#this other job sounds like a good fit too. i think i'd like it. and if not whatever i'll stick around for a year or two then split

[wickedhawtwexler]

i'm almost done with this take home assignment for one of the jobs i'm interviewing for fuck yeahhhh

[dottedsilktie]

French Riviera

Imagine a non-sorcerer AU where you work under Nanami Kento in a PR agency. Nanami is a well-respected professional, founder of a household name in the field, and you're dependable, smart and ambitious so it's no surprise when you quickly becomes his right-hand woman. All is well, except when Kento is one drink away from causing a PR disaster of his own if it means getting his favourite employee to spend some time away with him travelling the French riviera.

CW : afab reader, slightly suggestive, alcohol consumption, smoking, unaddressed sexual tension

Kento and you have grown closer over the years, your work relationship pristine in appearance, but underneath lies a constant struggle to resist stumbling into unknown territory every time you end up working late nights together. On nights like these, to thank you for your time and for a job well-done, Kento lingers behind after sending everyone else home and locks the door to his office behind him. He's usually parsimonious with his praise, but he can't hold back when he's fervently thanking you for yet another averted crisis as he pours you a glass of cognac. You're a bashful mess, blaming the burning spirit for the blush that adorns your cheek and hoping the dim light of his office conceals your growing fluster.

His lithe fingers brush yours when he hands you another glass, his laughter a bit too loud when you share your stories, and his gaze lingers on your parted lips for a tad too long. Kento knows well what it all means.

He should be sending you home instead of opening another bottle. He should curb your rambling. Yet, he presses for more, genuinely curious about your personal life - weekends, vacation plans, anyone accompanying you- and he breathes a sigh of relief when you inform him you are very much alone, work eating up any time for relationships.

Kento should hold back, but he can't bring himself to, especially since you don't seem to mind his prying. The usual frown on your face is replaced by a drowsy little smile and your eyes are soft when you stare at him, like you're just waiting for him to make a move.

"What about you, Kento ?" you quip, voice heavy with sleep and tipsiness. It snaps him out of his reverie ; the sound of his own name rolling off your tongue never gets old. He's not sure what you're referring to, hopes he's not too far off the mark when he starts rambling about flying to France to spend some time off at the Côte d'Azur but he's interrupted by a fit of giggles.

"That's not what I asked, Ken" you purr, shuffling a little in your seat to face him fully, crossing one long, tight-clad leg over the other. He doesn't have time to dwell on how your whisper of his nickname sends a warm wave of pleasure down his spine, instead choosing to fight off the cognac-induced haze in his mind to come up with an answer to your question.

He clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, dropping his gaze to the hem of your skirt riding up your thighs.

"I'll be travelling alone, too. Maybe we can meet up if you can make a detour on your way back" he responds, lips stretched in a lopsided grin. He's good at hiding the excitement that the prospect of seeing you outside of work sends rushing through him.

You think he's almost painfully nonchalant when he pulls out a pack of red Marlboros to offer you one, taking it out of your grasp when you try to reach for it with your hand. He's hot and cold and it sends your mind reeling, thoughts of misinterpreting his innuendos plaguing your mind.

His feigned apathy is, however, quick to falter when he tuts and beckons you to lean over the mahogany console separating you two, holding the cigarette between two fingers as he tells you to "open up" and places it between your parted lips. He lights it for you, lets you take a long drag of it, then waits for your answer.

"I'd love that, I hear Cassis is lovely around that time of the year" , you finally mumble around your cigarette, voice barely above a whisper.

Kento smiles, gently taking the cigarette from your lips to bring it to his. "It is", he confirms between long drags, amber eyes never leaving yours as he watches how your pretty face lights up.

"It's settled then", Kento adds, putting out the cigarette in an ashtray nearby and holding up his glass, urging you to do the same.

"To Cassis" he toasts. "To Cassis" you repeat, smiling over the rim of your glass as you down your drink, thoughts of a French summer swimming in your mind.

Repost

[missmagooglie]

Prefacing this by saying this is not what I EXPECT to happen in 7x09 and 7x10, it's just one specific scenario that I feel particularly feral about right now... so with that said, I'm gonna throw out a dream scenario for the end of S7:

Tommy and Buck are dating and it's going well. Buck is just sort of blossoming in his new identity as a queer man. There's a self-confidence and assuredness to him that we haven't seen before

Meanwhile, Eddie has broken things off with Marisol and is quietly going through his own reevaluation of his sexuality. His awareness of his queerness happens pretty simultaneously with his realization that the way he loves Buck isn't entirely platonic, but he keeps it to himself because Buck is happy with Tommy

Episode 9 finds Eddie and Buck together off duty. Maybe they're having an argument. Maybe on the surface they're arguing about something small but somehow it feels much bigger

Mid-argument some emergency strikes. Buck and Eddie are trapped together and it's BAD. They're both in mortal peril, but it's worse for Eddie. Eddie hopes help will arrive in time to save Buck, but he's pretty sure he won't be alive to see it

(And I just want to stress - I feel like it's essential that they are off duty when this happens. They are in sync on the job, it's how they fit together outside of the job they're still figuring out)

So Eddie gets Buck's attention - because Buck hasn't given up yet. He won't. He CAN'T. He's frantically searching for solutions as Eddie repeats his name in a weakened voice, until finally he cracks and says, "Evan, please. I need you to hear this."

And in the final seconds of episode nine, Eddie Diaz looks Evan Buckley dead in the eye and tells him, "I love you"

Episode ten opens on an unrelated disaster, just to keep us gnashing our teeth a little longer

Maybe we throw some flashbacks in there for good measure

Check in on the rest of the firefam frantically trying to coordinate a rescue effort

But FINALLY they cut back to Buck and Eddie in mortal danger and replay the last few moments of episode 9. And believing these are the last words he'll ever say, Eddie tells Buck how much he loves him. He says he's sorry he realized it too late, but he could never, never regret loving him

Somehow there's a callback reference to Mitchell and Thomas, and the way Buck looked at their clasped hands as they died, and Buck realizing that dying together was never the point of their story. Living together was

And Buck is full sobbing and begging him not to give up yet because Christopher needs him and the team needs him and finally saying "and I need you, Eddie. You can't leave me. You can't-"

We get the sense that Buck is on the cusp of a love confession of his own, but before he gets the words out he's cut off by the sound of helicopter blades overhead.

Their miracle rescue arrives in time, led by none other than Buck's starting-to-be-something-serious boyfriend Tommy

After the rescue, we see Eddie in the back of the ambulance, stable and out of danger, and Buck's about to go over to him but Tommy comes running over and sweeps Buck up in his arms and kisses his temple and says, "thank god you're ok. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you"

And Buck lets himself be held, but his attention is over Tommy's shoulder looking at Eddie

Eddie, who's gonna be ok

Eddie, who loves him

Eddie, who is the absolute center of Buck's world, but Buck has never allowed himself to think of That Way

And Eddie meets Buck's eye over Tommy's shoulder and gives him a sad smile that lets Buck know he intends to go back to quietly loving Buck at just a little bit of a distance so that Buck can be happy with someone else

And just to really twist the knife, we get an overheard piece of dialogue in which Eddie refers to Buck as his "best friend" for the literal first time ever (I'm pretty sure? Up til now, any time the "best friend" label has been used it's been by Buck, but please correct me if I'm wrong.)

And the season ends there

Cue the entire fandom going APESHIT for the entirety of the summer hiatus

[bam-stroker]

Stuck in the middle with you

@betweenblackberrybranches, ok you got me with the rlgl au. Here is my silly drabble for it!

I guess I'd say this is a suggestive/PG-13 level because Sun is smooching/getting smooches. But otherwise not much spice and all clownery. Just like have yakety sax or something playing in the distance

Well this was a problem. 

You should have been paying better attention to the time. Maybe if you hadn’t stayed up all night falling down a wiki rabbit hole you would have been a little more mentally present. Sharp and ready to duck and dive your way out. But no. 

You had gone into Sun’s room thinking you had enough time to grab the bucket and mop you forgot in there by accident. After cleaning up Moon’s mess earlier your mind was too busy celebrating the success you happily marched off to lunch. And left the stupid mop and bucket behind. Nothing says high class like getting wined and dined in front of a beat up old mop and bucket.

You run your hand over your eyes and hold in the groan of frustration that desperately wanted to rise up. 

So here you are, hiding behind a curtain a good distance away from the door.

You had managed to hear the door handle turn just in time to hide away with the cleaning tools when Sun and his customer stepped in. Laughter and murmuring following along their path to the couch deeper in the room. 

You’re 10 minutes deep into this hiding and have two choices. 1) Turn into a skeleton behind this curtain, squatting in hiding until the session was done or 2) try and make a quick dash while the customer was…. More occupied. You squeeze your eyes shut and try for a third option of using your brain power alone to magically travel through space and time out of this place. You open your eyes again. Still behind the curtain. Today would not be the day you unlock your hidden magic powers. A shame.

Sun’s voice carries over from the couch and you can tell he must have shifted to be the one facing the door and curtains. 

Well. 

You hold your breath and peek one eye out as slow as possible to get a view. Your hunch had been correct, Sun would now be the only one to really see you. The customer’s back fully to you and the door. It is also in that moment where said customer leans in to kiss along Sun’s jaw line and he fully locks eyes with you. 

It feels like the kind of moment meant to have with a laugh track in the background. You’d laugh if the moment wasn’t terrifying for both of your job securities. 

You give a panicked bug eyed look to him and then to the door and back to him. His mouth falls open as if to say something to you, eyebrows furrowed, but quickly tries to play it off as if he’s swooning from the kisses. Clearly the acting works because the customer just slips to kissing his neck. Sun raises a hand to cradle their head to him… and prevent them from looking up without pushing past his hold. He takes his other hand to give an accusatory point your way. The gesture falling into a ‘What are you doing?! You shouldn’t be here’ kind of intention. 

You throw your hands up and shake your head furiously an, ‘Obviously I shouldn’t be here!’  right back at him. You also do a motion to try and convey that you were getting a mop. That one must not have landed because he just blinks at you in confusion. Before he can answer the customer shifts to lift their head back up and he gives all the smizing he can their way. If he could make a twinkle visual effect appear around him it would fit perfectly. “O darling, how kind. Could you maybe kiss me a little… lower?” he flutters his eyes and tries to give a bashful look to entice them. 

It works and kisses are moving to trail down his chest. He gives out sounds of encouragement, keeping a close eye on where they’re looking. Then he looks at you and gives a look back and forth from the curtain trying to say, ‘Go back to hiding there!’ You shake your head throwing your hands in an x, ‘Hell no! I want out.’ You then hold your arms in front of you doing a fake makeout with the air and point from Sun to the customer. Clearly articulating, ‘Distract them.’

And before he can object you crouch down to start sneaking your way out. 

It wasn’t really that far. Just a couple paces and you would be free. 

Sun keeps his eyes wide and open on you as you inch forward. 

“Is something wrong?” 

You freeze and Sun snaps his eyes to the customer. They only just now looked up at him, “You’re so quiet now.” He lets out a strangled laugh raising his hands to hold their face, what would seem intimate but in reality was just a way to keep them focused in on only him, “O, I just was a little lost in all the thoughts you inspire~” He leans forward a whisper away from a kiss, “Maybe I could show you some of them?”

As he swoops in for a kiss you take two large steps. The door handle so close now. 

But now you realize you’ll have to try and turn the handle as quietly as possible. You can feel sweat start to pool on your forehead under your hat. 

As your hand reaches up you watch the customer wiggle in Sun’s hold. Clearly a bit ticklish. That must not have been expected because before they open their eyes to a sweaty janitor posing like a taxidermied animal in fear, Sun throws a hand up to cover their eyes. 

His golden digits and palm the only thing keeping you out of sight. “Oho! Ticklish I see? Well, why don’t we make this a little game.” The customer giggles clearly taken by the flirt. Sun stares daggers at you and gives a single gesture with his free hand, ‘OUT. NOW.’ 

And as you turn the handle he lets out a flurry of flirty giggles pinning the customer to the couch. Their own laughter is loud enough to hide the click of the door shutting behind you. 

You stand facing the hall… A deep inhale and exhale. Adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

And then you realize you left the mop and bucket behind the curtain. 

