Archive of Our Own

He quickly hung up his phone, not giving a proper goodbye to his friend. Grian shoved the device into his pocket, quickly looking up when he heard frantic footsteps approaching him.

"Grian, there you are! Are you alright, dude?" Mumbo asked as he walked up to his friend, towering over him. The taller still had his phone in his hand and his eyebrows were furrowed with worry.

Grian gave a nervous smile. "Yep, I'm all good." He tried to reassure him, but Mumbo didn't look convinced.

"Dude, you just called me because you were getting stalked. You can't just brush that off like every other problem in your life." While Mumbos tone was lighthearted, Grian could tell there was some truth to it.

"Ouch. And I wasn't getting stalked," Grian said with a roll of his eyes, to which Mumbo raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?" The man sounded like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Stalking happens for long periods. Like when some rando is obsessed with you, or something." Grian shrugged, sounding slightly unsure of his explanation.

Mumbo narrowed his eyes. "What- there's no difference, Grian! It's the same thing!" The man exclaimed, sounding utterly bewildered.

Grian tilted his head. "No... but it's different, I thought?"

"No! You spoon."

"Hey! I am not a spoon." Grain squawked, huffing as he crossed his arms. Mumbo playfully rolled his eyes and patted his friend's shoulder.

"Whatever. You're safe now, so I guess it doesn't matter." Mumbo muttered with a sigh.

"It's gonna matter when I'm apparently getting stalked without even noticing it- Like, really? Are you sure that's what stalking is?"

"Oh my gosh, yes, Grian."

"Okay, okay! Just double checking!" Grian smiled sheepishly.

"Well, come on now. You're going live with Iskall in..." Mumbo peered at his watch. "About an hour, so unless you're going up there in a wrinkly sweater, you better go get ready," Mumbo said, gesturing his hand to Grian's clothes. The blond frowned.

"My sweater is perfectly fine, thank you." Despite his words, he stepped past Mumbo into the back room. It was similar to a room you'd expect actors or celebrities to go in when getting dressed, except cheaper and clearly not for a celebrity.

Mumbo followed behind him, peeking his head through the door. "So, what are you going to wear?"

Grian had picked out two possible outfits the night before. One was a red turtleneck, similar to his current sweater, with a black vest, and the other was a velvet suit and black tie.

He hummed. "I dunno... is the suit too much?"

"Iskall always wears suits, so I don't think so."

"I mean— let me rephrase, is the turtleneck too casual?" Grian asked, holding up the turtleneck and patting out wrinkles.

Mumbo set a finger on his chin and hummed. "Well, I think it'll be fine with the vest? I doubt anyone will care, though."

"I care." Grian expressed, but it sounded more like a whine. He placed the outfits side-by-side on a counter, looking down at them with furrowed brows.

"A perfectionist as always," Mumbo muttered, earning a playful glare from Grian. The taller man chuckled. "The turtleneck is fine, you'll look good."

"Obviously I'll look good, Mumbo. I look good in everything." Grian puffed with a grin.

"Of course, my bad." Mumbo retorted. Grian didn't need to see him to know his companion had rolled his eyes.

"But seriously Mumbo—"

"Oh my god, just wear the damn turtleneck."

Grian gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "Mumbo! What a potty mouth!"

"Oh, come off it." The taller laughed. He picked up the turtleneck and vest and tossed them at Grian, who scarcely caught them. "Now get ready, we've already wasted plenty of time."

"Can't a man stall in peace?" Grian complained with a grin. He proceeded to shoo Mumbo out of the room, who left with a playful scoff.

Grian cautiously removed his sweater. The disheveled bindings against his wings were dirty and falling apart. It made sense, of course, since he hadn't changed them from the night before. His back ached, any harsh movement felt like he was tearing his back muscles apart. Grian quickly rummaged through the drawers, hoping to find anything to rebind his wings, but came out empty-handed. Usually, he would have had time in the morning to change them, but, evidently, something came up.

