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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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Blind Offer 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won’t reveal which one right away because it’ll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

You come out of work exhausted. The back to school crowd is still in full effect and infringing on your stocking time. Rather than pop your earbud in and lose yourself in barcodes and inventory counts, you more often found yourself searching out a salesman or running to the back to grab a device yourself.

You yawn into the crook of your elbow, feet carrying you out of routine rather than any coherent thought. There’s a flash of headlights as you pass a car idling along the pick up area and you slow down as you squint at the tinted windshield. The interior bulb flicks on and Steve leans forward, giving you a look through the glass as if you should be expecting him.

You slow down and approach the driver’s side as he rolls down the window. You lean in and give a sheepish smile, “uh, I…”

“Didn’t text?” He finishes your sentence, “I figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, you didn’t–”

“Have to come get you. Yeah, I figured you’d say that again. Really, it’s kind of selfish on my part. Thinking of you waiting in the dark alone, it’s kind of my fault you even have to so I can at least give you a lift.”

“That’s… nice of you but tomorrow, I can catch a bus.”

“If you insist,” he shrugs, “I won’t twist your arm with my kindness.”

You laugh softly, unsure of his humour. It’s more akin to passive aggression. As if even thinking of passing up his offer is an insult. Wouldn’t it be worse to use him for free rides? You’re already getting to stay in a property well above your lease value.

“You gonna get in?” He prompts.

“Yeah, sure, sorry, I–”

“Hey, thanks for the help on that Lenovo,” Remo calls as he walks out the front doors, shooting you a three finger wave, “not bad for a warehouse jockey.”

“No problem. Have a good night,” you wave back.

You skirt around the hood of the car and grab the door handle. It snaps back and you wait until the locks clack back loudly. You get in and gently shut the door. You unreel the seat belt as Steve adjusts his rearview.

“You got a lot of friends at work?” He asks as he shifts gear, resting his toe lightly on the gas.

“Eh, I guess,” you lean your arm on the door, “busy day. Did a lot of running around.”

“Huh, yeah, maybe I should stop in tomorrow. Need some stuff for a few units. Got a security cam I need to replace and– you got appliances, don’t you?” He rambles over the steering wheel.

“Yeah, uh, I think. Mostly to order,” you rest your cheek against your knuckles and watch how you pass in and out of the yellow cones cast by streetlights. “I guess you’re still looking for a new washer then?”

“Well, they don’t make the same model anymore. Space is pretty compact which means I need something with the same dimensions. I’m shopping around,” He taps his fingers on the wheel, “I’ll figure it out.”

You nod and give a hum. No use worrying too much about it. You only rent the place, it’s really not your problem to think about the washer. He did say it already had issues before you.

“So, how do you like the place?” He asks abruptly.

“Huh, oh, yeah, it’s very nice. Big,” you answer nervously.

“Yeah, that one’ll go for a lot. A few showings but no bites yet. Probably won’t get anything until I can get you back to your place, heh,” he says the last part casually as if it isn’t directly aimed at you.

“Mmm, um, then I hope you find a washer soon,” you pull your arm away from the door and sit back in the seat. “I hate to be in the way.”

“In the way? I’m the landlord, I knew what I was getting into,” he assures you lightly, though it does little to assuage your doubts. “Oh, and since you didn’t really get a chance, I got a few groceries and left them at the place. Just to get you by.”

“You– Oh, gosh, how much do I owe you?”

“Consider us even. You’ve been pretty cooperative with all this back and forth, I’m the one who owes you.”

“Well, I don’t mind paying for my food–”

“Really, sweetheart, do you always react so adversely to kindness?”

“What? I’m not– no.”

“I’m being nice. I can tell you, there’s not a lot of landlords out there like me. I actually enjoy helping my tenants…” he turns onto a dark street and you shiver. You’ve never been down this way but you don’t live on this side of town. “I always said, whatever you need, just ask.”

“Sure, um, thanks,” you murmur.

He turns back onto a lit avenue as a glint of light flickers over him and draws your eyes. You catch him peeking at you, his blue eye reflecting the flash before he can look back at the road ahead. You shiver and cross your arms. It didn’t seem like he was looking at your face.

“Fresh sheets on the bed too. Hope you don’t mind, I did a once over when you were gone. Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Quick vacuum and all that.”

“It’s your place,” you say, “I’ll be sure to leave it how I found it.”

He inhales, deep enough for you to hear, “I know. You’re not a troublemaker, are you?”

You swallow and furrow your brow at the dashboard. Again, it’s not just his words but his vague tone. You don’t understand the question.

“Good girl like you always pays her rent on time,” he praises, “I can tell you, that’s not always the case.”

You let out a breath, “oh, aha, yeah, well, scheduled payments… technology, right?”

“Mhmm,” he sucks his teeth and lets his arm rest on the console between the seats, ”it’s so easy to be lazy these days.”

🖤

Steve walks you up to the front door. Just in case you can’t get the code right, he claims. You get it on the first try and thank him. Again. He lingers, as if reluctant to leave you, as if he’s expecting to come inside with you. Almost as if you should invite him in.

You say good night and lock the door behind you. You take your time untying your black sneakers and hang your hoodie on the coat rack. When you dare to peek out the window, he’s only just striding down the path back to his car.

It’s slightly creepy but then you feel guilty, thinking maybe you were being rude not asking him in for a tea or something. You don’t know. This whole situation is awkward as hell.

You wander into the kitchen, your stomach growling from the measly microwave dinner you ate on your break. Steve’s ‘small shop’ is much more generous than you expect. Overdoing it seems to be a trait of his.

You read the side of the organic milk in the curved bottle. You know that it costs three times as much as your usual carton of skim. And the greek yogurt, definitely expensive. All brand names, none of the generic discount bin goodies you thrive on.

You let the fridge close as you take out the boxed butternut squash soup. Fancy, you think as you peruse the label. Gourmet, so it claims. You put some in a small pot and heat it up on the gas burner. As you do, you thumb through your phone, pacing around between stirring the thick orange puree.

You eat rich soup with a brioche bun from the market bag. You’re thankful now Steve didn’t ask for compensation, you’re not sure you could foot that bill. And to think, after him praising your timely payments, you would default on a grocery receipt.

You shut off the lights downstairs and flip on the sconce above the staircase and follow it up to the second floor. You come down the hall with a yawn, the bedroom door open and waiting for you. Your duffel is on the dresser where you left it.

You sift around for a loose tee shirt to sleep in and pull out your toiletry bag. You go into the bathroom and change before unzipping the pouch. You take out your cleanser and wash your face over the sink. You pause as you drop the bottle through the open mouth of the blush coloured bag, a fuchsia shape poking out from under your mouthwash.

You reach in and retrieve your bullet vibrator. What the hell? You definitely don’t remember packing that in your hasty evacuation. Besides, why would you put it in there? You shake your head and drop it back to the bottom.

You pat your face dry and take out your tweezers, cleaning up your brows and a few vagrant hairs along your chin. You put them away then ply on your night cream, making a face at yourself as you brush your teeth. You flip the switch off and use the light on your phone to find your way to bed.

You lay awake for almost an hour. You’ve never been good at sleeping in strange places. The house feels so empty it’s eerie. Your ears are pricked for any noise but there isn’t much. The walls are so thick, you don’t even hear the rustling of the tree that casts a shadow through the window or the chirp of crickets. Despite its luxury, the house is desolate.

Your eyelids start to itch and you feel your muscles ease. You start to drift down, a slow swirling descent that tingles in your sockets. That shell starts to encase you, little by little, paralysing you as it drags you down.

BANG!

It isn’t loud but sudden. The dull noise jars you up, chasing away the advance of your fatigue. You look around, heart beating wildly, searching for the source. It sounded close but you can’t be sure. It could’ve been all in your mind as you tiptoed the threshold of your unconscious.

You bounce to the edge of the bed and stand, wobbling through the dark until you find the switch by the door. The light shines out around you as you stop in the doorway, glancing trepidatiously towards the stairs. You near the top and turn on the next light, a cautious progress through the spacious house.

You go down each step, one at a time, and when you get to the bottom, you illuminate the entryway too, the front room, and finally the kitchen. There’s nothing there. You didn’t really expect to find anything. The noise felt much closer to the bedroom.

You return to the second floor, shutting off the lights along the way, and you peer down the hallway. You didn’t check up here. You pad along the soft runner rug and peek into the bathroom before you approach the closed door of the study.

You touch the handle and a zing of fear courses through you. You should just go back to bed. You don’t need to know.

You turn it and inch inside, snaking your other hand in to flick on the lights. The same. Nothing there. You shut the door and proceed to the second bedroom, the door is slightly ajar so you kick it open with your foot and let the light in the hallway pour in. Empty.

You’re imagining things. It’s being in this strange house. Whenever you stayed the night at your grandmother’s it was the same thing. If you weren’t awake, waiting for the creaks of the house to prove something sinister, you were trapped in shallow night terrors that felt too real.

You return to the bedroom. You don’t turn off the light right away. You grab your charger and plug in your phone, opening up the white noise app you never used. You scroll through the choices with their dreamy names; serenity, fantasy, rejuvenation…

Your thumb hovers over the start button as you hear something else. Muffled and hollow. You frown, you can’t tell if it’s real or your mind playing tricks. There’s such a surreal distant effect to the scream that you can’t be sure it’s not some stray cat yowling in the street. The silence that ensues feeds your doubt. You’re looking for peculiarities, that’s all.

You press play on the soothing wishing noises and set your phone on the night table. You get up to shut off the lights and quickly nestle into bed, pulling a pillow over your head to block out the room. You just need to make it through the first night.

🖤

The next day, you leave earlier than usual. The change in your bus route and prospect of a narrow transfer from one bus to the next, has you anxious. Before you leave, you double check that you have your bus pass and some spare change just in case. You hook your bag around your shoulder, the security system announcing your exit; ‘front door open’.

You pull the door shut and hit the lock icon on the pad. You test the handle to make sure it’s closed and for a moment, you’re disoriented as you hear the door unlock but it doesn’t budge. You frown and look up as a shadow emerges from the unit next to yours. It wasn’t your door.

A man with long brown hair poking out from under a ball cap turns to punch in his code before locking it. The pad flashes red confirming the door is secured. He scowls at the handle as he drops his arm straight, his hand balling to a fist as he mutters.

“Morning,” you greet, the typical squeaky greeting you give to your neighbours.

He winces and turns as he looks up at you. You must’ve surprised him. You give an apologetic wave and tight-lipped smile. His blue eyes shock you, bold but bright in his chiseled face. He tilts his head slightly before he spins without response and stalks away. You watch his broad shoulders as he marches across the street without looking.

Not the friendliest of neighbours but the first one you’ve encountered. It’s a little less offputting knowing you’re not the only one around. You let out a long breath and make your way down the paved pathway to the sidewalk. You peek back at the unit next door. The curtains are drawn and the place looks dark even at the peak of day.

You shrug it off. You should only be there for a couple more days. That’s it. That’s all you have to get through.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #multifandom #blind offer #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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wonderingpanda · 3 months

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Hey You - Pt.1

Clay x Fem!Reader

My first Trolls fic, hope I did alright. I’ll try to post part 2 as soon as I can.

