#when i got back to the call the customer continuously referred to me as mate and dude and no work experience will surpass this

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 3

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

4747 words

Warnings: minor angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, chances of a few minor swears, miscommunication

As always, keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point.

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

Steven sent you his schedule for the next week on Sunday, “We can start the north wing this week, if you like.” He was a bit nervous about it- after what Donna had said.

You wanted to see him again; you were still happy to be friends with Steven. But you hadn’t replied yet- you needed a bit more space than you’d originally thought in order to get over this crush.

Steven was working Tuesday again and even though you hadn’t responded to his message, he’d still hoped you would show up. But his break came and went and he started to worry that Marc had been right. Maybe he had blown it. He’d must’ve done something on Saturday that made you decide not to come back. He knew he could be a bit oblivious, but he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.

Come Wednesday, he spent far too much time agonizing over whether he should call you. He was up so late, he overslept Thursday morning. It was strangely nostalgic of his life before he’d known about Marc, but the charm quickly wore off when Donna got on his case. Not that she ever needed a reason, but she seemed pleased to have an excuse to torment him.

In fact, she must have enjoyed reaming him so much that morning that she returned in the afternoon. He did his best to appear busy as she marched up to the counter, her phone clutched in her hand, “I suppose you and your girlfriend think you’re being rather cute, don’t you?” Her tone was more derisive than downright angry.

“Sorry, what are you on about?”

“Like you haven’t seen this?” Donna brandished her phone. Steven tried to get a look, but only caught a glimpse of the some website before she huffed and pulled it back around, reading aloud, “Received a tour today from the gift shoppist, Steven Grant. Steven’s knowledge of Egypt is only surpassed by his enthusiasm for it, which makes this museum patron pity the museum management who waste his talents for touring in the gift shop. So-” 

Steven didn’t realize he was smiling until Donna looked up from her screen, “Oh- don’t look so pleased. Your girlfriend can write all the reviews she likes, but it won’t convince me to make you a guide.”

“There’s more?”

“Like I’m going to continue stroking your ego or whatever,” Donna wrinkled her nose. “Just get back to work. At the counter.”

As soon as Donna disappeared from sight, Steven had his own phone out, not bothering to hide it from the customer that had just walked over to browse. He scanned the site until he found it- your review. 

He read aloud, beginning hushed and growing louder as he went, “So, I will most definitely be returning for the rest of the tour in hopes that others might share in the experience. As lucky as I’ve been to enjoy a private tour, it would be selfish to keep Steven a secret.”

Steven’s chest felt light, “Did you hear that, mate?” The young man clutching a plastic pyramid looked around, confused, but Steven didn’t wait for a response, “I think she likes me. Or she did like me. Bloody hell, I’ve gotta call her- I’ve gotta call her right now.”

He pulled out his phone and faltered, “Wait, but-” his finger hovered over your contact, “If she liked me enough to leave that review, why hasn’t she replied to my message?”

The customer gave a weak shrug, hesitantly setting the pyramid on the counter. Steven seemed to only notice him just then, “Right, of course, let me get that for you.” He cashed him out and once he was out of sight, he continued staring at his phone. He’d texted you Sunday; this was the fifth day with no response. What if you’d changed your mind?

“Steven, just call her.” Marc sounded exasperated, watching on from the mirror behind the counter.

Steven glanced at the mirror, looking stricken, “What if she doesn’t like me anymore? That’s why she hasn’t answered.”

Steven was putting the phone away, moaning under his breath about how he’d blown this. Marc knew he could front, call you himself, but that kind of defeated the purpose. This was Steven’s show to run.

Steven pressed his palms into the wood, “Alright, get a grip on yourself, mate. C’mon.” 

His halfhearted attempt at a pep talk stuttered to a halt when he glanced up, seeing you walk in. You were dressed casually today, wearing a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with planets on it. Not that it made any difference to Steven; he thought you looked lovely in whatever you wore. 

“Marc, she’s really here right, I’m not just mad, am I?”

“Two things can be true,” Marc quipped, falling silent as you approached.

*

You tried not to look too much at Steven as you approached the gift shop; you needed to keep yourself in check today. No flirting, no admiring, and definitely no pining. Steven was your friend, that was all.

“You came back.” Now your eyes were drawn to Steven as he spoke, sounding like he’d seen some kind of angel instead of just you, torturing yourself.

“Of course I came back, I need the rest of the tour, right?” You smiled; that wasn’t flirting, right?

“I didn’t hear from you, so I thought you might have gotten tired of hearing me talk,” he chuckled weakly. 

You breathed a sigh of relief; at least it didn’t sound like he’d seen your review. He deserved it and you hoped he might read it someday, but it was easier this way. It gave you time to quash the little ache in your chest at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry about that, my cousin’s been dragging me off to visit family all week, so I’ve been a bit scattered.” Lying to Steven didn’t feel very good. “But I’ll always come back for a tour; you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Steven couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. You were being perfectly pleasant to him- it didn’t seem like you were upset. But you’d withdrawn from him; you weren’t being as playful- as open with him as you’d been before. You were being polite. Distant.

He tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat, “Does that mean you want to start the north wing today?”

“If you’ve got time for me- if not, that's completely alright, I should have told you I was coming-”

He nodded furiously, “Course I do; always got time for you, don’t I love?”

You tried to keep your expression even; why was this so hard? Why did he have to be so sweet and charming and positively dense? “Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence before Steven clapped his hands together, “Well, let’s get started then.” 

Things were awkward. And it was your fault. But you couldn’t let yourself be sucked back into that magnetic field of Steven’s warm personality. It would make this- being friends- impossible. You were probably giving him a weird vibe. And maybe he was mad at you for ignoring him. Most people would be; you might’ve been if you were in his position.

But he didn’t give up on you, that was for certain. He still spoke to you with the same enthusiasm as before. You wondered if he even had it in him to be mean to someone; it seemed doubtful. 

It felt like if you tried hard enough, you could envision the little bubble of radiant energy that emanated from Steven, with you standing just outside. He was trying extra hard to make you smile, it seemed, adding little jokes to his explanations. You couldn’t help yourself, lips turning up as he asked you, “Why didn’t Cleopatra go to the psychiatrist?”

“Why?”

“She was the Queen of Denial.” He rocked on his heels and did a “buh dum tss” motion with his hands, a goofy smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, “That was absolutely awful, Steven. How long have you had that abomination in your pocket?”

He seemed rather relieved to see the hint of your usual self and suddenly it felt the same as it had before. You were back to making your little quips and teasing him again. He realized he’d missed hearing your laugh. 

He kept moving, beaming as you continued to complain about the bad jokes. He’d been scolded an awful lot of times in his life, but he never liked it so much before you did it. The way you’d roll your eyes at him, but then you’d smile; it made his stomach drop. 

Glancing at his watch, his stomach dropped again, but not in as pleasant a way, “Oh bollocks, I’m late getting back again.” He hadn’t thought you were coming today so he hadn’t set an alarm.

This time Steven pulled you by the hand back toward the gift shop. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” you huffed, trying to keep up with him and ignore the way he was clutching your hand.

“Sorry, I’m a bit hopeless I’m afraid,” he grimaced as he hurried around a corner, only to stumble to a halt as he caught sight of Donna over by the front desk with JB. He ducked back behind the wall, pulling you back with him. Surprised by his sudden change in direction, you stumbled.

In a moment of rare coordination, Steven kept you upright by your hand, pulling you back in and catching you in his other arm. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him, pressed to his chest by his arm around your back. 

“Careful,” he breathed, speaking so low that his accent was barely audible.

You peered out, comprehension dawning on your face. That is, until you inhaled, the scent of whatever kind of soap Steven used filling your senses. You were far too close- this was not good. It felt like you were short-circuiting, staring up at him with your mouth half-open like a deer in headlights. Two minutes ago, you were thinking that maybe you could pull off this whole friend deal and now you were struggling to form even a single word because proximity to Steven was intoxicating.

“Sorry to surprise you,” he whispered again, only now beginning to blush. 

“You’re- uh- it’s fine. Fine,” you managed to get out. You peeked around the corner again, “I think you’re safe now.” 

You took a hasty step backwards and now Steven looked flustered, “Right. Better get back then and hope she hasn’t gone to check on me.”

You nodded, following him back the rest of the way to the gift shop, relieved to see Donna wasn’t poking around. You leaned against the counter, hoping your face wasn’t flushed, although you supposed you could blame it on all the rushing around, “Sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly, “What are you sorry for?”

You gave him a wry smile, “Seems like I keep getting you into messy situations. I’d hate for you to get into real trouble.”

“I’ve been in real trouble before, you don’t need to worry.” He chuckled and you almost felt like you were being left out of a joke. But he smiled at you, “But just to be safe, when will you be back? So I can set another alarm. Just in case you get busy again, you know.” You weren’t prepared for Steven to tease you; you suddenly felt a bit warm.

You turned away, absently examining a stuffed mummy off one of the racks, “When do you have time?”

“I’m working the morning shift tomorrow; if you came by around two, we could do like we did on Saturday,” he offered.

“You don’t mind staying late after a real shift?” You smiled; teasing him wasn’t flirting. And he was doing it to you too. 

“I told you, love, I’ve always got time for you.” It was like he wanted you to suffer.

You chuckled weakly, “And you’re sure you haven’t gotten yourself punished with inventory again this week?” 

“I haven’t been punished quite yet, although that might change now that Donna’s read your review,” Steven smiled. “She was a bit steamed about it this morning.” You tried to smile back, but your mouth was suddenly dry. Steven tilted his head, “You alright?”

You prayed your cheeks didn’t give you away even as you could feel the warmth creeping through them, “Sorry, yeah. I didn’t, um, realize you’d seen that. It’s a bit embarrassing.” 

“Why’s it embarrassing?” That little furrow between his brows returned and you wanted to shout the answer at him; it felt like it was so obvious and it was somehow more humiliating that he hadn’t picked up on it.

“You didn’t think it was-” you bit your lip, searching for the most diplomatic way to put it, “A bit much?”

Steven’s lips parted in understanding, but his brow remained furrowed, “A bit more than I deserve, maybe, but I thought it was lovely. No one’s ever said something so nice about me- not that I can remember anyways.” 

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him that he deserved to hear so much more than that; Steven was oblivious, but not that oblivious. At least you didn’t think so. “Well, I’m glad I posted it then. Especially if Donna wasn’t happy,” you smiled.

“She read about half of it to me and it was quite satisfying, if I can be honest,” Steven grinned guiltily.

“Did she see any of the others?”

“The others?” Steven cocked his head. “Did you leave more than one?”

You shook your head, “No, the other people who have been listening to your tour did.” He stared at you like he didn’t understand, so you smiled, chagrined, “Okay, so maybe I mentioned it to a few of them when that little boy was asking you if he could draw on the walls like in the displays.”

You gestured for him to check his phone and Steven was quiet for a long moment, just scrolling through and seeing his name before speaking softly, a small smile on his face, “No wonder Donna was so short with me this morning.” 

“And you still didn’t get inventory? You must be having a good day.”

Steven remembered how nervous he’d been this morning, thinking that you didn’t want to see him anymore. You’d pulled away from him and he wasn’t sure why. But all of those worries had dissolved into nothing when he’d heard you laugh. And he’d gotten to hold you close, albeit because of Marc’s split second of intervention. And you were coming back to see him again tomorrow.

The corners of his lips tugged up, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” you patted the counter. “See you tomorrow at two then?”

He nodded,  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Once you were out of sight, Marc spoke up, “No one’s ever said anything that nice to you, huh?”

Steven rolled his eyes at the gift shop mirror, “I was excluding people I share a body with.”

“Oh, well you should have said so-”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to mention that to her next time, won’t I?”

Mark’s retort was cut short by the clack of Donna’s shoes on the polished floor. “Stevie, glad to see you’re back at your post,” she mused, sarcasm evident. He opened his mouth to protest, but she tapped her watch, “I came by at three seventeen and where were you? Not here, that’s for sure. Off with your little girlfriend again? You know what I’m gonna say.”

“Donna, no- I’ll stay late tonight to make it up-”

“What good does that do me? No. You’re in the back tomorrow.”

“I can’t work late tomorrow, I’ve got a date.” He was going to ask you to dinner after the tour was finished.

“Well I imagine you don’t anymore, do you?”

“I can’t cancel, Donna, I’ll do the next two Fridays instead.” Steven hated that he had to plead with Donna; he usually just put his head down and took it, but he couldn’t cancel on you. He couldn’t risk messing this up again. 

Donna gave her head a derisive toss, “Well, guess you should have thought of that before you took an extra long break, yeah?” And she clacked away, taking Steven’s good mood with her.

Steven shook his head insistently, “I can’t- I can’t cancel on her.” But still, he took out his phone, sending you a text, “Spoke too soon on inventory, I’m afraid.”

You were already on the bus, on your way home, so you replied quickly, “Oh no. Was it because of the reviews?”

“No, completely unrelated.” Steven wasn’t going to tell you that it was because he’d gone over on his break either. He didn’t want you to feel guilty about coming around to visit him.

“Well, I’m still sorry- I’m sure it wasn’t justified. We can reschedule, no big deal.” 

“We could still get dinner after I’m off at eight, if you like?”

Last week you would have been overjoyed at the offer, but now you felt strange. You wanted to go, but you had a feeling it might be bad for you in the long term. You were already pushing your luck as it was. 

“I’m sorry, Steven. I’ve actually already got plans for dinner tomorrow.” It was difficult to type and even more difficult to actually send it; you hated lying to Steven.

“Right, of course. I’ll let you know my schedule tomorrow. We can choose another day.” He felt a bit of panic; what if you had a date with someone else?

“Looking forward to it.” You sent a follow-up message, “Don’t forget to read those other reviews. Hope they cheer you up a bit.” 

Steven sighed at his phone. So much for his good day. Although, thinking about the nice things you’d said about him, the way you’d looked at him when he’d held you close- maybe it was still alright. He returned to the website, searching more thoroughly this time. 

There were a handful of others, the most recent from barely twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t even sure when you’d found time to speak to anyone today, but somehow, you had. And they were all lovely. He felt his face flush at the idea of all of those people saying nice things about him. One in particular caught his eye, though not because of what it said about him.

In the very last paragraph, it read, “Steven, if you’re reading this, you’re a lucky man. Hold onto her. -Dorothy.” She signed her name on the review like it was a letter. Steven remembered the older woman who’d been trailing after you during his tour; he’d slowed down a bit that day so she could keep up.

“Well Dorothy, I gotta get my arms around her to hold on, don’t I?” he murmured sardonically. 

Come Friday, Steven started his shift feeling a bit downcast. He should be walking around the museum with you right now- making you laugh, finding a way to hold your hand again. Instead, he cursed Donna under his breath and clocked in. He was pleased to find out from the first shift at the gift shop that she’d left for the day; at least he wouldn’t have to listen to her complaints today.

Around four, Steven’s heart leapt as your name popped up on his phone, “How’s the inventory going?” 

“I’ve not started yet. Manning the counter until 7 and then inventory after close.”

“I could call Donna and try to order a pizza if it’ll make you feel better.”

Steven chuckled, “Afraid she’s ducked out early today.”

“That’s hypocritical.”

Steven hit a bit of a busy spurt in the gift shop; it was Friday, which meant that the kids in the after-school programs were extra rowdy. They needed to touch absolutely everything, but rarely had the pocket money to buy anything. So he spent a great deal of his afternoon fixing the displays, his phone still hastily stuffed in his pocket.

Meanwhile, you were deciding where to order pizza from. If Donna wasn’t in, you could afford to brighten Steven’s day a bit. Especially since you still had a sneaking suspicion that he was working late because of you.

He’d told you about JB’s negligence; you waltzed right through the lobby at quarter to seven with a pizza box in your hand and he didn’t even look up from his phone. Pausing at the entrance to the gift shop, you watched Steven for a second. He was typing something on his phone, only to shake his head and mutter something before deleting and typing again. He repeated this process twice before tucking his phone away and moments later, your own phone chimed in your pocket.

Steven’s head snapped up from the plushes he was sorting and you lifted the pizza box, “I really wanted to order that pizza.”

A slow smile spread over his face, “Are you having a laugh? You’ve actually brought pizza into the museum?”

You shrugged, “You told me JB wasn’t the best security guard.”

“Actually I said he was bloody awful, but you’re much sweeter than I am,” Steven chuckled. 

You set the box on the counter, “If we want to eat before I get busted with this, we’d better get going.” Noting his hesitation, you added, “It’s vegan cheese. Don't worry."

The corner of his mouth quirked up. He'd only mentioned it offhand, but of course you were listening. You always listened- you made him feel like the most interesting person in the world, even if no one else but you cared. He followed your lead, taking a slice of the still warm pie, “Thanks- for this. I’ll admit, I was having a bit of a shit day-” he caught himself, “Sorry-”

“Steven Grant, did you just curse?” The little bubble of laughter that left you was pure delight.

His face went hot, “Yeah, sorry, slipped out I guess.”

“No, I love it,” you grinned. “I wanna hear more Steven curses.”

“You want me to- curse?”

You nodded, laughing again, “Let them all loose- all the curse words you know, right now.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” he chuckled weakly, half-tempted to comply, if only to see the way your nose scrunched up when you laughed. “After all, you’ve gotta earn a true curse.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you conceded.

He smiled, tentatively checking his watch; he didn’t want you to go. He was about to invite you to stay while he did inventory- he could tuck you in the back until JB had done his walkthrough, but then he remembered that you were supposed to be busy tonight.

His brow furrowed, “Did your dinner plans fall through?”

He seemed so genuinely concerned, you crumbled immediately, “That was a bit of a fib actually,”

Watching his expression fall made your heart ache, “So you didn’t have dinner plans tonight?”

You chewed your lip, suddenly nervous, as you shook your head, “I thought maybe we shouldn’t get dinner- together, you know. It would’ve felt like a date and you made your position on that clear, so I-”

“Oi, what the- You can’t bring food in here!” JB had started his rounds early, likely eager to get out of work on a Friday night.  

You jumped whipping around, “Right, sorry about that. Wrong address.”

JB grabbed the pizza box from the counter and shoved it into your hands, giving you a firm push toward the exit, “We’re closing up anyway, get moving along.”

Steven felt a flash of anger that was unusual for him, “Hang on now, no need to be so rough.” And he wasn’t finished talking to you; what had you meant about his “position?”

“Stand back now, Scotty, let me do my job, yeah?” He pressed a hand to Steven’s chest and Steven felt the irrational urge to grab his fingers and twist. 

“You don’t need to touch her- she wasn’t hurting anything!” 

“Look mate, it’s Friday, I wanna get out of here, alright?”

Steven pulled JB’s hand from his chest, glaring at him as he dropped the closed sign down on the counter with a loud clatter, “What’s stopping you then? It’s closing time.”

 JB glanced off in the direction you’d gone, muttering something under his breath before moving on. 

Steven wanted to follow you- to chase after you and talk more, but he was on thin ice as it was. He’d been lucky to get his museum position back at all, after everything, and if JB was feeling cross with him, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he reported back to Donna. And he was always on thin ice with her. So he stayed where he was. But once he was sure JB was out of earshot, he pulled his phone out.

You hesitated a second before picking up; you were just out front. You’d needed to stop and take a moment to admonish yourself for blurting so much out; you’d been so swept up in doing something nice for Steven that you’d forgotten about the lie you’d told him. When he’d brought it up, you’d panicked.

“Hello.” You grimaced at the forced normalcy in your tone. 

“Are you alright, love? He shouldn’t’ve pushed you like that and I’ll be sure to have a word with-” there was a pause as he considered who’d he’d be chatting with, “-someone, about this on Monday.” You’d never heard Steven so riled before.

“I’m fine, Steven. No need to get all worked up, alright?” You were hoping- praying even, that Steven had only called to check on you. But that hope was short-lived.

“Yeah, you’re right, I know. I just-” he took a deep breath, “Right. I’m good- I’m aces. Very calm.” There was a pause, then he cleared his throat, “What did you mean, back in there?”

You played dumb, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you didn’t think we should get dinner because it would feel like a date.”

“Right, that,” you acknowledged.

“Then you said that I’d made my position on that clear. But the thing is, I don’t remember that. And sometimes I forget things, but I don’t think I’d forget that, you know?”

“Steven, we don’t have to-”

“If I said something, I want- no, I need to know what it was. Please tell me.”

“Right.” You sighed, “Last Saturday, you mentioned that you’d told me you were working because otherwise it would have seemed like it was a date.” 

“It wasn’t, was it?” To Steven, giving you a tour wasn’t a date. Not a proper one, like you deserved. But he did remember saying that and now that he recalled the memory, he remembered the way you’d faltered in the conversation. And you’d worn that dress.

And suddenly it all made sense. The long silence in your absence, the way you’d been reserved when you came back; he’d hurt you. And you’d still left him that lovely review. You’d still come to see him again. You’d brought him dinner at work just to toe the line he’d accidentally drawn in the sand. 

“No, of course not, you said so yourself,” you agreed quickly. “Sorry Steven, I’m getting on the bus, so I’ve got to go.”

“W-wait-”

“I’ll see you again soon, alright Steven?” And then you were gone. 

If he could have made it down the street to the bus stop before they pulled away, he would have made a run for it. But he heard the familiar hiss of the brakes just before you hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter and fisting his hair. 

“God, I’m such an idiot!” He raised his hand in a mock toast, “Cheers to Steven, the biggest knob on the whole bloody island.”

