#customer service au!!

[impawsiblecat]

100 Days of Deathduo

Customer Service AU!!

This is made for @mintyteasoup because they are so very cool. Happy birthday Minty! You are so beloved. I hope I did this au justice, even though I've never worked in customer service these are all real stories haha.

    Oh, this was exciting. Well, the job itself wasn’t, and Icee had originally wanted to work somewhere else, a library maybe, or a teacher’s assistant, or something, but this was a decent enough option. It would give them money at least. And Clover was here, worked here, and was an assistant manager here, which was the exciting part. Clover was so cool. Working at a store was just stocking shelves and bagging items right? So it would be fine.

    They were a tad nervous, it was a new job, a new situation, but it would be fine! Probably. And so, Icee walked up to the store doors and waited for them to open automatically. It made them feel like a jedi whenever it happened, and they sneakily looked around before holding their hand out to pretend they were using the force. Only for the doors to not open. Right. The store was closed.

    Icee got their phone out and texted Clover. They texted her on the app they had downloaded for work, instead of discord, which was a bit strange, but this was a work related thing! And so should be kept in the work app chat messages. Which was great. Amazing, really.

    Oh. According to Clover, Icee was supposed to go into the side entrance. Not the front entrance. That made a lot of sense, actually. Just as she said, when they got to the correct door, it was unlocked. And Clover was on the other side when Icee entered. Which was such great news.

    “Icee! Hello! Welcome to your new job. Here, let me show you where to clock in and then I can instruct you what to do. We haven’t opened yet but there are a few things we need to do beforehand. Any questions?” Clover asked.

    Icee shook their head, and headed to the clipboard, signing in and logging their hours. It was a fairly straightforward thing, really, just writing their name and the time they entered the building. What job would Clover assign them? Maybe Icee would have to restock some of the shelves, or put away some of the items.

    “Great, now that that’s done, I’m gonna show you to the cleaning supplies and the bathrooms, which you will be cleaning during your morning shifts. All the newbie’s do it.” And oh. Clover was assigning the bathroom duties to Icee. They made a face showing their displeasure.

    “Clover. Clover do I have to? Can’t I help somewhere else?” Icee asked. Clover just looked at them amused.

    “Sorry Icee, that’s not how it works. Bathroom duties don’t care about friendships.” She says, shaking her head and gesturing to follow.

    “Please Clover? What if I get you hot cocoa? And gummy worms?” Icee begs, a last ditch effort. Clover just laughs again.

    “No. And we both know you are gonna do that anyways. Even though you absolutely do not have to ever.” She smiles amusedly. “Now come on, follow me to the cleaning closet.

    Icee follows, grumbling under their breath. So much for Clover being the exciting part of the job.

—--

    It was a pretty average Tuesday, not the busiest but busy enough that there was a steady stream of customers at Clover’s register. It was nice sometimes, getting into the lull of scanning and bagging items, making pleasant small talk with the customers. Sure, occasionally there were a few rude ones, but today had been pretty calm in terms of the customers. 

    “Hello there.” Clover politely smiled as she started scanning the items, smiling at the customer in front of her while she worked. They let out a polite hello, but when Clover looked up, their eyes were focused on something behind her. Which wasn’t too strange, they were probably checking out some of the items required to stay back there.

    And then Clover felt a chill down her spine when she heard a voice directly behind her say “Boo,” as she felt someone poke her shoulder, and she yelped and swiftly turned, properly startled.

    “Icee! How could you do this to me?” She asked as she started laughing, seeing her coworker and friend in front of her. They just laughed in response and grabbed one of the spare keys from the counter behind Clover before waving and leaving, continuing to chuckle. 

    Clover shook her head fondly and looked at the customer who was also laughing slightly. “You saw them, didn’t you?” She asked, and she she grinned when they nodded their head. ‘I will get them back, don’t worry.” She responded as she gave them their order.

—------

It was Icee’s first day at the register without assistance. They were really moving up in the world. Kind of. Maybe just moving up in the store, but hey, progress is progress. It was going smoothly, really, and Clover was only a text away if they needed help, which was pretty nice.

They smiled at the man who was next and focused on scanning and bagging the items, making sure to put the bread on top and ask if he wanted a bag for his milk, doing all of the things that a good register worker did. It was perfect. And then the man’s card declined when he tried to pay, and he started walking away before they realized what has happened. 

“Sir? Sir, your card declined.” They called out, but the store was loud and a bit busier than normal, and they didn’t think he could hear them. So obviously, Icee did the only logical thing to do.

And jumped directly over the counter. They apologized to the next customer in line and started running over to the man. “Sir, your card declined!’ They said, huffing from the sprint. I’m so sorry, but would you, uh, possibly come back to pay?” They said, as calmly as they could while out of breath.

Luckily, the man seemed to only be annoyed instead of outright angry, and he came back without much of a hassle. And when they got back to their station, they saw Clover behind the register, smiling amusedly at them.

“You really shouldn’t leave your station unattended, you know. But it’s ok, you did your best and I'm proud of you.’ Clover said, letting Icee take their place back to complete the transaction. “Next time, you could always call me or the security guards, you don’t have to become an Olympian to try to catch someone.” She said, tapping the phone next to the register. “I’m always gonna be here if you need me.”

Icee just laughed, a bit embarrassed, and started finishing the transaction with the man.

[meruz]

childhood friend reunion at the merch table

[monkeychief1904]

I was talking to my roommate about the Magnus Archives and accidentally came up with a kinda hilarious au idea.

So JonMartin is often shortened to Jmart which I thought kinda sounded like a shop they would own together or something.

So, hear me out, JonMartin au where they own a store called Jmart and all the avatars are just these really weird and awful customers that the store just seems to mysteriously attract. Tim and Sasha would be employees obviously lol.

[skyblueartt]

Au where nobody dies and teenage Elizabeth works at Freddy’s!!!!!!!!

