you’re about to drop dead.”

“You got it,” Quinn sighs, feeling guilty for contributing to the man’s stress simply because he can’t maintain his weight. Being a franchise player at such a young age, Quinn feels pressure to make things as easy on the staff as possible.

Teammates are scattered about the levels of the facility, each working on their own weaknesses — it’s becoming more apparent to Quinn that no one in the Canucks organization understands the term rest day. Nils is hunched over on the floor doing an intricate warm up stretch routine, clearly in the same boat as him, and it makes Quinn feel a bit better. He doesn’t look up, just raises a hand in silent greeting, and the other man chuckles before pushing back the slight waves he hadn’t bothered to tame in the bathroom mirror and getting to work. 

Time flies by at a record pace, and an hour and half later Quinn has put in one of the most intense workouts of his professional career. It seems stupid to leave when so many of his teammates are still working, so he finishes a cool down and wordlessly stands behind Nils to spot. Neither of them acknowledge the favour Quinn is doing him, but it doesn’t matter. Just knowing he’s done something to make someone’s life easier is enough. Despite the intentions of making the work easier, Quinn lags behind, taking a few too many breaks to think about the person from his dream and how much he’d like to kiss them, to cherish them.

Always a fast dresser, he waits until his friend is heading down the stairs from the change room to tug the long discarded backpack over his shoulders and lowers the baseball cap onto his head. Quinn holds the door and emits quiet laughter as Nils recounts a recent failed attempt at romance. 

“You were a little spacey today, everything okay?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a prompt to spill his thoughts, and Quinn knows it. Nils Höglander may be a lot of things, including a dear friend, but subtle is not one of them. A breath filters through his nose and fills Quinn’s lungs with air that both calms and accelerates his heart rate. “It’s nothing. Just a dream I’m having a hard time shaking.”

“Was she cute?” This time it’s a leading question, one Nils has a sinking suspicion his friend will answer despite not really wanting to.

“Focus on your own love life first,” Quinn grumbles, picking at a thread on the hem of his sweater. A pause, then, “They were extremely cute.”

Nils quirks his eyebrow. Blushing slightly, Quinn continues. “I don’t know their pronouns, so I don’t want to assume anything. Plus, it’s not like they’re even real.”

“Always the gentleman, Quinner.”

The pair of men separate in the parking lot, walking to their respective vehicles with chants of genuine happiness at seeing each other in less than twenty-four hours. Nils swears up and down he won’t tell anyone else about the fascination with the dream person, but Quinn knows it’s bullshit. His friend has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and the Canucks are like a tight knit family. Everyone will always know each other’s business.

⭒⭑⭒

They shouldn’t be there. 

The last time Quinn saw them, they had been in a dive in Vancouver, but now they’re  standing in line at a farmer’s market thirty-five miles outside Pittsburgh. Logically, Quinn understands that it was a dream, that the two of them could be transported anywhere occupying space in his brain, but this place specifically is sacred. It’s his safe space, discovered once on a solo road trip home from Michigan, has never appeared in dreams before, and Quinn wasn’t sure what to do about the intrusion. Their presence wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, just foreign. In fact Quinn was quite sure he’d like the person to be in every dreamscape if it meant he got to experience them over and over again.

A dainty red ribbon held their hair into its makeshift ponytail, but the locks threatened to spill out at any moment. They looked absolutely ethereal, denim overshirt blowing in the wind and legs encased by a pair of practical hiking sandals. Everything about them was easy and carefree — Quinn knew he had to experience the sunshine they cast at least once. A tote bag dangled from their forearm, encasing a plethora of apples that was undoubtedly too many for one person to eat alone. There was no one in line behind them, so without thinking Quinn grabbed the nearest item of produce and made sure to stand at a respectable but still close distance. Their hair smelled faintly of lemon and basil, and it took a godly amount of strength for Quinn to pull away once he caught a whiff. At the very last second the magical human with the red ribbon turned their head and caught the hockey player in the act. 

If they had been put off by Quinn’s interest in learning intimately what shampoo combination made the smell, they never mentioned it. “Aren't those the best this time of year?” they asked with a whimsical lilt. Damnit, even their voice felt like it wasn’t made for this world, but a mythical plane above it.

“Uh —” Quinn sputtered, unsure of what he was holding. A glance down proves he’d chosen to buy strawberries, the only fruit he was allergic to. “I wouldn’t know. Just stopping by on the way back home. I was out this way on business.”

“Well then, you picked the right time to visit. Late summer brings the best yield of strawberries, in my unprofessional opinion.” Their smile could have rivaled the sun at high noon, it was that bright and blinding, and Quinn was absolutely enamored. Before he could respond, however, the line lurched forward and the market attendant called the other person forward. “Enjoy them,” they said sincerely, and Quinn offered a thumbs up in response. 

With their back to the brunette and preoccupied with a conversation about the weather, Quinn knew he wouldn’t have gotten caught for leaving without the strawberries. Carefully he put them back on the table and walked in the opposite direction. At least this time he had been able to start a conversation. 

⭑⭒⭑

The hissing of air brakes jostles Quinn awake, and he opens his eyes to see the back entrance of the arena. Bus rides from hotels to rinks are incredibly short, but somehow the man managed to get a few moments of unconsciousness. Just enough to dream about the mystery person and wake with more questions that will forever go unanswered. Who are they? Why do they keep appearing in his dreams? Does repetition in dreams really mean anything? Quinn will have to remember to send a text to Jack’s girlfriend Daisy, since she knows about those sorts of things. 

Teammates shuffle off the bus in front of him, and Quinn quickly follows them, hoping not to seem too out of sorts even though his mind is swimming. Andi, one of the team’s photographers, is standing between the bus and the entrance to the rink, snapping away and making silly faces to make some other guys laugh, knowing that those sorts of candids bring more engagement for the team. 

“A-dog,” Quinn chirps, trying to seem chipper. “No pics of me today, please? After work beers on me if you say yes.”

Andi tilts her head in confusion but doesn’t probe. “You got it, boss. I want the best Guiness your expensive contract can buy.”

“Anything for you. I owe you big time. Thanks!”

Quinn quickly embraces the photographer and darts inside the building, knowing that not everyone will be as understanding as Andi. Normally he’s game to play the role of the Canucks’s social media darling, but tonight Quinn has enough to worry about without being followed around and scrutinized. 

Each professional hockey player has a different pre-game warmup routine, despite the game being a team sport. He’s always been one to do his own thing, only rarely joining in the games of two-touch, so no one blinks an eye at Quinn heading in the opposite direction of most of the guys. Nils gives him a quizzical look, mischievous glint in his eye, but before he can ask any questions Quinn turns the corner and takes the first flight of stairs he sees. 

Before he can think too much about the teasing that will inevitably come from the New Jersey contingent of the Hughes family, Quinn pulls out his phone and sends the text to Daisy. 

Not even going to bother to tell you to keep this a secret because you suck! I’ve had an unknown person appear in some dreams lately, and since you’re into all that manifestation shit I thought I’d ask if it means anything. Also, tell Jack and Luke I hope they lose tonight. 

The device slips into the pocket of his shorts and settles into a position that hopefully won’t allow it to fall out during his jog around the depths of the arena. Quinn doesn’t like to run with headphones, instead choosing to focus on his breathing. It’s an odd quirk, he knows, but relentless teasing from teammates has never stopped him before. He likes the ritual and knows it will probably continue long after he retires from playing professionally. 

Quinn rounds the corner, braces himself for a high sprint, and runs directly into someone instead of meeting a clear hallway. He isn’t the speediest on the team by far, but Quinn is fit enough that even his entry into a sprint could knock over an unsuspecting person, whom this clearly was. They fall to the ground, the momentum of an adult’s body weight and shock making it a hard one. In order to prevent more injury by landing on top of them, Quinn propels himself forward and turns mid-air in a quasi-front flip that he’s sure looked just as stupid as it felt.

“What the fuck, man?”

The voice, even in anger and resentment, is warm and welcoming. Quinn thinks the person has never been cold-hearted, not like him, and it befuddles him until he looks to see who his unsuspecting victim was. 

It’s them.

From the dreams. 

Standing right in front of him, looking for an explanation as to why they were knocked onto the ground with the ferocity of a barely-legal bodycheck. “Uh, sorry, didn’t see you there,” Quinn sputters, utterly failing to suppress his astonishment. 

A dry laugh, verging between a chuckle and a cackle, spills from their lips. “No shit. Help me up?”

Quinn wastes no time extending an arm and hauling them off the floor. He notices a lanyard sporting an official arena badge. ‘Logan Haynes (she/they), Public Relations’ is written in neat serif script, along with a picture of her wearing a bright smile. Trying to not be obvious, he gives her a once over, telling himself it’s just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating but really it’s because Quinn wants to get a better look. He isn’t as sly as he hoped because her voice once again comes into focus. 

“Do you have a habit of injuring arena staff and then checking them out, Hughes?” Logan asks, cocking their head just enough to let Quinn know the comment is mostly in jest. 

He isn’t surprised they know his name, especially if they work in sports. Still, he stammers an answer nervously. “Actually, no. This is my first time.”

“So you were checking me out?”

“I plead the fifth.”

This time a real laugh tumbles out, a hearty one with warmth of a sun-kissed afternoon and Quinn decides in that moment he will do whatever he can to hear that sound for the rest of his life. Neither of them make a move to go their separate ways, nor do they speak. Time stands still, but not in the awkward way that Quinn is accustomed to. It’s all-consuming, how sanguine the moment feels, how things almost audibly clicked into place when he saw Logan. Never one to believe in fairy-tales or the mushy feelings Jack and Daisy describe, Quinn finally gets it. 

“Uh, this is really weird, and I swear I don’t normally do this,” he begins, “But can I get your number?”

Logan smiles, almost devilishly, and Quinn is scared for a moment. “So I can send you the bill for my physical therapy? I think I might have seriously pulled a muscle.”

“Whatever you want.” The grin on Quinn’s cheeks makes them ache but he doesn’t care. He extends his open phone and they enter a sequence of digits Quinn decides to commit to memory. With nothing else to do the pair return to their original paths, and Quinn can only hope they want to see him again.

⭒⭑⭒

The game and subsequent activities pass by in a blur. Quinn was attentive, always on the puck and converting turnovers into scoring opportunities, but Logan was the only thing on his mind. The chances of her being real, of being in the same vicinity as him and getting the chance to meet is too serendipitous even for him. He gets knocked around more than usual due to his wandering mind, leading to some questioning looks from teammates and staff members. As soon as he can, Quinn is looking through the arena to find Logan, let them know he wants more than to pay for potential recovery from the injury that he caused, but he can’t find her. 

Dejected, he goes back to the bus. Quinn is a quick undresser and prefers to unwind at home or the hotel, so despite his detour he isn’t the last one on the bus. The win doesn’t matter much to him, too in his own head about Logan to care, so Quinn chooses to decline any and all invitations to celebrate with his teammates. He just wants to have a second shower and debate whether or not to text her. 

A gentle buzz comes from the inside of Quinn’s suit jacket, and he pulls out his phone with suspicious speed. The guys around him pay no attention, engrossed in their own phones or suspecting Quinn of hitting up someone on his roster like so many others were doing. He hopes it’s Logan, but then realizes that would be impossible seeing as the exchange was strictly one sided. It’s Daisy, finally answering his message from hours earlier. 

Nice to hear from you, Quinny! So glad you only reach out when you want my extra-special opinion on ur love life. Could mean nothing, or could mean you’re bound to meet the mystery person soon. Devs won 6-2, suck it. See you next week!!

Quinn thinks that if Daisy knew the events that transpired tonight she’d call it fate, especially given her text, so in order to keep his brothers from finding out and using the situation as teasing material he doesn’t respond. Instead, he opens the contacts app and scrolls until he finds the number he’s looking for. 

Still at the back of the bus, his fingers shake as Quinn types out a message.

Hi. It’s Quinn. Hughes. Ready to pay for all of your up front and continuing medical costs.

He hits send, then continues typing. 

I’m extremely sorry for earlier tonight, and just realized I never actually apologized. That wasn’t cool of me. I hope you’re okay. 

Before he can overthink it even more, Quinn keeps going. 

This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous and insane, but I swear I’ve seen you in a bunch of my dreams lately. Crazy, isn’t it?

Not wanting to sit and wait around for his potential embarrassment at his own hands, Quinn closes his eyes. However, he’s hyper aware of the rectangle in his pocket that feels more like a brick than anything. Sleep does not overcome him, just anxious thoughts, and he thinks he might explode if Logan doesn’t respond. No one will ever know except him, but the crushing weight of rejection and dismissal will sting for a long time. Quinn has never been one to put himself out in public this way, and if it blows up in his face on the first try he isn’t sure he’ll have the confidence to try again. 

One single vibration hits right below his breastbone. It takes Quinn a moment to realize it isn’t his rapidly beating heart, but instead his dreaded cell phone. A message appears on the lockscreen under the heading he’s been yearning for. When he opens it, Quinn sees four words that might just change his life forever. 

I’ve seen you too. 

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

#quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes fic #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #cwrites

[neblina-magico]

Chapter 2

Sleeping In The Sun

You were desperate for a job so you applied to be the daycare Attendants handler! you have no clue what you're signing yourself into but at least you don't have to pay rent now!

Moon hates you, Sun doesn't know how to feel about you and you're just trying to survive.

——————————————————————————

Grabbing my car key and grabbing the security card. Picking up my duffle bag and suitcase I’m now ready to start my job, kind of. I still gotta settle in and all that shit but from the schedule i got sent, today i'll be getting a quick little introduction while being led to the living space. After that I was told that I'm free to walk around and get familiar with the pizza plex. I'll probably explore the daycare though since I'll be working there.

I shuffle my playlist and start driving, seeing the quietness of the outskirts to the slight louder and busier environment of downtown. Then finally i see it, my one true love, my everything, my light, its the fucking pizzaplex. I find a parking spot in some sort of dark edge of the parking lot where its next to the building and covered by some branches and overall seems like a dark corner where you think you'll find a dead rat. Luckily i didn't find a dead rat, if i did i would be crying on the floor with a dead rat in front of me. I dont like seeing bead animals they make me so fucking sad that ill puke. Speaking of piukeing why are the doors to the pizzaplex so fucking big, its gigantic, a whole elephant can fit throught these doors.

Walking past the humungus doors I'm greeted by the eye sore of colours the place has to offer. Ever wanted to remind yourself of all the colours possible, well this place is the place for you. Looking around I see a little robot thing making its way over to me, it's got a cute little pink bow and everything.

“Hello, I'll be your escort and guide for today!”

Cute, like really cute. This robot had the voice of a cheerful and bubbly person, its pretty comforting not gonna lie. I smile and wave at the little robot.

“My name is Daisy! I'm an accessibility assistant, I'm assigned for audio descriptive tours when a kid needs them, but today I'll be guiding you to your new home! Just follow me over to the right of the escalators!”

I follow behind Daisy, she holds a resemblance to the staff bots that lurk around but her cute little pink bow helps differ her from the others. A simple design for an important job, beautiful. Daisy leads me to an area right from the escalators. It's pretty reserved and hidden and very much in the dark.

“This area is pretty secluded? It also feel very omunis.'' I say walking up to a red door that has some sort of weird looking lock on it. It doesn't have any way of putting in a code or even a keyhole, all it has is a small screen and a handle. That's it, a screen, and a silver handle.

“This is your living space! You just have to use your security card to enter inside! I was told that you'll have to go through another door to officially enter your new home and lucky you, you're the only person who has access to it. Meaning i can't go in with you and show you around your home but i'm sure you're smart enough to do that yourself. Well before i leave i'll tell you something that i have been instructed to inform you about, inside your living corders there is an elevator, that elevator will allow you access to the daycare and to the lower grounds, specifically the area near Parts and Services. Welcome back to Fazbear Entertainment and have a faztastic day!”

And off she goes, wheeling her way away. I just looked at her moving away and once she was out of sight she was out of mind. Turning back to facing that eye straining red door, why the fuck is it so bright, i wonder if i could repaint it at somepoint. Maybe to a grey or some sort of green, kind of like that go-away green in disney parks.

Crazy. I put my suitcase and duffle bag down and reached into my back pocket pulling out my security card. I tried swiping my card on the top of the screen, but that doesn’t work. Next I try slapping the card on the screen, that shit doesn’t work. Maybe if I pretend to use the force the stupid door will open. How the fuck do I open this door, why the fuck does there have to be many ways to open the door. Tough love won’t work so maybe some soft love will work.

Tapping the security card on the screen, the door automatically opens. It was an easy and a solution I probably should have figured out with the power of common sense but me being me was too stubborn and dumb to use my brain power and properly open the door. I pick up my duffel bag and grab my suitcase dragging it along with me as I enter the small room. The door closes behind me and I’m greeted by a dark red room with a single ceiling light that was enough to light up the whole room.

There is a long brown couch, it’s a little soft to the touch and on one side there’s a bright blue crescent moon pillow and on the other side sits a bright yellow sun pillow. Right away the centre is a light grey star pillow that honestly looks really huggable at this very moment. Looking around some more I notice a counter top that has a black mini fridge and multiple baskets filled with all sorts of snacks and a coffee maker. There was also a sort of gift basket that has my name on it, looking inside I see that it has a bottle of blueberry wine? That’s something interesting, I mean I’m sure it’ll taste hella good but I’ve never seen blueberry wine, also who the hell even made this thing now that I think about it. When did they have the time to even build all this? Who put those chocolate oranges inside the basket?

I sigh, like obnoxiously sighed, all these questions will probably never get answered no matter how much I wish it all would. On the note with my name on it it says “Welcome back to Fazbear Entertainment!” Peachy. I look at the other eye bleeding red door.

“I guess this is the entrance into my living place. Through the red fucking door i go, maybe ill end up in fucking narnia or some shit”

I let go of my suitcase to open the door, I switched the duffle bag to my right hand and reached for the suitcase before letting the door close behind me. I settle my stuff next to the coat hanger that's conveniently placed right next to the door. Slipping my shoes off and I look around the place. It's much larger than my old apartment, the left side was a living room, pretty plain and empty aside from another couch, a brown coffee table, a TV on of course a tv stand, and two huge ass bookshelves. Fucking perfect, now i got two big ass bookshelves to fit all my books in.

To my left is the ketchen, it's fully furnished which is pretty great. From the first look I notice how the whole place is quite literally sun, moon, and stars theme. It’s pretty neat not gonna lie, I love space and all that shit. Next to the kitchen is a door to what I’ll assume is the office since the door is labeled as “Office”. I pick up my stuff and walk into what I assume is my room, it’s hella big. The bed in here is HUGE. It's a big round circular bed, like who did they expect to sleep on that thing, three huge ass people? Again everything is celestial themed, the whole bed, the rug that’s on the floor, the night stand, the lamp, and the closet. There’s also all my moving boxes in here along with more big bookshelves and a really nice looking vanity.

I notice another door and all I’m going to assume is that the door leads to the bathroom, but I’m too tired to keep exploring instead I want to leave this place and explore the daycare! Dropping my duffel bag on my bed and leaving my suitcase in the room I leave. Noticing the elevator between the bedroom and the office and ran to get my shoes and put them on and run back to the elevator.

“Time to get familiar with Superstar Daycare.”

I whisper to myself before entering the elevator.

——————————————————————————

Last chapter, Chapter 3 will be out in 2-3 weeks. I’ll post some concept drawing for the Daycare Attendant Uniform!!

#fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf security breach #sundrop/moondrop x reader #sundrop #moondrop #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendent #angst #x reader #no use of y/n #gender neutral reader

[blackmissfrizzle]

I'll Take Your Man(s)- 9

Part 8

Series Masterlist

Characters: EZ Reyes x black!reader, Miguel Galindo x black!reader

Summary: No one lives forever

Warnings: Death of a loved one, hospitals, just major sad vibes.

A/N: Its finally here! I wanted to wait til I finished the whole series, but I decided I should give y'all something. Hopefully I'll finish the series soon enough.

Life was finally getting together. EZ was a great boyfriend, the sex was even better, your job was the best you ever had, you were back in school, and your dad was making some positive progress. Even things with Miguel were good. You realized how much he needed a friend that he wasn’t paying.

The only complaint you had was that EZ was distracted by something. Him and Angel were going through stuff. It wasn’t club shit or Adelita. Whatever it was, it was something with why they weren’t talking to each other a few months ago. Maybe you could get it out of EZ at lunch today. As you gathered your things to meet him, Frankie met you at your desk.

“Ugh,” you dropped your purse. “Which Reyes I gotta bail out now?” Since their little reconciliation, the Reyes brother bonding time consisted of getting in trouble or arrested together.

“Uh YNN,” Frankie took a deep breath. “It’s not EZ, Angel, or anyone from the club for that matter.”

The tone in his voice told you all you needed to know. “No.” Luckily your desk was right behind you to prevent you from falling.

“He’s at the hospital, right now. He still has time. I’m here to escort you.”

You shot a quick text to EZ, saying you had to cancel due to an important case. He had other shit to deal with and you didn’t want him distracted while doing club business.

Every criticism possible ran through your brain as you rushed through the hospital. This morning he did look a little pale. You should’ve stayed home instead of being occupied with work.

“You’re Ms. YLN?” A young black man in a white coat approached you when he saw you push through the double doors.

Thank God you didn’t have to search for any medical personnel. You’ve been through this before and they barely spared you a glance.

“Yes.” You caught your breath and tried to assess his face. Even in this short amount of time, you were too impatient to wait for the news. “Are you my father’s doctor?”

“Yes ma’am.” Dr. Andrews escorted you to a more private waiting room. It was reserved for the hospital more important clientele. You were a girlfriend to a Mayan but more importantly you were a friend to Miguel Galindo. You would be treated like royalty in order to avoid the wrath of Galindo.

Your anxiety was at an all-time high. You were biting your lip and fidgeting with your hands as you threw rapid fire questions at the man.

“He’s strong Ms. YLN. Most wouldn’t have held on this long after that type of episode. It’s a testam-,”

You didn’t need him to make you feel better, you needed the truth. “How long does he have?” You cut off Dr. Andrews.

He bowed his head and sighed. “At most, til the end of the night.”

“Thank you.” Tears were near but you kept it together. “Can I see him?”

Dr. Andrews led you to the room and reminded you to call him or any of the staff if you needed help.

Quietly you entered the room, but your dad still heard you. His head was already turned in your direction.

“Hey handsome.”

He coughed and shook his head. “Don’t you know it’s not good to lie to the dead?”

“Good thing you’re not dead.” You kissed his forehead and sat in the chair next to his bed.

“Yet.” A laugh that was meant to soothe caused more alarm when it turned into what seemed like a never-ending cough.

You tried to mask your grief with a snarky remark. “Seems like God didn’t like your joke.”

“Too bad. He’s gonna get a up close and personal performance very soon.”

Your dad continued to ignore your disapproving stare. “Pumpkin,” he patted your hand. “We always knew this day was coming.”

Leaving your seat, you laid your head gently by his side. “It was supposed to happen much later than this. After you walked me down the aisle and I have kids that you love to give too much sugar to.”

“I know, baby, but it’s my time. I told you that I was only holding on until I knew a good man could take care of you.” He cooed at you as you tried to get your crying under control. “I’ll always be with you.” He tapped your heart.

Despite this sad time, you were able to laugh. “You really love EZ, don’t ya?”

“Yeah, I do. Now give me that fancy phone.” He pointed at your purse. “Turn on that camera.”

Your dad recorded three videos. You held the camera for two and had to step out for the last one, which you assumed was for you. One was for EZ and the most shocking was the one he made for Miguel. When you tried to hide your surprise, your dad said Kennedy talks too loud on the phone and he knew the whole time. The only reason he didn’t say anything was one, you were grown and two, he knew you would make the right decision after all.

“Do me one more favor, sweetheart.” Your dad waved you over.

You got on the bed with him and let your dad hold you. It was reminiscent of all the times you would join him on the couch and watch tv with him. The last time this must have happened was after your mom’s funeral.

“What do you need, daddy?” You buried your nose in his gown. Even in clothes that did not belong to him, his scent is still strong.

He rubbed your back, babying you for the last time. “Sing me that Beyonce song. The one she did at that coach thing.”

Laughing, you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Daddy, it’s called Coachella.”

“Whatever,” he waved you off. “Coach, Coachella. Just sing the version of that song.”

Love On Top was your mom’s favorite Beyonce song. It was one of the last songs, her and your dad danced to before she died. Then Coachella happened and your dad fell in love with that version.

“Honey, honey. I can see the stars all the way from here.” You softly began singing. It was hard to focus on the lyrics with his breathing getting shallow, but you pushed through.

Halfway through the song, the machines started beeping. The doctors and nurses rushed into the room, but you shooed them out. You didn’t want your last moment with your dad surrounded by strangers.

Even when you knew his heart stopped, you continued singing. Your dad didn’t raise a quitter. “Baby 'cause you're the one that I love. Baby you're the one that I need. You're the only one I see. Baby baby it's you. You're the one that gives your all. You're the one that always calls. When I need you everything stops. Finally you put my love…” you clutched onto the gown and tried to get your tears under control. “On top.” You whispered the last line before breaking down.