“...Shit…”

[angelltheninth]

I loved your neteyam alphabet thing so much and was wondering if I could please request one for his brother Lo'ak but with the nsfw alphabet I, V, J, X, N please <33

Sure, I didn't think I'd get this many alphabet asks, I have 5 rn in my inbox.

Pairing: Lo'ak x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, masturbation, tail shenanigans, affirmation, rough sex, bareback

A/N: Really hope we see more of Lo'ak being a badass in the next movie. Not that he wasn't in the first one but there's always room for more.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Lo'ak keeps a bit of physical distance from you, with your bodies never laying on top or against each other fully but he never stops talking to you. He's very talkative and tells you exactly how he feels, why he's feeling good, telling you how sexy you look when you're arching your back for him like that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He loves to masturbate, when he feels horny and you're not there he sees no reason to hold back. One thing that can make it better for him if you're not there is having something of yours to smell or shoot his cum onto. He doesn't hide it either, if you walk in and he's rubbing his cock he'll stick his tongue out at you, wink and stand on his knees, his back straight so you can clearly see everything that he's doing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Condoms. First of all it's hard to find ones that fit him. Human ones certainly won't do the job so he doesn't even want to bother. If they're specially made for the Na'vi because of your relationship with him then he will wear them some times but only until he makes you come. When he does he is ripping that thing off and using your mouth or your ass, which ever you want to offer to get himself to finish.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Good luck keeping Lo'ak quiet. It's one of the main reasons you needed to get noise canceling panels installed into your bedroom. He doesn't know how to be subtle or on the downlow when he's with you. He will be growling, moaning, hissing, growling into your your ear or against your back as he kisses it, his noises almost as frequent as your pussy squelching as he thrusts into you. He wants you to be loud too, to match him. It makes his tail squeeze around your thigh in excitement, makes him almost shake behind you even before your orgasms crash over you both.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Well he doesn't wear much clothes to begin with so there isn't much to hide. You can look at him all you want. Oh but, he does enjoy taking your clothes off, it's always exciting and he always takes it very slow. In terms of size though he is a bit on the smaller side for the Na'vi due to being part human, but he is still bigger then any human you've been with.

[the-muppet-joker]

I Felt Your Embrace

Part 1

Tags: Joker x Kermit, Cosmo Kramer, Joker's Cum Makes Kermit Insane, Cum Harvesting

--Martians (Sesame Street) x Kramer, Vore, and more to come in part 2--

♤♡♧♧

Cosmo Kramer had done some odd jobs in his life, this one was just about to take the cake. He was visiting Gotham on a whim, and saw an ad in the paper for a delivery job that seemed to be a quick cash grab. "Delivery boy wanted for a Mr. Joker, eh? Sounds like I just gotta deliver clown supplies or somethin, like those flowers that shoot people with water, or maybe juggling balls. Shouldn't be too difficult...might even get free clown supplies. You never know, could come in handy..."

He realized, too late, that this Joker was no ordinary clown. Before him was a scene that was equal parts disturbing, errotic, and baffling. A green muppet fellow, a frog by the looks of it, lay in an ecstatic stupor on the floor of the warehouse the Joker had requested Kramer meet him at. The muppet, addressed by the clown as "Kermit" had been in a violent frenzy when Kramer had arrived, and only calmed down when Joker had scooped copious amounts of a strange, sticky fluid out of the hole in his back, storing it safely in a jar. The way Kermit had moaned and shuddered at the contact, and how even in his subdued state he lay twitching on the floor with a blissful, fucked out look in his eyes... Kramer eyed the substance in the jar and gulped nervously. Whatever it was, it sure made that muppet go wild.

The clown who hired him cleared his throat, snapping Kramer out of his thoughts. He looked different than most clowns he had seen: instead of silly, baggy clothes, he wore a tight-fitting, stylish purple suit that complimented his lean figure. Where most clowns had painted a dopey smile, the Joker's milky white face had a sharp, crimson grin. And his eyes... his eyes were what drew Kramer in the most acid green, with a slight glow that matched that of the jar's contents.

"If you're done staring, I'd like to talk business," Joker crooned. Kramer nodded wordlessly, wondering when his mouth had gotten so dry. Joker grinned.

"My darling Kermit over there has a group of acquantences who are... new in town, so to speak. They have a passion for cataloging just about everything on earth in this quaint little book of theirs."

Joker's eyes burned into Kramer's as he spoke, and Kramer was suddenly reminded of a snake constricting its prey.

"They stopped by unexpectedly the other day in the middle of one of me and Kermit's... sessions, and they want a sample of whatever made him act so strangely so they may research it." Joker pressed the jar and a slip of paper into Kramer's sweaty hands. Joker's long, spiderlike fingers brushed against Kramer's and he had to surpress a yelp. Jesus, I don't know if I'm more terrified or turned on by this weirdo, but I gotta snap out of it. You're here for a job, Kramer. Think of the cash, Kramer thought desperately.

"Go to the address on that paper and deliver this. Get their signature confirming they received it, return here, and I will reward you handsomly. Joker finished with a blood-red smile.

"With cash, right? $1000?" Kramer asked, fidgeting. He wasn't sure where to look; hot-creepy clown, moaning muppet, jar of glowing cum in his hands... Jerry was never going to believe this shit.

Joker just smiled even wider, and Kramer babbled an assortment of "sounds good" and "got it boss" type phrases as he stumbled out the door. This clown is outta control, he thought, hoping the folks at the location on the paper would be less strange...

--Part 2 Coming Soon--

[untitled5071]

I have a Lisa Frankenstein request! If you'd rather not, thats totally okay, but I'd love a modern au of them going to a my chemical romance concert. ^^ it's for me and for one of my friends too, and it would really mean a lot to us! Thank you so much for doing what you do!

I hope you like it!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Oh my god oh my god, I think this is it!” 

Even though Lisa’s eyes were trained on the stage in front of her, her arms were busy shaking the daylights out of her husband, her hands on his shoulders while he chuckled adoringly at her enthusiasm. He wasn’t doing too good of a job at hiding his own, either; this concert may have been a gift for Lisa while they ‘traveled’ through Mexico as part of their “don’t get caught by the police” world tour, but he was excited too. 

They hadn’t been to a concert in a long time; after Lisa was reanimated and recovered, the two of them had gotten as far away from Brookside as they could potentially get, and once the dust settled, they decided to do a little traveling to see what the modern world could offer them. They had no end of potential date ideas, but they both particularly liked live music. 

Though their favorite of all time would always be the private one given in the living room of Lisa’s old home, they both enjoyed being among other music lovers and shouting lyrics like maniacs. Granted, he knew he wouldn’t be doing much shouting tonight in the sea of people they found themselves in-both because he knew he wouldn’t be heard and because shouting just wasn’t in the cards tonight, but it was all worth it for the sake of seeing Lisa so happy. 

Speaking of Lisa, her declaration that the show was starting seemed to be right on the money, since the lights were starting to dim, the anticipatory roar of the crowd was starting to get louder and cell phone flashlights were starting to flick on like illuminated eyes across the arena. The creature divided his attention between Lisa and the stage as the sound of a heart monitor was projected over the screams of the fans, and she grabbed his stitched-on hand in a vice grip when a gurney containing a covered body was rolled onstage. 

Lisa’s cheers joined that of the rest of the crowd when the body revealed itself to be the lead singer, clad in a hospital gown over his signature dark outfit and clutching a microphone. The first song was ironically called “The End”, and as the creature expected, Lisa sang every word at the top of her lungs, teased hair flying in every direction as she bounced along to the beat.

He knew buying her that second hand iPod Nano last year was a good idea. 

The first verse ended with Gerard Way ripping off his hospital gown as the biggest curtain they had ever seen opened to reveal the rest of the band, already whaling away on their respective instruments. They all wore black outfits and parade marshal’s jackets (which seemed fitting), and they weren’t the only ones who had dressed the part. 

Lisa had spent hours trying to pick the perfect combination of tights and tops for this concert (all black, of course), and had finally settled on black fishnet tights that she had torn and woven back together herself with more colorful embroidery thread (sticking heavily to purple and green to match her husband’s stitched limbs), a black tulle miniskirt and a black sports bra under a mesh top, complete with black and dark-gray striped arm warmers, to match the fashion of the time. He himself was wearing a leather jacket over a deep red shirt, and his best ripped jeans that Lisa distressed for him, in more ways than one. They blended in perfectly with the ocean of punks around them, and that was just fine by them. 

The band cycled through their set with infectious energy and an electric stage presence, and the creature was surprised that the stadium they were in didn’t collapse under the weight of the stomping and jumping the audience was doing. He was particularly fascinated by the mosh pit that had formed towards the font; it was mesmerizing to see all of those bodies moving in such a disjointed but synchronized way that anyone could immediately understand was dangerous if not done properly. He had to respect it, honestly. 

The biggest problem with it, on the other hand, was that it was blocking their view of the stage, and by the time the band’s most popular started (signaled by a single note that was almost drowned out by the crowd), the frenzied movements of the people closer to the stage got more intense, as did the noise level. 

Lisa was staining herself on her tiptoes to see over the screaming heads in front of them, and when her husband noticed this, he put a hand on her shoulder gently, shuffling in the limited space that they had so that his back was to her, and squatted down slightly. Lisa got the hint immediately and hopped onto his back, and he hoisted her up so she could see over the several hundred flip phones being used to record the show and get a better view of the stage. She was delighted by this plan, holding onto him with her thighs and one hand while waving her other hand in the air, mirroring Gerard on stage. And even though her voice was meshing with thousands of others, even that of the actual lead singer, the creature thought her voice was the clearest and most beautiful of them all. 

She must have been able to feel his adoring gaze somehow, because as the song ended in a shower of confetti and pyrotechnics, she bent down and kissed his right cheek first, then his left, whispering (or, given the noisy circumstance) said in a normal speaking voice, 

“Thank you. I love you so much.”

And though he was particularly tongue-tied that evening and unable to speak the words back, he hoped that the kiss he gave her amidst the crowd’s raucous applause spoke his feelings adequately. 

They stayed that way as the concert continued, the creature keeping Lisa safe in the arms collapsed around where she was perched on his back and Lisa sneaking little kisses or playing with his hair in between songs, and as the band played one of their slower pieces, the two undead souls swayed together, united in their love of music and each other. 

These are the eyes and the lies of the taken

These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours

They burn 'cause they are all afraid

When mine beats twice as hard

'Cause the world is ugly

But you're beautiful to me

[shuinami]

Part 3: How to write an MLE-based London accent authentically

Part 1: Who, What (London Accents) | Part 2: When, Where, Why (Black Londoner Culture since Windrush)

As I conclude this little guide, I'd like mention that my ask box and DMs are always open if anyone has further questions or anything 🤎

In this section, I'll go over some advice, the grammar and vocabulary and provide some suggestions for references.

Section A: Basic Tips

When to use slang

The concentration of slang is key to differentiating characters as well as writing an accent authentically. As an MLE-based speaker who is not actually a roadman (meaning a gangster, though many people misuse the term to refer to anyone who uses MLE, especially if they are working class), like most of us, Hobie does not utterly kill it with slang that would likely not be understandable to the people he’s with. There are a lot of phrases and idioms/metaphors that seem self-explanatory once you know what they mean or that seem similar to Americanisms (e.g. roadman = street/hood nigga), but of course, as someone who doesn’t use the terms, hearing it in passing, it probably wouldn’t be understandable, despite the speaker thinking it is. 

Coming from a diverse place, often with immigrant parents who don’t even speak English as a first language, if fluently at all (not in the case of most black Caribbeans from former British colonies, but remember Asians and Africans are more plentiful here), trust me, we know what we sound like 😂! Most of us code-switch, as we learn standard English in school and, until more recently, where more people are 3rd gen+ immigrants as opposed to 2nd, we actually tend to pick up MLE slang from experiences outside the home as we grow up. At the same time, some people really don’t care at all and don’t change how they speak for anyone haha. I don’t recommend trying to write code-switching if you’re not extremely familiar with MLE because you’ll probably lose the flow and also, Hobie only eases up a little bit after his intro.

My point is though, that not every single sentence needs to have slang in it. Most should, but if you’re trying to be serious or sexy, for example, and you feel the need to tack on some slang just to convey Bri’ishness, even if it doesn’t really fit, don’t do it cause it’s no more authentic than just writing plain English in those scenarios.

