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boredzillenial · 9 months

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Stronger Than I Look

Summary: You and your coworker Steven are doing inventory late at night. Being a bigger girl you hadn’t worked up the courage to make a move. But an artifact hidden amongst the trinkets in stock changes things.

Themes: self conscious plus sized female reader, lil bit of Marc, sex pollen, oral (f!receiving), p in v no condom (wrap it up irl y’all).

Word Count: 2106

Authors note: horniness inspiration from this @minispidey fic

“I still can’t believe Donna is still keeping these.” Steven tutted showing you an Innead poster. “It’s missing two gods and she just doesn’t care.” He huffed.

“She’s the worst.” You chuckle as you continue to scan the miniature god statues in-front of you.

“And she won’t even give me a shot at tour guide cause I’m always bloody late.” Steven sets the poster down and walks over to the other side of the counter, setting his elbows down and putting his head in his hands.

You heart picks up pace at his nearness, self consciously adjusting your oversized sweater. You’d taken a chance on a sweater/skirt combination that flattered your figure. But that nagging in the back of your mind always grew louder when Steven was near. “What’s got you running late so often?” You ask, keeping your gaze down on your task.

“M-…” he begins but then hesitates and looks at his reflection in the counter, weird. “M-my sleep schedule is just off. Insomnia and all.” He blushes and turns away from you.

I could help with that. You think to yourself cheekily as you raise a brow and admire the view of him from behind.

He steps a few paces to halfheartedly look over the bins of knickknacks collecting dust on shelves. Picking things up at random and turning them in his hands as if he’s closely inspecting them. You see his gaze flicker to his reflection in the glass of an old display next to him and his brows furrow. As you watch he looks down at the item in his hand, what looked to be a replica of an elegant glass perfume bottle yellowed with age. He turned it over in his hands and held it closer to his face. Then suddenly jolted and stared at his reflection again, his face flashing with a bit of panic like a kid caught in the cookie jar.

“Steven?” Your voice came out louder than expected in the silence of the storage room. Steven jolted again, this time dropping the bottle shattering it across the concrete floor. His gasped and a ruddy blush bloomed across his face.

“No no no.” He panicked and backed away from the glass.

“It’s alright,” you grab the broom from the corner of the room beside you, “it’s just glas-“

Steven threw his hand up as his gaze remained locked on the mess on the floor. The fear in his eyes flashing as if you were about to step on a mine. “Don’t!” His breathing began to shorten till he was nearly gasping.

“Steven, are you having a panic attack?” You step away from the glass and begin to make your way around to him.

“No no please, just, stay away.” His eyes were wide with panic and his pupils blown. His jaw flexed as he shook his head. “Stay away.” His voice darkened into something you hadn’t recognized before, the gravel in it accentuated the loss of his accent.

“Steven it’s okay.” You say softly as you take a step back. “I’ll get this cleaned up later then just, take a breath.” He began shivering and shaking his head and, to your shock, slapped himself. “Don’t!” You instinctively lunged forward to grip his wrist, stopping him from dealing another blow across his cheek. His skin was hot under your touch and you could feel how deadly still he had become. He muttered something under his breath as you kept his wrist in your grip.

“What?” You asked softly.

His gaze snapped up to lock with yours, the gravel remaining and his eyes dark. “Run.”

What you saw sent lighting through your body, landing straight to your core. Along with the deep red blush and dark eyes, sweat beaded at his temples and something between a smile and a snarl played at his lips. You didn’t need to be told twice as you turned and bolted down the dim hallway. You heard crashing and could’ve swore you heard him yell at himself as you ran.

“- got this! Why store it here you twit! —- scared her senseless!”

You run as best you can in your skirt as you turned and made it to the bathroom. You quickly barricaded the door and took a breath. What the hell was that…

You soon heard footsteps outside and a soft knock on the door. “It’s me, sorry if I scared ya. Wasn’t myself.” You heard the shake in his voice.

“Steven?”

“Yeah, can you open the door?” He said softly.

You were torn, something was off. But this was the man you’d been crushing on for weeks, and his voice was so soft. You cracked the door open to see his face, his blown pupils and sweaty temple remaining but the dark look in his eye and the snarl that was on his lips was gone. “Steven what’s going on.” You open the door a bit wider, reaching out and touching his burning forehead.

“Gods that can’t be good, come here.” You open the door completely and turn to the row of sinks. Cutting on the cold water you wave Steven to come closer. His steps were shaky and you could see his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Steven are you-“

Your question was cut off my his lips slamming against yours, the slight pain and surprise jolted you back. “Steven!” You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand, your eyes wide.

“Sorry I just,” that deep red tinge remained and his eyes scoured over your curvaceous figure. “You’re so lovely and -“

“What?” You whisper, unable to process what you just heard.

“I - I’ve fancied you since you started and-“ it was your kiss that interrupted him this time. Your pulse skyrocketing as excitement and arousal pushed you into him. You curled your fingers around his collar and pulled him against you.

The whimper that let loose from him nearly made your knees buckle right then and there. “So good” he gasped between kisses and pushed you until your rear pressed against the counter. His hands roamed down your waist and began gripping onto your soft hips and thighs. “Need you to-“ he quickly moved your arms up around his shoulders. “Hang on love.” In a flash he wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you onto the counter.

“Oh gods.” You giggled “Steven how did you-”

“Stronger than I look.” He winked and spread your legs, settling himself between them and pressing into you. His hips began to roll and buck as his tongue slipped into your mouth. Illicit groans echoed against the mirrors and tile and you hoped they weren’t escaping beyond the bathroom door.

He continue to kiss and lick into your mouth, pulling away only for a brief moment to push your skirt up above your soft belly. “Can I?” His eyes drop to your exposed wet panties, “please.” He pants, nipping at your bottom lip.

Heat crept up your chest and neck as you looked down at yourself. You tried to adjust your skirt back down but Steven had spread his hands across your stomach and gripped it gently. “You’re so beautiful, why ya hidin’?” He nuzzled your nose with his. His body shaking with desire as he gripped onto his last bit of sanity.

“Just a bit self conscious.” You did your best to meet his gaze.

“Oh love, lemme show you how beautiful you are.” He dropped to his knees and you felt the heat of his breath spread across your covered mound. In one swift motion he ripped your panties away, licking his kiss swollen lips and, fuck it looked like he was nearly drooling at the sight of you. “So beautiful.” He whimpered as he buried his face into your core.

Your gasp echoed as you laced your fingers through his hair and gripped hard, eliciting a groan that vibrated through your cunt. “Fuck Steven you don’t have to-“ you stammered, embarrassment rising as he kneaded your soft thighs and stomach.

He pulled away just a bit, his lips, chin, and even nose were glistening where he’d buried his face into you. “Don’t have to?”

“I just wanna make sure you can breath.” The excuse felt like ash in your mouth as you said it.

“I can do without air, I can’t do without this.” His words were a near growl as he buried his face again. His tongue diving and working into you, swirling around your clit. You bit your lip so hard you were surprised it wasn’t bleeding as you tried to stifle your yelp. He was eating you out like a man starved.

“Fuck I’m gonna-“ you began to cry. His grip became bruising as he picked up the pace to send you crashing through your orgasm. His tongue was relentless as you began to jolt from the overstimulation. “Steven please.” You whimper, using your grip in his hair to pull him off you.

When he looked up at you, those blown out pupils and pussy drunk smirk send your heart skittering. He stood slowly and you spotted the wet spot growing in his trousers. “Steven did you?”

“ ‘Course I did. How could I not.” He leaned in, sliding his tongue past your lips. The taste of your orgasm and his own mouth mixing deliciously. He began rolling his hips against you again, this time the wet fabric of his pants giving you a bit of friction against your exposed pussy. You could feel the heat of his cock and the shear size of it pressing against you driving you to grind back against him.

Your orgasm loosened your self consciousness a tad and you pulled him harder against you by the waistband of his pants. His hands met yours as he frantically freed himself. Cum coated his thick length as he sprang free. “Please-“ you squeaked but it was all you managed to say before he sank into you, his cum mixing with the aftermath of your own orgasm helping him glide despite the stretch.

You groaned breathlessly and held him close to you as he began pounding into you, the sound of your body’s ramming into one another now added to the symphony of grunts, groans and whimpers from the both of you. His tousled curls fell forward on his fever-dampened brow as he buried deeper into you. “Fuck love I’m gonna-“ his whimper cut into a groan as he clenched his jaw and pulsed and jolted.

“Yes baby just like that.” You say shakily. You continue to cling onto him, using your legs to wrap him tight against you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as his hot breath came in pants.

“Oh darling, ‘m still so hard.” He groans and begins moving his hips in slow long strokes. “Ah, right love - gonna fill you up.” He huffed as his hands gripped onto your plump hips and ass. “So soft, so lovely.” He cooed as he kissed your neck. He rolled his hips to get as deep as his could. Once he was down to the hilt he continued rutting into you, grinding himself against your clit.

The added stimulation sent your walls fluttering and Steven into another bout of whimpers and groans. “Oh you like that yeah?” He continued, sending you gasping and clinging onto him like a life preserver in a stormy sea. The motion of his hips threatening to send you under the waves. In just a few strokes you were seeing stars, your world narrowed on only him.

“Oh shit-“ he gasped and came deep inside you once again, filling you to the brim as you felt it begin to spill down your ass onto the counter. “Thank you, oh thank you.” He huffed as he wrapped his arms around you, remaining deep as his cock pulsed and slowly softened. You couldn’t help but giggle as he continued. “Y-you laughin’ at me?” He pulled away to look you in the eye, his blush subsiding and eyes back to normal with a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“No no, just, this whole thing.” You covered your face with your hands attempting to stifle your giggle. “Hard to believe.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He said softly, pulling your hands down slowly and pressing his forehead against yours. “Would you- would you let me take you on a proper date?” He held your gaze.

You looked down where you were still connected, letting out a light chuckle. You nuzzled your nose against his and pushed the curls from his face, “Of course.”

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Masterlist

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant fic #steven grant x you #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant reader #Angie this is all your fault lol

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eruden-writes · 2 years

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Room & Board - Part 8 - (Tabaeus x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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After the ordeal of dealing with Jemma and setting up a cage for the gliders, the following weeks, ironically, were quiet.

Or maybe you were just so laser-focused on finding a house, nothing else permeated your thoughts.