[thetomorrowshow]

intruder

backstory of why jimmy and scott moved out of the super neighborhood in my empires superpowers au!

cw: murder (in SELF-DEFENSE) of an unnamed character, blood/violence, like a decent bit of it, injury, dissociation

~

Scott’s been missing for two days.

Scott’s been missing for two days, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing.

The news had come in the form of a knock on the front door, around 3pm on the first day. Jimmy doesn’t officially live at Scott’s house, but he spends a fair amount of time there, and now he pushes back from the kitchen table and heads to the front door, snapping on the mask that hangs on a hook by the entrance.

“Oh, hi, TJ!” Blossom says when he opens the door to find her on the step, flowers actively winding around in her hair. “Is Major around?”

Jimmy frowns, checks his watch. “Um, he left for work this morning, around eight? He shouldn’t be back until four, at the earliest.”

Why would Blossom be asking him this? Don’t they all have some sort of hero group chat?

“Are you sure?” Blossom’s smile drops. “Did he say he was headed somewhere else?”

“Just to work,” says Jimmy. “Why? What’s up?”

 Blossom bites her lip, the flowers in her hair wilting. “He never showed,” she says. “He isn’t responding to messages.”

That’s enough for Jimmy to shut the door and run back to the table, grabbing his cell phone. Then he returns, pulling it open again. Blossom is still there, looking a little surprised.

Jimmy pulls up his contacts, clicks on the one labeled ‘scott :) - super’ and hits call.

“You’ve reached Major, I’m probably winning a battle right now. Send me a text and I’ll get back to you when I have a moment.”

Straight to voicemail.

That can’t be good.

“Try the Mad King,” Jimmy tells her. “I’m still working until four, but keep me updated. Do you have my number?”

But Blossom never texts him any news.

And Joel tells him, that night, that Scott’s officially missing, and they’re moving Jimmy to a safehouse.

So it isn’t even 8pm when Jimmy finds himself in a small apartment downtown, the dim light of the setting sun half-illuminating the single room.

And Jimmy stays there all night, staring at his phone, as his worry crescendos over and over again, blowing out lightbulbs and spoiling food can by can.

They still haven’t found him in the morning.

Jimmy can do nothing but sit, alone, in this cheap, unused apartment of Joel’s, waiting for some message that his boyfriend has been found.

But there’s nothing, and Jimmy isn’t going to wait around doing nothing when Scott could be getting tortured right now.

Because that’s it, really. When Jimmy went missing, it was because some horrid, insane villain kidnapped him and ran experiments on him and treated him like an animal—

One of the blades on the floor fan comes off, crashing to the bottom of the fan cage.

Jimmy takes a deep breath.

He can’t continue to sit here on the ragged carpet (because there’s no furniture other than a single folding chair and a mattress) while Scott could be going through the exact same things that he had been subjected to.

Or worse, he thinks, pushing back a sickening memory.

So Jimmy packs up his little backpack that he hasn’t actually unpacked yet except to get his toothbrush, grabs the mask he’d left on the kitchen counter (which he balls up and shoves in the pocket of his jeans), and leaves, ready to find Scott.

Where does Scott usually go first?

He covers all of the city, but rarely ventures away from the most densely populated areas. Downtown is one of his favorites to frequent, as well as the pier.

Good thing Jimmy knows downtown like the back of his hand.

He catches the bus like it’s second nature, the schedule practically tattooed on the inside of his eyelids (despite the fact that he rarely rode the bus for fear of causing an accident. He learned it in case anyone ever asked him the bus schedule). He hasn’t spent much time out and about on his own, but he can get around and he’s lived with Lizzie long enough to know how to go somewhere by himself. That doesn’t mean he isn’t careful: he sits at the back of the bus with his back pressed against the window and watches everyone, careful to sort them into threat categories and keep tabs on everyone.

It’s exhausting. It always is.

It isn’t long at all before he leaves the bus at one of Scott’s favorite places—right across the way from the elementary school. Scott heads here first thing most mornings, keeping an eye on the children as they arrive at school.

The mask is scrunched uncomfortably in Jimmy’s pocket. He wishes he could put it on. He hates going out in public—not without at least a baseball cap.

It feels like everyone at this park is watching him.

Any of them could be in league with whoever took Scott. Any of them could have been one of the thugs that worked for Xornoth. Any of them could be someone he hurt in the past.

Every time someone walks past him, Jimmy automatically tenses. That woman could attack him. That man could crush his skull. That child could be a distraction. That man could grab him and pull him into an alley.

Jimmy shoves his hands in his hoodie’s pocket so that he doesn’t have to look at how they tremble. This is why he doesn’t go places alone. This is why he works from home right now.

This is why people need to not get kidnapped. Specifically the people that can help him not panic about being kidnapped.

Right, now, does he usually patrol around the school? Or just wait out front and watch the kids go in?

If he was Scott, what would he do?

Scott would probably patrol. He likes to be moving, likes to show off his skills.

So Jimmy hikes out of the park and crosses the road to the school, following the sidewalk all around the building.

On one side is an alley between some run-down apartments, and Jimmy passes through, keeping a close eye on anything out of place. Any knocked-over trash cans, any smears of dirt or dried blood on buildings, anything that could be the signs of a struggle.

He feels more and more anxious the further down he goes, swallowing back the thrumming of his power within him, the scar at the base of his skull burning.

He can’t cause an accident here. He's next to an elementary school, he can’t risk it.

Can he?

What accidents can he cause here?

Jimmy’s never really reached out with his powers before on purpose—not in a long time, not in a searching way.

But his powers can cause terrible things to happen, things as far away as inside the school, and if his power can know that there’s things that far away to ruin, then can’t he know, too?

So he reaches out into the surrounding buildings.

There are a lot of people here.

That’s the first thing he feels.