“Statistically, probably not the biggest.” 

Steven glared at his reflection in the mirror at the back of the counter, “Not helpful, Marc.”

“I wasn’t trying to be helpful.”

“Great. Thank you for that. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” He began working on the inventory, but the real work was brainstorming how he could make this up to you. You deserved something special- something that would make it obvious how he felt about you. 

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #marc spector #steven grant fluff #moon knight fluff #moon knight fanfic #steven grant fic #phases of the moon series

[cod-sins]

𝑫𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

.ೃ࿐ Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Black!Artistic!Reader

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW. Very Fluffy.

.ೃ࿐ Reader: Undisclosed.

.ೃ࿐ Format: HCs .ೃ࿐ Word Count: 536.

[A/N: What started out as drabble in my notes turned into full headcanons :>. Also non-blacks y'all are allowed to interact with this post just don't be weird.Also I didn't proofread n just kinda threw these out there.]

Going to start this off by saying Ghost supports you 100% whether you do it as a hobby or as a full-time job. He isn't going to be going around bragging to everyone about it but he would definitely look at some artwork and be like 'Huh, Y/n could make something 100x better.'

If you work with clay/pottery he likes to watch your hands carefully dip and curl shaping whatever object you're making. He also asks you stupid questions.

"Why are you fingering it?" "Simon." - 😐. "Just wanna know why you're trying to give it an orgasm love." Feel free to kick him out.

Got really jealous when he found out you made Price a custom drinking glass. He never told you but he always glares at it whenever he's in the room with his captain.

Ghost has a lot of money from working in the military so he has no problem buying you new art supplies. Even if you insist on getting a new sketchbook despite you having several others that you didn't finish. Ghost is still pulling out his wallet for you.

Suffering from art block? Ghost is your muse!

You'd have so many drawings and paintings based on him. He's so amazed at the way you're able to capture every little detail. You actually end up boosting his confidence/ego because of this.

Would pose naked if you asked, but he gets jealous if you use other naked people as art references. "Simon I love you but I need a female body. Not a six-foot British man." "Use your imagination."

If you're a digital artist Ghost is constantly telling you to get up and stretch. You only agreed to this because he wouldn't stop calling you shrimp-related nicknames.

"Oi, shrimpy ya need to stand up for me." "Hey shrimpback time for you to stretch for me." "Your back looks like the letter C."

'It's you. 💻🖋️🦐' He would text you.

Doesn't understand why you're crying head down on your computer until you tell him your program crashed before you could save your progress.

Ghost is so amazed with your ability to create masterpieces just by using your head and references.

Would let you color on his tattoos and draw on his back and arms. He enjoys watching you doodle little crossbones on him. Or when you go all out and draw bones on his hands

If you were a painter Ghost would hang some of your artwork around his house. It would be such a surprise when you came over to visit. He'd smile softly watching you get all excited over it.

Ghost however can't tell the difference between different tones and shades.

You frowned slightly and furrowed your brows as you picked up the small tube of paint from the white bag. "What's the matter?" He asked. "I wanted lime green this is yellow green..." "Bloody fucking hell mate what's the difference? It's just green." "Pfft, what's the difference? Simon, there is a huuge difference," you exclaimed before continuing on. "It's like trying to use a sniper optic for a pistol." He chuckled at your shitty analogy before kissing your forehead and promising you to buy the right one next time.

#.jupiter writing #.simon “ghost” riley #simon riley fluff #ghost x black reader #cod x black reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost headcanons #ghost x you #ghost x male reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x gn reader #ghost fluff #ghost fanfiction #simon riley headcanons #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #simon riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader

[currentlyonstandbi]

oh the gender euphoria in this house tonight is immaculate. serving a customer on the phone today at work and had to put them on hold for a moment to look for an item, and while i’m gone a coworker picks up the phone to ask the customer if anyone is assisting them, to which they reply ‘’yeah, there’s a guy helping me already’’

#when i tell you i was seriously buzzing the rest of the shift #my customer service voice is one of the those things i hate cause it naturally has an upwards inflection #when i got back to the call the customer continuously referred to me as mate and dude and no work experience will surpass this #of course all my coworkers were trying to make me feel ''better'' about it and reassuring me i didn't sound like a guy and it's just #..rhonda ... i'm trans #personal

[steves-on-a-plane]

Sailing Trips

For @buckybarnesbingo​ Words: 1026 Square Filled: Pirate AU Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes   Summary: Reader is a Pirate Captain who’s sailed into port looking to chat with a former mate turned legitimate, Bucky Barnes about a profitable proposition. 

The salty air left a tingle in your nose. Almost enough to make it itchy. Your hair was pulled back from your face with a strand of leather. A sentimental scrap you held onto from a former lover several years back. With a cutlass strapped to one side of you and a pistol to the other, you adjusted your hat, nothing would sway you from your mission. You stared down the tavern for only a moment more before steadying your shaky breath and swaying inside.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” The man behind the counter’s name was James Barnes. But he was never called by his first or last name. The residences on the island, and the sailors from far and wide who visited, knew him only as Buck or Bucky. Some said it was just a nickname and nothing more. Others claimed it was a reference to his former career as a buccaneer. You wondered how many of the tavern’s other patron had gotten its proprietor drunk enough to learn it was simple a derivative of his middle name.

“Bucky.” You nodded curtly but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. His warm eyes looked you over.

“The seven seas never looked as good on anyone else.” He appraised. He turned his back to you reaching for a bottle of familiar brown liquid. He poured you a mug of your usual and slapped in on the bar top as you approached. “On the house.” He nodded.

“You might take that back, when you find out why I’m here.” You said, snatching the tankard before he could change his mind. “I need your help with something.” You told him, leaning in close. You propped your elbow on the bar top, trying to appear casual to any onlookers. Lucky most of the bar’s patrons were focused on their grog and the warmest body they could get their hands on.

“I can float you some gold if your current business is not as lucrative as you’d expected. I know your good for it.” He shrugged. He began wiping down cups behind the counter. He needed to have something to do with his hands.

“My business is doing just fine.” You snapped harsher than you intended. You put your mug down choosing your next words carefully. “Actually, the business is why I’m here.”  Bucky stopped wiping the glass in his hands. He eyed you, daring you to continue. “You remember Isla Rojas?”

“I’m not saying that I do.” He answered back just as cautiously. “But if I were trying to remember, would that be the island that was dripping with rubies?”

“It may be.” You nodded. “If one were trying to remember of course.”

“[Y/N], I can’t help you with that.” His tone very serious. “I’ve given up that part of my life.”

“I know, I know.” You nodded. “But it would just be one, small sailing trip.”

“It’s never a small sailing trip with you.” He disagreed. “The last small sailing ship I went on with you nearly got us both killed.”

“Almost every sailing trip we go on nearly gets us killed.” You smirked, trying to lighten his gloomy mood.

“Exactly my point!” He quipped out.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need you, Buck!” You pleaded with him.

“You’ve been to that island a dozen times, [Y/N].” He sighed. He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’d only need my help if you’ve lost the map I left you.”

“For your information, I’ve not lost the map!” You argued. “It was stolen.” You added quietly.

“Stolen!” He hissed loud enough for a nearby table of drunkards to hear. He glared at them until they turned back to their drinks. “How the hell did it get stolen?”

“Well, it turns out if someone’s name is Honest John it’s an indication that he might actually be the opposite.” You sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. “You know if I had any other options I wouldn’t be here.”

“Right, good ol’ Buck only ever good when you’re in a pinch.” He mumbled.

“That’s not true.” You disagreed. Bucky closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” He agreed. “On one condition.”

“Name your price! I’ll do anything.” You vowed.

“If I do this for you, we go to Isla Rojas, I’ll help you pile as much treasure on your ship, hell a fleet of ships if you can get them. But then I want this to be our last sailing trip. You take as much treasure as you can carry and then you come home to me. We’ll do the whole proper wedding thing.”

“James I…” You said his name quietly. He never allowed anyone but you to call him James and you rarely did it in public where you may be overheard. You’d always kept your romance a secret. First it was just to keep off the questions from your prying crew. Then when He’d put the life of piracy behind him, it wouldn’t have sat well to have the islands most popular pub tied to a pirating operation.

“That’s the offer.” He told you firmly. “Take it our leave it.”

There’d be no talking him out of it. His mind was made up, that much you could tell. Even in the pub’s dim candle lighting. You’d told him any price and he’d set it. He knew you wouldn’t object to him; it wasn’t the idea of being married that bothered you so much. You’d told him this hundreds of times. You both knew what trouble you about the offer was what came afterwards.

How would giving up piracy effect you? You’d always lived by the sails and the seas. You’d so often imagined yourself dying that way too. Fading away in a simple island life had never been part of your plan. You love the freedom and the adventure too much.

“I’d be a terrible housewife.” You told him sadly.

“I’m not asking you to be a housewife.” He promised. “I’m not even asking you to be a good wife. Just to be my wife.”

#Bucky Banres #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Pirate AU #BBB21 #Bucky Barnes Bingo 2021

[dwellordream]

“…Now, if people are taught anything at all about medieval history it often is English medieval history. People with absolutely no other frame of reference can often tell you when the Norman Conquest of England took place, or the date of the signing of Magna Carta even if they don’t know exactly why these things are important. (TBH Magna Carta isn’t important unless you were a very rich dude at the time, sooooo.) If you ask people to name a medieval book they’ll probably say Beowulf even if they’ve never read it.

Here’s the thing though – England was a total backwater in terms of the way medieval people thought and was not particularly important at the time. How much of a backwater? Well, when Anne of Bohemia, daughter of my man Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV (RIP, mate. Mourn ya til I join ya.) married King Richard II of England in the fourteenth century there was uproar in Prague. How could a Bohemian imperial princess be sent to London? How would she survive in the hinterlands? The answer was she was sent along with an entire cadre of Bohemian ladies in waiting to give her people with whom she could have a sophisticated conversation.

This ended up completely changing fashion in England. Anne is the girl who introduced those sweet horned headdresses you think of when you think of medieval ladies, riding side-saddle, and the word “coach” to England, (from the Hungairan Kocs, where the cart she arrived at court the first time came from). Sweetening her transition to English life was the fact that she didn’t have to pay a dowry to get married. Instead, the English were allowed to trade freely with Bohemia and the Holy Roman Empire and allowed to be around a Czech lady. That was reward enough as far as the Empire was concerned. That’s how much England was not a thing. (The English took this insult very badly, and hated Anne at first, but since she was a G they got over it. Don’t worry.)

If England was unimportant why do we know about English medieval history and nothing else? Same reason you’re reading this blog in English right now, homes. I’m not sure if you know this, but in the modern period, the English got super super good at going around the world an enslaving anyone they met. When you’re busy not thinking about German imperial atrocities in the nineteenth century it’s because you’re busy thinking about British imperial atrocities, you feel me? So we all speak English now and if we harken back to historical things it gives us a grandiose idea of English history.

Say, then, you are trying to establish a curriculum for schools that bigs up English history, as is our want. Ask yourself – are you gonna want to dwell on an era where England was so unimportant that Czechs were flexing on it? Answer: no. You gonna gloss right over that and skip to the early modern era and the Tudors who I am absolutely sure you know all the fuck about. The second colonial-imperialist reason for not learning about medieval history is that medieval history doesn’t exactly aggrandise the colonial-imperialist system.

Yes, there are empires in medieval Europe. In addition to the Holy Roman Empire there’s the Eastern Roman Empire, aka the Byzantine Empire, whose downfall is often pointed to as one of several possible bookends to the medieval period. You also have opportunists like the Venetians who set up colonies around the Adriatic and Mediterranean, or the Normans who defo jump in boats and take over, well, anything they could get their hands on.

Notably, when these dudes got where they were going, they didn’t end up enslaving a bunch of people, committing genocide, and then funnelling all resources back to a theoretical homeland. The Normans settled down where they were eventually creating distinctive court cultures, and the Venetian colonies enjoyed a seriously high level of trade and quality of life without major disruption to local customs. Force was certainly used to take over at the outset, but it wasn’t something that resulted in the complete subjugation and deaths of millions halfway around the world from where the aggressors started.

No, the European middle ages are a lot more about local areas muddling along with smaller systems of rule. That’s why you have distinctive areas like say, Burgundy or Sicily calling their own shots and developing their own styles and fashions. Hell, even within imperial systems like the Holy Roman Empire Bavarians or Bohemians saw themselves as very much distinct peoples within an imperial system, not necessarily imperial subjects first and foremost.

You know where you would go to find some history that justifies huge imperial systems that require constant conquest and an army of slaves to keep them afloat? Ancient Rome. Remember how you got taught how great Rome was? How it was a democracy? How they had wonderful technology and underfloor heating, and oh isn’t that temple beautiful? Yeah, that’s because you were being inculcated to think that the ends of imperial violence justifies mass enslavement and disenfranchisement.

In reality, Rome wasn’t some sort of grand free democracy. Only a tiny percentage of Romans could actually vote. Women of any station certainly could not, and even men who were lucky enough to be free weren’t necessarily Roman citizens. Freedom here is particularly important because by the 1 century BCE 35 – 40% of the population of the Italian peninsula were slaves. Woo yeah democracy. I love it. And that’s not even taking into account all those times when an Emperor would suspend voting altogether.

Those slaves were busy building all the grand buildings your high school history teacher was dry jacking it about, stuffing the dormice that the rich people were reclining to eat, and basically keeping the joint running. Those slaves also necessitated the ridiculously huge army that Rome kept going because you had to get slaves from somewhere after all, so warfare had to be continuous. How uplifting.

Eagle-eyed readers will notice that this Roman nonsense is pretty much exactly what was going on during the modern colonial imperial age. You can say whatever the fuck you want about how free and revolutionary America was, for example. That doesn’t change the fact that only a handful of white property owning men could vote, and that the entire project required the mass enslavement of Africans and the genocide of Native Americans. That’s why you’ve been taught Rome is great. It helps you sleep well at night on stolen land because, really, haven’t all great societies done this? I mean without a forever war against anyone you can find, how will you keep a society going?

Our imperialist ideas about history lead to some weird historical takes. People love to tell you that no one bathed in the medieval period when medieval people had pretty much exactly the same sort of bathing culture as Romans. People laugh at medieval people believing in medical humoral theory despite the fact that Romans believed exactly the same thing and get a total pass on that front. The Roman ban on dissection is often taught as a medieval ban, shifting Roman superstition onto the shoulders of medieval people.

On-going Roman warfare is reported in glowing terms with emphasis on the “brilliance” of Roman military technique, while inter-kingdom warfare in the medieval period is portrayed as barbaric and ignorant. The Roman people who were encouraged to worship emperors as literal gods are used as an example of theoretical religion-free logical thinking, while medieval Christians are cast as ignorant for believing in God even when they are studiously working on the same philosophical queries as their predecessors. None of this makes any fucking sense.

But here’s the thing – it doesn’t need to. In a colonial imperialist society we have positioned Rome as a guiding light no matter what it’s actual practices and that’s not a mistake. It’s a design that helps to justify our own society. Further, this mindset requires us to castigate the medieval period when rule was more localised and systems of slavery had taken a precipitous dive. If only there had been more slavery, you know? Things might have been so much better.

Historical narratives and who controls them are always in flux. That old adage “history is written by the winners” comes to mind here, but that’s not exactly true. What the winners do is decide which histories are promoted, taught, and broadcasted. You can write all the history you want and if no one reads it, then it doesn’t really matter. That’s the gap that medieval history has fallen into. Colonial imperialism hasn’t figured out how to weaponise it yet, so it’s ignored. You could write this off as a “so what”, of course. Sure, maybe teaching the Roman Empire as a goal is a negative, but is ignoring medieval history really that bad a thing? You will be unsurprised to learn that I definitely think it is a bad thing, yes.

Ignorance about the medieval period is one of the things that is allowing the current swelling ranks of fascists to claim medieval Europe as some sort of “pure” white ideal. Spoiler: it was not. However, if you don’t know anything about medieval society how are you gonna argue with some chinless douche with a fake viking rune tattoo?History is always political. We use it to understand our world, but more than that we also use it to justify our world. Ignoring it helps us prop up our worst impulses, so let’s not.”

- Eleanor Janega, “On colonialism, imperialism, and ignoring medieval history.”

#colonialism #imperialism #history #medieval #eleanor janega

[skrltwtch]

Graveyard Shift

Prompt: I know the sign says, "No shoes, no shirt, no service", but I just had the WEIRDEST night and your shop is the only building with lights on this early, and I'm really, really hoping you have some spare clothes behind the counter. Help? (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,255 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, smut, supernatural

Warnings: Smut

References: 1 Inglourious Basterds

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Graveyard shift is the fucking best — and the fucking worst.

For one, the shop is able to achieve that fine balance between having enough customers to justify its opening hours and keep me on its payroll, and having enough customers to not make me regret my choice of employment while I attempt to sort out my life. The silence that falls over the shop at two o’clock — without fail every night, like the general public know they have better places to be at two o’clock than a corner shop — grants it the perfect atmosphere for self-introspection and self-improvement. Have I learnt anything useful? Let’s … not talk about that.

Now, what’s the downside to this job, you ask? The customers, of course. There are fewer of them in the dead of the night, but God, the ones that do come in … Being situated on one of London’s busiest corners means a colourful clientele at all times of the day. Drunkards and yobs make up a sizeable number of the demographic that contribute to the shop’s cash drawer while I’m on duty. It’s both sickening and fascinating to deal with them. In my nine months of working here, I’ve seen it all — or I thought I have, until my attention is drawn to the naked man at the door.

It’s less than half an hour after sunrise. He doesn’t look like he’s knocked back a drink too many. (Can coffee make me see things I’m not supposed to be seeing at this hour?) He looks to be of sound mind, his franticness to be let inside aside. He’s handsome: his brown waves, wiry physique, and elegant features lend him a startling resemblance to an ancient Greek sculpture. Strangely, there is an abundance of scars all over his body, and not in a manner that’d signal self-harm. They look more consistent with animal scratches. I’m speaking from experience here: I have a cat, though it’s nigh impossible a cat did this to him.

Nonetheless, this ranks in the lower half of the top ten weirdest shit I’ve seen while on the clock.

‘Hello? Hello!’ That ought to be what he’s saying; I don’t proclaim myself to be an expert at lip reading. It’s encouraging that he’s aware of the sign preventing his entry and doesn’t think he’s above it, at least.

I shake my head at him. Rules are rules, mate. They apply even to hot, naked men.

‘Come on! Please?’ — I think.

‘Sorry!’ I shout, and I point at the camera above me. Colin, my manager, is a cool bloke. It’s about as likely that I’d lose my job for letting Mr Naked and Afraid grace the inside of the shop with his presence and providing him with service as it is that Mr Naked and Afraid is on something that isn’t obvious to my innocent eyes. Why tempt fate? There are other corner shops with less draconian policies down the street. I turn away and continue looking at my phone to spare us both our blushes. It is nippy outside …

Fuck it.

I motion for him to come in. I can explain this to Colin, should he decide to review this morning’s security footage on a whim. He’s a Cool Bloke™.

‘Thank you,’ says Mr Naked and Afraid. Fuck, the shop lighting is doing him more favours than he needs. ‘You won’t get in any trouble for this?’

‘Nah. I might get chewed out1 for this, but that’ll be the worst of it.’

‘Sorry. But thank you. Thank you. I’m George.’

Good. Mr Naked and Afraid is becoming a mouthful.

‘I’m Eva. How can I help, George?’

‘Do you have any spare clothes?’

‘It’s just me here, mate.’

‘I know. Can’t hurt to ask.’

Can I say, ‘You have balls’? Is that appropriate at a time like this? I exhale audibly. ‘Give me a second.’ I retreat into the staffroom behind the counter. Colin deserves a better staffroom than a lad hangout. I’ll clean up when there isn’t a naked man waiting on me outside — or not. I’m not their helper. I sort through the coat rack for something suitable. Andrew is the closest to George in stature, I think. Operating on that approximation, I grab Andrew’s jacket and trousers. I don’t want to have to think too hard about what my co-workers look like underneath their clothes. Besides, Andrew’s clothes have been here for ages. He won’t miss them.

‘Try these,’ I say.

‘Thank you. I’ll clean and return them, I promise.’ He reaches over the counter for the clothes.

‘Not so fast. Give me the craziest reason you’re butt naked, and if I like it, you get the clothes.’

‘Really?’

‘I have to tell my manager something. Might as well be something weird so I don’t get chewed out too hard.’

‘Fine.’ He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the shop — in search of inspiration, perhaps. I’d love to hear what he comes up with. He looks like someone with a good sense of humour. If we’d met elsewhere, I’d have thought about asking for his number and then chickening out at the last minute, because women like me don’t get anywhere with men like him. I keep a lookout on the entrance for any customers or co-workers, mostly because I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

‘Clock’s ticking, George.’

‘You didn’t say there’s a time limit.’

‘I’m not the one with my arse out in public.’

‘Alright. I’m a werewolf. I must’ve messed something up, because I got out of my flat last night and woke up in Trafalgar Square. I live in Hampstead. See these scars? It’s all me.’

I stare at him. He’s staring back at me, expecting a response. He looks serious. I — I can’t. I burst out laughing. Of all the things I thought I’d hear, that isn’t one of them.

‘That’s one I haven’t heard before. I love it.’

‘Yeah? Can I then —’

‘Not before you answer one more question, wolf boy.’ I mean that nickname with utmost sincerity.

‘Seriously …?’ Red blotches his cheeks. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you born a werewolf or were you bitten?’