Tabaeus and you continue the established feeding schedule. They still ‘snacked’ when they could get away with it. However, they did honor your denials. An unforeseen benefit of the sugar gliders was Tabaeus wasn’t prone to lonely wanderings to find you when you went to work. It was honestly a relief. The day after he brought the new furry family members home, you’d been so concerned they’d show up again. It was almost eerie when they didn’t.

Your real estate search also eventually bears fruit.

The house you find, the one that calls out to you, is an old house, built in the 1800s, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. A lovely shade of blue, with a large porch and fenced-in backyard. There’s even two stone gargoyles that keep watch from the stoop.

It is located downtown, in an older part of the city. Which essentially means a diverse neighborhood filled with old homes, remodels, renters, and homeowners along with families, childless couples, and singletons.

With two stories, plus a basement and attic, it’s roomy enough for your - grudgingly - growing family- …er, roomateship? Plus there’s a detached garage and roomy kitchen with plenty of storage for appliances. Off the dining room, a greenhouse is attached. The basement is unfinished, which means Tabaeus is less likely to sleep there, but the freezer the previous owner left behind made up for it.

Strangely, it has been on the market for the better part of a year. Either no one had placed an offer or the owner was excessively picky. Regardless, you contacted your real estate agent and asked for a tour. You and Tabaeus walked through the house, pointing out little things you liked and little problems that would need fixing.

By the end, however, the two of you agreed it certainly felt like home. From there, it had been back-and-forth discussions, inspections, and negotiations. It looked like the closing was on the horizon. Which meant gathering the additional funds together for the house and closing costs was needed.

That led you to your current undertaking with Tabaeus. Which entailed the two of you bumbling about in the local sewers.

“Why in the world do you have a cache of treasure here?” It’s not the first time you ask the question and it likely won’t be the last. Every inch of your body is covered in clothing, plus a mask to fight off the stench of the sewage. The acrid scent still manages to get into your nose and you’re certain you’ll have to burn the clothes once you get back to the apartment.

Tabaeus throws you a look, as if to say ‘Are you genuinely asking that of I, your amnesiac vampire friend?’ Their expression is no less stormy than yours.

They are dressed in just as much as you, in a dark hoodie, their hair tucked under the hood, and long pants and boots. Only their red glowing eyes are visible above their mask. An odd comfort, you realize.

Your expression doesn’t falter and they sigh, shoulders slumping as they turn their flashlight back down the corridor. “I honestly do not know. I just know it is here.”

“Well, hurry it up. We’re not even supposed to be down here.” You hiss, jumping out of the way of a rat scurrying by.

“Patience,” Tabaeus sighs, swinging their lone beam of light to and fro. They’re mumbling to themselves, their gloved hand tracing the wall. There’s no way a hidden compartment or room is down here, you think. There’s literally no way. The city would know about it! And if the city knew about it, it would’ve been pilfered a long time ago.

Something pinged at Tabaeus’s memory as they started to stride with more purpose. You followed after them, weakly hoping this wasn’t an utterly useless endeavor. It would just figure that, once you pursued a house, your vampire patron would run dry in finances. Or just not be able to find their literal treasure trove.

You’re not sure how they managed to do it, but you watch as Tabaeus’s touches a certain spot in the wall and twists a nearby knob. For a breathless second, you tense, waiting to hear the clatter of broken pipes or heightened water pressure. But you hear the sound of metal and rock shifting and your eyes widen as an entryway slides open in the wall.

Tabaeus glances to you over their shoulder, a teasing smirk in their voice as they hold out their hand to you. “See? The universe rewards those who hold their tongue.”

You accept their hand, but shoot them a sharp look. It only makes their smirk broaden as they turn to lead you through the darker-than-pitch corridor. Your heart pounds as the world around you turns to deep shadows. There’s no way to spy any silhouettes or make out faint shapes of pipes or gaskets. It’s all so dark. And quiet. You don’t even hear the skittering of rats.

It grows even darker as the door slides shut behind you. You jerk, turning to look, but only see a blanket of black. Fear dances in your stomach.

Sensing your apprehension, Tabaeus gives your hand a squeeze. “I am here.”

“I know,” you mumble as you turn back around, your face flaring with embarrassed heat. Their presence is part of the problem, though. They are a vampire. They feast on your blood. And though you two have grown closer, more amicable, you’re worried where this all will end. It may not be tomorrow or in the year or even in ten years, but Tabaeus could always turn on you and then go on with their life.

Whenever you think of the disparate lifespans between you two, you find yourself wondering if you made a mistake.

“I believe this is it,” Tabaeus says, rousing you from your thoughts. “Shield your eyes a moment.”

You do as they say, before you listen to Tabaeus fumble in the dark. There’s a click and you see lights flash behind your eyelids. Carefully, you squint open your eyes, letting them slowly adjust. After a few rapid blinks, your eyes widen.

It appears to be a huge corridor, with a tiled ceiling - plastered with cobwebs - and arching buttresses. Thankfully, it seems relatively dry, with no oozing sewage to squelch underfoot. It’s not until your eye catches the dip in the floor, where railroad track is laid, that you realize this is an old train station or, perhaps, a closed section on a route. You take a few steps farther down the line. The lighting casts a slightly yellow tint on everything in the vicinity. And there is certainly a lot in the vicinity.

Furniture, racks of clothing, mannequins, shelving. It’s a mishmash of things from different decades, perhaps even eras. You try to peer down the corridor, but the haphazard piles seem to go on forever with only carefully carved paths between their bases. The mingling scent of dust and mildew hang heavy in the air, along with rotting wood, but there’s perfumes you wouldn’t expect. Faintly, you wonder if there’s colognes or potpourris in the mess of miscellany.

Tabaeus suddenly appears again at your elbow and you jump with a yelp.

“My apologies,” they say, offering you an awkward smile. At some point, they had lowered the mask they wore and it hung beneath their chin. In their hands is a large wooden box, an ancient latch on its side.

You nod to it. “What’s in there?”

“Replenished funds!” With a flourish, they open the lid to show off the contents. Inside are more gold coins and jewelry and gems. Much of it looks about the same time period as the other payments you’ve taken from them.

“Why don’t you live here?” The thought strikes you quick and you glance around again. It is roomy and, with a little bit of elbow grease, you’re certain it can become a livable place. Heck, there was probably an old abandoned train car somewhere further down the track. “I’m sure there’s enough things to live comfortably and you could probably head up top for… food, when you need it.”

You stumble when you think of what Tabaeus would have to do to survive in this place. Without thinking, you rub at the spot on your neck that has grown bruised from multiple feedings. The courage to let Tabaeus feed from somewhere else has yet to take root.

“There are a number of reasons,” Tabaeus admits, closing the wooden box. Their shoulders hunch a little as they gaze about, their fingers playing with the latch of the box in their arms. “It is grimy and dusty. Not to mention rather isolating.”

At that last point, they wince. You can’t help the curiosity needling through your thoughts. Thus far, Tabaeus hasn’t mentioned other vampires nor anyone else for that matter. Even if his amnesia was a result of a long sleep, you think there’d be someone they’d remember.

“Besides, I have found I quite enjoy being in the presence of others. Especially you.” You focus on Tabaeus again. They smile crookedly at you, their red eyes flickering from your gaze to your reddening cheeks. More than once, Tabaeus has admitted to enjoying how your cheeks color.

Needing to break up the sudden warm heaviness surrounding you two, you scoff, “That’s me, your little blood bag.”

That draws Tabaeus’s eyes back to your own, an ember in their red depths. “You’re my amata trinkaĵo, actually.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve been upgraded to a drink instead of a bag,” you snort and roll your eyes. Tabaeus had actually taken to calling you Amata on occasion. And each time, you shot them a dirty look. In return, they’d only grin.

This time, however, Tabaeus’s smile is soft and a little sad. They notice your stare and instantly reel back, clearing their throat as they cast their eyes about.

“Can you hold this? I might be able to find other little bits that are fairly valuable,” they ask, holding out the wooden box to you. With a nod, you relieve Tabaeus of the crate, grunting as you realize how heavy it is. They don’t seem to notice your struggle as they turn, off to investigate further.

“Do you think you’ll remember anything if you poke around here?” The question comes so sudden and soft to your lips, you almost think Tabaeus didn’t hear it. But, they did, and they stop suddenly, turning their eyes back to you. It’s a roundabout question that you hope will stir their memories or a nugget of information to research. “There’s got to be tons of memorabilia here.”

“I… do not know.” A complicated expression creases at Tabaeus’s face, their eyes drifting from one item to the next. It wasn’t a complete refusal, though, and they wander toward an old wardrobe. You watch as they pull out the drawers and shuffle through them. Papers, knick-knacks, photos. Picking every little thing up and examining it carefully.

“Some things stir memories,” they admit, after a long few moments. You perk up, edging closer to them, though your loot weighs you down. Tabaeus tilts a photo toward you and you squint, looking over an array of faces frozen in time. “I feel I know these people. As if I grew up with them, but I cannot tell you their names or what year this was taken in.”

They flip the photo back into the drawer it came from, before pulling out another paper. It looks like a letter, typed up on an old-timey typewriter. “And this here. I recognize the name Reginald Taylor. He was a chemist at a general store on Gooseberry Boulevard. Where that is, though, or how long I knew him, I have not the foggiest.”

With a sigh, Tabaeus drops the note into its home drawer. With another look cast about the corridor, creases of wretchedness continue to mark their features.

“What is it?” You start to lift your hand to touch their shoulder, before realizing you’re still hauling the gold around.

“There are many bad memories,” Tabaeus shakes their head, taking a few steps away from you. Their expression is strained and you think you see their eyes growing glassy, wet. “Deaths by feeding and other means. Blackmail. Extortion. Cruelty.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you just remain quiet. Though your mind races with questions and theories.

It’s when Tabaeus speaks again, their words making your stomach lurch, your worries solidify. “I… I do not believe I am a good person.”

“What?” Without thinking you take a step closer. Your heart pounds and a spike of adrenaline has made you grow hot. A small fear of betrayal lashes in you - they said ‘am’ not ‘was’ a bad person - but you hold it down. “What did you remember?”

At that, Tabaeus’s eyes dart to your face. A pained expression crosses their features briefly, before they manage to push it away. Their eyes draw away from you, their shoulders hunching. “Must I speak of it?”

Boldly or foolishly, you take another step forward. Your voice hardens. “Am I in danger?”

“No, not from me,” Tabaeus startles at the accusation, their eyebrows drawing upward. “Never from me.”