There’s hundreds of children in the school, and one of these buildings is an apartment complex, and Jimmy can’t see them or even really sense them? He just . . . knows that they’re there, in some kind of . . . sixth sense?

There are so many other things that he knows are there, but can’t verbalize. He simply knows, to an overwhelming degree, the contents of everything around and maybe there’s a reason he’s never done this before because he thinks he’s going to be sick—

“TJ!”

Jimmy flinches, hears something crash in the distance. He wheels around—this could be it this is the moment he’s kidnapped—, only to find fWhip standing at the mouth of the alley.

“Why are you out and about?” fWhip asks, moseying over, hands in his pockets. “Don’t you usually stay home from the cool parties?”

Right. He knows fWhip. Kind of. fWhip is nice, right? He helped save him.

Jimmy isn’t wearing his mask. Which is fine. It’s fine to not be wearing it, because fWhip recognized him anyways and his secret identity isn’t contingent on a mask anymore.

“Um, I’m looking for Major,” he says, head still spinning a bit. “He usually goes here every morning, and nobody saw him for his whole shift, so if he got kidnapped it was probably near—”

“Wait, Major’s missing?”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, did you not hear? He disappeared yesterday.”

fWhip checks over his shoulder, adjusts his goggles. “Okay. Not good. And if Major’s missing, why aren’t you in a safehouse?”

“Well, I was,” Jinmy says, looking down at his feet. How has he been caught already? He just barely left!

“But you couldn’t stick around when Major could be . . . being tortured?” guesses fWhip.

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly. “But I can go back. The Mad King would—”

“Nah, don’t do that. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you need help looking?”

And before Jimmy can so much as process what he’s said, fWhip is reaching up to the window in the building beside them, testing the latch and finding it open.

“Let’s check out this place,” he suggests, shoving the window open and grabbing the sill, pushing himself up and into the window in an impressive show of upper-body strength.

Jimmy blinks.

He didn’t expect to be joined in his search.

Let alone by fWhip.

“Okay, nobody’s here,” fWhip calls out the window. “You coming?”

“Is there a door?” Jimmy asks halfheartedly.

fWhip shrugs.

Jimmy sighs, grips the windowsill (a bit lower for him than it had been for fWhip), and heaves himself up, legs kicking for purchase on the wall and arms trembling under his weight.

He falls back once, arm scraping a bit against the sill, then manages to pull himself up the second time, his ribcage pressed in painfully against the windowsill, where he hangs for a moment before tipping over and landing in a heap on the other side.

“Try to roll when you come in,” fWhip advises as Jimmy picks himself up. “It’s easier. And way more cool.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jimmy grumbles, brushing the copious streaks of dust off his hoodie.

“So we’re looking at an abandoned first floor of some office building, I think,” fWhip says, flipping a switch on his goggles. “See anything?”

Jimmy looks around. It’s a fairly large space, the concrete ground scarred by the torn-up carpet (some of which still lies in an awkward heap against a wall), a single dead office chair sitting in the middle of the room. Otherwise, there’s some brightly-colored papers in a corner, and—

The front door slams open.

“TJ,” comes a suspicious and familiar voice.

The Mad King is standing in the doorway.

“Rats,” fWhip says, frowning. “Did you follow me?”

“You and Mythics are always up to no good,” Joel tells him dismissively, before turning back to Jimmy, arms crossed. “Why are you here?”

“Um . . . looking for Major?” Jimmy tries.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “With fWhip? Come on, TJ, if you were going to break house arrest it should’ve been with someone respectable.”

“Hey!”

“Come on, back to the safehouse.”

“But—”

“TJ,” Joel says firmly. “We aren’t arguing about this. I’ll keep looking for Major, yeah? You need—”

“But I, I can help!” Jimmy insists. This isn’t fair, he shouldn’t be locked up when his boyfriend could be going through the worst experiences of his life—

“Jimmy,” Joel grits out. fWhip makes a ‘yikes’ face, turns to start going through the neon papers in the corner.

“Since Major has been kidnapped, they will want to get the people he cares about the most—you,” Joel stresses. “They will want to hurt you to get him to give up whatever information they’re looking for. That’s why—”

“I know, I know, but I can defend myself,” argues Jimmy. “It’s—it’s Sc—I mean, it’s Major. I have to help. And I know—”

“You’re helping by staying safe,” says Joel. “I’m not arguing about this, okay?”

“Who would have a bake sale and then put the signs in an abandoned building?” fWhip murmurs, examining one of the said signs.

Which is stupid.

This is stupid.

How does Joel expect him to just sit there?

How can he tell Jimmy to go hide and let Scott get hurt?

But there’s no point in fighting this.

“Maybe there’s some way you can help from the apartment, okay?” Joel says placatingly, and Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“Sure. Fine, take me back, officer.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me, young man,” Joel warns, sputtering jokingly, but Jimmy’s stomach squirms just the slightest bit.

He’s not a child.

“fWhip, I’ll be back here in half an hour, okay?” Joel says. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Then he strides out the door, Jimmy reluctantly following along behind.

-

Joel finds Scott the next day.

It’s a small place, a closed mechanic shop, near the East side of the city, where this particular gang of villains decided to keep him.

Joel finds him by checking the security footage of the elementary school. He sees, in the corner of one of the cameras, a couple of neon signs hanging on the side of the building fWhip and Jimmy had broken into.

Backing it up a little bit, Joel finds the car that carried the people who hung up the signs (something they did several hours before dawn).

And when he tracks down that car, he finds Scott.

Jimmy receives the text that Scott’s been found and instantly calls Lizzie, begging her for a ride home. Lizzie agrees, and when Joel and Scott come through the front door, Jimmy is there waiting, a frozen pizza in the oven.

Jimmy drops everything, his stress releasing in a little burst of power that crashes his phone and knocks all the cushions off the sofa, hurrying toward Scott.