‘How is that relevant?’

‘Humour me.’

He rakes his hair with his fingers, and holds his inhalation and blink long enough for it to mean ‘I should’ve gone to the next corner shop’. Little does he know that his exasperation is making him look more attractive. I’ll treasure this moment forever. ‘Born. You don’t see any bite marks, do you?’

‘Touché. Here.’ I pass him the clothes.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘No, thank you for the laugh,’ I say, looking away from him as he tries Andrew’s trousers on for size. Andrew’s fashion sense is being wasted on us corner shop plebeians. ‘I love horror and supernatural shit. That was perfect.’

‘Cool.’ For fuck’s sake, he can also pull off the loud, brash prints Andrew favours? This is unfair. ‘I’ll pop these in the washer when I get home, and I’ll return them to you …’

‘I’m working tonight. I’ll be here at ten.’ Technically, I start work at midnight. Andrew’s scheduled for the evening shift today, and I’d love to see his face when George returns with his clothes. I can’t remember how long these specific items have been in the staffroom. Plus, like, ten o’clock is an acceptable time to meet someone who lives in Hampstead and probably has standard working hours, isn’t it? ‘If that’s not too late for you.’

‘That’s fine. Thanks again, Eva.’ He’s said the T word so many times, it’s starting to sound weird to my ears. Semantic satiation — that’s what the phenomenon is called. I learnt this from the 3,722nd post I read on Reddit some nights ago.

‘You’re welcome, wolf boy. See you tonight.’

He grins. ‘See you.’

Just as he turns to leave, I swear, I swear on my copy of The Killing Joke with a frayed spine because I put it in the same bag as my water tumbler with a loose cap, I see a flash of fangs.

✦✧✦✧

‘You’re here early,’ says Andrew.

‘It’s midnight somewhere in the world.’ I don’t join him behind the counter. I’m scheduled to start work at midnight, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Overtime means nothing to me. (I say that like it’s applicable in this instance.) ‘Did a guy come in to look for me?’

‘Nope. Hey, do you know what happened to my trousers and jacket? First one’s floral; second one’s mustard.’ Doesn’t it just sound like a ghastly combination? Andrew can pull it off. So can George — both items at the same time. I’ve only seen Andrew in one or the other.

‘Funny story, that.’

‘Share.’

‘Okay, picture this: It’s fuck o’clock in the wee hours of the morning. Sun’s coming up. I’m on my second tumbler of coffee and running out of things to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, a naked bloke is asking to be let in; he’s begging. He doesn’t look drunk or high. I let him in because I’m a bleeding heart at heart. He asks me for spare clothes. Thank God you treat this place like your second closet. I ask him to hit me with the craziest reason he’s naked to help me decide if I should help him. He says he’s a werewolf.’ I am fighting to hold in my laughter. ‘And he says it with the straightest face you can imagine.’

‘Eva, this bloke was hot, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘You’d have given him the clothes no matter what he said.’

‘I didn’t tell you this story for you to call me out like that.’

‘You’re welcome. Does Colin know you breached one of the shop’s sacred creeds?’

‘Does he have to know?’

‘No comment. It’s not my arse on the line.’

‘Colin won’t do me dirty like that. I did a good deed.’

‘… No comment. Am I going to get my stuff back?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Bollocks, I thought it’s because you like my company.’

‘Why not both?’

The bell above the door jangles, cutting our conversation short. It’s none other than the man of the hour himself. Never have I been this ecstatic to see someone enter the shop. He has no business filling out his grey shirt as well as he is.

‘George! Hi!’ I drown out Andrew’s snicker. Can’t I be excited about speaking with an attractive, charming man who isn’t drunk or in need of goods and services a corner shop can provide in the shop at this time of night? I might also never see him again after this, so as far as I’m concerned, I deserve every second of this.

‘Hello, Eva,’ says George. ‘Got the clothes cleaned like I said I would.’ He shows me the paper bag in his hand. McDonald’s. I can hear Andrew’s heart giving out. ‘Thank you again.’

I take the bag from him and place it on the counter, the golden arches staring Andrew in the face. ‘You’re welcome. You should thank him, too.’ I jerk my thumb at my near-apoplectic co-worker. ‘This is Andrew. The clothes are his.’

‘Thank you,’ George says to the other man, who responds with a tight-lipped nod, still in the midst of computing what he did in a past life to deserve having his clothes returned to him in a McDonald’s paper bag. ‘I followed the instructions on the labels as best I could. If I ruined something, I’d be happy to pay you back for it.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Andrew takes the clothes out of the bag and gives them a quick once-over. ‘Looks good. You can have the bag back.’ He pushes it toward George with his finger.

‘Okay …’ George takes the bag, flattens and folds it into a neat square, and holds it under his arm. ‘Eva, I can’t — I can’t thank you enough for this morning. Last night was … weird.’ He swallowed.

‘Yeah, sure …’ I wink at him. ‘… wolf boy.’

‘Are you working now?’

‘No, but I will be in’ — I consult my watch — ‘an hour and a half’s time. I came in early because I know I don’t have the same concept of day and night as most people.’

‘Graveyard shift: fun as shit’ is Andrew’s sterling contribution to this part of the conversation. I like that, actually.

‘You didn’t have to — I’m more of a night owl,’ says George. Is that because he has a closer affinity to the night because of what he is? I convince myself it is. ‘Do you want to go get some coffee nearby? It’s the least I can do. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. I should talk to Colin about this soon. ‘Sure, I’d love some coffee. Be a dear and watch the shop for me, will you, Andrew?’

✦✧✦✧

George leads me into his flat. Our bellies are full from dinner. I love and hate eating with him sometimes. I love his company, obviously; I hate that he can put away so much without any of it showing on him. Earlier, he had pork chops, lamb meatball stew, and a fudge brownie with ice cream. I get that he needs all that protein to maintain his figure, and I’d love and support him all the same if he were, but he’s not an Olympics athlete like Michael Phelps. Nonetheless, all that food’s imbued him with oodles of energy, the kind that’s seen us seek to end the night on a more gratifying note at someone’s place. (Mine’s out of the question tonight because my flatmate’s working toward the same goal with her latest squeeze.)

The farthest we make it before the urge to eat each other’s faces overpowers us is the sofa. I’m on top of him, just showering him with gentle kisses on his lips, and sometimes his cheeks and nose. I’m content with savouring his taste for now. His breathing is heavy. He’s warm to the touch. His kisses are more insistent. I yield to his desperate, almost plaintive moans and allow our tongues the pleasure of getting to know each other better. His hand is feverishly fondling my thigh and hip; the latter has developed a mind of its own, grinding up against him. Deciding our mouths couldn’t have all the fun, I move on to his neck, which he kindly bares for me. His throat is thrumming with — growls?

I look up at him and say, ‘Do you hear that?’

‘Hm?’ His eyelids flutter open. I gasp.

Staring back at me are yellow eyes, brilliant and wild.

Oh, my God.

‘George — your —’

‘Why?’ He puts his hand to his mouth. ‘Shit.’ I get off him. I see the fangs I thought I saw the first time we met. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘It’s the eighth.’

‘Fuck!’ The force with which he cursed propels him out of his seat. ‘You have to go. I’m sorry,’ he says, taking off his shirt. His chest sheens with sweat. ‘I forgot.’

I don’t need to ask him what it is he forgot: I know the answer on a primeval level. I know I should leave. I stand transfixed by what’s happening before me. His flesh twists and ripples. The growls get louder. The proportions of the hand on his chest — hairier than I’ve ever known it to be — are all wrong. Poking — pushing out from underneath his fingernails are claws. He turns away from me. The sight of protruding knobs of bone under the skin along his spine causes chills to run down mine. My poor George. My poor wolf boy.

‘I’ll go,’ I say, as much as I want to stay with him. ‘Will you be okay?’ I shake my head. Stupid question. He’s in agony.

‘I’ll be fine.’ There is greater conviction in the violent gurgle that follows than his words. ‘Now go. Please.’ His back arches and expands with muscle. He cries out in pain.

I do as he says. I hear the locks rattle and turn behind me. Though his strained growls and yips are horrible to hear, I stick around outside his door. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t quite feel afraid either of what I saw in there or of what I now know. Instead, I feel … I press my legs together and bite my lip. Not the time. After what feels like an eternity of guttural noises that have no right coming from a human throat, a howl, long, almost melodious, pierces the air. It’s almost … reassuring. So much about him makes sense now.

I take my phone from my bag, and I send him the following: ’Text me when you see this. Love you.’

✦✧✦✧

I shift on my feet as I wait for George to answer the door. I’m worried about him. Does he not want to see me anymore after last night? No, it’s an insult to the both of us for me to think that he thinks I’d be narrow-minded enough to stop wanting to be with him because of what he is. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The food I brought for him is getting cold. Can he smell it from inside his flat? I press the doorbell again. I wish he had a neighbour to tell me what I can do in times like this.

The door opens. He looks a mess: he’s in boxers, and his hair is sticking out every which way. His eyes go wide. The memory of his yellow eyes resurfaces. I feel a little weak in my knees.

‘Good morning, love. I came to see if everything is okay,’ I say, ‘and I brought breakfast.’ I show him the paper bag. The food inside still smells good.

‘I thought —’ He doesn’t need to complete his sentence for me to know what he means. It’s written plainly in the furrow of his brow, the sadness in his eyes. Damn it. I didn’t want to be proven right about that.

‘Of course not. You didn’t see my message?’

‘I haven’t checked my messages. Sorry.’

‘Oh.’

‘Please, come in. Are you off work today?’

I nod.

His flat, too, is in disarray. It looks just as if an animal went wild in here. Pillows and books are all over the floor; some of the former have been ripped apart. Sunlight shines through the gaping holes in the curtains. Nothing’s broken, at least. George’s head hangs low. ‘I haven’t had the time to clean up … nor was I expecting visitors. I called in sick to work and went back to sleep. I forget what happens when I don’t take my meds before I transform.’

‘Let me guess — the last time that happened was a year ago?’

‘Yeah, probably. I don’t know. That was — that was different. I guess I was too excited about our date that I forgot what yesterday was.’

I walk him to the sofa, and we sit down. The food is left to sit out on the coffee table. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, stroking his arm lovingly. ‘I wasn’t … I’m not freaked out or anything. I love horror and supernatural shit after all.’ I chuckle nervously, more so because I hate my tendency to resort to awful humour in an attempt to defuse tense situations. ‘So, um … I owe you an apology for laughing at you when you first told me.’

‘Don’t. I could’ve said something else. I didn’t. I wanted the clothes fast, and after the night I’d had, that was the most out-there thing I could think of in a snap.’

‘Yeah, then I made it into a thing between us! I call you “wolf boy”! You never asked me to stop! And I told everyone how we met! Everyone knows you’re a werewolf!’ I gasp. So. Many. Exclamation. Marks.

‘This is our thing. Only you know for certain. I feel like I can breathe now.’

I lay my head on his chest. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to hide.’

‘That first sentence sounds like something I’m supposed to say.’

‘So, George … about last night … was that because you were about to — or …’

His words come out almost in a snarl: ‘I wanted you. I want you.’ His lips are centimetres away from my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.

‘Are we like … mates now, then?’ I giggle as I draw an indiscriminate shape on his chest with my finger. I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time last night reading up on wolf behaviour. The thought of what lies in store for me is a little exhilarating, an observation I had a mild developmental crisis over when I felt that first pang of passion from applying what I read to our relationship.

‘Yes.’

He licks my neck. My core tingles with excitement at the ramifications of his declaration — for the record, I meant it as a light-hearted question — and at what’s about to come next, based on my research. Then he pushes me down onto my back, and I see his eyes, still blue, flicker with the same intensity as last night. He hikes up my dress and gets straight to nuzzling my mound. He laps his tongue over my underwear and inner thighs, the strokes long, soft. I hum impatiently. My underwear is getting soaked. He slides it off my pelvis, and he promptly buries his face in my folds. Fingers come into the picture soon after. I writhe in his grasp, desiring release.

And Lord, does it come.

I don’t get to wait for my legs to stop quivering, as he rises from between them and says, ‘On all fours, love’, his voice a lusty rasp. I scramble to my hands and knees. He’s never asked for this before. I’m liking this greater sense of freedom he now has around me. How much had he been holding back? I spread myself for him. He pushes his cock up against my slit. I let out a small, startled ‘Oh’ when he enters me. I feel pinpricks where his fingertips are. Each thrust is deep and brutal. It hurts a little, but it hurts so good. I press the side of my face into the couch and close my eyes. Stars crash into each other in the blackness behind my eyelids.

Though he’s the werewolf here, I’m the one whimpering and moaning like an animal, too, while he huffs and growls with each movement. The sounds encourage him. ‘Please, don’t stop, don’t stop …’ I breathe. My walls convulse around his girth and fill up with an unbearable heat and wetness. Come drips out of me and trickles down my thighs. Then his thrusts become shallower and rough, his fingertips threaten to leave bruises on my skin, and he empties himself inside me. He lets out a strangled howl; my lip almost bleeds from how hard I’m biting down.

I feel so empty, almost a little sad, when he pulls out. I settle into a lounging position on the sofa. He wedges himself behind me. I gently fondle his business, still hard. He resumes licking my neck, sometimes rubbing his face on my skin.

‘I’m sorry if that was … weird. It’s the first time I fucked like that — and the first time I fucked after the full moon.’

I turn around and kiss him. ‘You were amazing.’ His ears turn pink. ‘Am I your first girlfriend who knows?’

‘Yes. About being mates …’ He pulls me closer to him. ‘I can do something about that. If you want. No pressure. It’s a huge decision.’

I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider the idea at least once last night. The dream I had about transforming and running alongside him on all fours can attest to that. But I tell him, ‘I need to think about it first.’ I don’t want him to think I’m rushing headlong into something I have little to no knowledge about. (Tabbing back and forth between pages about wolf behaviour for at least two hours doesn’t make me an expert. I’m not even sure if it’s relevant.) I also wasn’t expecting this question to come up so soon, considering he thought I’d leave him. I sweep my thumb across his lips, then his nose. ‘Maybe if I see you in your wolf form first …’

‘Fair enough. Promise me you’ll still love me the same after you’ve seen him. He’s more fun than I am, even when hopped up on industrial-strength bear tranquiliser.’

‘It’s going to take a lot to top what I’ve seen in the last year — and the last hour.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m in trouble.’

I spend the day at his place. (What? I’m taking a mental health day, and being with my boyfriend does wonders for my mood.) We fuck several more times, unable to get enough of each other; we’re like lovesick puppies. He lets shades of his true self slip through on occasion. He assures me it’s not because of the full moon. I assure him I know. Until today, I didn’t think it’d been possible for him to become more alluring. I give him my answer to his offer before sunset, which he happily accepts. At the end of the day, I lie in my wolf boy’s arms, waxing gratitude for the graveyard shift at the corner shop a year ago.

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine

[celosiaa]

Yo Connor! I made a post a while back about this but imagine s1 archives gang: Sasha and Tim wanna play hooky to go drinking so they pretend to be sick to get sent home early. But their work gets piled onto poor poor Martin whos starting to come down with something. Cut to Tim and Sasha coming back to work to find a super sick and overworked Martin (my post has diff situations that they could come back to but basically it’s all “Martin is completely miserable”)

~ ineedmysickfix

Hello friend!!!!! Apologies for the delay!! I hope you’ll like this all the same :)

CW nausea

 “Oh, Sasha—you’re gonna hate me,” Tim drawls dramatically, draping an arm around her shoulders, causing them both to stagger. “You’re absolutely going to hate me.”

“Don’t tell me—ha! Tim—”

Sasha is broken off by a sudden, if sloppy, kiss to her cheek, the momentum of it nearly taking them both to the ground as they stumble on slightly-intoxicated legs. Well—perhaps more than slightly, after all.  It is later, much later than they had intended to be out, and dark has fully settled over the still-bustling London landscape as they attempt to make their way back to the Tube station from the pub.

Where they had been playing hooky. Gloriously.

It is a bit pitiful, how gullible their mess of a friend currently playing at being their boss could be. Shamefully, upon reflection, Sasha recalls Jon’s worried response that afternoon to the torrent of falsified coughs and sneezes he had heard from his office, before insisting that the two of them go home to rest. And to “not infect anyone else,” of course—tacked on in some feeble attempt not to care.

And go home, they had—if you can call a pub a home, that is. While it was not exactly buzzing with customers at the mid-afternoon, it had been a nice place to camp out for the day and enjoy each other’s company. Though they had lamented not letting Martin in on the plan—even if it was nice to have a evening just for themselves, something hadn’t felt right about leaving him behind. Not with the ever-growing tower of files on his desk, building up over the last week in a bit of an alarming fashion.

Sending out a quick thought for him as they walk, Sasha turns her attention back to Tim, linking her arm with his with a poorly-hidden smile.

“What have you done this time, Stoker? What else could there possibly be to make me want to kill you even more?”

“Even more? After I serenaded you at karaoke?”

“Especially after you serenaded me at karaoke,” she replies, pulling him just a little bit closer. “Bold move, especially knowing I’ve got a knife on me.”

“Yeah, a pocket knife,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Which we might have to use to break back into the Institute, by the way.”

“Tim, you didn’t!”

Groaning in dismay, Sasha stops their pace abruptly, searching his face for any sign of a joke—tragically, finding none.

“Tim. Hey, Tim.”

She grabs both sides of his face, pulling his forehead to rest against her own.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t forget your keys again.”

A nervous swallow, a flick away of his eyes—before a poorly-hidden smile laces his tone.

“I did not…do this thing.”

“TIM!”

“Alright, alright!! I may have!” he laughs as she drops her hands from his face, in favor of using them to push back against his chest. “But don’t worry! There’s no way even Jon is still there. Pretty sure he was heading home to rest after Salat al-Jumu’ah—said he hurt his knee, and he has PT in the morning.”

“Jon was going home?” Sasha asks in disbelief, her face showcasing the wild array of thoughts flitting through her mind. “First of all—concerning. Second of all—do you mean to tell me that we left poor Martin there all on his own?”

“He’s fine, Sasha,” Tim assures, throwing an arm around her to keep them walking. “Martin’s an adult, he knows he can leave any time he damn well pleases. Especially since Jon isn’t there.”

“Well, yeah, but—I dunno, he just seemed…off this week,” she replies worriedly, twisting a finger around her long locks.”

“He’s fine. We’ll make it up to him on Monday, or something.”

“Right,” Sasha sighs, leaning a bit further into his warmth. “You’re right, we can—we can get him some of that good tea that he likes, the expensive kind.”

“Alright, rich kid.”

“Shut it.”

With another peck to the cheek, both silly and giddy, they continue on their way back to the Institute—neither too displeased at having the other so close.

—

Work.

Just keep working.

Just focus.

Cold, Martin feels the cold of the archives seeping deeper into his bones with every moment that passes. Or is it heat? Too hot, suffocating, can barely catch a comfortable breath before the coughing starts up again, pounding against his skull and leaving him exhausted. Surely it hadn’t been this bad this morning—his therapist’s voice rings out in his mind, telling him it’s alright to go home, that he ought not have come in anyway—but he does not listen. Cannot listen, not with Jon out and in pain, and Tim and Sasha both out sick.

No—this was his job. Just has to push through, pick up the slack, keep going.

Someone has to.

For as much as Martin tries to tell himself that he’s not ill, that he never gets ill, he knows it’s all a lie. Sleep has come in sparse patches for him these past few weeks—and that has left him vulnerable to what he is now fairly certain is a nasty case of flu. It’s just been so much recently, with his mum intermittently calling him from the care home in Devon, and not answering the phone when he returns her calls. Though he would never want to think so poorly of his own mother—ungrateful, cruel, sad excuse for a son—he cannot help but have the thought that she’s doing this on purpose, calling him when she knows he’s busy—

Stop it.

Selfish.

Cruel.

Focus.

The stacks of files in the corners of his vision, piled so high he can barely see his surroundings beyond his desk, very nearly manage to draw out the tears Martin has so desperately been trying to hold back over the past—however long it’s been, now. Overwhelmed, he’s overwhelmed and wants nothing more than just to sleep. But Jon. Jon needs this done, Tim and Sasha need to rest—none of them need to have a miserable next week if he can just. Focus. Now.

Sniffing back against the congestion sitting heavy in his sinuses, Martin steels himself as well as he can, and drags his attention back to the piles and piles of nightmares before him.

—

As soon as they found the door to the archives unlocked, Sasha knew something was wrong.

Jon was so strangely protective of the place; always kept such a careful watch on it that it was unfathomable for him to not make certain that everything was locked, and the lights turned out at the end of each day. Surely, even if Martin had been the last one there, surely Jon would have called several times to ensure he would do the same—possibly even dragging himself back over the the dusty old basement, just to make sure.

And yet—here they are. Standing before the unlocked door to the archives.

“Can’t be good,” says Tim, running a hand anxiously down his beard.

“Not at all,” Sasha replies at once, voice low as she carefully pushes the door open.

The office beyond is almost entirely darkened, corners obscured by shadows and cobwebs and god knows what else down here. Only the light from a single lamp illuminates a desk—messy, piled high with stacks of files and reference volumes, some spilled over and scattered onto the floor. Martin’s desk. And Martin, leaning heavily against it.