You press on, ignoring how a nervous flutter at those two words joins the pounding of your heart.“ Do others pose a danger to me?”

Tabaeus’s lips pressed together, looking sad and wretched. Once more, their eyes flicker away from you, their fingers fidgeting with each other. “That I am not sure of.”

“I would appreciate knowing whatever you know, Tabaeus.” They flinch at the hard sharpness in your tone, but it’s something that has to be said. Your mind is going a mile a minute, trying to confirm Tabaeus is a threat or make excuses for them. The longer you look at the misery dancing on his face, you sigh. “The memories may not be yours. They may be that of those you’ve fed on. Or maybe you have some sort of tactile memory powers.”

That makes curiosity cut through their gloom. “Tactile memory powers?”

With a shrug, you try to explain as simply as possible. “It’s like the ability to see memories tied to an object.”

“Have you heard of such things?” Skepticism has Tabaeus’s eyes narrowing, obviously not believing you.

“I mean, in comics and stuff.” Now it’s your turn to shrug. You’re suddenly aware that you’re still holding the box of valuables, your muscles aching from holding it. “You’re literally a vampire, so I figure we keep our options open?”

“That is true.” They do not sound convinced, though. Their dismal gaze scans the room, the furrow between their eyebrows deepening.

An awkward silence falls between the two of you. Tabaeus quietly wanders off after a polite amount of time, digging through items on the far side of the corridor. Still holding the box of treasure in your hands, you’re not entirely certain what to do. Carefully, you set the valuables down on a larger trunk. After letting your arms rest, you decide to poke about the area yourself.

Half of your brain is looking for valuables or anything of interest. Any old little oddity or fascinating book or strange gadget. The other half is looking for information on Tabaeus. Photos, documents, anything that may lead to information.

“I know you are searching ways to kill vampires.” Tabaeus’s words, coming from behind you, makes you freeze.

You spin around, staring wide-eyed at Tabaeus. Suddenly, you are very aware you are underground, in a hidden place only Tabaeus knows of. Without thinking, your eyes dart around, hoping to scope out an exit. However, your brain starts wondering if the mounds of items are hiding dead bodies in their depths. Are those bad memories that keep Tabaeus from living here actually the souls of his victims?

“My apologies! I did not mean to startle you. I am not angry about it, I understand the need to protect yourself,” they rush to explain, their own eyes widening as they realize how worried you were. You believe they would raise their hands in supplication, if it weren’t for yet another box in their grasp. Warily, you stare at it, wondering what it could hold.

“I recalled this being here. Tied to those awful memories.” Tabaeus mumbles before you can ask. Slowly, as if they were approaching a scared animal, they hold the box out to you. It takes you a breath to realize they’re offering it to you to take. With lips pressed tight together, you don’t take the box, but instead flip the lid open.

As you look at Tabaeus, a rush of confusion swarming your brain, they look away. Their shoulders jerk, as if to hunch in on themself, but holding out the box keeps them from performing the action.

“What is this, Tabaeus?” With a shaking hand, you reach into the box and pull out a wooden stake. It’s old and gnarled looking, but there is a heft to it that isn’t like other modern day wooden items you’ve held. There’s other items in the box, as well.

Herbs and vials, bits of silver, a cross, a mirror, bound bags of who-knows-what, and more. At the very bottom, under everything, is what looks to be a notebook - perhaps a journal - with a crackling leather cover.

Their answer surprises you. “From what I remember, this is a vampire hunting kit.”

“Why would you have this here?” It didn’t make sense to you. Why would they have things around that could kill them? Though a small, dark part of you answers.

“I may have killed a few vampire hunters in my time.” Tabaeus shrugs, as if taling about murder is no big deal. Though, you wryly suppose it’s more self-defense, if these hunters were trying to kill Tabaeus. Your momentary amusement is gone when they voice what that dark part of you guessed, “Or perhaps it is just something all vampires keep. In case eternity becomes too great a burden.”

You gently place the stake back into the box, closing the lid with a snap. “And why are you showing me this?”

“It is yours. For your protection.” It is not a threat, you realize. Their words are too soft, their eyes downcast, their body language submissive for them to seem dangerous. “A token of my sincerity that I will never hurt you, but if I ever do, do not hesitate to use what is in this box.”

The logical, paranoid part of you snorts derogatorily at the statement. There were any number of ways a sly vampire could sully a vampire hunting kit. The wrong herbs, fake silver, tap water in place of holy water. And it wasn’t as if you hadn’t left Tabaeus alone for long swaths of time for them to concoct such a ploy.

You had already begun stashing a cache of items at home and planning to grow anti-vampire herbs in your new greenhouse. Getting stakes was even easier, you’d found out, after being pointed toward the varieties available in the camping eisles. Nothing in lore said it had to be a wooden stake.

It is a struggle to believe Tabaeus would put together a fake vampire hunting kit. It seems too maliciously conniving. But, you suppose, if this was all an act, you wouldn’t know what Tabaeus would or wouldn’t do. Now would you?

Although, you are very curious to know what was in the journal. That is the only reason you relieve them of the box and offer up an uneasy smile to them, “Thank you, Tabaeus. I appreciate the understanding.”

For once, they do not reply. They merely nod, humming an acknowledgement, as their gaze refuses to meet yours.

“We should head back home. I’m sure Bjarka and Liuva are missing you.” You attempt to lighten the mood, balancing the much lighter box on your hip. With an nod to the heavier treasure-filled box, you ask, “Can you take that one? You’re stronger than me.”

With a silent nod, they shuffle to the other box and heft it in their arms. You can’t even tell if it weighs anything to the vampire. There’s no strain to their muscles, no bowing of their back.

Tabaeus finally looks at you and opens their mouth, as if to say something. But it instantly snaps closed and they look away from you.

“What?” You take a step closer to them, cocking your head as your free hand lightly touches their arm. The touch draws the attention of their eyes. Slowly, their gaze travels up your arm and tingles follow their path.

“Will you miss me?” Their words are soft, almost lost under the buzzing of the overhead lights. “When we part, I mean. Whenever that is.”

You raise your eyebrows, trying to ignore the heavy grief painting the air around Tabaeus. “Are you planning to leave me?”

“No.”

There’s no ‘not yet’ or any other implication they ever thought to leave you. Just a simple ‘no.’ You wonder how far into the future Tabaeus has thought, has planned. Are they thinking just a week ahead? A month? A year? Ten years?

The thought brings a rush of conflicting sensations, warring for dominance in your chest. Overwhelming emotions make you feel the slightest bit dizzy. Abruptly, you pull your hand from Tabaeus and turn back the way you came, crisply saying, “That’s better to ask when your leaving is inevitable, don’t you think?”

You feel Tabaeus’s eyes on your back. It makes those rush of contrary feelings spike and you swallow down uncertain tears. Finally, their feet start to shuffle after you and they say, a little defeatedly, “Yes, I suppose you are correct.”

The two of you walk in silence, both carrying your own heavy baggage as you traverse the dark. When Tabaeus turns the lights off behind you - your hand already on the fabric of their jacket to be guided out - the forgotten world of items is plunged back into darkness.

You can’t help but feel the two of you carry much more than the two boxes out of that place, though.

x x x x x

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#exo writing #vampire #vampires #2nd pov #2nd person pov #exophilia #monster lover #vampire x reader #monster men #monster datemate #monster romance #monster fudger #ugh tumblr srsly?#anyway got some drama after last chapter's lolz #enjoy!#room & board #tabaeus x reader #tabaeus #monster x human

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brewsterispunkk · 2 years

Text

sunshine state. prologue.

pairing: benny miller x fem!reader

WC: 5.3k

warnings: PTSD, reader has anxiety disorder, reader is a historian, and is described as being of average height. friends to lovers, idiots to lovers. a little canon-divergent (in this, the TF boys live in Florida, lol)

A/N: this was supposed to be a one shot but then I realized there’s no WAY I’d be able to fit everything I have planned into one giant fic so we’re gonna have a mini(?) series :) enjoy this Im so excited for what’s coming nextttttt .

PROLOGUE.

To begin, you blamed the heat.

Of all the things you’d anticipated before moving here, the heat was the one thing you’d underestimated.

It wasn’t that you’d expected southeast Florida to be cold–not by a long shot. In fact, it was the warmth that had driven you to the new little slice of heaven you now called home; It was the type of heat that had taken you by surprise. The summer after you graduated high school you had stayed for two weeks with your aunt and uncle in Flagstaff, Arizona, and had gotten quite used to the dry, dusty heat that settled into your lungs and skin. Naively, you’d expected Florida to be like that before relocating here.

Were you wrong about that one, you mused.

Sighing, you tucked a stray lock of hair out of your face. Your scalp felt damp. The air here was heavy. You hadn’t been on the clock for even an hour and you already felt you were swimming in the humidity that had managed to creep through the old, heavy wooden doors at the museum’s back-entrance. A thin sheen of sweat coated your skin under your work clothes, a light pencil skirt and blouse, which felt oppressive in the heat. You took a moment to catch your breath as you reached the doors, eyeing the stack of boxes in front of you, piled up in the entryway.

They were a hodge-podge of crates and card-board boxes, all full of 16th and 17th century artifacts, waiting to be unpacked. You glared at the menacing wall of boxes in front of you. They’d been there since the evening before, when they’d been dropped off. Paula, your boss, had told you that it would be yours and your coworker’s job to move them into storage in the morning. Paula had the day off, much to your chagrin, for her daughter’s wedding, and Jen had called in sick. Paula had mentioned that Will, a volunteer from the V. A. who you’d worked with a few times before, was supposed to be here before the museum opened, but it had been almost an hour with no sign of him, so for now you were alone.

Rumor had it that an elderly antique collector had passed away up in Fort Pierce a few months ago, and in his will had requested that all of his relics be donated to your little museum, as it was located in his hometown. And the man had quite the extensive collection; from old documents to antique pistols, this delivery was the most exciting thing to happen to the little museum since your arrival as its new secretary/tour guide six months earlier.

When you’d gotten your history degree a little over a year and a half ago, you hadn’t expected to be here of all places. Your dream had been to work at some huge museum as a curator–like the MET or the Smithsonian. A pipe-dream, you knew, but still: it was your passion. History wasn’t this dead thing to you–it was alive and jumping out at you in nearly everything, you just had to be able see it. And even though your mother was unsupportive of your choice to be “a historian, of all things,” you had earned your degree with a focus in the 15th and 16th century Americas, and when a full-time position opened up at a pirate museum in a little Florida town with a history that dated back to the late 15th century, you took it. No questions asked.