When talking to people from his own dimension, however, slang it up if you’d like, because the expectation would be that a (working class or ethnic) Londoner would understand him. 

For humour, mocking and teasing, we love to use slang because a lot of it is funny, even to us. Like I said, we know what we sound like. Those are the moments when more obscure slang (such as Cockney rhyming slang) might come out for comedic effect.

It’s good to have some balance, so not every word needs to be substituted. If you couldn’t read it without a fucking huge glossary, you’ve probably done a bit too much.

Writing the Accent

It’s good in moderation. ‘Luv’, ‘ain’t’, replacing the last g with an apostrophe in -ing words - you all have those things down, it works, good job. 

HOWEVER, it is very clear that a lot of you have no clue what letters we do and don’t drop/change and in what words, as well as a lot of you going OT with removing the T’s from the middle of words. I know it kind of sounds like that to you but it reads like an over-exaggeration or mockery, particularly because most London accents, including Hobie’s, are much lighter in comparison to Brits from other areas, in which such omissions and alterations of letters would be somewhat appropriate but still, in moderation. I don’t recommend typing out the accent often, just sprinkle it around for a bit of flavour but don’t consistently write in that way because your writing loses legibility and it gets quite distracting.

Content

The stereotype of British people liking sarcasm is true for most and, in general, we like to have, what we call, ‘a bit of banter’. We’re a jokey people, even if those jokes can be a bit harsh or teasing. Confusingly, even if we are joking around, it doesn’t mean necessarily we’re being friendly, joking is just how we communicate (e.g. “Oh boy, humbling reality Spider-Man has arrived”, “What does that do?” “Apart from having a great name?”, “super humane and not creepy”, “this is a great look…”). I think most people have got this down really well, so keep it up guys 😎🤙

Another thing is cussing, swearing, profanity, whatever you wanna call it. We do it a lot for no reason, mainly spamming the word “fuck(ing)”. So have fun with that if you aren’t already.

We’ll get into it more in the terms of endearment section of Section B but, basically a lot of Londoners are typically not too mushy or affectionate, as is the stereotype for big city people and, additionally, British people in general aren’t the most direct in their words. Obviously, some people are but it’s not the culture if you’re trying to write proper ‘authentic’ haha. For a lot of us, saying sweet stuff can be quite laborious when sincere or cheesy or confrontational levels of direct really 😂 We ain’t the friendliest of types through our words so I'd recommend relying more on context for the sweet factor unless it's a stand-out moment.

Different parts of the UK, even within England itself, have different slang

Idk what else to say about this but yeah, there’s some phrases I’ve seen people use that have me scratching my head cause “nobody [from my area] says those words in that order” but I’m guessing it’s down to people incorporating slang which is more commonly heard up North because it’s all classed as British/U.K. slang when you look it up so, just be wary of that.

Section B: Grammar and Vocab (the thing you’ve been waiting for 😂)

I’ll link a document here so I don’t clog up your dash more than I already have. Feel free to bookmark it or anything, I’ll update it if needed. The contents are links to the relevant section so you can just click those if you’re not trying to read the whole thing.

I only included some highlights of the things that are easy enough to explain just by writing them out with their meanings but it’s by no means an extensive list. I’ve studied a few languages but I’m not a linguist so I just did my best.

If you want to go more heavy with the Cockney slang, I’ll leave it to someone who’s more familiar with it (or not… lol) to explain those terms and when to use them properly.

Section C: References

Of course, it’s all good and all that I’ve given you instructions but to make it sound natural, you’d need a point of reference. Here are some references of black North West Londoners from the early 80s, black East Londoners, black Londoners more generally and a Daniel Kaluuya interview so you can get a better feel of how we sound:

Clip from ‘No Problem’, the first Black British Sitcom

The accents within this one group of siblings is very varied and none of them use MLE, as per the time period. The two younger sisters have accents most similar to Hobie’s. The show follows a group of siblings of Jamaican descent living in a council house in North West London, first released in 1983.

Clips from ‘Chewing Gum’ by Michaela Coel [CW: they're awkwardly talking about sex in a lot of the clips + don't listen to Candice's boyfriend, Aaron, he's not from London lol]

The show takes place in Tower Hamlets, which is in East London and was first released in 2015. Tracy has a similar accent to Hobie and also uses a mix of more general/Cockney-influenced slang and MLE, so this one should both be a fun watch and be useful, you’ll also want to pay attention to Candice who has a more MLE lean to her speech.

Clips from the Foot Asylum crew most of them are MLE speakers, see some examples of our banter with friends lol

Clips from ‘Top Boy’

Another show that takes place in East London, this time in Hackney, which is an area known for being kind of rough in terms of gang activity. Almost all the characters speak exclusively MLE in this show. If you want to watch it, TW for violence and gang activity, death, etc. (18+). You can tell based on the ones I’ve chosen that Sully’s my favourite character lmao.

Fun fact, as you might hear the character, Dushane, reference, Sully lives on a canal boat for a while as a form of refuge. I know a bit about boat dwellers in London from a lecture at uni but if anyone wants me to do more research and do a post and explain the waterways and stuff, again, feel free to drop an ask and I’ll do it :)

Clip from ‘Love Island’ just pay attention to the black islanders, Tyrique and Whitney

I just finished watching this year's Love Island UK so I thought I’d throw the clip of Whitney, Lochan and Tyrique fighting in here lmao

& Daniel Kaluuya talking about Spiderpunk to bring us full circle✨

[fungifanart]

Subzero Sonata

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Vil, Epel, Lilia, Malleus, Silver is mentioned

Word Count: 888

CW: Violence. The reader can sing. Also, the reader can use magic. (I'd recommend not thinking about it too much)

Notes: *Slaps Word document* This thing can fit SO much self-indulgence in it! I wrote this as part of a TWST Halloween collab organized by @twistedchatterbox. So, uuuhhh, sorry I'm late. I've been working a new job recently on top of class, so I haven't been able to sit down and write much.

(In case you were wondering, this is the song)

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

You feel your determination solidify inside of you as you face down an army of possessed students and as the group splits up to take on each threat, you move towards the crowd and call out to the others, "I can help you guys with crowd-control, but I need you to cover me!"

"What? What are you gonna do??" Epel questions.

"Hey Vil! Remember how you said I'd make an excellent opera singer?" You ask as the man in question looks at you with wide eyes, "Well, you're about to get your wish!"

—--------------------------------------------------------

The sound of a ringing bell echoes throughout the hall, as if signaling the coming of the frigid wind that is now blowing across it.

The Prefect kneels in the center of the protective circle Vil and the others have formed as a flurry of ice and snow swirls around him and the first notes of a song echo from seemingly nowhere.

The music builds as the flurry disperses into cold mist, revealing the Prefect in a completely new outfit, going from a white shirt, white sweatpants and a white faux fur shawl, which Vil had only begrudgingly approved of, to a fine-tailored suit reminiscent of an opera virtuoso's accentuated with delicate snowflake patterns along the sleeves and rims, all topped-off with a pure white parasol.

Vil stares in awe as the Prefect begins to stand up and speak as the music swells, "Good evening, masters. Is this the new recital stage?" He says while giving a small bow.

The music gains more orchestral instruments and fully begins as the Prefect closes his parasol and walks forward, "Oh my! Such a large audience! I'd better jump into the chorus then!" He says before clearing his throat and releasing a powerful high note in time with the music that sends out a wave of pure ice magic into the air, forcing nearby ghosts to abandon their host bodies and leaving any stray ghosts in its path on the ground, frozen solid.

The Prefect keeps singing as the air grows colder and Vil turns back around to focus on fighting. However, as he does so, he sees more blasts of ice magic being shot at the possessed students with each new note the Prefect hits.

Vil tries to keep his focus, he really does, but hearing the Prefect’s voice repeatedly go up and down musical scales with such elegance and precision that he didn't think the other man possessed makes it extremely difficult.

However, with the Prefect’s help, they've managed to hold their own so far, and with Vil getting only slightly distracted by the beautiful singing happening behind him, just for the Prefect to stop singing as the song progresses to the next verse. Hearing this, Vil glances behind himself to ensure he's okay and sees a burst of icy mist call forth large snowflakes that dance around the Prefect as he stands firm with perfect poise and posture before opening his mouth to continue singing.

Things are seemingly going well as the Prefect sings…until Lilia takes notice and jumps completely over both defensive lines made by Silver and Vil's groups, razor-sharp nails trained perfectly on the Prefect’s neck.

However, before anyone can react, the Prefect reaches an elongated high note that he aims directly at Lilia, buffeting him with a concentrated storm of ice magic that sends him flying back towards Silver's group, covered in frost that hinders his mobility to ensure he won't be making a jump like that again.

The Prefect’s song continues as the biting cold encroaches on the enemy with each note, forcing more and more ghosts out of their mortal hosts and eventually drawing Malleus's attention, who sends a barrage of green fireballs at Vil's group from his place at the pipe organ, all of which are neutralized by the Prefect’s ice.

Finally, the song reaches its climax, which is signaled by the Prefect’s voice going up an octave, causing Vil to have to resist the urge to stop fighting and pull up a chair just to watch the rest of the performance. Which he may well be able to do at this point with how many possessed students have been saved now, but Vil decides not to leave anything up to chance and continues fighting as the ice and frost on the floor creep their way up the platform where Rook's group is still engaging with Malleus, the heat from his fire attacks being the only thing that stops them from overtaking him.

However, any remaining heat in the air quickly disappears as the Prefect reaches a note so high for him that it causes Vil's heart to skip a beat while sending a torrent of sub-zero temperatures across the entire hall, liberating the last of the possessed students and coating every surface in the grand hall with a solid layer of permafrost.

The song ends with one final high note from the Prefect before he holds his parasol above his head once again as his outfit reverts back to what it was before.

And, despite his disappointment about the Prefect’s outfit, Vil can only stand there, enthusiastically applauding the other man's performance and silently hoping that his makeup can sufficiently mask the heat he feels blossoming on his face in spite of the overwhelming cold encompassing the area.

[octuscle]

I really like the transformation of this guy in a professional soccer player! Well I know the feeling to wish for another decision in the past. I work actually as a construction worker because my gf got pregnant in college and I had to earn money quickly. Now we're divorced and I don't think I'm a hero for my son. That would be different if I said 'no' in the past going my way into sports and maybe got draftet in a money-spinning sport. Maybe my son would have a poster with me on it on a wall in his room today if I decided otherwise in the past. I'd like the same program as the other guy - changing my life and my past. I take the risk not becoming a hero but please give me a chance, chronivac support

No problem, you can use the preset as often as you like, that's the least effort. You are now not quite as old as the soccer player, so with an initial age of 36 like yours, the result will be 18 years… Depending on the sport that fate decides on, your career can be almost over or just beginning. 4:00 PM, you just got off work, shall we get right to it?

Boy, I mean, you're not exactly in bad shape. But you've allowed yourself to get a little carried away, haven't you? And the tattoos would look better with less flabby skin. Well, that's going to change. Actually, you wanted to order a pizza while you were scratching your sack. But suddenly you don't feel like it anymore. Instead, you write a message to your gym buddy, with whom you have been training for a few weeks, asking if he spontaneously has time and wants to do a training session. You meet in half an hour at the gym.

The guy at the reception greets you with a fist bump. You've been part of the inventory here for a year. Some people with a fine nose may be bothered by the fact that you don't shower after work before you start training. But nobody can say that you are not a role model in terms of motivation and discipline. A year ago some things were still wobbling on you But now there's hardly any fat left and the muscles are coming really nicely. You also have your life better and better under control. No more alcohol, no more cigarettes. Your alimony checks come on time and are always covered. Even if the mother of your son doesn't want to have contact anymore, your son at least follows you on Instagram. In the meantime, you have a good 2K followers who accompany your transformation. You are proud of that, too.

20:00 o'clock, you two are done. A few more poses in front of the mirror. Four years of hard training have turned you into a model athlete. And with your fitness followers you now make more money than with your job as a construction worker. But you want to be a role model for your son, just being an influencer is not a profession. It takes you an hour to shower, shave your body and trim your beard. When you leave the studio, you want to look good. Even if it's just to go home and cook. You are a domestic person. And besides, it saves money. And you make a live stream out of the cooking, which gives you a few more followers. But it's also a hard job. By the time you've eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, it's already 11:00 pm. And the alarm clock rings at 5:00 am. Time to go to bed. Actually, at 29, when you have a body like yours, you should have more fun in life. But you've been a father for seven years, and that obliges you. With the birth of your son, you've completely turned your life around. Even though you are divorced, you still have a good relationship with your ex-wife. And your son already writes you good-night text messages. Hey, you know people who are worse off!