Meanwhile, across town inside of a tunnel the Mayans met with Galindo. They were trying to find a way to save Adelita. EZ was paying attention until he got a text from Kennedy. “Oh my god.” He unknowingly said out loud.

“Is there something you would like to share with us Ezekiel?” Miguel couldn’t stand being in the same space as EZ. Any chance he could, he would try to knock him down a peg. Petty, but in the end EZ won, so he could handle these little jabs.

EZ ignored him and turned to Bishop. “I gotta go Bish.”

As the President and the new Mayan got into a little spat about him disrupting and leaving a meeting early, Miguel got a text as well. It was the doctor he assigned to your father. His heart dropped as he read the message. He made a promise to stay away from you as much as possible, but right now you needed as much support as you could get. “Uh, its fine.” He turned to his consigliere and showed him the text. “You can handle everything else. I’ll call you when you can come.”

Marcus nodded his head. He wanted to be there for you, but business had to be done. He would text his wife and the patriarch of the Reyes family to get something together. This time you would need your made family.

Miguel walked ahead without one look behind him. “Ezekiel, Angel with me.” Bishop nodded his head and told the boys to give you a hug from him.

Thankfully, they hit every green light. It didn’t matter though. They all would’ve ran red lights for you.

The hospital had to take the body and Kennedy forced you to get some food, so you were roaming around the hospital. In the middle of the hallway, you bumped into Emily of all people. God was really testing you. Luckily, she either saw that you were distraught, or she was just in a rush, because she ran off without a snide remark.

“What the fuck?!” You saw an unlit cigarette on the ground. Is this bitch still smoking while pregnant? You would have to tell Miguel about that later.

A few more minutes of aimlessly roaming the halls and suddenly you were startled by a barrage of footsteps. Looking up you saw EZ with Angel and Miguel right behind him, running towards you. He knocked the air out of you, since he didn’t even try to slow down.

“How did you know?” You clutched onto his kutte for dear life. It was familiarity and your safe space, exactly what you needed right now.

“Kennedy.” He held you tight. EZ wished he could protect you from this heartbreak, but unfortunately life was kind to no one. “What do you need right now?” He knew his condolences would do nothing to soothe your broken heart. His focus was to make sure you were taken care of.

“I already ate. Kennedy made me eat.”

Probably not enough. He saw the half-eaten Oreos in your pocket. He’ll try to get you to eat a real meal later.

You slightly let go to wipe your tears and gave Miguel and Angel a small smile. Their presence really did help. “Uh, nothing really. I’m gonna get a head start on the funeral.”

“Absolutely not.” Miguel interrupted. “Tell me what you want for the services and I’ll organize everything. You just focus on you.”

Finally, you accepted help from Miguel without a fight. Exhaustion made you too tired to fight. Plus, your dad deserved the best.

Angel then hooked his arm around your neck. “Let’s get you home. Where’s your keys?” He took them and handed them to EZ. “I’ll get Coco to bring the van to pick up your bike.” He told his brother.

You hugged Angel and Miguel once more, before going to your car. After that everything was whirlwind. On your way to the house, you cried some more. Then when you got there, you attempted to clean up, but EZ had none of that. He made you take a bath, which he joined to assure you did.

Dinner was something light, but you barely ate it. At least you made attempt which was fine by EZ. After you fell asleep rather quickly, EZ cleaned up, In the midst of cleaning, Miguel showed up. The two actually had a civil conversation.

“Her family believes death is a celebration. Have you seen a New Orleans funeral?” EZ kept busy as he spoke to the man.

Miguel nodded his head.

EZ took the trash out with Miguel following behind. “I know you want to help out which is great. But leave her a little bit of work. She’s gonna need something to distract her for a little bit.”

“Noted. Take care of her, Ezekiel.” This was as good as it was going to get. Normally, he would’ve shook his hand, but he still couldn’t stand him.

“Don’t worry, I will.” The two looked at each other and have a silent agreement. After this, Migel would wean himself out of your life as he has been doing.

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#miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo x black!reader #miguel galindo #ez reyes #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes x black!reader #mayans mc #ezekiel reyes #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #i'll take your mans

[agustdakasuga]

A Place Called Home | Chapter 3

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Poly!AU?, Soulmate AU, romance, fluff, humour

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: vet!reader, Arcticfox!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Goldenretriever!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Calicocat!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Rabbit!Jungkook

Summary: Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

You bring Taehyung to the hospital for a check up and Yoongi insists on tagging along. Finally, you sit him down and find out why he has been acting weird the past few days.

“It’s your house, (y/n).” Yoongi crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“I told you to stop saying that. This is OUR house. You and Jin both have a say in this too. I want to hear your opinions on it.” You leaned back on your hands and stared back at both your hybrids. Jin had remained silent, the arctic fox mainly looking between you and his black panther brother. 

“We just got Jin hyung back. It’s a little unfair to suddenly be getting another hybrid here.” Yoongi spoke. 

“I know. I’m sorry, Jin.” You squeezed his hand. 

“It’s alright, (y/n). I know you just wanna help as many hybrids as possible. Honestly, I’m fine with whatever you choose. As long as you’re happy. But I think we should ask Taehyung what he wants to do.” Jin said. 

It’s true. The tiger hybrid didn’t leave the next morning, to your surprise. He continued to stay and it was his 5th day here. He mainly kept to himself, having small conversations with you and Jin but tried to avoid Yoongi as much as possible. Jin told you it could be a feline territory thing. Luckily, you could count on him when you were at work. 

“What if... I don’t want him here?” Yoongi asked cautiously. 

“Then I would respect that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home, Yoongi. I would try to arrange for him to go to a sanctuary or hybrid shelter.” You nodded your head. 

“I don’t know, (y/n).” Yoongi looked away. 

“Let’s try fostering him. If he is open to it, that is. At the end of the fostering period, then we’ll make a decision.” Jin suggested. You gave Yoongi a hesitant look but the panther actually nodded his head to the older’s words. He stalked over and pulled you into his arms. 

“Alright, let’s talk to Taehyung. If he’s alright with it, I’ll bring him in with me for a check up.” You smiled, stroking the space between Yoongi’s ears. The three of you headed downstairs to see Taehyung sitting on the couch. 

“Tae?” You called and his head shot up, ears turning to your direction. The tiger blinked at you. 

“The boys and I have been talking. It has been a pleasure to have you here with us. And if you would like to, I would like to foster you.” You smiled. 

“R-Really? Foster me?” His eyes showed shock. 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to force you into adoption right away. At least with foster, I can give you medical care and house you without any legal issues. This will also give the 3 of you time to see if you’re comfortable with one another. Once the foster period is over, we can decide if you would like to permanently be part of our family.” You explained. 

Hearing you say ‘our family’ made Jin and Yoongi’s heart soar. This just constantly reaffirmed that they had the best owner any hybrid could ever ask for. You were a human that lived for the well being of hybrids. 

“Is that okay?” Taehyung turned to the two boys. Yoongi shrugged but nodded while Jin gave a thumbs up. 

“I would like that. Thank you.” Taehyung threw his arms around you to hug you. That caught you by surprise but you smiled softly and patted his back. 

“I’m going to head to the hospital. You’ll have to come with me for a check up and I’ll get your paper work.” You informed. 

“I’ll come with!” Jin raised his hand. 

“I... don’t have classes today.” Yoongi said and you knew that meant that Yoongi wanted to tag along as well. You nodded your head and all of you went to get ready. Yoongi always did a reminder check with you to make sure that you had all your things. He even (reluctantly) sprays your body with a scent mask, which was necessary since you didn’t want your hybrids’ scents to scare off your patients. 

“Let’s go.” Yoongi held your hand and led you to the car. 

“Hey Fran! I’m doing good. How are you?... Yeah, I’m going to be fostering, do you think you could help me pull up the file? I’ll be bringing him in for a check up today... Tiger hybrid, Kim Taehyung... Alright, thank you!” You spoke to your friend and hung up. 

Taehyung looked at you in amazement as you chatted animatedly with Yoongi, who was driving. He had only seen the cold panther smile around you. 

“You three follow Jin and get registered. I’m going to clock in.” You told them. Yoongi and Jin gave you pecks on the cheek. You ruffled Taehyung’s hair and he watched you disappear behind the staff doors. 

“(y/n)! I saw your boys in the waiting room.” Your colleague, Dr Yu, popped her head into your office. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna foster a tiger hybrid so he needs his check up.” You replied, opening the file that the hospital’s adoption agent had dropped off on your desk. 

“No one can beat your heart of gold, (y/n).” Dr Yu sat opposite you as you studied Taehyung’s file. You laughed at her words, not looking up. Taehyung’s file was quite clean. He had all his shots and no serious medical history. It says his old owner passed away. But nothing about how he became homeless. 

“Is Yoongi okay with another feline?” Dr Yu asked. 

“He’s... getting used to it.” You let out an awkward chuckle. One rule was that a doctor cannot conduct a check up on his/ her own hybrid because of a biased incident years ago. 

“Dr Yu, do you think you could...” You started. 

“Thought you’d never ask! Don’t worry, you can count on me.” She took Taehyung’s file, winking before leaving. You wore your coat and started your rounds, already running slightly late. As you walked with both your nurses, you ran into Jin and Taehyung. 

“Where’s Yoongi?” You asked. 

“He said he had to go to the bathroom. We’re heading for Taehyung’s x-ray now.” Jin said and you nodded your head. 

“Anything about the wolf hybrid in ICU 2?” You asked and your nurses shook their heads. 

“We couldn’t find any family in the system but someone comes to leave flowers every day. No one has seen who the mysterious flower sender is though.” Your nurse informed and you nodded your head. The 3 of you made your way to said hybrid’s ICU room. But you froze when you saw someone through the viewing glass. 

“Yoongi?” You whispered. 

“Dr (y/l/n), isn’t that your hybrid?” The other nurse asked. You nodded. With his sharp senses, Yoongi heard you and smelt you. His head whipped to you standing at the door with your nurses. You couldn’t even hide the shock on your face as you looked at him. 

“Kitt- (y/n).” Yoongi acknowledged but you cleared your throat. 

“Check all his vitals and get me an ECG. Take some blood and send it to the lab for the works. We’ll change his dressing as well.��� You ignored him and walked to the unconscious wolf. 

“(y/n).” Yoongi called softly. 

“We’ll talk later. Please step outside.” You said, not turning to face him as you used your flashlight to test his reflexes. Yoongi’s ears dropped, flattening against his head before leaving the room. You cleaned the wolf’s wounds, happy to see no sign of infection and a speedy recovery. 

“I’ll send his blood to the lab.” One of the nurses bowed and left. After making sure everything was okay, you took the folder from the end of the bed and opened it. 

“Can you help me key these files in first? I’ll just update this and go to the nurses’ station.” You told the other nurse in the room. 

“Yes, doctor.” She grabbed the stack of folders of the other patients you saw and left. You were left alone in the room with the wolf hybrid. Sighing, you sat on the chair and took your pen out to begin scribbling today’s report on a fresh page. You heard the door open. 

“Kitten.” Yoongi called out to you. You hummed as a signal that you were listening to him. 

“Are you mad? I’m sorry.” He spoke. 

“I’m not mad. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything.” You replied. You weren’t lying. Yoongi could smell the disappointment and hurt from your being. 

“You know I have been wrecking my brain to find out whatever I can about him. Where he comes from, how he ended up on the streets, how he was hurt. I don’t even know his name, Yoongi. You knew and you didn’t even think to mention it. You even come in everyday and leave flowers for him.” You let out a huff of frustration. 

“Is this why you have been acting off? You saw him the night we came in to see the lion right? That’s why you were in my office, looking so distraught.” 

“Yes. I saw him that night I was heading to your office. His name is Namjoon. We’re... from the same fighting ring. He was probably hurt by our ring master, the same person who hurt me.” Yoongi revealed. 

“The cut on his abdomen was meant to kill him. That’s how ring masters kill their fighters.” He continued. 

“When you found me 3 years ago, I should have went back to save him but I didn’t. He must have thought I was dead.” Yoongi cursed, guilt filling his system. 

“It’s not your fault, Yoongi. I don’t think Namjoon would blame you too.” You got up and wrapped your arms around him. Yoongi’s body slumped against yours as his tail curled around your waist. The beeper in your coat went off and for a moment, you forgot you were still working. 

“I need to go. Let Jin and Tae know you’re here, okay? Jin would worry that you are gone for so long.” You patted his head, making him purr. 

“(y/n), I know it’s too much to ask but... when Namjoon wakes up...” He stuttered, looking down. 

“Of course, Yoongi. He’s always welcomed to stay with us but bear in mind, that’s his decision to make. We can’t make others conform to our wants.” You smiled softly and squeezed his hand before you left. 

By the time you returned to your hybrids, it was close to midnight. You yawned and dropped onto the couch tiredly. You heard doors opening and footsteps down the stairs. 

“Oh, Taehyung.” You gave a tired smile. 

“Jin hyung’s heat came earlier and Yoongi hyung tried to help. They’re sleeping now.” Taehyung explained, a slightly blushed creeping up his cheeks. You nodded your head, not affected by it at all. It was a natural thing for hybrids to have heat and you were thankful your hybrids could cope with it on their own. There wasn’t anything awkward about it. 

“I have your file ready.” You said, holding up the folder. 

“C-Can I see?” He asked. 

“Of course, silly. It’s your file.” You giggled and patted the space next to you. Taehyung immediately gave you a boxy grin and tucked himself under your arm as you opened the file. He didn’t really understand all the medical words but you were quick to verbally explain things to him. 

“Although, we did find that one of your ribs was broken in a past injury. The x-ray showed a misalignment, which means it didn’t really heal properly.” You showed him the image in the light. 

“Oh...” Taehyung gulped.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You patted his head. 

“I was disobedient and they would punish me. They said I deserved it for being bad.” He stuttered nervously, ears drooping down. 

“Oh, Tae. No wonder it didn’t heal properly.” You sighed. 

“B-But! I promise, I-I’m not disobedient anymore! Really! I’m a good boy.” He was quick to grab your hands. 

“Tae, listen to me. Listen to my voice. Calm down, breathe, baby. What those people did to you was horrible and illegal. I know you’re a good boy. No one is going to hurt you anymore, I promise. You’re safe here.” You hugged him and he wrapped his arms around your torso tightly, seeking comfort in your radiating warmth. His cries were reduced to small sniffles. 

“I’ll need to wrap your ribs to try and realign them. Is that okay?” You asked and he nodded his head. 

“Let me take a shower first. I probably smell like a thousand hybrids.” You chuckled and shuffled upstairs to shower. Before entering your room, you stopped by Jin’s room to check on him and Yoongi. The two were fast asleep under the covers, making you smile. 

“Come on, baby.” You called Taehyung to your room.

“Lift your shirt.” You instructed, taking the gauze and sports tape you took from the hospital, specifically for him. Turning around, you saw Taehyung fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

“I... I... There are scars...” He kept his gaze down. 

“It’s alright, Taehyung. Everyone has their own scars.” You smiled, comforting him. Slowly, he removed his shirt. You tried not to gasp at the whip scars on his back. Taking a deep breath, you began to put the sports tape to hold everything in place as you wrapped him up. When you were done, you handed him his shirt and he quickly put it on. 

“I’ll tidy up.” Taehyung watched you put things away. You laid down beside him, yawning. 

“Goodnight Taehyung.” You closed your eyes. He held you in his arms, his orange tail curling itself around your ankle. He made a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow. 

The next morning, you were on call from home so you didn’t have to go into the hospital unless they were short staffed. The three hybrids sat by the kitchen island, eating their breakfast as you fixed yourself a coffee. 

“Iced Americano for Yoongi, hot latte for Jin and tea for Taehyung.” You placed all 3 cups down. 

“Do you usually get called in?” Taehyung asked. 

“Not really. But I do have some papers to go through and reports to update so I’m not completely free today even if I get to be at home.” You chuckled, drinking your iced black coffee. Yoongi placed his plate in the sink and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Unfortunately, I have classes today.” He kissed your cheek. You laughed and stroked his head. 

“Have a good day.” You wished and he gave you another kiss on the temple. He let Jin kiss him on the cheek and ruffled Taehyung’s hair before he left. His actions left you with raised eyebrows but nonetheless, your heart swelled. 

“Plans for today, Jin?” You asked as you washed up. 

“It’s my first day back at the nursery.” Jin reminded. Before Jin went to the institution, he actually worked at a plant nursery, tending to all the plants and learning all about plant care from the old man who owned it. You nodded, remembering he mentioned it to you recently. Jin came and gave you a kiss as well, heading to his room to get ready. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me then.” You grinned. 

“I don’t mind.” Taehyung flashed a boxy smile. With both older boys at their jobs, you were in your room, sitting at your desk with your laptop and report folders around you. 

Taehyung stayed by your side, sitting on the ground, his head in your lap. You would run your fingers through his hair as you were deep in thought. 

“Hmm...” You scratched your head, reading through the patient files. Suddenly, your phone rang, making both you and Taehyung jump. You quickly answered the phone. As you heard the person on the opposite line, you looked down at Taehyung uneasily. 

“I see... I understand.” You frowned and hung up.

“Tae, I don’t know how to tell you this but... They arrested your owner. He is in police custody and you will need to help with investigations.” You explained. Taehyung’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Please! I don’t want to go back! I can’t! I promise I didn’t do anything, (y/n)! Please believe me!” He got on his knees to beg, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“I won’t let them take you back, Tae. They just want to ask you some questions. I don’t want you going either but if I don’t bring you in, they’ll come to take you in by force.” You stroked his head. He hugged your torso, crying into the material of your shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Tae.” You didn’t know what to do. Taehyung cried as he changed and got ready. Even in the car, he cried in the passenger seat, his tail curled around your thigh as you drove to the police investigation headquarters. 

“Hi, I’m here to see Officer Kim Jooyeon?” You went to the receptionist, holding Taehyung’s hand. 

“Dr (y/n) (y/l/n)?” An officer headed to you. You had to force a smile and shake his hand. He cleared his throat, seeing Taehyung so distraught, his arms and tail wrapped around you tightly. You stroked the back of his head to try and comfort him. 

“This is his file. We just filed for foster care yesterday.” You handed the officer Taehyung’s paw printed file. 

“Right. Don’t worry, we just need to ask Taehyung some questions as a witness to lock up that man. He will return to your foster care the moment investigations are over.” He explained. 

“How long? He’s still injured and needs to be tended to.” You asked. 

“I can’t give you an exact answer now, I’m afraid. You can come see him as his doctor, I’ll let my boss know. But that’s the best I can do for you now.” Officer Kim said. You sighed and nodded your head. Taehyung had grown so attached to you over the week and he didn’t want to be separated for you so quickly. You cupped his face in your hands, wiping his tears. 

“Hey, baby. Breathe. It’s only gonna be a while. You’ll be home before you know it.” You comforted. 

“I don’t want to see him.” Taehyung cried. 

“You won’t. You will be separated from him.” Officer Kim assured. Kissing Taehyung on the forehead, you left him with Officer Kim and closed your eyes, using all your will power to turn and leave. 

#kpop #kpop series #kpop scenarios #bts #bts series #bts scenarios #bts hybrid series #bts hybrid au #hybrid!au #hybrid bts #bts hybrid #hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #bts x reader #hybrid x reader #ot7 #ot7 x reader #ot7 hybrid

[extremelyblackandwhite]

scrubs - 4.

pairing: doctor!sebastian stan x biomedical scientist!reader

warnings: angst, swearing

< previous chapter

    - So ... - Miriam rolled her chair near Y/N’s, a little smirk on her lips as she finally caught her without any trainees surrounding her and without any particular tasks. She was merely looking at the printed reports from everyone in the laboratory, double checking and adding some notes as well as writing her suggested course of treatment if necessary for any doctors who chose to took her advice. - How is he?

     - Miriam, the last thing I am going to talk to you about is my sex life. 

     - Yeah, because you never really had one but now it is interesting. Come on, is he soft or is he aiming to be the doctor version of Christian Grey?

     - He’s a nuisance, that’s what he is. - she pushed her glasses back on, returning to her paperwork but Miriam was keen on not letting that happen.

     - What’s his place like? Is it a bachelor pad?

     - Listen to me, I am tired, I am slightly hangover and sore in all the right places. Now do with that what you will and let me go back to my work. - she pushed Miriam chair with her foot, sending the office chair rolling away from her. 

The day was mostly non eventful. She dragged herself through sleep and headaches, supervising over the newbies and even running some tests herself, at least those which didn’t made her more nauseous than she already was. Turns out the whole of New York decided to have infections as of late as it seemed only her department was being swallowed with samples after samples and more samples. Luckily for her, only 5% per cent of them required her to write down a very polite email calling the upstair staff incompetent due to changing names and even genders. How hard was it to insert the numbers into a computer and print a right label? Apparently too hard. 

As she finished filling out the error filled paperwork and signing some portfolios for training biomedical scientists, the laboratory manager entered her department. He was a man in his 60s, mostly business related and if the rumours were to be believed, only became a biomedical scientist so he could eventually manage something. Y/N deeply disliked him, the moment she started training back when he held the position she held now, he only called her sweetheart and constantly made snide remarks about how the medical industry was starting to be overtaken by women. Yet again, he was still her superior and as such she had to answer to him.

    - Miss Y/L/N. - she grimaced. Great, he came her to talk to her. - Where are Dr. Stan’s sample results?

    - Which ones?

    - You know which ones. The ones which should’ve been delivered yesterday, sweetheart.

    - They were labelled wrong. If I had gone with it, the hospital would be open to all sorts of liabilities. 

    - Now, sweetheart ... - he put her hand on her shoulder. - I would love it if I didn’t get the chief of medicine complaining to me each day about his doctors getting his test requests denied by my staff. I do not care if you and Dr. Stan slept together, I don’t care who you take to bed, I do care about having people complain to me about you. 

    - My personal life has nothing to do with my professional life, sir. 

    - Those results better be delivered today.

She saw red as the man left, and looking to her right she saw the file containing the precious results. Normally she wouldn’t push cases in front of the others but this, oh this was an important. She grabbed the file and headed towards the staircase, not even bothering to wait for the lift. Y/N made a beeline towards the reception where most of the nurses were.

    - Do you know where Dr. Stan is? 

    - Looking for seconds? - Y/N ignored the harsh remark and merely took it upon herself to find the man who’d better be off dead. She made it to the locker area where most of the make shift bedrooms were. If she was correct, and she was, Dr. Stan would probably be sleeping in one of those bedrooms.

She made through them with a thunderstorm rage, walking from room to room despite the warning from the nurse. Normally she’d let healthcare staff sleep, the shifts were unforgivable and sometimes you just needed a quick nap for 30 minutes so you wouldn’t go inside. Dr. Stan, however, was no longer deserving of said nap and instead of waking him up by screaming in his hear, she merely let all the heavy files fall on top of his face. He woke up in a frenzy, looking side to side before looking at his pager. 

   - Here are your results, Doctor. - she gave him a passive aggressive smile.

   - Thanks?

   - Next time you want your results on time maybe label the samples right. I mean, why go through all the trouble of sleeping with me and then telling it to my laboratory manager so you can get your results? It’s easier to fucking know how to use a laptop.

   - What?

   - Fuck off, Sebastian. - she turned around to point her finger at him. - Why don’t you just go and page the whole team about you sleeping with me?

   - Y/N, wait up ...

   - If you need anything from the laboratory talk to Miriam. Don’t you dare ever speak to me ever again.  

She was severely disappointed in him, hurt even, and for the first time she had to hold herself together not to start crying in the hospital wings. She always thought he at least respected her as a professional but clearly he did not. Everyone was commenting about it and she could even hear some remarks thrown her way, poking fun of her attitude and even asking if she came back for more and she found it harder and harder not to break down crying. As the lift doors closed, she cleaned the tears that had start to pool up on her eyes. She munched on her lip, hand in front of her mouth as she tried to pull herself together. It’s only gossip, it’ll be okay and she’ll be damned if she let anyone bring her down. She wouldn’t be the first woman to have a night stand and definitely not the last.

She walked in the laboratory with the goal of continuing to do what made her happy and that was run some tests herself. Sure her new position was good and it gave good pay but it was mostly training graduates and do some paperwork as well as look for mistakes. Hadn’t it been for her, this hospital would’ve gotten sued a thousand times. 

    - Stop being in a fowl mood.

    - Leave me alone, Miriam. 

    - Since you’re already ready to kill, Elizabeth has been on break for 30 minutes longer.

     - Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything? 

     - You’re the supervisor of the microbiology department, I am merely your best friend. - she rolled her chair by her side. - Besides I want to go on my dinner break, please.

She rolled her eyes at this comment, getting up once again to go upstairs. It was almost a mechanical move and for the first time, the detail oriented scientist was as distracted as one could be with everything but details in her mind. Maybe had she not been distracted, she would’ve noticed the sheen in the stairs. Unluckily for her, she only noticed it once her head thumped against the stairs, almost as if her head had hit a trampoline surface. She grimaced, pushing herself on her hand to feel her ankle gave up on her whenever she tried to get up.