It was the craziest leap you had ever taken–even crazier than when you’d gone against your family’s wishes to study history at university–and it was especially out of character for you, as you were a very look-before-you-leap type of person. Still, when you’d heard of the job opening, something about it called to you, and here you were.

Six months in, and you were struggling, if you were completely honest.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love what you did, you did. In fact, it was during your time at the museum that it felt like things actually made sense. Being surrounded by the history, the artifacts, the wide-eyed tourists and kids on field trips, all made your heart soar. You loved Paula’s strong coffee in the mornings in the break room, Will’s quiet demeanor, and even Jen’s chatter about the town gossip.

The real difficulty was when you got home. The little apartment you rented was cozy; only twenty minutes from the beach, with natural light, and a reasonable rent. Your neighbors were neighborly enough, save for Richard downstairs who only grumbled when you wished him good morning. And your cat Salem only hated this place a little bit, which was an upgrade from your previous places. So, you really had no reason to complain. Still…

The move was a hard one. As much as you had been itching to get out after graduation, you’d been so caught up in that feeling–in that knowing—that what you needed was somewhere else, that you’d failed to consider the difficulty of moving hundreds of miles away from everyone you knew and loved. And the picking-up of your life and moving it to a whole new state was stressful enough.

The relationship you had with your large, loud, opinionated family was… complicated to say the least. You’d always felt like the black sheep, if you were honest. The odd one out. Where the rest of them were content with where and how they were, as long as you could remember you’d felt an urgency to just go. Maybe it was growing up watching movies like Indiana Jones, or reading too many adventure books that made you like that, or maybe it was just in your nature. Either way: they never really understood that about you; your ambition. Truthfully, there were many things they didn’t understand about you, but that was a different story—and one you left town to get away from. Still, you missed them. Family is family, and even despite their issues, their absence here in your new home didn’t go unnoticed.

College was where you met your real family, you believed. Your chosen family which, to you, meant a great deal more than who you were assigned to at birth. It was there that you’d met and gotten close to the best friends you’d ever had, and it was leaving them that left the biggest hole in your chest that skype calls and letters just couldn’t fill.

You shook your head, trying to rid their faces of your mind for now. The last thing you needed was to break down crying on the job.

As you put the box in its rightful place in the storage room, you leaned on the cool metal shelf, the feeling seeping through your shirt and giving you some momentary relief from the oppressive heat.

You tried to slow your breathing, feeling your pulse start to quicken. That familiar feeling of panic began to settle into your bones.

Did you remember your meds this morning? Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. Did you..?

Shit.

There was the other thing: your anxiety. It wasn’t anything new to you—you’d been diagnosed in early high school and taking medication since then. And despite a few flare-ups, and with sime therapy, you’d learned to handle it. To cope and to not let it rule your life. Until the move.

When your friends back home had told you they were worried after being in town for about a month, you had shrugged it off. In your mind, their heart was in the right place, but they were wrong: anxiety was normal after a move. They had voiced their concern, telling you that your lack of a support system here made them worry. You had heard them out, but ultimately brushed it off.

It wasn’t until you had your first panic attack in the break-room that you’d begun to rethink that.

That was about a month ago, and since then, your anxiety had become nearly debilitating when it flared up, especially on days like this, where you were swamped, alone, and hot.

It was days like this that you actually sort of questioned your decision to pack up everything and move your life 500 miles south.

Shaking your head, you began your trek back to the stack of boxes in the back.

Your stomach turned as you walked down the dimly-fluorescent hallway on your way back, a new box in your arms. This one was some relic, an old oil lamp of some sorts, you thought. However, that was the last thing on your mind as you hobbled down the hallway. The shoes you were wearing were not doing you any favors, and you cursed yourself for choosing the ones that pinched your toes on your way out the door this morning.

It was then that you noticed the slight tingling in your hands and feet, the heat of the small hallway suddenly hitting you full-force. You stopped, breath hitching in realization at what was happening.

Not again, you thought. This was the last thing you needed today.

Why were you so useless?

Your whole body began to tremble, tears pooling at the corners as you struggled for breath. You stumbled, back hitting the concrete wall to your right. Somewhere, you heard a crash, the sound of glass breaking as you hyperventhilated.

You’re not sure how long you sat there, head on your knees, trying to get your breathing under control and mind running wild. It wasn’t until you heard a vaguely familiar voice through the fog that you registered the man standing in front of you.

“Hey, smalls,” he breathed, his over-6-foot frame immediately dropping down to crouch in front of you. His deep blue eyes were concerned as he placed his large hands on your shaking shoulders.

Will.

If you hadn’t have been so out of it and if you weren’t already crying, the deep, genuine concern in his eyes would’ve made you cry. It’d been too long since you’d had that; Had someone look at you with that genuine care. Six months to be exact.

“Look at me,” he said, voice firm as you met his blue eyes through your blurry ones. His hands squeezed your shoulders firmly, almost too firmly, anchoring you there.

“I need you to breathe, smalls.” He called you that nickname again–the one he’d bestowed on you when you started, as he was so much taller than you.

You just continued to shake. Sighing, he took your hands in his, squeezing them.

“Hey,” he began, placing your hands on his chest. “Hey. I want you to feel my breathing, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Bleary eyed, you nodded, ears still pounding and chest tight.

“Alright, now breathe with me, okay? In…” he took a large breath, holding it for a minute. “And out.”

Shakily, you did as you were instructed.

“Good,” he cooed. “Good, smalls. Now give me another one. Can you do that?”

“In…” you breathed, chest already decompressing. “And out.”

- - - -

“So,” he began, raising his coffee mug to his lips, looking at you over the rim.

Here we go.

“You wanna talk about it?” He leaned against the linoleum of the break-room counters that hadn’t been updated since the 1960s. You sighed.

“Am I allowed to say no?” you asked. He just raised a blond eyebrow at you. Your cheeks heated up.

God, that was embarrassing. Did you have to lose it at work like that? The last thing you needed was one of your only acquaintances here being scared away by your fucking mental issues. He cleared his throat before coming to sit beside you at the table. You stared at your coffee-cup, the brown liquid all of a sudden becoming the most interesting thing in the room.

“Look,” he said, grabbing the hand that was gripping the mug handle a little too tight. Your eyes snapped to his, and instead of finding pity or judgment, you found… understanding?

“I’m not gonna force you to talk about it, smalls, but trust me when I say: leaving it to sit isn’t gonna solve anything. And based on what I saw in there, I’d say that talking about it might help.”

So, you spilled. Everything. From your family to the move, to your anxiety and your meds, how you’d been here for six months and were living your supposed dream life and still had never ever felt so alone. You even told him about your cat. And through it all, Will just sat and listened intently, sipping his coffee, blue eyes on yours.

When you finished, he just nodded, before taking a swig of his coffee.

“I see.”

You snorted. “Is that all you have to say?” you asked lightheartedly.

“Well, Jesus smalls, what do ya want me to say?” He raised his eyebrows. “That sucks. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“You know, Miller, I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever even had. Most of the time it’s just me talking at you while you smile and nod. Honestly thought you were scared of me.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Absolutely terrified, smalls.” You rolled your eyes.

“Alright, alright.” you laughed with him before your face grew serious. “Really though, Will? Thank you.”

“Of course, kid.” he smiled softly at you. That was another nickname you’d earned at the museum, as you were the youngest of the staff at a mere 23. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked someone down. Definitely won’t be the last.”

You knew what he meant. Will was a volunteer from the VA; he’d been active duty for a long time. And while you hadn’t known where he served, you’d learned to recognize the far-away look he got in his eyes sometimes.

“That was a good technique you used. The breathing thing. Where’d you learn that anyway?” you asked.

“Thought you’d ask that,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair before beginning. “Well, to begin: I had to learn after I was discharged for my PTSD.”

You drew in a harsh breath, scared you’d overstepped.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Will. I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop, smalls. I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t want to.” He smiles. “Besides, all things considered, I think we’re well past that.”

You give a relieved chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, considering you got snot all over my favorite work shirt–”

“Okay!” you shushed him. “Okay, I get the picture.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “It began then–when I was in mandated therapy. My shrink taught me a bunch, you know the coping strategies. And then when Ben,” he cleared his throat. “Ben, my brother. He had it worse than me. And when we were in the field or stateside, that was the one that always worked best with him. I guess it’s just a force of habit.”

“You two served together?” you asked, voice softer now, all semblance of joking gone.

“Yeah.” he said. “He joined up after me, right when he graduated. Always fuckin’ following me around.” he rolled his eyes fondly.

“He still in the service?” You asked, trying to keep him talking. You liked seeing this; Getting to know Will, who always seemed like a closed book at work. He was naturally quiet, always smiling and adding little comments in here and there but never really adding to conversation. You wanted to know more about him. That, and you were starved for human interaction as pathetic as that sounded. As much as you loved Salem and your elderly next door neighbor Ms. Hermosilla, this felt nice. Like you were slowly making a new friend.

“God, no.” Will fired back. “No way. We both have been out for about… 3, 4 years? I left before him, but he stayed in for another tour with Pope–” he caught himself, realizing you had no clue who “Pope” was. “Ah, a buddy we both served with. Anyway, after that they were both out. Been stateside for a few years now.”

“He local?” you asked. He smiled fondly.

“Yeah,” he said. “We all are. Just all sorta ended up back here. Though, Pope’s a wild card, always out of town or something.”

“I wish I had such a close relationship with my sibling.” You said, a little melancholy creeping into your voice. It was unintentional, but Will caught on to it.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, that understanding look in his eyes. You sighed, not wanting to overshare about all your family issues, before deciding fuck it. You’d already hysterically cried all over this man’s shoulder today. If that didn’t scare him off, you doubted that your dysfunctional relationship with your brother would. Raising your eyebrows you began.

“Well, my older brother is… difficult,” his face popped up in your mind. “We never got along as kids; you know how it is. I trailed after him like a lost puppy, and no one wants their kid sister tagging along everywhere, so I don’t really blame him for it.”

He nodded in understanding.

“But,” you continued. “When he hit high school he just got… mean. I don’t know. There’s normal sibling fighting and then there’s just.. Something else.”