Your routines include drinking a liter of water before bed. It flushes all the toxins out of your body overnight. Can't be much with your diet, but you like routines. However, this often means that you have to pee again at night. Today so about 02:00 clock. You have to be quiet so as not to wake your wife and son. The little angel breathes regularly. It is nice to hear this sound from the neighboring room while you fall asleep again.

06:00 in the morning. Your wife hits you with the pillow. Like every morning, when you don't turn off your alarm clock after a microsecond. She gets her good morning kiss and you head off to the gym. You're always one of the first of the team to get there. The janitor already knows you. They call you the Swiss clockwork. Always on time, always reliable. Discipline is everything. You have the chance to live out your passion for ice hockey here. You've been on the ice since you were eight years old, and you've been a professional for four years. In Canada. An absolute dream!

10:00 a.m. Press conference. You're just 18 and you've managed to get signed by the London Knights as a European. Your stepping stone into the National Hockey League. Everything is still terribly exciting. But you are a sporting prodigy. And you've spent your whole life preparing for this moment. You speak English and French fluently. Despite the double burden, you skipped a year of school and graduated with honors. And your girlfriend is pregnant. It was not planned. But it happened. And you are both very happy.

The nursery is already furnished. Above the crib a poster of you. You have to expect that you will not see your son for one or two weeks. But he should always have a picture of you in front of his eyes.

[jackdraw-spwrite]

The Horologist's Paradox

Sometimes, most times, things are good. Daniel is happy living in Long Now, and Clockwork is happy to have him.

Others…

Time alone can't heal all wounds. Even if Clockwork wishes otherwise.

Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton

Other Information: There's some implied but ambiguous Bad Things in the past but nothing explicit, Bring Your Own Tragic Past style. This is basically a comfort/fluff fic with some angst and an inhuman Clockwork with some soft, but very unsettling thoughts.

Words: 4394

You can read it on AO3 or below the readmore:

Long Now's workshop was a quiet place. With the door shut, the outside world faded away. The only sounds remaining were those of a few clocks lining a wall, and those Clockwork himself made. It needed to be isolated. If it were not, the movement of the gargantuan mechanisms of Long Now would disturb the delicate work Clockwork did within.

At the moment, that delicate work was mounting bearings in the back plate of a new clock movement. Clockwork floated at a work table in his smallest form. He had the cleverest fingers and steadiest hands like this, and so it was the form he preferred for finely detailed work.

To his right lay a sprawling array of gear wheels, ratchet arms, springs, hammers, racks, and other shining pieces. To his left was the blank front plate. The back plate sat before him dotted with a constellation of holes, drilled and pressed to fit the design of his latest clock movement.

And just to its side was a small collection of rubies, carefully cut to size and purpose. Clockwork held another with a child-sized pair of tweezers. In the steady light of the workshop, it shone like a miniscule grape.

Delicately, Clockwork manipulated the bearing so it rested face up in an empty hole. With a tiny tap, it settled the rest of the way into the hole. With a trip to the jewel press, it was stuck firmly and precisely in place, and with another eight bearings the back plate was complete.

It was a job well done. He leaned back to enjoy the way the ruby bearings flared a brilliant red in the light of his work lamp.

It soothed a certain restless dissatisfaction in him to work on projects like this, with such clear and unambiguous solutions despite their intricacy.

The workshop was a place Clockwork retreated to when his fingers and core itched to fix, but his responsibilities demanded he leave things broken. What was best for the integrity of the timestream was not always best for those who lived within it, and there were times that the difference rankled.

Thus, the workshop.

It was full of countless helpful things for creating and fixing clockwork of all sizes; jewelry saws and polishing grit and oil. It had metal of many kinds, and gems for bearings. There was a forge. There were tweezers, and engravers, and more exotic metalworking tools more familiar to inhabitants of the ghost zone than humans. It was a large collection.

It was a large workshop. He could spend days in it at a time. On a few occasions, he had.

But for now, it was a good stopping place for the evening. The timestream was not his only responsibility, and another would soon need his attention.

He was just fixing his cloak in place when Daniel knocked at the door. His hair was stuck in awkward tufts. He'd spent too long thinking with his fingers woven through it again.

"Hungry?" Clockwork asked, and Daniel nodded.

The short trip down to the kitchen was just long enough to ask Daniel about his day.

"My math homework is impossible, I swear. There's this variable that I'm supposed to solve for and there's literally no solution. I'd just put that down but she clearly said there was a solution but I might not find it."

Clockwork hummed as they entered the kitchen, well aware that Daniel's next lesson would be on complex numbers. "It seems she may be right, then."

"I don't want her to be right, I want to be right." Daniel slouched against one of the pantry doors and let his head thump against it. "Why can't I be right?"

"You know," Clockwork said, setting the soup to warm on the stove, "Sometimes I find it illuminating to look ahead."

"Yeah, well I don't have time powers."

"Why would you need them?"

Behind him, Daniel's aura wrinkled in confusion.

Clockwork grinned. Daniel really did miss charmingly obvious solutions sometimes.

It took a few more moments for Daniel to puzzle out what Clockwork meant, during which Clockwork pulled the frying pan from its hook and set that to heat as well.

And enjoyed Daniel's thinking frown. His eyebrows made it a very good one.

Alas, it came to an end. With a muttered "oh," Daniel perked up.

"After dinner," Clockwork said before Daniel could leave to read the next section of his textbook.

Daniel made a second little "oh" noise at the reminder of why they were in the kitchen, and trotted to Clockwork's elbow to peer around him at the stovetop. Clockwork stole the opportunity to ruffle his hair despite the dismayed groan he received in return.

He gave the soup a stir and returned his attention to the frying pan. They wouldn't be having anything extravagant tonight, just something warm and familiar. Clockwork had sneaked in a little extra ectoplasm to the soup, hidden under the tomatoes' more familiar acidity. Just right for a young ghost.

"Do you mind getting out some bread and cheese?" Clockwork asked before explaining, "For the grilled cheese."

Danny stepped away briefly, and there was the sound of a cupboard being opened and many loaves of bread being shifted around.

Clockwork flicked butter into the frying pan and watched it melt.

One of the benefits of Clockwork's baking hobby was that they had many varieties of bread to choose from. One of the benefits of his time powers was that he could suspend time in most of his cupboards until they were opened.

The loaf Daniel set on the counter was a pillowy brioche, still warm to the touch from the oven it had left both a week and minutes earlier. The cheese followed, and then a cutting board and bread knife.

"Thank you," Clockwork said.

Daniel nodded, already busy slicing the loaf into pieces before grabbing the butter and claiming the heels as a food preparation tax. He stuffed one of them into his mouth, chewing blissfully.

Clockwork huffed a laugh at the sight even as his core thrummed with pleasure. Even after years, It was still so good to see Daniel take such clear enjoyment from something he'd made.

  The bread sizzled in the frying pan. Clockwork nudged it to keep it from crisping–Daniel preferred the cheese melted but the bread soft, so it would stay in the pan just long enough to warm through and to melt the cheese.

Behind him, Daniel set the table.

"Thank you," said Clockwork again.

Daniel was silenced by a mouthful of the second heel but his aura brightened, flooding briefly with something that danced between starlight and specks of sunlight reflected from snow.

  Minutes later, soup steamed in bowls on the little kitchen table. A small collection of sandwiches sat at its center.

Clockwork watched Daniel tear into the meal with all the fervor of the growing boy he hadn't been since the portal. He spooned his own soup at a more sedate pace, watching. The meal was mostly for Daniel’s benefit; Clockwork needed little food. But he liked to keep Daniel company, and to watch.

And to think.

Another sandwich vanished, first off the stack and then into Daniel.

Clockwork watched it go.

There was a curious stubbornness to the way Daniel chewed. It wasn't as though he were mannerless. But Daniel was solid in a way that tended to set teeth on edge and raise hackles, and that solidity included his teeth. When he chewed, it was with a rigid jaw and human teeth, and the result was something which was both and neither crushing his food as humans did and absorbing the energy of it as a ghost.

It was an odd conflict.

It came with the territory of being half-human, Clockwork knew.

Daniel was present in a way other ghosts were not; his bones were many and solid, and they rarely bent or vanished. The solid shapes beneath his skin and sinew, the way his limbs flexed only at joints: these were strange to see in the ghost zone. Most ghosts would bend bones for emphasis, or even go without entirely and enjoy a fluid existence. For ghosts, rigidity was a thing of the previous world, and more particularly one thing every member of the Dead instinctively knew: the hardening shell of rigor mortis.

To them, half humans evoked a corpse, puppeteered.

Few appreciated such a visceral reminder of desecrated graves. Fewer still found it anything but off-putting.

But Clockwork had always been good at seeing as others did not. Daniel's bones were solid, yes. Their presence was as sure and steady as the stones of Long Now. They were as solid as its gears, and there lay the heart of Clockwork's wonder. His bones were light and sculpted with slight curves, and yet offered him strength. His joints were simple machines.

It was a beautiful thing.

Clockwork never tired of seeing the flex of tendons over bone, nor of seeing Daniel's bones and muscle dance just under the surface of his skin.

And yet.

When he reached over the table, Daniel's sleeve rode up just enough for the white of a scar to show, long and straight and stubborn.

There were others.

They were more hidden. They were not more healed, despite Clockwork's efforts.

Humans required rest and care and time to mend injuries of any significance. Ghosts would not scar from anything they did not consider important. But they needed more than time and rest to mend physical scars of great significance.

And Daniel was neither and both at once. He needed time. He did not. Scars would fade, but only if their significance did, too.

And these scars…

Hours from now, Daniel would come downstairs, eyes heavy from unmet sleep and burning from tears he refused to shed. Clockwork would turn from his screens, and draw him close, and hold him until Daniel's fingers stopped digging like claws into his sides. Until the gasps for air Daniel didn't quite need but never stopped ceased to hiss between his teeth. Until memories too old to be so sharp lost their jagged edges and Daniel's aura soothed.

But that was hours away.

For now, Daniel was enjoying the meal. He was animated, gesturing to emphasize his point as he told Clockwork about his homework and it was true that Clockwork would never tire of the motion of tension and muscles over Daniel's bones.

But there was something sharp and rasping in that motion. Something raw. Something grating that spoke of pain and neglect and deterioration.

Oil, suggested the part of Clockwork that knew days at a time in his workshop, examining tiny cogs and filing imperfections.

He flicked the thought away. It was not oil that Daniel needed.

Not was it solely time.

Daniel's old worries about inadequacy still bit at him sometimes. That was all. The best thing Clockwork could do for that was provide warmth and attention, and make sure Daniel had plenty of opportunities to prove himself in his own eyes. And, perhaps, to change the subject.

"Do you have anything else you need to work on before tomorrow?"

"Just some reading." Daniel dug one end of a sandwich into his soup, intent on soaking as much tomato flavor as possible into the bread. It was a familiar motion by now, and an endearing habit. Sometimes Clockwork joked that Daniel ate most of his soups via sandwich.

"What's it about?"

He nibbled on his own much crunchier sandwich as Daniel replied, and enjoyed the warmth of a meal shared.

---

The library of Long Now was a single, towering room with walls of books that spiraled almost all the way to the top. There were no ladders, no gantries. There was no need: Clockwork's lair shaped itself to suit him, and Clockwork could fly. Even the shelves tucked just beneath the mechanisms crowding the ceiling were in easy reach for him.

After the dishes had been put away and Daniel had vanished back upstairs to wage another battle on the math problem, Clockwork floated through the floor entrance. He selected a book from a pile on the coffee table and settled onto the couch to read.

The novel was from France, but from a timeline where the Umayyad conquest of Hispania had reached farther north. The resulting loan words and synthesized folklore lent the setting a certain subtle novelty. Clockwork wasn't well-acquainted with the resulting cultures; the timelines he tended had diverged from one another only a century or so before. In them, the conquest had reached its limit at the Pyrenees Mountains.