     - Are you okay? - Miriam checked, poking her head out the laboratory only to see her on the stairs. - Y/N, it is not the time to be dramatic or to be sleeping, I’m hungry.

    - I can’t get up. - she grumbled, sitting down to massage her ankle. Miriam jumped from the laboratory, walking up to her. - My ankle hurts and my head is pounding. 

    - Oh okay, hum ... hold yourself on me, we’ll get the nurses to check on you. You’re fine, right? You’re fine.

    - Yeah ... - she grimaced once again as she got up, arm over Miriam’s shoulder as he led her to the lift. First she sleeps with the Doctor who is intent on burying her reputation, then the whole hospital gets to know about her drunken one night stand and then she falls on the stairs. It just can’t get any worse, can it? Well, of course it can. 

    - What happened there? - Dr. Stan perked up from behind the desk where he and some nurses were looking at the files. 

    - None of your business. 

    - Y/N fell and hit her head, also her ankle hurts. - so much for none of your business. 

    - Sounds like my business. - he walked up to the two women but Y/N merely rolled her eyes. - Come on, I’ll check it.

    - I’d rather be run over by a car.

    - Great. - Miriam interrupted Y/N before she decided to walk back to the laboratory even with a painful ankle.

Great. It can get any worse. 

taglist: @rebekahdawkins​

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan au #doctor!sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #doctor sebastian stan

[thegoldielocks28]

45. "Do I even wanna know?" for Tala and Mathilda (because I'm interested in seeing your version of their friendship when she's with or moving towards being with Spencer) Or if that line doesn't work, either of the others will do as long as it has those two :)

Title: Do I even want to know? Pairing: Sergei Petrov and Mathilda Alster romantically, Yuriy Ivanov and Mathilda Alster platonically. Notice: Written from Yuriy´s point of view. Mostly. Also, I haven't yet read the new manga so some of my headcanons for him might be off, aged or not canon. Also, I kept writing and adding to this for ages, and feel it's a bit of a mess. Hopefully, it shows some emotion that I meant for it to show. Not sure if I will post this anywhere else hm...

Yuriy has mastered the art of ignoring others' eyes on him. Easily walking by as if he's clueless of their attention on him. Even if the fact that they were staring was something he noticed before the person themselves knew their eyes were trailing him.

Observant as he is.

During Yuriy´s early childhood, he’d get looks of hatred and disgust as he lived, or barely survived, in the streets. Wearing old and tattered clothes, pale skin almost grey because of malnutrition, and blue eyes desperately searching for help as passerbys continued to choose not to see him. At times, the hatred in strangers´ eyes was better than being ignored. When they pretended not to see the misery Yuriy was in he ended up feeling like he was already dead.

Soon, Yuriy learned of another kind of fear. The fear that came from those who were threatened by his skill in the bey dish, fear because of the harsh fates waiting for them if they lost to him in the days of the Abbey. Once that first child lost terribly to Yuriy, and was never seen again, his peers started to respect him. Respect born from fear.

As Yuriy and his brothers were manipulated and tricked to threaten the safety of the world, he was looked on as both a hero and a monster. A hero who´d give Russia the top spot in Beyblade again.And as something a little less than human, perhaps closer to a cyborg, leading the world towards its demise while being seemingly void of much emotion. Perhaps only rivaled by how power hungry Kai had gotten together with Black Dranzer. Or even by Boris after that match against Rei. Boris had been Balkov´s triumph card. The man is still recovering from the lack of love he got from a young age, and to learn to handle his growing emotions just as his rage.

Today the world knows how all of it ended, and who to thank for their safety and freedom: the Bladebreakers.

After the Demolition Boys´ loss, people started to look at them with yet a new set of eyes. The eyes of those who viewed them as victims of manipulation, of harsh childhoods. Often with pity. It never suited Yuriy. Being a victim. Rather, he aimed for them to be seen as young, free and brave men redeeming themselves and growing into something better. Growing into the people they want to be now when they have a real shot at it.

Survivors.

Today, Yuriy is well trained in observing strangers and deciding whether or not they´re sincere when approaching his team. If they truly want to get to know them, or if they want something from them. Regretfully the Russians often decide it's safer to assume people are out to hurt them than blindly letting strangers into their lives.

It´s a snowy and cold day in Moscow, Russia. The air is crisp, cold and dry. Chilling to the bone. A good winter's day, with a clear blue sky telling of an even colder night ahead. Probably with stars. The streets are busy with people. Families, couples, children playing around. At a corner of a smaller street a coffee shop recently opened, carrying a foreign brand of coffee to Russia.

To the untrained eye Yuriy´s pale face appears indifferent as he thanks the young woman accompanying him for holding the door open. He's carrying some of the things they bought today. Books. Clothes. Some new toys for his pet dog. However, even if he might look like he'd rather be somewhere else, his eyes tell of a new kind of warmth as he looks at his female companion. An attentiveness few earn from him.

Yuriy´s presence has stirred people to life it seems. Staff greets him with almost spooked expressions and “Hi!”s. They must be newly hired, since the shop has just been around for a few weeks. It instantly sours his mood, as he much prefers workers to treat him like any other customer. From that point Yuriy makes sure it seems like he pays little attention to the people around them, but only after he shows his appreciation with a slight nod of his head. There´s this middle ground he has found as of late. Looking strangers in the eye as they gawk at him while fighting nerves. Some are his fans, and they pay a bit of his paycheck through watching his matches. Supporting him and his family. No matter how Yuriy looks at it, his fans matter, they all do in beyblading. Not all of them are stalkers, or want to hurt him or those closest to him. Even if it is hard to remember that sometimes.

The woman with him takes the lead to a small two-seater table at the back corner of the shop. Fairly isolated, yet with a view towards the street outside. She's always considerate like that. Sitting down with his back against the wall and a good view over the coffee shop, Yuriy´s eyes settle at the woman in front of him. The scent of sweet fruits washes over him. Nothing too overpowering. She takes off her coat, observant eyes darting around the place as she too notices the eyes on them. Unlike Yuriy, she can’t hide her discomfort. Yuriy has already deemed the room safe. The usual quick sweep of the eyes he does every time he arrives somewhere, especially somewhere new. Checking where the exits are, if there’s anyone suspicious around. Old habits are hard to break, and this one he won't try to: it has saved him before. Yuriy lets out a soft sigh as he allows himself to relax in his chair. Body grows heavier as he sinks into his seat. Knees falling apart ever so slightly. The only threat in this room seems to be awed struck fans, and those he can handle. At least well enough to make his friend enjoy their short coffee break.

Although Yuriy appears relaxed, his body language erects a barrier between his safe bubble with his friend and the people around them. Nothing about Yuriy is inviting. He leaves no room for strangers to think it's suitable for a quick chat or to ask about a signature: his focus is on his company. The girl in front of him tries to hide the fact that the attention from strangers gets to her, and Yuriy can´t help but imagine what the fans around them think as they see how she squirms in her seat. How they draw the wrong conclusions. The Russian offers her a hint of a smile in an attempt at making her feel more comfortable. If her attention is on him, Yuriy knows she´ll be able to relax and enjoy herself as well.

Ever since his brother started dating her, no one has seemed to want to accept their relationship for what it is. At first, not even Yuriy. The girl in the chair across from Yuriy is called Mathilda Alster. A young woman with a petite frame, big eyes and soft short pink hair. She is still red in the cheeks from the cold outside. Mathilda holds the hot cocoa she ordered tightly in both of her hands as if her fingers would turn into ice if she didn’t. That, or, it´s another sign of her nerves. Yuriy frowns slightly at the sight. Mathilda has been with them in Russia for over a week, and it seems like even the thick clothes he and his brothers helped her get doesn’t keep her warm enough out in the dry cold. It's the major reason why the two of them ended up shopping for clothes together.

Mathilda can't continue to wear her boyfriend´s shirts and hoodies once she gets cold. It works at their home, but not out and about, as most clothes that's supposed to end by the hips reach her mid-thighs or lower. Every borrowed t-shirt ends up a dress.

And Yuriy can't have her get sick.

”...I don’t really go to these kinds of places often, so it’s making them excited.” Yuriy says flatly, talking about the other people who keep stealing glances at them.

The fans are watching from a respectable distance so far, luckily. Yuriy is a very well-known face in Russia but he doesn't doubt people have realized just who is with him. The red haired man crosses a leg over the other and sips at his coffee, adding a bit of milk after a moment as he finds it just a bit too bitter for his liking. Something his teammates surely would judge him for. They always have their coffee black, black as their souls, as Boris says. A part of Yuriy regrets going to a crowded coffee shop during daytime. He loves coffee, but he´d normally have gotten it on the go or brewed it himself at home. However, Mathilda wanted to go for a snack after they were done with what they needed to do in town... so here they are. Not like Yuriy could deny her that when she looked so hopeful, so eager to spend just a little bit of more time together. Without really demanding anything but some of his time and company.

Before they set out this morning Mathilda had told Yuriy she'd keep him company, and that she had something she wanted to tell him. A secret. It made Yuriy curious. Mathilda might be someone who’d never tell someone else´s secret but she wouldn’t be able to hide that she is in fact, hiding something.

”So, you said earlier that there was something on your mind.” Yuriy asks at last.

Usually, the two of them have these kinds of conversations back at home. During Mathilda´s stays with them it has become a habit to gather around the kitchen table, having tea or coffee with something sweet and just talk. Even if she could just lock herself up in his brother's room and spend all the time with him, Mathilda put effort into getting to know all of them better. Never once voicing she thought their lifestyles were odd, but asking if she could help out with meals and chores while she lived with them. After a few days, they realized that all of them had breakfast, lunch and dinner together at the same hours a day. Even if their work, school, or individual practises were scheduled differently. Mathilda had observed, and made a good schedule that´d suit their hectic life-style. Before that, it had mainly been Sergei and Yuriy who were responsible for any home cooked meal. This change resulted in Yuriy and Mathilda growing closer, spending more time together, and learning each other's habits and likes and dislikes.

Today Mathilda was a little bit too eager to help Yuriy with his errands. She seemed almost anxious to get away from the three other men as she spoke with him in a low voice in the hallway. Asking if she could come with. Mathilda would often be content staying back reading when her boyfriend was at his part time job, or hanging out with whoever was at home, but Yuriy didn´t mind that she wanted his company. He has come to enjoy hers, and found the way she seemed to want to rely on him quite endearing.

However, he's certain whatever she's trying so hard to keep a secret has something to do with her boyfriend. It had left him feeling a bit uneasy for a while, as he's concerned it´d be something negative. Yuriy might not be able to admit it yet but he would miss her if Mathilda ever broke up with his friend. His thoughts straying to if it would work staying in touch even if it happened.

Mathilda´s cheeks end up getting a bit redder at Yuriy´s question. Her embarrassment and shyness is always refreshing, especially since it has never stopped her from doing what she wants in the end.

Leaning his chin in the palm of his hand, Yuriy leans forward over the table. Elbow resting just at the edge. ”Do I … really want to know?” Yuriy asks at last, the corner of his lips turning upward in a smirk.

Judging by Mathilda´s expression this won't be about a break up.

Even if Yuriy´d consider Mathilda to be something like an addition to his family by now, it wasn't always that way. It was something that happened gradually over time, until she was included with no questions asked.

Yuriy had learned to be observant from a very young age. It didn’t take long for the captain of the Russian team to notice that someone was getting uncomfortably close to the tight, sturdy and often very solid barrier of safety he had erected around his team. The intruder was that of a young woman, a woman he knew almost nothing about, during a beyblade tournament where their teams were rivals. Every team was the enemy in a sense.

Yuriy´s eyes soon followed Mathilda every time she was around, looking for any signs of ill intent while a small lump of anxiety grew in his chest. That lump grew in size as he realized she had been around for much longer than he had known. Rude as he sometimes can be, he genuinely decided it must have been because of her lack of presence that he at first didn’t take notice of her. She was always in the background, quiet and didn't take up much space. Not an opponent he´d have to worry about in the dish, but if he was going to be fair, his focus had been on other players.

Eventually he was informed about her, and that they had actually been in the same tournament once before. Alongside the fact that her team had too been victims of greedy and manipulative adults.

As Yuriy continued to observe Mathilda, he noted yet again that Mathilda was neither tall nor had a strong build. Her body, and eyes, showed her emotions as if she was an open book for everyone to read. He also realized that Mathilda was always observing too. Always conscious, self-conscious. With a build like that, and emotions so easy to read, Yuriy concluded that Mathilda wouldn´t become a threat to them physically. Whatever she threw at them in the dish or outside of it they'd know ahead of time and be able to counter. Yet, soon, he also realized that she might come too close in a completely different way than he expected.

Mathilda had her eyes set on Sergei.

With a risk to sound egocentric, Yuriy thought of how there have been people in the past who had tried to befriend, for example Sergei or Ian, with hopes of getting let into the Russians´ circle for their own personal gain or to even end up in his or Boris´ bed. Ian has always been the teammate most strangers assumed to be the easiest one to get close to. Often getting played in return as Ian has through bad experiences learned how people wanted to use him. All it took was for the short man to get excited over a friendship only to realize he wasn't the one the person was really there for. Others thought Sergei could be their key in. For some reason, many interpreted his silence for lack of depth, and assumed he´d accept almost any positive attention shown his way. They often realized their mistake when the usually gentle giant showed signs of irritation, and they realized just how intimidating the oldest and tallest member of the team could be.

It took Yuriy a while to realize that Mathilda was having a thing for Sergei. Even if her skin grew red with embarrassment, her voice cracking, she kept on approaching his brother with small conversations. Eyes were bright with delight as Sergei eventually started to return her greetings. Answered her questions, even if he seemed a bit put off balance by the attention and the fact that the girl didn´t stop approaching him.

Yuriy trusted Sergei to shoot her down if he felt she was overstepping, and he forced himself to let it go, only for him to see the two together more often. The lump of anxiety in his chest grew larger. Now, would this tiny girl, who sometimes stuttered out of nerves, be that cunning, to get close to Sergei with a false promise of.... affections... to later hurt him? Hurt their team? Yuriy didn´t want to take any chances. Yuriy knew Sergei had his walls up just like himself. He might seem approachable, at least the most approachable one out of his other teammates, just for the person trying to strike up a conversation feel like they're facing a cold brick wall. However, Yuriy could tell that Sergei´s walls were starting to crack around Mathilda.

Soon Sergei allowed her into his space, closer than any other stranger, and would expect Mathilda to be around. His steel blue eyes searched for her when she wasn't there when he expected her to be. How the quick meetings in the shared kitchen area of their hotel floor turned into longer and longer conversations over tea and coffee.

At one point Yuriy had felt Mathilda´s Captain Miguel´s eyes on him from across the dining area as they had both observed the same thing, and Yuriy felt annoyed. For once not so much over that Sergei and Mathilda were getting closer, but because of how cautious Miguel´s eyes had been. As if he was telling Yuriy to make sure his team behaved.

It didn't take long for Mathilda´s name to leave Sergei´s mouth around his team. It had made them grow quiet, because it had been rare for any of them to have plans with others outside of their small circle. Boris was the first one to break the silence as he made a crude joke about Sergei´s and Mathilda´s difference in size and that Sergei should be careful not to crush her. Boris deserved the death stare Sergei gave him after that.

Yuriy kept fighting his unease, believing that Sergei knew what he was doing, while also getting ready to act if things got out of hand.

The first time Mathilda ate with them she was very nervous, Yuriy could tell, the whole world could tell, but she still sat there with them and tried. Tried to keep up with conversations even if Boris was rude, and spoke mostly in Russian in a childish way to exclude her. Something Yuriy wouldn´t accept, as he instead used the lunch to talk to her. Gently poke her to see if there was any ill intent, testing the waters.

What in the end convinced Yuriy Mathilda was safe and good for his brother was the way she reacted to Sergei getting hurt. It was a minor injury: Sergei had stepped badly during practise and damaged his ankle. Leaving him with a swollen foot and a bad limp he tried to cover as well as he could among strangers. Somehow Mathilda saw through his pretense and realized he was hurt. The usually quiet girl had stopped Sergei as he and Boris were walking past her in the hallway. Voice a bit high-pitched as she asked about Sergei´s limp, and grew almost pushy as Boris told her it was nothing. As he told her to back off.

Mathilda had spent that evening sitting by Sergei’s feet cooling the swelling of his injury with ice and cold water. Yuriy had only realized this when he returned from a meeting with the BBA. The worry he saw on her face wasn’t an act. The challenge in her eyes as she looked at him and his team while staying by Sergei’s side, daring them to ask her to leave, was her true feelings.

Yuriy´s eyes narrow a fraction. He swirls the tablespoon in his now half-empty coffee cup, and tilts his head to the side while taking in Mathilda's sincere expression. Her face tells him that whatever secret she is hiding her nerves is from excitement and not out of anxiety.

“Our one year anniversary is coming up.” Mathilda starts slowly, her cheeks seeming to get even redder as she tries to word her thoughts as she wants them. “And I'm… trying to decide what I can do for him in celebration.”

Yuriy´s expression softens slightly, his concern fading. “...A year already?” He asks, feeling calm again. The thought that something between Sergei and Mathilda had turned bad had made him feel strangely uneasy. The man mentally sighs at himself. Focus returning to the current conversation and not what he dreads of the future. It feels like he met Mathilda just yesterday, at the same time as he feels as if they have known each other for several years already.

Anniversaries. Yuriy hasn´t thought much about it, but have they ever celebrated things like that, him and his family? They do keep track of a few dates, when things changed for the better for them. Boris is usually the one bringing out the alcohol. They always made sure to celebrate each other's birthdays as well. Celebrating they´re still getting older, living. Being free. Sergei was the first of them to get into a serious relationship. This is all new.

“Sergei probably won't expect anything…” Yuriy trails off slightly. “You have a good shot at surprising him, Mathilda.”

Mathilda has been patient and gentle as she guides Sergei through his first relationship. Yuriy thinks Sergei might not be Mathilda´s first love, but her first in many other ways, and they could experience it together at their own pace.

Sergei rarely wants something for himself, or expects others to do things for him. Emotions that Yuriy has seen grow since he started seeing Mathilda, as the man too learned he wanted her attention in different ways. Sergei had gone from only making sure others were alright to having someone, outside of family, who’d get worried sick about him. Who he would fight wars to keep happy and safe.

Mathilda smiles at Yuriy´s answer, and she seems pleased about what he just told her even if it didn't solve her problem of what to get Sergei in the end. Yuriy wonders what she has planned for her boyfriend. Warmth grows in him as he knows that Sergei now has more dates to remember and celebrate. Just like he too has a reason to spoil yet another person, Mathilda, when he wants to.

“I thought of… kidnapping him for a day, taking him to our favorite places, eat his favorite foods… “ Mathilda speaks, excited. “And-- … “ “You want us to be… somewhere else that day?” Yuriy asks with a slight smirk. The smirk is quite natural as he´ s amused imagining how Mathilda would ´kidnap´ Sergei.

“N-no!” Mathilda exclaims, understanding what her friend means. If they want some more privacy, just for them. “Well, it would be nice but--… “

“I'm sure I can get Boris and Ian out of the house for one evening…” Yuriy continues to playfully tease her.

A low buzz in Yuriy´s pocket makes him reach down for his phone, looking at the screen for just a moment.“Sergei´s off work, he's coming to pick us up on the way home.” Yuriy is thankful as he would rather not get on the public transport again today.

Mathilda nods, clearly thinking time must have passed quickly today, as she too checks her phone. Red cheeks slowly return to a normal shade as her embarrassment fades. Mathilda had neglected her phone simply because she was focused on Yuriy today, and there's an unread message from Sergei there waiting for her. The blonde Russian must have texted Yuriy too, due to the lack of reply on Mathilda´s part.

Just like Yuriy calls Mathilda when he can't get a hold of Sergei.

“I'll go and buy something for the others!” Mathilda says, getting her wallet before walking away. Blue eyes watches her as she checks out the display of different treats. Yuriy can already see Ian grinning at the gesture, and Boris not reacting much but whatever Mathilda gets for him will get eaten before next morning. For once, Yuriy isn´t the first one to notice Sergei. Instead his eyes follow how Mathilda rushes over to him, bag of sweets in hand. Taking in how Sergei´s tall and stiff frame softens as he leans down towards her: listening attentively to whatever she's saying. Yuriy gets up from his seat and pulls on his coat slowly, unable to look away at the sight. They look happy. It warms him, from inside out. He gets Mathilda´s things for her before he moves towards the couple. A long exhale through the nose.

Not everyone is out to hurt them.

#fanfic #writing meme #MathildaXSergei #MathildaxSpencer #Zadien #Beyblade #Beyblade fanfiction

[uwua3]

imposter.

🌸🎮 chigasaki itaru

summary: rule #1 — never take off your helmet

dedication: shy anon 🧡 :)

warnings: angst, betrayal, death(s), gore, heartbreak, lying

author’s note: this is set in an among us universe :D please be mindful of the concept of the game as you progress forward in the writing! this is an overdue halloween–piece that will bring the chills even in november! (this is the first time i’ve written in first person... :O) ♡ to shy, i hope you especially like this!

word count: 2,550

music: hit and run – lolo, as the world caves in – matt maltese

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

October 31, 20XX ☆ 05:24

There is only one rule on the spaceship everyone follows: NEVER TAKE OFF YOUR HELMET.

Ever since the report of an alien specimen being on board, the entire crew has made it mandatory that we remain in uniform. I’ve slowly forgotten the faces of my crewmates, all I can see is the color of their astronaut suits. Every day is the same: waking up to do tasks, all whilst hoping not to die.

Luckily, we haven’t had to call an emergency meeting in months. Or, so I believe. Time passes differently in the middle of the solar system. How long has it been since I’ve talked to someone outside of maintaining the ship? Days, weeks, months, years? The threat of an invader walking among us has taken over our ship for the worst.

I have to do my tasks now.

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 1, 20XX ☆ 06:30

Today, a new crew member joined us! From what the captain told us, he goes by the name Taruchi. He wears an orange uniform and doesn’t seem to talk much, only really spends time on his government-assigned phone.

I’ve introduced myself to Taruchi at the mandatory staff meeting, but he didn’t seem to be too interested. He just nodded and went back to tapping away on his screen, playing something that looked like shooting asteroids.

To be honest, no one knows exactly why it took this long to replace White, who was tragically murdered by the Imposter not too long ago. I assume it’s because no one wants to work on a spaceship where the alien is still on board. Taruchi’s got guts, that’s for sure. Or, maybe…

Is it just me… or is Taruchi sus?

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 2, 20XX ☆ 15:43

Red died.

Right before the lights had to be fixed in Electrical, I noticed an orange suit out of the corner of my eye. Taruchi leaned against the wall in the Storage corridor, right beneath the blinking security camera. He was on his phone again, almost pulling it out of his pocket before stopping, looking up to meet my gaze.

I swear my heart stop. Even with both of our helmets on, I could feel the piercing stare of this unknown crew member. Taruchi straightened his posture, and I could feel how tall he truly was. He tilted his head, presumably looking me up and down before tapping a button on his phone. The last thing I felt was the unfamiliar buzz of notification against my belt strap before it went all dark for a few minutes.

Red’s body was reported by Purple in Electrical, a location Taruchi and I were just around the corner of. By the time everyone entered the Cafeteria to vote, Purple’s finger was pointed directly at me. It was the first time I’ve been accused of being the Imposter. Purple, a friend who I had known ever since we both joined this Skeld map together, thought I had murdered Red in cold blood.

Taruchi spoke up for the first time since he arrived. His voice was smooth with a tone of calmness that fit his casual stance around the ship. Taruchi jumped so easily into the conversation, I couldn’t help but stare in awe while he sat beside me.

“They were with me in Storage, they’re safe.” Taruchi vouched for me, turning the conversation to a dead end. We all ended up agreeing to skip the vote, even if it was against Purple’s will at the end. When we rushed to finish our tasks for the day, all I remember was Purple staring at me for a moment too long before heading in the direction of the Upper Engine.

It was just Taruchi and me in the Cafeteria with the emergency button going through its cooldown again. I nearly couldn’t believe it, I was suspected. I would have to be careful of where I was next time.

Taruchi turned towards me as if wanting to say something, before sighing and shaking his head. He moved to stand up and stopped by the entrance to Medbay, turning around while knocking his knuckles onto the wall once as if he already didn’t have my undivided attention.

 “Be careful, okay? There’s an Imposter among us.” I swore I could see him wink before he disappeared. Taruchi’s words didn’t leave me for the rest of the day because I had realized something.

We haven’t had a death in so long, until Taruchi arrived.

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 5, 20XX ☆ 17:12

One crewmate had died today: Purple.

It was a hit and run in the Lower Engine. At the second body reporting of the day, Cyan claimed they were on cams duty in Security, but they didn’t see a thing. Purple was found in the Lower Engine in the lowest corridor to the left, making it an easy kill for the Imposter. Once I had found out the news, I was the immediate suspect.

If it wasn’t for Taruchi again, I would’ve been kicked out into space. I would’ve been the third death, but Taruchi had once again saved me.