“I’m guessing he was ‘something else?’” he asked, eyebrows raising. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Yeah, he is. Anyway, he’s military too. So, after high school, he went to training and we sort of grew apart. Not that we were ever really that close to begin with. I don’t know. I love him a lot, and in his own way I know he loves me too, it’s just…”

“I get it.” he said. “You don’t have to explain. Family’s… complicated.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you laughed, clinking your coffee mug with his.”

“You said he served. What branch?”

“Army.” you said. Will snorted.

“Ah,” he chuckled. “That explains a lot.”

“Yeah, my cousin’s a marine and always gives him shit for it.” you laughed. “What branch were you?”

“We were, uh, special forces.” He stated awkwardly. “Delta Force.”

“Jesus fuck, Will.” you look at him wide-eyed, interest suddenly peaked. “You could kick my brother’s ass.”

Of all the things he’d expected you to say, the last of them was that, you realized as he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, throaty boom that came from his chest. He shook his head, smiling.

“I’m sure I could, smalls.” he rubbed his hand across his forehead before standing up. He walked toward the coffee maker before looking over his shoulder. “You want some more?”

You thought of the hoard of boxes you both still had to move and file.

“God, yes.” you said.

And just like that, you made your first friend.

- - - -

You rolled your eyes, tossing your head back at the ceiling, letting out a long breath through your nose. You loved Will Miller with all your heart, but dear god did he piss you off.

“I don’t know why you’re mad,” he stated dramatically, eyes wide as he looked at you. “It’s not even that big of a deal!”

“Will, you taking the fall for something I did is a big deal!” you looked at him incredulously. “It was my fault, and it’s not fair!”

“What wouldn’t be fair would be Paula giving you shit for breaking an artifact when you were having an anxiety attack. It wasn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t be blamed for it.”

“Will,” you sighed. “I understand that and I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to–”

“It’s not a big deal, smalls!” He shook his head, staring at you like you were crazy.

“But–”

“I have the traumatized veteran card, let me use it! Paula can’t fire me for that.”

Dear God, this man was stubborn. Maybe even more stubborn than you.

“Why are you so goddamn stubborn?” you asked, exasperated and wondering how the man before you and the quiet VA volunteer you’d met six months ago were the same person.

“Oh, you think I’m stubborn, you should meet my brother, or Santiago–”

“Fine!” you cut him off. “Fine, but I owe you dinner.”

“That I can agree on.” he smirked at you. You rolled your eyes and punched his shoulder playfully.

You sighed as you both came to a stop at the back entrance of the museum. As you took in the scene before you, your eyes widened. You looked at Will, to see his own look of disbelief at the gigantic pile of boxes in the new shipment that had just arrived.

You have got to be kidding me. It was written across both of your faces.

It had been just three weeks since the incident as you’d begun calling it in your mind, and already the museum had received yet another shipment of artifacts and materials that you and Will were in charge of unboxing and moving.

And Paula had left it up to just the two of you again. The museum refused to hire moving teams for the larger artifacts, which left employees (often you and Will) to move it all yourselves.

Cheapskates, you thought.

You deserved a raise. And Will, who worked for free as a volunteer and had some mild joint problems, deserved a break.

Will scoffed, shaking his head. “No.” he said, reaching in his back pocket for his phone. “There’s no way in hell.”

You wait while he dials a number, tapping away at the screen. You wonder if he’s calling Paula, finally telling her to buck up and hire someone like yourself and your coworkers had been itching for her to do for weeks.

Instead, you hear him talk to someone else.

“Hey, Fish? You off today?”

—---------------

They were taller than you’d thought they’d be. That’s the first thought that popped into your head.

As the blue, dusty jeep pulled up to the back door, you fidgeted, wringing your hands. If Will noticed your nervousness, he didn’t say anything. He’d called his brothers: Frankie, Santiago, and, of course, Benny. When he’d found out they all had the day off (coincidentally), he’d enlisted their help in moving the boxes piled up in the back room.

You had no idea why you were as nervous as you were; In the past few weeks, you’d heard Will talk about the three men so much that you felt like you practically knew them already. In that time, you’d deduced that Frankie, or “Fish,” as he was called was the most laid-back of them all, and definitely the resident mom-friend, while Santiago, or “Pope,” was the hot-head and stubborn one. You thought you two would probably be the most similar. And the fondness with which Will talked about his actual brother, Benny, made your heart squeeze a little bit. You weren’t sure if it was out of some kind of envy or maybe the genuine love you could tell he had for him. Either way, you genuinely already felt like you knew the guys. So why, waiting here, were you so nervous?

You shook off the nerves as the jeep pulled to a stop. The front door opened, revealing a tall, tanned man dressed in jeans and a green t-shirt. His brown, discheveled hair was covered with a deep blue baseball cap, and he wore a pair of aviators. On the other side, a slightly shorter, broader man stepped out, in a black shirt and khaki-cargo shorts. His hair was dark and curly, tinged gray at the edges. His gaze was conspiratorial as he made his way over to Will.

“Ironhead!” he called, running up to him in a hug. “Where the hell have you been?”

Behind him, the man with the brown hair, who had removed his sunglasses by now, shook his head and gave you a sympathetic look. This must be Frankie, you thought.

“Where have I been?” Will asked, pulling back from the hug and patting his friend on the shoulder. “I should be asking you that question, Pope, I mean Jesus Christ. When was the last time you came out with us for Saturday night drinks, huh?”

The man, Santi, as you knew him, threw up his hands in defense. “Yeah, so it’s been a minute.”

“Ya think?” Frankie, who was still standing in front of you raised his eyebrows at Pope, hands in his back pockets.

“Alright, alright. I get it.” He shook his head, before muttering. “Fuckin’ assholes.”

At that, Frankie smacked the back of his neck. In looking over at him, Pope caught your eye.

“And who is this, William?” he asked, interest piqued.

“Ah, yeah.” he looked to you, telling them your name. “And this is Frankie and Santi.”

“So you’re the one he’s been telling us about.” Santi smirked. Frankie rolled his eyes as you raised your eyebrows, turning to Will.

“Is that so?” You said, intruiged by what they’d heard about you. Frankie butted in.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s nothing bad, hermosa. All good things. Though we have been interested to meet Will’s new friend. I mean, it’s just surprising that someone else would even wanna spend time with him, he’s so insufferable–”

He cut himself off with a laugh as Will stole his hat at the jab. Frankie flailed trying to get it back. The scene made you smile. You already felt like you fit in with them and you’d barely even spoken yet. And the fact that he’d talked about you? To his friends? It made you silently smile in relief. Will had become a fast friend within the past few weeks, and though he’d never given you any reason to think so, part of you wondered if you were a bit of a nusance to him. He was naturally quiet, and you were a big talker, so it had crossed your mind more than a few times. Now though, you were glad to know he considered you a friend in the same way you did him.

“Alright, here’s what we need to get done,” Will was talking to Fish, putting an arm aroun dhis shoulder before walking towards the entrance of the museum. You and Pope followed silently behind, before he bumped you with his shoulder, hands crossed over his chest.

“You know, I didn’t think you were real,” he said nonchalantly. In front of you, Will droned on and on about artifacts. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Excuse me, Santiago?” you asked, incredulous. “What is that supposed to mean.”

“Please, don’t call me Santiago.” he said, shaking his head. “Makes me feel like my mama is scolding me. Santi’s fine,” he paused. “And yeah, I was almost completely sure you were some person Will made up because he finally snapped. Kept talkin’ about you and refusing to let us meet you.”

“And why is that, exactly, Santi?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and meeting his deep brown eyes that were crinkled with mirth.

“Hmm,” he hummed, shrugging. “Something about scaring you away.”

“Ha!” you laughed at that. As if. “Not gonna happen. If anything, you should be the one who should be scared.”

“You know,” he said, looking you in the eyes as you entered the back hall. “I think we’re gonna be great friends.”

You couldn’t have put it better yourself.

—-------------------

He was gorgeous .

I mean, Jesus Christ. You’d seen pictures of him on Will’s phone, and heard him described in stories from Will’s military days, but lord have mercy. Nothing could have prepared you for the man standing in front of you right now.

The first thing you gauged was his height. This man was tall. Taller by far than either Pope or Fish, and even surpassing Will’s height, making him the tallest of the group. You were generally a pretty average height; not too tall, not too short. You’d never considered yourself small by any stretch in any capacity until you’d begun spending time with Will, and he’d begun his incessant teasing about your size. Looking at the man in front of you, you were beginning to understand why.

He was broad as well, with wide, angular shoulders stretching beneath the deep gray T-shirt that spread perfectly, sinfully across his chest. It was hot outside, the t-shirt and shorts he’d decided to wear made sense.

As he bounded up to the group of you assessing the pile of boxes, he wrung the black baseball cap in his hands, having just removed it from his head. His hair, tufts of straight, brown-golden locks that curled at the ends, was messy and wild as he made his way over to you.

He skidded to a stop right in front of you, eyes immediately snapping to Frankie and Pope, who were deep in conversation with Will about the contents of some box. He looked frantically at each of them, panting, clearly out of breath from his rush to get there.

“Hey guys sorry I’m late—“ he trailed off as his eyes caught yours, clearly not recognizing you in his group of lifelong friends, and to your horror, stayed there.

Blue. His eyes were blue. A similar shade to his brother’s, which you’d seen look at you in annoyance and amusement alike many times, and yet different altogether. While Will’s blue eyes were almost grey, glacial, Benny’s were almost green. Framed by thick lashes that, at this close of a range, you could see in vivid detail.

You couldn’t look away.

Dammit.

You were caught. Leave it to you to meet possibly the most beautiful man you have ever encountered in your life and not be able to stop gawking like a schoolgirl.

You, who were always quick on your feet, you who always had something snarky to say, were being felled by … Benny Miller ?

A cough snapped your eyes from his. Frankie.

“Look who decided to show up,” Will’s arms were crossed as he took in his brother’s disheveled look. Pope snorted into his hand at that.

“I’m sorry, man. My electricity went out again, and reset my damn alarm clock. And you know I had that fight last night that I’ve been—“

“Relax,” Will chuckled. “It’s fine. We haven’t even started yet.”

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, little Miller.” Pope came up and clapped him hard on the shoulder in a hug.

“Hey, how many times I gotta tell you not to fuckin’ call me that, huh?” Benny asked, head on Pope’s shoulder through the hug. “Besides, not so little anymore, huh Santi? Or have you grown a few inches?”