Scott looks absolutely exhausted. His suit is torn here and there, his hair tangled and greasy, his eyelids drooping. But he gives Jimmy a small smile and acquiesces to a gentle hug.

“Glad you’re safe,” Scott murmurs. “I was worried.”

Jimmy chuckles, pitched a little high with nerves. “You were worried? Imagine my state!”

Scott pulls away, plants a small kiss on Jimmy’s lips before tugging off his mask, mouth twisting in a grimace.

There’s a large bruise on his cheek, and a small line of them down his jaw, but he otherwise doesn’t seem to be in very bad condition. Still, Jimmy frets, hands twisting anxiously.

“Where are you hurt? Do you need to get checked out? You really should go to the hospital, just in—”

“I’m fine,” Scott cuts him off. “Just some bruises. It’s all right.”

Even so, Scott stands there patiently, as Jimmy takes in every part of him.

He seems to be telling the truth. Nothing looks broken or like it’s bleeding too badly. He’s holding himself a little gingerly, though, that could be a broken rib—

Jimmy prods at his chest and Scott steps back, hands over himself.

“It’s not broken,” Scott says, teeth gritted. “Joel already tried it. Just a deep bruise.”

“Probably the worst kidnappers I’ve ever seen,” Joel calls from the kitchen, where he’d gone after pushing past the two of them in the hall. “Didn’t even know how to torture him properly.”

Torture? “Scott, I’m so sorry—do you need anything? Should I schedule you a therapy appointment?”

Scott bursts out laughing. “Thank you, baby,” he says. “I’m fine. I promise. Just tired.”

“And an idiot,” adds Joel. “How’d you manage to get kidnapped by such an incompetent lot?”

“Their signs said homemade croissants,” Scott moans, walking into the kitchen as if nothing ever happened (though his arm is still wrapped around his ribs). “You know I love supporting small local businesses.”

“’Twas your downfall,” Joel intones, snickering. “Sorry, mate.”

Jimmy follows awkwardly, not entirely sure how to behave.

Scott’s . . . fine?

He hadn’t even considered that as an outcome. He hadn’t dared to think that Scott might return without severe injuries, without being traumatized by the torture and greatly needing help returning to the real world.

Like Jimmy had been.

He doesn’t know what he can even do.

How can he help Scott when Scott doesn’t need help?

So Jimmy just kind of hovers, near Scott, as he sits there and eats pizza and jokes a little with Joel.

Then Scott leaves to go shower, and Joel shoots Jimmy a sympathetic smile.

“He’s fine,” Joel assures him. “He may be a bit clumsy for a while—his hands were zip-tied pretty tightly together—but he’s really fine.”

It’s hard to believe him.

But Jimmy just nods and resolves to not treat Scott strangely. He’s fine, after all.

If he’s fine, then so is Jimmy.

-

That night, there’s something wrong.

Jimmy wakes up quite suddenly, the odd sixth sense that he’d probed at the other day ringing with the notice that something is off.

He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what’s changed in their surroundings, but he knows that it’s not quite right and he needs to be aware of it.

Jimmy blinks open his eyes, glances over to Scott to reassure himself that his partner is safely there.

And leaning over Scott, a knife gleaming in their hand and poised above Scott’s chest, is a person dressed in black.

Jimmy reacts immediately.

He dives over Scott, knocking the man’s arm just as he sinks the knife down—Scott wakes with a cry of pain, the knife carving a jagged line in his chest and up his shoulder as the man is knocked off course.

Jimmy rolls off of Scott, faces the intruder for a brief second.

The intruder spits out a curse, then barrels into Jimmy, brandishing his knife.

Jimmy moves on instinct. He grapples with the man, twists his wrist with the knife—the man slashes at him, but Jimmy twists further until his grip loosens on the hilt, and then he takes the knife.

He spent hours and days and weeks training with Xornoth in knife work and he knows exactly how to attack to injure, which spots are the most painful without being fatal. He stabs the knife into the attacker’s upper arm, then into his side when he howls and twists away, and Jimmy can’t help but show off a bit as he flips the knife to his other hand and drives it into the man’s knee.

The intruder falls to his knees, and Jimmy’s head is pounding with the adrenaline, and he can’t move his focus from taking this man out entirely because he tried to kill Scott—

Jimmy spins around to be behind the man, hands on his throat—the man grabs at his wrists, nails scrabbling against his skin—and sends a burst of power out.

Under his sweaty palms, knife still tucked between the fingers of his right hand, Jimmy feels the man’s neck break. Not just the bone: his vocal cords snap—his muscles fall loose—his throat collapses, and so does the man, falling heavily to the carpet.

Jimmy stands there, panting.

Scott wheezes in pain.

Jimmy fumbles on the bedside table, grabs Scott’s hero phone with fingers slick with blood. He presses the emergency button on the side, holds it down for a solid five seconds.

Then he drops it back on the table, opens one of the drawers to pull out Scott’s mask.

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps, sitting up, clutching his arm over the slash in his shirt. “Are—are you okay?”

Jimmy nods, then he clicks on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in low, yellow light, and surveys Scott.

There’s a sheen of sweat over Scott’s bruised face, his eyes pained and confused (and concerned, and very very worried), but Jimmy barely registers that as his eyes find the wound.

His nightshirt is soaked in blood, spreading out from the slash, and it only takes one glance at the wound for Jimmy to know that it needs a professional to take a look at it. He doesn’t know near enough about injuries to know anything other than that it looks bad.

He leans over Scott (Scott flinches back) and pulls the mask over his face, carefully holding the knife pointed away from him. His hair catches a bit in the eyeholes and Jimmy doesn’t do anything about it.

"Major?" calls a voice from below, and Jimmy spins around, knife held out, as he hears the stairs creak with running footsteps. Was there back-up? No matter. There won’t be, soon.