The sun was setting as Rhonda hurried down a dusty path surrounded by hills. Inside sat Bruce at the drivers seat with Tiny on his stomach holding his mini steering wheel. Y/n stood to their left while Branch stood to the right with his arms crossed as Velvet and Veneers popular song, Watch Me Work, played over the radio.

“Oh my kids love these guys, we’re a total Veneer household.” Bruce happily explained.

“They’re the one’s who have Floyd!” John Dory pointed out from further behind them.

“Ah it’s gonna be hard to seperate the art from the artist.” John Dory rolled his eyes and walked off while Branch and Y/n gave Bruce looks of disbelief. As the song finished, a voice came over the radio.

“That’s Velvet and Veneer’s spicy hot new single, Watch Me Work. Catch them tomorrow night at the Rage Dome where they’ll be receiving the Lifer Award (L-Lifer Award!)” Bruce, Y/n and Branch looked at each other with worry before Bruce turned off the radio.

“Guys, will Floyd even make it through that show?” Branch walked down to where John Dory and Poppy were stood by his clue board.

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna make it. We’ve been looking for clues to find Clay.” Poppy placed a BroZone poster of Clay in his funderdraws up on the clue board.

“Oh I’m sorry, the clue board, you mean my clue board?” A quick moment of silence passed as Poppy and John Dory ignored Branch. “That I made?” Poppy and John Dory continued looking at the board, still not giving Branch any response. “We like the clue board now?”

At the mention of finding Clay, Y/n quickly turned around and headed down to the other three trolls while trying to hide her rising panic.

“Do we really need to find Clay?” Poppy, Branch and John Dory turned to face her, confused as to why she wouldn’t want to find him. “I mean, we’ve already got you three.” Y/n gestured to the present BroZone members. “And it would give us way more time to save Floyd if we just headed to Mount Rageous now.”

“Uh Y/n, are you ok?” Poppy stepped forward, concerned for her close friend.

“Wha, me? I’m fine. I’m not panicked, you’re panicked. Like why would I be so nervous to see Clay again after all these years. It’s not like there was anything terrible that happened between us after the band broke up, what makes you think that?” Poppy stepped back to talk to Branch.

“What’s going on with her?” Branch sighed and crossed his arms again, still looking over at their nervous friend.

“Before the band broke up Y/n and Clay kind of had a thing going on.”

“Oh I knew it! There were rumours those two were together!” Branch reached out his hands, signalling for Poppy to calm down.

“But that night, when everyone left, Clay decided to break up with Y/n on the spot and, as you know, leave forever.”

“Oh” Poppy lowered her hands as her energy dropped after hearing the sad story. “That’s why she doesn’t want to find him.”

“Exactly.” Branch confirmed Poppy’s thoughts.

“It’s a shame really” John Dory cut into the conversation. “They were such a cute couple. I even remember when Clay made us pull that whole song together just to ask her out.”

“Oh don’t act so sympathetic.” Branch turned to face John Dory. “You weren’t even there when they broke up.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care.” John Dory tried to defend himself.

“Ok guys, maybe now isn’t the best time for an argument. Let’s all just calm down and- what is he wearing!?” Poppy cut off her previous sentence and pointed at the poster she had stuck up before. Branch noticed what she was referring to.

“Oh, those are just his…”

“Perfect, perfect, perfect.” The music to BroZone’s old song seemed to play out of nowhere as Branch quickly got an idea.

“Funderdraws!” He smashed open a glass case holding Clay’s funderdraws which unavoidably released a disgusting scent along with a bunch of green ghost that flew around yelling ‘Stinky!’. John Dory whacked them away the best he could while Poppy and Y/n held their breaths from the smell. Branch held up the funderdraws proudly.

“John Dory, I have no idea why you saved these it’s incredibly disgusting. But I’m glad you did.” Poppy stood with a dopey smile on her face while Y/n had her arms crossed, not liking where the conversation was going. Meanwhile, John Dory put his hands on his hips in defence.

“What, they’re memorabilia. But I will be good gosh darned if I know how they’re gonna help us find Clay.”

Next thing you know, Rhonda was sniffing the funderdraws dangled in her face at the end of a stick. Branch, standing on her forehead, called out to her.

“Help us Rhonda!” He turned to face Poppy who had her head stuck out the window while keeping a grip on his vest. “She’s got the scent!” The two headed back inside quickly before anything else could happen.

Inside in the background, Y/n helped Branch and Poppy settle back in safely. John Dory came up next to Tiny and Bruce, who now hand one hand on the larger steering wheel, and leaned on the armrest of Bruce’s chair.

“Hey, Tiny, you see that button?” Tiny Diamond’s gaze followed John Dory as he pointed to a button with a swirl pattern and the word hustle above it.

“Uh yeah.”

“That beautiful, shiny button?” John Dory pressed further.

“Oh you mean the button that’s taking every fibre of my being not to press? Yeah I see it.” Tiny Diamond slid off the button as quickly as he had laid atop it. John Dory stepped forward and lowered his voice to a more dramatic tone.

“Press it.”

“Oh heck yeah ooh!” Tiny Diamond jumped off the larger steering that he had a grip on and jumped onto the hustle button causing it to glow and swirl. ‘Hustle Dimension’ began to play as rainbow lights came out of Rhonda. Her eyes lit up and began to glow.

“Let’s hustle daddy!” Rhonda let out a noise before zooming off into the distance, glowing lights trailing behind. She leapt a few times as she ran and jumped into a glowing, star-shaped portal that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

In the hustle dimension, everything was different. Everyone was placed into a two-dimensional state and the gravity that existed before was now lost as Rhonda floated about.

“Woah” Branch called out as he stumbled into what was meant to be the space in Rhonda behind the drivers seat. Poppy followed after letting out a loud gasp as she took note of her appearance. Everything then melted away and while they were still within a two-dimensional space everything about it had changed, including the visual style.

Poppy and Branch now found themselves walking down a black and white road, dancing along to the ‘Hustle Dimension’ music. Bruce then bounced next to Poppy on her left with John Dory bouncing to Branch’s right and Y/n bouncing, landing in the middle. They all laughed together before John Dory, Y/n and Bruce flew off with rainbow trails. Poppy grabbed her own hand and spun away with Branch tumbling after her.

They all flew side by side down the black and white road in the rainbow coloured world. Branch and Poppy were on the right, Bruce and Y/n were on the left and John Dory flew in the middle. They all then flew through another star that once again changed the visuals of the reality they were perceiving. Each zoomed down in their respective colours. Branch was blue, Poppy was pink, John Dory was green, Y/n was f/c and Bruce was Purple. They flew next to stars and swirled together, combining to create Hustle Man who loudly called out.

“Hustle!” Hustle Man flew off into the sky before disappearing. Rhonda finally flew out of the star portal that they had first entered and settled back down to run normally on the road once more. Bruce and Tiny Diamond had been placed back where they were but John Dory, Y/n, Poppy and Branch were unfortunately thrown onto the floor, on their backs, in a heap. Poppy quickly stood up shaking her head for a second as the song ended.

“Wow! Too much hustle is a thing.”

“Huh, look at that.” Branch waved his hand around, hallucinating rainbows following it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was now dark outside. Rhonda nervously ran through a dark forest before stopping in front of a seemingly abandoned building.

“Are we sure this is where Clay lives?” Branch asked as Rhonda opened her door to let everyone step out. Bruce followed behind him with Tiny Diamond in a baby carrier. Tiny decided to reply.

“Are we sure? Our GPS is an armadillo bus sniffing used undies so no, we’re not sure.”

The group continued to walk towards the old building. Bruce spoke as they wandered through the entrance which lead into a bother part of the dark outdoors.

“Eeh. I think this is the place from every true crime podcast I’ve ever listened to.” They continued forwards through the dark, unaware of the ‘golf balls’ rolling around them. The small group of trolls stuck close together until…

“Halt!” Lights switched on revealing a giant clown face with glowing eyes and a giant tongue extending out to them. Rainbow coloured smoke puffed from either side of the clown head as it’s teeth moved while it spoke.

“Who goes there!?”

“Ahhh!” The entire group screamed in fear!

“Agh!” Tiny cried out, quickly climbing out of his carrier and into Bruce’s hair. He poked his head out once before hiding back inside.

“Who dares trespass on these sacred grounds!?” The clown demanded. Branch put on a determined face and began to walk forward strongly. John Dory tried to stop him.

“Branch, what are you doing?” But Branch continued on. He stopped when he was right near the clown head’s tongue, looking up and calling out to it.

“Listen, we don’t want any clown related trouble okay? We’re just here looking for our brother, Clay.”

The clown’s teeth moved down slightly before moving in sync with it’s voice again. “Wait a second, you’re trolls?”

“So what? You’re a clown.” Branch retorted, gesturing to the face in front of him. Unexpectedly, a yellow, golf ball looking thing popped out of the clown’s mouth and rolled towards the group.

“Woah!” Branch stepped back towards the rest of the group as the ball bounced closer to them. The ball then unfurled revealing to be a troll with crazy blonde hair and pink skin. She stood up in a menacing pose for a moment before smiling widely at everyone.

“Oh my gosh, hello! My name is Viva! It is so fantastamazing to see other trolls!” She immediately ran around squeezing John Dory, giving Bruce a big hug, hugging Y/n from the side, spinning Branch around and lifting Poppy up in her own heartfelt hug.

“Hi! Ha!” Viva smiled after quickly setting Poppy down. Poppy slouched froward, feeling slightly drained from Viva’s energetic mood, but stood up properly to hear her speak.

“So fantastamazing is my own personal word it means, um, fantastic and amazing. I used to say amastic but then I was like ‘Mmm, that’s not as good.’”

Poppy immediately tried thinking of her own word to match Viva’s. “Fantasta um awesome.”

“That’s different but that works too! Way to make it your own.” After receiving the complement, Poppy rushed over to Branch’s side.

“Is this how people feel when they meet me?”

“Yes.” Branch replied, just quickly enough to not be cut off by Viva.

“Am I being a lot? Sometimes I can be a lot.”

“Uh I’m not sure we’re in the right place.” Branch mentioned, but Viva easily dismissed his worries.

“Of course you’re in the right place. Any troll is welcome here with us.” Now stood in front of the small group of trolls, Viva clapped her hands and called out. “Okay, Putt-putt trolls, lights on for our new friends” A bunch of trolls had rolled towards Viva and popped out of their golf-ball disguises. Each one was characterised with a vibrant colour, wild hair, and some sort of sweater romper or dress. While most had their hair out, some adorned buckets on their heads while others wore green mossy hats. As Viva finished talking the lights to the putt-putt course switched on, lighting up the whole place in the dark of night. Viva began to tap her feet excitedly, seeing the expressions of wonder coming from each of the new trolls.

“Oh my gosh, are you guys hungry, are you thirsty?”

“Yes!” Tiny cheered, jumping out and back into his baby carrier.

“Fries fries, you guys want fries, I am seeing fries. Bring out the works.” Viva jumped around and gestured to a few Putt-putt trolls who excitedly left to grab the food. “Milkshakes, to celebrate!”