At that you snorted. It was a jab at Pope’s heigh, you were sure, but still, the innuendo could’ve been taken either way. At that, Benny’s head snapped to you once again, blue-green eyes shining with curiosity.

You looked, a bit panicked, over at Will, who at first looked at you in confusion. Realization dawned on his face as he swore, laughing slightly.

“Shit, sorry smalls,” he said, looking over at his brother and giving him your name before turning to you. “This is my brother Benny.”

The younger Miller looked at you, for just a beat too long, before Frankie cleared his throat. From behind him you thought you heard Pope chuckle, but you couldn’t be sure. You were too busy analyzing every little detail about Benny’s face. A scar there, some crows get here, a line of giant freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose.

He repeated your name to you before reaching out his hand to shake. You took it and his hands were warm, no doubt from the relentless Florida heat. It also almost completely engulfed yours as he shook it. He let go too soon.

A smile overtook his face as he laughed at some stupid joke Pope cracks about the museum being a dump, and just like that: sunshine.

You didn’t know what people meant when they said that someone’s smile could brighten up a room until now.

Then he turned to you, eyes crinkling, and cheeks dusted pink, and that’s when you knew.

You were a goner.

#triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier imagine #benny miller imagine #benny miller x reader #benjamin miller #benny miller #benny miller x y/n #benny miller x you

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timelessmulder · 11 months

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A while back my friend bruni @cryptids commissioned me for an atmospheric piece with her Haunted House Documentary Cameraman Warren. I wrapped it up the other night and have permission to share it here (:

On the outskirts of some quaint little town was a pleasant little two story building. It sat tall and unassuming on the border of the woods, with soft yellow walls and accented by white shutters. The front lawn was claimed by a brilliant explosion of color that was the garden, curated with care to give an impression of organized chaos as one strode across the stone path that cut through it to the simple white entry door. Butterflies and fat, lazy bees wandered across the vibrant petals, and if one were so lucky they may see a hummingbird flit among the flowers.

The place was a museum. It had belonged, once, to a playwright who had lived and died there some century and a half before. Now it stood as a monument to the life of its old owner, declared a protected building under the town's historic registry; those beyond its borders may care little for the name, but to them he was a local hero. With that came a snapshot of how one of his economic status, his peculiarities, lived during that era. Like most eccentrics, like most artists, the man had been intrigued by the occult and spirituality. Word was that energy clung to the house. Held in the artifacts preserved in the years since his death, collected by historians and preservationists from collectors and old storage and descendants of family friends. Traveled with the ghosts that visitors and passersby alike claim to have noticed pass in the halls, drift across the windows. And, of course, it meant that the small museum of some small town attracted true believers from all corners of the country.

Warren found it all a bit silly.

Old houses, old land, carried the weight of their history. He thought of this as he strolled the grounds, just beyond the reach of the trees that were keen to swallow up as much of the town as possible, gathering b-roll for the documentary. To step into a place and to know that something had happened there. That someone had lived there. That these items within had been held and cherished or bought as a joke between friends. It settled into the air and found a way to creep beneath the skin; some places tried to mimic this atmosphere, with squat brownstones and the occasional mom-and-pop yet to be choked out of business by a bigger - cheaper - chain store. But the sensation could never be matched. It never put ideas into people's heads. Never quite managed to convince them that every bump and creak was something more than the pipes or the old walls setting.

Maisy was inside with the other tech guys and the curator, setting up a room for interviews with locals who had their own experiences to share. The curator was a friendly enough middle aged woman by the name of Rebecca, an eccentric in the way Warren was coming to realize many historians were when given ground to talk about their field of expertise. While working on this project, he had come to divide these types into three main categories: those who believed, those who were unsure, and those who strictly didn't.

That last one was further subdivided into its own three categories: those who found the idea obnoxious, those who found it silly but harmless, and those who found it fun.

Rebecca was in the category of those who didn't, subdivision "found it fun."

"Etienne Roy, you must understand, was very much a man of that era," she had said, in the easy way of historians who always had information at the tips of their fingers. They had gotten an interview with her early on, just her and Maisy and Warren, during a preliminary tour of the museum. "Seances, communicating with spirits. Even those who weren't eccentric artists were intrigued by it." What she said next came with a light and cheerful laugh, and a tone that came off as though she had personally known the man during his life. That she was close enough to tease him to company without his knowing. "I wouldn't say he was on the level of, say, Arthur Conan Doyle. But he certainly wasn't a skeptic in the league of someone like Harry Houdini."

Warren had not quite grasped her meaning, but had shrugged it off as she led them through the house. She pointed to all manner of things, ranging from the mundane to the stranger things that had found their way into his collection. Warren had taken time to get footage of them, only half paying attention to the explanations Rebecca gave. An authentic ouija board crafted out of wood and with letters carefully painted on by hand. Books on magic, acquired through friends and self proclaimed witches. A strange collection of dolls lined up on a shelf, threadbare and with rotted fabric, staring at the trio with their shiny bead eyes.

There was a distinct feeling of being watched, of icy fingers trailing up his back to send a shiver along his skin. It was probably just the dolls, he thought. Watching you no matter where they stood with those reflective eyes and pleasant stitched on smiles. At least Rebecca hadn't announced their presence to them, as some other curators had on a few prior occasions. Nor had she given Warren any caveats on asking permission to film them. On one memorable occasion, the curator had warned, his voice low and serious, that there were consequences for taking pictures of a particularly ugly threadbare doll without asking his permission first. Bad luck he said, with all the firm sincerity of someone who believed such things, would plague the hapless person until they gave him an apology.

And Warren had rolled his eyes and given Maisy an exasperated look; she'd only given him a sheepish grin and shrug in response. He got a few seconds of footage anyway, no words said to the creepy little doll in his creepy little ringleader outfit. Nothing happened. Of course, the footage of the day had almost been lost and he had spent the better part of the evening - and into the next day - salvaging what he could. But that camera had been on its last legs anyway; a technical problem of that magnitude was inevitable. He'd gotten a new one soon after, and no problems had plagued him since.

Well, no problem that didn't typically plague technology. But he wasn't about to ascribe every little thing to ghosts or curses.

He shuddered against a late summer breeze, one that brought with it that feeling of being watched. A buzz settled in his hands, only kept steady by his years of experience.

He huffed with a roll of his eyes and slight shake of his head. Sometimes when he was lost in his thoughts, Maisy would stand in windows, just behind him, and stare. She would wait until he noticed her, until he damn near jumped out of his skin, and she would cackle. It would be followed by an apology, blunted at its edges to sound not very sorry at all, her mouth smiling and eyes bright. He took it all in stride, accepting it as a bit of friendly ribbing even if she was technically his boss.

The wind blew playful through the leaves, sending them waving against blue skies dotted with clouds. The words "very funny" were building in his throat, when he heard it. A brush against his ear. A young voice, curious, in just above a whisper. "Hello? Who are you?"

Warren jolted. Hands fumbled to find grip on his camera from a momentary loss of control before it hit the ground. He whirled around on his heel, bristling and throat burning hot with embarrassment. And then he stilled. The rush of adrenaline from that flash of fear - that hadn't stepped near a true fight or flight - slipped away, leaving only confusion and a hint of annoyance in its wake.

The window behind him was empty. The curtains fluttered their lazy dance, too sheer to hide anyone behind them.

"Great job, Maisy," he grumbled, b-roll almost forgotten, as he closed the distance to the window. He craned his neck to see inside, looking for the young woman among the dining room furniture. His nose crinkled at the sight of the china cabinets, filled in equal parts with fine cutlery and haunted artifacts. There was a handsomely made ouija board on the table, set up with love and care for a seance that would never come to pass.

There was no sign of the documentarian from his vantage point. He snorted, pushing away from the sill all while drawing up images of her hiding just out of sight, stifling her laughter until her face was red like a teenager not wanting to be caught by a teacher. Not that she was that unprofessional, he thought, of course, even with all her teasing. But with her bright eyes and fashionable clothes and gung-ho attitude, it was easy to imagine her a decade younger than she was.

"You got me," he said, loudly. "I guess you're done with setting up!"

"Sure am," a voice chirped from somewhere to his left.

He whirled in time to see Maisy and Rebecca coming from around the side of the house. Her smiling mouth dimpled her cheeks in a way that usually made one look youthful, but there was a glint to her eye that sharpened her features just enough. His eyes darted back toward the window, the curtains beginning to still in the absence of the wind. Still empty. He leaned back in, looking to see if it was any of the crew who might have snuck inside for a prank. But none had that kind of voice. Unless it was a recording.

"What's it?" Maisy said as they got closer.

"Thought I heard something," he replied, leaning back. That chill prickled along his shoulders, and he suppressed the building shiver.

"Places like this do have a way of getting into your head," Rebecca said with a knowing smile that creased the lines of her face. "Especially out here in the woods."

"Was it a ghost, you think?" Maisy edged toward him, expression wild with barely restrained excitement.

He hummed in consideration, turning away from them. Eyes narrowed as he took in the landscape that surrounded them. To take in the quaint little house in the quaint little town that lived within the woods. Old land with even older history. The kind of place where the very air crackled with the memory of all who lived and died there.

He strained to hear that voice again. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Only the rustling of leaves and underbrush, disturbed by the wind and wildlife. He watched a bird call for another, finding the tiny speck of black among the green.

"No," he said, finally, with a shrug of his shoulders and a readjustment of his grip on his camera. Useless film there, now, taking up space that could've been used for better things. Later on, when they were all settled, he would play back the footage. Try to hear it. But he doubted it. A trick of the wind, a trick of the mind. He shook his head. "Places like this're...weird."

Rebecca barked a laugh, clapping her hands. "I know what you mean. This house isn't as old as some, but it carries its weight."

Maisy frowned, disappointment hovering at the edges of her expression. Never enough to bring it to a full pout. And then she bounced back, features brightening again. "Well," she said, "if you want a break Rebecca's offered to show us around town. Who knows, maybe we can catch some B-Roll that just isn't this place while we're out."

There was a final glance tossed toward the window, followed by another easy shrug of the shoulders. "Sure."

She beamed. "Great. Rebecca, we can take the van."

Warren flicked the camera off before following the two women towards the front of the house and its gravel driveway. Conversations turned away from ghosts and toward the town history and all its little eccentricities, the likes of which all small towns seemed to possess. And all the while, the Roy estate watched them leave. And the Roy estate would wait for their return.