A pajama-clad Blossom pushes open the door from where it's half-open (Scott always closes the door when they go to bed), her hands flying to her mouth when she takes in the scene. "Oh my gosh—Major, TJ, what happened? Should I call an ambulance? I'll call one—"

"Hello? Is everything okay?"

More footsteps, then Gem appears, mask pulled over tangled hair.

"Hi, we need an ambulance—the address—"

"What happened?" Gem says, echoing Blossom's words as Blossom turns away, one hand covering the ear not pressed to her phone.

Scott pushes himself up further, grimacing. "Intruder," he manages, nodding toward the body on the floor. Gem glances at it, before her eyes fix on Jimmy.

"TJ, sit down—where are you hurt? Where do you guys keep your first aid kit?"

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says, his voice too loud in his ears. He gestures with the knife toward the motionless body, the neck appearing kind of . . . squashed. "I'm fine. Check Major."

"Shoot, the attacker," Gem mutters. "Blossom, tell them that there's two or three people that need—"

"He's dead," Jimmy interrupts. "Don't worry about him. Check Major."

Gem blinks.

Meets Jimmy's eyes.

"Okay," she says after a moment. "I'll check Major. Did you kill him?"

Jimmy swallows.

"He was attacking us," he says stiffly. "He stabbed Major. I acted in self-defense."

Gem moves around and climbs onto Jimmy's empty side of the bed, still keeping an eye on him even as she checks out Scott, pulling away his shirt and asking quiet questions (to which Scott responds, his breath shallow and words faltering).

"The ambulance should be here soon," Blossom says, moving toward the foot of the bed. "TJ, you're covered in blood—set that knife down, let me help you."

"It's not my blood," Jimmy says again. "I'm fine."

"Okay, then—"

"You help Major," Gem says, slipping off the bed and coming back over. "I'll help TJ wash up. C'mon."

Numbly, Jimmy follows her out of the room, checking over his shoulder to make sure Scott is okay. Scott waves him on with the hand that isn’t held to his chest, and Jimmy continues down the hall, into the bathroom.

"We'll have to make this quick," Gem says. "Sit down. And give me that knife."

Jimmy doesn't want to give her the knife. He pulls it back to his chest when she reaches for it, thumbs the blade protectively.

"I need the knife to give it to Major, so that when the police get here we can have a convincing story without you in it. Make sense?"

After considering, Jimmy nods. It makes sense.

And that means he needs to not be here.

He hands over the knife. "I killed him," he says. "If they ask, Major stabbed him three times. Then he fell and broke his neck."

Gem shakes her head. "Okay. Wow. Okay. You know we don't normally kill people, right? Never mind. I'll go give this to Major."

Jimmy glances in the mirror as she steps past. There's blood spattered across his face, more in splashes on his nightshirt and shorts and arms. His eyes, cold and wide, peer back at him out of his pale face.

He needs to get out of here.

Gem returns after two or three minutes, handing Jimmy a jacket (one of Scott’s, he distantly notices).

"Zip that up over the blood, rinse off your hands, and let's go," she says. "We'll head to my place. Blossom will ride with Major in the ambulance. It doesn't look too bad, so he should be okay."

Jimmy obeys, letting Gem turn on the water so he can stick his hands under the cold spray.

For a moment, he's back there—just trying to scrub the blood off his hands from his first intentional murder in the sink with the broken handle.

Then he blinks, looking down at the sink, at the red running off his hands.

"Good enough. Let's go."

-

Joel joins them in Gem's dark kitchen after about two hours, stripping off a pair of gloves. He's fully dressed in his supersuit, his hair unbrushed and his posture stooped, looking more exhausted than ever.

"Gem, you have anything caffeinated?" Joel asks, opening a cupboard.

"Yeah, there's a pot of coffee already made. Mugs are in the left cupboard."

Jimmy watches as Joel finds a mug, fills it up with coffee, and then takes a swig of it black.

"Thanks," he says, face scrunching up at the taste. Joel doesn't like black coffee. Jimmy knows that. He always adds cream and sugar.

"Major's okay," Joel informs them, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table to sit across from them.

Jimmy's been here more or less in silence for the past hour and a half, staring at the wooden table. When they'd first come in, Gem had sent him to wash his hands and arms and face better than he had before, but there's nothing they can do about his sleepclothes, so he's just been sitting here in a blood-spattered t-shirt for a while. Gem had joined him after pulling a hoodie over her pajamas and starting the coffee maker, and has since sat beside him, working on a crossword puzzle.

"Major's okay, he and Blossom are at the hospital now. The intruder was pronounced dead on site. Major identified him as one of the men who kidnapped him."

Jimmy doesn't feel anything.

No sense of satisfaction at knowing that the man truly deserved it, no fear at how close they had been to getting killed, no guilt for his actions.

Nothing.

"TJ," Joel says hesitantly, "how are you doing?"

Jimmy shrugs.

He's still covered in the blood of the man he murdered.

"They say killing is like riding a bike," Jimmy says after a long pause. "You never quite forget how to do it."

Gem sighs. Joel winces.

"Right. Well, we don't really kill people, as a general rule. It's kind of, like, against the law."

The law.

As if the law applies to heroes and villains.

Jimmy's not really sure which one he is right now.

Neither, probably. Which means the law should apply to him, even if it hasn’t stuck in the past.

"I've never really been one to follow the law," Jimmy says.

"Sure, but as a person—"

He isn't a person. If anything was to prove that fact, it would be tonight. He hadn’t thought, he’d just acted, and even now the first feeling that he can even register is the feeling of not feeling. He isn’t a person.

He's a weapon.

He's a pet.

That's the word that triggers his therapy brain.

"I'm in a bad headspace," Jimmy interrupts Joel, using words that he'd rehearsed with Nora. "I don't feel like a person right now. I might be dissociating."