“Coming in hot!” A bright yellow Putt-putt troll called out. Rolling away as a hot dog, fries, banana split, drink and milkshake were placed down around the pop trolls. Viva grabbed onto the straw of the pink milkshake and drank it all in one slurp, wowing the others. She then jumped down and stretched her back.

“Woo that’s better, now I finally have some energy!” Viva ran past Poppy.

“Did you just braid my hair!?” Poppy smiled, noticing the large braid left by Viva who quickly popped back round.

“You’re welcome, it looks so good.”

“I love it!” Poppy smiled brightly as she gripped her hair. Viva then gasped and ran over to Y/n.

“Oh my gosh, your hair is so pretty. How do you get it to sparkle like that?” Y/n laughed and smiled brightly at the compliment.

“Thank you. It’s just naturally like this. The benefits of being a troll, right?”

“Totally.” Viva agreed.

“Wow, these fries are amazing.” Bruce complemented as he lifted up another fry. “They’d really go great with a burger.”

“Aaa!” A blue Putt-putt trolled screamed, leading to a chorus of panic and terror as all the Putt-putt trolls desperately tried to hide.

“What is happening?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah we try not to use that word around here. It’s just that burger sounds a little too much like ah…” Viva leaned towards Bruce and spoke in a hushed tone. “Burgens.” She winced as another chorus of screams were let out.

“We call burgers…” The group looked up to see a mysterious figure walking towards them. “Meat circles.”

“Clay?” Branch smiled.

“Oh no.” Y/n’s face dropped at his arrival.

“Clay, hey what’s up man?” Bruce cheered as he and Clay happily walked to each other.

“Hey, how you been man?” Clay smiled as they initiated their own handshake.

“Clay!” John Dory jumped forward, opening his arms for a hug.

“Hmm, John.” Clay blankly replied, giving him no more than a few seconds of attention.

“Wha?” John Dory’s face dropped at the lack of response he received.

“Spruce.” Clay gave Bruce a fist bump as they finished off hair handshake. “What do you know?”

“Actually I go by Bruce now.”

“Bruce, oh ho someone got fancy. I like it.” Bruce laughed at Clay’s response.

“Look who’s talking, is that a sweater romper?” He questioned.

“What can I say, when you co-run a place you gotta flex the drip.” Clay pulled slightly on the collar of his sweater romper before releasing it.

“Ya, I’m the fun side of the operation and Mr Clay takes care of the boring stuff!” Viva cheered as she slid into the conversation.

“Guilty.” He admitted. The two laughed together until Clay noticed branch. “Woah, baby branch!” He ran over and grabbed Branch’s face. “No way!”

“Actually it’s Big Branch now, or just Branch. Branch is fine.” Branch struggled to speak as his cheeks were squished together.”

“Come here, come here. Yeah.” Clay spoke in a babyish voice as he continued to squish Branch’s cheeks. Only stopping when Branch started to speak again.

“So Clay, this is Poppy.” Branch gestured to Poppy who appeared at his side.

“Hi Clay! So great to finally meet you.” Poppy smiled as she waved and gave Clay a quick hug. “Can you do the Rusty Robot for me?”

“Yeah no, I don’t do that anymore okay?” Clay awkwardly explained.

“Right, kidding. Ha can you imagine? I wouldn’t just ask you to do that after meeting you two seconds ago. Who would do that?” She awkwardly looked at Clay after glancing away for a second.

“Yeah, it’s just that Fun-boy Clay is dead. Serious-boy Clay only does the Well-Oiled Robot.” Clay spoke while demonstrating his new and improved Well-Oiled Robot. “And it is no friki-friki-friki fun.” He stated while ending in a pose, similar to how he would end the Rusty Robot, only with a frown and his hands in the ‘I Love You’ pose.

“I mean, that’s still pretty fun.” Poppy lightheartedly pointed out.

“Ha yeah, same old Clay.” John Dory added.

“Nah, that’s not true.” Clay tried to defend himself. “If I was still fun, would I have chosen the admin building as my bedroom?” Everyone looked over to the admin building, a small wooden shack with nothing but a window, a door, and the capacity to hold barely one troll. “Huh? Huh? Asking the tough questions guys, asking the tough questions.”

“Oh, right.” Poppy nodded.

“Wait, you still haven’t met Y/n!” Tiny smiled brightly.

“No no no.” Bruce looked down at him with worry.

“No no no no no no…” John Dory, Branch and Poppy chimed in, not noticing Clay’s shocked expression.

“Y/n?”

“Oh yeah, you’re other friend. Where did she go?” Viva looked around to try and spot her. Y/n tried to sneak away behind Bruce but was quickly noticed by Tiny.

“Here she is!” He happily exclaimed.”

“Dammit Tiny!” Y/n stomped in frustration.

“Y-Y/n, hey.” Clay awkwardly waved and stepped forward.

“Hi Clay.” The two struggled in finding a comfortable greeting backing out of a fist bump, handshake and high five. After awkwardly trying to move around their hands they tried leaning in for a hug but backed out of that too. Y/n eventually opted to just give Clay two pats on the shoulder as they exchanged awkward toothy smiles.

“Uh anyway.” Clay stepped back, Y/n doing the same. “I can’t believe you all are here. Wait, where’s Floyd?”

“That’s why we’re here. Branch stepped forward. “Floyd’s been taken prisoner in Mount Rageous by superstar singers, Velvet and Veneer.”

“And the only thing powerful enough to free him is the perfect family harmony.” The five adult trolls finished together. Tiny’s face contorted in confusion.

“Okay, either they just made that up or I have not been paying attention.”

“Well why haven’t you just called he authorities?” Clay asked but slowly came the conclusion by himself. “Oh, unless Floyd is being held in an impenetrable diamond prison.”

“Yeah, that.” John Dory confirmed.

“I’m in. I’d also like to volunteer to keep track of our expenses, just cause I think you’re gonna need somebody to be on top of that.” Clay gave the group an almost smug smile.

“Yeah I don’t think you’ll get any pushback on that front.” Bruce spoke up. Branch’s expression turned to a more serious tone.

“Great, but we need to leave for Mount Rageous like now.”

Part 2 coming soon. Have an amazing day/night where you are!✨

#trolls 3 x reader #trolls band together #trolls x reader #clay x reader #trolls clay x reader

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liebgottsjumpwings · 2 months

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AUGUST AFTERNOON | FAYE FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

Summary: Faye Fischer and her newly acquired friend Ken Lemmons spend a sunny afternoon at Thorpe Abbotts, Faye thinks about the past few years and is then (not so) rudely interrupted by a certain curly haired pilot. Who had managed to make her blush several times some days ago.

Warnings: general war violence, implied minor (and not canon) character death.

Word count: a bit over 2500

Note: this was meant to be a little less than 1k word blurb, turned into way more. I hope it isn't too boring as most of it delves into Faye's experiences before the mota canon. That is also because I use my ocs to study certain historical events, so this really is just self indulgence. Please pretty please let me know what you think of it! (This fic is also posted on AO3)

AUGUST 21, 1943, 16:32

“What kind of name is ‘Just-a-Snappin’ even?” Faye Fischer wondered out loud, only half expecting an answer from the man in front of her as she came to sit up from her lying position in the grass. She squinted, just about able to make out the text on the B-17 Ken Lemmons was working on. Her squint disappeared as he came into her sight, blocking the warm ray of sunshine she had been enjoying moments prior, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “You’re gonna have to ask Blakely that one,” answered the curly haired man standing in her sun. Looking at him, she wondered why he would hide those curls under that beanie. Probably so all that working grease wouldn’t get into it.

Faye shrugged, letting herself fall back into the grass. “Whenever I ask Blakely a question, the man answers with a goddamn riddle,” she let the end of her sentence continue into a sigh. Ken just laughed, his hands firm on his hips. The sun made the edge of his curls shine, almost like an aureole. Visually, him standing in her sun wasn’t so bad, it looked quite pretty. Her skin was starting to miss the warmth of the sun rays, though. Faye’s fingertips tapped on the cap of her camera lens, the Contax II had been laying on her stomach, under one of Ken’s work rags, to shield it from the sun. “Keep standing like that,” Faye ordered him as she removed the cap from the lens, turning on her camera.

“Aren’t you only supposed to use that for… you know… work purposes?” she heard him ask as she fiddled with the exposure settings. A scoff escaped past her lips as she lined up the viewfinder with her left eye. “Shut up, they made me pay for my own film rolls when I arrived in England, so they’re mine technically anyway” Faye deadpanned in response, snapping a photo of Ken. “Besides,” she continued, putting her camera back under the rag again, letting her head fall back into the grass, “don’t you think the photo I just took wouldn’t go over well with all those war bond leaflets?” She held up her hands, reading an imaginary leaflet “Purchase a war bond so our curly haired cuties can maintain our bomber planes!” she sarcastically called out. It earned a belly-laugh from Ken, who then turned around, readying himself to get back to his maintenance work as he continued laughing, “I hope to God not.” Faye smiled in response, “Yeah, well, I’ve taken more leisure photos on this camera than the OSS would be comfortable knowing. It is only fair because nearly all film rolls were mine anyway,” she trailed off, closing her eyes again as the warm August sun blanketed her.

The warmth took her back to August, nearly three years back, 1940. To the emerging hills behind Mulhouse, in the occupied region of the Alsace in France. Back then, she too had snapped a photo that the OSS would turn their noses up at. She couldn’t help it, though, the sleepy little cottage the, back then, above ground resistance she was attached to used as their base of operations was too pretty against the sunny hills. Plus, the whole rule against taking photos that do not directly aid the war effort was bullshit anyway. They increased her morale, no? Surely a heightened sense of morale would aid the war effort. Just like her friend, and resistance member Isidore was aiding the war effort by developing the photos Faye had taken recently. His girlfriend, Julienne, a distant cousin of Faye’s neighbors back in Louisiana, the Klotz family, laid next to her in the grass, yelling at her sweetheart to stop working so hard and join them in the warm sum. She still remembered the minty smell of the Ground Ivy that tickled against her cheeks in the field near the cottage as she watched Isidore exit the cottage, some of the successfully developed photos under his arm, he dropped them above the two women. The photographs whirled softly down onto them, like those propaganda leaflets that had recently been dropping from planes over the region. The association made her chuckle. She much preferred these photographs over those leaflets.

Oh, how she longed back to be in that sleepy little field just behind Mulhouse. Unknowing and indifferent to what was about to wash over her. Over her dear friends. Over her distant relatives, up north in Sélestat. How she wished to gain that sense of unknowing and indifference once more. The fleeting feeling of walking back home from the shul on those warm August evenings, taking the train from Mulhouse towards Sélestat, being greeted by her grandmother’s second brother, the one who stayed behind in Alsace. Being taken in to his family, learning about their extensive history and connection to this land. It made her feel proud, like her family here. All of that despite the impending feeling of calamity. That feeling grew more and more with each news item about the Germans inching closer. Forcing themselves back into the territory they’ve claimed as theirs for eras. This time, it came paired with a terrifying venom against a group of people so deeply rooted in this region.