Grian bit his lip and sighed, undoing his loose bindings. His wings unfolded from his back, stretching far and broad. Grian whined at the feeling, his feathers were itchy and his muscles felt sore. Even with the soreness, though, it felt amazing to free his wings. It felt like stretching after a long nap.

He really needed to stretch his wings more often.

As quickly as it started, it ended as Grian folded his wings tightly against his back. Keeping them there would prove much more difficult without the binding, but it wasn't impossible. He'd done it before. Grian carefully pulled the turtleneck over his head and then wrapped the vest around his torso snugly.

He took a seat in front of the mirror, his wings twitching uncomfortably under the fabric. He rummaged through the drawers until he found his makeup set, hastily putting it on his face. Just something simple, enough to make it seem like he had a good night's rest, at least.

He hadn't even realized how long he had been getting ready until there was a knock at his door. Mumbo quickly poked his head inside and motioned for Grian to hurry. "Ten minutes." He said simply before leaving and closing the door once again.

Grian stood and took a good look at himself in the mirror. He twirled and twisted, making sure he looked picture-perfect. If he looked hard enough, he could see the lumpy bump that was his wings on his back, but it should be unnoticeable for the most part.

He quickly patted down his outfit, ridding it of any wrinkles, and walked out of the room. He hurried over to where Iskall was, chatting with one of the camera crew. "Iskall!" Grian called out, trying to grab his friend's attention.

The man quickly turned to his friend, smiling on seeing him. "Grian, there you are!" Iskall greeted, placing his hands in his pockets. "How are you doing? Mumbo mentioned you were a little shaken up?" The swede asked, his tone light but still worried.

Grian shrugged. "I'm good, don't worry about it."

"Hmm... alright, if you're sure. You ready, then?" He asked, nudging Grian's shoulder lightly.

The shorter man laughed, a nervous grin creeping onto his face. "As ever."

Iskall reached forward and placed a hand on Grian's shoulder with a faint smile. "You got this, dude."

Grian shrugged the hand off with a playful scowl. "Shove off, this isn't my first rodeo." Despite his words sounding harsh, they both had known each other long enough to understand it wasn't serious.

Iskall smiled. "Come on, then."

Iskall led Grian in front of the cameras, chattering about something that Grian was really paying attention to. He took a seat, adjusting himself behind the desk. Slowly, he took a deep breath. He could feel his wings twitching anxiously. He cracked his knuckles as he peered at the timer. Two minutes until show time.

Ironically enough, Grian hated the feeling of being watched. He hated the heavy weight of eyes on him. It felt like he was on a high pedestal in front of the whole world to see. Yet, despite everything, his entire job centered around being watched. Grian isn't exactly sure why, but being behind a camera made everything so much more manageable. He didn't have to feel the eyes on him as he spoke —minus Mumbo or any other locals who happened to be there, but he could handle that easily enough— he could talk freely without fumbling over his words and losing focus on the topic at hand.

That, however, was only in fieldwork. Working in the studio was a bit of a different story. There was an entire crew there, so many more eyes on him. It wasn't the worst, but it still left his chest feeling tight.

Grian watched as the timer ticked down. He watched as Mumbo steadied the camera focused on them, how Iskall rehearsed what he would say under his breath, how words were typed onto the screen in front of them.

12, 11, 10—

Iskall looked over at Grian, who returned the glance.

9, 8, 7—

"You good?" He asked quietly.

6, 5, 4—

Grian nodded. "I'm good." He quickly turned his gaze back to the camera — Iskall doing the same— and inhaled.

3, 2, 1—

He exhaled.

It's showtime.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen, My name is Iskall Eightyfive,"

"I'm Grian Dreamslayer,"

"And welcome back to Saraha News!"

Grian had placed his arms on the desk, intertwining his fingers together. Grian's only job was to keep the pace going. He didn't have to converse too much or lead the discussion, that was Iskall's job. All Grian had to do was say his input from time to time until their time was up. Easy peasy.