There were nevertheless recognizable threads to the story; The hero's journey was far older than the conquest, after all. Comparing tropes in it to those of his own timelines was a pleasant way to unwind, and Clockwork gladly did so.

The mentions of unfamiliar dishes were tantalizing, too; unusual ways of spicing meats so far north, a far older proliferation of coffee. Clockwork made a mental note to request a cookbook or two from the alternate version of himself who had lent him the book.

  Some time later, there was a thump from the staircase outside the door. Daniel bounced in, two parts triumphant and one part vexed.

"What kind of a number is i," he complained.

"An imaginary one," said Clockwork, and turned a page.

Danny huffed, then threw himself down on the couch hard enough that the cushions beneath him huffed too. "A dumb one," he said to himself, quietly enough that Clockwork wasn't meant to hear.

Clockwork glanced at the page number he was on before setting the book aside.

"You did solve it," he pointed out.

Daniel pulled a face. "Yeah, after way too long. Who even assigns homework on a topic they haven't taught yet?!?" With another aggravated noise he flung his head back and scowled at the ceiling.

Clockwork felt a response bubble up from his throat, unfolded the future to find a better one, and–

"Your teacher does," said Clockwork, smoothly. Sometimes the best responses were the natural ones, even if they were mouthy. Daniel knew him well enough to pick up on it when he was cheating his way through a conversation.

Daniel shot him a glare then sighed, scrubbing his face. "Sorry, I'm just. Ugh. That was almost an hour. I have other things to do."

Daniel did; his schedule was far freer here than it had been in the human world but he still had responsibilities.

And priorities. He was a ghost, even if half-human. Among them…

"I will be down here for some time," offered Clockwork, "reading."

A few minutes later, Daniel reappeared with his own book. He settled in next to Clockwork, leaning a little against his shoulder. Clockwork hummed and let his tail coil loosely around Daniel's ankle.

The story progressed. The heroes met strangers on the road and befriended them, got lost in towns, made cunning use of hospitality rules and grew closer and closer to the false Lord who had wronged them all.

He'd just reached the point where one of the heroes betrayed the rest when Daniel closed his book and set it to the side.

Clockwork looked up.

Daniel's lean had become more pronounced, and now his elbow was digging into Clockwork's side. Clockwork shifted so it slipped from between them, earning a sleepy mutter from Daniel.

"Here," said Clockwork after setting his own book to the side. "Lean against me."

"Already was," mumbled Daniel, but slumped until his head rested in the folds of Clockwork's cloak. The weight of it pressed firmly into Clockwork's shoulder, and Clockwork hummed, enjoying the sensation. Like this he could better appreciate Daniel's skull. It was unyielding, full of tiny bumps few ever cared to form when a smooth surface worked just as well.

Clockwork let his hum drift on as a low and soothing lullaby, layering over the sound of Daniel's heartbeat and the rhythm of the clocks in his tower.

In a way, Daniel was one of them.

Humans had a group of cells in their hearts which kept their time, just as a balance spring did for a mechanical watch. It was far less precise for timekeeping but that could be forgiven; its primary use was to other ends.

Daniel's heart beat strangely when he was in this form, fluttering like an insect's wing around his core. It was thin, diaphanous almost and yet, yet, it never quite vanished. And just as he was unaware of the individual bones and muscles animating his greater movements, he was unaware of the churn of his heart, of the undulations of his esophagus and gut.

But they were there, was the incredible thing. They were there without any conscious effort on Daniel's part. Even now that he was half asleep they persisted in their solidity and in their motions, however haphazard their timing.

A ghost with a working heart, marveled Clockwork. A living child who would never grow.

Absently, Clockwork brought his hand up to stroke over the curve of Daniel's skull. Softly, rhythmically, he traced out the ridge cradling Daniel's ear and trailing back to feel the ridge of his inion.

Had Clockwork not been himself, the lumps may have seemed haphazard. But he knew what they were: a wonderfully precise reconstruction of human anatomy that he couldn't help but appreciate the artistry of it.

With a sigh, Daniel's slump became more of a sprawl. The arm Clockwork had slipped from between them flopped onto his lap, elbow opened to a less intrusive angle.

Clockwork turned his attention to it.

The sleeve of Daniel's shirt was bunched, baring his forearm and his hand and wrist, and there was the scar Clockwork had seen earlier. There, too, was why Clockwork had shifted.

The machinery of the human forelimb was delicate, beautiful. It was one of the most intricate structures Daniel maintained.

It was astonishing.

Softly so as not to disturb Daniel, Clockwork took it in his hand and watched as the hand flopped slightly in response to the motion. It was strangely stiff. Many ghosts achieved the flexibility of a wrist by foregoing any rigid structure at all. Leaving out detail was just easier when you didn't require it for strength. Clockwork himself only maintained a solid wrist for stabilization. The precise control required to manipulate the gear wheels of a wristwatch was great, and bearings were more challenging than that.

But Daniel. Daniel.

Clockwork squeezed Daniel's forearm gently and watched the fingers curl.

Pulleys. Daniel had pulleys.

Daniel, and the odd stiffness of his wrist. Daniel, and the lovely hints of structure in his hands.

Daniel's wrist was made of bones. Eight bones, all precisely aligned and shaped to slide against one another for incredible flexibility, considering their presence. And that wasn't all. His hands each held another nineteen, and there was the pulley system animating Daniel's fingers from a collection of muscles in his forearm, and ties keeping it in place. There was a crisscrossing of muscle between each and every metacarpal that would lend a human strength.

Clockwork stroked the lines of Daniel's radius and ulna. They way their forms curved, the way they turned around each other to provide another degree of flexibiliy–

"Cl'wk?" Daniel slurred.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"W'ry'doin?"

What are you doing?

Clockwork leaned to look Daniel in the eye. He'd slid down almost completely into Clockwork's lap by now and seemed about as far in his journey to the land of sleep. One eye was just barely open, and the other was squished shut by his own weight.

Clockwork hummed. "I thought it might feel nice. You feel tense."

Daniel made a vague noise that could have been agreement or could have been calling Clockwork weird, but he never seemed particularly upset if Clockwork continued.

In fact…

Well. Clockwork did want Daniel to rest, and rest well.

He allowed a touch of his own contented energy to seep from his fingertips as he continued to massage Daniel's forearm. It was little surprise when Daniel heaved one last sigh before drifting off completely, aura falling as lax as the rest of him.

It was not the only unwinding. The nightmare which had stood so starkly in the hours ahead began to crumble.

  Long after Daniel's breaths smoothed and drew themselves long like ribbons, long after Clockwork's gentle massage fell still, Clockwork stayed where he was, fingers straying to linger over the curve of Daniel's jaw and the hinge joint where it met his skull.

Daniel.

He was so wonderfully mechanical.

Sometimes, Clockwork thought of it like this: he would pick Daniel up as he had so many times before and carry him upstairs. But he would not stop at the door to Daniel's room.

The light of his workshop would already be on, and its tables cleared. Spotless. Ready. It was a large workshop with space for many projects.

But it held only enough space for one masterwork.

Sometimes, Clockwork thought of it like this: he would take Daniel and rest him on a table, with cloth to guard his skin and a pillow to guard his head. And then he would find the screws and clasps that held Daniel closed and ease him open with delicate care.

Gently, carefully.

He would set the pieces of Daniel's case aside somewhere safe and soft, and then he would disassemble the movement of his heart.

Daniel's gears–they wouldn't be plain brass as Clockwork's were. They would be feathered with the ice of his core. And the alloy they were made of would need to be adapted for the colder environment–

Clockwork caught himself.

Daniel was a ghost with a heart.

It clearly hurt him sometimes.

It was in the twist of his mouth, the tension in his fingers and strung across his shoulders. It was as though a gear in his heart would slip from its alignment, and the awful tension would warp the surrounding pieces and make them grind against one another in a way that could only hurt.

In his lap, Daniel breathed softly. Clockwork folded his arm over his chest, where it wouldn't flop haphazardly.

Sometimes, Clockwork thought of it like this:

He would take the movement of Daniel's heart (and oh, what a beautiful work it would be) and he would find the bearing that wasn't quite right. Or he would find the spacing that was wrong, or any of a thousand other reasons for Daniel's hurt.

And he would fix it.

He would carve Daniel a new bearing from a gemstone as blue as his ice, take a hammer and straighten all the gear wheels which had been hurt by the misalignment. He would file off the burrs that caught on Daniel's core and scraped him raw and grieving all over again, and polish each and every tooth until they would glide effortlessly against one another.

And then he would reassemble it. Daniel's mechanisms would run as smoothly as any of Clockwork's own. He would make sure of it. And then, he would do the same for every other part of Daniel. He would examine each and every gear wheel for the cracks which surely hid somewhere, rendering critical parts treacherously weak. He would take the hurt gears and recast them so they were like new. He would run each and every wire through his fingers to check them for fraying and rethread them through Daniel's incredible machinery and work and work until all the gears were polished and straight and shining and all his springs were tensioned. Until each and every bearing shone and Clockwork was sure that no wires would rub or snap, that no burrs would catch and no gears would jump or bump and jam.

And then, then.

He tucked Daniel to his chest, careful not to disturb him as he rose from the couch.

Daniel's identity was still tied so closely to his appearance. But some of his scars pained him. Clockwork would take a needle and thread and patch them. Not so they had never existed, no. Daniel valued his own history nearly as much as Clockwork did. But the scars could be, would be reinforced so they were stronger, less painful. They could be embroidered so they weren't just reminders of an ugly past but also reminders that Daniel was loved, and cared for, and–

Clockwork looked down at Daniel. His pale lashes blended with his skin, barely visible under the mess of hair. He frowned a little in his sleep as Clockwork left the library.

Sometimes, Clockwork thought of it like this: there was a child who had been through too much, and who trusted him. There was a bedroom, and a kitchen, and attention and love.

And in the end, there were no frost-feathered gears in Daniel's chest. Only a core. Only a heart and lungs and other human things, or near enough.

Clockwork adjusted his grip so Daniel's head fell more comfortably against his chest. He'd centered his existence around puzzles that took time and dedication to solve. He had both in spades. He could give both to Daniel.

He had.

He would.

Clockwork yearned for an easy solution to Daniel's hurts so much it hurt, sometimes. A solution like clock repair, like maintaining the vast network of machines which threaded their way through his lair. He would not undo Daniel’s past. But surely, surely he could find the problem and fix it and when Daniel was back together he wouldn’t hurt quite so much anymore.

But, he thought as he drifted up the staircase to Daniel's room, of course Daniel would be as wonderfully mechanical as a timepiece but as flowing as a timeline.

His little paradox.

He pushed through Daniel's bedroom door with telekinesis, and tucked him into bed. If he were still awake Daniel would likely protest about being too old for such things, but he was asleep. Clockwork was allowed to be as doting as he pleased.

He pulled away, then cocked his head. Daniel's nightmare still wavered in the hours ahead, reduced but not vanished from possibility. He nudged the blanket down into a less restricting position, and the nightmare dissolved.

With one last touch to tuck a stray hair away, Clockwork murmured, "Sleep well, Daniel."

And the bedroom door closed with a click.