After the annexation of the Alsace into Nazi-Germany, the resistance group Faye had been attached to by the OSS was forced to go underground. Her work, instead of reporting back to the OSS on current events in the border region between France and Germany, became a high-risk operation that aided the Alsatian resistance in its activities against the Nazi occupier. When it happened, the OSS had forbidden her to associate publicly with her family and the community she had built up. They deemed it ‘too riskful’. And because Faye had no choice, she listened to those orders. And just like that, her growing connection with her ancestral home region, her family, the core of her very identity was snapped away. Just as quick as it had flourished. She watched the treatment of her people become more and more dire every day. She watched and she could do nothing but watch. Nothing outward anyway. In secret, she was doing more than she ever had done. Risking everything to make it harder for the Nazis to spread their hatred and evil. In return, she got the gnarly gift of having to distance herself from the recently cultivating bond with her family that lived halfway across the world from her.

Yes, she still had Isidore, Julienne and the rest of their group. Though, as they were forced to become underground, a painful strain started to form on their friendship. Understandably so, tensions were high, risks were always there and the imminent feeling of doom never stopped looming over the group.

Which ended up being for good reason. Come the early February days of 1943, Faye found herself with her left cheek pressed into the cold ground where the minty Ground Ivy once grew. The barrel of a Karabiner 98A straight against her right cheek. She still wasn’t sure who gave up their activities to the SS. She wasn’t sure if she cared enough by then either way. Or now, for that matter. In the two and a half years that spanned from that first summer in Alsace to February of 1943, Faye had grown disillusioned to the point that she wasn’t even sure if she cared about living, or dying. Maybe it was for the better that death seemed so close. That it came to her in the form of a German rifle.

That was until she remembered why her family decided to migrate to the United States. Back in the late 19th century, the Jews of the Alsace were already facing hardships. And it was those hardships that made her grandparents decide that from there on out, their family line would not suffer under those hardships anymore. So they set sail to Louisiana, because their children, and their children, and their children (and so on), deserved a life of flourishing. So it was there, February 1943, with the cold barrel of a Karabiner 98A pressed to her face, that Faye decided that she would honor that wish. She would not die at the hands of those who wished her dead.

She wasn’t sure how, but she ran, she ran until her feet gave out and Isidore made them duck into a dense shrub. His face stained with dirt, much like hers. And through the dirt on his face, tears traced their paths. Then it dawned on her that Julienne hadn’t made it out with them. Faye hoped with everything she had in her dear friend wasn’t left out, alone in that cold field. But there wasn’t much time for hoping. They had to make it to safety. To a place where they couldn’t be reached by those who were looking for them.

Switzerland. Within a few days of frantic fleeing, both of them somehow made it to Basel, just over the border. Isidore’s previously tear-filled eyes had turned empty by then. And Faye feared for him. She feared for everyone they had to leave behind. The fear didn’t leave her when she walked away from the hospital she had helped Isidore to, so his wounds could be looked at. Not caring much for her own, and after the OSS had been made aware of her whereabouts, they had arranged a route to England for her. To ‘escape’ the risk she found herself in, according to the OSS. She still scoffs at the mention of ‘risk’, the OSS would never fully know. And so, after a goodbye ‘for now’ and a promise to keep in touch, she departed for the train station of Basel, on towards Bern, and from there, hopefully England. She watched the fields roll by, they were barren, empty of life. She tried to not let it remind her of Julienne too much. Hoping that her friend had somehow made it to safety, like her sweetheart and Faye.

Her memories were disturbed by the warm sun once again being taken away from her. This time, it wasn’t because a certain crew chief by the name of Ken Lemmons was standing in between her and her blanket of warmth, it was because Faye hadn’t noticed the time pass by and the sun having moved behind the officer’s buildings on the air base. She let out a groan at the feeling of her back cracking as she sat up, her camera falling into her lap. Slowly opening her eyes, to her surprise, ‘Just-a-Snappin’ had been exchanged for a different airplane. Though, her eyes were too blurry from the sun shining onto them, to make out the name. These damn pilots and their airplane names.

What she did make out was Ken and what seemed to be a pilot, standing by the plane as Ken pointed out several things on the wing. The pilot nodding, seemingly intently listening to Ken. Faye, after rubbing her eyes intensely, was able to make out more of the scene in front of her. Her sight darted towards the plane again, reading. ‘Rosie's Riveters,’ she mouthed the words. Way better name for a plane than whatever Blakely was thinking with his one, Faye thought. Her gaze moved over to Ken and the still unknown pilot again. Squinting, she could make out the brown curls, kept small and neatly arranged on top of his head. The 100th and their tendency to hide their gorgeous curls irrationally annoyed Faye to no end. She eternally cursed Ken for hiding them behind his beanie, too. She looked back to the nose of the plane, ‘Rosie’s Riveters.’ Oh. Robert Rosenthal. The man that had made her blush the other night without even knowing he had. Robert Rosenthal had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts some two weeks after Faye herself did. She had been sitting with Helen and the other women as she watched him come into the officers’ club, his feet carrying him, dancing towards his crewmates. It was his little twist and the way his jacket moved in the air flow created by it; itt had been the first time she smiled that day. And Helen noticed. Sending Faye a teasing look as she dug the nose of her shoe into Faye’s shin. The action made Faye’s cheeks turn bright red, sinking deeper into her seat, disappearing into the shadow of the curved wall as she let out a soft, intoxicated giggle.

It wasn’t much later, after Nash had successfully achieved a dance from Helen, that Rosenthal’s eyes locked with Faye’s. The same red from before creeping up from her throat to her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile. His returning smile was beaming, like a direct ray of sunlight across the room. She would receive a few more of such smiles from him throughout the night.

Now, with his pilot’s hat snug under his arm, Faye could see him smile at Ken, a thankful smile. And who wouldn’t be thankful for Ken Lemmons. The man worked tirelessly to send them up safely into the air. But, oh she was sure it was Robert Rosenthal standing there, alright. Yeah, that smile, of which she had been on the receiving end several times now, she recognized it. The familiar, uneasy yet welcomed feeling creeped up in her stomach again. She could feel the flush in her throat. Combined with the hours of direct sunlight she had received over the afternoon, remembering their shared looks made her slightly lightheaded as she rose to her feet. Hoping to quietly leave, as to not gain the perception of both men standing some feet away from her.

Mission unsuccessful, though, damn it. “Fish!” she heard Ken call her. Her arms dropped beside her body as she turned around, her camera swinging with a little delay. She caught it, so it wouldn’t hit her on her stomach. For some stupid reason, her breathing increased in frequency as she watched the two men walk over to her. She had to consciously try to not take a step backward everytime they took one forward. She tried to keep her eyes strictly on Ken.“You think that is a better name for a plane?” he asked, pointing towards the B-17. Her eyes followed his pointing, reading the text on the nose of the plane for a third time. Before she realized, she already voiced her opinion. “I think naming anything but a pet or a human is a weird thing anyway,” she retorted, eyes dead set on Ken. Next to him, she heard a chuckle. “I’m actually quite proud of ‘Rosie’s Riveters’” she heard the curly haired brunette next to Ken say. There was no fighting it anymore, she had to actually look at him now. And she was sure you could compare the color of her cheeks to the apples they served in the breakfast hall, bright red. Still, like she always did, she came up with a retort; “Well, it’s better than Blakely’s, I guess,” she said, a sly, yet slightly shy smile appearing on her lips. The brunette in front of her let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling. It tugged at Faye’s heartstrings, “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he said. And there it was again, that goddamned smile.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #ken lemmons #hbo war #oc: faye #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal #mota #my writing

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hot-soop · 6 months

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don't let me tempt you / ch.1

pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader ⇢ au: Good Omens universe (none of the characters or the plot are mentioned so this fic can be read without knowing anything of Good Omens) ⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter) ⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork. ⇢ chapter wc: 4.5k ⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you. ⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery bc this is set in the Good Omens universe and there's gonna be a bunch of biblical references, but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate. Author is an atheist. Author did next to no research on calendars that pre-date the Georgian one bc she is lazy and can't do maths. Swearing. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort <3 ⇢ a/n: thank u to my beloveds @the-boy-meets-evil and @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and thinking my babies are cute. thank u to my angel @effortandmore for your encouragement! Ur all cute too. Ily

1106 BC

Time in 1106 BC follows some kind of construct that the author has not deemed necessary to research, but if the Georgian calendar (or indeed days of the week) had been invented, the day our story begins would be in mid April, on a Tuesday, around 3pm.

The weather in Heaven is, as you would expect, perfect. The company is not.

“Sorry to bring you in here like this,” you say, as the thirteenth angel of the day takes a seat on the other side of your desk.

There’s a spiel to this. Angels have a tendency to lean towards the dramatic, so you’ve learned the ways of ‘softening the blow’, as the humans call it. Doling out God’s punishments wasn’t your preferred assignment, but it’s the role that was dropped in your lap after you quit the last - and you’re not in a position to refuse Her again. Here goes another.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but-”

“Let me guess,” the other angel interjects. “She’s demoting me?”

This is unusual. The angels know God’s wrath, but they’re usually surprised to find out when said wrath is directed toward them specifically. Not this one, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, waiting for you to rip off the bandaid.

“Uhh. A temporary banishment actually.”

He stares at you. “It was only a little miracle.”

“Three very large miracles, I’ll have you know. We’re not supposed to be bringing people back from the dead anymore.”

“Since when?” he asks, rather like a petulant human toddler.

You frown. “Since protocol changed - didn’t you read the memo?” The angel shakes his head. “God’s decided to save those types of miracles for someone really special in-” You pause to check your watch “- a thousand years, give or take a century.”

“Special how?” The angel asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“You know we’re not told details of The Great Plan.” You flip the file shut. “Well, it seems like you know the issue at hand, and there’s little else to discuss-”

There’s a look of unease creeping over his assigned face that gives you pause. His fingertips drum on his knee. Too human for a heavenly body. “Are you alright?”

“She’s not- they’re not going to cut-”

“Oh! Goodness no,” you’re quick to reassure. “Oh no, you’d have to do something really awful for that, like, question her authority like Lucifer did.” His laugh comes out like a bark, and you’re confused because it wasn’t a joke. “No, but I am terribly sorry to say that you’re being sentenced to four-hundred years on Earth.”

He blinks twice. “Excuse me?”

“Four-hundred years - horrid, I know. But God does say the punishment must fit the deed-”

You’re interrupted again, this time by the kind of laughter that starts as disbelief and quickly has his shoulders shaking and tears rolling down his cheeks. Most unusual.

“You’re telling me I get to spend near half a century on Earth?”

“What do you mean ‘get to’?” The thought of even spending ten years in such a place sends shivers right through your wings. “You won’t be able to return to heaven at all during that time. No correspondence with anyone, unless of course we contact you first.” He’s positively glowing and you can’t understand it. “You’ll have to live amongst humans-”

He’s standing now, moving to the screen and zooming in on earth. “Can I pick where?”

You move to stand next to him. He’s zoomed in so far, you can’t quite tell where it’s supposed to be. In truth, you spend very little time looking over God’s preferred planet, choosing instead to focus on the vastness of the universe in all its glory. You prefer the stars and the galaxies and all of their colours.