 Prior to Purple’s death, I was in the Reactor trying to start it. Taruchi walked into the room, nearly making me yell out of shock from how quiet he was. Taruchi raised his hands as if trying to prove he was innocent, helping me up from the ground with a small laugh.

 “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, you’re okay.” Taruchi reassured me, making sure I could stand on my own two (2) feet before letting me go. For some reason, even if every sign pointed to him being the Imposter, I believed him. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, nodding as I managed to thank him. Taruchi just waved his and, signaling for me to not worry about it as he caught sight of the keypad in front of me.

“Oh? You got the ‘Start Reactor’ task, hm?” Taruchi said, moving in closer to see my progress. I hadn’t even started yet, and that became embarrassingly obvious once Taruchi let out another laugh.

“You haven’t started? How long have you worked here?” Taruchi joked, knocking his fist into my helmet lightly as if to tease me. I swatted back, trying not to show I was flustered beneath my mask. Though, sometimes it felt like Taruchi could see right through me despite only being here for four (4) days or so.

“I’ve always been awful at patterns.” I admitted quietly, looking away as Taruchi tried to hold in his laughter this time around. It took a moment for him to compose himself before Taruchi exaggerated a sigh, taking my position and pressing in the pattern quickly without even hesitating.

Right as it reached the fifth stage, Taruchi looked over his shoulder to hold his hand out. “You have to clean up the Halloween decorations around the ship with me or else I’ll leave you to this task alone.” Taruchi compromised, waiting for me to accept this dal as the timer began counting down.

 “Taruchi, you’re kidding.” You paused, waiting for him to say he was joking but that moment never came. Cleaning around the Skeld was the worst job possible, even if it got me out of a day of tasks. Before the last second disappeared, I took his hand with a loud “Fine!” and his other hand entered the code without even looking at the same time. Gamer hands were impressive, to say the least.

“Good little astronaut.” Taruchi patted my helmet as I watched the taskbar go up on my phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the Cafeteria at 0800, then, little one.”  

Before I could respond to the new nickname, both Taruchi and I’s phone screens lit up with the notification of Brown reporting Purple’s corpse.

Taruchi’s fingers tensed around his device as he looked at me solemnly. “I’ll defend you in Cafeteria, don’t worry about it.” Taruchi promised, leaving first as I regained my senses and followed after him.

Taruchi lived up to his word, even when Yellow brought up how Purple was dead after accusing me a few days ago.

“Purple’s dead after they targeted you? Seems sus to me.” Yellow scoffed, kicking their feet up onto the table and crossing their arms. Murmurs spread around the cafeteria table, my own crew mates beginning to further doubt my allegiance.

“They just did a task in Reactor. Can’t you see it in the taskbar?” Taruchi retorted back, holding up his own screen as evidence. The rest of the crew checked to confirm, and voiced their agreement.

“How did you know that, Orange?” Blue questioned out of nowhere, leaning forward to stare at Taruchi and me. I didn’t know what to say, should I admit I was with Taruchi or would that make both of us seem suspicious?

“Stalked them from the vents, of course.”

It went so silent I could hear the beeping from navigation. Everyone was looking at Taruchi at this point. The vent from Lower Engine did lead to Reactor… but, that made no sense. Taruchi had walked into the entrance, he didn’t vent up.

“Haha, just kidding.” Taruchi said after a moment too long, leading to everyone relaxing after an uncomfortable but relieved sigh. I didn’t know why I didn’t defend Taruchi immediately, except... I did. I just didn’t want to say it out loud. Even I wasn’t sure if Taruchi was another Impostor or not.

Two (2) imposters on one (1) ship… I shuddered at the thought.

Once again, we ended up skipping. I think the crew was afraid of what would happen if we lost another innocent. Everyone else left to mourn yet another death as Taurchi and I stayed behind again.

Taruchi couldn’t be Imposter. Not when I felt this safe with him. Taruchi was the one to stand up first again after he noticed I wasn’t saying anything. This time, he leaned over me instead.

“Your helmet isn’t put on right, it’s not adjusted correctly.” Taruchi reminded me, fixing it so we both could hear the latches hook onto the helmet. I wondered what his hands would feel like without those orange gloves, but, I nodded instead.

“Remember tomorrow, here, 8, got it?” When I nodded again, he laughed. It was a sound that made me feel relaxed even when the rest of the crew was on high alert.

“It’s a date, then.” Taruchi added on before strolling out towards his dorms, I assume. I just waved goodbye before freezing. Huh? What did that mean? Was it actually a date?

Even when my crew mates were facing the threat of death, I couldn’t help but get excited over seeing Taruchi tomorrow morning.

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 6, 20XX ☆ 12:07

Taruchi took off his helmet today.

He said to stop calling him that alias, his real name is Chigasaki Itaru. Itaru… I like that more than Taruchi.

His eyes are the same color as Pink’s uniform, with blonde hair that fell over his forehead after wearing his helmet all day. When Itaru saw me stare, he smiled and it only made my heart beat faster.

“Uh oh. Does someone have to go to MedBay to check their vitals?” Itaru joked, nudging me with his helmet. Itaru had broken rule #1 of the spaceship, he had taken off his helmet… for me.

“See? I told you I wasn’t Imposter. I could tell you were thinking that, but, I promise, I’m on your side.” Itaru didn’t ask me to take off my helmet. He just put his back on and we continued taking down the Halloween decorations.

Taruchi—no, Itaru, wasn’t an Imposter. I knew that for a fact.

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 15, 20XX ☆ 02:52

I really like Itaru. I want to play this game with him forever, but, I can’t.

YOUR LOG. STARDATE:

November 24, 20XX ☆ 23:11

Itaru and I were watching the stars as we patrolled Navigation for the night. As we slowly made our way through time and space itself, I could hear Itaru turn on automatic cruise control. I looked towards him as he yawned despite being the biggest night owl on the ship.

When Itaru took off his helmet and shook his head, fixing his hair in the process, he leaned back in his pilot seat with a lazy smile.

“Me, you, and the stars. What could be better than this?” Itaru sighed, as if at peace after leaving the tense atmosphere of the ship. Now that it was night, the suspicion was asleep as everyone took their appropriate night shifts.

Underneath the starlight, I couldn’t help but admire him yet again. Itaru was beautiful and I found myself subconsciously smiling at him like a fool. Itaru glanced at the sky before meeting my sight, seemingly lost in a daze for a second before swearing, taking his feet off the control panel.

“I can’t see you, but goddamn it, I want to kiss you so bad.” Itaeu put his head in his hands, his words muffled but clear enough to make my heart skip a beat. Before I could stop myself, I revealed what I’ve always wanted to say ever since I met Itaru.

“I trust you, Itaru. Kiss me.”

Itaru slowly lifted his head, silently asking if you were serious. I leaned in closer, pushing my chair towards him as if giving him permission. Itaru was in shock and disbelief, before breaking out into a wide smile as if this was the highlight of his night.

When he leaned in as well, his hands ghosted over the latches of my helmet warily, meeting my eyes again to confirm. I nodded, and right before Itaru took it off, he whispered his last confession.

“I love you.”

Black alien tentacles pushed past the opening in my helmet and wrapped around Itaru’s throat without any warning. The helmet clattered to the floor noisily as tens of intergalactic limbs spread out and searched for their next victim. It had been so long since I last killed that my extraterrestrial tentacles were deathly hungry, and Itaru was next.

Itaru was lifted into the air, his feet dangling as he desperately tried to grab the tentacles off him. I couldn’t help but smile even as I watched the light fade away from his eyes. My parasitic tentacles squeezed tighter and tighter around every square surface of his body. It wouldn’t be long before he exploded all over the entire Navigation room.

“Rule #1: Never take off your helmet, Itaru.”

I dropped his lifeless body onto the floor without a care in the world. Orange’s suit was stained with blood with what was left of him. I put my helmet back on, wiping the evidence away like I’ve done many times before.

I made sure to set off O2 malfunction on my phone before I hopped into the vent, quickly coming out of Shields before running with the rest of the group. When I managed to report Orange’s body, I watched his corpse float millions of light years away in the distance.

Itaru was not the Imposter.

I am, and I’m going to win, no matter who died.

#chigasaki itaru #itaru chigasaki #a3! act! addict! actors! #a3! #act! addict! actors! #a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3! #mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #itaru x reader #a3! itaru #a3 itaru

[todokanai-suishou]

April 7th

Pairing Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

WC: 2,5k

Quality: Not yet golden Raspberry, but definitely rotten Tomato worthy

A/N: "April 7th, but it's longer now" finally managed to post the full thing TT_TT. It's still my first ff and I still apologize for the outcome of this, since I usually do music reviews and (bad) poetry:

Inspiration for it & pt2 were Sticky & April 7th by a Band called The Maine

__________________________________________________________

When you first saw him, he was dancing like nobody was watching

when in fact, everybody was.

You were no exception to the other people staring at him while they were shouting names, singing along to the lyrics sung by the 7 people dancing on stage, so stable and well.

And this man? This man didn’t seem to miss a beat. He moved so effortlessly through every song, having the time of his life, dancing and singing and rapping his heart out

- until he first spotted you in the crowd, watched in awe as you got lost in stereo, eyes shut to enjoy the music

- until you opened your eyes to look back at him.

And suddenly the man who was just dancing along to a fun song that luckily had no choreography, froze just like someone who’d be busted dancing with a mob.

He didn’t know what had hit him when your eyes made contact with his, but he just stood there, unable to move until the eldest came and hit him on the head jokingly, followed by the youngest jumping on both of them.

The Dancer snapped out of it at this point and you didn’t have a single ounce of understanding for what just happened. Usually it was Jungkook lagging, but not during performances and out of all the people you’d suspect to stop moving, Hobi would be the last one to.

Until he was. And he looked baffled when he came back down to earth, whispering to both of his friends as they were finishing the song before leaving to change clothes. He couldn’t help from looking back and subtly pointing at your part of the crowd a few times though

and as he kept on, you started to sense something. From the way he looked back. From the way he pointed in this direction..your brain meanwhile got the bizarre idea that it was you who got him that stunned. Maybe he saw someone else in you? Maybe a fansite? “Oh god please not a fansite.” you whispered, barely audible but turning the heads of the girls in front of you as you started shaking...or maybe an ex? You couldn’t pinpoint it but you also couldn’t stop thinking of the possibility that it was indeed you he reacted this way to.

and you were right about him freezing because of you, but dead wrong about him recognizing his ex, or a fansite, or anyone for that reason.

It was cliché but all the thought at that moment was that, even in this dimly lit room - you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever come across.

The way you danced like nobody was watching, because there probably really was no one watching you, all the while lip-syncing to boyz with fun, you were glowing and the way you suddenly stared at him, with adoration in your eyes, that had him overwhelmed.

“You really fell in love at first sight, huh?” Jin laughed in between changes as the younger one told him about what just happened. “I might” Hoseok fell into a stare at the realisation,. “This is crazy,” he whispered to himself. “You might never see them again though.” Namjoon exclaimed drily from across the room. “I’ll try...I guess?” - “What are you going to do, hunt that person down?” The leader raised an eyebrow and Hoseok sighed. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t until Yoongi - who currently fought with his leather pants - spoke up from the corner “just tell the staff to keep them here. Say Hi, see where it goes afterwards.” and while the leader and Hoseok agreed that this could come across as kind of creepy - the dancer gave it a try. He pointed to you, with the glowing green bracelet on your arm, gave them info of where you approximately were or could possibly come out. He did all he could do for them to keep you there and although you were confused, and quite frankly a little scared of what was happening, you stayed.

And god were you ready to fall on your knees and beg not to be sued with every second that passed, making up critical scenarios and what ifs in your head.

All of them were dead wrong.. You didn’t know how exactly he came to be there, but you remember him coming out in baggy pants, a loose shirt, hair that was still somewhat sweaty but at least brushed properly and he had the biggest smile as he came closer while you and a staff member were still jokingly debating whether ketchup was a smoothie or not. With a breathless “Hi.” he almost scared the living shit out of you.

“Hi” you replied, just as breathless and quite frankly confused. Both your Anxiety levels flew through the roof with each awkward second the two of you didn’t speak. It’s ironic how he wanted to tell you so much, but eventually when you were in front of him, sweat still somewhat glistening on your face and exhaustion written on it in tiny letters, he lost all his words.

It was you who, while still holding eye contact, spoke up. “So...you froze before...are you okay?” You nervously rubbed your arm, but he saw his chance. “Yeah, I’m sorry, it was kind of your fault” an awkward laugh followed from his side, making you nervously rub your arm and look down before he followed up “I got mesmerized by looking at you.” and boom, he had all your attention again. Eyes growing big at his comment. “Wait what?” - “I saw you vibe along and somehow, I don’t know. You just amazed me.” Everything after that was rambling as he tried to explain in a way that didn’t seem too forward or make you uncomfortable and apparently it worked when you let out a chuckle “You’re cute, you know that?” - “Cute enough to go on a date with me?” His sudden question left you as surprised as it did him. He didn’t think he’d do it like that, but judging from you freezing like a deer in the headlights, it was too straight forward and pointless. “Ah you kn-” - “Okay.” This time around he was the deer. And your answer? Just hit him like a car. “okay?” he replied in disbelief. “Yes, unless you don’t want to anymore?” you raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. “no, I’d still love to! How does tomorrow sound?” he asked so cheerfully the change of Aura almost threw you off. “Tomorrow sounds great, I think. Afternoon or evening?” - “Brunch?” - “Could work, might not. I usually sleep in on weekends. My body just naturally ignores every alarm clock I have until 13:00…but... I could get my roommate to wake me up with water I guess.” You said sheepishly.

“So...in case your roommate DOES wake you, how does 11:30 sound?” he smiled, screaming on the inside, hoping, praying, putting all of his trust in your roommate. “Sounds great.” You smiled back and at this moment he was a goner. Almost literally, since Jungkook called for the living, breathing sun to come back, because he wanted to go already. “Wait, give me your number so we can figure more details out.” a phone was pressed into your hands. You didn’t take long to type in your number and call yourself, his smile only growing as you handed it back to him. He had your number. He did it. You gave him his number and if tomorrow was going well, he was convinced that he could die happily.

When JK called for a second time he went away though “Well, I guess I really gotta go. I’ll see ya.” he waved at you and you just copied the action, smiling widely at him. “BY THE WAY” he called out after you “YES?”- “Y/N.... The Name fits you.” - “How?” - “A BEAUTIFUL NAME FOR A BEAUTIFUL HUMAN” and with that he was out of the room, and you and the staff member went out in the other direction, with her clearly laughing as you turned as red as a tomato. A warm feeling spread all throughout you, as you walked into the cold air, excited for what was to come, while the man who just asked a total stranger out just ended up happy dancing the entire night, leaving Jimin internally screaming for deciding to room with the manic squirrel and in serious conflict of whether he was just gonna head into Taehyung's room instead. In Hindsight, he probably should have.

Back then, on that first April 7 in the Arena, you met the man who lights up even the darkest days of your life. You learnt pretty fast that it wasn’t all fun and games, and relationships with Idols are hard. Big Hit bought out dispatch when it came to you, but still, not being able to see each other properly..sometimes was difficult, when all you wanted was to cuddle.

So he left sweaters at your place, and you saw each other whenever the other was near, you two made the, partially rough, two years worth the wait and god does he love you for holding on like that.

But exactly you, or the lack of your presence, made it hard for him to concentrate on rehearsal today. Knowing it’s the same day, the same arena, but someone else in your place. You usually took the time for important dates, 100 day anniversaries and birthdays were shared. Hell, the first anniversary you took leave to visit him on tour, but the second one, you informed him you couldn’t watch from the stage like you did so many times before. “Important family stuff.” you told him and the boys knew he wasn’t his usual self. Still whooped the professional part - except for the facial expressions and while the younger ones tried to coax the sun into shining again after the first Rehearsal, it wasn’t until Yoongi snuck up behind Hoseok with a phone in hand.

While the younger ones were still occupying Hoseok, Yoongi facetimed you and held the phone close to Hobis ear and before he could register anything, he heard “HOBI!” from the other line. Resulting in the dancer getting half a heart attack before turning around, resulting in Yoongi just handing him his phone and leaving. “Baby..” you pouted as you looked at his face. “Jagi, I miss you” a pout leaving him too. “You’ll see me soon, baby. I’m sorry I can’t watch like we planned.” - “ I know, I know” he sighed on the other line and you could feel your heart break. Dying to see your man already.

“I’ll see you soon, baby, don’t worry. We can celebrate after the concert tonight. Just give your best today, and if you won’t, you know I’m gonna find out from Jimin, right?” he chuckled at that comment, giving you a bright smile afterwards. “I know, I know. I’ll try.” - “You don’t need to, you were born to do what you’re doing baby. You’ll do great as always. Just picture me in the crowd, I’m always with you in spirit when I can’t be there - and you’ll get endless cuddles and everything else in the world when we’re home so cheer up.” Needless to say, you weren’t the best in cheering people up but weirdly enough it worked as he sighed out “will do.” giving you a smile afterwards. “Good, now go practice and then - go get 'em. I’ll be off too.” - Wait. Jagi?” You raised an eyebrow. “I love you.” He grinned and you could barely get out “I love you too” before he hung up and brought Yoongi back the phone. Somehow falling into a happy dance again.

“What’s with him?” Namjoon cut in, seeing Hoseok dance between doors “Talked to Y/N” Yoongi just replied and the Leader just nodded. This was normal by now. If he wasn’t everyone else's vitamin e - on days like these you were his and while he was still bummed, the sadness was pushed back by him deciding to just do as you told and picture you there. You’d be off work or family duties or whatever emergency came in between by the time he was done. You’d still see each other. It wasn’t what he had planned and you knew it wouldn’t be, but he’d be happy either way. He was happy with everything as long as the end result was you.

So the rehearsals continued. You headed out the house shortly after facetiming him and he put on clothes, got makeup done and set on a smile, all the while still texting you “I love you” being reciprocated with “I love you too, have fun out there.” It was the last text you sent him before you shut your phone off for now. It was also the last thing he read before he got onto that stage.

And while he loved the crowd, he thought the only thing he wanted to happen tonight was for the concert to end. For now.

Until, suddenly, two years after that last April 7th, he froze up during the choreography when he saw a big green heart during Boys With Fun. He couldn’t help but giggle as he read “Hey, sorry I just got kind of mesmerized by you.”

You, ass, stood there, waving that big heart, with that same green bracelet from years ago. Leaving him as amazed and defenseless as you did exactly two years ago and the grin he had on his face as he came to his senses again was second to none. Neither was your surprised reaction as he suddenly came close to your end, jumping over the barricade and pulling you, who stood just close enough to touch, in his direction. Placing his hands on your cheeks, greeting you with a kiss as the people beside you gasped, awed and the Maknae who saw the whole thing just wiped away a fake tear whispering “they grow up so fast.”

That was definitely not how you planned on your relationship being outed, but then again, he didn’t plan to see you here tonight and you, you had a way of melting his brain and making him do things. “Hey” he then said, almost breathless, still entranced and only looking at you. “Hey” you replied smiling. “So, you kinda mesmerized me and..would you wanna..you know, date?” he whispered in your ear, ignoring the music.. “I’m sorry, I kind of have a boyfriend.” you whispered back, laughing afterwards. It was only seconds until your face was in his hands again. “Then what do you say about moving in with him?” Deer in the headlights hobi? More like deer in the headlights Y/N - and this time the truck hit you. You didn’t know much to say, just frantically nodded and he took the time to kiss you again, softly, with all these people still around, and yet, for him you were the only one.

You’ve been the only one for the last two years. You’ll stay the only one for this little eternity he gets to stay with you..

#hoseok x reader #bts fanfic #bts jhope #hoseok fanfic #jung hoseok #hoseok fluff #I'm sorry for doing this to y'all #If youve made it to the end youre the goat #english isn't my native language #so Im sorry for any mistakes made #music

[theculturedmarxist]

Below is the story of my day touring Tema with Prince Philip, in this chapter from my book “The Catholic Orangemen of Togo”. You may be surprised to read that I rather liked him.

The African Queen

One morning I was sitting in the lounge at Devonshire House, with its fitted wool carpets and chintz sofas. I was drinking the tea that our steward, Nasser, had brought me. I heard movement in a corner of the room, and thought it must be Nasser cleaning there. But looking round, I saw nobody. Puzzled, I got up and walked towards that corner. Rounding a settee, I nearly stood upon a thin, green snake. About four feet long and just the thickness of your thumb, it was a bright, almost lime green colour. There was not much wedge shape to its head, which rather tapered from its neck. Its tongue was flickering toward me, perhaps a foot away, its head raised only slightly off the floor. I took a step backwards. In response it too retreated, at surprising speed, and zipped up the inside of the curtains.

I stood stock still and yelled “Nasser! Nasser!” This brought Nasser hurrying into the living room with Gloria, the cook. “Nasser, there’s a snake in the curtains!” Nasser and Gloria screamed, threw their arms in the air, and ran together into the kitchen and out the back door of the house. This was not altogether helpful.

I remained where I was to keep an eye on the snake, not wanting it to be lurking inside the house unseen. After a while the front door opened and somebody, presumably Nasser, threw in Nasser’s scruffy little dog. The dog was normally banned from the house, and celebrated this unexpected turn of events by immediately urinating against the hall table. Then the dog too ran into the kitchen and out of the back door.

Abandoning my watch, I went out and recruited the reluctant gardeners and gate guards. They armed themselves with long sticks and came in and beat the curtains until the snake fell onto the floor. As it sped for cover under a sofa, Samuel the youngest gardener got in a solid blow, and soon everyone was joining in, raining down blows on the twitching snake. They carried its disjointed body out on the end of a stick, and burnt it on a bonfire.

Everyone identified it as a green mamba. I was sceptical. Green mambas are among the world’s deadliest snakes, and I imagined them to look beefy like cobras, not whip thin and small headed like this. But a search on the agonisingly slow internet showed that indeed it did look very like a green mamba.

The important question arose of how it had entered the house. With air conditioning, the doors and windows were usually shut. Nasser seemed to have solved the mystery when he remarked that a dead one had been found last year inside an air conditioner. The unit had stopped working, and when they came to fix it they found a snake jammed in the mechanism. That seemed the answer; it had appeared just under a conditioner, and it seemed likely the slim snake had entered via the vent pipe, avoiding the fan as it crawled through the unit.

This was very worrying. If anti-venom was available (and we held a variety in the High Commission) an adult would probably survive a green mamba bite. But it would almost certainly be fatal to Emily, and possibly to Jamie.

A week or so later, I was constructing Emily’s climbing frame, which had arrived from the UK. A rambling contraption of rungs, slides, platforms and trampolines, it required the bolting together of scores of chrome tubes. I was making good progress on it and, as I lifted one walkway side into position above my head, a mamba slid out of the end of the tube, down my arm, round my belly and down my leg. It did this in no great hurry; it probably took four seconds, but felt like four minutes.

There was one terrible moment when it tried an exploratory nuzzle of its head into the waistband of my trousers, but luckily it decided to proceed down the outside to the ground. It then zig zagged across the lawn to nestle in the exposed tops of the roots of a great avocado tree. Again the mob arrived and beat it to death with sticks. I persuaded them to keep the body this time, and decided that definite action was needed.

I called in a pest control expert. I was advised to try the “Snake Doctor”. I was a bit sceptical, equating “Snake Doctor” with “Witch Doctor”, but when he arrived I discovered that this charming chubby Ghanaian really did have a PhD in Pest Control from the University of Reading. As Fiona had an MSc in Crop Protection from the same Department, they got on like a house on fire and it was difficult to get them away from cups of tea to the business in hand.

He confirmed that the dead snake really was a green mamba. We obviously had a colony. They lived in trees, and he advised us to clear an area of wasteland beyond the boundaries of our house, and build a high boundary wall of rough brick at the back, rather than the existing iron palings. He also suggested we cut down an avenue of some 16 huge mature trees along the drive. I was very sad, but followed this sensible advice. That removed the mamba problem from Devonshire House. But I continued to attract mambas on my travels around Ghana.

The second half of that first year in Ghana was to be almost entirely taken up with preparations for the State Visit of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh in November 1999. A huge amount of work goes into organising such a visit; every move is staged and choreographed, designed for media effect. You need to know in advance just where everybody is going to be, who will move where when, and what they will say. You need to place and organise the media to best advantage. You need to stick within very strict rules as to what the Queen will or will not do. Most difficult of all, you have to agree all this with the host government.

I had been through it all quite recently, having paid a major part in the organisation of the State Visit to Poland in 1996. That had gone very well. The Poles regarded it as an important symbol that communism had been definitively finished. It was visually stunning, and at a time when the Royal Family was dogged with hostile media coverage, it had been their first unmixed positive coverage in the UK for ages. I had handled the media angles, and my stock stood very high in the Palace.

I am a republican personally; I was just doing my job. The Palace staff knew I was a republican, not least because I had turned down the offer of being made a Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order (LVO) after the Warsaw visit. I had earlier turned down the offer to be an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) after the first Gulf war.