#horror /#ISH its not that spooky i don't think but just in case #bat writes

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 2 years

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Truth in Myth | Steven Grant x Reader

Prompt: Gold

Words: 1445

Fandom: Moon Knight (MCU)

A/N: Takes place some time after the events of Moon Knight. Ah, yes. Another fic where the reader flirts with a character at their workplace. I love it when Steven geeks out.

Summary: Reader visits the National Art Gallery as part of their research and runs into Steven Grant of the gift shop.

There was a steady flow of people traveling in and out of the gallery, another chatty group of students flooding out of the entrance as they finished their tour. You adjusted your backpack strap and made your way through towards the Ancient Egypt exhibit. There were stories that your grandparents had told you that filled you with wonder, that the stuff of legends and myths were real. As the world grew stranger and the possibilities almost limitless, a good part of you felt that those stories were true.

You marveled at the scope of the room, wondering where you should start. Sliding your backpack off, you fished out your notebook and pen and decided to work clockwise around the room. You didn’t know exactly what to look for, but you had a feeling that you’d just know when you saw it. Proof of some kind that some kind of celestial beings were walking among us. Everyone knew of Thor and Loki, but they were beings from another planet labeled as gods. What more of these so-called gods were out there?

You weren’t going to lie, you had an egyptology phase, sparked by The Mummy and the History channel, but it’s been some time since you’ve absorbed all of those ancient egypt encyclopedias and egyptian history books. Walking around the exhibit, you made a rough sketch of the artifact or art piece and took notes on the images and the info card then moved on to the next one. You felt eyes on the back of your head, but you shrugged it off as just the security guards keeping an eye on any suspicious persons.

“Oh, those canopic jars are quite interesting,” a voice piped up next to you.

You jumped, whipping your head around to see a man with dark curly hair and tired brown eyes wearing a slightly oversized gray coat and a nametag with the name ‘Steven’ on it. He smiled apologetically, then promptly continued on with his rambles.

“Completely intact, these ones,” he said, pointing at them. “Rarity, given how many graverobbers would kill to get a hand on one of these. You see, each jar has a lid that was originally just plain. Eventually, they added inscriptions and shaped the lids as human heads. By the nineteenth dynasty, they were made to be the four sons of Horus to guard its contents. Do you know what they would put in those jars?”

“Organs, right?” you said, lowering your notebook.

He nodded enthusiastically. “You see, the ancient Egyptians believed that they needed those organs in the afterlife: the stomach, intestines, lungs, and the liver.”

“What about the heart? It’s weighed by… Anubis?” you said with uncertainty, tilting your head.

His eyes widened in delight, inching closer. “So, you know some things about the afterlife,” he said excitedly.

“Not from personal experience,” you joked.

There was a flicker in his eyes, a kind of darkness that was gone in an instant. He chuckled, turning back to the display. “The heart was believed to be the seat of the soul, so they left it in the body. So, these jars here, you see, the lids are shaped like a human’s, so this was before the nineteenth dynasty. They don’t always use these jars for storage, of course. Eventually, their embalming techniques improved and they were able to preserve the organs inside the body while the jars remain as a feature. Now, the inscriptions here -”

“Steve! Stop pestering the guests!” a blonde woman shouted, her hands on her hips as she scowled at him. “And get back to work! You’re lucky I gave you back your job, I swear… I’m making you do inventory.” She shook her head and walked away.

“It… It’s Steven!” he called back, then mumbled, “For the hundredths time.”

You smiled sympathetically. “I’ve taken a lot of your time.”

“No, no. You’re fine. I was the one bothering you, so… I’ll let you continue on with your… browsing.” He gestured vaguely at the rest of the exhibit.

“I’ll be sure to stop by the gift shop on my way out,” you said.

He smiled. “Please do. We’ve got, uh, plush hippos that’s supposed to be Tawaret and a new shipment of chocolate pyramids wrapped in gold tinfoil and a t-shirt with King Tut’s mask and -”

“I’ll check it out. Thank you, Steven,” you said, turning to him. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah, it was lovely. Really lovely…,” he trailed off, his eyes drifting over to the glass display case. He frowned, muttering something under his breath and shaking his head, his hands gesturing about as he spoke to his reflection.

“I should, um, I’ll see you later,” you excused yourself, backing away before heading over to the next section of displays. You didn’t know what that was about, but you didn’t want to assume.

After you went around the exhibit once, you decided to call it a day, packing up your notebook and pen. You made sure to look for the gift shop, finding Steven ringing up a small family with a tired smile on his face. The little boy snatched the recently purchased chocolate from the counter and started talking about the Great Pyramid and the pharaoh that it was built over.

There was a glint in Steven’s eyes and you could just see him inhale a breath, ready to go on a tangent and share the enthusiasm with the boy when the parents dragged him away and told him to stop bothering the gift shop worker. The boy twisted around and waved at Steven, turning back to try and keep up with his parents’ pace.

“The plushie looks cute,” you commented, picking one up and squishing it.

Steven’s dejected look melted away as his gaze landed on you. “Oh, she’s quite lovely, actually,” he said, smiling almost knowingly. He blinked, correcting himself. “I mean, I’ve heard that a lot of people like how soft and cute the plushie is. Perfect gift for a loved one.”

“I’m really tempted to get one now. Is that how you make your sales?”

“I, well, it doesn’t always work, but it helps when people come in with their kids or their dates, you know?” He scratches his head and gestures to all the merchandise. “Anyways, did you get what you came here for?”

“Well, I looked around -”

“You were taking notes of some of the displays, particularly ones that depicted the Ennead,” he said. “An interesting bunch, they are. Stubborn and a bit old-fashioned, too, in my opinion, but I supposed that’s what you expect with immortal beings who don’t attempt to understand the people that they want to be worshiped by. You can try talking to them, but everything gets so formal. Some meetings can be an email, but what can you do?”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been speaking as if you’ve met them. Personally.”

His eyes widened as he shook his head insistently. “Oh, no, no. I guess that’s the side effect of working at a place like this, innit? I see their statues and stuff everyday that it feels like I know them. Everyone knows that they’re all myths and legends in the end,” he said.

You hummed, picking out the Tawaret plushie, chocolate pyramid, and a National Art Gallery hoodie. Steven promptly rang you up and neatly packed them in a brown bag. You watched him closely, seeing his eyes flicker back and forth between a plastic sign next to the register and you.

“You know,” you said, sliding the bag over to you. “My grandparents once told me stories about gods that would select humans to be their champion in order to carry out their will in the mortal realm.”

Steven stiffened. “Really?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah, my grandma said that her family came from a line of avatars and then suddenly it just stopped. Not sure exactly when. And then there’s all these theories out there, that these avatars actually existed throughout history and taken on different forms, like prophets.” You shrugged, stepping away from the register. “Thought I’d find something here.”

You turned to leave and made it halfway down the steps when you heard Steven calling out after you. He jogged down the stairs, panting as he caught up. He stepped down to be in front of you, his eyes sharp and stern. His shoulders squared up and his chin raised, very unlike his usual slightly slouched posture. It was then you remembered that he had called your name, but you never gave that to him. And was that an American accent?

“We have a lot to discuss,” he said.

#writersmonth2022 #writer's month #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #moon knight #brief appearance of Marc Spector in the end #I also had an egyptology phase #I was so sure that I was going to be an archaeologist too

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torchturtle · 2 years

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Danny Phantom/Warehouse 13

I've been watching Warehouse 13 and I'm on season 3 right now; and probably won’t finish it :( Since I'm currently interested in the DP fandom it is only right that I try to come up with some crossover.

So if you don't know Warehouse 13 is a show where two Secret Service agents; Pete Lattimer and Myka Bering, are transferred to a top-secret storage warehouse that holds tons of strange artifacts, mysterious relics, and just weirdly powerful items. Their job is to find these artifacts out in the world and bring them to the warehouse to be kept safe. And these artifacts can be like anything.

So I've come up with a few different scenarios/crossover ideas.

First idea (references to specific episodes in [ ]):

The Warehouse picks up strange and impossible things happening in a small town in the middle of nowhere (Amity Park if you didn't know). Newspapers about ghosts?? And pictures of people and green creatures flying and attacking citizens? Yeah definitely something to investigate, because what else could it be other than an artifact.

So Myka and Pete head down to Illinois, or wherever Amity Park is, and they immediately see the damage done to the town. I'm thinking that the first day they don’t see any ghosts so they are just asking around town about the reports of the strange happenings. I’m thinking they ask like police officers they run across and employees of shops that have seen better days, but also anyone that seems willing to talk which isn’t a lot. I don’t know if the GIW is around or if Myka and Pete are aware of what the GIW is, but I think if GIW agents cross their path then they’ll be brushed to the side because why is the secret service here they shouldn’t be caring about what’s happening in Amity.

I think they also might look through the museum or library, or get a tour of the school because that place is attacked a lot. They might have to talk to the students about how they got their jobs because why would the principal pass up the opportunity of secret service agents talking to the students in exchange for looking around the school. They might use that as a way to ask some students about what they’ve seen in town.

[ Based on reports of there being a ghost hero that fights other ghosts, I think they start comparing this to artifacts they already have in the Warehouse like Angelo Siciliano’s Workout Trunks that can increase the density of anyone wearing them, which was used in the episode “Mild Mannered” by a guy trying to be a vigilante. Jack Kirby’s Belt is similar where it can manipulate the density of the wearer and it isn’t at the Warehouse so they might try to jump to conclusions to at least why Phantom can fly before they actually see him. Or that he is just a guy using an artifact to fight crime.

There’s also Philo Farnsworth’s Transmutational Three Dimensional Camera/Projector which in the episode “Beyond Our Control” the projector was unknowingly being used to project parts of movies all across town, and these things weren’t just holograms but actual physical objects. This is in the Warehouse, but Myka and Pete could end up thinking that an artifact could be producing and projecting these ghosts instead of them actually being ghosts.]

But the second day they most definitely see Phantom and another ghost fighting, it’s an average fight and at the end Phantom sucks the ghost into his thermos. Seeing that the ghost gets sucked into the thermos and then Phantom just leaves, Myka and Pete believe that the thermos is the artifact. But how are they gonna get it? Then here comes the Fentons, always late to the fights. Discovering that the Fentons have doctorates.. for this town’s problem? and have been trying to stop these attacks Myka and Pete end up going to their house to get more information.