“May I?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Can I choose where to live? Will I have a role?”

There’s nothing like this in the training manual. No one ever has these questions. They’re too busy crying, wailing for another chance to stay in heaven, let alone look excited as this one does.

“I suppose you could,” you say slowly. “And no - there’s no role.” You wait for the penny to drop, but he doesn’t seem to get it. “Pointlessness is the point of this sentence.”

Wonder breaks out in his expression, and he turns back to the screen and zooms in on a peninsular you’ve never noticed before. “Can you drop me here?”

“Where’s here?”

“Gojoseon.”

“Why?”

“Good people.” His smile spreads wide. “Good food.”

You gasp. “You’ve consumed their provisions? You’ve eaten?”

He looks at you in shock. “You haven’t?”

Of course you flaming haven’t! Even if you could stomach it - how in heaven would you get the opportunity to dine on Earth, what with all the work piling up in your pigeonhole and the lack of angels rights to paid time off, not to mention a union?

Your expression must say it all because he laughs again and says, “Well then visit me sometime, I’ll cook for you.”

“You’re very peculiar.”

“Yes,” he says with a shrug. “I get that a lot.”

You move back over to the desk to complete the rest of the paperwork while he stands there, still looking at the map with a satisfied smile.

After a few moments, he says, “I’ll need a name if I’m to live with humans.”

You find his given name at the top of the page. Soterasiel.

“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

He shrugs again. “Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue for everyone.”

“I hear John is rather popular these days,” you muse, still checking boxes. “And Abraham. Or what about Jos-”

“Seokjin.”

“Bless you.”

“No, I mean- Seokjin.” He moves to sit back down. You don’t quite like it, the way he walks, like he’s got a bravado he hasn’t done anything to earn - rather the opposite in fact, given his grievous error in judgement. “That’s my new name.”

“Oh-” You glance up at him. “It suits you.”

Seokjin beams. He’s quiet for the next few moments, but you can sense his eagerness as he watches your fingertip move down the page. When all the documents are signed, you show him over to the chute, and he peers into it.

“This is the one-way?”

You nod. “We’ll send someone to relieve you once your sentence is up.”

He steps inside without hesitation, and it’s almost too late. You've been itching with curiosity since you opened his file, so you blurt out exactly what you’re not supposed to ask.

“Why did you do it?”

Seokjin tilts his head, confused.

“Why did you bring those humans back from the dead?” you clarify.

His eyes soften. “They’re my favourites.”

There’s a pregnant pause as you regard him. You don’t understand. Favourites? Angels aren’t supposed to have favourites. Angels aren’t supposed to be anything like him. Maybe you haven’t met enough to speak on the matter.

“Come visit me, won’t you? I get the impression you’ll like it down there.”

And before you can scoff at the very idea of visiting a banished (albeit temporarily) angel on earth, the chute opens up below him and he’s gone.

It’s difficult to get back to work after all that. All day there are punishments to give out in God’s name, but thankfully they’re nothing as extreme as that one. You get through a few sanctions, several warnings filed, and a strongly worded letter to the Department of Animals to remind them to stop creating wasps (apparently earth has enough) and then (at what would usually be known as 6pm), like clockwork, Turiel enters your office.

He’s another one you can’t get a read on, but in an entirely different way. He came up the ranks quickly, and became your boss without the necessary qualifications within a single century. He’s kind of course, but he’s a Watcher, so naturally he watches everything. Being watched makes you uncomfortable.

“How is everything?”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

“What happened with the banishment this morning?”

“With Seok- Soterasiel? He took it rather well.” Turiel stares at you, and you clear your throat to fill the awkward quiet. “Seemed quite happy about it, actually.”

Turiel frowns. “That’s odd.”

“Yes, quite.”

“We should watch that one,” he says, already making his way out. “Oh- you remembered to strip his miracles, correct?”

Strip his- why in heaven would you do that? It seems horribly cruel enough just to leave them there, let alone take their ability to do anything worthwhile.

“Sorry?”

Turiel stops on the spot and turns, frown deepening further. “Tell me you saw the memo from Metatron? We’re to strip any and all banishments of their miracles going forward. Too many mishaps and too many angel turned demon that still have their powers.”

If you had any blood in your face it would surely drain. No, you haven’t seen any blasted memo. The pigeonhole is stuffed to burst and it’s something you’ve been meaning to work through, you truly have, but there’s so little time in the day and- and- heavens, he’s still staring at you. Tell him the truth. Tell him you didn’t take Seokjin’s miracles. They’d overlook one error, especially as it’s the first offence. Surely?

“No need to worry,” you hear yourself say, voice unnaturally high. “Of course I did.”

Turiel blinks, smiles with relief, and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

For the first time in your existence, you’re tempted to curse.

879 BC

6:43pm. Patchy rain showers through til 8.

Seokjin’s home looks like nothing. A shack at best. It’s hardly worthy of the name home but you still need his sodding permission to cross the threshold, so you knock and wait, huddling as close to the door as possible to keep dry. As the rain pelts your back you bitterly wonder why angels have to wait at the threshold for permission to enter. It’s utterly beyond you, surely such a restraint could be reserved for those who are up to no good?

(You pointedly ignore the little voice saying that you are actually up to no good.)

“Oh my God,” Seokjin says when he opens the door (if it weren’t for the threshold force you’d keel over) and your nose wrinkles automatically at the blasphemy. “It’s you.”

“May I come in?” you say, too busy watching for Watchers in your peripherals to take in the sight of the angel in front of you. It would be terrible to be caught now, after the web of lies you weaved in order to get an hour off work.

“Why?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. “You’re not bringing me back early are you?”

“Oh heavens no,” you say, starting to feel a little desperate, pushing the wet hair from your eyes. “I forgot something in your documents, a quick signature and I’ll be off in a jiffy.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yes-”

“And you decided two hundred and twenty-seven years later was the right time to fix that?”

“Time slips away when you’re working!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Your lot really need to unionise.”

“Shh!” you hiss. “Let me in, please?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, stepping aside. “Come on in. Take your shoes off at the door.”

“I don’t have shoes,” you say as you push past him. A little miracle as soon as you’re out of the rain has you dry and warm again. What a pity, you think, that Seokjin will have to live without these little perks for the rest of his banishment. The sympathy you feel for him catches you unawares. “What are shoes?”

Seokjin smiles. “Thought you were a watcher?”

Part Cherubim part Virtue actually, but you won’t be telling Seokjin that. That’s between you and God. You bustle past him inside the shack and you can finally relax. All protocols are being broken right now, but with the teeny tiny miracle that you performed earlier, only you and Seokjin will know about this clandestine meeting.

Seokjin’s home is much nicer on the inside. Rather homely. And clean. And it smells good. What is that smell?

“I just made some tea, would you like a cup?”

Drinking? Apparently you can’t hide your expression because Seokjin's responding smile is mirthful. “Haven’t changed much, have you?”

“I suppose not, no.”

There’s no time to dilly dally like this. If you’re not back in the office soon, there’ll be questions you won’t know how to answer without twisting the truth. An angel can’t be going around telling lies. It’s uncouth.

Seokjin busies himself at the table while you unroll the documents. The scroll is horribly long, but eventually you find the line you missed all those years ago. You cough to get his attention, and he looks up and takes the scroll from your outstretched hand.

But then he starts to read. Oh goodness gracious. You hadn’t expected that. He seemed the sort that wouldn’t get hung up on the details, that would trust an angel (one like yourself in particular) implicitly. It’s offensive, actually, that he doesn’t trust that you’re not trying to pull the wool over his eyes, even though that might be exactly what you were trying to do. Are you not trustworthy? Are you not angelic?

Seokjin frowns. Uh oh.

“You’re taking my miracles?”

“Uh-”

“Why?”

“Well- uh. It’s protocol, you see.”

Seokjin stares. The silence is palpable.

“You fucked up.”

You gasp. “Don’t curse!”

“You did!” he says, eyes wild. “You fucked up when you sent me down here!”

There’s heat creeping up your neck.

“It really doesn’t need to be such a big to-do,” you splutter. “Just sign the form, and I’ll be on my way and then you’ll be back in Heaven in no time at all!”

“But I won’t have my miracles?”

“You’ll get them back on your return!”

“What if I need them?”

“You won’t.”

“I’ve needed them a lot, actually,” Seokjin insists. “You’ve no idea how many sticky situations I’ve been in thanks to all the creatures our Heavenly Mother made!”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Have you seen a tiger yet? Those are my favourite.”

Seokjin looks like he might slap you.

The door opens.

“Seokjinie-hyung! We’re back!”

We? Who’s we?

We are three men, one short, one tall, and one somewhere in the middle.

The room is very suddenly too small and too quiet as all of you stare at each other.

The small one’s eyes, wide and curious, dart between you and Seokjin.

“Who’s this, Seokjin hyung?”

“Uh-” you say.

“Uhh-” says Seokjin.

You can’t think of a human name. Not a single, blasted one comes to mind. Of course, humans know angels exist, but you can’t go around telling everyone who you are when you’re not exactly here on official business. Their mouths blabber too much. Word on Earth gets around faster than in Heaven.

“This is-”

“Oh my God-” the somewhere-in-the-middle one exclaims, while you grimace. “You’re that angel hyung told us about!”

You turn to glare at Seokjin, who is all of sudden very interested in the wood grain on the table. His ears are strawberry red. Strawberries were one of your ideas, you’d know that colour anywhere.

“You told them?” you say, incredulously. “What were you thinking?”

Seokjin sighs. “They’re not going to say anything.”

“Yeah!” the small one says. “Don’t worry, we’ve kept Seokijn hyung’s secret for two cent-”

He’s cut off by a loud cough from the tall one, but you’re not stupid. Humans aren’t supposed to be alive that long anymore, not since The Great Flood when God finally got sick of Noah and his bothersome family - that was one of the few memos you read.

“Seokjin-” you say slowly. He’s pointedly looking everywhere else but your face. “Are these the same humans you told me about during our first meeting?”

The small one grins. “Oh hyung, I knew you loved us more than you let on.”

Two centuries they’ve been alive - at least. Oh Goodness. You need to report it, but how could you without telling them you didn’t do your job properly.

“You don’t need to say anything to Heaven,” Seokjin says. “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”

“The protocol-” you start, but you’re cut off by a groan.

“Fuck the protocol! Don’t you want to think for yourself for once? Didn’t She give us free will for a reason?”

“She gave them free will, not us!” you reason. “We’re to do as we’re told!”

“Why? What for?”

“The Great Plan!”

“The Great Plan-” he parrots in the most condescending tone. “-is supposed to be ineffable. If we knew what was in it, we wouldn’t have a choice. If I didn’t have free will, I wouldn’t have been able to turn them into vampires.”

You frown, confused. Vampires weren’t in the handbook, but then you never could keep up. “What’s a vampire?”

Seokjin swallows thickly. “Uh. Nevermind that. The point is, if this wasn’t in The Great Plan, if it wasn’t written, would I have even been able to do it?”