Though she cannot see his face where it has been propped heavily between both of his hands, Sasha immediately takes note of of the blanket he’s wrapped himself tightly with, the bin by his feet overflowing with tissues, the row of mugs set on the floor to make room for more files. The way one has been tipped over, creating a dark spot on the carpet where it had spilled its contents, but Martin has not seemed to notice. A rarity—and a concerning one at that, for certain.

Exchanging a quick glance with Tim, who looks very much as worried as she feels, Sasha steps a bit forward, clearing her throat before calling gently to him.

“Martin? You alright, love?”

The impact is immediate—clearly, he had not heard them come in, nor seen their shadows stretching across the light of his lamp. For he jumps bodily in his seat, tipping it back with such a heavy creak that Sasha is certain it will send him to the floor completely. A gasp, loud and deep, as his wild, fever-glassed eyes meet theirs—before it turns into a fit of harsh, painful hacks that he buries hastily in what appears to be his last remaining tissue.

“Aw, Marto,” Tim says sympathetically as he strides over to him, rubbing a hand over his back as the coughing continues, Sasha following suit to grab a box of tissues from her own desk, and set it in front of him.

“Sorry, m’sorry,” he croaks, voice weathered and broken in the wake of his fit.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, mate,” Tim says softly, slipping a hand over Martin’s forehead—evidently not liking the heat he finds there, if his grimace is anything to go by. “How long have you been ill? You seemed alright this morning.”

“M’fine, Tim,” he mutters back, sniffing heavily and reaching for the new box of tissues. “Thanks, Sash—”

A sudden look of horror washes over his face as he meets her eyes, letting out a shallow gasp and covering his mouth with one hand.

“Wait, you’re—you’re ill, you’re both ill, you need these—”

“We’re not ill, Martin,” Sasha soothes at once, cursing both herself and Tim for going through with what was clearly a terrible idea.

“You’re not?”

“We wanted to skive off work,” Tim echoes, pulling Martin’s blanket back up from where it had slipped off his shaking shoulders. “We…we went out to the pub instead.”

“Oh,” is the only soft response that comes from him, as he drops his eyes back to the statement in front of him—and the guilt welling up inside Sasha is enough to break her heart.

“We would never have done that if we had known you were actually ill,” she clarifies rapidly. “We should have…we should have said. Shouldn’t have done that at all, really.”

“Yeah. Sash is right, we’re really sorry, Martin,” says Tim, wincing as the terrible coughing starts up once again, doubling him forward—and this time, he does not straighten back up.

“Oh,” he says again, miserably, squeezing his eyes shut against the apparent dizziness—enough to send Tim reaching for the empty bin from beneath his own desk, just in case.

“You alright?” asks Sasha, setting a bracing hand against his hunched shoulders.

It takes a few moments for him to reply this time, as he breathes as deeply as possible for a bit—still altogether too shallow, in Sasha’s opinion. She can hear the hitching at the back of his throat, knows that he’s trying so hard to keep from coughing again, whether for their sake or to avoid worsening the nausea, she can’t be sure.

“M’alright. Sorry,” he apologizes again, shivering hard as he does, pulling the blanket just a bit tighter around himself and sniffling. “Shouldn’t be here, you’ll probably catch it.”

“You shouldn’t be here, love,” Sasha counters, catching Tim’s gaze and jerking her head toward the breakroom—and he heads in that direction at once. “We’re going to get some water and medicine into you, and then you’re going straight home.”

“Can’t,” he whispers in return, shaking his head against the fresh tears that have sprung into his eyes, breaking Sasha’s heart to bits again. “There’s so much—so much to do, and Jon—Jon’s not well, and you—well, I suppose you’re—you’re not, heh—”

“Martin,” she says, bending crouching down to the level of his eyeline. “You do not need to be here. You do not need to do all this work yourself—if it makes you feel better, Tim and I can get some of this done over the weekend. But I highly doubt even Jon would ask you to do all of this today.”

“He—he didn’t.”

And now here come the tears, spilling hot over his cheeks, unable to be held back in with the stress the fever wracks through his body.

“I’ve—I’ve gotten so behind, this is almost a week’s worth of work, I’ve just been—I’ve not been focused, I can’t—god, I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Sasha soothes, handing him another tissue which he uses to swipe at his streaming eyes and nose. “There’s something else going on, isn’t there?”

Squeezing his eyes shut again, tears leaking from beneath his lashes, Martin nods—burying his face in his hands, before Sasha wraps her arms around him.

“It’s alright, darling. Just hush, I’ve got you.”

It is to this sight that Tim arrives back from the break room, armed with medicine and a thermometer and a glass of water. Upon seeing them, his face falls in sorrow—reluctant to interrupt the stillness of the moment—before the whistling of the electric kettle from the breakroom causes Martin to pick up his head, turning his head toward the noise only to find Tim frozen in the doorway.

“Oh—thank you, that’s—” he pauses for a moment to cough behind closed lips, swiping at his eyes as he does so. “That’s really kind, I’m—I’m alright. I’m sure it’s just the flu, or something.”

“Don’t really think there’s such a thing as ‘just’ the flu, Marto,” Tim says, rolling his eyes with a smile—which, to Sasha’s immense relief, Martin returns, if still a bit watery.

“Yeah, Martin—let’s get you some meds, and get you home,” Sasha insists. “I’ll go fetch you some tea as well. Can’t send you home without something warm in your stomach.”

“I—thank you, really,” he beams, accepting the pills from Tim with his own, rather more shaky hands. “You’re—that’s really kind.”

“It’s nothing at all, Martin,” she replies at once, relieved to see him swallow the pills readily. “Let’s get you warm, and get you home.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma sickfic #cw nausea #my writing

[sushiandstarlight]

“Coal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

The customer had sauntered into her bar around 8pm, dressed from head to toe in the tightest black outfit Carline had ever seen. It was an arresting sight, even if she wasn't overly interested in anyone's appearance. She served the drinks and she mopped the bar and, sometimes, she listened when people needed it. And then she went home to her cat and her family of succulents. It was a simple life, but it suited her just fine. Despite decades of listening to the romantic and sexual woes of her customers, friends, and family members, none of it had ever really interested her personally. Still, there was some intrigue to be found in the drama of it all... for other people, if not for herself.

They slapped a credit card down on the counter- although where they had been keeping it was a mystery as surely the whole outfit was too tight for the pockets to contain anything, even lint- and ordered a round for the house.

“And for you, dark stranger?” Carline teased as she rang up the order and started pulling the drinks.

“Don't care. Something strong enough to knock me on my ass.” The dark stranger took up residence on a stool directly in the middle of the length of the bar. In her experience, this meant the person was either here to spill their woes or to pull someone for the night. She wondered which it was. It could be both.

“Gonna be a short night with us?” She passed drinks down the bar to the various patrons gathered there. Mostly they were the regulars. They didn't need to ask for what they wanted anymore, she knew. That's why they kept coming back here. She was something comforting and familiar in a world that made less and less sense.

“You'd be surprised,” they grunted back, accepting the amber liquid she placed on the bar for them, “how much I can take.” But, they didn't knock back the drink as she expected. Nor did they say much more to her as they sipped it sparingly.

People eventually came and sat next to them, various sorts. But none of them seemed to draw their attention. They got their fair share of once-overs and longing looks. Even a few predatory stares, although she gave them harsh warning glances and they left before they caused real trouble. She wouldn't stand for that kind of thing in her establishment. She tried, when she could, to look out for her customers, even when those very same customers made the job difficult. Someone had to look out for wayward souls, perhaps it was part of her calling in life.

The dark stranger only had eyes for the bottom of the glass. She wasn't sure what they saw, but she spent the next couple of hours glancing at the shock of red hair rather than the black shades they wore, their gaze lost in thought down in the emptying glass.

They didn't look up even as they tapped the bar for another. And another. And another. They were more than halfway through her bottle of top shelf whiskey and she knew she should cut them off, but they didn't seem nearly as intoxicated as they should be. She sat another glass in front of them and crossed her arms on the bar, resting her chin on them and peering at them.

“Can feel you staring at me,” they mumbled, glancing at her briefly before taking the new glass and peering down into it, “bit unnerving.”

“Says the one wearing sunglasses inside so no one can tell where they're really looking,” she watched as the dark stranger looked up, grinned, and sprawled a bit more over the counter, “I'm tryin' to figure out how drunk you are and if I need to cut you off.”

“m'not drunk, really, at all.”

“Well, you certainly don't sound like it. But, you really outta be by now.”

“Told you, it takes more to drag me down,” their grin slipped at one edge and a crease formed on their brow. They looked back down at their glass, swirling it between long fingers tipped in deep red varnish.

“That could be true. Supernatural drinker, I get it.” She tilted her head, trying to meet their eyes again, “Do you want to talk, then?”

“Is that what humans do when they come here?” They said it like they, themself, weren't human. Weird, but not the weirdest thing she'd ever heard.

“Some do,” she nodded, glancing up and down the bar to make sure no one else needed tending to, “when they need someone to listen.”

“Not sure you can help with this one,” they downed the last of the glass, faster this time than the previous, and handed it to her hopefully, “this tale is as old as time.”

“Hmm, old as time? That's heartbreak, mate,” she filled the glass and scooted it to them, “if I ever heard it. Only love can make a hurt go on that long. Well, the way I hear it, anyway.”

At first they talked in drips and drabs, punctuated by her needing to fill another customer's glass or call a cab for someone. But, as she moved from one bottle of whiskey to the next they started to spin outrageous tales of angels and demons, heaven and hell, and an armageddon that had already happened. Or, not happened. All of that was just backstory, though, to the one they told her about their best and only friend through it all. She might have chalked up the fantasy talk to the massive amount of alcohol in their system, but despite all that she had served, they were only barely slurring.

Some people, she had learned, needed to couch their stories in fiction to tell them. Telling them outright was too painful and left them feeling too vulnerable, especially to strangers. That they were getting it out at all was probably good even if she didn't understand what most of the metaphor meant.

They never mentioned an actual name in the whole story, only referred to their love as “Angel.” And, even though parts of the story clearly stung them, making them pause and swallow or look away for periods of time, there was a softness to their voice that spoke of an enduring love that continued despite the pain. The warmth in their tone when saying the nickname pricked her own heart. There were people she loved in life with her whole heart, even if it wasn't romance like the stranger experienced, and she could relate to it: friendships broke as unevenly and sharp as any relationship could.

“You've made it through so much, though,” she patted the dark stranger's arm, “maybe you should outright tell him how you feel.”

“He knows,” the stranger was leaning to one side now, the alcohol having clearly caught up with him at last, “s'no way he doesn't know by now. S'just not interested in those sorts of things.”

“I mean, that's possible. There are people that aren't,” Carline stopped short of telling her own stories in that regard, “or maybe he's just really, really dense.”

The stranger snorted.

“Or very afraid that maybe you don't want the same thing anymore. You know, now that the danger's past and there's been so much history.” All the metaphors, she could work with them. They had to stand for something, even if she couldn't decode them.

“Maybe so, hard to tell. After six thousand odd years, I can't afford to screw this up, y'know? I can't- I won't- I-” the stranger wheezed, whipping off their glasses and swiping at their eyes- eyes rimmed in kohl darker than coal itself (that, perhaps had her believing in miracles since it did not smudge no matter how much they rubbed at it), “I can't lose him now, he's all I have. He's all I've ever had.”

The stranger had some of the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen, which was all she could make out of their eyes since they were once again staring down at their drink.

“We're the only ones on our side. I don't want... I don't want to be alone on my side,” they shuddered deeply, shoulders hunching inwards as they swayed unsteadily on the stool. She wondered if she was going to have to pick them off the floor.

“I think it might be worth the risk, but I'm only human.”

“Hmm, true,” they looked up at her at last and it took everything to hold back the gasp that climbed up her throat. Their eyes were a startling shade of gold that seemed to be lit by firelight from the inside. She had never seen anything like them and all the tales of drowning in someone's gaze came back to her at once. She wondered if this was what they meant. It was bewitching. And, the deep black surrounding them only made them stand out more, to sparkle in the darkness.

Of course, it was at precisely at that moment that they slipped out of the chair and fell on their ass on the floor. Carline sighed, putting up what was left of the second bottle of whiskey. She waited to see if they'd manage to get themself off the floor. Not seeing the top of their red head peek over the bar after a couple seconds, she went to the end, lifted the bar and went around. They were still conscious, thankfully, but sprawled across the floor and leaning against the stool.

“I go too fast for him, you see? Everything I do is too fast for him... I have to stay slow and steady. Always slow and steady. Maybe in another 6,000 years. We've got all the time in the world, I can wait.” They seemed to only then realize they were no longer on the stool, blinking around in confusion.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” Carline squatted down in front of them, hands on her knees, “I have numbers I can call.”

“Ngk, I don't like human drivers.”

“Well,” she pursed her lips and sighed, “you can't stay on my floor all night. It's gone midnight and I need to close.”

“I can pay my tab,” they grumbled, producing a wallet from their back pocket that clearly could not have held the wallet, “and then I'll make my own way home.” They opened the wallet, looked inside with a puzzled expression then shrugged and handed the entire thing to her.

She sighed and took it, going back around the bar to ring them out with the same credit card as before. But, when she pulled the card out and slip of paper came out with it. The paper was yellowed and creased with age. All it contained in impossibly loopy penmanship was a phone number. She stood staring at the number for a while, contemplating her options. She could call the stranger a cab and insist that they use it. She could guide them outside and leave them there- though she knew she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't sleep well knowing they were on their own, drunk on the street.

She peered over the bar, spotting the gravity-defying red hair in the same place that she'd left it. They clearly weren't going anywhere. She dialed the number on her mobile. At worst, the person on the other end wouldn't even know who she was talking about. At best, it was a friend who could come pick up the dark stranger and make sure they got home safely. Wayward souls, she was a sucker for a lost cause.

The line rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she feared no one would pick up, there was a click and then-

“Crowley? Crowley is that you?”

“I'm afraid not, sorry.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was so palpable through the one word that she was almost personally insulted, “well, the shop isn't open at this hour. Please call back during-”

“I'm sorry to call so late, sir, but there's someone here who needs a ride. They aren't in a fit state to drive themself anywhere.”

“I suggest you call them a cab, young lady. I have no idea where you got this number, but-” She cut him off before he could really start blustering and it sounded like he'd be able to really get going if she let him. It was too late, or rather too early, for that kind of thing.

“I got it from the person's wallet. Yours is the only number in here...”

“Wait, who's wallet?”

“I didn't get their name,” Carline sighed, “Look, I just want to make sure they get home safe, okay? They've been in here drinking away heartbreak all night. I won't sleep until I know they're safe.”

“What's the name on the cards in the wallet?” The person on the other end of the phone no longer sounded annoyed. He sounded hopeful.

“Hang on,” she picked up the wallet again- the credit card, why hadn't she looked at the name on the card? Maybe she needed a vacation, “Anthony, Anthony J. Crowley. Oh, I guess it is who you're expecting. Well, roundabout.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. Yes. I haven't heard from him in days. Wait, heartbreak?” his voice suddenly had an edge to it that wasn't there even in his annoyance, “who hurt him?” She was suddenly glad she could say it wasn't her. That edge sounded sharp and protective.

“No name given there, either, only called him 'angel.'”

The phone went silent. She let it stretch on a bit, but her bed was calling her and she still needed to mop up and count the till.

“You still there?”

“Yes, er, yes. I'm terribly sorry,” now he sounded strained, almost like he was holding back tears, “Very sorry, dear, if you'll just give me the address I'll be by to pick him up as quickly as I can.” She thought she heard him murmur, distantly, “if he'll even want to see me” but it was hard to tell what people muttered over mobile phones.

She gave him the address and then they rung off. She went back around the bar, finding Anthony where she'd left him, gangly limbs sprawled in all directions. She expected him to be passed out, but he was still staring resolutely into the distance.

“Someone's coming for you, how about we get you somewhere more comfortable?” She squatted down and helped him up, guiding him to a booth in the back corner. Every one else had left at a decent hour. She could clean around him. Hopefully his friend wouldn't be long.

“Who's coming for me? I told you, I don't like riding with humans.” His eyes were drooping even as he spoke.

“I didn't get his name, but he clearly seems to know you. Was expecting you to call, even.”

“Can't imagine who that'd be...” She would've responded, but his heavy eyes had closed now and his face, creased since earlier in the evening, relaxed. He was kind of pretty, she had to admit. She wondered who it was his heart so desperately longed for- who was his angel.

As it turned out, her wait wasn't long at all. Some fifteen minutes later, a white-haired man stepped into her bar and looked around. He spotted Anthony in the corner and went to him immediately, worry etched in deep lines all across his face. He shook Anthony's shoulder softly and then harder. When that didn't work, he pinched the dark man's arm.

“Ow, hey!” Anthony batted his hand away and grumbled, sitting up somewhat straight. Carline wondered if the man could sit properly at all, even sober. He seemed to have bones made of rubber.

“Crowley, where have you been?” The white-haired man put his hands on his hips and stared Crowley down.

“Angel!”

Carline gasped and put her hand over her mouth, wondering suddenly if she had done just the wrong thing. Both men turned to stare at her and she made quick work of making like she was cleaning the bar instead of watching them. Too late, of course, but she didn't want to be that rude. Crowley, in spite of all he had told her this evening, sounded delighted to see this angel in front of him.

“Days, Crowley. Days. You were coming by every day like clockwork and then you just- just disappeared! I've been worried sick. I thought- I thought maybe they had come back for you.” The white-haired man's argument had started out strong, but by the last few words his voice sounded as it had on the phone: like he might give way to tears.

“Nuh, er, hurgh!” Crowley struggled for words, “I'm sorry, Angel... I didn't think you'd notice. Didn't think you'd think that.” He seemed to puzzle over his own words, but the ones he managed came out sounding genuine.

“Didn't think I'd notice! My dear boy, how much have you had?” white-hair wrung his hands, “you know what, it doesn't matter. I missed you and I'm glad you're okay and we need to get you home.”

“You don't...” Crowley stared at him in extreme concentration, “you don't drive.”

“Let's just get you outside and sober you up, okay darling?”

Carline thought it would take a whole lot more than fresh air to sober him up after two bottles of whiskey, but once he was out the door he was this other man's problem not hers. She polished glasses to continue looking busy.

“I don't want to.”

“Don't want to, what?”

“Sober up.”

“Why, in heav-er, why on Earth not?”

“Doesn't hurt right now.”

“What doesn't hurt?” but Carline had a feeling this Angel knew exactly what Crowley was talking about.

“Being with you.” Crowley looked away after the confession, poking at a tear in the booth beside him.

“Being with me hurts you?” the Angel's voice wobbled, going soft and revealing painful feelings of his own.

“Yeah... because I like it.”

“I don't understand that, Crowley.”

“I like being with you.”

“But it hurts you?”

“s'what I said.”

“But why?” “You know.”

“I'm afraid I don't.” And she believed him, the poor thing sounded utterly lost and confused. She half expected him to stamp a foot in frustration, but he just went on wringing his hands.

Dense, that's what she had said to Crowley earlier in the evening. Maybe his angel was dense. She was sure, now, that she had been right. This conversation was distressing to watch, let alone live in. No wonder Crowley had drunk himself silly.

“You don't feel for me the way I feel for you,” Crowley finally said in a burst, almost too fast to be individual words, “and-and that's fine, you know? It's okay, really. S'just that I love you all the same even if you don't feel that way about me. And, I- I'm not saying I was gonna be away forever, but I wanted a break.”

Carline lived in the moment of silence with Crowley, hardly believing that this was all taking place right in front of her. Really, she should have left them alone some time ago. This was none of her business. She'd heard and seen enough to know that Crowley and his Angel weren't going to physically harm one another. They had made no move to disturb her bar. She should give them privacy. But, she couldn't seem to make herself move. She had to know how this turned out. In disbelief, she realized she was rooting for them, whatever strange metaphor they were living.

“Budge up.” The angel swatted at Crowley's knee until he turned in the booth such that the white-haired man could sit beside him. Side-by-side they sat, both staring at the fake woodgrain of the table in front of them. Crowley was curled in on himself and the angel had left a bit of space between them.

“I think I've given you the wrong impression, my dear, all this time.”

Crowley said nothing, only picked at the at the edge of the table now.

“Because if you think I don't love you, the options are that you're blind or it's my fault. And, I know you aren't blind.” No, thought Carline, but it was entirely possible that they were both denser than lead.

Carline watched the words hit Crowley. Watched no reaction bleed into drunken wheels turning turn into confusion and then-

“Yeah, but you're an angel. You're meant to love everything.”

“Now, of all people on Earth and Heaven and Hell, I think you know the inaccuracy of that statement. Angels are meant to love, sure, but by experience we both know they're picky.”

“You love me, specifically?” Crowley was trying to glace at the man without actually looking at him and it made Carline's eyes hurt just watching.

“I love you, specifically. Not agape, not just philia. Pragma, ludus... Eros.”

“Eros.”

“Mmhmm.”

Crowley sat with this simple declaration for a time and Carline couldn't tell if he was going to smile or cry, lines etching deeper and deeper in his face as he turned it over in his head. The angel gave him the time.

“I'll be right back, my love, you stay here,” the angel patted his hand and got up, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the bar.

“Er, I'm sorry to keep eavesdroppin'.”

“It's quite alright. You want to make sure he's okay. That's a sentiment we share. I think he might come with me now, though, so I'll collect his things.”

“Oh! Right,” Carline reached under the counter and retrieved Crowley's wallet and sunglasses, handing them to the man.

“I'm very glad that he found you tonight, dear,” the angel smiled so warmly at her that it felt like a physical hug, “thank you for taking care of him for me.”