"We have to talk about this," Joel insists. "We can't run away from hard conversations—"

"I promised I would never kill again," Jimmy whispers, and, ah. There’s the panic. Detached and not quite real, but panic nonetheless. "I can't escape it. I'm not—I can't. I'm a weapon, I was made to be a weapon, I—"

"Stop that right now," says Joel firmly. "You are a person, and you just saved someone from being killed. It was self-defense, not mindless."

Jimmy almost laughs, because to some extent, it was mindless. He acted entirely on instinct, following the training Xornoth had given him, whether or not it was self-defense.

He doesn't like hurting people.

He never wanted to go back to being a villain.

It's not even that he's upset about killing that specific man. Screw that man, he tried to kill his boyfriend.

He's really just afraid that now that he's killed one person, he'll keep doing it. It isn’t like anyone can stop him. Nobody can stop him, not even himself, and he wouldn’t even care if his current state has anything to say about it.

"TJ," Gem says carefully, "why did you kill that man?"

Jimmy frowns. Why? "To protect Major."

"Do you have any desire to kill people outside of defense?"

Does he?

He's never had the desire to kill.

Not even when he was getting rewarded for it. Killing was something he did to survive, to escape severe punishment, or accidentally.

And here, he killed to protect. To save his boyfriend. He didn't get any satisfaction out of it. He certainly didn't enjoy it. He doesn't want to do it again.

That cuts through the foggy panic in his mind, the fear that he might keep going, that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

"No," he says, then stronger, "no. I never want to kill. I hate it. I only do it when I have to."

Joel lets out a breath of relief. "Thank goodness. Okay, next issue. You and Major clearly aren't safe here. Do you want to try to stick it out, or should we start moving you two as soon as possible?"

Jimmy hadn't even thought about it.

Of course they aren't safe here—he hadn't been safe alone, when Scott was kidnapped and he had to be moved to the safehouse. Why did he think that things would magically change just because Scott was here? Every villain in the city knows where they live. The rest of the gang that kidnapped Scott could show up on their doorstep at any time, even more angry than before.

Anyone could show up at any time.

Jimmy doesn't feel as secure as he used to feel, surrounded by superheroes as they are.

"We'll move," Jimmy decides. "As soon as Major is back, we're moving. It just isn't safe here."

They’ll move.

Then he’ll deal with this numbness.

-

"Hey!" Jimmy calls, running into the kitchen. "No! You aren't allowed to lift anything more than ten pounds, put that down!"

Scott sighs with an over-dramatic roll of his eyes, sets the box back on the counter. "It's not that heavy. And it doesn't even hurt right now."

"Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean it isn't injured, Mister," Jimmy tells him. "You don't want to pull out your stitches."

"You haven't let me help at all. Pearl already handled the actual heavy stuff, let me do something."

Jimmy shakes his head and picks up the box. "That's your own fault for getting stabbed right before we moved."

"We're moving because I got stabbed," Scott points out. "It's not like any of this was planned."

"You should have thought about that before you got stabbed, then."

Scott groans, then reluctantly laughs. "I guess I should have. Can I at least drive?"

Jimmy lets out a very put-upon sigh. "I suppose, since I don't have a driver's license, you can be allowed to drive. But only if you behave yourself."

Scott giggles again. "You're adorable," he says fondly. "You know I'm the Primary Protector of the city, right? I don't think you'd be able to stop me."

"And I killed a man last week," counters Jimmy. "I don't think you want to be on my bad side."

"Oh," Scott says after a moment. "Are we joking about this now?"

Jimmy shrugs. "We're in the laugh-or-cry stage. I'm trying to laugh about it right now."

Scott looks at him. Really, truly, looks at him.

Then he laughs. Just a little bit, but still a laugh.

"I love you," he says. "I'll help you hide the body next time."

Jimmy laughs a little, too, but Scott pauses.

"There . . . isn't going to be a next time, right?" he asks uncertainly.

"Oh, absolutely not. Not unless it's entirely necessary."

Scott nods several times. "Good," he says. “Yep. Cool.”

Jimmy turns back toward the door, box in his arms, and waits until he’s out of the house to huff, shaking his head (though a smile plays on his lips).

They’re okay.

He pushes away the numb feeling that threatens to seep into his brain and thinks and remembers and knows that they’re okay.

That’s good enough for him.

[aunhinged]

Retail workers, Hilson AU

House and Wilson both work in retail, and it’s a disaster. Wilson is the “friendly” employee who tries to help everyone, while House actively makes customers want to leave.

Wilson: House, you can’t just tell people the store’s closed. House: If they’re too stupid to read the hours, they don’t deserve my service. Wilson: We’re on thin ice with corporate. House: Corporate’s too afraid to fire me. I make this place interesting.

[sonicchaoscontrol]

[Ch. 1, Page 22]

[FIRST] [PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

Can you really call it a 'Bastion of Hospitality' if the welcome package included getting the snot beaten out of you?

(Image formatted for mobile or fullscreen - view in new tab if you experience fuzzy resolution on desktop!)

[nevermoorsource]

Yet another Silverborn delay has unfortunately happened, hopefully it's the last one. Here are the latest dates:

September 25th, 2024 -> October 30th, 2024 for Australia

It’s currently still September 26th, 2024 for the United Kingdom, but I honestly expect that to change as well…

The January 28th, 2025 date for America remains unchanged

[comfymoth]

i go on twitter. my whole for you tab is just fanart of spiderbit as grocery store employees. as it should be, finally, the content i want to see in the world. star-crossed cashiers or whatever

[thesexydancingcrepe]

When Somebody Loved Me 🌸

Back when it was Jttw days & they were ⤴️ traveling with the group

Modern day & maybe reincarnated Crepe ⤵️

So naturally...