The thought gives you pause. He’s got a point, actually. The Archangels talk often of fate and destiny and what She wrote. No one knows the plan, of course, and it can change at Her will, but the whole point of this charade is that you’re all to trust in God’s Plan, regardless of what happens.

There’s a long moment of silence. The three men- or rather, vampires- are still just standing there watching the two of you argue.

The small one finally breaks the tension and introduces himself. “I’m Jimin,” he says.

You nod, and give your name. He repeats it, butchering the pronunciation, but of course you expected that. Humans have never quite managed to get their tongue around it. You muse for a moment if you should give yourself a more human name, like Seokjin, but your thoughts are interrupted by the large one.

“I’m Namjoon,” he says, and points to the last one, who gives a tentative wave. “This is Taehyung.”

You nod again, and start to feel a little ridiculous.

Okay, so the plan needs to be adjusted. You can’t take away Seokjin’s miracles without getting him to undo whatever he did to the human-vampires.

“How long have you all been alive?”

Namjoon glances at Seokjin, who nods. “Around three hundred years.”

“Okay,” you say. “And do you plan on dying any time soon?”

The three of them stare at you. “It’s not something we’d considered, no,” whispers Jimin.

“Right,” you say, and then turn to Seokjin. “You need to fix this, make them human again. I’ve got to go, they’ll be looking for me, but I’ll be back soon to check in on you so you’d better have done it by then.”

Seokjin’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat. It’s… somewhat pleasant to look at.

“Pleasure to meet you everyone,” you say tightly to Seokjin’s friends. “Enjoy the rest of your lives.”

You catch their confused expressions shift into something horrified before you appear back at your desk in Heaven. It leaves you befuddled. That was a perfectly pleasant first interaction with humans that are aware of your celestial-ness - you’re not quite sure what they could be so bothered about.

827 BC

Early Autumn. 8:12am. Current Earthly conditions: foggy

It’s another fifty years or so before you can catch a break long enough to get back down to Earth. The shack has improved drastically - quite the pleasant looking home in fact. There’s flower boxes on the windowsills that are covered in a light morning dew, but the plants seem hardy. Purples and yellows. Dainty looking little things. You wonder what they might be.

The door opens as you bend to smell them, and you look up to find the angel wrapped up in the largest item of clothing you’ve ever seen for something that just seems to be used for a neck. It’s ever so bright. Mismatched colours and patterns that don’t seem to line up. One end of it drags along the floor. Seokjin doesn’t appear too pleased to see you.

“What are you wearing?” you ask, amused.

“Taehyung made me a scarf.”

“It’s very big.”

Seokjin glares.

“Did you really come to ruin my life so early in the morning?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re immortal. I hardly doubt this little blip will destroy you. More like God would if you don’t pull it together.”

“I could say the same about you.”

He’s got you there. But as you hold his gaze something in the air shifts, and he reluctantly lets you in. This time you take his offer of a cup of tea. You take a tentative sip, and it warms your belly in such an unexpected way. The weight of the cup is heavy in your hand, and the warmth of it seeps into your palm. It’s rather nice.

You sit at the same table he had fifty-something years ago. There’s a few more marks in the woodwork by now.

“Shall we get it over with then?” he says. “Where do I need to sign?”

You stop his hastiness with a gentle touch to his arm. He stares at your hand.

“Did you get everything in order first?” you ask.

Seokjin coughs. “Yes, of course.”

His ears are strawberry red again. The colour really is pretty, you’re glad you chose it. You’re glad you see it in other things, even if they are the tips of this angel’s ears.

“They’re dead?”

“Not yet,” he says, lips twisting bitterly around the words. “They’re living out the rest of their lives. You might get a chance to see them, if you stay awhile. They said they’d be popping by later.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s something. You know, I am really sorry about that. I thought about it after my last visit, and I think I understand now why you’d want to keep your friends around for longer.”

“Feeling lonely up there?” he asks, voice gentler than usual.

“No!” You snort with (only slightly put on) derision. “Of course not. Too busy for such a thing as loneliness.”

He chuckles. “Maybe I wasn’t busy enough then.”

You ignore what feels like a thimbleful of sadness dropping into your stomach.

Seokjin does most of the talking while you drink your tea. He talks about what he does down here - cooking mostly, but also a little pottery. He’s been training under a man called Yoongi. Says he made the cups you’re holding, and you inspect them. They’re quite ugly, thick and uneven- and you’re about to say as such, but Seokjin looks proud, so you smile and tell him he did very well, and that you like the colour of the clay. You wish you could bottle the way he beams.

All too soon the tea is finished, and Seokjin signs the document. It’s done. His eyes still shine, if a little less bright now.

“What now?” he asks.

You suck in a breath. “Your miracles are in trust until your return to Heaven. Until then you can live as a human. More or less.”

His eyes snap up. “I’m still immortal, right?”

“Oh of course,” you say with a laugh. “You think they’d go through all this trouble just to risk you being eaten by a giraffe?”

“Do you know anything about Earth?” Seokjin says it like you’re an idiot. “At all?”

You’re tempted to roll your eyes. “I know plenty-”

“Name one thing,” he interrupts, crossing his arms and looking at you with an almost amused expression.

You draw your shoulders back. You’ll give him three. “It weighs five point nine-seven septillion kilograms.”

Seokjin blinks three times fast. You must’ve caught him off guard with your knowledge. Good.

“It’s made up of thirty-two point one percent iron, fifteen point one percent silic-”

“Alright,” Seokjin says, lips twisting into a small smile. “I get it. You don’t need to prove yourself.”

You grin, ever so pleased with yourself, and Seokjin laughs.

“You’re cute.”

“What?”

“Cute,” he repeats. “It’s a compliment.”

“Oh,” you say, wondering why reciting facts from the Earth’s handbook would warrant a compliment on your character. “Okay…” You look down at your mug and see it’s empty and you’re struck with a surprising pang of disappointment. The tea was really rather good, it’s something of a pity as you realise you won’t be able to make it the same back in Heaven.

“Well, I’d better get going. Paperwork to do. Miracles to take.”

“Of course,” says Seokjin, and stands to see you off. “If you visit again will you let me know in advance?”

“Why?”

“I’ll make dinner.”

You smile without thinking. “I don’t eat, Seokjin.”

“You know,” he says, in a very matter of fact tone. “Despite the fact that every time we meet you’re taking away something of mine, I’m growing quite fond of our meetings.”

You blink.

His eyes are so big and gentle and- “Let me know- okay?” he says with earnest.

“Okay,” you promise, already wondering when you could possibly get away long enough to watch Seokjin eat dinner.

“Would you like to take some flowers with you?” he asks suddenly. “I saw you smelling them.”

“Oh! Ye-” you start, and then you think better of it. So you plaster on a smile and say “No, that’s quite alright, I can whip some of my own up in no time at all.”

Seokjin nods. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but time is getting on and you’re not used to these odd goodbye rituals the humans (and this angel in particular) seem so fond of, so with a flash of a smile you’re back in Heaven. Seokjin and his lovely brown eyes remain on Earth.

Your office looks so bland in comparison to Seokjin's home.

It takes a second to notice that the cup he gave you is still in your hand, remnants of the sweet tea drying on the bottom. You briefly consider going back down, just to hand it over and say goodbye properly, but in walks Turiel to squash any ideas you have about leaving your post again.

“Great, you’re finally back,” he says, dumping a stack of files on your desk. “We’re swamped.”

“What happened?” you exclaim. You’re barely able to see him over the pile.

“Some bright spark in Organisms made a new virus. Let it loose in Greece without proper authorisation, killed half of them,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “The higher ups are fretting because one of the dead ones was supposed to be a prophet.”

Oh dear.

Turiel leaves without display. No time for pleasantries like offerings of tea and flowers up here. You sigh, dejected.

Being around Seokjin makes you wistful for things you didn’t know you wanted. You set the mug on your desk, turning it to and fro so you get a view of the prettier side- and with the smallest of miracles, there grows delicate flowers, in purple and yellow.

#bts fic #bts fanfction #seokjin x you #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #bts seokjin #seokjin fluff #jin x you #jin x reader #thank u for reading #fic: don't let me tempt you #ksj x reader #ksj fic #ksj fluff #bee writes

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aziraphales-library · 3 months

Text

Lost Fic #169

Not specific lost fics, but I’ve spent weeks looking for fics likes these and haven’t really managed to find any, so we’re throwing them out in the hope our followers know of some!…

1. Hi, do you have a link to a fic where the plot is this; Aziraphale being the angel of queer longing and art and letters and documents and films throughout centuries depicting A and C as impossibly in love with each other? Thank you. - @aroaceblackhole

2. Hello! This is a very odd request but can you help me find a fic where Crowley kills himself and Aziraphale founds out and ALSO kills himself? Or it can be anything in along the line of being killed (Ex: Aziraphale got killed so Crowley kills himself) as long as they both die at the end. I am so sorry if this is super weird to you but i've been trying to find it everywhere but i just can seem to find one. What you are doing here is amazing and i have read such amazing fics because of you. Again, i'm sorry if this request makes you uncomfortable but you're my only chance of actually finding gut wretching fics to violently sob myself to. - anon

3. Hello! I identify with Crowley deeply so if you have a human AU where he treats his abusive parents as a relationship with god I’d appreciate it!! Thank u - @brainwormscauseswisscheese

4. Hello, dear mods! Hope you're having a lovely day. My question is actually 2 mildly relatable questions. I'm looking for humorous fics with either self-mocking or character-mocking author. An example of the latter I saw a long time ago, and it was in the author notes where they joked about something like "well done Crowley, it's not gonna bite you in the ass later in any way, not a chance" and it was a really fun addition, I'm sure some may have put such comments in the text too, but even "they're so dumb" in the notes will do. Example of the former is WyvernQuill's "yes and please and thank you", where they joke right in the text about leaving a character in a tough situation for three years of hiatus, and again, right in the text, do things like "wait, esteemed reader, I'll go check up the synonyms" and proceed with a highly eloquent sentence using like 4 of those. I enjoyed it immensely and would love to find something similar. Thanks! - @greendrawer

5. Hello lovely! I know you have your brilliantly organised tags and I this is an oddly specific ask so I hope you don't mind. Do you have any very fluffy or hurt/comfort ineffable husbands fics with bare skin contact? Not necessarily NSFW or anything, although I don't mind. Thank you! - anon

If you know any fics that fit the bill please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

#good omens #lost fic #ineffable husbands #mod d

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asukaskerian · 7 months

Note

For the writing ask game: 7, 13, and 18?