“Of course,” somehow she felt less tired than before, less stressed about everything- it was strange-, “Thank you for coming to get him.”

The angel's smile tipped into a rueful smirk, “I'll always come for him. And, he knows that even if he stubbornly wants to pretend he doesn't.” She wasn't sure what to make of that twisty statement but she nodded anyway.

The angel crossed the room back to Crowley, who somehow was sitting up straighter and looking far less intoxicated than he had a moment before.

“Ready to come home with me?” The angel offered his hand and Crowley took it, sliding out of the booth and standing before him.

“Eros?”

“Yes, dear, that's what I said.”

Crowley stepped closer, into the angel's space and reached up, touching his cheek.

“I've been an idiot.”

“Hmm.” The angel didn't agree, but he didn't disagree, either.

Crowley stepped closer yet, close enough that there was no longer space between them. He tilted his head and pulled the angel's face close to his and kissed him sweetly and gently before pulling back. The angel looked dazedly between Crowley's eyes and lips, biting his own.

“Yeah, let's go home so I can make it up to you.” Crowley took his hand and led him to the door. The angel followed, casting one last glace over at Carline and mouthing another 'thank you' just as he was pulled out the door.

She stood and watched the door for a bit, making sure they weren't coming back. Then she crossed the room, flicked off the light, and went upstairs to her flat.

No, she wasn't interested in a love like that. Eros didn't appeal to her. But, that didn't mean that she wasn't thankful that there were people in the world for those that it did. And that, sometimes, they got their perfect happy endings.

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #30 days of prompts

[officialleehadan]

Feather Bundle

Hello darlings! Today we have something really fun in store! Our first-ever AU Crossover! 

For reference, AU stories (for any series) are their own separate cannon, and don't nessisarilly tie into either of the parent-series. They are, however, SO MUCH FUN to write!

Today's awesome prompt was brought to you by Bradford! Thank you so much for your support, and I hope you love it!

Prompt: Vree learns about angels and demons from a very familiar pair.

+++ 

Vree very much wished he had never left Ha’reet. 

Genuinely.

Deeply.

On Ha’reet, portals to who knew where were not a thing that happened.

And now Vree was in a tavern that seemed to be mostly full of humans and human-Others. At least there were some human-Others in the room, and several looked even stranger than Vree himself in this company. At least there was that.

Of course, Vree also had no idea how to get back to his ship. None of his technology seemed to be working despite his best efforts. Finally, he gave up on the tech at all, and pressed his thumb to the little white scale Lady Hoshi gave him. It glimmered under his touch, tucked safely under his arm-band, and the scent of ice surrounded him.

Help was, hopefully, on the way.

With nothing better to do, Vree eyed the tavern, tucked his tail down between his legs, and went inside to wait for rescue.

Securing a drink was somewhat more difficult, but Vree had a habit of tucking change into his pockets in case needed it, and Ha’reeti coins turned out to be as valuable wherever-he-was as they were back home.

Drink acquired, and food on the way, Vree settled down at a table to wait.

An alarmed cry and a tremble of power skated over his skin. 

Vree, driven by pure instinct finely honed by his humans and their ideas of fun, vaulted his table and dove under the counter.

A portal, very much like the one that Vree himself had fallen through, ripped open over Vree’s table.

A bundle of feathers crashed to the floor, overturning the table and raising shouts from the taverns’ patrons as they scattered away.

The ball of feathers struggled and failed until it separated into two distinct humans. They turned out to be a pair, male and female. The male’s wings were bigger, and deep black with a glimpse of white among the darkness. The female’s were pure, soft white, but the edges glinted with silver. They seemed, in all ways a comparison of opposites, dark to light reversed on each other’s skin and wings.  To Vree’s surprise, they both bore large, feathered wings that tucked in close as soon as they were detangled, but didn’t quite relax. Vree recognized the posture after a long discussion with his own Human-Liara, who had quite a lot to say about wing-language. 

They were afraid. 

“Peace,” Vree said into the waiting tavern, and set his drink aside to show them his empty hands as he got to his feet. His tail bristled, but he managed to get his ears to perk up, friendly and inquisitive, but clearly not hostile. “Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” the male human said, a step in front of his female. His black wings mantled protectively, and he eased her back behind him, eyes glinting red with magic. “Where are we? How did you summon us?”

“I didn’t,” Vree said gently and stopped when they both tensed at his approach. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” the female said, fingers clenched on the male’s arm anxiously as she looked around. Her tight curls fell in her face, and she looked close to panic. Vree could relate. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Vree told her kindly, one eye on her mantling mate, who’s eyes flickered about the tavern, waiting for an attack. “Would you like to step outside?”

He vaguely remembered outdoor tables, and anything with wings like that would probably be more comfortable under open sky. 

Strange how wrangling alarmed humans made him feel right at home. 

He was relieved when they paused, and leaned in close, not speaking, but clearly easy enough together to not need words. 

“You go first,” the male decided tightly with a glare for the tavern. “If this is a trap, you won’t like what happens.”

“It’s not a trap,” Vree said soothingly, and walked slowly for the door, which was propped open to the warm breeze outside. “We may even be able to help each other.”

“I seriously doubt it. If you-“

“Blake, he means no harm,” The female cut him off before he could do more than start to mantle again, and Vree hid a smile as he showed them outside to the tables, out of sight of the door, and the odd crowd inside. Fortunately, it seemed that two feathered humans falling out of midair was not the strangest thing to grace this particular tavern. “Thank you. My name is Angelika.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Human-Angelika. My name is Vree. Ha’Reeti.” Vree said, offering his species-name as was the human custom, and bobbed his head politely. She stared at him, but didn’t comment when he turned to her mate. “May I know your name?”

He already knew it, but manners helped a great deal when putting humans at ease. And really, they couldn’t be worse than Lord and Lady Petros. 

The make hesitated and shuffled like an anxious bird, before Angelika combed her fingers through his flight-feathers gently. “Blake. You said something about not summoning us?”

Summoning. Vree vaguely remembered something about summoning magic during a discussion with Lady Hoshi, but they had gotten distracted and not come back to it. 

“I did not. I have no human-magic,” he assured them, and brightened when one of the servers appeared with his drink, and several glasses of water for them all. He waited for the server to go, this time with a few odd paper scraps from Human-Blake’s pocket and a request for drinks, before continuing. “I was also brought here by portal, although I do not understand how or why.”

“Fun,” Human-Blake muttered, and glared over his shoulder at his own wings. They flared open, and he winced. “Blast.”

“I can’t put mine away either,” Human-Angelika told him softly, and scooted over until she was tucked under one of Human-Blake’s wings, dark skin and white feathers luminous against the deep black of his own. He sighed, glared, and let her take his hand. “Vree, you called us… human?”

“Are you not?” Vree hoped they were, otherwise he had just been very, very rude. “It is considered mannerly on my ship to designate allies and crewmates with species-monikers to prevent confusion. Most humans I have met also presented their Other-heritage upon introduction.”

“Huh,” Human-Blake muttered. “Angel, we are not in Kansas anymore.”

“I noticed,” Human-Angelika murmured back to him, and offered the server a gentle smile when he returned with their drinks. “Vree, I don’t suppose… you said Other-heritage? What is that?”

“Non-human Earth species,” Vree translated easily, and blessed lessons with Human-Amir and Human-Nerea on etiquette. “Please forgive my assumption, but most humans do not have feathered wings. Or indeed, wings of any kind.”

They had another of those wordless conversations, foreheads close together and wings nearly tangled. 

“I’m not human,” Human-Angelika said at last once they came to some sort of decision. “I’m an angel. Blake is a demon.”

“My apologies, Angel-Angelika,” Vree accepted the correction, and pulled out his notepad on instinct to scribble down the terms to ask his humans about later. “As to our plight here, I do have assistance coming, and Lady Hoshi may well be able to answer your questions. She is a dragon, and is very wise.”

“She’s a what?” Demon-Blake lunged out of his seat, wings flared wide. Angel-Angelika caught his hand before he could get far, and he stared down at her, before relenting at her gentle pull. “Dragons aren’t supposed to exist!”

“Lady Hoshi definitely exists,” Vree offered, and caught himself holding onto the tip of his tail, a cub-fidget he thought he had broken himself of years ago. “And she is kind. If anyone is able to get us back where we belong, it will be her.”

“You’re pretty confident for someone who got dropped through a portal into God-knows-where,” Demon-Blake said rebelliously, but gave in when Angel-Angelika pulled him back to sit next to her. “So. Portals.”

“I truly wish this was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me,” Vree admitted with a very resigned sigh and a weary thought over the rest of his life. “But unfortunately, this event, although alarming, has not made the top ten, and so far, does not seem likely to do so.”

“Even finding about angels and demons?” Angel-Angelika asked as if it were an oddity he ought to note. She pushed her tight curls back over her scarf and gave him a sweet smile. “You’re very brave.”

“Dragons were worse,” Vree mumbled into his drink as he took a bracing sip. “I don’t even want to think about djinn, and I’m going to have to do a paper on the Fae soon and I suspect they’re as bad as the dragons. So unless you’re worse than all of them….”

They were staring. Vree morosely took another sip and resolutely did not think about the convention in six months, nor the pile of invitations on his desk.

“I think we might need more information,” Angel-Angelika told him after a long while and a gentle request to the server for food, accompanied by more of what Vree thought was probably some sort of money. “So how about we trade you? Since you don’t know anything about us, and we don’t know anything about you, I mean.”

Information. Vree liked information. Information didn’t always make thing less complicated, but it definitely made it easier to figure out what was going on. Before he could reply, a gust of ice-scented air wrapped around him, and he sighed in relieved. “Lady Hoshi.”

“Vree?” Lady Hoshi’s voice rippled through the snow that glittered down from the cloudless sky. The snowflakes whirled and turned into a ghostly image of the dragon herself. “It will take me a few hours to make a portal. Are you safe?”

“Perfectly safe, thank you,” Vree said respectfully as his companions gaped at him, expressions of mingled wonder and alarm. “I believe there may be an instability of some kind. My companions are also from… elsewhere.”

“An angel,” Lady Hoshi said softly, snow catching in Angel-Angelika’s hair and on Demon-Blake’s black feathers. “And a demon. How interesting. Very well. I will give it my attention. Stay safe, dear Vree.”

And then she was gone, snow fading away without a trace, and Vree allowed himself a smile. If she had found him, she would also find a way to return him safely home.

Demon-Blake seemed to be muttering profanity. Angel-Angelika was finger-grooming his hair as he hid his face in her wings. 

“Since it seems we have some time,” Vree offered tentatively when they seemed calm again. “Would you tell me what angels and demons are? I admit, I have never heard of your Other-heritage before.”

Angel-Angelika opened her mouth, but another portal suddenly ripped through the air, and a black cat, covered in odd red spines, and sporting a torn ear, the mark of a long-healed fight, dropped through, already hissing. It sported small white patches under the chin and at the base of both ears, and glared balefully at Vree with red-glowing eyes.

“Sproot!” Angel-Angelika cried, and gathered the hissing cat into her arms, heedless of both spines and hissing. The cat immediately went from growling to purring as it nuzzled up under her chin. What happened? Is everyone aright?”

The cat purred louder and butted Demon-Blake’s hand when he reached out to scratch at the white spits, leaving a trail of silver hairs in his wake. The cat chirped up at them, and they nodded along as if it was truly speaking. Finally, it settled into Angel-Angelika’s arms, no longer covered in spines, but still watchful.

Vree tried not to stare. Staring was usually impolite.

“Sproot is another demon, a little like Blake,” Angel-Angelika said when the silence became uncomfortable. “We have help coming too, but it will take a while.”

“As you say,” Vree said, and tentatively offered his fingers to the cat. Lady Hoshi had several cats in her home, and had taught him the proper way to greet them. “Hello Demon-Sproot. I am Vree. Angel-Angelika, since it seems some time, would you still be willing to tell me of angels and demons? It seems there is a hole in my knowledge, and I would very much like to learn from you before Lady Hoshi brings me home.”

Angel-Angelika smiled, and stroked her fingers through Demon-Sproot’s fur, making the cat purr even louder with each pass. Demon-Blake unbent enough to lean over and press his face into the soft black fur with a soft croak that sounded fond. 

“Only if you tell us your story as well,” Angel-Angelika said with a wry smile and a glance at the sky. “After all, it’s hardly an adventure without a good tale to share when you get home.”

+++

More Stories!

+++

#humans are weird #angel #angels #demon #demons #demonic #angelic #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are strange #humans are aliens #humans are space fae #humans are crazy #humans are awesome #humans are space australians

[yakumtsaki]

Well guys, it’s that time of year again. To recap, Jojo is still not a werewolf, Wyatt has shattered every record of incompetence and still not reached the top of his career, noogiesexual Shajar got dumped by Sophie Miguel and befriended a vampire, Cyneswith continues to date black-lipstick-broken-face-template flop Don Oates, Wulf grew up in the most iconic outfit of all time, and we got a new cat named Alcibiades for D’vorah to mate with since she refused to have kittens with poor Sweets. So let’s pick up right where we left off, which is of course the endless battle of getting D’vorah to procreate..

-Come on sweetie, we got a new boy toy just for you, get on with it, you’re almost an elder!

-NEVER! I’m a direct descendant of Zoroaster’s cat herself, I’ll never sully my bloodline with the genetic material of some pound mutt! You find me an appropriate mate before I go full Henry VIII!

STOP MIXING HISTORICAL REFERENCES AND FUCK ALCIBIADES ALREADY. His name undercuts my point but still.

-Do we have any custom blue fur paint for my balls?

ALCIBIADES SHUT UP. You assholes are by far the worst generation of pets yet, the two cat losers are bad enough but then add fucking Maxx to the mix-

-AND FORGET ABOUT IT. Look who’s getting along all of a sudden! 

-Yes, now that it’s become clear that this cat legacy shitshow is crumbling, I’ve stopped beating up the cats because I will look like a bully kicking them while they’re down. It’s part of my image revamp to get the audience behind a dog legacy! 🐶

Maxx, nothing personal, but I hate you more than you can possibly imagine. Let’s check in with the humans, I’m sure they will be totally normal, likable and stable as always-

-I can see your beating heart with my x-ray vision. I want to eat it. 

-Yay, let my sister eat your heart! 💗

-Stop patronizing me, you little bitch, I can get my own hearts to eat. 

-I just get excited when we do things together! 💗

-GAWD GTFO CYNESWITH, you’re ruining my Aztec sacrifice!!! 

-Ah, to be middle aged and in love, with your terrible children about to fuck off to college at any minute.. Looking at you, Wulf. Literally looking at you. 

Somehow that is already enough checking in with the humans for one update?

-HAHA I GOT YOU! GIMME IT!! YOU DON’T EVEN NEED IT

-LEAVE MY HEART ALONE, SHAJAR, I KEEP TELLING YOU IT’S A VITAL ORGAN

-No it’s not, the paper that got my father kicked out of the mad scientist association said so! 

They hated Jojo because he told them the truth.

These two are actually getting along great and I get my hopes up that Shajar will stop being a literal incel! Let’s all join together in prayer-

-Did someone say ‘prayer’?

GODDAMMIT SOPHIE YOU HAVEN’T SHOWED UP AT ALL AND YOU CHOOSE THIS MOMENT TO MAKE YOUR GHOST DEBUT?? FUCK OFF  

-HAHA I was waiting for a situation where my appearance would hinder the biggest amount of sin!!!!

UGH you’ve gotten even more religious in death?!

-Of course I have, what do you think heaven does to your faith?

How the fuck are you both in heaven and wandering the earth as an apparition?

-My spirit takes earth vacations to cockblock! 

Well at least you’re dying how you lived: pissing me off. 

And of course Maxx goes in for the kill with his ‘good doggie’ routine, terminally distracting Blueshirt Whatshername from Shajar’s heart-eating charms. As always, big thanks to our pets, both alive and dead.

End of the road, Shajar! Enjoy this dancing scholarship that you hilariously earned during all the outings I forced you into to get rid of your incelitude.

As Shajar leaves for college a kissless noogiesexual, I decide to try and solve at least one of my problems, and that problem is called Don fucking Oates. So we call Lakshmi back, hoping she has forgiven me for our last tense interactions-

-I have not.

Wow ok well now you’re just being petty, you saddled me with Don Oates, don’t be a sour winner. Now is there anyone out there that can potentially beat Cyneswith and Don’s natural 3 bolts???

-Nop. 

LAKSHMI COME ON, YOU’RE NOT LOOKING HARD ENOUGH

-I’m telling you, there isn’t anyone else, they’re a perfect match!

Well I refuse to accept that reality, so hit us with your best shot.

-Whatever, it’s your money.

I mean technically it’s Jojo’s and maybe I shouldn’t be spending it so freely..

-Daddy wouldn’t have a problem with it! 💗

Yea he sure wouldn’t, Cyn, since he’s literally this post.

IS THAT ANOTHER TRICOU LOVECHILD AND THE LAMEST ONE TO BOOT???

-Yup.

HARD PASS. 

-Je suis back et je non get prόmόted agàin! :D

Another hugely successful day for Wyatt as usual. Honestly as long as you don’t get fired or demoted for a third time, whatever.

-Sό je can go to sleepé?? :D

Yea sure, it’s not like there’s anything for you to do around here now that the kids have grown up. Not that you ever did anything to begin with-

-Oui oui, all tres fascinàting, bonne nuit now!

Oh actually wait, I do need you to do something before you go to sleep for 16 hours.

-Quoi???

-Ohh, le pόrtait de le morté!

Le portrait de le morte indeed. Jojo is predictably super into his death portrait being painted, as one is. Seriously what are you doing.

-Composing a tragic opera about myself, what else.

On a casio??

-I could afford a concert piano but it wouldn’t fit into this pathetically tiny house you built, would it?

Ok I get where you’re coming from, but in my defense, given your youthful days, who the fuck could had anticipated you evolving into a financially successful and mentally stable adult instead of a bankrupt lunatic that eats his own feces?

-Oui, that’s what Shajàr est going to be! Huhu!

-HAHAHAHA oh Wyatt, you’re so attractive when you’re insulting our two terrible children. Where is that little goblin anyway?

Omfg you assholes, she went off to college yesterday.

-She did??? About time! One down, one to go. If only Cyneswith could stay here forever :(

-Oui :(

-________-

Speaking of, let’s try this one more time. Lakshmi please, for the love of god, give us something I can work with. 

-Alright fine, you wore me down. Ask..

-..and you shall receive.

OMG YAS RICKY CORMIER, I LOVE HIM AND HIS FACE TEMPLATE. What the fuck are you wearing, Rick? Don’t dress up on our account. 

-I was teleported here right from work, where the fuck am I???

That’s a great question Rick, you’re in our front yard on a date with our resident 10 nice points freakshow, Cyneswith. And I see that you have 7 nice points to Don’s 4, so you crazy kids just go ahead and hit it right off now!

-Not if I have anything to do with it!

VICTOR NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR GHOST BINGO, FUCK OFF

-It’s always the time for ghost bingo.

I try my best to make this date go well but Ricky isn’t into Cyneswith AT ALL. It’s honestly pretty offensive and I hate him now. 

‘I’ve had better dates’, you’re like 15, Casanova, calm down. What a twerp. 

With that last doomed attempt to break her and Don up, the time has come for Cyneswith to fuck off to college as well, and yes, Don is coming with us to be endlessly cheated on by Miss 20 Simultaneous Lovers/Grey Hair turn on. Fuck both mine and Don’s lives. 

As if my failure to perform a Donectomy wasn’t bad enough, what does Wyatt get the day he’s finally guaranteed to be promoted, BUT ANOTHER FUCKING CHANCE CARD, WITH WHICH HE HAS A 2 OUT OF 2 FLOPPING SCORE. One of them got him demoted, the other got him fired, it took us forever to get him the 9 fucking friends he needed, so this is just terrific. Istg I could go to a police academy in real life, graduate, join the force, rise up through the ranks and become a superhero in less time than it has taken Wyatt to do it. Here goes nothing but Wyatt’s hopes and dreams..

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FINALLY

F I N A L L Y. 

OMFG.

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT WAS LEGIT HARDER THAN KOMEI’S 6 PETS CAREER ONE, FUCKING HELL WYATT.

What a sight for sore eyes. 2 days before elderhood, but we did it, mon bebe! I’m so proud of us, but mainly me, for not giving up and making you a househusband which I know realize I should had done, because you’re so gonna destroy this city. 

-Je will savé la city! First ordér of enterprisé, àpprehending le killér seriàl knόwn as Dr. Gingér Violetté! ⭐

Oh boy. Good luck with that!

#gen 2 #ts2

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 2: Sneaky Like a Cat

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas. Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself. While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.  

Word count: 2466

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the invaluable pandabearer

Remi entered a familiar code into the comm screen and sprawled out on the large cushions scattered around the main floor of his aerie.  Waiting for the call to connect, he cracked a longneck and took a swig.  Stomach rumbling, he wished he’d at least gotten a cupcake before scaring the piss out of the little baker.

He knew she didn’t intend any harm to the pack.  But sometimes what happened wasn’t what one intended, as he knew very well.  Just like he hadn’t intended to throw out that ultimatum. He’d wanted to get a sense of her and make the offer.  Then she’d turned him down and it was like his brain had switched off and his alpha hindbrain had taken over.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned down since he started building RainFire; it was, however, the first time a lone submissive female had said no.  Generally, ones like her didn’t go roaming for as long as she had. The feeling that something was amiss with her hadn’t left him, like an itch that he just couldn’t scratch.