Rawlings was delighted that the Queen was coming. He craved respectability and acceptance in the international community, which had been hard to come by after his violent beginnings. But he had turned his Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) into a political party, the National Democratic Congress (NDC), and had fought elections in 1992 and 1996 against the opposition New Patriotic Party, which had an unbroken tradition running back to Nkrumah’s opponent J B Danquah and his colleague Kofi Busia. There were widespread allegations of vote-rigging, violence and intimidation, and certainly in 1992 the nation was still too cowed to engage in much open debate.

Even by 1999, social life was still inhibited by the fact that nobody except those close to the Rawlings would do anything that might be construed as an ostentatious display of life, while Rawlings had sustained and inflated the personality cult of Nkrumah still further (he is known as Osagyefo, “the conqueror”.) Open discussion of the disasters Nkrumah brought upon Ghana was almost impossible. It is still difficult for many Ghanaians today, after decades of brainwashing. As Rawlings had gradually liberalised society, the increasing freedom of the media, particularly the FM radio station, was giving a great boost to democracy. But there was still much prudent self-censorship. The media was particularly reticent about investigating governmental corruption.

The NDC government was massively corrupt. There was one gratuitous example which especially annoyed me. A company called International Generics, registered in Southampton, had got loans totalling over £30 million from the Royal Bank of Scotland to construct two hotels, La Palm and Coco Palm. One was on the beach next to the Labadi Beach Hotel, the other on Fourth Circular Road in Cantonments, on the site of the former Star Hotel. The loan repayments were guaranteed by the Export Credit Guarantee Department, at the time a British government agency designed to insure UK exporters against loss. In effect the British taxpayer was underwriting the export, and if the loan defaulted the British taxpayer would pay.

In fact, this is what happened, and the file crossed my desk because the British people were now paying out on defaulted payments to the Royal Bank of Scotland. So I went to look at the two hotels. I found La Palm Hotel was some cleared land, some concrete foundations, and one eight room chalet without a roof. Coco Palm hotel didn’t exist at all. In a corner of the plot, four houses had been built by International Generics. As the housing market in Accra was very strong, these had been pre-sold, so none of the loan had gone into them.

I was astonished. The papers clearly showed that all £31.5 million had been fully disbursed by the Royal Bank of Scotland, against progress and completion certificates on the construction. But in truth there was virtually no construction. How could this have happened?

The Chief Executive of International Generics was an Israeli named Leon Tamman. He was a close friend to, and a front for, Mrs Rawlings. Tamman also had an architect’s firm, which had been signing off completion certificates for the non-existent work on the hotel. Almost all of the £30 million was simply stolen by Tamman and Mrs Rawlings.

The Royal Bank of Scotland had plainly failed in due diligence, having paid out on completion of two buildings, one not started and one only just started. But the Royal Bank of Scotland really couldn’t give a toss, because the repayments and interest were guaranteed by the British taxpayer. Indeed I seemed to be the only one who did care.

The Rawlings had put some of their share of this looted money towards payments on their beautiful home in Dublin. I wrote reports on all this back to London, and specifically urged the Serious Fraud Office to prosecute Tamman and Mrs Rawlings. I received the reply that there was no “appetite” in London for this.

Eventually La Palm did get built, but with over $60 million of new money taken this time from SSNIT, the Ghanaian taxpayers social security and pension fund. Coco Palm never did get built, but Tamman continued to develop it as a housing estate, using another company vehicle. Tamman has since died. The loans were definitively written off by the British government as part of Gordon Brown’s HIPC debt relief initiative.

That is but one example of a single scam, but it gives an insight into the way the country was looted. The unusual feature on this one was that the clever Mr Tamman found a way to cheat the British taxpayer, via Ghana. I still find it galling that the Royal Bank of Scotland also still got their profit, again from the British taxpayer.

So while the State Visit was intended as a reward to Jerry Rawlings for his conversion to democracy and capitalism, I had no illusions about Rawlings’ Ghana. I was determined that we should use the Queen’s visit to help ensure that Rawlings did indeed leave power in January 2001. According to the constitution, his second and final four year term as elected President expired then (if you politely ignored his previous decade as a military dictator). We should get the Queen to point him towards the exit.

Buckingham palace sent a team on an initial reconnaissance visit. It was led by an old friend of mine, Tim Hitchens, Assistant Private Secretary to the Queen, who had joined the FCO when I did. We identified the key features of the programme, which should centre around an address to Parliament. A walkabout might be difficult; Clinton had been almost crushed in Accra by an over-friendly crowd in a situation which got out of control. A school visit to highlight DFID’s work would provide the “meet the people” photo op, otherwise a drive past for the larger crowds. Key questions were identified as whether the Queen should visit Kumasi to meet Ghana’s most important traditional ruler, the Asantehene, and how she should meet the leader of the opposition, John Kufuor. Rawlings was likely to be opposed to both.

The recce visit went very well, and I held a reception for the team before they flew back to London. Several Ghanaian ministers came, and it ended in a very relaxed evening. Tim Hitchens commented that it was the first time he had ever heard Queen and Supertramp at an official function before. It turned out that we had very similar musical tastes.

Planning then took place at quite high intensity for several months. There were regular meetings with the Ghanaian government team tasked to organise the visit, headed by head of their diplomatic service Anand Cato, now Ghanaian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom. We then had to visit together all the proposed venues, and walk through the proposed routes, order of events, seating plans etc.

From the very first meeting between the two sides, held in a committee room at the International Conference Centre, it soon became obvious that we had a real problem with Ian Mackley. The High Commissioner had been very high-handed and abrupt with the visiting team from Buckingham Palace, so much so that Tim Hitchens had asked me what was wrong. I said it was just his manner. But there was more to it than that.

In the planning meetings, the set-up did not help the atmosphere. There were two lines of desks, facing each other. The British sat on one side and the Ghanaians on the other, facing each other across a wide divide. The whole dynamic was one of confrontation.

I have sat through some toe-curling meetings before, but that first joint State visit planning meeting in Accra was the worst. It started in friendly enough fashion, with greetings on each side. Then Anand Cato suggested we start with a quick run-through of the programme, from start to finish. “OK, now will the Queen be arriving by British Airways or by private jet?” asked Anand. “She will be on one of the VC10s of the Royal Flight” said Ian. “Right, that’s better. The plane can pull up to the stand closest to the VIP lounge. We will have the convoy of vehicles ready on the tarmac. The stairs will be put to the door, and then the chief of protocol will go up the stairs to escort the Queen and her party down the stairs, where there will be a small reception party…” “No, hang on there” interjected Ian Mackley, “I will go up the stairs before the chief of protocol.” “Well, it is customary for the Ambassador or High Commissioner to be in the receiving line at the bottom of the aircraft steps.” “Well, I can tell you for sure that the first person the Queen will want to see when she arrives in the country will be her High Commissioner.” “Well, I suppose you can accompany the chief up the steps if you wish…” “And my wife.” “Pardon?” “My wife Sarah. She must accompany me up the steps to meet the Queen.” “Look, it really isn’t practical to have that many people going on to an already crowded plane where people are preparing to get off…” “I am sorry, but I must insist that Sarah accompanies me up the stairs and on to the plane.” “But couldn’t she wait at the bottom of the steps?” “Absolutely not. How could she stand there without me?” “OK, well can we then mark down the question of greeting on the plane as an unresolved issue for the next meeting?” “Alright, but our side insists that my wife…” “Yes, quite. Now at the bottom of the steps Her Majesty will be greeted by the delegated minister, and presented with flowers by children.” “Please make sure we are consulted on the choice of children.” “If you wish. There will be national anthems, but I suggest no formal inspection of the Guard of Honour? Then traditional priests will briefly make ritual oblations, pouring spirits on the ground. The Queen will briefly enter the VIP lounge to take a drink.” “That’s a waste of time. Let’s get them straight into the convoy and off.” “But High Commissioner, we have to welcome a visitor with a drink. It is an essential part of our tradition. It will only be very brief.” “You can do what you like, but she’s not entering the VIP lounge. Waste of time.” “Let’s mark that down as another issue to be resolved. Now then, first journey…”

The meeting went on for hours and hours, becoming increasingly ill tempered. When we eventually got to the plans for the State Banquet, it all went spectacularly pear-shaped as it had been threatening to do. “Now we propose a top table of eight. There will be the President and Mrs Rawlings, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh, The Vice President and Mrs Mills, and Mr and Mrs Robin Cook.” Ian positively went purple. You could see a vein throbbing at the top left of his forehead. He spoke as though short of breath. “That is not acceptable. Sarah and I must be at the top table”. “With respect High Commissioner, there are a great many Ghanaians who will feel they should be at the top table. As we are in Ghana, we feel we are being hospitable in offering equal numbers of British and Ghanaians at the top table. But we also think the best plan is to keep the top table small and exclusive.” “By all means keep it small,” said Ian, “but as High Commissioner I must be on it.” “So what do you suggest?” asked Anand. “Robin Cook” said Ian “He doesn’t need to be on the top table.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neither could Anand. “I don’t think you are being serious, High Commissioner” he said. “I am entirely serious” said Ian. “I outrank Robin Cook. I am the personal representative of a Head of State. Robin Cook only represents the government.”

I decided the man had taken leave of his senses. I wondered at what stage can you declare your commanding officer mad and take over, like on The Cain Mutiny? Anand was obviously thinking much the same. “Perhaps I might suggest you seek instruction from headquarters on that one?” he asked. “Anyway, can we note that down as another outstanding item, and move on to…” I don’t know whether Ian secretly realised he had overstepped the mark, but he didn’t come to another planning meeting after that, leaving them to me and the very competent Second Secretary Mike Nithavrianakis.

The most difficult question of all was that of meeting the opposition. Eventually we got the agreement of Buckingham Palace and the FCO to say that, if the Queen were prevented from meeting the opposition, she wouldn’t come. But still the most we could get from Rawlings was that the leader of the opposition could be included in a reception for several hundred people at the International Conference Centre.

I had by now made good personal friends with several Ghanaian politicians. Among those who I could have a social drink with any time were, on the government side John Mahama, Minister of Information and Moses Asaga, Deputy Finance Minister, and on the opposition side John Kufuor, leader of the opposition, his colleagues Hackman Owusu-Agyemang, Shadow Foreign Minister, and Nana Akuffo-Addo, Shadow Attorney General.

In the International Conference Centre the precise route the Queen would take around the crowd was very carefully planned, so I was able to brief John Kufuor exactly where to stand to meet her, and brief the Queen to be sure to stop and chat with him. As he was the tallest man in the crowd, this was all not too difficult.

Once the Queen arrived and the visit started, everything happened in a three day blur of intense activity. Vast crowds turned out, and the Palace staff soon calmed down as they realised that the Queen could expect an uncomplicated and old fashioned reverence from the teeming crowds who were turning out to see “Our Mama”.

The durbar of chiefs in front of Parliament House was a riot of colour and noise. One by one the great chiefs came past, carried on their palanquins, preceded by their entourage, drummers banging away ferociously and the chiefs, laden down with gold necklaces and bangles, struggled to perform their energetic seated dances. Many of the hefty dancing women wore the cloth that had been created for the occasion, with a picture of the Queen jiggling about on one large breast in partnership with Jerry Rawlings jiving on the other, the same pairing being also displayed on the buttocks.

After the last of the chiefs went through, the tens of thousands of spectators started to mill everywhere and we had to race for the Royal convoy to get out through the crowds. Robin Cook had stopped to give an ad hoc interview to an extremely pretty South African television reporter. Mike Nithavrianakis tried to hurry him along but got a fierce glare for his pains. Eventually everyone was in their cars but Cook; the Ghanaian outriders were itching to start as the crowds ahead and around got ever denser.

But where was Cook? We delayed, with the Queen sitting in her car for two or three minutes, but still there was no sign of the Secretary of State or his staff getting into their vehicle. Eventually the outriders swept off; the crowds closed in behind and we had abandoned our dilettante Foreign Secretary. Having lost the protection of the convoy and being caught up in the crowds and traffic, it took him an hour to catch up.

Cook was an enigma. I had already experienced his famous lack of both punctuality and consideration when kept waiting to see him over the Sandline Affair. His behaviour now seemed to combine an attractive contempt for protocol with a goat-like tendency – would he have fallen behind to give a very bland interview to a male South African reporter? He was also breaking the tradition that the Foreign Secretary does not make media comments when accompanying the Queen.

When we returned to the Labadi Beach Hotel, there was to be further evidence of Cook’s view that the World revolved around him. He was interviewing FCO staff for the position of his new Private Secretary. Astonishingly, he had decided that it would best suit his itinerary to hold these interviews in Accra rather than London. One candidate, Ros Marsden, had an extremely busy job as Head of United Nations Department. Yet she had to give up three days work to fly to be interviewed in Accra, when her office was just round the corner from his in London. Other candidates from posts around the World had difficult journeys to complete to get to Accra at all. I thought this rather outrageous of Cook, and was surprised nobody else seemed much concerned.

The port town of Tema, linked to Accra by fifteen miles of motorway and fast becoming part of a single extensive metropolis, sits firmly on the Greenwich Meridian. As far as land goes, Tema is the centre of the Earth, being the closest dry spot to the junction of the Equator and the Greenwich Meridian. You can travel South from Tema over 6,000 miles across sea until you hit the Antarctic.

There was in 1999 a particular vogue for linking the Greenwich Meridian with the Millennium. This was because of the role of the meridian in determining not just longitude but time. Of course, the two are inextricably linked with time initially used to calculate longitude. That is why Greenwich hosted both the Naval Academy and the Royal Observatory.

The fascination with all this had several manifestations. There was a BBC documentary travelogue down the Greenwich meridian. There was a best-selling book about the invention of naval chronometers, Longitude by Dava Sobel, which I read and was as interesting as a book about making clocks can be. There were a number of aid projects down the meridian, including by War Child and Comic Relief. Tema and Greenwich became twin towns. And there was the visit of the Duke of Edinburgh to Tema.

I think this was the idea of my very good friend John Carmichael, who was involved in charity work on several of the meridian projects. It was thought particularly appropriate as one of the Duke of Edinburgh’s titles is Earl of Greenwich – though the man has so many titles you could come up with some connection to pretty well anywhere. We could make it a new game, like six degrees of separation. Connect your home town to the Duke of Edinburgh.

Anyway, Tim Hitchens had warned me that the Duke was very much averse to just looking at things without any useful purpose. As we stood looking at the strip of brass laid in a churchyard which marks the line of the meridian, he turned to me and said: “A line in the ground, eh? Very nice.”

But we moved on to see a computer centre that had been set up by a charity to give local people experience of IT and the internet (providing both electricity and phone lines were working, which thank goodness they were today) and the Duke visibly cheered up. He was much happier talking to the instructors and students, and then when we went on to a primary school that had received books from DFID he was positively beaming. The genuinely warm reception everywhere, with happy gaggles of people of all ages cheerfully waving their little plastic union jacks, would have charmed anybody.

We returned to Accra via the coast road and I was able to point out the work of the Ghanaian coffin makers, with coffins shaped and painted as tractors, beer bottles, guitars, desks, cars and even a packet of condoms. The Prince laughed heartily, and we arrived at the Parliament building in high good spirits. There he was first shown to a committee room where he was introduced to senior MPs of all parties. “How many Members of Parliament do you have?” he asked. “Two hundred” came the answer. “That’s about the right number,” opined the Prince, “We have six hundred and fifty MPs, and most of them are a complete bloody waste of time.”

The irony was that there was no British journalist present to hear this, as they had all thought a meeting between Prince Philip and Ghanaian parliamentarians would be too boring. There were Ghanaian reporters present, but the exchange didn’t particularly interest them. So a front page tabloid remark, with which the accompanying photo could have made a paparazzi a lot of money, went completely unreported.

On a State Visit, the media cannot each be at every occasion, as security controls mean they have to be pre-positioned rather than milling about while the event goes ahead. So by agreement, those reporters and photographers accredited to the visit share or pool their photos and copy. At each event there is a stand, or pool. Some events may have more than one pool to give different angles. Each journalist can probably make five or six pools in the course of the visit, leapfrogging ahead of the royal progress. But everyone gets access to material from all the pools. The FCO lays on the transport to keep things under control. Organising the pool positions ahead of the event with the host country, and then herding and policing the often pushy media in them, is a major organisational task. Mike Nithavrianakis had carried it off with style and only the occasional failure of humour. But he had found no takers for Prince Philip in parliament, which proved to be fortunate for us.

I should say that I found Prince Philip entirely pleasant while spending most of this day with him. I am against the monarchy, but it was not created by the Queen or Prince Philip. Just as Colonel Isaac of the RUF was a victim of the circumstances into which he was born, so are they. Had I been born into a life of great privilege, I would probably have turned out a much more horrible person than they are.

Prince Philip then joined the Queen in the parliamentary chamber. Her address to parliament was to be the focal point of the visit. I had contributed to the drafting of her speech, and put a lot of work into it. The speech was only six minutes long (she never speaks longer than that, except at the State Opening of Parliament. Her staff made plain that six minutes was an absolute maximum.) It contained much of the usual guff about the history of our nations and the importance of a new future based upon partnership. But then she addressed Rawlings directly, praising his achievements in bringing Ghana on to the path of democracy and economic stability. The government benches in parliament provided an undercurrent of parliamentary “hear hears”.

But there was to be a sting in the tale: “Next, year, Mr President,” the Queen intoned, “You will step down after two terms in office in accordance with your constitution.” The opposition benches went wild. The Queen went on to wish for peaceful elections and further progress, but it was drowned out by the cries of “hear hear” and swishing of order papers from the benches, and loud cheers from the public gallery. There were mooted cries of “No” from the government side of the chamber.

I had drafted that phrase, and it had a much greater effect than I possibly hoped for, although I did mean it to drive home the message exactly as it was taken.

For a moment the Queen stopped. She looked in bewilderment and concern at the hullabaloo all around her. The Queen has no experience of speaking to anything other than a hushed, respectful silence. But, apart from some grim faces on the government benches, it was a joyful hullabaloo and she ploughed on the short distance to the end of her speech.

Once we got back to the Labadi Beach Hotel, Robin Cook was completely furious. He stormed into the makeshift Private Office, set up in two hotel rooms. “It’s a disaster. Who the Hell drafted that?” “Err, I did, Secretary of State” I said. “Is that you, Mr Murray! I might have guessed! Who the Hell approved it.” “You did.” “I most certainly did not!” “Yes you did, Secretary of State. You agreed the final draft last night.”

His Private Secretary had to dig out the copy of the draft he had signed off. He calmed down a little, and was placated further when the Queen’s robust press secretary, Geoff Crawford, said that he took the view that it was a good thing for the Queen to be seen to be standing up for democracy. It could only look good in the UK press. He proved to be right.

The State Banquet was a rather dull affair. Ian Mackley’s great battle to be on the top table proved rather nugatory as, in very Ghanaian fashion, nobody stayed in their seat very long and people were wandering all over the shop. There were a large number of empty seats as, faced with an invitation to dinner at 7.30pm, many Ghanaians followed their customary practice and wandered along an hour or so late, only to find they would not be admitted. This caused a huge amount of angst and aggravation, from which those of us inside were fortunately sheltered.

Mrs Rawlings had chosen a well known Accra nightclub owner named Chester to be the compère for the occasion. His bar is a relaxed spot in a small courtyard that features good jazz and highlife music, and prostitutes dressed as Tina Turner. It was a second home for the officers of the British Military Advisory and Training Team (BMATT).

Chester himself was friendly and amusing, but amusing in a Julian Clary meets Kenneth Williams meets Liberace sort of way. Chester says he is not gay, (regrettably homosexuality is illegal in Ghana) but his presentation is undeniably ultra camp. It is hard to think of a weirder choice to chair a state banquet, but Chester was a particular pet of Mrs Rawlings.

Chester was stood on the platform next to the Queen, gushing about how honoured he was. His speech was actually very witty, but the delivery was – well, Chester. I turned to Prince Philip and remarked: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two Queens together before.” To give credit to Chester, I gather he has been telling the story ever since.

High camp was to be a theme of that evening.

Fiona and I accompanied the Royal party back to the Labadi Beach Hotel to say goodnight, after which Fiona returned home to Devonshire House while I remained for a debriefing on the day and review of the plans for tomorrow. By the time we had finished all that it was still only 11pm and I retired to the bar of the Labadi Beach with the Royal Household. The senior staff – Tim and Geoff – withdrew as is the custom, to allow the butlers, footmen, hairdressers and others to let off steam.

The party appeared, to a man, to be gay. Not just gay but outrageously camp. The Labadi Beach, with its fans whirring under polished dark wood ceilings, its panelled bar, displays of orchids, attentive uniformed staff and glossy grand piano – has the aura of a bygone colonial age, like something from Kenya’s Happy Valley in the 1930s. You expect to see Noel Coward emerge in his smoking jacket and sit down at the piano, smoking through a mother of pearl cigarette holder. It is exactly the right setting for a gay romp, and that is exactly what developed after a few of the Labadi Beach’s wonderful tropical cocktails.

We had taken the entire hotel for the Royal party, except that we had allowed the British Airways crew to stay there as always. Now three of their cabin stewards, with two Royal footmen and the Queen’s hairdresser, were grouped around the grand singing Cabaret with even more gusto than Liza. Other staff were smooching at the bar. All this had developed within half an hour in a really magical and celebratory atmosphere that seemed to spring from nothing. I was seated on a comfortable sofa, and across from me in an armchair was the one member of the Household who seemed out of place. The Duke of Edinburgh’s valet looked to be in his sixties, a grizzled old NCO with tufts of hair either side of a bald pate, a boxer’s nose and tattoos on his arms. He was smoking roll-ups.

He was a nice old boy and we had been struggling to hold a conversation about Ghana over the din, when two blokes chasing each other ran up to the settee on which I was sitting. One, pretending to be caught, draped himself over the end and said: “You’ve caught me, you beast!” I turned back to the old warrior and asked: “Don’t you find all this a bit strange sometimes?” He lent forward and put his hand on my bare knee below my kilt: “Listen, ducks. I was in the Navy for thirty years.”

So I made my excuses and left, as the News of the World journalists used to put it. I think he was probably joking, but there are some things that are too weird even for me, and the lower reaches of the Royal household are one of them. I have heard it suggested that such posts have been filled by gays for centuries, just as harems were staffed by eunuchs, to avoid the danger of a Queen being impregnated. Recently I have been most amused by news items regarding the death of the Queen Mother’s long-standing footman, who the newsreaders have been informing us was fondly known as “Backstairs Billy”. They manage to say this without giving the slightest hint that they know it is a double entendre.

The incident in parliament had made the Rawlings government even more annoyed about the proposed handshake in the International Conference Centre reception between the Queen and John Kufuor. My own relationship with Ian Mackley had also deteriorated still further as a result of the Royal Visit. I had the advantage that I already knew from previous jobs the palace officials and Robin Cook’s officials, and of course Robin Cook himself, not to mention the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. All in all, I suspect that Ian felt that I was getting well above myself.

As the party formed up to walk around the reception in the International Conference Centre, Ian came up to me and grabbed my arm rather fiercely. “You, just stay with the Queen’s bodyguards” he said. I did not mind at all, and attached myself to another Ian, the head of the Queen’s close protection team. I already knew Ian also. Ian set off towards the hall and started ensuring a path was clear for the Queen, I alongside him as ordered. Suddenly I heard Sarah Mackley positively squeal from somewhere behind me: “My God, he’s ahead of the Queen! Now Craig’s ahead of the Queen.” If I could hear it, at least forty other people could. I managed to make myself as invisible as possible, and still to accomplish the introduction to John Kufuor. The government newspaper the Daily Graphic was to claim indignantly that I had introduced John Kufuor as “The next President of Ghana.” Had I done so, I would have been in the event correct in my prediction, but in fact I introduced him as “The opposition Presidential candidate”.

As always, the Queen’s last engagement on the State Visit was to say farewell to all the staff who had helped. She gives out gifts, and confers membership of the Royal Victorian Order on those deemed to merit it. Only once in the Queen’s long reign had she ever been on a state visit and not created our Ambassador or High Commissioner a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order – that is to say, knighted him. Ian and Sarah were to become Sir Ian and Lady Sarah. This seemed to me to mean the world to them.

The day before, Tim Hitchens had turned to me as we were travelling in the car: “Craig, I take it your views on honours have not changed.” “No, Tim, I still don’t want any.” “Good, you see that makes it a bit easier, actually. You see, the thing is, we’re trying to cut down a bit on giving out routine honours. The government wants a more meritocratic honours system. We need to start somewhere. So, in short, Ian Mackley is not going to get his K.” I was stunned. Tim continued: “And as well, you see, it hasn’t exactly escaped our attention that he has … issues with the Ghanaians, and some of his attitudes didn’t exactly help the visit. Anyway, if you were to want your CVO, then that would be more difficult. Ian Mackley is going to have one of those. So that will be alright.”

No, it won’t be alright, I thought. You’ll kill the poor old bastard. For God’s sake, everyone will know.

I wondered when the decision had been taken. The kneeling stool and the ceremonial sword had definitely been unloaded from the plane and taken to the hotel: that was one of the things I had checked off. When had that decision been reached?