[actualbird]

this sounds rly weird to say but stick with me - i wish luke would get ill in canon. obviously he has a terminal illness which would weaken his immune system and while it’s great he’s physically fit i mean SURELY he’s way more susceptible to getting seriously ill from a cold/the flu, right?? idk i think i just want to see him being taken care of bc he deserves it but also i do like the idea of him being taken care of by the nxx and them looking out for him when he gets seriously ill from a virus/bug etc etc

i got this ask Before main story 9 dropped but only after did i wanna answer it because i totally feel u.....

i feel like tot doesnt let luke get smaller ails in canon because hes already dealing With The Big One Thats Killing Him (any more wld be overkill?). and though it's also true that neurological conditions dont necessarily always affect the immune system, it's still a dang shame cuz like u, i'd adore a story where it's the others taking care of him when hes down with a bad case of the flu....and given recent main story events, i reALLY WOULD LIKE TO SEE THE TEAM HELP LUKE WITH A LOW-STAKES AIL :(((

in true luke fashion, he'd probably keep it under wraps and make excuses until his absence at an nxx meeting cannot be ignored and they crash his apartment to see him in a MISERABLE little pile of blankets trying to remedy this by himself

mc: why didnt you tell us!!!! >:O

luke: it's not a big deal :( it's just the flu and already called aaron for doctor's advice and meds and everything, i can take care of myself

vyn: have you been hydrating?

luke, nervously: ..............yyyyyes?

artem, looking in his fridge: theres nothing in here but peanut's treats, what have you been feeding yourself?

luke, still nervously: ffffood?

marius, finding a pack of sliced bread near his bed: dude, have you just been eating bread???

luke, increasingly nervously because hes fighting for his life out here: i cant stomach anything else for some reason!!!

mc: uh huhhhh, you seem to be doing a Great job at taking care of this yourself :/

luke: ;-;

cue the team helping out: helping in cleaning the place up (when luke is miserable his place gets even Messier), cooking simple foods (artem's soup to the rescue), etc etc. luke would be So apologetic during the whole thing, constantly apologizing for being a bother, which is both depressing and grating to hear. mc almost wants to take two piece of sliced bread and sandwich luke's face in them to tell him "STOP SAYING SORRY!!!" but she knows thatll probably make him feel worse, so she restrains herself

for all luke's apologizing, he does feel better with the team helping out. but then he feels bad about feeling better (because HOW DARE HE....AFTER HE INCONVENIENCED THEM ALL!!!) and it's this terrible ouroboros of shame

eventually, mc sends the other boys out on a grocery run to help stock luke's fridge with fruits and other good snacks-for-sick-person, and alone in luke's apartment she sits next to him.

mc: hey, tell me the truth. you knew you were doing a cruddy job at looking after yourself, you knew you shouldve asked for help. why didnt you?

luke: ...i dont...like it...i dont like you or the others seeing me like this

mc: pathetic?

luke: i mean, yeah. but i meant....sick. i dont like you guys seeing me sick. because of, yknow.....being sick and useless and helpless, it feels like a prelude, and everyone else is burdened picking up the pieces around me.

mc: oh

luke: yeah

mc: hm. youre an idiot

luke: ????

mc: i cant speak for the others, but i can tell you that i surely dont mind seeing you like this if it means i can help. dont you always tell me to rely on you more? how about you return the favor, luke. let us help, sometimes. let me help.

and we all know shes way too good at setting up a winning argument.

by the time the others get back, luke is a more cooperative patient and a less-apologetic one. in the back of his mind, he figures it cant hurt to let himself feel okay getting help every once in a while.

[sapphic-bats]

Let’s talk about Pre-Fall Crowley’s choir.

I’m still learning, so if someone more expert than me has a correction, be my guest.

There are, by my awareness, nine choir of angels. A helpful list is below.

Muriel claims that they are of a lower rank, and hence cannot open the logbook.

"You'd have to be a throne, or a dominion, or above."

And once Crowley manages the book open, at the nonchalant claim of an unchanging password, it stuns Muriel.

This, to even an untrained eye, is intentional. They want us to know which two options could fit Crowley, seeing as evidently he is, or was, quite powerful.

So let's talk about that.

First Argument: Throne

The description of a Throne angel is:

"The 'thrones'; also known as 'ophanim' (offanim) and 'galgallin', are creatures that function as the actual chariots of God driven by the cherubs. They are characterized by peace and submission; God rests upon them. Thrones are depicted as great wheels containing many eyes, and reside in the area of the cosmos where material form begins to take shape. They chant glorias to God and remain forever in his presence. They mete out divine justice and maintain the cosmic harmony of all universal laws." [Wikipedia]

So we can break that down.

Thrones are supposedly submissive, and peaceful angels. They are the chariots, or literally, thrones, of God. Being in the First Triad, with direct contact to God, they contemplate Her/His power and judgement.

Sound familiar?

Let's lay out a few of the reasons Crowley could have been a Throne.

"Submissive" angels. If he had foregone that demand, and questioned God by unintentionally challenging Her decisions, he would have been an unworthy angel.

2. He would have had direct contact to God, and therefore could have asked Her himself. That would have been inexcusable, and perhaps a seeming abuse of power.

3. To contemplate Her power and judgement, he could have truly and utterly contemplated. Been too good at his job, and disagreed with a "flaw" in the plan.

All evidence points to Throne, right?

Second Argument: Dominion

Now, the definition of Dominion angels is:

"Dominions are a group of angels in Christianity who help keep the world in proper order. Dominion angels are known for delivering God's justice into unjust situations, showing mercy toward human beings, and helping angels in lower ranks stay organized and perform their work well." [LearnReligions]

Right, not a huge eye-catcher, there. Doesn't sound like what we've seen of Angel Crowley.

But wait.

"The Dominions (lat. dominatio, plural dominationes, also translated from the Greek term kyriotētes, pl. of kyriotēs, as "Lordships"). Traditionally, they are held to govern the movement of stars, planets, and other celestial objects." [Wikipedia]

Oh.

Now that sounds more likely.

So, our reasons here are:

Being in the Second Triad, they fulfill God's plan, and directly govern the procession of it.

2. They, quite literally, rule the stars, planets, and celestial objects. What more evidence do you need?

3. They're known for delivering justness into unjust situations...

In summary, there are many different options for what Crowley's hierarchical position once was. The two most blatant, and likely, were not being an Archangel (in my opinion), but rather either Dominion, or Throne.

That being said, I am unsure which one he was. There is more obviousness in seeing that he made the stars, and saying he was a Dominion. But, then again, there is more logic and reason in imagining he was a Throne.

What do I think? Hard to say. I'd imagine, considering the blatancy of the plot, that Crowley was a Dominion, but in theory, I wouldn't be surprised if he was a Throne. Honestly, while writing this, I started thinking he might have been a Throne.

Please, do share your thoughts and theories!

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.75 Happy, happy, joy, joy

Sophia and I were only a few blocks from Dad's house, and it was only fitting that he be the first to hear our news. I wouldn't have gotten engaged if not for his guidance. We hurried there, half walking, half running, fueled by unbridled glee. Kooper didn't appreciate the accelerated pace, but Rosie was totally here for it and ran in front of us as if to lead the way. When we arrived at the house, I knocked once to alert him, announced myself so he wouldn't get up, and let myself in. That's how I dealt with the weirdness of going back home. I still had keys and a room. I felt that knocking and waiting to be let in was kind of pointless. But I didn't live there anymore, and my parents deserved privacy, I guess.

"Two days in a row?" he said. "Must be my lucky week."

"I asked Sophia to marry me!"

I think the shocked faces were my favorite part of sharing news this big. Seeing their eyes grow as large as saucers and mouths drop to the floor filled me with such joy. And the best part about it was I knew they felt it, too.

"You did it?? Wait...she said yes, right?"

I laughed. "Of course she did!"

Dad's face turned red, like he was about to cry, but then he laughed. But it wasn't a laugh. It was more like...a holler? However you'd classify that utterance, it was most definitely pure, unadulterated joy.

"Congrats, son! Oh, I'm so happy! And proud! That's such great news! When did this happen?"

"Just now! We were at the marina. There's a house right across the street that I want. That's where I did it."

"What a great idea. So you're moving back, huh? It'll be nice to be neighbors. Say...where is she?"

"Oh, she's outside watching the dogs. She always watches them so carefully, like she's afraid they'll hurt each other or something."

"That's just her motherly instincts. Speaking of...let's sit..."

He lowered himself onto the sofa, slowly and carefully. Watching him and my mother get older was a fascinating process. Before, when I saw an older sim, I always thought they'd been old for a while and were used to it. But going through it with my parents, and listening to them complain about new ailments and struggling to do common things, I realized we were all on the same journey. They, like me, were experiencing everything for the first time. They struggled to see themselves as old, just like I did. Maybe one day, when they're even older, they'll find acceptance and live with their new normal.

"At the risk of sounding like your mother, how do you feel about children? And what about Sophia?"

"Heh, well, she wants children yesterday."

He chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"I'm actually looking forward to it, too."

"Your mother will be thrilled to hear that, ha ha. I'm glad too. Having children is such a rewarding experience. I always wanted that for you."

"I think I always wanted kids. At least I always assumed they'd be in my future, despite not knowing how I'd actually have them."

"Well, you certainly have a worthy partner now. I wish you two all the best. I'm so very proud of you, Luca."

"Thanks, Dad. I mean...thanks for all your advice and stuff. I don't think I would be here without it."

He shrugged.

"That's the job. When your children come, I'll have all new material for you."

"Ha! Good."

[j4y-lvr]

SIGNAL143?! … kang taehyun

SYNOPSIS. Headstrong CEO, kang taehyun leads his business venture into the world of dating with his dandy service, 'signal143', and in need of a skilled and driven secretary comes the bright-eyed secretary, passionate to support those finding new love. while the two clash in various ways, bound to each other in pursuit of new beginnings. what were taehyun to do if this metal tough ceo were to match with his new secretary by his dear, handcrafted application?

PAIRING. ceo!taehyun x secretary!fem!reader ft. txt, yunjin from lesserafim and sunwoo from theboyz

GENRE. crack, fluff, pinch of nonexistent angst

WARNINGS. profanity, !!not proofread!!

WORD COUNT. 5.2k

NOTE. no i didn't spend more than a month on this shhhhhh😦 my txtblr debut has arrived i'm pretty proud of the beginning and the attempts at humour🤥 i'm so sawry,, the end was a bit rushed bc i realised my absence from here was far too long so i scurried😤

"what if you matched with someone in the company using the application," yunjin jokes, hitting your arm in the same spot for the nth time, a scowl crossing your face as you turned to her, running down an earful of curses before she sighed and pouted, getting you to suspend your fit.

"why would you even say that," you drop, averting your focus away from the girl and to your watch striking midnight. You usher yunjin to stay the night under one condition that she clean up after herself as you left early for work at signal143.

Signal143 worked to assist others in search of their passionate lover, one true pair, and lifelong soulmate. A company whose product aligned with your best interests as you grew with a single mother who tirelessly slogged to make ends meet.

You'd made her proud, earning a corporate job as none other than the secretary of the booming service. The application checked off all and more of what you could think of, seeing it as a reliable piece and something trustworthy.

You prep your materials for the following day, slide into bed and shut your eyes with a huff. Dreamland didn't seem all too far when yunjins protruding query probed your mind to run a hundred kilometers per hour with varying scenarios that fueled your active thoughts.

Shaking your head, you set to not think about and take things that came your way with no worry as such. Let's be real, the possibility of you matching with someone from your company was less than 5%.

It's not like your luck would cash with that, would it?

Maybe, you should've recalculated the percentage because the probability dinged at first sight of your boss. "signal match 143!" echoed through the hallways of cool toned glass finished walls, goosebumps arising on your skin.

You visibly panic as your boss, taehyun, watches you with curious eyes. "good to know you use the application," mumbled the tall man, clad in a suit, a musing smile tugging on his pink, soft lips.

Observing your orbs dart from him to your phone, you contemplated checking who within the company you had unanimously paired with, "please, have a look," your boss encouraged while your sweat-ridden palms fished your phone from your pocket.

"i'd say you take them on a date and give it a try, and if possible give your personal feedback on your usage of the app,"i don't think dating in a workplace setting is appropriate though," you comment, swiping up and onto the app, the customary ring filling the rather opinionated hallway.

"why not? are you, perhaps, doubting the service?" kang taehyun raised, expected from his nickname, strongheaded-sajjangnim. The lines on his forehead proved his dedication but you felt wronged with the misinterpretation.

You'd be in trouble if you harbored opposing thoughts and didn't get along with this co-worker in specific, being your boss and the ceo, afterall.

"quite bold of you to assume, sir" you pause, fending hurt and continue reading the username you paired with mentally and then verbally, however, it came out sounding like a question, "user terry kang?"

A fellow worker gasped and panned their head towards kang taehyun, whose expression looked lost and if he were in a pickle, per se. "why?" you ask, perturbed by the shocked faces.

"summon that demon child beomgyu to my office right now. and you, follow me," spoke the tall, doe-eyed man, profusely furrowing those eyebrows deeper and deeper downward. What pissed you off was his rude choice of words, respect should be given to those who expect respect.

Maybe it comes with power? You shove the train of thought and sprint to catch up to the ceo, who was almost stomping his way there. Cute of him, you note.

With whoever beomgyu was, sat present in the well maintained office while the tense atmosphere picked at your nerves, making your exterior decay from the anxiety. You remained unaware of what happened nor what was going down.