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

n... none...

i lie, i have two for svsss but i'm not gonna write them. they're too vague, have no ending, AND i would have to reread the canon to make sure i place them well and my current brain weather is not good for it.

but it's VERY weird and unsettling not to be having a dozen competing ideas right now, outside of writing out already planned WIPs. :(

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

highly depends! sometimes i have an idea for a scene and type out the scene and i'm left scrambling for what happens next, most times i know the first three chapters and a nebulous skeleton of the rest (then when it's time to fill out those "maybe two chapters worth of materials" the fic becomes an accordion) , often i have a whole file of copypasted chats with friends where we laughingly riff on said ideas and them i'm left desperately trying to frankenstein it all together because i love all of it and can't choose...

recently i've been using Dynalist to make myself bullet point plots, it's super good, it has collapsible sub-bullets and stuff and it's very convenient to see the big chapter titles all at once and figure out where the fic is plot-light or plot-heavy, and then i can get into a chapter and add tidbits that need to be mentioned etc etc.

but, i still get distracted too easily so sometimes i fill out 3/4ths of a plot and wander off all "oh i know what happens i'll write it later i'm sure i'll remember" WRONG...

or else i plot everything from start to finish and lose all desire to write it in full. that also happens. :(

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

... memory is really bad today ;; idk. it mostly all does its job?

ok i was going down my fic list and this one made me cackle, so right now, this one:

"You guys are touching daemons and you're going to say you're not touching dingalongs? Papa-san, either you have raised a liar or a fool."

but i also REALLY like sentences that are very simple and even pedestrian on their own, but it's the implications that make you go oh noooo. like this one:

Maybe if Dave manages sex they can cuddle afterwards.

mmm. delicious. >:D

#writing meme #writing yays

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ynluvy · 1 year

Text

katie’s babysitter—-btr x black reader.

warnings : none, maybe some mediocre writing but nothing really. BLACK READER !!!!

word ct : 1,143

author’s note : heyy bestiess !! i thought taking the holiday break i got at school

and putting to use with this story could bring back the audience and refresh my account!

ive been thinking of a btr fic that has multiple parts and i think this is it! I feel like the ending is rushed but its literally almost 7 am and i haven’t had a wink of sleep yet. I have so much to do but im glad i took the time to sit down and write this for you guys! thanks for sticking around, and ill get to re-writing this soon.

much love!!

PROLOGUE.

katie had grown, she was eleven now, and arguing with her mother about how she didn't need a babysitter, she was able to take care of herself. she could put out a fire if she wanted to, and that sentence alone made ms. knight call you up.

you arrive at apartment 2J from 6E and knock lightly, and almost immediately the door is opened and an average height guy opens the door. he has pale skin, but his short brown hair and eyes contrast. he's built, but not bulky. hes surprised but smiles warmly. “you’re the babysitter for katie?” you nod and smile awkwardly under his slightly intense gaze, you shift your bag to the middle of your body as you hold onto its white leather strap with both hands. He watches “yep, that's me.” he shifts his body to the side.

“im logan, not katie’s brother but a friend of his. come in, katie’s in her room sulking since she didn't want a babysitter.” he says and you snort. “glad to know i wasn't wanted.” your comment causes him to chuckle. katie emerges from her room, walking up to you and huffing. “i honestly don't even know why my mom called you. ill just give you your payment and you can leave, easy money!” she cracks a fake smile you see right through. you place your hands on your knees and get eye level with her. “katie, im gonna be here for the 4 hours your mother requested me to stay. you’re stuck with me, girlie. if it was that easy i would’ve taken your offer.” she sighs and walks to sit on the couch as you stand

as you straighten your back and walk past her to the kitchen it was then you see three other guys now by logan watching what had transpired between you and katie with hooded eyes and a daydream-like smile. You stare for a sec until you clear your throat. “um, fun question. who are you three?” they introduce themselves and you get acquainted as katie gets you to do things with her around the crib. the four guys follow you around like a puppy dog and act like they arent when you turn to them, distracting themselves with whatever is around them. you snicker, then hours go by and ms. knight calls you up. “there’s a hold up at the office, do you think you could stay for 2 or 3 more hours maybe ? ill pay you extra, just please? i cant trust those boys for the life of me.” you chuckle and agree. “sure ms. knight, i can stay for a couple more hours with katie. she a cool kid so its no prob.” she thanks you immensely and promises to call when she can make it back, to which you assure her its no problem and the call ends.

you turn to katie and she look almost excited. “you can really stay longer? dont mess with me y/n.” she says and you giggle. “yea katie, you're stuck with me for a little while longer.” she smiles and pulls you to the kitchen. “ i wanna make cookies, easy cookies. like sugar cookies.” she says, and you nod. “We can definitely do that.” and you both get to work under four sets of eyes. You look up and crack a half-smile“Do you boys like sugar cookies?” you ask and they all nod quickly, carlos chiming. “yea,yea! love em, they’re so sweet, and pretty- i-i mean! Pretty good, y’know cuz they’re cookies, not–not a person.” the other three look over to him and scrutinize him with their eyes and he slumps in his chair. Kendall gets an idea and walks around to the kitchen, right between you and katie. “Is there anything you need help with, y/n?” you give him the dry ingredients and a bowl. “add these to the bowl, grab the measuring cups and ill tell you how much of what ingredient, ‘kay?” he nods and starts with your assistance, the other burning a hole in kendall’s face.

“Why the long face boys? Did you wanna help too?” they all nod and you give each of them a bowl with ingredients and give them an assignment. everyone was working on their own thing in silence and thirty minutes later there’s a hot plate of sugar cookies on the table and each one of you has one in your hand, snacking and complimenting each other on their assignment. logan snorts. “y/n im not gonna beat around the bush anymore,alright? do you wanna go on a date with me?” he said, almost like normal conversation and thats when all hell broke loose. james looks bewildered, snapping his neck towards logan. “I was gonna ask her out first! How dare you, logan, ask this fine lady in such a way??” he says, winking at you and having you even more confused. Now kendall and carlos are having a screaming fight and before anything escalates you put a stop to it.

“all four of you, quiet! how about this,” you think to yourself and have an idea. “ill go on a date with all four of you, ONE date each. whoever’s date goes well in my opinion ill go on a second date with and further on. logan’s first since he was confident enough to ask me out directly. James next, kendall, then carlos. Sound like a plan?” they all nod and re-adjust themselves. “Now, the rest of the week im free until i get a gig or babysitting call. If you’re free this week it can happen.” they all agree and ms. knight comes home. “im home guys! mm, it smells really good in here.” she walks up and grabs a cookie, eating it and asking questions to each one you answer truthfully and take your leave. “bye katie, bye boys. logan, ill see you tomorrow?” he nods and the door closes and you walk to your apartment.

what’ve you got yourself into? thinking you’re being proactive but in reality you set yourself up for failure with this decision. but, you cant stress yourself out. whats done is done.

#btr imagine #logan mitchell #big time rush #james diamond #kendall knight #carlos garcia #logan henderson #big time rush imagines #james maslow #carlos penavega #kendall schmidt

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fandomfrolics · 5 months

Note

For the unwritten fics: 7 (for ted, obvs), 10, 15!

7. What are your plans for -character-?

Sorry, this is such a funny question out of context. I have many plans for that sad dad and some of them may even make it into published fics one day but off the top of my head, the gist of my plans are:

Ted gets laid (angsty)

Ted gets laid (happy)

Ted gets laid (emotional)

Ted gets laid (filthy)

Ted comes back to London and his old job

Ted goes on a road trip

and just to cover all my bases, Ted is sad.

15. Do you have any unwritten scene that you think about a lot?

Answered this here! But there's another unwritten thing I guess I think about once in awhile, which I had a vague idea for after the s3 ep where Ted calms himself down from his panic attack but I don't think I'll ever actually write so I'm just gonna summarise the whole thing in a long run-on sentence:

Basically Roy sees/overhears Ted chanting "he's okay" quietly to himself and surmises it's about Henry and he takes Ted outside to look at the moon because when he first went off to Sunderland he called his grandad crying about being so far away and his grandad told him to go outside and look at the moon because no matter how far apart they were they'd always be looking at the same moon and the whole thing is essentially just a conversation they have lying on the pitch while looking up at the sky.

10. If unpublished, can you show a sneak peek of what you've written?

This isn't actually from one of the 'plans' OR the idea mentioned above but it's another one I don't think I'm ever actually going to finish so thought I might as well share some of it. It's a Thanksgiving fic with Henry, Michelle, and Ted's mom all visiting London (established but background T/R iirc). I wrote most of it more than a year ago but surprisingly the Ted's mom characterisation still fits pretty well I think (except her name but that would be pretty cray cray if I guessed it right). Anyway! Here's a little Ted & Michelle part of it (behind a read more since this is already so long).

“Thought you could use this.”

Michelle glances up to see Ted holding a bottle out towards her. The corner of her mouth quirks up. She takes it gratefully, sipping lightly as he settles down next to her on the steps.

“So,” he says after a brief, loaded silence, “you gonna tell me what that was all about back there, or am I gonna have to try this beer tactic with my momma instead?”

Michelle doesn’t crack. “Don’t ask your mom.”

“Okay…” He peers at her. “You realize you’re making me more worried, right? Not less? You can see how you might be doin’ that? With this whole thing?” He gestures between them.

She sighs, holding the bottle to her forehead. “Ted, I’m sorry, but sometimes your mother can be a real—”

“Pain in the ass?” Ted guesses.

“I was gonna say ‘piece of work’ but hey, if you wanna go there…”

“Okay." She lets him tug the bottle away from her face, watching him put it carefully down on the step between them. "Michelle, what on earth is goin' on?”

She sighs again, then finally shifts to face him. “Ted, you know sending Henry to live here…you know that’s as much for him as it is for you, right?”

He swallows audibly. “Are you second-guessing this whole thing, ‘cos I know I’ve always been a bit of a soft touch with him but it’s only been like three months, you gotta give me more of a chance, I promise I’ll—”

“No, Ted, it’s not—” She shakes her head vehemently. “You’re doing fine.” She smiles. “More than fine. Henry seems to have really settled in well here.”

“Oookay…” He tilts his head. “Is that what’s botherin’ you? That he’s doing too well? ‘Cos I swear, he misses you like crazy. And I lied, I’m still a soft touch. I totally bribed him into eating those green beans earlier. But I swear to god, the kid is—”

“No, no, Ted, it’s not—” She cuts him off with a laugh and his mouth falls shut. She stares at him quietly for a long moment before she flicks her gaze away, back out to the long garden. In the dark it looks like it goes on forever.

“God, I’m going to have to tell you, aren’t I.”

“I think so?”

It feels like it’s always like this between them, the punctuation remarks reversed, and it used to be so exhausting, to be the one always carrying around the full stop, but she appreciates it about him more, now, that he doesn’t push. Now that she has some distance, she can fully appreciate the rarity of it, of the way he can prompt and give space all on the same turn.

#I feel like I'm actually not doing this right but oh well #I think I am no longer in my '10s of concurrent WIPs I'm actively working on' era #instead my google docs is riddled with half-written unpublished fics and idk who that person was who wrote them #ANYWAY #thanks for asking!!#ask game #asks #kittensittin

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thewatercolours · 4 days

Note

talking shoppy~! as many or as few as you like, but, I just have to ask.....

who's your favorite character to write, where do you get your ideas, do you keep scraps of stories in notebooks and things, how do you feel about skipping around a plot or do you have to tell a story from start to finish, what's something you'd love to write but haven't gotten to yet, what's your favorite thing you've written in a sentence or scene or overall creation, who's your second favorite character to write, what's your favorite trope, what do you love and dislike about writing in general, are we in a secret club??