We were lined up in reverse order of seniority to go in and see the Queen and Prince Philip. I queued behind the Defence Attaché, with Ian and Sarah just behind me. She was entering as well – nobody else’s wife was – because she was expecting to become Lady Mackley. Tim was going to tell them quickly after I had entered, while they would be alone still waiting to go in.

You may not believe me, but I felt completely gutted for them. It was the very fact they were so status obsessed that made it so cruel. I was thinking about what Tim was saying to them and how they would react. It seemed terribly cruel that they had not been warned until the very moment before they were due to meet the Queen. I was so worried for them that I really had less than half my mind on exchanging pleasantries with the Queen, who was very pleasant, as always.

If you refused honours, as I always did, you got compensated by getting a slightly better present. In Warsaw I was given a silver Armada dish, which is useful for keeping your Armada in. In Accra I was given a small piece of furniture made with exquisite craftsmanship by Viscount Linley. Shelving my doubts about the patronage aspect of that (should the Queen be purchasing with public money official gifts made by her cousin?) I staggered out holding rather a large red box, leaving through the opposite side of the room to that I had entered. Outside the door I joined the happy throng of people clutching their presents and minor medals. Mike Nithavrianakis and Brian Cope were Ian Mackley’s friends, and they were waiting eagerly for him. “Here’s Craig” said Mike, “Now it’s only Sir Ian and Lady Sarah!” “No, it’s not, Mike”, I said, “He’s not getting a K” “What! You’re kidding!” It had suddenly fallen very silent. “Ian’s not getting a K, he’s only getting a CVO.” “Oh, that’s terrible.” We waited now in silence. Very quickly the door opened again, and the Mackleys came out, Ian with a frozen grin, Sarah a hysterical one beneath the white large-brimmed hat that suddenly looked so ridiculous. There was a smattering of applause, and Sarah fell to hugging everyone, even me. We all congratulated Ian on his CVO, and nobody ever mentioned that there had been any possibility of a knighthood, then or ever.

Personally I don’t understand why anyone accepts honours when there is so much more cachet in refusing them.

#prince phillip #prince phillip death #prince phillip is dead #craig murray #ghana

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt. 14/25

Previous

____________

Jaskier ran down the corridors of Dol Blathanna. His guitar case was slung haphazardly over his shoulder and books were on the verge on tumbling out of his satchel. His blasted alarm hadn’t gone off this morning, although that was probably his own fault for getting so caught up in his book that he’d forgotten to set the alarm before falling asleep with the book still in his hands. Luckily for him he’d still woken up at a vaguely reasonable time and on any normal day he would have made it into school before his class had started to arrive.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an ordinary day.

An email had been sent out to all the faculty the night before from the school board, calling a meeting in the school hall before class started.

And he was already late.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He muttered as he ran. A book flew from his satchel as he turned the corner in the corridor. “Oh cock!”

He turned on his heels and ran to gather up his book only for two more to fall out of his bag along with several loose sheets of paper.

“Shit!” He grabbed another one of his books but his foot caught on one of the bits of paper.

It all happened in slow motion.

His legs were suddenly up in the air and he landed, quite painfully, on his arse. His guitar case dropped heavily on the floor next to him, strings twanging in the case and his heart sunk as he heard a sickening crack of wood.

“Bollocks!” He groaned and scrambled to open his case.

Sure enough the neck of the guitar had broken and the strings were the only thing keeping it together.

“No no no!” He stood up and kicked the case. “Fuck!”

That was all he needed. It was bad enough that the rest of his instruments were currently in storage whilst his landlord managed to sort out the repairs to the apartments. He was incredibly lucky that none of them had been damaged in the fire. Geralt’s team had gotten the fire under control quickly and the blaze hadn’t managed to spread much further than the third floor. A few of his neighbours from the fourth floor had lost some of their furniture and the flooring had been toasted but Jaskier had had a lucky, if not humiliating escape. Unfortunately he wasn’t allowed to stay in his flat whilst they made repairs. There were concerns that the ceiling below his flat sustained some damage, making his home unfit to live in.

He was currently staying with Triss in her little bungalow. He was lucky she had a guest room and allowed him to bring his guitar along with him but she’d put her foot down at his wider instrument collection, he had said goodbye to his precious lute with a heavy heart as he’d locked his storage unit.

He was less lucky that she hadn’t thought to wake him up this morning.

He scooped up the remains of his guitar and zipped up the case. He didn’t have time to mourn. This time he was smart enough to close his satchel properly too and he scurried towards the school hall. He pushed the heavy door open as quietly as he could and slipped inside. A woman stood at the front of the hall where Stregobor would normally stand.

How peculiar.

She glared fiercely at him and he muttered an apology and ran to find a seat.

“As I was saying.” The woman continued, still holding his gaze in a death stare. He swallowed nervously as he begun to wonder whether he’d been cursed today. Nothing had gone his way so far. “We have received several alarming reports regarding your headmaster. Therefore, the board has made the decision to temporarily suspend Mr Ban-Ard whilst we conduct an investigation into his behaviour.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

They’d done it.

The whole case had blown up just before half-term. Jaskier and several of the other faculty members had written some very strongly worded emails to the school board to highlight the nasty goings on in the school. He was aware that Yennefer Vengerberg had also been involved. Istredd had told them with a very smug smile on his face. Jaskier supposed he’d finally pulled his head out his arse and done something about that ridiculous crush of his.

Two weeks into the new term and they’d gotten rid of the pervert. He wanted to cheer.

“Furthermore.” The woman said sharply. “We were also made aware of other members of staff supporting Mr Ban-Ard’s views in his treatment of women. I’m sure you will have noticed that not all your colleagues are in the room.”

There was a rumble of noise as everyone looked around. Jaskier met Triss’s eyes and she seemed  relieved to see him. He scanned the room looking for his nemesis.

“Oh this is good.” He mumbled to himself, barely able to keep his excitement contained.

Valdo Marx was absent.

He grinned and linked his fingers in his lap. Maybe he wasn’t cursed after all.

“They have also been suspended until we can ensure that they are not able to use their influence as teachers to encourage this sort of behaviour in our students.” The woman continued with a rather sinister smile. It would have been sexy if it wasn’t so darn right terrifying. She reminded him in many ways of Yennefer.

“Of course, if nothing is proven against those who have been suspended then they will be allowed to continue teaching. In the meantime I’d like to introduce you to Mr Filavandrel Fidháil and Mr Mousesack Ermion. They will be filling in for Mr Marx and Mr Degerlund. I do trust that you will treat them both with the utmost respect. Finally, Ms de Vries will be acting as your new headmistress for the time being. If there are any problems she will be reporting to me directly.”

After a few more minutes the woman in charge let them go and the room burst into noise as everyone began to gossip about what had happened. Of course, by now everyone knew about the whole affair. When one teacher knew something then it was only a matter of time before the whole school knew. Jaskier found Triss first, wanting to catch up on what he’d missed.

“You’re awake then.” She teased as he approached.

He put his hands on his hips. “No thanks to you!”

“I thought you were just being slow.” She defended herself. “We both know you’re not a morning person, Jaskier.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “I’m a great person in the mornings!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“It just has to be with the right person.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes and hit him on the arm. “Gross.”

He laughed. “I know. I know!” He whined. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a while.”

“Still pining after your sexy fireman?”

“Not my fireman.” He grumbled. “and I am yearning! I am dying of thirst.”

“Can’t believe you were late!” Triss giggled. “I thought Philippa was going to kill you!”

He frowned as he tried to recall the name. He was certain that none of the staff were called Philippa. He’d even written a song to help him remember all of their names. “Who?”

“Philippa Eilhart, the person we’ve been listening to for the last fifteen minutes?”

“Ooohh.” He nodded. “I was just calling her. ‘The Woman’”

“Very ominous.”

“Maybe she’ll be the next star of my new song.” He pondered. “She certainly knew how to control a room.” He went to pull his guitar case round to his front but he froze as he felt the broken wood beneath the leather. “Bollocks!” He moaned. “I’ll never write again!”

Triss rolled her eyes as they reached her desk at the front of the school. “Are you sure you’re not one of your six year olds?”

“My guitar broke!” He pulled out the dead instrument and laid it forlornly on her desk. “I fell. Just look at it.” He cried. “And all my other instruments are still in storage! I can’t bring my lute into class everyday, it’s too fragile and far too expensive. I need my guitar!”

Triss patted him patronisingly on the shoulder. “Chin up, Buttercup. Maybe your fireman will by you a new one.”

He gaped and stumbled backwards at her remark. “Not. My. Fireman!” He pointed at her accusingly. “You are the actual worst, Triss Merigold. No wonder Yennefer loves you.”

She smirked. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“It’s not.”

“Now kindly get your precious instrument—”

“Dead instrument.”

“—off of my desk. I’ve got to work.” She finished with a pointed look.

He sighed and picked up his guitar. The kids would be here soon and he needed to get ready for the day.

________________________

Ciri was crying and once again Jaskier had decided that he’d been cursed.

The beginning of the day had gone smoothly after his guitar incident. They were picking up their numbers excellently and they’d even begun to write little short stories of their own. Jaskier was incredibly proud of his young authors. Once their stories were finished, the kids were going to split into groups and act out each one. It was all fun and games and the arts really help to improve their imaginations and confidence. They had been sad when he told them that they wouldn’t be singing along to his guitar today but Kayleigh had suggested that the could make their own instruments which Jaskier thought was a fabulous idea. After lunch they were going to be making tissue box guitars if he could raid the supply cupboard and collect all the tissues into one box. As long as the cleaners didn’t spot him then he would be fine.

Probably.

Although knowing how this day was going he would be caught and lose his job.

But that was neither here nor now. Right now he had one screaming child on his hands.

She had forgotten her lunchbox and it wasn’t a Friday so Geralt hadn’t given her money for a hot lunch.

“I’m going to starve!” She cried in between sobs.

He wondered, for a moment, whether his love for dramatics was rubbing off on his children in a bad way.

He knelt down in front of her so he was at her level. “Ciri, look at me, Buttercup.”

She sniffed but met his eyes. Her cheeks were tearstained and her eyes were red and puffy. He tilted his head and opened his hands in front of him so that she could take them, if she wanted, which she did.

“Do you trust me, Ciri?” He asked softly and she nodded. “Good. Now I promise you that I won’t let you go hungry.”

“But my lunchbox!” She sobbed.

“I know.” He nodded and squeezed her hands. “But we can fix it. Ok?”

She nodded and chewed at her lip.

“I can either call your father and get him to bring your lunch box.” She scrunched up her nose.

“No he’ll hate me!” She cried. “It’s all my fault and he’ll send me away!”

Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself. Geralt would never abandon Ciri like that and it broke his heart that she would think that, but it was so easy to forget the circumstances that brought her to Geralt in the first place.

“Oh Ciri. It’s ok to be frightened but I promise you that Geralt would never do that.” He stumbled backwards as she threw her arms around him and cried more into his chest. “Come on, let’s get to Reception and we can call your father.”

“Nooo.” Ciri whined into his chest.

Jaskier was going to offer to pay for her lunch for the day as a second option, he knew Geralt would pay him back. Not that he wanted Geralt to pay him back, he still felt indebted to the man after the fire, but he couldn’t be seen to be favouring Ciri by paying for her lunch. It didn’t matter anyway. Ciri needed to see her father wouldn’t leave her so he wasn’t even going suggest the hot lunch option.

He pulled her gently to her feet and extracted himself from her arms and then turned to face the rest of the class.

He waved to get everyone’s attention before talking, signing as he went. “I’m just going to Reception, with Ciri. I’ll ask Mr Fidháil to take you to the dining room. You’ll be good for him won’t you?”

The class chorussed their agreement with the exception of Marilka who grinned cheekily and said ‘No’.

He tilted his head in her direction and gave her a warning look. “What was that, dear Buttercup?”

She giggled. “Yes, Mr Jaskier!”

“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head. She was certainly a handful. “Come along now Ciri.”

He crossed the hall to Filavandrel’s room and asked him to keep on eye on his class whilst he went to the reception with Ciri. It would have been much easier if he could have just called Geralt on his own phone but that would have raised questions and ones he wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Mr Pankratz? Ciri?” Triss asked, surprised by their appearance. By the looks of it she’d just been packing up to head to lunch herself when they’d arrived.

“Can you call Geralt?” He asked. “Ciri has forgotten her lunch.”

Triss nodded and pulled up Geralt’s number on her screen. She was about to pick up the receiver when Jaskier stopped her.

“I can talk to him. Please.” He pleaded.

She was too professional to call him out in front of one of his students, especially Ciri, but he could see the mischievous glint in her eyes. He’d have to pay for that one later once the kids were on break. She dialled the number and passed him the receiver. “Thanks.” He muttered and smiled down at Ciri reassuringly.”

The phone rang a few times before Vesemir picked up to announce the fire station. Triss must have used Geralt’s work number.

“Ah. Vesemir isn’t it?” He stammered, unprepared to speak to not Geralt.

“That’s correct. What can I help you with? If it’s an emergency you need to call the emergency line.” Vesemir sounded tired, that was a relatable feeling.

“Oh no. No. Umm. Hi. I’m Jaskier Pankratz.”

“Geralt’s Jaskier?”

He blushed. “Umm. Well. I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“Bath tub Jaskier?” Vesemir chuckled and he realised the older fireman was teasing him.

“Ah yes. That would be me.” He agreed reluctantly. “Is Geralt there?”

“Why?” Vesemir asked sternly.

“Ciri forgot her lunch today. I was wondering whether he could drop it off. It really is quite important!” Vesemir hummed in response.

Well wasn’t that very Geralt like?

Perhaps they really were like family.

Unfortunately, Jaskier wasn’t fluent in Vesemir’s grunts like he was with Geralt. “So is that a yes?”

“He’ll be there shortly, unless we get a call.”

Jaskier grinned. “Of course. Thank you Vesemir!” He replied but it was too late. The other man had already hung up the phone.

Ciri tugged at his arm. “Is that Uncle Vesemir?” She asked.

“It was, Ciri, your father is on his way. Shall we go wait in the lunch hall so the others can start to eat?”

She nodded with a sad smile.

“Tell Geralt we’ll be in the lunch hall!” He called back to Triss as he walked back to his classroom with Ciri.

“Will do.” Triss replied, Jaskier could practically hear the her eyes rolling.

He gathered the rest of class and bundled them into the lunch hall. They were later than he would have liked and his own break time would be cut short because of it but it was a risk of teaching a younger class. He couldn’t just let them wonder around the school on their own. At least he wasn’t on break duty this week. He hated break duty. It wasn’t so bad in the summer term but in the spring it could still be cold and it meant that he didn’t get a real break until he got home. He was, however, on after school pick up duty which meant he’d have to stay late.

Sometimes he’d stay late to finish off some marking at his desk, he didn’t really enjoy bringing his work back home, it made it harder for him to switch off when he was ready to relax in the evenings, but that was a choice. He hated being forced to stay late.

He sighed as Ciri ran off to join her friends. He browsed the hot food options but nothing really tickled his fancy so he picked up a cheese and onion sandwich instead. Sadly, being the beginning of the week there wasn’t a good dessert option. Fridays were the best for that. They always had chocolate cake with chocolate custard on Fridays. He reluctantly picked up an orange instead of a bowl of goopy rice pudding.

He wasn’t a fan of the rice pudding.

He was half way through his sandwich when Geralt arrived. Ciri ran over to him and he picked her up and spun her around as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.

Then again, Geralt had also picked him up like he weighed nothing and he was a lot larger than Ciri.

He snapped himself out of that train of thought before he ended up daydreaming about all the different ways Geralt could throw him about, preferably up against a wall, and walked over to the pair.

“Mr Pankratz.” Geralt greeted him as Ciri tugged her lunchbox from his hands.

“Geralt. Hi.” He flashed the fireman a dashing smile as the ashen-haired girl ran away to eat her lunch. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice her lunchbox.” Geralt replied sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Nonsense.” Jaskier waved it off, Geralt could forget to notice more often if it meant he would come in to visit. “But I am worried about something Ciri said.”

Geralt frowned and Jaskier launched into an explanation of her tantrum and her fears about Geralt sending her away. “I know we agreed that she didn’t need to see anyone at the start of the term, but this isn’t the first time she’s overreacted when she thinks someone might leave her.”

“She’s just a kid.” Geralt huffed.

Jaskier nodded. “I know, my dear, but Ciri’s lost a lot already. I think she may have some form of rejection sensitivity.” Something Jaskier knew far too well. “It would do her good to be able to work through that with someone.”

Geralt pressed his fingers to his forehead. “It’s because I work too much. I can’t spend enough time with her anymore.”

Jaskier resisted the urge to hug his friend. “No. Geralt. No.”

“It was fine during Summer. We had a better routine. I could take her to see Roach every weekend. Now we’re lucky if we get to both go once a month. I rarely get weekends off anymore and she can’t go during the week. Poor Coën sees more of her than I do.”

“It’s not your fault, Geralt.” Jaskier said softly, his teacher voice seeped in slightly but it was hard to turn that off at school. “You never expected to be a single parent.”

Geralt just grunted in response.

“Just promise me you’ll consider what I’ve said, my dear.” Jaskier implored.

Geralt hummed.

“A promise needs words, Geralt.” Jaskier rolled his eyes at the fireman.

“I’m not a child, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled but sighed when Jaskier put his hands on his hips and gave him a pointed look. “Fine. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Excellent!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Now off you pop. I’m sure those wolves of yours will be missing you White Wolf.”

“Who told you about that?” Geralt snarked.

“Not telling!” He grinned.

It had been Lambert. After they’d met in the coffee shop, Lambert had asked for Jaskier’s autograph when Geralt had been distracted on his phone. Jaskier had happily scribbled on the back of a napkin and the pair had exchanged numbers in case the band ever decided to play live then Lambert would be one of the first to know. They didn’t talk much but Lambert did enjoy sharing embarrassing stories of Geralt at work. Jaskier had even been invited to hang out with Lambert and his brother one evening. It had been a little awkward at first but Jaskier had always had a talent for making friends and he found that he enjoyed Lambert and Eskel’s company rather a lot. It had been nice to make some new friends outside of work and his band.

“Jaskier.” Geralt almost growled which made his brain dive straight into the gutter.

Honestly, the way Geralt said his name should be illegal.

He couldn’t resist a wink at the fireman. “Allow me to have my secrets, dear heart.”

Geralt froze at the nickname that slipped out.

Fuck.

He hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t even know where it came from normally he just stuck with ‘my dear’ or ‘darling’ both could easily be excused as Jaskier just being flamboyant, but ‘dear heart’? He couldn’t exactly hide his feelings with that one.

Fuck!

Geralt just smirked, and to the gods was it sexy. “Fine.”

“Good!” Jaskier stammered.

“But.” Geralt leaned a little closer and Jaskier could almost feel the tickle of breath against his ear. His heart was thundering in his chest and he felt like he was going to pass out. “You still owe me that drink.” Geralt whispered so that no one else could hear.

Jaskier’s cheeks lit up and his buried his face in his hands. “Geralt!” He chided. “I am working. Go on. Shoo!”

Geralt laughed but strode out of the school hall. Jaskier’s fingers twitched by his side, desperately needing to pluck away at non-existent strings.

He nervously looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed the interaction but everyone seemed to be engrossed in their lunches.

Thank Freya for that.

He managed to finish up his lunch in record time and the kids were all eager to go outside and play. He decided to spend his break at his desk. He couldn’t face Triss right now. He just knew she was going to corner him about Geralt and he didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

Maybe he could go for a nap?

He glanced at the clock at the back of the classroom.

He still had twenty five minutes. He could absolutely have a nap and the school bell would wake him up before his class came back inside.

He sighed and rested his head on his arms. It wasn’t comfortable but he was done and it was only fucking lunchtime.

He moaned into his desk.

Maybe if they could just keep the flirting to a minimum until summer then everything would be alright. Once he was no longer Ciri’s teacher then he couldn’t really be accused of doing anything wrong.

At this point he was certain that Geralt liked him back. He’d never seen the fireman flirt so openly around anyone else, he’d expected something around Renfri but really their whole vibe was more like siblings than anything else. He spoke fondly of Yennefer but again there didn’t seem to be any lingering chemistry between them, although that could very well be wishful thinking on his part, but he was good with people and he knew when people were flirting with him.

Geralt was definitely flirting with him

No matter how many times they both insisted what they were doing was just things that friends do.

He thought back on how his friendship with Geralt had grown. Starting with the clandestine meetings after school/work to discuss Ciri’s progress and the extra emails back and forth during the week, then after Solstice and he’d given Geralt his number leading to them occasionally hanging out in coffee shops whilst Ciri was at her Ukulele lessons with Pris and the infrequent evening phone calls if one of them had something to say that couldn’t wait until school time.

He swallowed.

Then the fire.

It had shaken him up more than he would have expected when he couldn’t put any weight on his ankle. He had been beginning to think he was going to burn naked in the bath and he really hadn’t wanted to greet the gods like that.

But Geralt had appeared like his own guardian angel. He’d been hoping Geralt would turn up but it could have easily been any of the wolves. Geralt had saved his life though. He would never forget that, even if his crush turned out to be just a fleeting moment in his life and they ended up passing like ships on an ocean.

They’d talked more frequently after that. Jaskier had had trouble sleeping the first few nights and Geralt seemed more than happy to stay up late talking to him in the evenings. Jaskier had even fallen asleep a few times whilst Geralt was still on the phone but he hadn’t seen Geralt in person since the fire.

And he missed him.

Fuck, he missed him.

Jaskier bumped his head against his desk a few times in frustration and then a thought hit him like a train.

They were dating.

The stolen moments after school, the emails, the phone calls and coffee shop dates.

They were fucking dating.

And no one else thought to let them know!

“Shit, shit, shit!” He shot to his feet and began pacing around the room and then yelled in frustration. He needed his guitar, or his lute or something!

He tore through the drawers of his desk looking for a spare notebook. He must have one somewhere. “Come on, come on, come on!” He muttered but there nothing expect the work books of the kids.

His fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists.

What was he going to do?

They’d just been lying to themselves this whole time.

He had to cut it off. No more reckless meetings. No more evening phone calls.

And absolutely no flirting!

He could do that. He was a professional and Geralt was a parent. He just had to treat Geralt like any other parent. He fell in and out of love all the time. This would be easy. If he had any concerns about Ciri he would ask Triss or Tissaia to relay them. There was no need for him to get involved personally, except for parents’ evening and his weekly emails. Geralt probably wouldn’t even noticed. Geralt hadn’t noticed they were dating so he wouldn’t notice if Jaskier pulled away.

The plan formulated in his head, his hands tugging on the bottom of his shirt as he steadfastly ignored the pain in his heart.

No more gossiping with Triss over Geralt’s quite frankly sinful body, which was a shame because their friendship had really grown since Geralt had come into their lives. He hoped their new found camaraderie would last. It was good to have a partner in crime at the school. It had made his break times a lot more entertaining.

No more hot and heavy dreams.

Ok, maybe he couldn’t control that one but he would scold himself for it in the morning!

And he had to get a grip on this! Two of his colleagues had already been suspended just for expressing misogynistic views. If either of them dared to mention his chats with Triss about Geralt as part of their defence then he was a goner and he loved his job, he loved his kids.

His heart felt like it was burning in his chest but it was too late.

He’d made his decision.

If Geralt forgave him for this maybe they could try again in the summer.

He scoffed.

Why would Geralt forgive him? He didn’t deserve that. He’d led him on all year and, if he was right, he was going to break his heart just to save his own career.

He was a fucking idiot. ___________________

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #minor angst #you set my heart ablaze #modern au #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #teacher au #wolfie's witcher writing

[huihuiheart]

Goretober D25: Horror Hotel - BTS

BTS + Journalist! Female Reader for the sake of certain plot elements

This is a historical au, like America late 1800s and inspired by the Murder Castle, so........

Warnings: Kidnapping themes, murder themes, serial killer themes, death, dead bodies, suggestive themes, nudity, poker, alcohol, crematorium themes.

Word Count: 3,291

Everyone had sent you here when you were looking for a story, heaving a soft huff as your eyes ran the expanse of the building. Sure you’d needed a place to stay, but you also needed a story if you were ever going to break out of the little review columns of the newspaper you worked at. You were tired of everyone dismissing your abilities simply because you were a woman! If all they wanted to do was direct you to the famous Bangtan Hotel then fine, you’d find a story here. After all no place just becomes this popular over night, there had to be something going on. Some secrets that this hotel kept hidden deep inside of it and you intended to find out what those were. 

Collecting up the skirt of your dress in one hand and your luggage in the other you, starting to trudge your way towards the entrance. Your ears tuned into the hushed squeals of gossiping women trying to pick up on whatever details they were sharing about the hotel. Scoffing at their incessant compliments regarding the many bachelors at the establishment, surely they couldn’t call be that impressive nor attractive while in the same place. Let alone all bachelors if they were like that. Your heart nearly stopping though as a chipper doorman scurries down the steps to grab your bag in one hand and offer his arm to help you up them, practically glowing as he beamed a sunshine filled smile your way.