Iskall was starting them off, as he would typically do. He started with the boring stuff; weather, announcements, et cetera. Grian wasn't paying much attention. It wasn't anything he needed to be involved in yet. Grian kept his gaze on Iskall, a plastic smile faint on his features. His focus only snapped back when he heard the remote mention of heroes, quickly realizing he was almost up.

"And now for something a little more exciting!" Iskall exclaimed with a toothy smile, his glance shifting to Grian, who perked up slightly. "Mr. Dreamslayer and I will be going over hero rankings!"

"Must you be so formal?" Grian commented, cocking his eyebrow.

Iskall chuckled, although the sound was stiff. "It only seems appropriate."

The Swedish man began ranking off heroes, discussing their stats and the reasoning for their ranks —whether it be because of the number of villains defeated, amount of hostages saved, or maybe how much merch sold— there were plenty of different reasons as to why heroes were ranked the way they were. Grian felt his wings twitch when Crowfather came into the conversation, which was only a matter of time, Grian knew. He was ranked the number two hero, after all. Still, he couldn't help the way he fidgeted with his sleeve as Iskall continued, trying to keep the topic as engaging as possible.

Which —while Grian respected his friend's efforts— wasn't very effective. Hero rankings weren't exciting, as hard as people tried. Considering heroes' faces were plastered everywhere, any information that was available to the public was already common knowledge. Everyone knows the hero ranking, and everyone knows their abilities or their specialties. It was nothing special. If Grian were watching this at home, he would have changed the channel as soon as heroes were mentioned. Though that might just be because of personal bias, his point still stands.

When Grian looked from the camera back to Iskall, he saw his friend looking at him, indicating he was speaking toward him. Grian quickly snapped out of his thoughts and focused on his friend.

"Next have ranked hero number six, the Red King!" Iskall started, his eyes quickly flashing back to the camera. "While he is mostly known for his wealth and good nature, recently he's been gaining a lot of traction relating to his ongoing rivalry with the villain Jangler." The swede glanced at Grian as he finished. The dirty blond resisted the urge to scoff at the mention of the villain.

"Red King was always a fan favorite, especially with his dog-like hybrid traits, the kiddies have always adored him." Grian remarked. His plastic smile cracked into something a little more playful before commenting, "Although I will admit the recent rivalry is a bit childish."

Iskall raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Please, share your thoughts." Grian felt a slight twinge of panic, shooting Iskall a glare. He knew Grian didn't want to converse much, but in a way, the shorter man understood. Any input was good input with how boring the topic was.

"All I'm sayin' is Red King is a powerful hero. I'm sure he has better things to be doing than humoring Jangler's silly antics." Grian explains simply, a bit of smugness slipping into his tone.

Iskall chuckled. "Do you have some sort of personal vendetta against The Jangler or something? I swear you'll take any chance you can get to drag his name through the dirt." The brunette joked, humor in his eyes.

Grian grinned menacingly. "Oh please, as if he's worth any of my time. I'm just stating the facts of the matter. It's not my fault that Jangler makes it his goal to make an utter fool of himself." Grian could catch the quiet giggles from behind the cameras. He felt a sense of pride fill his chest, quickly replacing the lurking anxiety that was once there.

"His criminal record may disagree with you." Iskall commented with a sly grin.

Feeling a little bolder, Grian flashed a toothy grin. "What, do you have it on you? Maybe we can go over that instead! That's sure to be more interesting than damned hero ranks."

Iskall barked out a real laugh at that, shuffling the papers in his hands. "Grian—"

With a sudden burst of confidence, Grian spoke up again. "I mean it! Everyone knows about heroes, that's old news! Why not dive into villains? Although Jangler is a bit of a sad excuse of an example, my point still stands."

Grian relished in the laughs he was receiving from the crew behind the scenes, beaming when Iskall visibly held back his laughter.

"Maybe you should start your own talk show if you have such strong opinions about it." The anchorman suggested as a joke, his voice shaky from the laughter he was withholding. There was an enthusiastic glint in the swedes eye, something Grian didn't see too much anymore. Despite getting heavily off track, if it made people laugh, he believed it was worth it. Plus, a justification to belittle villains? It was a win-win!