Whipping out his phone, taehyun beckons beomgyu over, "what is this?" he retorted, calmly, unlike his brows meeting the depths of hell fire with the amount he scowled. Beomgyu jumped on sight and squealed, applauding the ceo, "isn't that great?!"

"no, you dumbass- i mean, you idiot, what have you programmed it to do," he halts, giving you a look and whispers in a hush manner, causing the man next to him to slowly pan his head towards you like those haunted emotional support dolls from horror movies the possessed hauled around.

"HER?"

A whack to the back of his head sent beomgyu wailing, "THIS IS VIOLENCE—" he exclaimed, getting cut off by what seemed like his close friend that boss, taehyun, "do you want to risk your pay," he stooped octaves lower with the question, a menacing look shining in his eyes, gazing up and into your orbs, almost daringly.

You weren't slow (for once), you put the pieces together and informed yourself in manner, tactfully planning your next move. Mirroring the menacing look, mockingly, one could say. You stride forward, your hardened footwear clacking against the marbled touched floor, "are still up for the date, ceo terry kang?"

Taehyun straightens his back, amused with your words, beomgyu giggling, "you still think its a malfunction, sir" he states, mockingly, gapping for air and continuing, "she seems like your match if you ask me." — The frown that settled on his face as he pondered over the simple incident left you in a fit of your little laughter, evident of your chuckling. "well, let's get to it, shall we?" taehyun set, turning to you with a charming grin that exuded other intentions than sweet. 

"hm?" you replied, asking what out of the number of things he could be implying. "work. today's your first day, isn't it, miss secretary,"

Oh this man is vile, cutting to the boring part already but without much of a fight, you had points to prove and marks to make even though one might say take it easy the first day. Not only was your hopeful relationship with your boss kindling but your chances of recognition in the hierarchy.

"i want these papers briefed by noon," you opened your mouth to quiz if he required anything else but he dove straight in, "oh and a cup of coffee will do, thank you very much." You inadvertently complied, handing the warm cup over to him with an unfazed expression, work was work and there's no denying it. 

"not your ideal picture of a first date, hm" taehyun commented, cautious watching the way your front turned from calm to exasperation, "first date, sir?" you grumble, enunciating the sir a bit pressed off your tongue. A dry laugh leaves his parted mouth, "you seem like the type to never been on a date,"

You clench the papers assigned to you in hand and muster a marvelling smile, firming your stance. Taehyuns eyes flicker from the tight grip on the papers to your menacing eyes, then to your coral stained lips parting with calculated breaths, "glad to see we agree in something, sir."

The satisfaction you felt as his face morphed to offence had you seeing stars of your own. He clicked in his tongue in distaste, "it's going to be a long while working with each other, i see,"

"i agree. i'll take my leave, i've paperwork to get behind," You conclude, giving his deep brown orbs one lasting gaze. 

A complementary grin accompanied your impactful greet to your boss. He was just as hard headed as the rumours state, the beauty the gods themselves sculpted but it was too bad you'd have a sour taste at his retorts in opinion and opposition. 

Though, the only things you both could settle on were being lonely asses and vision for the venture that inevitably matched and brought your two lonesome vessels together. — Weeks passed and your differences only became apparent to those around. DUring a small party taehyun decided to host for app ranking 4th on charts, the ice cream stand had many flavours to offer on such short notice, including your favourite, mint choco. 

This, however, seemed to bother him, as he stood beside you, picking up his custom cherry flavoured ice cream. The gasp that left him as you chose mint choco let a lasting impression on you, “it tastes like toothpaste. how could you possibly—”

“sir, you have a cup of cherry flavoured ice cream in hand, is that not a tad too plain?” “i like to keep things simple,”

And the other he spotted you at your desk munching away at the original style pocky, he inhaled that very irking gasp that made your head turn faster than lighting, “don’t even—”

“HOW COULD YOU CHOSE THE ORIGINAL,THE MOST BASIC, THE INFAMOUS POCKY!?” “that’s quite rich coming from someone who likes to keep it simple,”

you sneer, your bold statement followed by gasps from the myriad of employees seated at their desk out your office as taehyun bit at his tongue, retreating to his den.

This left you with your current situation, “sir, i finished reviewing and marking these documents but are you sure the conversion will follow through smoothly?”

“why the doubt, miss,” “yn would be fine, though this is a workplace setting, we have other premises to imply”

A nod prompted you to continue, “conversion from a service-based business to a hybrid business is quite the challenge given our potential partner expertising in green tea that supposedly promotes weight loss, tying us with non body positive image,”

“as much as you have a point, we’re running short on funds with the hefty loan process being dragged out and our service update has been pending for a month now. Either way, other companies are flocking to strike a deal,”

“but sir, can't we start with another product first? I feel like beginning with green tea will attract negative views,” you paused, thinking of seizing the opportunity to plug in a personal situation here, “if you want to promote the service we'll have to start fanservice."

"what." "don't act like you don't know about all the teenage girls you've bagged for being their prince,"

"and you're suggesting that I hold a fansign?! do i look like an idol to you?” "yeah, you do so make use of that handsome face, terry"

He flashed you an insane glance, sighing, “too late, they're here for the meeting,” taehyun announced, foot to heel and strode down his office, off to the door where he greeted them with a warm smile, “shall we?”

However, one of the men who stood much closer to taehyuns office than the rest frowned, sending a glare your way that had your stomach turning, “i don’t think it’ll work out though,” — The scowl present on taehyun’s face as he exited the conference room had you shitting yourself as he shot knives down towards you, glaring at you and motioning to his office merely with his recent fuelled orbs.

QUivering inside out, you step shortly after him, gulping down the massive lump in your throat, the carpeted monotonous grey flooring garnering your interest than the man that rubbed his temple hastily.

“guess one of them overheard our little banter, miss,”

Your void of a reply sent him approaching you with heavy footsteps, harshly tugging down the knot of tie, the furrow deepening beyond observed capability. All till the curve of your back hit the hard wood table, your hands scraping to the table.

“w-what do you mean,” you muster despite the frantic panic you were waging inside, his arms once limp by his side came to front you as he cracked his knuckles, his neck craning to the side to do the same. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated by his demeanour.

“oh, i don’t know, from where the conversion took a head down non body positivity image and how starting with a different product first would be better?”

The chills that ran down your spine as he repeated your previous words had you spinning a hurl of your own. Though you still stood by your words, you could’ve just blown the deal off with it as well. 

That depends, however, since you weren’t informed whether the deal was called off in the first place. You held no blame as of yet. You straightened your back and lifted your gaze to his, taking a step forward, a formidable gap present.

“well, did we strike a deal?” you attempted to sound as aloof as possible, hoping for an affirmation from taehyun. He smiled, a stark contrast between his furrow and grin.

He bent down to match your height, his hand cupping your cheek with a caress which you would have fend off but couldn’t given your arising crisis, “how cute,” he uttered and paused, the smile dripping off along his lips pressing to a line, “but, no,”

And just with that you had turned into granite staring down the eyes of a striking sculpture known as kang taehyun. “Leave,” and you did, taking to the door with such haste you hadn’t seen yeonjun, the assistant secretary ahead, crashing into the man with a thump. 

“are you okay?” quizzed yeonjun, watching you with curious orbs as to your hastened exit and your shaken exterior, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost, you should take a break,” he commented further, chuckling.

Taehyun observed the ordeal, opting to sit in his seat and front his desktop instead, having twice the amount of work to get another company onboard. It would be an understatement to say he resented you right now.

You bid a rushed goodbye and fled the scene out the building, restocking on fresh air and a clear mind on how to apologize, though an apology wouldn’t do much. — Silence was scarier on the man than you could imagine though he wasn't one for many words, the stiffness present in the air as you'd discretely set your work by his table while he bore his eyes into the desktop screen, his hand gripping the edge of any paper within reach.

After the fall through, he lacked words for you particularly, conveying messages through the assistant manager, yeonjun who said he despised the ordeal and further urged you to make amends. But that didn't sound as easy as said. 

That left you in this picture, panning open his office door a few hours past work hours as you had a report on user engagement to finish and the reasons for it's margin of customers dropping. The dimmed lights and the glare of the desktops display blaring through the jet atmosphere led your orbs to the slumped figure, his fingers resting in his hair as he laid on his crossed arms.

Your boss had fallen asleep.

You set your print on his table and moved a few others to the side, stacking them up as well. Should you wake him up or let him be? Either way his posture would surely cause spinal ache, so it'd be better to wake him.

Right? His secretary that totally blew the company a huge deal and an inclined decrease in expected funds would unsuspectingly awake him up when he retreated to slumber from exhaustion over the same deal with no clear advance?

Oh well, you weren't fired yet.

"sir," you uttered, your palm reaching for his shoulder, giving it a light shake. Taehyun lifted his head, hair messily parted, cocking his head to the side as he took in your stance in front of him.

"what's the time?" he stated, sitting up straight and off his arms, glancing at you lazily.

"11pm, sir," you replied albeit the chill that sprang down your spine as he spoke octaves lower and for the first time in around two weeks.

"why are you still at work, go home yn,"

"i thought i'd finish the report on user engagement—"

A sigh parted from his chapped lips, "i know you said you had no experience but c'mon you should really go out and meet new people," he mumbled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, reaching for his lower drawer and pulling out his car keys.

"but sir, why would I go out and meet other people when you're my match," you responded, watching his face controt from surprise to guilt and back to his blank expression.

"i'll give you a ride home," he dismissed, loosening his tie and to his feet, waiting for you by his door to lock it up. — You took him up on the request and found yourself in the passenger's seat, sitting next to an oddly silent taehyun. "address?"

"why,"

"how do I drop you home, huh," he deadpanned and you promptly recited your address and he took to the wheel.

The blanket of stillness was anything but pleasant as his lack of response earlier ate you alive bone by bone. Feeling the tense air and the rather long way home, taehyun quipped a quick glance toward you, "whats your view in soulmates,"

"not exactly, life's not a fairytale like they narrate, per se," "why the negative tone?" he questioned further.

"my parents split not long ago, stating they 'fell out of love,' and i was heading back and forth between france and germany to meet them simultaneously, to not let either be unhappy. then i decided i was through and packed to south korea and applied for the job."

"that's one situation," "you?"

"i'd be oversharing," "it's fine, sir"

"call me taehyun, please," "right, taehyun, continue."

"realistically, no. like you said, life is no fairytale," "how is that oversharing,"

"it's sensitive info considering i run a head service to find your true love, yn, don't be conventionally controversial in this car," "mhm" you dragged, barely managing Ato mask your scoff.

The thick atmosphere was cut through the line of his ringtone, receiving the call at the red light and pulling over, "yes," he calmly spoke followed by the very violent,"WHAT?! NO!" 

You missed a smile despite the information you gathered ere, watching as he bickered with someone in the other line, the exasperated expression a fit for his adorable face. He hung up and pursed his lips turning to you with his jaw open slightly.

"will you go out with me," he paused— "WHAT?!" "no let me finish—"

"WHY WOULD YOU ASK ME OUT AFTER SAYING I WAS BEING CONVENTIONALLY CONTROVERSIAL AND TREATING ME LIKE SHI—" you halted, reading his amused mask and remembering he's the reason you get paid on a monthly basis, "you were saying, sir– taehyun,"

He liked the way his name rolled off your tongue and he'd convince himself in denial that it ended there but he'd bury for as long as possible. "I never said anything about denying soulmates, nope not a peep," he clarified, continuing to matter at hand, "there's an event this Friday night, would you be interested in joining me?"

Okay this reaction of yours bypassed the intense masking and your jaw hung open as you measly meagred, "why me," sounding shaky and your voice cracking at the lather and your parched throat. 

He searched for something by his door and handed you a bottle of water, looking at you straight in the eyes, giving you the most gorgeous,rich smile you'd ever seen, "because, you're my match, yn,"

To say you choked on your spit was an understatement. The chuckle that left him and he told you to look up and let your throat settle before drinking the water he handed you. — Friday came with you waking up queasy and all jittery, still pondering over what to wear, mentally noting to ask taehyun what he was going to wear. That Tuesday he gave you a ride home and unintentionally made you a walking mess of emotions in front of him, causing little to no changes at work.

To your disappoint— for the better, you grit and smile at your coworkers, holding small conversations and exchanging words of notice. Then came your summary to Taehyun and casually strolled in and recited the following with which meeting at what time, handing him the clipboard you gripper to briefly.