“Good afternoon Miss! Allow me. Will you be staying with us long?” The bubbly man easily strikes up conversation and you feel heat rise to your cheeks, flustering a little at how attentive this godly man suddenly was towards you. 

“Not extremely no, I’m simply here on business for a few days.” You easily return a smile his bright nature rubbing off easily. The doorman very intrigued at your words, but not looking judgmental in the least.

“Ah a business woman! We don’t get many of those around here. It’s quite the privilege to be in the presence of someone so esteemed. If you don’t mind my asking what industry?” He inquires releasing your arm to open the door, following you in with your bag.

“I write for a paper, I’m actually going to be reviewing your hotel. I must say that at the very least you’ll be getting quite the compliment from me, um...” Your voice slowly trails off as you realize you hadn’t gotten his name yet.

“My name is Hoseok miss and I’m glad I could welcome you. You’ll know where to find me if you need any further assistance.” Hoseok tips his hat at you and gives a parting smile before diligently returning to his place. 

You aren’t alone long as the concierge soon greets you a soft smile gracing his lips, dimples filling in his cheeks.

“Hello miss did you have a reservation with us today?” He inquires as you turn your attention to him over the counter. You bag on the ground besides you as you shake your head lightly.

“I do not, I was waiting to arrive in the area to determine which hotel I would be staying at.” You explain returning his smile as he nods in response.

“What is your name and how long do you intend to stay miss?” The man politely asks looking over their guest and reservation lists no doubt, but his eyes never stray from your face for too long.

“Ah Y/LN, Y/N. I intend to be here three days. Reviewing various things during the event in the city. And you are?” You had been trying to slyly catch a glimpse of the gold name tag glittering on his chest, yet every move he made had concealed it just enough to prevent you from getting it.

“Namjoon. I should be down here pretty much whenever you’re in need of anything. I assume you’re intending to review our hotel as well?” Namjoon questions with a soft raise of his brow, to which you simply nod, “Very well, let me check out bookings one last time. This week has been chaotic as you can guess, so I’d like to ensure your stay is as smooth as possible.”

You’re only waiting alone for about five minutes before he returns with a set of keys which he places before you. A little numbered tag attached to them, before he places a little sign in book besides them.

“Here you are, sign there please. Your room will be number 234. It’s on the second floor and quite the prime location between most of our offered services. Is there someplace I should forward the bill to or will you personally attend to it at the end of your visit?” Namjoon’s words are polite and to the point and yet patient in manner, kind as his smile never waivers, it appearing genuine instead of simply another customer service smile.

“Oh it can be forwarded. One moment and I can get you the information.” You pull out your book and slip out the information for your newspaper company, the one that attended to all the bills from your little review excursions. Of course they often weren’t horrible expenses seeing as how places hoped to earn a positive review more often than not.  Namjoon nodding and accepting the paper.

“I’ll go copy this information and bring it back to you. Is there anything else I can do for you this afternoon? Perhaps get someone to take your bags up so you can return to your events for the day?” Namjoon offers and you simply shake your head.

“I’ll be going up to freshen up as well, so it’s alright. Though I might join you again in a few moments with some questions about the services you provide here.” You explain and he nods slipping away with the paper. When he returns he’s not alone though, another man slipping out from the back as Namjoon returns the information to your care.

“Seokjin will help you with your things. Please take your time, I’ll be here whenever you return.” Namjoon nods towards the older man who is already moving to take your bag, seeing you open your mouth to argue he chuckles softly.

“It’s alright Miss Y/L/N. I insist.” Seokjin lifts your bag with ease, shamelessly looking over your form before leading the way to the elevator, which he opens for you before slipping inside and work it. All the while sending a more sultry smile you way than either Hoseok or Namjoon had. Of course that being said so far the rumors stood true in three out of three cases thus far. Upon reaching the door you unlock it and allow Seokjin to set your bag down for you.

“Thank you Seokjin.” You smile meekly, cheeks flaring with heat as he winks at you in return.

“It was truly my pleasure miss. I’ll take my leave now, but if you need anything I’ll be glad to assist you with it. Just give a call.” Seokjin eyes you one last time before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind himself. Freshening up doesn’t take you long, collecting a simple few belongings, your pocketbook, journal, and pencil as you make your way down once more. On the elevator ride down your scramble down a few notes about things you’ve already observed in the hotel. You were patiently waiting to question Namjoon about what else the hotel offers, after he finished with those at the counter, when Seokjin notices your presence and comes over.

“In need of something miss?” Seokjin inquires, licking his lips for a quick moment, before that smirk you’re growing familiar with appears once again.

“I was simply going to request more information about hotel services.” Seokjin nods and takes your arm, guiding you over to a small directory, “Well on the ground level we have a restaurant, along with poker tables, and a bar. While on the third floor we have a sauna, massage parlor, and pool.” 

“Who has access to these services? All the guests, or?” You question looking over the directory to memorize the lay out. Realizing now how convenient your room’s location actually was.

“Yes, all guest do. Staff as well, after working hours and out of uniform. So if you see familiar faces around that would be why. Though for the sauna and massages you’ll have to see Namjoon about booking a time. Sometimes the restaurant will be busy as well, but I’m sure we can always find you a spot in there.” Seokjin explains with a soft smile before noticing the line at the counter is gone, “I’ll be returning to my work now miss, if you have any more questions though, Namjoon is now available.” 

You thank him as he tips his hat and heads on his way, giving you time to head up to the counter, “Hello again, would it be possible to book a massage. I hear those are being very popular nowadays.”

Namjoon chuckles and nods, pulling out one of many appointment books. You had no doubt that the reason things to be running so smoothly was due to the fact that Namjoon seemed to be on top of everything, intelligent enough to keep it all in order.

“That they are. Our masseur is rather famous too, I’ve heard many customers claim his hands are magical. Luckily for you he’s open right now, would you like me to call up and let him know you’ll be coming?” Namjoon’s brow lifts, dimples appearing as he smiles. His hand already resting on the phone even before you nodded, something that was still somewhat of a novelty. You give a small nod and he lifts the device as you thank him, turning to head up to the third floor. Hoping the map you’d constructed in your head based on the directory was accurate. Sure enough, you find yourself knocking on a door with a neat golden label to match the name tags of the employees. Greeted only a moment later with a soft smile from the most angelic looking man out of the four you’d yet met.

“Miss Y/L/N?” The angel himself smiles at you, making your skin prickle with a soft heat as if faint rays of morning sunlight are dancing across it now. The sugary sweet man opening the door further for you to enter when you give a flustered nod. 

“What can I do for you this afternoon miss?” He questions allowing you a moment to catch the name off his tag.....Jimin.

“I’m not entirely sure, these are new but becoming popular fast and I’ve heard you have a good reputation. So I guess I’ll just go with whatever the most popular thing is.” As soon as Jimin hears what you say, you think you see his lips twitch as if he were about to smirk or chuckle at you, but he holds himself back.

“Very well miss, for that I’ll need you to strip. You can place your clothes over there and lay on your front here.” Jimin gestures to a table with a small towel on it, not enough to cover much of anything though, “I’ll give you a moment to get ready.” 

As he leaves you actually hear him chuckle softly at your somewhat shocked and flustered face.  Yet, this is his job and so you trust him as you move quickly in an attempt to be finished before he returns. Laying your bare front down onto the plush table, most of your skin bare for when Jimin returns.

“If anything is painful or uncomfortable let me know.” Jimin practically coos in a sweet voice, getting some oil before his hands find your back to work the muscles there first. Your reactions making him smirk and stroking his ego, sometimes his clients came here for.......other purposes, but you were here to report on the hotel so on the clock he couldn’t let you know of that or of his escapades, in particular the fact he wanted you to be one of them. Not even when his hands elicited soft moans of his name to fall from your lips.

______

“Thank you Jimin, I think I understand what everyone was talking about now.” Your voice is breathless, body still flustered. Jimin chuckling in response again and it appears a somewhat mischievous glint dances through his eyes as if he’s holding a secret. Perhaps what you were looking for to get a story. 

“Oh it was my pleasure Miss Y/L/N. Please don’t hesitate to come again, if you’re in need of any of my services.” Jimin licks his lips before getting the door, despite knowing better he couldn’t help but slip a small innuendo into his statement.

You’re fanning your face slightly as you enter the elevator, trying to compose yourself and make your way down to the first floor once again. You knew that if you wanted details you’d have to socialize. You also managed to strike some luck as you slipped into the area with a bar and poker tables. Spotting the young, wealthy founder of the hotel sitting at one of the tables, nearly alone. It seemed like the ideal situation for you to slip over and start a conversation with with him and perhaps look for something juicy to write on, hoping your charms might be able to help you out. 

“Mr. Jeon?” Your voice is soft as it draws the attention of the man at the table, “Pleasure to meet you. I hope I’m not intruding on anything?”

Jungkook takes your hand, bringing the back up for a gently kiss, “Miss Y/L/N, right? Because truly the pleasure is all mine. Please take a seat, do you play?”

Before you can even say anything the only other man at the table scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous Jeon, a woman cannot play poker, just as she cannot play chess. Their time is better spent on other things.”

“It really is a shame you say that. I doubt you’ve ever had the privilege to play chess with a woman, she might teach you some thing. I tell you truthfully that the best strategists and poker players I’ve ever known have been women, and one day I would not be surprised if we see them taking over those aspects of life and leaving us in the dust.” Jungkook insists and the man doesn’t even bother to say anything else to him as he shakes his head with a huff and depart.

“My apologies Mr. Jeon, I didn’t mean to ruin your company.” You apologize and Jungkook shakes his head stopping you from doing so.

“Please call me Jungkook, and you have nothing to apologize for. If that man is truly so narrowminded he’s not good company by any means. Now I do believe I asked you a question.” He grins a little as sips his drink.

“Ah, well I’ve never played before, but I’m somewhat familiar from watching.” You admit and Jungkook chuckles motioning for the dealer to go ahead.

“Well Taehyung here is my lucky dealer, so try not to snatch him up from me pretty miss. I’ll gladly teach you how to play. Before long some others might join us too, some of the employees play when off the clock. A few of them are damn good too.” Jungkook laughs, shaking his head before motioning someone else over, “This is Min Yoongi, he runs the bar. Order whatever you’d like on me miss.”

You order something light a fruity, not wanting to drink a lot, even though you’d like the presence of the man running the bar with his beautiful face. Not that you minded being stuck with Jungkook and Taehyung at the table. Jungkook insisted that the first few rounds hold no betting, not even mock betting, to allow you the chance to learn the hands and all. Taehyung occasionally speaking up to explain something to you.  Your drink arriving soon, as you wait for the next round. Yoongi hovering near you as you accept it and turn back towards the table.

“Let me know if you like it or would like something else miss.” Yoongi gives a small nod, but doesn’t leave even as you hum in approval.

“Taehyung give her chips for a thousand on me. I think she’s learned enough for that, she’s rather good too.” Jungkook and Taehyung both chuckle as Taehyung hands you the chips. Yoongi taking a seat near you in the empty area.

“Mind if I see?” Yoongi inquires and you allow him to see your cards, the man leaning over to give you small bits of advice occasionally and helping you pick up the betting part.

“Oh is that really fair? Yoongi’s the best bluffer.” A familiar voice jokes and you turn to meet the face of Hoseok, smiling brightly as he joins the table.

“It’s Y/N’s first time playing, I’m just helping her out.” Yoongi easily dismisses the younger with a soft smirk, knowing he certainly was the best bluffer of them all. The table merry for another couple of hours as you all joked and held a game, before you decided it was time to call it a night, at least for that.

“Thank you gentlemen, I’ll retire now though. See you all tomorrow.” You smile and nod at them as Seokjin steps into the room, meeting your gaze.

“Let me walk you to your room.” He insists and you know there won’t be any arguing with him, from your earlier interactions, so you nod and slip your arm through his offered one and head up to your room. Waiting about fifteen minutes to slip out again, in search of something held secret in the hotel to make a good story from. Sneaking past the pool, you notice that Jimin is swimming there, in the nude. Surely that’d be interesting.....for a review. It’s not enough for a whole story though. You need something good, something BIG! Which is how you found yourself sneaking back behind the front desk, when Namjoon slipped away. Going into the back to look for something, you misstepped though and trigged a trap door sending you plummeting through a dark hole before hitting the ground in a room without natural lights of any kind. Simply lit by a large furnace and a flickering bulb. The smell down here simply rotten, something you didn’t know the explanation for until you turned around to try and determine where you were only to find three dead bodies stacked atop each other. Slapping a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming. You needed to find a way out, you could get your evidence later, but right now you just needed to get out before you were next. You couldn’t find anything though, until you hear something...or rather someone. That person tsking softly.

“Really Y/N? You had to snoop around hm?” You turn to meet Namjoon, who it leaning against the doorframe, the other boys you’d met behind him, “ And to think we all really liked you, were gonna let you off the hook.”

“W-What? W-What do you mean?” You stutter, slowly backing up as they moved closer.

“We pick who to have some entertainment with based off room number, sweets.  Yours was up, but you’re too precious so we were gonna be nice to you.” Seokjin explains, eyes taking in your form.

“B-But now you’re going to kill me aren’t you?” Your words come out as a soft whimper and it causes Jungkook to coo looking at you with a smirk.

“No we aren’t sweetheart, but you won’t be going anywhere.....anytime soon Y/N. You’re stuck with us now.”

#goretober #bts #bts oneshot #namjoon #namjoon oneshot #jimin #jimin oneshot #seokjin #seokjin oneshot #hoseok #hoseok oneshot #yoongi #yoongi oneshot #taehyung #taehyung oneshot #jungkook #jungkook oneshot

[dailydianakko]

Ink Slinger Chapter 3- I Just Really Want Your Number

Alright, so I got it done! Chapter 3 of Ink Slinger. It’s not really beta’d but I hope you enjoy it regardless! Also on AO3 here.

At the tone of the alarm clock, Akko had reluctantly woken up at an early 11 o’clock. She had managed to get the majority of her paper done the night before, which meant today was a day for slacking off. She hadn’t moved from bed at all. Instead, she was lying on her stomach and lazily scrolling through her phone. Stopping her thumb on a particularly attractive blonde model in her twitter feed, Akko was reminded of Diana. Just the mere thought of Diana pulled Akko into the memories of yesterday. Diana really had helped her out, despite Akko’s attitude during their first meeting. The blonde had helped Akko find the book she had needed, and had even purchased a book to help Akko better her writing. The amount of favors she owed was piling up, so Akko figured she really owed Diana something.

 Akko combed her behead back with a hand and wracked her brain. She had to have something to offer to Diana in return for all the help. Akko smiled and propped herself up onto her elbows and smiled as an idea began to form in her brain. Professor Finnelan had mentioned a Creative Writing event being held at the school where several authors and publishers would attend a Q&A style panel about writing. Diana might be interested in going. After all, if she liked books, maybe she’d also like meeting authors. Bonus if Akko could score Diana a book signed by one of the authors themselves. 

 All she had to do now was call Diana and invite her. There was no way that Diana would decline, there were too many positives. Akko squirmed in excitement. Unable to hold in the full force of her emotions, she kicked her feet and quickly rolled off the bed. Unfortunately, she didn’t quite land on her feet. Akko let out a quiet hiss of pain as her elbow slammed into the floor. She quickly sat up and began to scroll through her contacts, only to pause. Akko stared dumbly down at her phone. She didn’t have Diana’s number. Damn it.

 Getting up, Akko began to pace the bedroom. How could she get Diana’s number? The blonde clearly worked frequent hours at the bookstore, so visiting in person was a possibility, but actually asking Diana out to her face? That was less than ideal. The threat of a face to face rejection was much too daunting. Texting or calling was safer.

 Akko ceased her pacing and smiled as another idea hit her. Jasminka worked with Diana; maybe she would have her number. Akko’s smile dropped as her brain dragged up another possibility. Getting Diana’s number through Jasminka could end in Akko getting labeled as a creep. Getting a number through a third party was always weird. Besides, Diana wouldn’t have Akko as a contact, and might ignore her because of that. Who picks up calls from unknown numbers in this day and age?

 Akko chewed her lip and thought some more. Logically, the best course of action would be to steal Diana’s phone and get her number that way. Then she could just enter in her own contact information and pass it off as something that happened earlier. After all, who remembered anything past three hours? Akko personally made it a policy not to, so why would Diana?

 Plan firmly secured in her mind, Akko threw on an orange jacket over her pajama shirt. She would eat breakfast and then head to the bookstore. There wasn’t a point in getting dressed up since Diana wouldn’t be seeing her. Akko would be in and out, with Diana none the wiser. Akko left her room with a smile on her face and headed towards the door.

  As she pranced through the kitchen, Akko grabbed an apple from the nearly empty fruit bowl. She took a huge bite and gave a garbled hello to Lotte and Sucy. Lotte gave a small wave back, not even looking up from her crossword puzzle. Sucy merely flipped her off from the stovetop where she stirred away at something that looked quite dubious. Akko shrugged and opened the fridge for some milk. 

 “Akko, if you pass the store, can you grab some popcorn? Movie night with Amanda is next weekend and I want to be prepared.” Lotte’s piped up, still working away at her puzzle.

 “Yeah, anything else?” Akko asked as she closed the door with her hip, milk in hand. 

 “Mmmm, no. Sucy?” Lotte looked up and over her shoulder at Sucy.

 “Blood sausage.” Sucy said flatly as she removed her pot from the heat. “And for you to stop pacing so early in the morning.”

 “Yes to sausage, and its eleven thirty, Sucy.” Akko said, taking a swig from the carton.

 “Irrelevant and that is disgusting.”

 Akko merely nodded and wiped away her milk moustache. Nothing was better than drinking milk from the carton, and you could pry this privilege from her cold, dead hands. Besides, she didn’t have backwash, so no problem. She put the milk away and quickly demolished the rest of her apple. Akko made sure to carefully pry the seeds out of the core before throwing it away, and carefully tucked them into her coat pocket. Sucy had mentioned something about cyanide and needing apple seeds earlier. Hopefully it’d make up for drinking out of the carton later, and deter Sucy from experimenting on Akko while she slept.

 With everything from her quick breakfast put away, Akko left their shared apartment. The sky looked slightly overcast, and it was chillier than yesterday. It would probably rain later; her choice to wear a jacket had been a good call. Akko shoved her hands in her pockets and fiddled with the apple seeds in one hand. Whistling cheerfully, she began to walk down the street, carefully avoiding the areas on the sidewalk that had gotten cracked from a large tree root.

 Once she had gotten on the same block as the bookstore, her cheerful walk slowed to a creep. She didn’t want Diana or Jasminka to realize that she was in the area today. Stealth was a key factor. Akko looked around the area, eyes scanning for the familiar blonde hair. She was so caught up in looking for the blonde; she failed to notice the garbage can on the curb. She clipped it with her foot and stumbled. Akko hopped around, flailing her arms and trying to regain her balance. She managed to avoid falling, and her palms only slightly skimmed the concrete as she stopped her wiggling. 

 Looking up, Akko found that she was in front of the bookstore. The front of it was as welcoming as ever. Akko straightened up and began to walk slowly towards the porch. If she was remembering right, the steps were creaky, so it was best to skip them entirely. She planted one foot at the bottom and stretched her leg over the three steps, holding onto the rail to keep her balance. She pointedly ignored the burning in her thighs and hoisted herself over the stairs. The porch only slightly creaked as her weight settled on it. Glancing furtively at the windows, Akko let out the breath she had been holding. No one had seen her approach.

 The next hazard she had to conquer was the door. She couldn’t remember if there was a little bell that would give away her position. She’d rather go through an open window to avoid the risk of detection, but all of them seemed locked tight at a glance. She took a deep breath to conquer the squirmy feeling of excitement in her chest. This reminded Akko of the time she had broken into the art professor’s classroom with Amanda after hours to recover her phone. Hopefully this time, she wouldn’t end up being chased from the building by a police officer. 

 Akko steeled her nerves and reached for the doorknob cautiously. She turned the handle carefully, and slowly opened the door; being mindful of a possible bell that would give away her position. Luckily, it seemed like there was no bell, and she stepped into the building. Akko closed the door behind her and cocked her head as she listened for noises. The building was silent, save for the hum of the air circulating through the vents. She stepped past the entryway and entered the maze of books. 

 As she stealthily walked through the shelves, Akko remembered an old article she once read. She quickly ducked down to crawl on all fours. It had said that people were more likely to catch something at eye level; therefore crawling was the way to go. Akko let out a quiet prayer that Diana wouldn’t catch her, ass in the air, as she roamed about the bookstore. 

 Hearing a quiet hum, Akko quickly ducked into an alcove. Peeking around a corner, she watched as the two Roombas that patrolled the store came into view. They beeped nonsensically to each other as they passed, and Akko let out a quiet breath of relief. She felt a little stupid hiding from Roombas, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She looked around again carefully. The two Roombas always followed Diana around, so she had to be close by. Seeing nothing that indicated that Diana was close, Akko resumed her crawl.

 Humming a little spy tune of her own, she headed to the back of the store. As she neared her destination, she finally spotted a door that marked the jackpot. The staff room. Akko quickly scuttled over on hands and knees, stopping at the door. She barely paused to look around before mushing her face into the hardwood floor, straining her eyes in an attempt to peek under the doorframe. A light was on, and she didn’t see any shadows or feet. Aside from the shadows of a chair off to the side, it appeared to be all clear. Akko balanced on her knees, reaching for the door knob. Akko pushed her nervousness down and her hand closed her hand around the door knob. 

There was something taboo about opening the door; as if she was entering a realm not made for mere mortals. 

Akko inhaled, steeling her nerves, and jerked the door open. Unfortunately, she miscalculated the force she had used and ended up rolling in after. Recovering quickly, she hunched over like a feral animal, glancing around frantically. A small desk area was packed away in a corner, papers scattered all over the dark wood. To the right, a small row of dented lockers stood. “All right!” Akko muttered to herself. The employee’s belongings were probably stored there. Akko briefly looked up, checking for a security camera. Nothing. There probably was never a need for tight security in a small bookshop, and that worked in her favor.

She quickly closed the door and crawled towards the lockers, analyzing them for any indication of one of them being Diana’s. There were faded marks from where masking tape had been worn away, probably from previous employees whose names had been scrubbed away after resigning. Akko couldn’t see any tape that bore Diana’s name. She would have to wing it and check every locker. Her heart beat in her chest as she began to open up several lockers at once. Each one was empty. As her fingers brushed one of the lockers on the top row, Akko let out a tiny grunt of frustration. This one better have at least something worth her time. 

“Finally!” Akko whispered in triumph when she saw that this one contained a dark blue lunchbox and a gray notepad. As she reached inside to see if a phone was hiding behind the lunchbox, she heard a small click. Akko turned, all senses straining to the door. She felt a sense of dread creep through her heart as the door slowly swung open. She was about to be caught stealing something from an employee locker. She had to do something. Getting caught was not an option.  

Akko quickly slipped off her shoe. She could throw it as a distraction and make a break for the door. Hopefully whoever it was wouldn’t see her face and Akko could make a clean getaway. Cocking her arm back, Akko prepared to throw the ragged sneaker, only to drop it as Diana herself walked through the door. The blonde made eye contact with Akko as the sneaker hit the floor with a resounding thud. Akko flinched as Diana’s eyes darted to it for a split second before returning to Akko’s face.

 “You were going to throw that at me, weren’t you?”

 Akko paused for a moment. “No.” 

“Akko, you had the shoe in your hand. You were going to throw it.” 

“No, I was just,” Akko’s eyes darted down to the shoe as she thought up an excuse “shaking a stone out of it. Now that it’s gone, I guess I’ll get going!” She bent down and scooped up the shoe. Hastily jamming it on her foot, she attempted to push past Diana and escape this embarrassing situation. Diana quickly blocked her path with an arm. 

“Akko, what are you doing in the employee’s room and why was your hand in my locker?” Diana asked with a sigh. She had begun to squeeze the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Akko fiddled with her coat’s sleeve nervously. Diana looked frustrated, and that probably wasn’t a good sign.  

“Uh,” Akko said with all the eloquence she could muster. 

Diana sighed again and reached into her back pocket and pulled out a slim wallet. “How much?” She asked as she opened it. 

“Excuse me?” 

 “How much do you need? Clearly you wouldn’t be rifling through my belongings if you didn’t need cash,” Diana looked at Akko evenly “The register up front would have been a better option, but I can’t fault you for avoiding possible confrontation.”

 Akko felt her jaw drop. The way Diana seemed resigned to giving Akko money made her think maybe the blonde had gone through all this before. Akko tried to gather her wits to tell Diana she wasn’t a thief. This was not how she wanted it to go. She had to explain that this was a misunderstanding. 

“I didn’t come here for money, I wanted your phone.” God dammit, that was not what she wanted to say.

“My phone?” Diana gave a blink in surprise. “What could you possibly need my phone for?” 

Akko clenched her teeth. It took all of her strength not to let out a miserable whine. She might as well come clean now. The whole plan had failed. Worst of all, Akko probably was going to be kicked out of the store for thievery. She would never get to see Diana ever again, and would never be able to repay Diana for her kindness.