EDIT: it's fixed now 😊

The more things change to more, they stay the same (at least that's something I hear often enough 🤷‍♀️)

Ramblings below

This is my own interpretation of modern day!Sun Wukong and what he became after the events Jttw. He's still the same powerful Sun Wukong we all know, & love (despite questionable morals), but He has full dad bod underneath his depressed, "but totally over it" single man pajama sweats. The blue bead on the end of his braid was made from Crepe's blue glass bead earring.

He lives almost entirely on Flower Fruit Mountain, only occasionally coming down & and amazingly, he ended up finding an extremely familiar face 🤔✨️

[iknowicanbutwhy]

i just wanted to say :3 for SOME reason by fuckimg fate i guess my parents made me get a job at mcdonalds around the time you started posting about your in fast and food au and i just wanted u to know it gives me life. the horrors persist (mcdonalds) but it also persists for siffrin. hell yeah. i rly like your art and your little snippets of the au itself are soo good. keep it up (or dont!!! no pressure) but i just wanted u to know i really like it <3

Sending you so so many good vibes. I hope your coworkers are cool people who love you as much as you love them!! Don't let the managers stress you out!! Don't feel bad for taking breaks!! One day you WILL break the 9 to 5 time loop and live a happy healthy life with friends and a stable living situation and a job that doesn't stress you out!!!

[frogwithgun]

Omg what is happening guys?

Y'all loved part one so much lol

So screw it part two here!

Anyways enjoyyyyy

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

"Dad come on! You've been sitting here forever." Nanako said, attempting to push Geto off the couch. Why was he on the couch anyways?

Great question.

See, Geto had the rare opportunity to meet the CEO of Six Eyes Inc.. Where he failed to recognize that unmistakable face and charm. And then got asked for his number. Which would have been a dream come true for the man.

The girls know from all those hours he'd spend watching interviews about Gojo Satoru that he had a celebrity crush of some sorts. So he should have been elated to give out his number! And he would have as well.

If he hadn't told him that he doesn't give out his number while working. "No. Let me die here." Mimiko came along and together the twins were able to push him off the couch and onto the floor. Still he didn't move.

"Dad come on! You need to go to work." Now they both tried to get him to sit up. And it wasn't easy to move him. So they just gave up. Making Geto hit his head on the hardwood floor. "Ow! Alright fine." He grumbled.

And that is how he found himself standing in front of that corner store wondering if he took a wrong turn. The store had been redesigned entirely. It looked expensive now. Jesus did they all want modern looks?

He brushed it off and walked inside. Stepping behind the register and into the break room. At least that was the same. The air conditioner still screamed in protest. The lights still flickered slightly. And the furniture was still broken.

Geto set his things down on the table carefully. He knew that slamming them down would make the table collapse. Whether that was from experience or not he wouldn't say.

He turned around and jumped. "JESUS CHRIST!" He cried and put a hand over his heart. The man who had snuck up on him looked far to formal to be there.

His hair was a almost perfect blonde. And he wore glasses that suited him well. His eyes were a shade of hazel that looked beautiful. And he wore a suit for some reason. The strangest part was that he had a gray suit, with a blue undershirt, and a yellow speckled tie.

Just what was going on? The man didn't smile. Nor did he laugh. He simple sighed. "Not Jesus. Nanami Kento." Geto nodded. Still slightly jumpy. Now he really was suspicious. "Uh hi? I'm Geto-" "Yes I know your name." Rude much? Geto thought to himself.

Nanami seemed to know what he was thinking. And chose to ignore it. "I am your new manager. Your place of work has been bought by Six Eyes Inc. and I have been chosen to oversee it. You report to me." This had to be some dream.

Or maybe it was a joke? Yeah that was probably it. Geto laughed and shook his head. "Alright, you got me. Hilarious." Geto started to gather his hair into a half bun. "Come on man, let's get to work." Nanami raised an eyebrow.

Then Geto stopped and mimicked him. "Stop that at once. You think I would joke about this?" Geto looked around the break room. Making a vague gesture around. "I mean, yeah." Nanami looked at the break room in disgust.

Then Nanami sighed. "You are not what I was expecting." He muttered. Geto nodded. The gauges in his ears were probably strike one. And the fact that he had lip piercings, an eyebrow piercing, and a septum piercing.

Of course that combined with the fact that he had a couple tattoos was probably what Nanami was talking about. "Are you in a gang or something?" Geto laughed and shook his head. "No. Just have a lot of tattoos." Nanami sighed.

This was going to be a headache.

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

Yeah this is definitely a headache.

It had only been an hour into his shift and he's already had three customers complain about the quality of certain products. "Ma'am I just work here. I don't make the products." Despite that, none of them listened.

The only thing going for him was the fact that Nanami actually defended him. Unlike his previous manager. That was something going for him at least.

And Nanami happened to be rather observant as well. He could tell when a customer was about to blow up or when they were about to try and trick Geto. Which he did not stand for at all.

Nanami is terrifying.

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

"So Six Eyes inc., what's that like?" Geto was trying to make small talk with Nanami. And found it very difficult. "The CEO is a manchild and impulsive. He acts like he's 12 when he's 28. It's like he never grew up." Nanami said exasperated.

Geto nodded. I just wanted to know what it was like, not your whole life story. But ok I guess. "Oh that sounds bad." Nanami nodded. "It is. He's so immature and reckless. Honestly the only reason the company hasn't collapsed yet is because of me." I doubt it.

Geto felt like Nanami might hate Gojo. Just a little bit. "So why do you work there?" Nanami looked at him. Face blank. "Money." Well, at least he's straight forward? Nanami gave a slight huff and leaned his head back.

Still terrifying.

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

Ijichi jumps as the doors to the office slam open. A disheveled Gojo holding them open with a gleam in his eyes. "Ijichi!~" The man in question gulps. That sing song tone of voice is never a good sign. Not even when it's said in such a cheerful way.

Gojo strides into the room with a slight bounce in his step. "The store is mine now! So that means," he drums his fingers on the desk as he plops down into his plush leather chair, "he's my employee!"