"Maybe I will! I'm very entertaining, I think you'll find." Grian shot back.

Iskall rolled his eyes playfully. "Then leave the villain talk for that. For now, we have to get back on track." He said, shooting Grian a look that said that's enough.

Despite how much Grian loathed it, they quickly refocused the discussion back to hero rankings. Iskall picked up where he left off, going down the list of heroes and their ranks. This time, however, there was a little more pep in his step. His smile was a little more bright and his voice was a little more enthusiastic.

While Grian found hero talk a bore, the fact he could lighten the mood —even a little bit— was enough to get him through it.

The light illuminated from the television in the center of the darkly lit room, noise quietly coming from the speakers. Fingers tapped slowly against the arm of a chair, slow breathing coming from the individual sitting. The anchorman on the screen was still talking, but he wasn't paying attention to him. His eyes were fixated on the shorter man next to the newscaster. He focused on the way he nodded his head, barely paying attention to what his coworker was saying.

He used his thumb to crack his knuckles, feeling a twinge of annoyance.

"I didn't know you watched the news." A voice called out from a doorway beside him, his head quickly turning to face the noise.

A small smile cracked on his face. "Not usually."

"Why the change?" He only hummed, not giving a real response. The figure from the doorway walked next to the chair, glancing at the screen. His mouth twitched. "Oh, I see."

"Cub, am I losing my spark?" He asked suddenly, turning up to his friend with a dramatic frown on his face. "Or have people just gotten a lot meaner the past few years?"

"You're one of the most feared people in this city, Scar. You aren't seriously going to let some random newscaster get to you, are you?" Cub asked, slightly humor in his voice, finding his companion's reactions a little ridiculous.

Scar puffed up his lips and let out an honest to god pout. "You didn't hear all the cruel things he said about me, Cub!"

"You're a villain, quit sulking like a child." Scar sunk into his chair, crossing his arms with a huff. "What could he have possibly said that's upset you so much, anyway?"

Scar frowned. "He called me a sad excuse of a villain," He started, fake tears welling in his eyes as he looked up at his friend. "And he said Red King was just wasting his time with my 'silly antics'!" He cried, making quotation marks with his fingers to further emphasize his point. He flopped over the side of the chair, letting out a dramatic sob.

Cub rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting."

"You don't get it!" Scar snapped up, pointing a finger in Cub's face. "You've never been belittled like this! My ego, Cub! My poor poor ego can't handle this abuse!" The villain wept, tilting back while placing the back of his hand on his forehead.

Cub crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow, a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Just ignore it if it bothers you so much."

"But I can't!" Scar quickly sat up. "He can't get away with pummeling my pride like this!"

"And, pray tell, what you plan to do about it?" Cub questioned sarcastically, humoring his friend.

"I'm going to teach him a lesson!" Scar announced as he quickly stood up.

"A lesson?" Cub repeated, sounding unamused. Scar nodded with a wicked smile. "What kind of lesson?"

"Well—" Scar trailed off, his smile faltering a bit. "Uhm.."

"Are you going to kidnap him?"

"What? No."

"Torture him?"

"No!"

"Are you going to kill him?"

"Oh my god, no! Cub!" Scar stammered out, gaping at his friend.

"Then what are you going to do?" Cub questioned with a snarky grin, his eyes piercing into Scar's own.

"Well- I don't know yet! But I'll figure it out! And it will be evil! And wicked!" Scar exclaimed as he stepped past Cub and into the doorway. "You'll see! He'll also see! You'll all see! I haven't lost my spunk, I haven't!" He shouted as he stomped away, his voice fading the father he went, leaving Cub alone in the room.

The raven-haired man chuckled quietly, readjusting his glasses as he turned to face the television again. His eyes landed on the dirty blond newscaster displayed on the screen. Cub hummed. "Grian Dreamslayer..." He muttered. "What is your deal?"