“I’m flattered I’m your drunk dial,” Lucas Hunter said dryly, “but I have a mate.”

“I’d’ve to be drinkin’ bad hooch to be drunk dialin’ your laide tchew,” he snorted.  “And I’d hope it’d make me blind.”

Hunter snorted, then reached down out of view of the screen and picked up a little, black cub by the scruff of her neck.  Naya purred loudly enough that Remi could hear it and butted her forehead against Lucas’ face, even though her body continued to dangle limply in his grasp.

“You know better than that,” her father frowned at her, unfazed by the cute affection, and tapped her nose.  The responding mewl was adorable enough to pierce even the most jaded heart. “No, you can’t have a cookie, but you can say hi to Remi.”  He pointed to the screen and set her on his lap. A fluffy black tail rose high and curled at the end in greeting.

“Quoi se fais du mal, possede?”  His cat stopped its irritated pacing and chuffed in amusement at the pair of bright green eyes that now took up most of the screen as she leaned in to greet him.

“She’s been using my chair as a scratching post.”  Remi coughed to cover a laugh at the other man’s deadpan expression that barely hid his amusement.  At the recount of her misdeed, she flopped onto her back and put one paw over an eye as if to say “oops.”  Hunter had answered in his office at DarkRiver HQ. If he’d been at home, which had cushions instead of traditional furniture much like Remi’s own, his daughter would have sharpened her claws on a tree instead.  “Can you make it quick? I have a meeting in ten.”

Remi laid out the situation to Lucas, who listened without interruption.

“She says she didn’t know ‘bout the expansion.”  He spread his hands wide.

“You posted to Packnet?”  Hunter referred to the network utilized by Changelings all across the world.  Even loners used it, primarily to keep track of claimed territory to avoid accidentally trespassing.  A mistake meant death for a predatory Changeling.

“’Course I did,” Remi snapped in frustration.  Lucas let that one slide. “Damnedest thing is she says she’s never heard of it!”  He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted, then darted a glance at Naya, who’d climbed up to drape herself across his shoulders.  “You just don’t like your options.”

“Could you run a submissive off your lands?” he snarled.  Lucas gave a low warning growl to remind him that they were both alphas; his cub stopped kneading his shoulders and her ears swivelled forward, looking for the threat.  Remi had to rein his cat in before they got into a pissing match; it had been on edge since he stepped into the bakery. The animal, too, was disturbed with the mystery that was Lorelei Cain Maddox.

“Buy her land, her mortgage, and any other debt out from under her if she doesn’t play ball.  It doesn’t have to come to combat.” A ruthless solution from an alpha who was as accustomed to fighting in the boardroom as he was with teeth and claws.  The merciless alpha stroked his daughter’s back, lulling her back to her sleepy state. He looked like a damn villain when he did that in that chair.

“Mais.”  Blowing out a breath, he took another drink to give himself time to consider the suggestion.  He shouldn’t have made the offer at all if she made his hackles rise, not until he figured out why.  Now he had to deal with the fallout and any leverage would serve to protect the pack, even if he didn’t use it to force her hand.  “Might have to. She looked like she’d rather chew an arm off than listen to me.”

“I can’t blame her if you were your usual charming self.”  Remi flipped him the bird, but there was no heat in his accompanying glare.  Lucas huffed in laughter. “You can’t help those who don’t want to be helped, you need to focus on your own.  If she won’t play ball with you, she might with your enemies.”

“Ca me rapelle, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.  I’m forwarding you something.” He set his bottle down and fired off the email as he spoke.  “Several folks in town reported receiving this.”

“’Trinity’s Goal is Human Genocide’,” Lucas read the subject line with a snort.  “’We won’t be replaced, trying to take power, subjugate the human race…’ Yeah, we had something like this awhile back, so did StoneWater.  Do you know where it came from?”

“We got someone working to trace it.  I was wonderin’ if your people have time to look at it, might be tied to the one you mentioned.”  The older pack had resources that RainFire simply didn’t have yet and he wasn’t above asking for help to keep his pack safe.

“It might be the same group, but extremists tend to use the same catchphrases; it’s like they just swap out the nouns.  I recommend keeping your sentinels on alert.” Remi nodded. He’d already briefed those that hadn’t brought the situation to his attention, but if this was a larger threat then they needed to know that, too.

“We’ve got some friends in the city, I’ll ask them to keep their ears to the ground.”

“This might be an individual, but if it’s a cell working to sway public opinion your friends will probably hear of it first.  I’ll have my team see what they can find.” Lucas’ eyes narrowed, but that didn’t hide the teasing glint in his green eyes that looked so much like his cat’s.  “You know, the mentorship was only meant to last the first year.” While that year had passed nearly nine months ago, the two of them had kept in regular contact.

“You don’t have to answer my calls,” he shrugged and tucked a hand behind his head.  “I could always ring up Hawke. Say, you got his number?”  Hunter scowled at the mention of the SnowDancer alpha.

“Are you so hard up you’d ask a wolf for help?”

“I’m asking my Trinity representative for help with somethin’ that might be a bigger problem, but if you’re too busy…”

“Naya, say ‘adieu’ to Oncle Couillon .”  She waved her tail back and forth.

“Bye-bye, cher.”  Remi blew the cub a kiss.  “Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi.”  Before hanging up, Lucas gave him one last scowl for telling him to kiss his mate for the other alpha.

He pulled out his organizer and began to plot.  She might be stubborn, but he had an entire pack behind him and he wasn't afraid to use it.

At the sound of the front door opening, Lorel set down the cranberry coloured frosting she was piping onto rows of cupcakes.  She wiped her hands off on a damp white washcloth that was already smeared pink and red with previous uses.

Stopping in the archway that led to the front, she stifled a groan.  The customer who’d entered with her daughter was a changeling: a leopard, to be specific, and one of many who'd managed to wander into her shop over the past week.  Even if she didn’t have a note in her scent that matched an element of Denier’s, she obviously had to be a member of RainFire.  It seemed like she'd already met half the freaking pack, and, in the southern custom that she was rapidly coming to learn, a quick chat was at least half an hour long.

She could hardly refuse to serve the woman; not only was it illegal, but it would be hypocritical.  Besides, changelings were extremely loyal and prolific customers at their favourite restaurants due to their higher caloric requirements.  And not to mention it was probably unhealthy for her if she pissed off RainFire.

Somehow, she was sure the asshole was behind the parade of leopards in her bakery, even if she had no way of proving the suspicion.  She had seen some underhanded tactics in her time, but this latest was the lowest of the low.  Standing up straight, she braced herself.

A little girl in a lavender tutu dress toddled up to the display case like she’d found Nirvana.  Her dark hair was tied up in loose buns that bobbled with every step of her purple, glitter rainboots.  It was impossible not to smile at the sheer joy that lit up her face, which was marked with what looked like slashes from a set of claws, yet they lacked the pigmentation and texture of scars.  They appeared to be birthmarks, albeit pale instead of dark.

“Cookie, pease?”

Seriously, those big, guileless eyes should be registered as lethal weapons.

“What kind would you like?” Lorel asked after glancing at the adult with her to make sure it was ok.

“Dat one!”  A tiny finger pressed to the plas-glas pointed to a set of sugar cookies shaped and frosted to look like various types of leaves: green fading to brown, yellow to red, and whatever other combination had occurred to her at the time.  Lorel picked one of her favourites: a maple leaf with yellow at its centre, surrounded by orange, and turning to red at the edges. For the veins, she’d drawn a knife through the frosting to create lines of colour that bled outward through the gradations.

“Make it a dozen, please, and a dozen each of the caramel apples, the maple pecan cupcakes, and, ooh, pumpkin cheesecake snickerdoodles,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up with the last order.

She nearly did a double-take.  That was her entire stock of each of those items and over half of her seasonal items.  Not that she was about to complain. She wrapped the maple leaf in a napkin and handed it to the girl, experience telling her that it wouldn’t last enough to warrant packaging.

“Thank you!” she chirped and rose on her tiptoes to take the leaf.  The cookie was bigger than both of her hands. Settling back on her heels, she took a bite and exclaimed in delight, eyes going impossibly wide.  Lorel struggled to breathe past the ache in her chest.

Avoiding eye contact with both of them, she quickly boxed up the goodies.  The sooner she got them out of there, the sooner she could breathe easy again.  It didn’t help that her cat was currently clawing at her with a fierce need to play with the cub.   Kid , she mentally reprimanded herself.

“Is something wrong?”  Lorel stared at the other woman for a heartbeat before she realized she’d been shaking her head while silently rebuking herself.

“Oh no.”  She donned a smile like well-worn armour.  “Just talking to myself. Thinking about how many to bake tomorrow, you know?”

The customer nodded and hummed in agreement, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t buying it.  

“It must be hard to move to a town where you don’t know much of anyone and take over your aunt’s business.”

Lorel’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t trust sympathy from a cat, not even one with a child that appeared to be loved and treasured.

“Small towns, everybody knows everybody.”  The other woman shrugged off the suspicion cast her way.  “By the way, I’m Tien and this is JoJo.” JoJo was currently spinning in the sun streaming through the window and watching her skirt flare out.  The glitter in her boots flashed brilliantly in the light. With each bite of her cookie, she hummed a happy little tune.

The pang in her chest was back.

“Lorel,” she flashed her customer service smile, the small one when she wasn’t really feeling like smiling.  Luckily, she was ringing up the sale and therefore had an excuse to avoid anything more than briefly flicking her eyes at Tien.  Then she gave the total and they went through the ritual of the transaction.

“Here’s my number.”  Tien jotted down the code on a slip of paper she’d found in her purse.  “Let me know if you ever want to talk or if you ever want to… I’d say go for coffee, but,” she broke off with a laugh and gestured at the espresso machine.  “Do lunch or something.”

She couldn’t decline without being rude, and being rude in a small southern town would spell disaster for her business.  And the other woman’s smile was so broad and genuine that she smiled back despite herself.

“Thank you.”  Lorel took the scrap and slipped it into her apron; today it was yellow and edged at the bottom with lace.  The lavender flowers on it matched the full-skirted dress she wore.

“Come on, kidlet.”  Tien herded the girl towards the exit.

“Bye!”  JoJo waved and skipped out the door, offering a bite of her cookie to her mom, who accepted with an “mmm!”

Lorel sank back against the counter and thrust her hands into her pockets, idly fingering the contact number.  How could they be so happy and obviously well-adjusted in a pack with an autocratic asshole like Denier? Although, was there really any other kind of alpha?  In her admittedly limited experience, the answer was no.

And yet neither of them had, had the hollow, guarded eyes that were the result of abuse from those in power.  While the rest of the pack seemed friendly enough, no doubt the carrot to Denier’s stick, it wasn’t something she was used to.

She crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the recycler.

No matter how honest she appeared to be, Tien was still Denier’s pawn.

Notes:   Remi isn’t canonically Cajun, it’s left ambiguous (“with a name like that sounds like he should be hunting gators in a swamp somewhere”).  But I like the idea that he can play the dumb swamprat, or the suave southern gentleman, or a shark in the boardroom because he learned how to dominate whatever room he was in and that he had to learn to blend in (*foreshadowing of my personal HC’s).

I'm a bit of a language nerd. The evolution of Louisiana French is interesting because it basically takes Acadian French and drifts it, then splices in some Choctaw.  And it appears to share some quirks and sentence structure with French Creoles. I'm not sure if that's due to sharing a "parent" language (I don't know enough to say) or due to cultural exchange in the region.

The Cajun French in this chapter comes from published dictionaries and articles written by native speakers, then cross-referenced (or simply plugged into google to see if similar results pop up). Then if I need to conjugate something or figure out grammar, I'll run it by my spouse who speaks Quebecois (which evolved from Acadian, too), but isn’t French Canadian.  So if it’s atrocious, my apologies and please let me know.

Laide tchew - ugly ass

Quoi se fais du mal - what trouble have you been getting into?

Possede - literally possessed one, a term for a mischievous child

Mais - Literally French for “but.” According to kenwheatonwrites.com it “means “well then,” and is used to delight, shock, exasperation — any number of things. It’s almost like “dude” or “fuck” in its ability to morph into anything depending on situation, tone, delivery and other factors.”

Ca me rapelle - That reminds me

Oncle - uncle

Couillon - idiot, imbecile, funny person. In standard French, it means dickhead or bastard. I like to think that Lucas knows standard French, which helps him to understand Remi when he's slipping into his native patois. ;)

Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi - give the lovely Sascha a kiss for me

Fun fact: "bec" can mean "kiss" and "beak." So I'll tell my pet birds "bec la bec!" I'm easily entertained, what can I say?

#my writing #psy changeling #fan fic #kid fic #psy changeling trinity #sci fi #eventual romance #meet-ugly #eventual smut #scifi #nalini singh #shapeshifter #werecat #shape shifter #bakery #cupcakes #cajun french #original female character #paranormal romance #autumn #hate to love #pack dynamics #paranormal romantic suspense #plus-sized character #fat character #pack alpha #cookies #leopard #ocelot #changeling

[sorceress-coffee]