They walk through the door and BOOM, they get hit with the smell of fudge. (If you smell fudge where there is no fudge then that means there’s an artifact or at least one at work) But Fentonworks always smells like fudge because of how often it is made, and Jack definitely has some hidden somewhere but they don’t know that.

Myka and Pete ask about if they know anything about the thermos, and they discover that the ghosts have been around before the thermos was made and was made by the Fenton, but didn’t work until Phantom got his hands on it. So they cross the fact that the thermos is an artifact off their list and they wanna keep asking more questions, but one of the Fenton children (Jazz) has been spying on them and eventually kinda forces them out of the house for the night. (So they didn’t see the lab downstairs)

On their way back to where they are staying they end up walking past the park and see a streak of green run by. Ending up following it and finding out that it’s a small green dog and it’s running circles around Phantom. I don’t know if they end up approaching Phantom and he has to stop Cujo from attacking them and then he disappears with his dog, or they end up watching and maybe call Artie and Claudia (Artie is like their boss, Claudia is a co-worker with way less experience, but good with tech) so they can see pretty much with their own eyes what these ghosts look and act like. I think Pete, maybe Myka, and definitely Claudia end up thinking that these ghosts aren’t just in town to fight, that they have sentience to them and maybe you can just walk up to them or at least Phantom and just ask them what on earth is happening in this town.

I think at the end there’s nothing for them to do about this town, it ends up not being an artifact but something out of their control and they just have to leave it be. Or they discover the Fenton lab and they decide that the portal is an artifact (bigger things have been artifacts before). I don't know if they just take it or leave it though because some artifacts can't be taken from their location, but portal can definitely be seen as a problem for the world.

#hehehehehehe #i'll probably post my second idea tomorrow just to space them out a bit #i lost access to tv again so that's why i probably won't finish wh13 at least not for awhile #take this! take my crossovers!#but just imagine the possibilties of this crossover #danny phantom #warehouse 13 #dp crossover #dp x wh13

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tea-and-secrets · 11 months

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I worked at a small museum as a tour guide last summer and the summer before and apparently the reason that it was so terribly organized was because the curator from the 90s to 2012 was just like. A total piece of shit. Bullied employees to the point of tears daily. Allegedly stole a bunch of artifacts and that’s why it’s so impossible to find things in storage— we just have a bunch of stuff!!! In this woman’s basement???? An unknown but large amount of artifacts (which she apparently bragged to some friends about and gave them a tour of her collection) are in her basement. And technically she did some good work so the board was so divided on firing her that the ensuing drama ruined any record-keeping on their end as well. Thank the gods I had a coworker last year who worked there back in 2009 who helped put things back in order because a lot of useful information got lost between 2012 and 2021. But I’m still not over the fact that a bunch of artifacts are just in some person’s basement, and we don’t have enough evidence to call the police. And it probably wouldn’t work if we did have the evidence because she’s a “respected member of the community”. Like what the fuck. In her basement. They’re just in her basement??? And we just have to leave that stuff there?

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silencedminstrel · 1 year

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(Art by Dominique van Velsen)

CALM BEFORE THE SHITSTORM - LEADER OF THE GALACTIC UNION TOURING A MYSTERIOUS FACILITY STORING DANGEROUS ALIEN ARTIFACTS

By Ag I should be happy when I heard that (Earth Alliance) President Ibnu Khaldun's lawyers have revealed that the thief of the Second Sephiroth--the only source of power for The Messenger Starship--appeared to be none other than The All-Seeing-Eye (leader of the Watchers) himself! Which of course didn't surprised me since we already knew

That one a lot earlier but...the fact that that info was hacked right out of The Watchers' own terminal? (Sigh) We may be looking at a huge political shitstorm that will cost us all more than sleepless nights! And what about these new reports of a gathering of deviant tech cultists outside the Outer Rim and led by--supposedly--a resurrected Hacker? And

These "accompanying" rumors that they're planning to storm The Valley City? (Union's Capitol) And just as The Council (of The Great Guardians) is still in a power vacuum how are we supposed to...? But we know that if they're serious about it then this is where they'll strike first: The Union's storage facility for Kltua-Lymonzs wreckage too dangerous

To be disposed of! So would The Watchers side with those cultists and lead them here? Ag forbid! After that yesterday's fiasco I'm sure the public have begun losing trust in them but--knowing their leader better--we Guardians aren't quite so sure! Humoga, it's all in your hands now! You're The Council's only hope whether you like it or not! (Sigh)

#science fiction #fantasy #cyberpunk #space opera #short story #the galactic republic #galactic union #supreme chairman #the watchers #information broker #the faceless horde #deviant tech cultists #the council of the great guardians #the next generation #original characters #original posting #looking for publisher

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vancouver294 · 2 months

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Top Tips for Selling Your House Fast for Cash in Vancouver WA

Introduction:

Selling a house can be a complex and time-consuming process, especially when you're aiming for a quick sale in any market condition. Whether you're facing relocation, financial pressures, or simply eager to move on to your next chapter, selling your house for cash offers numerous benefits, including speed, convenience, and certainty. In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve deeper into each aspect of selling your house fast for cash, providing detailed insights, practical tips, and expert strategies to help you navigate the process with confidence and success.

Price it Right: Pricing your house correctly is crucial for attracting cash buyers and generating interest in your property. To determine the optimal price:

Conduct thorough market research to analyze recent sales data, comparable properties, and current market trends.

Consider consulting with a local real estate agent or appraiser to gain insights into the true value of your home.

Set a competitive price that reflects the market conditions while also appealing to cash buyers who are often seeking deals.

Enhance Curb Appeal: First impressions are paramount when selling a house. Invest time and effort into enhancing the curb appeal of your property to captivate potential buyers from the moment they arrive. Key strategies include:

Maintaining a tidy and well-manicured lawn, including mowing, edging, and trimming bushes.

Power washing exterior surfaces, such as siding, driveways, and walkways, to remove dirt and grime.

Adding colorful plants, flowers, and seasonal decorations to create an inviting atmosphere.

Repairing any visible exterior damage, such as cracked sidewalks, peeling paint, or damaged gutters.

Declutter and Depersonalize: Creating a clean, clutter-free environment is essential for showcasing the full potential of your home and allowing buyers to envision themselves living there. Follow these steps to declutter and depersonalize effectively:

Remove personal items, such as family photos, trophies, and religious artifacts, to create a neutral canvas.

Clear countertops, shelves, and surfaces of excess clutter, including knick-knacks, papers, and unnecessary decor.

Organize closets, cabinets, and storage spaces to maximize storage capacity and create a sense of spaciousness.

Consider renting a temporary storage unit to store excess belongings and furniture during the selling process.

Highlight Key Selling Points: Every property has unique features and amenities that can attract potential buyers. Identify and showcase these key selling points to differentiate your home from others on the market:

Highlight recent upgrades, renovations, or improvements, such as a new roof, updated kitchen, or renovated bathroom.

Emphasize desirable features such as hardwood floors, high ceilings, fireplace, or energy-efficient appliances.

Showcase outdoor living spaces, such as a deck, patio, or landscaped backyard, to appeal to buyers who value outdoor entertainment.

Professional Photography and Marketing: In today's digital age, high-quality photography and effective marketing are essential for capturing the attention of potential buyers and driving interest in your property. Consider the following strategies:

Hire a professional photographer experienced in real estate photography to capture stunning images of your home.

Create a comprehensive marketing plan that includes online listings, social media promotion, targeted advertising, and printed materials.

Write compelling property descriptions that highlight the unique features, benefits, and selling points of your home.

Leverage virtual tours, 3D walkthroughs, and drone footage to provide potential buyers with immersive experiences of your property.

Flexible Viewing Schedule: Accommodating the schedules of potential buyers is crucial for maximizing the exposure of your home and attracting serious offers. Here are some tips for scheduling viewings and open houses:

Be flexible with showing times, including evenings, weekends, and holidays, to accommodate the availability of prospective buyers.

Keep your home clean, organized, and ready for showings at all times to accommodate last-minute requests.

Consider hosting open houses on weekends to attract multiple buyers and create a sense of urgency.

Work with Cash Buyers and Investors: Selling your house directly to cash buyers or real estate investors can offer several advantages, including speed, convenience, and certainty. Here's how to approach this option effectively:

Research local cash buyers and investment companies with a proven track record of purchasing properties in your area.

Request multiple cash offers to compare terms, conditions, and closing timelines before making a decision.

Be wary of scams or unethical practices and verify the credibility and legitimacy of potential buyers before entering into any agreements.

Prepare Documentation and Legalities: Ensuring that all necessary documentation is in order and complying with legal requirements is essential for a smooth and successful sale. Take the following steps to prepare documentation and address legalities:

Gather essential documents related to your property, including the deed, title, property survey, and any relevant permits or inspection reports.

Review and address any potential issues or discrepancies that may arise during the due diligence process, such as liens, encroachments, or zoning violations.

Consider hiring a real estate attorney or professional to review contracts, oversee the transaction, and ensure that all legal requirements are met.

Be Open to Negotiation: Negotiation is an inherent part of the selling process, and being open to compromise can help facilitate a mutually beneficial agreement. Keep the following tips in mind when negotiating with potential buyers:

Maintain clear communication and transparency throughout the negotiation process, including disclosing any known issues or concerns with the property.

Be flexible on price, terms, and closing timelines to accommodate the needs and preferences of the buyer.

Consider offering incentives, such as covering closing costs or including furniture or appliances, to sweeten the deal and motivate buyers to make an offer.

Stay Positive and Patient: Selling a house, especially in a competitive market, can be a challenging and emotional experience. It's essential to remain positive, patient, and resilient throughout the process. Here's how to stay focused and optimistic:

Set realistic expectations and understand that selling a house takes time and effort.

Surround yourself with a supportive network of family, friends, and real estate professionals who can offer guidance and encouragement.

Focus on the end goal of achieving a successful sale and moving forward with your plans and aspirations.

Conclusion:

Selling your house fast for cash in any market requires careful planning, strategic execution, and a proactive approach. By implementing the comprehensive tips and strategies outlined in this guide, you can increase your chances of securing a quick and lucrative sale while minimizing stress and uncertainty. From pricing it right to staying positive and patient throughout the process, each step plays a crucial role in achieving your desired outcome. Remember that selling a house is ultimately about finding the right buyer who appreciates the value of your property and is willing to make a fair offer. With dedication, perseverance, and the right resources, you can successfully navigate the selling process and embark on your next chapter with confidence and peace of mind.

#sell your house #we buy houses #real estate

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