“I wanted to get your number.”

“And you thought the best way to do that was to steal my phone.”

“Well-”

“Akko, did you even consider the possibility that you might not be able to guess my password?”

“I just assumed that you’d have one of those old ones,” Akko looked down at the floor guiltily “Like a Noika or something.” 

“A Noi-” Diana let out a huff of exasperation. She crossed her arms and looked at Akko with a small glare. “Why would I have a Noika?”

“You seem like the type to have one of those old lady phones?” 

“Atsuko,” Akko felt a shiver run down her spine at the use of her first name “I am the same age as you. Obviously I would have a phone befitting my age.”

Akko didn’t say anything back; she just looked down and shuffled her feet. Why did she think this was some sort of grand plan? It was obviously doomed to fail. Her eyes burned and she felt a lump grow in her throat. 

“Akko,” Diana said in a gentle tone. Akko felt Diana’s cool hand on her cheek and allowed the blonde to guide her face away from the floor. “All you had to do was ask. I would have been happy to give it to you. You didn’t need to come up with a scatterbrained plan like this.” Akko felt her tears dry when she noticed that Diana’s eyes glittered with merriment, and her lip was twitching in an attempt to restrain a smile.

“Here.” 

Akko held her breath as she watched Diana slip her phone out of a pocket and unlock it with a series of deft finger swipes. She hesitantly took it from Diana’s hands and looked at the blonde. Diana gave a small nod of encouragement, and Akko quickly typed in the digits to her phone number.

“Thank you, Diana.” Akko said as she handed the phone back. She felt all warm and gooey, like she was radiating sunshine. She stood there star struck, looking at Diana.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Diana asked with a raised brow. Her hand was held out in expectation. For a brief moment, Akko thought Diana wanted to hold hands, until she remembered that they were exchanging phone numbers. Akko felt a squeak of embarrassment escape her throat. She shakily handed her phone to Diana, almost forgetting to unlock it.

She watched as Diana entered her number in. Akko couldn’t believe this was happening. It looks like the plan had been a success after all. Akko slipped her phone back into her pocket once Diana had finished filling out the contact information. She was hyper aware of the weight of her phone. She still couldn’t believe it. She had gotten Diana’s number.

“So,” Diana said with a smirk “What did you need my phone number for?”

“I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me to that creative writing panel thing.” Akko blurted out. “Y’know, because you seemed interested in books.” 

“I wonder what gave that away.” Diana said with a giggle. Her hand was covering her mouth, and Akko briefly wished she could see Diana’s full face when she laughed. Akko could tell Diana had a smile full of sunshine, and she wanted to see it.  “I was going to come anyway. Ursula, my boss, is on the panel. I was going to help set up.” Diana continued as her giggles faded. “But, I’d much rather go with you, as long as you don’t mind arriving early.”

“Not at all! I like helping and stuff. I’m super strong!” Akko couldn’t help but give a little jump and playfully flex her arms. This had exceeded her expectations. She’d be able to pay Diana back for all her help.  

“You should probably get going,” Diana gave a little glance at the clock ticking away on the wall. “It’s getting rather late, and you really shouldn’t be here. I’ll escort you to the door.” 

Once more Akko found herself being led through the shelves at a quick pace, her hand entwined with Diana’s. It was almost like a dream. Akko was pleased to find that Diana still used whatever shampoo that made her smell like wildflowers. All too soon they were on the porch.

“So I’ll see you, for the panel thing on Thursday?” Akko asked. She was still holding Diana’s hand, and she was a bit hesitant to let go. She gave a small squeeze, and felt a trill run through her when Diana squeezed back.

“Of course. I shall text you the time later this evening. Please don’t let me catch you in our staff room again.” Diana said as she almost hesitantly untangled her fingers from Akko’s and walked towards the door. Akko’s hand almost felt lonely after the blonde had let go. “And Akko,” Diana said with a smile over her shoulder  “I look forward to our date.”

Akko stood there dazed as Diana quickly shut the door, still looking at her hand. As the words slowly sunk in, she felt her body give a jerk. “You too!” She yelped at the door belatedly. With a red face, Akko quickly dashed off the porch and back towards the dorm. She could buy groceries later. Right now she needed a safe place to scream her joy. Her roommates wouldn’t be safe from the hugs that were to follow Akko’s triumphant entrance. Akko had a feeling that Lotte would definitely have a field day when she told her this story.

#lwa #little witch academia #akko kagari #diana cavendish #dianakko #diakko #my writing #ink slinger #daily speaks

[fae-redux]

rules of the game: ch. 5 - my kind’s your kind

Story Summary: 

The Evergreen and Imagi were never quite in peacetime. Roman’s just trying to figure out how to survive and succeed his mother. Logan wants to live long enough to use his magic however he wants. Patton is coasting while repressing everything, still trying to figure out what feelings are. 

Virgil doesn’t want to change the world. 

Luckily, it isn’t up to him.

first | ao3 | prev

Chapter Summary: Dee and Virgil are both of the Evergreen. They don’t already know this.

Word count: 2658

Pairings: future lamp, platonic anxceit

~|~

When he finds Dee sitting innocently at his dining table with nothing but a cup of tea and a saucer in front of him, Virgil knows he knows. 

“Did you know,” Dee starts, not looking up from his tea (Virgil can feel his barely contained glee from where he stands), “that Queen Valerie received quite the surprise this morning?”

He’s smirking like Virgil should already know. “No,” he attempts to shrug casually because it’s not technically a lie, “What surprise?”

“The queen certainly did not acquire a child,” His eyes light up, “And she really didn't get the twin fae child of the one you just cursed, no, she did not.” He laughs and practically spins out of his seat to get a good look at Virgil, effectively cutting off his path to his room. “Why didn’t you invite me on your hunt? We wouldn’t have had any fun together! There’s always something as good as some classic bonding, cursing unsuspecting humans, stealing children, you know!”

Virgil exhales a long breath through his nose, trying to move around the fae. “You are way too excited about this.”

“Well, it’s only what I haven’t wanted for years,” Dee tilts his head forward facetiously, an arm blocking his exit again, “Horrible of you to give me an early birthday present.”

Virgil gives up trying to get to his room and takes the seat Dee vacated, but then his brain catches up with what Dee just said. “Wait, I didn’t curse the kid, I cursed the queen.”

“According to the Seelie that just came from the outskirts, you definitely did not get the kid, and your magic is super stable,” Dee shrugs, moving his cup to the sink, practically fluttering his hands in joy. “The kid’s a bad mark, and if he grows up anything like his mother, you’ll be sorry you did it.”

Virgil looks at Dee, who is still grinning, genuinely ecstatic for the first time since Virgil’s met him, and thinks, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. If the queen does raise the child herself, he doesn’t have that much hope for the kid, and with King Cromwell under her thumb, it’s unlikely the kid will know what life outside the citadel looks like.

“I can see it now,” He says. The deal is composed of a thick cord that holds strong. Even tugging on it now, he feels the prince, crying alone in a nursery, and can’t believe he didn’t feel it before, “I should probably break it.” 

“Sure, if you don’t want the death of a child on your hands. Magic doesn’t come with backlash.” Dee raises an eyebrow, and he hastily takes his hand back from the rope. “Besides there have been plenty of instinctive magic curses in fae history. It’s not like we don’t have the theory to even begin going about breaking it without killing you or the kid.”

He shakes his head and resolves to ignore the thing.

Dee is happy. It’s a shame, Virgil thinks. If what Virgil can recall about what he said is right, the young prince has twenty years to live, and nothing he does will affect the curse or change its course. It’s all up to Adelaide. 

He doesn’t dwell on the seed of guilt that starts to grow in his stomach. 

He doesn’t.

~|~

As much as he likes to focus on his misfortune, Virgil knows that when he can’t fix all his problems, it’s best to start with the ones he can handle. 

The thing is, Dee’s right. His magic is unstable in that he doesn’t know what he already did with it or how to use it, and if he can’t learn to put some sort of a leash on it, he’ll be reliant on Dee forever, which isn’t ideal. 

On the bright side, Dee seems delighted by the turn of events that is Virgil asking for magic lessons. They’ve started to learn to live with each other in the past couple weeks, Dee accommodating Virgil and teaching him how to do things around the estate, and Virgil carefully staying out of the way of Dee’s clients. This really is an extension of their preexisting lessons.

Dee starts them off by trying to figure out what sort of fae Virgil is. It would be going better if the only things he could talk about weren’t the way the plants lead him to Dee’s hide-away home in the Evergreen and the whole “curse” incident. 

“How did you get away from a full ballroom of knights and iron? The queen wouldn’t have been extra careful with the presence of a child,”  Dee has about seven books open trying to figure out what Virgil’s fae history is made of. 

He shrugs, letting his shoulders slump in a little more, taking another bite of his food and ducking behind his bowl a little as Dee tosses another book to the side. “I heard the sound of breaking glass behind me? It sounded like your illusion breaking that first night we met, so I assume it was some kind of illusion magic. I just remember thinking I didn’t want them to see me leave. Illusions and plant-based magic are two very different things, though, so I don’t really understand how I would have both.”

Dee snorts, putting his own bowl down. “Even for a novice, you’ve got a horrible understanding of magic.” He brushes through his history of plant fae grimoire while frequently glancing from Virgil to the book. He turns the book so Virgil can see, “Match?”

Virgil looks at the portrait in the book of a fae with a wide face and a stubby nose and shakes his head. “I read a lot in the castle so I know a lot about magic. My mother’s collection told me about fae magic, but Adelaide’s collections taught me other kinds of magic. I moved most of her spellbooks and grimoires to my room, so even if the queen decides to go book burning, those would probably be safe. She probably doesn’t remember that I used to live in the west tower.”

The ache that comes with thinking about his old home isn’t new but he almost wishes the bittersweet feeling would go away. The castle always used to have the best view of the sunset and the most wonderful view of the full moon in the sky. Jam tarts were always a bonus too, especially when they got the ones with the special red jam. Those were things that made it really feel like home.

Dee turns the book around again. “This one?” 

Virgil stops thinking about the castle. 

The portrait shows an eager lady with sharp ears and elongated incisors and long silver blonde hair, about to pounce off the page. Her grin looks the same as his mother’s did before she hatched a plan to get them both in trouble. The manor staff used to hate that smile. 

“That one,” he swallows down and clenches his fists to hold back the tremors he feels coming on, but it just sends sharp stings of pain through his palms. No one had told him about being part fae. No one even suggested it before Dee. If the queen knew, she surely wouldn’t have allowed Romulus to take him in. “Well, we know why about the plants now, though I’m not really sure how diluted my ancestry is,” He fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, and the hollow feeling in his chest persists. Enough fae blood to be fully realized by a deal gone awry, but not enough to affect him for the first 17 years of his human lived life. 

Dee waves a hand and begins to put books away. “The real problem is that we know exactly why you have illusion powers like me,” The muttering increases as Virgil just sits at the table, head leaning against his palm watching as Dee pulls random books out at will, only to look through two or three pages and return them to the shelf. “Your existence as a fae makes complete sense.”

Today has already been too much, but at the very least they have a hint. “Thanks,” he replies dryly. “It’s not as though anyone told me there was a fae in my family tree somewhere. I would go back and look for the documentation if it didn’t mean getting captured and tortured for eternity for daring Adelaide.”

The scowl on Dee’s face makes him use an arm to cover the lower half of his face and stifle his snicker. 

“Yes, you could go back, and all my hard work, gone, just like that?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, as he shoots his judgmental gaze towards Virgil, “Stunning idea.”

“Nah, I think you like me too much to let me do that anyways,” Virgil openly smiles at the fae as he huffs and returns his attention to the shelves. “You do.”

“If the universe had not given you to me as a gift,” The light from the window glances off his yellow scales, making them glow, “You wouldn’t be dead right now. You would do well not to remember that.”

“Yeah,” Virgil rounds the table and plucks Dee’s bowl from where it sits, heading to the sink, “You like me.”

He doesn’t interrupt him, lets the grumbles fill the air, the only noises Dee can make without outright lying or telling the truth in the way he does.

Dee is a lot easier to understand than whatever the queen had going on, and they got on fairly well. Virgil doesn’t think it would be the worst thing to stick around for a while. 

~|~

Watching Dee set up his tools for their first illusions lessons shouldn’t be as funny as it is. He left early that morning after breakfast with a cementing potion, tubes of sticking potion, and a basket of things he hadn’t let Virgil peak at.

When he’s finally allowed outside, he sees the monstrosities that Dee made in all their glory. There are trinkets of every sort pulled together from various places in the house that appear to be fashioned together into odd amalgamations. One is made up completely of porcelain doll legs in the shape of a duck and another is made up of small duck statues that have been organized into the shape of a person.

Ridiculous sculptures aside, Dee’s efforts come with a long lecture that Virgil only manages to absorb parts of. 

“These won’t do for now, but the basis of this is you needn’t be able to maintain the same image in your head as the one you want to project as an illusion. It’s not like making the image in your head and turning it out of your brain to appear in the real world. Make sense?” Dee is looking very intently at the ducks while Julep watches amused from the sidelines.

Virgil frowns. “Is the correct answer yes?” He stares at the sculptures as if they will help him figure it out. “Because no.”

Sighing, Dee points at one of the ruinous creations, “When you look at that, what are you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about how weird it is that you own enough dolls to make a large duck out of their legs and how fucking weird you are for doing this. Why, what’s the point?”

He looks like he’s going to facepalm in a very undignified way for a moment. “Can you think of anything else besides the thing you’re looking at?”

Blinking at the creation, he thinks for a moment. How could anyone who had that in front of them not think about it? Then it hits him. That’s why he made these insane things. “You’re trying to improve my concentration on what I want the actual illusion to be.”

“You mustn't hold your concentration, or this won’t work. Try to focus on the statues, not an open field with flowers. Anything not like that.”

From where he sits with his eyes closed, he can feel the grass pulling up between his fingers and in the breeze. Imagining an empty field, he tries to picture what he thought of being in front of him. After a full minute of intense focus, he peeks one eye open, and Dee just waits, not saying anything. Nothing happened.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing,” He huffs, frustrated. He picks the dirt and grass out from under his nails, a wrinkle in his brow. “Turn the image, what does that even mean?”

“Don’t picture it in your head first,” Dee sits next to him and puts down the dangling chicken bone mobile he created. His back is straight and he rests his palms facing up on his knees. “Don’t take a deep breath, and forget to concentrate.” He moves his hands to the ground in front of him, “Now, don’t shift the image, like it's on a wheel from your mind, in front of your eyes.” 

Virgil watches as between blinks, the things vanish from sight. He raises a hand to tap the illusion, then hesitates and looks to Dee for permission. 

“Please don’t touch, it’s just so fragile,” Dee smirks and examines his nails. 

The tap sounds exactly like tapping a glass of water or on a window. A bright sound rings out, but the illusion doesn’t break. More confident now, Virgil knocks on the glass, and the prairie scene stays playing in front of him. 

“Honey, you’re gonna have to try softer than that to break it,” Dee picks up the shovel he brought with him to build his structures. “Watch and don’t learn a thing!” The fae laughs as he swings it full force at the illusion, spinning with the momentum of the turn. 

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the field with his laughter, and Virgil can’t help his flinch, looking away so his eyes don't get hit with any of the glass. Nothing that comes his way feels like it hits him. In fact, the bits that do appear to hit him just vanish on impact. Curious, he runs his fingers along the edge of a piece that landed near him and startles as it melts into nothing the second he would have made contact with it. 

Behind the illusion, a single duck falls off its structure from the hit of the shovel, but otherwise, the creations are unharmed by Dee’s magic. 

“Illusions are weak until they are broken. You won’t learn in your own time,” Dee looks disappointed at the duck that fell off and tucks it in his pocket, though what for Virgil doesn’t know. “Not your turn!”

Virgil looks at the spot Dee had put his hand down and takes a deep breath, just like Dee told him. It’s hard not thinking about the statues in the yard, but he manages to make some sort of image in his head of an empty field. The wheel behind his eyes pulls the image over the image of the current field.

The turn feels strange but there’s something there. It leaks into his arms as he tries to put the image in front of him, and it feels like water running over his arms, uncomfortably smooth. He blinks his eyes open, and he’s completely dry, but he’s looking at an empty field. Well, a version of an empty field, anyways.

Dee clicks his tongue happily. The illusion is clearly the wrong time of day, the black of a night sky curling at the edges with sunlight, and as Dee flicks it with two fingers, it shatters. “For a first try, terrible.” It’s silly, but Dee grins just like Thomas would when he scored well on his chemistry assessments. “Now don’t do it again.”

Virgil puts his hands to the ground more confidently. He can do this however many times it takes to get it right.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts janus #virgil sanders #janus sanders #i thought we could take a break from adelaide to focus on whats really important #and thats developing virgil and dees family vibes #because i want some fluff thats why #we can get back to in universe politics later ok #sanders sides fanfiction #awen writes #rules of the game au

[athina-blaine]

hey kids wanna see a fic preview??

(howdy! for readers of my tma fics wondering what the heck ive been up to the last month, here’s a little something for you-- yes, you! the full chapter will be posted next week)

(preview under the cut!)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a man who wanted to save the world, and instead, nearly destroyed it. 

Before he was forced to commit this great evil, the man fled-- but the failed ritual inflicted him with a terrible curse, and he concealed himself inside a dark, lonesome manor. As the years passed and the solitude ate him, he never ventured to the outside world, ever again.

But that was alright. The man preferred it this way. For there remained not one person, living or dead, who was better off for having known Jonathan Sims.

-

"Aren't you lonely, Mister Blackwood?"

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 1

THE FOG

“Blackwood.”

Martin lurched upright, unfinished letter sticking to his sweaty face. Mister Griffiths was standing in the doorway, his scowl deepening by the second as Martin scrambled out of the desk chair and onto his feet.

“If you’re finished with your nap,” Griffiths snapped, “make your way down to the kitchens at once. Lord Barclay’s guests will be arriving soon.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

With one last, withering look, Griffiths turned on his heel out of the servants’ quarters, and Martin’s shoulders lost some of their tension. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved, or find a good rock to curl under.

At least he’d only been glared at this time.

Martin sunk back into his chair, eyelids threatening to slip shut again. Hard wicker had no right being as comfortable as it was. In all fairness, though, the cold stone floor of the refrigerator would be just as soft right now.

Peeling the letter off his cheek, he flipped it over and groaned. Oh, perfect. He’d gone and completely smudged the thing. Half his face was probably covered in a splotch of ink.

No wonder Griffiths had looked at him like he was dog shite underneath his shoe. At least the dog shite wasn’t going to be late to its shift, now.

He huffed.

At least he’d snuck in a few winks before he needed to get ready. Something was always better than nothing– even if the thick, pulsing needle driving itself through his temples disagreed. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him through today’s shift.

Especially today’s shift.

He tucked the letter underneath his pillow; he’d have to rewrite it later if he wanted it ready to send out tomorrow morning. 

A new uniform was waiting for him in the communal wardrobe, one that Lord Barclay had ordered just for the occasion. His dormmates must have already grabbed theirs– aside from his, the wardrobe was empty.

Bit annoying that they hadn’t even taken the time to give him a quick tap on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Martin, rise and shine, big day today, don’t want to be late!’

Perhaps they’d figured it was best for him to sleep as much as possible. This wasn’t  the day to get sloppy, after all.

Or maybe they hadn’t considered him at all.

He hoped it was the first one.

Uniform slung over his arm, Martin hurried toward the servants’ washroom. He was making good time; with any luck, Griffiths’ scowl would never graduate higher than mildly disappointed. On the scale of the head butler’s ranking displeasure, it wasn’t the worst place to be.

In his haste, however, he bumped into the shoulder of another server. Martin turned, an apology already on his lips, then paused.

“Charles?”

Charles spun around, and his eyes brightened.

“Look who decided to make their way out of bed,” he said, giving Martin’s shoulder a playful pat. “You know Jefferies is going to have your hide if he sees you like that, yeah?”

“Please don’t tell him. He’ll kill me this time, he really will.” His eyes flitted down Charles' figure, brows shooting up. “You … you’re wearing the new uniform.”

“I am, indeed. How do I look?” Charles asked, smoothing down the front of his chest. “Fetching, right?”

“I-I, uh, you …”

It was hard to get the words out. Anyone would look good in a uniform like that; that was why Lord Barclay had bought the bloody things. But the dark red jacket, white gloves, and navy tie complemented Charles’ ginger hair and smile in a way that tangled his tongue something fierce.

Martin’s face warmed, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“You look wonderful,” he said. Then, face growing even hotter, “I mean, um,” he coughed, “it looks really good.”

Charles’ grin widened, and Martin had to stop himself from slapping his own face. Get it together. There was something more pressing here.

“But you’re going to start serving? Today? You’ve barely even finished your apprenticeship.”

“Griffiths needs all hands on deck. I’ll be fine. You’re such a worrywart, you know that?”

Of course Martin was worried. Charles had only been working in the castle for a few months, and Griffiths was going to have him start now? On the night of Lord Barclay’s autumn soirée?

Martin was about to remind him of that when a wave of dizziness crested over him, weakness shivering up his legs. He would have tipped over if Charles hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little …”

If Martin’s face was hot before, it was nothing compared to now.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Again?” 

“I’ll be fine once I’ve had a wash up.”

Charles’ eyes lingered on him so long that Martin was sure he’d well and truly pass out. After a moment, Charles gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and withdrew.

“You’d best. Well, I need to be off. Ol’ Griffiths is on the warpath. Good luck tonight, yeah?” He winked. “Drinks on me at the pub later.”

“Y-yeah. See you.”

Martin tracked him until Charles left the room, eyes drifting on the corner where he’d disappeared until another dizzy spell swept over him.

Focus. Charles hadn’t been kidding about what Jefferies would do if he knew Martin still hadn’t changed yet.

The reminder had Martin rushing through his wash. Throwing the new uniform on was a struggle; all those foreign buttons and straps kept tangling together, and he got stuck twice before securing the last tie. 

Martin paused in front of the mirror to check himself over. It was... nice enough, he supposed. The most expensive thing he’d ever worn, that was certain. Despite the custom fit, though, the torso still hugged too tight around his chest, and the material scratched at the sensitive skin on his neck.

Luckily, he’d only have to wear it tonight.

With one last glance, he smoothed down his hair and hurried out into the main hallway.

Chaos. The corridors were packed wall to wall with other servants, confused about where they should go, what they should be doing. The crowd smothered him; how had he managed to sleep through this? Now, in the thick of things, his ears were beginning to ring.

“Martin!”

Pausing, Martin scanned the sea of twisting faces. Angelica was elbowing her way through the swarm, drawing sharp cries of pain from her victims, but her expression of dogged determination didn’t change.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, as soon as she was within earshot. “I just wanted to say thanks for setting up the guest bedrooms last night. I would’ve been up ‘til dawn if I’d had to do it myself.”

Martin, who had finished outfitting the last of the guest quarters just as the sun was rising, smiled. “I’m glad I could help. Wasn't really fair to you, getting assigned something you aren't used to.”

She nodded in agreement, sage-like. “I swear, Griffiths is out to get me. I’d rather stay in the laundry room where I belong.” Then she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a bundle of cloth. “We had apple slices for breakfast this morning,” she explained, holding the bundle out. “I saved you mine. You know, as a thank you.”

Woken by the mention of food, his stomach spasmed. He hadn’t even spared a thought for breakfast– based on the sun’s height, the servants’ meal hour had long been over. 

Eyes burning, he accepted the gift. “Thanks, Angie. I really needed this.”

She beamed up at him.

From somewhere within the clamour, an authoritative voice rose up. “Come on then, to your stations!”

The tide of the crowd was pushing them apart before the last word faded. “Good luck, tonight!” Angie called as she turned to follow some of the others into the laundry room. Martin waved back to her, and once she had disappeared from view, unwrapped the cloth and bit into one of the apple slices.

Sweet and refreshing. Martin let his eyes slide shut, savouring the crispness. Thank God for Angie. There was no telling when his next meal would be; Griffiths had informed everyone last night that they wouldn't have time for their regular lunch. 

He finished the last slice just as he reached the kitchens. If the hallways had been chaotic, this was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Servers were shouting orders to the kitchen staff, the kitchen staff were dancing around the servers, and everyone inched a hair's breadth away from colliding into one another. It was only through sheer level of experience on the part of the servants that they managed to avoid absolute disaster.

And in the centre of it all was Jefferies, shouting directions and helpful threats in equal measure.

“If a single one of you even so much as serves a smudged glass,” he roared, “the Lord’ll have all our heads!”

The ringing in Martin’s ears had gone from loud to stringent. Bracing against a countertop, he dragged a hand across his face.

Focus.

Plate the food, take it to the dining hall, serve. He’d done it a thousand times. This was the exact same thing.

He just needed to stay focused.

“Here, Blackwood.” One of the servers pressed a tray of champagne flutes into his hands. Taking one more bracing breath, Martin shouldered his way back into the corridors.

Time to get this over with. The frantic noises from the kitchen fell away in increments until, at last, he reached the ballroom.

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