The Shattered King

AO3 Link Phase 2 Chapter 23

Toby had decided the best way for him to get a date to Spring Fling was to ask every girl that attended school if they would go with him. So far, I’ve seen him get shot down by every senior I shared classes with, not to mention our blended classes with all four years. At the lockers, Toby was busy trying to ask Mary out, when she said she’d rather choke to death, he quickly moved to Darci. Jim and I watched from our lockers, astounded at how hard Toby was trying to get a date. Jim caught Claire’s attention as she and Mary met up, awkwardly trying to close his locker only to have it pop open again, causing Claire to laugh. Mary glance back, grinning when she saw Jim and me before Toby slammed his head against his locker next to us. “Well,” he sighed, keeping his head cemented to the locker. “I’ve asked out every single girl.” “They all said no?” Jim asked, shocked that Toby had already found every girl in school. “Of course not,” Toby laughed, turning to lean back on the lockers. “I got a few ‘as ifs.’ A couple ‘not in a million years.’ One actually gagged. I took that as she wasn’t interested.” “That could have gone better,” I thought back to the girl in my trig class who had the adverse reaction. Jim’s brow furrowed, staring at Toby in disbelief, “You actually asked out every girl in school?” “Nah,” Toby waved him off, grinning, “Saved Claire for you, also River,” he chuckled, elbowing my arm, “That would be like asking my sister to go with me. Plus, you never go to these kinds of things.” I shrugged, “Not really my thing Tobes,” I smirked, ruffling his hair as payback for elbowing me. “Besides,” He huffed out, whacking my hand from his hair, “Didn’t want to prom-block you, Jimbo.” Jim huffed, adjusting his bag, “thanks, Tobes.” “You haven’t asked her yet, have you?” Toby smirked, pulling Jim down to his eye level. “I,” Jim stuttered, making sure the girls were no longer around, “I’m working up to it, okay?” “If you don’t ask her, someone else will,” I shook my head, having “again.” “So, that what they’re calling ‘wussing out’?” Toby teased. “Jim’s still wussing out?” Eemeli’s voice joined in as he reached the lockers, smirking at the boys. “Toby asks every girl in school and you can’t even ask one?” Jim straightened up, glaring at Toby and Eemeli, “I’m just waiting for my moment.” Toby cackled, “That’s what they call wussing out these days, Wussy.” “He’s correct, Master Jim,” Blinky’s voice startled all of us. We turned quickly to find both Blinky and Draal, on campus. This wasn’t going to end well. “We spent the afternoon in the school library and you are, apparently, a popular topic of gossip.” Blinky finished, sending Jim out of his shock. “Blinky!” he yelled, looking around quickly for faculty. “What are you two doing hanging out at our school?” “Blinkous dragged me along to have ‘four eyes’ while he was reading, your ‘graphic novel’ section was interesting at least.” Draal huffed, scooting away from Blinky, not wanting to be dragged back for more research. “An interesting section indeed,” Blinky nodded. “Wait,” Toby cut him off, crossing his arm in thought, “Did you say people were gossiping about Jim?” “I didn’t hear much,” Blinky nodded, “but words ‘wussing’ and ‘out’ were frequently invoked.” “They kept bringing up a ‘Spring Fling,’ is that some sort of fight?” Draal asked. “It’s our annual school dance, like a party for the students.” I explained, “A fight would be more fun.” “How would you know?” Eemeli snickered, “All four years you’ve been here and not once have you shown up. It’s a popular topic among the seniors. Apparently, since you’ve become more approachable, some students are planning on asking you.” I groaned, leaning into Draal’s side, “If it turns out like ‘tight jeans’ Hank, Spring Fling will turn into a fight.” “Can we get back on topic?” Jim huffed, turning back to Blinky, “Why were you in the library of our school?” “I exhausted all of Trollmarket’s resources pertaining to the mysterious mark Angor Rot painted on your forehead.” Blink explained, over complimenting our school’s library as he did when we broke into Strickler’s office. “All we found out was that the fleshbags think Jim’s a wuss,” Draal shrugged, glaring at anyone who got too close to our group, eyeing the students Eemeli might have spoken about. “Oh,” Jim sighed, disheartened by this new information. “Really?” Toby gasped, watching behind our group, “Look at that hypnotic, bewitching allure of that swaying mole.” “I take offense to the bewitching part,” I snarked, rolling my eyes as Toby completely ignored us. “Excuse me, seems I was wrong about asking out every non-Clair and River girl in school.” He grinned, dusting off his sweater-vest as we turned to watch the mascot, heading after them. “Does he even know if a female is, in fact, beneath that costume?” Blinky asked, confused by Toby’s strange ways. “I really don’t think it matters.” Jim deadpanned, watching his friend follow the mole. “He’s been like this since the school spirit rally.” Eemeli chuckled, “Too bad he’s already asked them.” He confessed as the mole went into the female restroom, causing Toby to turn back with a thumbs up. “You know who it is?” I asked, shaking my head at Tobes. “Changeling, remember? I can tell by the scent.” He shrugged. “Hey, you!” Coach Lawrence interrupted, talking to Blinky, “You have a visitor’s pass?” “My dear sir, I dare say, my humanity is my pass.” Blinky smiled. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work. You might wanna run.” Jim spoke quickly as Coach grabbed Blinky. Before leaving, he paused eyeing Draal’s wrestling jacket, “Wait a minute, you’re not on the team.” “That’s mine sir,” Eemeli quickly stepped in, “It’s a bit chilly and it was messing with my friend’s injury so I loaned it to him.” He gestured to the bronze hand poking out of the jacket sleeve. Coach balked, nodding quickly, “Right, of course.” He began dragging Blinky off-campus. “We should probably head out before someone realizes you’re not a student.” I sighed, grabbing Draal’s hand to dragging him off with Eemeli and me. Strickler paused outside the school entrance as he watched Coach throwing Blinky off-campus. As we quickly walked past him, Strickler’s eyes widened at the sight of Draal, unsure of who Eemeli and I would be dragging around. Eemeli smirked over his shoulder at Strickler, turning us to head downtown to the shops. “Come on, before feathers gets any bright ideas.” “If only we could take him out,” Draal snarled, pulling me closer protectively as we continued. “Wish we could, but right now that’s not option with mom and all.” I sighed, reaching in to pet Eri in my hoodie pocket. Sliding up through my sleeve, Eri took her perch on my shoulder, “Magic, soul entwining totems, glowing sigils.” She pouted, nuzzling under my chin, “What doesn’t that troll do?” Eemeli lead us into Ms. Kamaria’s shop, “Not much is known about Angor Rot. I’ve tried using my contacts, but all I got was that he’s a powerful enchanter, with un-troll-like magic.” “Now why would Angor Rot be out?” Ms. Kamari’s voice came from behind us. I turned quickly, eyeing to old woman, “You know a lot more than you let on.” I quipped, referring to her knowing about me and my family. Ms. Kamaria smiled as she reached up, touching the gem encased in my collar, “Your mate’s?” She grinned, turning to Draal, “A face I haven’t seen since the Battle of Killahead.” “Not exactly the same face, is it?” Draal glared, already on edge with Ms. Kamaria. “What is a wild spirit doing running a fleshbag shop?” Ms. Kamaria chuckled, pulling her hand back. “River showed love for art at a very young age. I knew if I opened a craft store, she’d come in eventually, then I could keep an eye on her from a safe distance.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, trying to keep calm. “James asked me to keep silent once Garridan left.” She smiled, heading further into the store. “Uncle James?” I ran after her, more confused now. “He knows about this?” Ms. Kamaria hummed in thought. “If you’re speaking of magic, yes he knew. If you’re asking about Jim, I’m sure Garridan has informed him.” Draal and Eemeli followed behind Ms. Kamaria and me as she tidied up the shop. “How does he know?” I frowned, head reeling. How was I supposed to tell Jim? “They’re brothers,” She paused, turning to watch me, “siblings do speak with each other. Besides, they’re together, protecting the heart.” My eyes widened as I touched the collar, realizing what this meant, “Is Jim in danger of,” I trailed off, horrified that Jim might go through the same thing I had. “Doubtful, your magic comes from Ganieda, not Garridan. Even so, you possess Daylight in your veins, Jim doesn’t.” She took my hand, smiling softly as she reassured that Jim would be safe. “Will he start to change?” Eemeli piped up, even if Jim wasn’t at risk for the magical issues, Changeling features weren’t easy to hide. Ms. Kamaria paused, looking off for a moment. “One day, change is inevitable. But he won’t be alone.” Taking my hand, she guided us to the back of the store. “Eclipse will come, the sun and moon will become one. Neither and both.” She recited, taking us to a pedestal holding an ancient-looking book. “What’s this for?” I asked, seeing the same sigil on the cover as the locket my father sent. “Ganieda’s grimoire,” she handed the book over, “Left for you.” I took the book carefully with shaking hands, realizing this could be all I have left of my mother. “A grimoire, her magic studies?” Ms. Kamari nodded, “Ganieda was the healer of Camelot, many of her spells are recorded in there, but you will see there are empty pages. She said when the time is right, they will reveal what you need.” Nodding I held the book tight as the bell to the shop signaled more customers. Ms. Kamaria smiled softly before heading back up to help those who came in. Draal nudged my cheek with his nose, worried, “Are you okay?” “Things, are starting to make sense, I think.” I sighed, holding the book close. Eemeli grasped my shoulder, frowning in thought, “Do we tell him?” Draal flinched, realizing we just learned Jim was half Changeling, and he had no idea. “Something tells me that won’t go over well.” I nodded, agreeing with Draal. While contemplating whether or not we should tell Jim now, a page in the book began to glow a soft green. Startled, I opened the book to the page quickly, revealing a sketch of my mother and father along with another Changeling that looked similar to my father. My mother was laughing at something she had written in the book while my father and the other changeling were holding back laughter. “I should tell him,” I smiled softly at the picture, wondering what they were laughing at. At least they seemed happy. The drawing turned, Garridan and the other changeling shifted into humans, the other changeling looked like Uncle James dressed in matching knight armor with my father. “I really need to figure out my age,” I huffed, closing the book. Believer began to sound from my phone, Jim’s ringtone. I answered quickly, nudging the guys towards the door as we headed out. “Jim? What’s going on?” I asked, I definitely wasn’t telling him over the phone. “River! Great,” Jim sounded tired, “I can’t get a hold of Claire. I need you to find her and bring her to Trollmarket, we know where the next stone is. Blinky and Arrrgh are preparing to leave.” “Get Claire, Trollmarket, stones. Got it, we’ll be there soon.” I grinned, taking off running to Claire’s house as I hung up. “Hurry up!” Draal and Eemeli glanced at each other before taking off after me. “Stone, as in the second stone?” Draal asked from behind me. “Yup! Blinky and Arrrgh are getting ready to go, we gotta get Claire.” I explained, running for her house. Eemeli huffed, “We aren’t teleporting because?” “Three, well four, of us would take up a lot of mana right now, and there might be a fight to get the stone.” I nuzzled Eri, slowly getting used to our magic melding. We finally made it to Claire’s house, I paused seeing Darci’s car out front. “This might take a minute,” I sighed, knocking on the door. Mary ended up answering the door, he jaw dropped as she spotted Eemeli and Draal with me, “No way, is that your college boo?!” She screeched, running into the house to get Claire and Darci. “College boo?” Draal asked, startled by Mary’s abruptness. “Girl’s Night told them about you,” I grinned, taking his hand as I followed Mary in, Eemeli cackling behind us. Claire smiled seeing us, “So, finally introducing us?” She winked, finding the situation hilarious. Darci grinned as she and Mary began shooting off questions to Draal, “When are you getting married? Did River actually propose on accident? Did you get a ring yet? Are you doing rings? Are you staying for a while? Will you be at Spring Fling?” Draal’s eyes were wide as he looked back and forth between the girls, unsure how to answer most of the questions. Pausing to think of the terms I used when we discussed mating, he nodded. “Yes, River ‘proposed’ on accident first, then I asked her. Not sure when we are getting ‘married,’ after she graduates though.” Pausing at the ring questions he looked to me. “Remember how I said Draal’s family has different customs? They don’t exactly do engagement rings.” I covered quickly, “And like I said, can you imagine the teacher’s reactions if I showed up to school with one?” I laughed, knowing full well Strickler would combust at least. Mary pouted, “River! It’s traditional,” she defended. Darci smiled, patting her back, “Everyone’s different Mar,” she comforted, calming a possible tantrum. Claire giggles, siding up next to me, “So, what’s up? I doubt you came over just to show Draal off.” She snickered, watching Mary implode, explaining engagement customs and rings to Draal. I smiled, watching Draal consider what she was explaining. “Jim asked me to get you.” That cut Mary off quickly. “Is Lake finally going to ask her?” She huffed, turning on me now. “I think that’s the plan,” I shrugged, nudging Claire, “We need to borrow Claire, do you girls mind?” Darci grinned, quickly shoving us out the door, Mary following us all out, “If it gets him to ask her, take her!” Laughing, I linked my arm with Claire’s quickly guiding her away, “Thank girls! I owe you one!” “Then come to the dance for once!” Marry yelled after us. I winced, pouting as we made it out of earshot. “Why is everyone obsessed with me going?” “You’re a senior, it’s a right of passage in school,” Claire teased. “Alright, spill. What are we actually doing?” “You don’t think Jim sent us to get you?” Eemeli smirked. “Or that he didn’t send us to ask you to this Spring Fling?” Draal chuckled, thinking back to the teens gossiping about it in the library. “After the cliffs, I’m not sure he will,” Claire sighed, as we reached the canal. “So?” “They found the location of the second stone,” I explained as Eemeli opened the portal to Trollmarket. “So, we’re going after the stone,” She smiled, excitement returning, “That means we’re one step closer to finding my brother!” I grinned as we headed in, ignoring the confused trolls who haven’t seen Draal yet. “Yup! We’re meeting at the Gyre I think.” We quickly headed for the Gyre, hoping today’s ride was smoother than our last. Eemeli paused as we reached it, “I’m going to sit this one out, Strickler’s got me on edge. I think he’s planning something.” Eemeli’s brow furrowed. “You okay on your own?” I asked Eemeli, he could handle himself if was just him and Strickler, Angor Rot on the other hand was another story. “I’ll grab NotEnrique on my way, sure he could use a crib break.” He chuckled, turning to Claire before she could protest, “I’ll have him back before anyone notices.” Claire huffed, nodding to Eemeli, “Alright, as long as he comes back in one piece.” Eemeli nodded, heading back out quickly to the surface, intent on tailing Strickler. “Lady River!” Blinky greeted, ushering us into the Gyre station, “Right on time, we are heading to the Quagawump swamps!” He cheered as Arrrgh started up the Gyre. As we all boarded, Jim spoke up, confused about something Blinky mentioned before our arrival. “If Wumpas don’t let outsiders into their camp, how do we get the stone?” “Don’t worry, Master Jim!” Blinky waved off as he prepared the Gyre,” If Quagawumps are hostile to outsiders we’ll need an insider!” He grinned, “One of you is going to pretend to be the human reincarnation of the Shattered King! It’s genius!” “What?!” Jim cried out, “That’s insane, Blinky!” Blinky pulled a lever, causing the Gyre to take off at full speed, knocking us all back again. “If they find out, we’ll be on their menu!” Draal snarled, against the plan. Ignoring our dissent, Blinky continued his explanation. “You, Tobias, bear a most striking resemblance to their dead king.” “Me?!” Toby shrieked, realizing what that meant for him. “Yes. The Quagawumps are short and stout in stature. It’ll be the role of a lifetime. Mostly because if they see past our little charade, as Draal mentioned, the time of our lives will end.” Blinky concluded. “Why can’t we explain why we need the stone? Wouldn’t that be easier?” I asked, confused about why we couldn’t talk it out. “Kill on sight,” Arrrgh explained, holding on tight to the Gyre seat, at least the ride was smoother than our quest to Gatto’s Keep. Toby yelled as the Gyre docked, Arrrgh trying to keep all of us on the seat. Draal groaning as he sat up. “That feels much different as a fleshbag.” He complained, glaring at the back of Blinky's head. “Yes, well, we better get a move on.” Blinky grinned, ushering us off of the Gyre. We walked through the underground swamp; gems growing from trees allowing us to see the path to the Wumpa camp. Draal stuck close to my side, eyeing the foliage as we passed. “This is a bad idea.” I grabbed the prosthetic hand, holding tight as we walked, “We don’t have much of a choice right now.” I sighed. Curious, I paused to touch one of the green glowing gems lighting our path. As soon as my hand came in contact with it, blue magic bled into the green until the gem I touched and the surrounding cluster turned blue. “That’s new,” I pulled my hand back quickly unsure of what just happened. Eri looked over the gems, smiling, “Most Quagawumps have a little magic, the rocks absorb that magic and use it to cast light. All you did was recharge the rock with your magic.” She nosed another green gem, turning it an almost white lilac. “See?” “Now that’s cool,” I grinned, liking the swamps a little more. “This place is creepy.” Claire sighed, even with the light of the gems, the humans’ eyes weren’t adjusting well to the dark swamps. “Where are we?” “A place renowned for its vast swamps, theme parks, and retirement communities,” Blink explained, throwing his hands out to the swamp, “Florida!” “They’d lose their minds if they found out there was an underground swamp too. Wonder if there are crocs and gators down here too?” I snickered. Looking out at the swampy water. Eri grinned, sliding to the floor before shifting into a white crocodile. “Now there’s one!” I jumped back, yelping as the others turned to see what was wrong. “I didn’t know you could do that!” Eri shrugged as best she could, waddling after our group, Jim, Toby, and Claire a little uneasy with her new from. “Shapeshifting is pretty easy for familiars,” She shifted, turning into a copy of me with white hair instead of black and blue. “I always have trouble with colors though,” She explained, pulling on a strand of white hair. Jim’s jaw dropped, “That’s just creepy, one River is enough thank you very much.” “So cool!” Toby grinned, taking a picture of us on his phone, distracted for a moment from his upcoming role. “That’s a little unnerving,” I confessed, taking a step back, the only thing she didn’t include in her shapeshift was the collar. She shrugged, shifting to her snake form, climbing back up to my shoulders. “Just as well, I hate having legs.” “Is that why you’re a snake?” I asked as we continued. Eri tilted her head in thought, flicking her tongue out, “Probably? I’m mostly compact for traveling ease.” Shaking her head at us, Claire smirked back to Toby, getting us back on track. “Come on, Your Eminence. Your people await.” Toby sighed, catching up to us, “I’m just saying,” He groaned as we had to jump across stepping stones in the water. “I’m built to be a sidekick, you know? I’m not, gah!” He yelped slipping a bit on the stones. I grabbed him quickly, pulling him onto the next stone with me. “Better?” He nodded, sighing again, “I’m not leading man material. I’m a wingman.” He explained, nervous about his role. “Don’t be a wuss,” Jim teased, using Toby’s words from earlier against him. “Come on.” “Tobes, it’s alright. You got us here for back up,” I smiled as we made it to the next grassy patch of land, following the others. My ears twitched as something rustled behind us, I grabbed Midnight quickly, taking a defensive stance. Arrrgh growled, alert to it as well, he pounded his fists into the ground as a warning. Draal snarled, standing back to back with me. He held the haft of a compacted ax, waiting to see what would happen before activating it. Chanting sounded from the brush as short green trolls with grass-like hair emerged, most holding some type of spear. They surrounded us, spears at the ready. The Wumpa at the head of the group hummed seeing Blinky and Claire, “Humans and a mage! Tastes not common.” She grinned. “Toby?” Claire called, the Wumpas frightening her. Toby sighed knowing this was our ‘do or die’ moment. “Okay,” he pushed past Claire and Blinky causing the Wumpas to gasp in shock, pulling their spears away. “It is I. the Shower King!” Toby declared, raising his hands high. Blinky, having gone stone stiff, muttered “Shattered.” “The Shattered King!” Toby corrected quickly. “Reincarnated as a hooooooman,” he spoke, emulating a ghost voice, howling as he waved his arms. “You’re not a ghost,” Jim ground out, trying to get Toby to calm. I held my breath as we waited for the Wumpas’ reactions, I hope to Deya they believed us. They began to chant as the leader glared, circling Toby. “Gunmar kill you. You cannot be.” She declared, getting in his face. “Prove you are he! Show us great magics, god-king.” My jaw dropped, whacking Blinky with a deactivated Midnight, “Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned the magic and god-king parts?” I whispered, growling in frustration. The Wumpas began chanting louder as they drew closer with their spears at the ready. Toby whimpered, looking back to me, unsure what to do. I shrugged, not knowing how to help him since, when using my magic, it obviously came from me. Toby sighed, turning back to the Wumpas. “Okay. All right, now.” He waved them back, “stand back.” The chanting stopped immediately as the Wumpas watched him closely. “This one’s not for the faint of heart.” He waved his hands in the air before putting his hands together, “Abara-cadabara, nothing up my sleeve-ara!” He called out, moving his hands as he tricked the Wumpas into thinking he pulled his thumb off before reattaching it. Blinky, Arrrgh, and Draal gasped in horror at the sight. Jim and Claire groaned. Claire dropping her face into her hands. I stood there, dumbfounded that of all the tricks he knew, this is what he went for, I guess he didn’t have a levitating ball. The Wumpas all gasped in shock at the display, some dropping their spears in horror while others clung to them. “He dismembered his hand and then rejoined his flesh and bone!” A Wumpa near the leader pointed, unable to process what she just saw but excited at the tick. The lead Wumpa nodded eagerly, grinning at us. “His magic is so powerful!” They began chanting again as they swooped in picking up Toby quickly, taking us all back to their camp. “What just happened?” I asked, confused by the reaction. “Did he not just use blood magic?” Blinky screeched, still horrified. “No?” I tilted my head confused, “Have you never seen that before?” “How is that not blood magic? The only thing I’ve seen close to that is your healing abilities.” Draal asked, confused by how calm I was. “I’ll show you later,” I sighed, following the Wumpas, “When we aren’t at risk for death.” “Like floating ball?” Arrrgh asked, having seen some of Toby’s magic tricks before. I nodded quickly, glad one of the Trolls had an idea about what just happened. “Similar, not the same, but similar.” “Nice work, Tobes!” Jim called out, laughing at Toby getting carried away. “You are leading man material!” “Ha-ha-ha” Toby sarcastically let out, still highly uncomfortable with the situation. We followed after them quickly, snickering as the Wumpas swarmed Toby. The lead Wumpa ran through vines covering a rocky passage. “The lost king returned!” She announced as the others carried Toby into the camp, the rest of us close behind. More and more Wumpas began to chant as we were led further into the camp, Toby waving shyly to them. We came to a giant statue of a troll that looked exactly like Toby. “I don’t believe it,” Jim confessed, staring at the statue. “Neither do I,” Claire agreed, both in shock. “Ugh, I know right?” Toby asked, turning to look at us, “He doesn’t look anything like me.” “Does he really not see it?” I asked Jim, confused about how anyone could deny the resemblance. The Wumpas pulled Toby down, spinning him around their group as they chanted, asking him questions. One was even excited to see his mouth was filled with ‘precious metals.’ “So handsome the king is!” One grinned, pinching Toby’s cheek like a child. “That’s what I keep telling the girls at school, but they weren’t interested.” Toby pouted, complained about his failed attempts at getting a Spring Fling date. The chanting stopped immediately as the Wumpas dropped Toby, snarling in anger. “Who are these girls at school?” One cried out, snarling, “We shall hunt them down and make flutes out of their arms!” I snorted, trying to keep my laughter at bay, picturing the school being swarmed by Quagawumps defending Toby. “Th-That’s wrong but so funny.” I snickered, clasping a hand over my mouth when Claire glared back at me. Two of the girls that shot him down were Mary and Darci after all. “No, don’t do that!” Toby quickly got up, trying to calm the enraged Wumpas. “That’s very kind of you, but not necessary. Flames were lit, spreading through the camp as the Wumpas began to sing. “A song of a Quagawump.” Blinky gasped out as they began to dance around Toby. “No outsider has ever heard such a rare delight.” “Catchy,” Arrrgh agreed, nodding his head along to the song. “That’s too bad, this is amazing,” I sighed, finally relaxing enough to latch Midnight back onto my belt as Toby begins to dance with the Wumpas. A Wumpa quickly gathered us, guiding us to the tables, “Come. We feast.” She explained, happy to have us around now. “Oh! What’s on the menu?” Jim asked? “Outside tried to sneak into camp last night.” The Wumpa explained, “Tonight, we eat its heart.” She grinned pulling Jim and Claire to the tables. The Wumpas set out plenty of bread, rocks, and what looked like large chicken legs at our table. A bowl was brought over containing slithering creatures. “Ah! Fresh swamp maggots.” Blinky grinned, eating one quickly. Draal took a seat with me, taking a swamp maggot as Claire gagged, looking away from the Trolls turned humans. When she looked over at Jim, he panicked and ate one, almost passing out immediately. “Are those safe for humans?” I asked, concerned Jim just poisoned himself. Draal handed one to me, shrugging, “As safe as your sushi.” “Fair point,” I winced, taking the maggot. Sniffing at it, my eyes flashed as I realized it smelled appetizing. I took a tentative bite, sclera shifting as I wolfed the rest down. “Those are pretty good!” “Not as good as tacos, but they’ll do.” Draal teased, handing me more. Blinky left to talk to Toby, most likely asking about the stone we came for when a Wumpa restrained him. Toby patted his head with a drumstick, sending him off. As I bit through another swamp maggot, I groaned realizing the role had gotten to his head. “This going to be worse than pulling Mr. Meowmeow off his sweater-vest.” “Oh, great king!” A Wumpa announced, quieting the chanting around us. “Now is the time of telling. Why returned have you?” She asked, causing silence to spread over our tables. Arrrgh even paused eating the entire maggot bowl as Toby fumbled. “This could be bad,” Claire whispered between the tables. “Uh, yeah.” Toby sighed, standing upon the throne. “I have returned for one great purpose” he announced silencing the Wumpas in anticipation. “To tell you of my grand adventure in a far-off mystic land called Arcadia!” He cheered, beginning with a story about Coach Lawrence. Hours went by as Toby continued with his stories. Most of us had fallen asleep or were dozing off lightly. Draal and I crashed by a tree, trying to hide away a bit from the prying Wumpas wanting to see my ‘great magics.’ Drums began to play, prying Draal and I from sleep as the Wumpas began to dance. Toby was at the lead as they sang, ‘Boom. Boom, shake the room, say what?’ over and over. Arrrgh and Claire joining the dance already. Blinky dancing off to the side as Jim sat at the table. I grinned pulling Draal up, going to join the Wumpas. Laughing Draal followed happily as Arrrgh showed us the dance. We back to jump and turn to the beat of the song along with the others. “Why didn’t we come here first?” I laughed, enjoying this much more than Gatto’s Keep. “I guess we felt like getting eaten,” Draal teased, dancing along with me. As the music became more upbeat, Jim and his terrible dancing finally decided to join us. “What is the Trollhunter doing?” Draal asked as Jim ‘danced’ with Claire. I snickered, glad Jim finally faced his rhythm challenged dance moves, “Currently? His best.” Claire finally broke down, asking Jim to Spring Fling herself. Draal chuckled, watching the two. “This ‘Spring Fling’ really is a human right of passage isn’t it?” I shrugged, “For some, I guess if it was anything like this I’d consider going.” I smiled, always finding I had an easier time being myself around Trolls over my human peers. “Well, why don’t we make it like this?” Draal asked, a smug grin taking over his features. “Are you asking me out or challenging me?” I huffed, my stubbornness gearing up. “Both?” He grinned, knowing he didn’t have to goad me further “Fine, I’ll only go if you’re my date,” I ground out, slamming my weight into his side. He took it easily, still standing tall. “Good,” His grin widened, turning into the same predatory smirk he got when he was winning during a sparring session. “Does this mean I get to beat up anyone that tries to ask you?” “No, Draal, a human you could get into a lot of trouble doing that.” I sighed, hiding the small smile at his excitement. The music quieted as Claire and Jim almost kissed. Almost because a loud stomping interrupted the scene as a large green troll, at least twice my height and wearing a crown, entered the camp. “What manner of mischief this be?!” The troll called out, growling at the Wumpas. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Toby called, laughing at the troll, “Who’s this joker?” He asked the Wumpa that had stayed by his side for the entire party. “It is Blungo, the pretend king.” She explained, “You fight him, eh?” asked Toby, causing him to flinch back. “What humans here?” He snarled, gesturing to Toby. “He is our true king. Returned!” The Wumpa declared, standing up for Toby. I grabbed Midnight as Draal took out his ax. Looks like I was right, there was going to be a fight after all. “What?” Blungo snarled, looking from the statue to Toby. “Hi, Mr. Blungo,” Toby panicked as Blungo picked him up. “Shattered King cannot be. King was shatter-ed!” Blungo cried out as he began to shake Toby. “Please don’t kill me Blungo, I’m not the king!” Toby confessed as he hung upside-down. “Why you here?” Blungo asked, pausing in his shaking. “I only made it up to get the stone.” He explained before Blungo began to shake him again. The heartbroken Wumpa couldn’t believe Toby had lied to them, “But king you are not?” “I’m sorry I lied to you,” Toby yelled out. “We only came here for the,” he gasped pointing to Blungo’s crown. “The Killstone!” Blinky cried out, realizing what Toby was pointing at. Jim jumped in, glaring Blungo down. “Put my friend down!” “Or what?” Blungo smirked, eyeing Jim’s tiny form. Jim activated his armor pulling Daylight out. I activated Midnight along with my armor, the glowing Heartstone belt mesmerizing some of the Wumpas. Eri slithered down, increasing the size of her form to a giant snake, mist escaping her mouth as her breath cooled, charging up her ice. A shadow portal opened above Blungo as Angor Rot fell though on top of him. He held a glowing knight, declaring he was 'death' as he stabbed Blungo, his dagger immediately turning him to stone as Toby fell from his grasp. “Angor Rot!” Jim called out, trying to distract him from Toby. Angor sneered as his eyes landed on us. “Boora Nazulrah Char Sha!” He chanted, holding his hand out as Daylight disappeared from Jim grip, and reappearing in Angor’s. “How did you,” Jim panicked, knowing only a Trollhunter could wield Daylight. “Daylight is now mine to command!” Angor Rot cackled as he pulled the Killstone from Blungo’s crown. I snarled as my magic began to pour into the collar, Eri curling her body around mine to cycle the magic quickly. Jim’s armor began to glow as two glaives appeared. Jim through the glaive boomerang at Angor, smirking as it shattered Blungo on its way back, throwing Angor off the dead troll. Angor dropped the Killstone, going after Jim as the others began looking for the stone. Eri released my body as my magic slowed, having only reacted to Jim’s initial upgrade. “Be careful,” she called, quickly shrinking to her smaller size to help Draal and the other sift through the rubble. I teleported above Jim as Angor kneed him in the gut, knocking him back a bit. “Now, isn’t this fun?” Angor smirked, holding Daylight out. Arrrgh snarled, slamming into Angor as he tried to strike Jim. Jim ran after Angor as he kicked Arrrgh off of him. Angor snarled, teleporting higher into the trees. I snarled, as Jim ran up the trees I teleported behind Angor. “Two can play that game!” I lunged forward and Jim moved to strike with his glaives. Angor slipped off the side of the tree, catching us off guard as he jumped back up on the opposite side, knocking Jim from the tree. “Jim!” I yelled, Arrrgh grabbing him before he could fall any further. Still unable to attack me directly, Angor teleported to the tops of the swamp’s trees, pulling out the glowing dagger with a sick grin. “Be careful!” Blinky called to us from the ground. “His blade is poisoned with Creeper’s Sun! One cut and you will be turned to stone!” Arrrgh and Jim quickly began to descend from the trees as Angor leaped after them. As he went to strike Jim, I teleported in front of him, taking a chance. “River!” Jim yelled, trying to push me away. The gold magic that had stopped him before, swirled around Angor’s arms, holding him back from making contact with me. I sighed in relief, knowing that this ‘Eldritch Queen’ still wanted me alive. As long as that was true, I could shield them. Arrrgh snarled, swinging around the trunk of the tree and pulling Angor away from us by his ankle. The magic disappeared as I was removed from striking distance. Jim turned me quickly, angered at my decision, “Are you insane?! You could’ve been turned to stone!” “We don’t have time for this,” I growled seeing Angor swipe at Arrrgh before kicking him back. I teleported in front of Arrrgh, as Jim through the glaives, gaining Angor’s attention as they hit Daylight. As the tree turned to stone and began to fall over a Wumpa, Toby dived in, pushing her out of the way. Once I saw that they were safe, I teleported after Angor Rot and Jim. I flashed behind Jim as Arrrgh tried to tackle Angor causing him to teleport behind me. As I lunged for Angor, he quickly jumped over us, slicing at the tree we were standing on causing it to collapse. Arrrgh dove down, catching Jim as I teleported next to them on the ground. Quickly standing again, I tried to find Angor. “Hey, everyone! I’ve got the stone!” Toby yelled out, all eyes snapping to him. Angor opened a portal behind Toby before we could move. He swung his staff a Toby knocking him back a few feet as he took the stone. “Don’t let him get away!” Jim cried out, running after Angor. The Wumpa Toby save charged Angor, trying to stall him so we could get the stone. He easily threw her off, heading for the portal. Realizing Arrrgh as injured, I was caught between going after Angor and healing him. Snarling, I helped Arrrgh sit up, starting the healing chant as fast as I could. “That’s our stone!” Claire yelled as she took off after Angor. “We need that to save my brother.” She grabbed the staff, falling into the portal with Angor Rot. “Claire!” Jim yelled, trying to catch her. Blinky held him back from entering the portal. “No, Master Jim. If you were lost in the shadow world, you could never return.” He explained quickly. Jim was fighting him, still, trying to get the portal, “So could Claire!” Draal grabbed him, helping Blinky hold him back. “You be any use to her if you’re lost in there too.” Claire fell out of the portal, holding the staff Angor had used. The portal closing behind her. Draal and Blinky quickly let go of Jim, allowing him to reach her. “Claire, are you okay?” Kneeling beside her, he helped her sit up. My magic reached its limit trying to Arrrgh. “Rest,” he spoke, knowing I couldn’t continue. I nodded, helping him up, joining the others to check on Claire. “I lost the Killstone,” Claire dug at the ground desperately, looking for the stone. “But we have you.” Jim sighed, grasping her shoulder to keep her focused. “We’ll get it back.” “Indeed,” Blinky sighed, checking over all of us, “the victory here was survival.” As Claire and the boys stood, she tested the weight of the staff. “Shadowstaff!” Blinky gasped at the sight of Angor Rot’s staff. “Very dangerous. Let me take that.” “No way,” Claire decided, pulling the staff close. “I’m keeping this.” The staff collapsed, similar to Midnight. Claire quickly packed it into her bag as we all regrouped. Once injuries were assessed and bandaged if needed, Jim turned on me, still angry at me for shielding him earlier. “Are you insane?!” He blew up, causing me to wince. “I know he can’t exactly touch you but what if that weird magic hadn’t activated in time, you’d be a statue!” “What’s going on?” Draal asked, looking between us. Never seeing Jim this furious with anyone, let alone me. “Whoever the Eldritch Queen is, she wants me alive. You, on the other hand, she seemed to want dead.” I argued, defending my decision. Jim growled, throwing his hand out at me as he turned to Draal, “Your mate teleported herself in front of Angor’s blade as he went to strike!” He turned back to me, “You heard what he said, that could change at any moment. We don’t even know why she wants you.” Blinky pulled Jim back as my eyes began to glow. Draal stepped between us, frowning down at me. “Let’s go.” Was all he said before grabbing my hand and pulling me far ahead of the group as we headed back for the Gyre station. I flinched at the face Draal had made, staring down at the ground as Eri slipped from my shoulders, heading back to catch a ride with Claire instead. Keeping us out of earshot, Draal sighed, finally looking to me. Hurt was etched into his features. “Why? The Trollhunter,” he shook his head, “Jim, can defend himself, why did you feel the need to shield him?” I gripped his hand tight, trying to reel in my thoughts, “I knew he couldn’t hit me,” I trailed off. “But Jim had a point, the magic might not have held him back in time.” He ground out, sounding more distraught than angry. Pausing for a moment, I ended up pulling Draal further from the group, eyes burning as my thoughts collected. “We don’t know what it could do to humans or changelings. After Ms. Kamaria’s,” my throat clenched as I tried to explain. “The blade isn’t the only thing you’re trying to shield him from,” Draal sighed, realizing why I had tried so hard to keep Jim from being poisoned. “What about you? We don’t know how it’ll affect you either.” I shook my head, voice coming out soft as I tried to push past the tightness. “I didn’t consider it. I couldn’t see past protecting him.” Draal stopped up, holding firm to my hand, “I’ve said it, Jim has said it, Vendel yelled it, and even my father has acknowledged it. If you keep doing this, you’re not going to walk away from it one day.” The others quickly went ahead of us into the Gyre station, opting to give Draal and I space. Jim paused for a moment before quickly heading into the Gyre station after the others. Sighing, I nodded to Draal, knowing that they were right. “I’m sorry, I just,” I leaned my head against his chest, exhausted and overwhelmed at the same time. “It’s like the first night with Bular all over again. All I can see is that sword about to cut through my brother and I just, act.” “You’re a warrior, and a protector,” Draal sighed, hugging me tight as the Wumpa passed us, going to find Toby before we left. “But you have to realize that we need you to come home. I need you to come home.” I nodded against his chest, hugging him tightly. “How am I supposed to tell him? Everything he knew, his anger towards him? Will he be okay?” Draal smiled, kissing the top of my head. “I’m not sure, but he has you, and the rest of the Trollhunters to help him. We’re family after all.” Smiling softly, I pulled back, kissing his cheek as his words helped to calm the conflict in my mind. “We are,” I agreed, heading into the Gyre as Toby suggested the Wumpas might be better off with a queen. We all board the Gyre quickly, ready to head home after the events of tonight. “Jim,” I spoke sliding over to him on the ride back, “We need to talk.” “If this is about your stunt,” Jim began, understandably upset. Holding my hand up to stop him, I pulled my bag forward, taking out my mother’s Grimoire and handing it to him. “Ms. Kamaria gave this to me. She believed it was time I had it.” The page from before glowed. As Jim went to open it, I held it close. “I just want you to know, that I’ll explain as best as I can.” I sighed, pulling my hand away. “But you need to know.” Jim eyed me for a moment before carefully opening the book. The drawing of my parents and Changeling uncle Jim showed first. Jim traced over the sketch, “I don’t understand, what do I need to know,” he cut off as the sketch morphed under his touch, revealing our father’s in their human forms. I waited as Jim stared at the drawing in disbelief.  As he began to process what he was seeing his head snapped up to level with me. “This,” he stuttered out, trying to wrap his head around it. “But that would mean,” he trailed off, grabbing my wrist. I nodded, “Our dads are brothers, we’re both half Changeling.” I held the hand that had grabbed my wrist, trying to keep him grounded. “When?” He tried to ask, looking down at the book again. “After school, while you were in Trollmarket,” I answered, knowing he was asking about when I found out. Jim closed the book, handing it back to me quickly. Putting it away, I watched him carefully. The others staying silent as we docked at Trollmarket. “Is he working with Strickler?” He asked, a pained look covering his face. I shook my head quickly. “He’s with my dad, Ms. Kamaria said he was protecting some sort of 'heart.'” I explained. Jim sighed, the pain leaving as quickly as it came. He lunged forward hugging me tightly. “That’s a relief.” He sighed, the tension finally leaving him. Maybe it was time to look for our fathers.

#Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #River Of Arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #tales of arcadia fanfiction #Draal #draal the deadly #draal x river #draal x oc #River Marie Lake #River Marie Wyllt #episode 18 #the shattered king #chapter 23

[taeguboi]

BTS as... ‘ordinary’ employees

Okay so when I say ‘ordinary’ I mean as in not famous basically. This is more what I just have personally imagined them doing and I think I’ve lost that somewhat ‘realistic’ touch I used to have a few years back when I was more of an avid writer for this blog and could have an idea of their actual personalities, current likes, etc. This is also in no way a reflection of what I think they are and aren’t capable of so please don’t scream at me if your bias has a ‘lower’ role than you might have expected.

Sorry I do like to blabber on before these things, don’t I? 

I hope everybody is staying safe anyways and happy imagining!

BTS as... Masterlist here

RM

Pawn Shop Sales Assistant

learning everything about every thing

if you have an object to sell for cash

he probably knows everything about it

or at least like a lot about it

his career is in early days right now

because it’s a family trade

but he learns from the best

but asks not to be favourited over other staff just because he’s the manager’s son

like you know he wants someone to tell him if they think he didn’t get a good deal for that ring

no special treatment please

sometimes uses a bit of the old charm to get a good deal

many girls like that

some of the guys not so much

especially the boyfriends

whoops

meets his wife there

she’s a fairly regular customer

buying good finds from charity shops

or finding stuff in the house

and taking them to the pawn shop to get by and save up a little

they really click

after like the 11th visit he finally plucks up the courage to ask her out

“so, uh... I clock off soon and I was wondering if....

uh....”

and he gets quite flustered because he really likes her

“... would you like to maybe grab a coffee with me?”

and she sort of teases him to fluster him

“I don’t like coffee”

“Oh erm....”

“Just kidding”

and inside he’s like “don’t DO that to me!”

fast forward a few years and he’s got a kid with her

but anyway back to joon as an employee

has many many friends in and around the industry

just people over the years who he’s needed to contact to double check some stuff about an item

sometimes there’s the odd nutter who comes into the shop

like any shop really let’s be honest

but oddly enough, Namjoon has a calming effect on them

maybe he’s just really patient

maybe he has great negotiating skills

but if someone kicks off at one of his colleagues

it’s resolved in under ten - fifteen minutes

he reasons with people who are shocked to find out that their gold isn’t actually real gold

or negotiates with those who thought they had something worth more

or sometimes just has to outright sass back at the aggressive ones

but most people find him to be an agreeable guy

banter with his dad / manage

rand although he gets on with everyone there

there’s that one colleague that just becomes his best mate

and this mate is also in on the banter

but again, there’s no staff feeling left out or not getting the same treatment

it’s a family business

and anyone that helps them along the way is family too

Jin

Sales Assistant

in a big supermarket

stacking shelves

helps customers that can’t reach the higher shelves

such a gentleman

lovely customer service

some wish they could give him a tip

but he wouldn’t take it most of the time even if it was allowed

he doesn’t need to be paid to show basic kindness

it’s just manners really

but he doesn’t fully realise how much he goes above and beyond

very patient at explaining stuff to people

he’ll repeat directions 10 times if he has to

and he helps the elderly make smarter shopping choices

not that his manager knows that though

because he’s supposed to focus on building up bigger transactions

but what can he say

he’s just a people person

empathy and understanding levels are like 1000/10

a good bean

wish you could be served by him all the time

people purposely queue up at his lane when he’s on tills

because he just provides a friendly smile 

and pleasant conversation

“how was your day?”

and he’s not saying it because he has to

he’s genuinely interested in what everybody has to say

takes forever but becomes a supervisor

some of his workers often mistake his kindness for dumbness

is that a word, ‘dumb...ness’?

but actually he more than knows what he’s doing

cashes up faster than anyone else ever

has solid ideas to help both business and customer

and whilst it’s a bit difficult getting them out there to higher people

they go for it

from ideas about what customers have previously asked for that the store doesn’t - didn’t - have

to community projects courtesy of tokens from shoppers

even a park that gets set up nearby is named after him

he may seem like just a sales guy to an outsider

but really he’s the heart of the local community

Suga

Tech Support

the funniest you could come across

you know, if you were listening in to the way he deals with some

just pay attention and there won’t be any problems

sometimes he’ll have those days where he’s like

*sigh*

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

totally not an IT Crowd reference oops

but seriously that can work like half the time

used to work in some dull office

but took his work to his house

he can basically work wherever and whenever he wants now

as long as he’s got a laptop and a connection

that is the one change he made in his life that made him a lot happier

because although some might turn their noses up to a job like this

it suits him down to the bone

and he doesn’t really care to change career paths any time soon

is up to date with all the tech trends

owns one of everything

well most things

he even has like a drawer of many phones

it’s like a museum of the company he works for lmao

has this spare room that he turned into an office

which definitely could be mistaken for a man cave

the ultimate problem solver

in work and in life

like he can get a phone call about a super complex problem 

and he knows what to do just like that

or a mate has a problem with some relationship

and the reply he gives them is just wow

and he’ll have just made their problem sound a lot less stressful or problematic

loves to help people in and out of work

he understands that the people he is helping might be at their worst moment in their work

or it’s an older person desperately wanting to contact family

he doesn’t just solve the technological problems

he calms you at the beginning of the call

he motivates you at the end and wishes you luck

he talks you through the technology in layman’s terms so you can understand what it is you’re doing

and that attitude continues in his social life

he’s the sober friend when you’re crying in the club toilet drunk

he’s the friend that comes knocking on your door because he hasn’t heard from you in a while and he wants to check everything is okay

he will drop you a phone call the day after to see how you’re hanging

or just because

just because he’s an absolute sweetheart

J-Hope

College Tutor

the type that is fairly laid back

but won’t take any shit 

so go through your assignment at your own pace

just don’t take the mickey

like he will understand that you might have some personal shit going on

and he’ll extend a deadline under special circumstances

but don’t push your luck by lying to him

happy to have banter with the students

makes lessons fun

but also productive

actually the most productive class(es) of anyone’s day

he’s just one of those tutors you’d love 

because he’s engaging

and there’s that one other tutor that no one really likes

because this other guy is boring, dull, basically almost jealous of the students and their ambitions

and although Hoseok won’t say a bad word about his colleague

he can teach you more in half an hour than the other guy does in the entire year

and when you pass the unit he won’t even take credit for the significant part he played

really fucking modest

but he really is one of those teachers that builds lives

keeps quite to himself generally though

has just a small group of friends outside of the college

it’s important to him to keep professional and personal life different

just an overall cool guy

very fair

some say a bit boring

but he’s just sensible really

no one from colleges knows he has a wife

some girls swoon over him and speculate he could be single

and usually he’s oblivious to / ignores any flirting

he’s just here to do his job

he’s here to educate

and he’s here to help you

and he’s happy to help you

Jimin

Dance Instructor

yes, it’s a bit of a typical idea, sorry

but come on

dishy dance teacher whilst you try to learn a style of dance

some students may or may not purposely so bits wrong

because they know Jimin can sometimes be quite physical in his teaching

“Okay, no worries, let’s go back to that bit... It goes like...”

and he’s just behind you to guide you

nice

has his own dance school

holds sessions in the local community centre every weekday night

Monday: contemporary

Tuesday: Street Dance

Wednesday: Musical Theatre

Thursday: Tap

Friday: Ballet

the little un’s are in from 4pm - 5pm

preteens 5pm -6pm

teens / young adults 6pm - 7pm

and finally the adults at 8pm

it sounds like hard work

but dance is all Jimin knows

he’s more than used to is

his stamina is so good

and once his business as a teacher gets up and running

he can afford to put on shows 

to showcase all the hard work his students have done

every year, some time in spring

the nearest theatre in town

it’s not as successful as, say, the pantomimes at xmas

but there are plenty of family and friends of the students interested

parents come to watch their kids

adults come to watch their friends

and so on

He has so much faith in everyone

and is proud of every little achievement 

at kid’s tap class he’ll be like “wow Sally! that’s amazing! you did a pick up!”

or “keep it going Amanda, you can do it!” at adult ballet

but it’s not just dance achievements he’s interested about

the things you do in your life matter too

sometimes he can be like a therapist

pulls you aside after class if he doesn’t think you were quite as on it as usual today

“are you okay today? you seemed distracted”

yes by your beautiful presence

just kidding

kinda

and you can just tell him

he’s always there to listen if you need to talk about something that you don’t want to tell friends or family

he’s there for anything really

like maybe a teen is struggling with exams 

and his encouragement really contributes to them pulling through

“you passed maths! I’m so proud! I knew you could do it!”

and there’s always the big squeezy hug that follows

he loves everyone

everyone loves him

no one can say a bad word about him

like seriously, no one can

V

Vintage store owner

Tae always wanted to own a shop

ever since he was a kid

he didn’t quite know what it was that appealed to him

but just the idea of running a store that’s your own

that’s the dream he worked towards

ever since school

weekend jobs

errands for neighbours

he saved every penny

and invested it on the cute little building 

on the block before the high street

Not like a charity shop

well some of the stock is second hand

but that’s because it’s real vintage

actually not just vintage, further back than that

like some of his stock can be referred to as ‘antique’

anything that has history

everything in his little shop has a story

the decorative chandelier that belonged to a middle class family in the early 1900′s

a vase made in Japan that someone brought back from touring the country years ago

velvet upholstery that could have been part of a noble household in Europe

glassware from the 70′s with intricate design

just cool stuff

you could spend hours in his shop

knows a lot about antiques, collectables, etc

blink and you’ll miss if you want something there

if you see it and you love it the first time you go in

you better buy it

because it’ll be gone even by this evening

his knowledge makes him a brilliant sales person

because the way he delivers the information about an object

just makes you want to buy it

so as you can imagine, sales are always good

everyone within a couple miles radius probably has something in their home bought from Tae’s store

Jungkook

Firefighter

because phwoar

lmao sorry

wait, no I’m not

can’t you just imagine it though

the uniform

the muscles

okay sorry not sorry

a true hero 

like sure, all of his colleagues are too, of course

but he goes that little bit extra

takes more risks

he doesn’t let much scare him

passionate about what he does

can mean he gets a bit extra in other aspects of his life

because he knows the dangers of literally anything

like you leave the hairdryer plugged in a few minutes after using it and he’s like

“NOOO!”

*dramatically, almost full takes a leaping dive to get there, unplugs it*

adrenaline rushes

he lives for those

a very can do attitude

feels amazing after rescuing anyone from anything

it could be a cat in a tree, evacuating people in a flood, or a person from a house fire

if he has helped them, it’s all rewarding

just good at everything

the job of course prepared him for lots 

but he’s just like REALLY good at everything

first aid pro

ultimate calming skills

navigation and driving - smooth

excellent judgement

even the science behind it all, he knows more than enough

all that jazz

he often gives lessons to younger people

because it’s important that incidents can be prevented

he’s very popular when he makes appearances in schools

because all the girls fancy him

obvs

some guys too hahaha

and I don’t just mean the ones that are quite sure they might be gay

anyways

pretty close to being a real life super hero

like he has to work at unsociable hours

but everyone in the area knows him

there’s hardly a street he walks down without someone saying hello

and even when they’re experiencing some of the worst possible situations

he just brings smiles to people’s faces 

#bts #bts as things #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fiction #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #rm #bts rm #namjoon #kim namjoon #jin #bts jikook #seokjin #kim seokjin #suga #bts suga #yoongi #min yoongi #jhope #bts jhope #hoseok #jung hoseok #jimin #bts jimin #park jimin #v #bts v