"wait, is the timing marked wrong for this meeting,"

"let me see," you mumbled and made your way by his chair, placing a hand on his table to lean over. "yeah, no it's," you paused, gripping your lower lip into the chambers of your once parted mouth.

Taehyun took that with the nod of his head, his orbs drifting to yours trained in the clipboard, a face strands of hair unintendedly covering your face and your lip held captive. The scent of your lavender perfume invading his nostrils, the trance cut short with your response, "actually, taehyun, hold on a second," you complete, your eyebrows furrowing deeper as your lip frees itself.

"taehyun?" he quired, picking at his raised brow, questioning you. You scoff and roll your eyes, "pick one, sir" you reply sarcastically, emphasising the sir at the end though you began to wonder how his name just rolled off. "and keep the date tentative, i'll check in again, either way it's not till next friday, sir,"

"taehyun," he corrected with small grin, his hand hovering to your cheek and giving it a light tap watching the way you managed to push his fingertips off and stare somewhat discreetly at his now focused face, albeit the close proximity of you two as you'd yet to stand straight l.

Beomgyu, uninvitedly barged through shouting for taehyun in a whiny tone, catching you in your little stare. Beomgyu advanced with a sprint and landed beside taehyun, who looked unbothered as the two and three others were friends from middle school.

He gave taehyun a bombastic side eye and sent a very obvious thumbs up to you, motioning to your boss who watched with a quirky smile, almost teasing you without words. You huff and retreat from his den, leaving the best friends turned coworkers to their fun. — "time to clock," uttered a voice from behind as you stilled slumped on your desk, lazily working on yet another report on the total gross margin and remaining fund. "hm?" you whiz not paying mind to them till a hand lands on your shoulder that sent you panning toward taehyun.

Your mouth parted with an 'O' springing to your soles, a few minutes left to actually clock out, "we'll have to stop by nearby to pick up clothes," he conveyed, watching casually pack up and shut off the system, some shooting your nasty looks for stealing their fantasy husband away.

Ignoring the onlookers you follow behind him, waving beomgyu bye as he excitedly cheered you on from his quarters with taehyun sighing at his antics.

The car ride to the venue was nothing noteworthy after you dazzled in an outfit that fit with your personal preference a bit too much, not revealing much and topped snow white charm with the flowy frill checks on your mental list. 

His silence left you to look out the window of the passenger seat as taehyun handled the wheel, focusing on the road ahead. 

“why’d you join signal143,” taehyun abruptly spoke amidst the stillness, gaining your lost focus, “cupid was my favourite childhood story,” you replied nonchalantly, eyes drifting to the seemingly fast paced surroundings, avoiding his curious orbs that lasted a second.

“maybe it's because i craved for something or someone to be my stability in my then feeble life and cupid would happen help me achieve that when my parents were out and about with their love life in shambles,”

“so from personal experience,” “yes, i guess you could say that. what inspired you to upbring the venture?”

“the 5 of us, high school friends, happened to think of the idea as a joke to make our pitiful lonely asses feel better, and the rest is history. it sounds insignificant, i know,” “everyone has their callings,”

With that the conversation fell flat and you remained in your thoughts of the past, “we’re almost there,”

“hm,” you responded, lacking any real reply to him, your thoughts having shifted from the past to the recent past, when you matched with your boss at work to which he simply ignored much to your distaste.

“sir,” “don’t,”

“we have to talk, i can’t play dumb anymore it's agitating,” “about what, exactly,” he asked, pulling into a stop at the venue, hand reaching to unbuckle his belt and panning to front you, perceiving the irked expression written all over.

“we matched with your application and literally refuse to address it,” you rush, in an exclamatory tone, breathing heavily with furrowed brows. His poker face remained while his gaze dropped to his wristwatch, “is that all, we’re getting late.”

Tears clouded your vision as he stepped and walked over to the passengers seat and clicked the door open, and extended his arm to you. You grimaced at his palm,"is that really you had to say," you let out slowly, attempting to blink back your threatening tears.

He initiative held your hand and pulled you up, your footing unstable as you fell forward and onto him, beside you for support. The fabric of his dress shirt scrunched up in your clenched fists. A hand travelled to your cheek and tilted towards the adoring eyes of the man that'd somewhat broke your alluding vision of true love.

"don't ruin the makeup by crying over nothing," he paused, mustering the courage to utter his next few words carefully, the knot in his throat tightening to release the word out his grip, "love," he added shakely, the latter coming out jna whisper but to be heard in the reverbs of your ear.

The gaso that overwhelmed had shock written all over you and with expectancy you listened as he remained agape. "why do you think I went as far as to bring you here as my date, yn,"

So he wasn't playing you, nor was he breaking your perception of true love but giving it a shot.

Now the thought slapped a small but hopeful grin on your front and you gazed into his beautiful sparkling eyes while he rushed to address even further, "doesn't mean I'm not angry at you for blowing the deal off," he muttered, trying to sneer at you and scoffing with little to no real meaning.

You burst into hearty laughter at his shy acts, striding into the venue, clutching his much larger hand in yours, "we have a party to attend, taehyun," you pressed, jolly filling you full as you skipped and partially hopped your way to the entrance hand in hand with the last person you expected to.

Life was fickle yet fun and full of surprises.

Taehyun spoke words of boredom to others attending as you put on a pretty smile and joined in occasionally and eventually zoned out, taking that as a chance to slip away from him and to the refreshments served.

You unsuspectingly stood among the masses, sipping on the non alcoholic drink, your eyes naturally drewp towards taehyun, resting them in him as he charmed many with his words, some infatuated with his looks and that darn cute smile he flashed.

"yn?"

You turned to your right, perceiving the man you'd swore to never see after years, "sunwoo?"

The old feelings of youth overjoyed your sober mind and the thundering clouds brought with your foresought tears and sentiments to do with him.

"you? here?"

"..." you dwelled in your daze, knocked out of it with no response to him after a long delay, he waved a hand in front of you, successful garnering your attention as an unfamiliar yet comforting hand rested on your waist and clung you to them.

"oh sunwoo! great crowd, great people, great host, of course,"

"...taehyun!" he greeted, examining his hand attached to your waist, the close proximity of the two and plastered a grin.

"how's the brand launch going?"

"the usual rookie stuff, you'd know better,"

Small talk continued and you watched motionless, your nerve ridden self picking at your nails, only glancing at either of the two rarely. As their tiresome chatter drew to a close you mustered the will to smile faintly st sunwoo and turn towards your date, Kang taehyun and flash a genuine beaming grin at him, ushering about something that crossed your mind.

Sunwoo noted the look and how you didn't turn back to see if he was looking at you for longer like you once had, the day it rained from the skies and from your very own eyes.

Dragging him out the venue you huffed and puffed in relaxation, opting to lean to the wall behind as relief filled you, "you know him?" taehyun queried, the slight amount of irritation sending massive signals your way as he raised a brow.

"i gave the same expression to any of the other guests you chatted with," you replied, to milk a further reaction from him.

"the way you stared at him looked different, like that of a sour grape.

"so you've been observing the way I gaze at people when you were supposed to pay your mind to the conversation?"

"well—"

Another dramatic gasp parted from your mouth, "so you have, and yes, he's my ex." "and not that i mind," you interjected, falling into him as you chuckled while he wrapped his own arms around you voluntarily. "you're not so annoying, i guess" he commented, faking a daddy eye roll your way.

"you're still annoying," "HEY—" "love live laugh beomgyu and his programming skills," you completed sending him furious as he whined to you about his sole position in the mess.

Love exists in many forms and this one was all thanks to signal143(and the honourable, almighty intellect beomgyu along your fortune telling star stellar friend huh yunjin).

[maxwell-grant]

whats the deal with Doc Savage?

"He's a doctor, okay, but what's so savage about him? That he goes in public without a shirt? Y'know, he's got a caveman in his group and everything, and that guy is a chemist who runs around doing monkey flips and beating bad guys with his bare hands. Why don't they call him Doc Savage? He’s doing more to deserve the name.”

“Everytime it’s something weird and horrifying happening that only he is able to solve. And it's always some guy running a con at the end. Everytime Savage rolls into town, it's like opposite world when it's the doctor who has to save people from being scammed, instead of the other way around.

"I'm just saying, nobody's that perfect. He goes around with guns shooting people with what he calls "mercy bullets" that only put bad guys to sleep. Yeah, they go to sleep allright, and if that fails, I'm sure the compassion grenades do the trick.

"You're saying they rejected your application for the Fabulous Five? That's nuts." "Blew me out the front door, I tell you! Total insanity. Newman was there, he saw the whole thing." "No, what's insane is that you thought you had a shot in the first place. Nobody "joins" the Fabulous Five, it's like the most elite group in the country. What did you think you were adding there?" "Jerry, how hard can it be to play sidekick to that guy? He does everything they do better, I'd just have to sit around playing cheerleader and wait for him to save the day, I already do the first part all day around you. It's the perfect job! What, you think you're too good for it?" "No, but I have a little something called self-esteem. It's the Fabulous Five, George, not the Fabulous Plus Extra. They already made room for that girl cousin of his, they're not making extra for you." "Maybe, shmaybe. Unless I got that Tom guy fired. I mean, he looks like he's on his way out the door as is. "Electrical wizard", pssht, I could do that." "Sure you could. I mean hey, why don't you ask Elaine to set up you two? She got to meet Doc himself last weekend." "No way." "I'm serious! Apparently Doc saved Peterman's life during a mission in Burma and they'd kept in touch since then, and she got some kind of date with him out of it."

"He was a no show?" "Oh, he is all show allright." "So you two -" "No! I mean, I got to see him in action a couple of times and, yeah, I tried. But every date with him was a wash, he always needs to cut things off halfway to go fight some supervillain, and then he never calls back. He barely even looks at me when we're IN the date." "Well he's Doc Savage. He's like Superman, y'know, he's got places to be and people to save. "Yeah, and who's gonna save me? I swear Jerry, it's like he's never even seen a woman before. Him and those five morons around him, bunch of misogynists. Whatever, he's hot, but I'm over him. Miss Savage no more." "I'll bet. Hey, what's this?" "Oh it's from the fitness spa I'd been going near work. There's this girl I'd been talking to lately ever since Peterman assigned me the Hidalgo Trading Company catalogue, she's been giving me the skinny on Doc and his frat boy clubhouse "Oh?" "Yeah she's big, like, really big, really smart too. She's got a yacht, even. Apparently she does a lot of traveling. Anyway, she's this fitness freak with a great tan and bronze hair and, big muscles, and she's got these beautiful gold eyes and-" "And you're saying all that because you think I'd be into her?" "Huh? You? Oh, pfft, no, she's way too much for you." "I'll bet. And, uh, what's her name again?" "Oh everyone at the club just calls her Pat. Mystery lady. I'm meeting her down at her yacht next week." "Yeah. Miss Savage no more, huh."

(SLAM) (audience cheers)

"Hey, how did things go at the Crime College?" "Oh it-it-it was a NIGHTMARE! It-itya it's like waterboarding at Guantanamo Bay, Jerry! Way less fun than it sounds!! I'd heard the name on the street and signed up to learn how to fight crime, nobody told me what it was actually about! "What happened?" "Well, at first it was kinda nice, actually. You sign up at the Hidalgo Trading Company lobby, and they ask you to submit your criminal record. I figured, hey, safest place to leave it, right? You meet some of his assistants and everything, and when they hooked the eletrodes to my brain I thought hey, *click* free brain massage along with crimefighting lessons for free!" "Wait Kramer back up, electrodes?"

----

"Allright so if I get this straight: You signed up for a program Doc Savage's running that nobody knows about called the Crime College, thinking it was gonna teach how to fight crime. You get in there and it's some kind of nuthouse where Doc Savage tries to pry open your brain with a drill." "A-yup." "And he's lobotomozing criminals all over town because he's running a program where he, what, carves their brain to make them stop being evil and gives them new identities outside of town." "Ye-yup." "And they never remember who they used to be? They never come back, not ever, they just become model citizens as far away from here as possible? Are you 100% sure it actually works?" "So they said, yeah." "...Hey pass me the phone for a minute, will ya-"

"Hey Newman, I heard from Elaine that the Hidalgo Trading Company is hiring now."