Again, poor Ijichi cannot tell where this conversation is going. "Yes?" Gojo laughs and springs out of his chair. Striding over to Ijichi and tossing his arms around him. "Yes! That means I have an excuse to talk to him!" Because just talking to him like a normal person would be so hard. Ijich thinks to himself.

But he says nothing. To afraid of the white haired man to say anything other then "Yes sir." Which Gojo takes happily. "Now I just have to figure out how to get him in here." Ijichi looks at the still open doors.

So close, yet so far. "Ijichi! Don't run now! We were just getting started!~"Oh God he's trapped.

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

Three grueling hours later and Gojo has concocted a 'master plan'. And Ijichi is still staring longly at the now closed doors.

Gojo happily sits at his desk. Eating a lollipop. As he often does. In many interviews he has admitted to freely having a sweet tooth. He's more famous for it because of the amount of candy he eats in interviews.

Seriously it is a major problem. "Alrighty then! All I have to do is call him into my office and bada bing bada boom, we start dating." Of all plans Ijichi has ever heard, that one is probably the worst.

Scratch that, definitely the worst. "Sir do you even know anything about him?" Gojo puts a hand over his heart. "I am wounded! Of course I know about him! He's 6'3, has two daughters, works at the corner store I bought, and is the one."

"How do you know he has two daughters?" Gojo smiles. "He has hair on his work uniform. I imagine they like to hug him a lot. And the hair colors just didn't match his." Now Ijichi is just disturbed. "How long have you spent looking at him?"

Gojo waves his hand and turns away from Ijichi. "Oh just two or three years." He mumbles. And Ijichi just decides he'd rather ignore it then say something. "Sir you need to talk to him." Gojo rolls his eyes. "My good looks will talk for me."

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

His good looks did not in fact talk for him.

He called Nanami and told him to bring Geto to his office. And now they are just staring at each other. Not saying a single word. And it's starting to look like Gojo might actually have to try.

"¥2,000 says Gojo fails and fucks it up." Nanami whispers to Ijichi. Who shakes his head. He's sure Gojo won't fuck it up. After all he's Gojo-

"You stupid prick! How could you?!" And he spoke to soon. Nanami holds his hand out to Ijichi who reluctantly hands over the money. "No I just meant that I could never because they're a waste of time!"

Oh Gojo is really fucking it up.

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

And here is part two! I'm sorry if this isn't written very well lol. English is very hard and I'm not the best with it. But I do hope you enjoy this shitty part two.

Lots of love tadpoles 💚💚💚

[triigunn]

wolfwood loves pissing knives off at work

[crimeronan]

the thing about princess AU luz is that she's unrelentingly kind while navigating circumstances that would make any reasonable person scream piss shit tear their clothes off and set several buildings on fire. meanwhile AU hunter is unrelentingly bitchy and annoying to everybody but always there immediately whenever he's needed. conclusion: phone customer service rep and her fatalistically loyal IT guy. i guess

[turtledotjpeg]

This came from a randomized AU prompt involving flight attendants and characters meeting in a coffee shop - I went with the main four meeting in an off-brand airport starbucks (plus melody because I have a blorbo agenda here :P), but got thoroughly sidetracked drawing melody + pika as flight attendants haha

(gon & killua meet in the airport and quickly hit it off, but while goofing off they accidentally bowl over leorio who really needed that coffee after 18 hours in transit back to medical school

kurapika is about ready to murder leorio - not for the coffee stain, but because he didn't apologize sincerely enough - but then gon jumps in very politely and says it was his fault and he's very sorry. kurapika decides to let it go :)

some handwavey logic later and they all end up on the same plane. kurapika gives gon and killua extra bags of the little pretzels and nearly kills leorio again for trying to flirt with melody. they all have a feeling it's not the last time they'll cross paths 🙂)

[palfriendpatine66]

WIP Wednesday - Customer service au

Currently leading the poll is the one shot in which Obi-Wan orders a sex toy that refuses to charge and deals with customer service rep Anakin. Read below for a snippet.

Obi-Wan had a smug moment of satisfaction when a robotic voice prompted him to key in the twelve digit order number included in his confirmation email, followed by a moment of pure horror when after a brief hold a voice picked up on the other line. There was no doubt in his mind that it was an actual human voice, for although spoken in a flat monotone there is no way a recording or robot would sound bored to the point of tears.

“Customer service, Anakin speaking, please confirm your order number and the name on the account.”

Instead of doing the only thing that made any amount of sense - immediately hanging up and suffering his losses - he made a strangled noise of surprise and said the first words the whisky deemed appropriate: “Piss off.”

That would have been the second best time to end the call and pretend the whole thing never happened, but the thought didn’t cross his mind as a bark of surprised laughter erupted on the other end, the click of keys just audible underneath. “You called me.” There was a brief pause as Obi-Wan melted into a puddle of shame and a few more clicks sounded on the other line. “You do know that, right, Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Why’d you ask for my name if you already have it right there,” Obi-Wan spluttered, already on the defensive.

“Okay first of all, there is a script I’m supposed to follow, you know,” the low voice scoffed. “Not that you seem to be invested in that. But secondly it gives me time to pull up your account details, and confirm that you put in your confirmation number correctly, and I’m not about to start talking to you about the problems with your vacuum cleaner when you really ordered -” Obi-Wan put his head in his hands as a surprised inhale followed a couple of quick clicks. “Oh. I see.”

“Do you?”

A more composed, controlled customer service voice took over. “Can you confirm that the product you are calling about today is a, uh, passion plus remote vibrating/thrusting p-spot plug.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan managed to force a mortified whisper into the palm of his hand.

“Okay. And the product was delivered…yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Did you receive the correct product?

“Yes.” Useless though it was.

“Okay. Then what can I do for you?”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “I was hoping for a…return?”