Pretty sure this corner of the internet counts as a secret club...

Who's your favourite character to write?

Do you keep scraps of stories in notebooks and things?

Do Google Docs count? Like all writers, I find the idea of notebooks appealing, but I'm not one to use them very much or well. I forget I have them going, or to keep them around where they'd be useful to me. Add to that the fact that I prefer to keep it digital, because I make SO many edits as I write. That being said, I'll occasionally scribble on random papers if I'm scared I'm going to forget an idea - usually a two line dialogue exchange. I never find those papers again.

How do you feel about skipping around a plot or do you have to tell a story from start to finish?

Within a single scene, I try to be pretty linear, but jump ahead if I get struck with a very vivid idea for later in the scene and want to capture it in a few paragraphs, before doubling back. Or if I'm getting really stuck and I know jumping just a little ahead will give me momentum, especially if the two moments aren't separated by much. That's nice, because it gives me a better idea how to bridge them.

Within a multi-chapter story? Um, if it's "Rippling Consequences," heh, start to finish is definitely not a thing. Although the Goblin Graham storyline has to be told in progressive order, even if we skip around to other scenes in between.) My other little multi-chapters have all been written in scene order.

What's something you'd love to write but haven't gotten to yet?

(Gonna count some that I've taken a stab at but don't have anything near a complete draft.)

"What if" where Graham, having lost the tournament, decides to approach his sister about joining her seagoing crew, and things get off on the wrong foot.

"What if" where Chapter One Graham didn't make it to the tournament on time, and ends up a bottom-rung page at the court of Western Kolyma. And meets someone. ;-)

Rewrite of the Princess "Ball" in Chapter Three

Sleeping Beauty-type spell hits Daventry, and everyone's evacuating before the lilac-y sleep claims them, but someone was forgotten down in the valley while everyone else was fleeing and the king goes back into the sleepy, sleep thickness of the spell to try to get them to safety.

The rest of "Rippling Consequences" and "Paths." Thee are some scenes I'm really looking forward to, but I have to wait for the right moments to write them. There's an Orri scene especially that I'm looking forward to in RC, and a sort of reconnaissance scene into enemy territory that should be fun to write. This could change, but "Paths" is set to include a couple of actual canon scenes in the prose, and I am looking forward to playing with them.

What's your favourite thing you've written in a sentence or scene or overall creation?

That is a lovely, gigantic question and how am I supposed to answer it? Um, very non-exhaustive selection of tiny little moments from just three fics because I the kind of person who could embark on a long, long overthinking project.

From The Fairy: Orri tapping Graham's nose and him going cross-eyed. Graham tearing up with joy because he's apparently turned human again, and then snapping back into his goblin form within seconds. Also the moment where Graham slips briefly into a goblin mindset and perceives the human side of his mind as something intimidating and far too clever that doesn't belong and has to be pushed out (and I let him giggle manically... I had the goblin theme music playing on repeat when I was writing that passage, and the goal was to try to make the words feel a bit like that music.)

From The Waystop Woman: Nelia being an utterly ruthless and morally grey person who works with kidnappers, and at this point is motivated by pure revenge, but is also just extraordinarily kind and survives by seeing people's humanity and drawing it out even in the worst circumstances. The scene where she notices the unconscious Graham shivering, and asks the kidnappers to lay him by the fire, and they object that he's asleep and won't remember the warmth, and she still insists. "Let him have one more nice, deep sleep before everything changes." "It's already changed, as far as he's concerned." "All right, one last nice sleep before he changes." And the sickfic scene.

The opening line of A King Sat Alone in a Lavender Field (that's more or less the line itself.) It's not actually one of my better fics, but it was written in hopes it could be a bit of warmth when a few people in the fandom were going through a difficult time. I hadn't written anything, not really, in months and months, and it was a rusty attempt. But it was meant to be something quiet and gentle and just exist, and still that title makes me feel a bit of that.

Who's your second favourite character to write?

Oh, I don't think there's a clear second the way there is a first. I've probably written more Number One and Neese than other characters, but does that mean they're my favourites to work with? Maybe?

(Might try and answer the rest another time! Got to stop overthinking and get to bed. Flying to another province tomorrow.)

#What with this being my fandom blog we're going with KQ responses. Answers would vary if I was including my original writing.#Thank you for the ask!

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fanby-fckry · 3 months

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(As many or as few as you like 💜)

🍄, 🧭, ♻️,🤔,🛠️

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

2. 🍄 Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Child + Demon Summoning Ritual = Found Family???

(The question marks are a very important part of the equation, trust me.)

It’s for the same fic mentioned in this ask.

4. 🧭 An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

A Far Cry From Eden had several alternate titles I considered, including The Fall of Eve, and Far From Eden.

8. ♻️ A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I already mentioned how Exorcist!Vaggie knocked a chapter off of my Survey fic, so to avoid repeats I’m gonna pick another fic.

I decided to change the setting in an UH3 smut fic because there were too many different elements going on all at once.

That entire fic is actually going to be based on a scene I had to scrap from Bloodlust and Butterflies. It was in the 2020 precursor fic, Tempting Entertainment, but I chose not to include it in the rewrite because it didn’t seem thematically appropriate.

They were going to be in an elevator, for no real reason besides the fact that that’s where they were in the old fic.

The more I was writing though, the more I realized that I wasn’t doing anything with that setting, and it was just taking away from the things I actually wanted to focus on.

9. 🤔 What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I typically get at least a few sentences down when I have an idea in my head, so I might have to rack my brain a bit to find something I haven’t started.

Oh, you know what? I’ve got a whole lineup of Women of Eden fics planned that I haven’t started yet. I’ll tell you one of those.

I want to tell the story of Lilith, Eve, and Charlie.

Eve is not just a mother, but the first mother. Eve and Lilith will have known each other for eons by the time Lilith considers becoming a mother, herself, and I imagine that Eve would be Lilith’s go-to confidant on all things motherhood.

I think Eve would become somewhat of an Aunt-figure to Charlie, and I’d love to explore the dynamic between all three of them.

There’s also a somewhat somber note in that, as far as Eve knows, she will never see her children again. She views all of the Sinners as her children in a way, because they’re all her descendants. She loves them, and she has mourned every year since the exterminations began.

But, they aren’t the children she raised, they aren’t the children she remembers.

There’s going to be some sadness there – some jealousy, even – when Eve sees Lilith and Charlie. I want to write it.

11. 🛠 Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

About 3/4 of the way through my answer for this, I realized it had turned into a vent, so I’m gonna put it below the cut in case people don’t wanna read it.

No one, including @10moonymhrivertam is obligated to read this.

Thanks so much for the ask, Moony. Don’t let the vent fool you, I did genuinely enjoy answering these. I had a lot of fun answering the other 4 prompts, and I think I needed an opportunity to vent.

Hahaha, yeahhhh… I’m struggling with writing in general, lol. There’s some specifics about pacing and plots in a few fics and of course, not knowing Australian slang is a hurdle in writing dialogue for Cherri – specifically 1980’s Australian slang; like, how do I even find that?? – but my main problem is just…

I can’t seem to write. I’ve been burnt out and distracted since Husk’s chapter. I’ve had a busy week this week, and haven’t actually written anything at all.

Cherri’s chapter is currently all just dialogue that I wrote a while back, which is something I tend to do when I get an idea for a fic. I write some dialogue or some exposition that was rattling around in my brain and I fill in the rest later.

Well, it’s later. And I’m making fake tumblr dash posts, hyperspecific polls, and playing ask games.

#fanby answers #10moonymhrivertam #hazbin hotel #fanby: woe #fanby: uh3 #fanby: uhverse #fanby: survey says #fanby: you can’t solve all your problems by summoning a demon #ask game #and they were mutuals #uh: niffty #uh: eve #uh: lilith #uh: charlie #uh: cherri bomb

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ignitesthestxrs · 9 months

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fuck yeah I'll come talk to you! my goodness. I've long been hesitant to send asks to blogs I don't know or consider popular.

I followed you for your pjo writing, so I was very surprised to find out that your url is from matthew stover's ROTS novelisation. two-ish years ago I watched star wars for the first time and fell in love with the prequels, it is probably still the fandom I most interact with on here.

I notice most (all?) of your star wars fics on ao3 are sequel things. I haven't seen the sequels yet because of general negative internet sentiment towards them. although this is bad logic because the internet feels negatively about a lot of great things, including ("great" is subjective I suppose) the prequels.

as someone who still mainly associates you with pjo, I guess I'm just curious about you and star wars in general. did you watch the movies when they first came out? or did you, like me, discover them later? and would you care to make a case for watching the sequels?

and as an aside - how do you feel about anon asks. do you prefer when people are non-anon?

truly genuinely i dont think i've ever met a person on this website, Popular Online or not, who has been upset about receiving genuine asks. LIKE as someone who prefers to be approached rather than to approach people i very understand the reticence to make contact, but if you ever have hesitance because your brain is like 'ooooh they aren't gonna want to talk to meeeeeee' i really truly think you can let that one go. esp because anon is an option - the worst thing that happens is that someone doesn't respond, which is also not personal and is usually related to brain death on the part of the person receiving the ask

BASICALLY i really think that most people making themselves available on the social media want to use the media to be social - if they didn't, they'd close their ask box.

MAN okok i love to talk about a personal fandom history LOL star wars is a weird one for me! i came into the fandom extremely sideways - while it turns out i had watched at least one of the prequels in theatres as a child, i had somehow wiped all memory of them from my mind, leaving only a residual obsession with padme amidala's lipstick lingering in my hindbrain

so my first Real Encounter with star wars as a fan concept was via Livejournal Role Play lolol, the premise of which is that you would roleplay as characters either in an AU setting, or an isekai-your-character-was-captured-from-their-home-world-somehow setting. so i was playing sakura from naruto in a harry potter/final fantasy fusion AU (there's a fun sentence) when someone joined the game with Jaina Solo from the star wars extended universe, and i just thought the character and player were the fucking coolest?

so that's how i ended up learning about like, the post-original Star Wars trilogy EU books first LMAO and then eventually i watched the original trilogy and re-watched the prequel trilogy (this was back in 2009/10 so sequel series were not on the horizon at all). i rp'd a bunch of star wars characters in a bunch of games (most notably middle aged Leia from the later EU books and a man called Kyp Durron who i refuse to believe was not the template and inspiration for kylo ren), and also played the Knights of the Old Republic games, and eventually helped create and moderate an rp based on those games. so my first star wars creative endeavors were very rp based, and kotor based, and any fic i was writing at the time was like, kyp durron and alyss from a ya novel adaptation of alice in wonderland are falling in love in the harry potter/final fantasy fusion setting where we also included pokemon so kyp has a shuckle for a pet because jaina gifted it to him as a gag. all that fic is littered around the internet - lj accounts and dreamwidth accounts and defunct aim group chats, where you'd write stuff for like the three people who were into your extremely, impossible to replicate cross canon ship instead of doing your stats homework, it was heady shit.

the username came about after i decided to abandon my old internet handle/identity of 'feilyn' lolol. basically i made up 'feilyn' as a name for myself when i was like 15 and used it everywhere, which resulted in most online friends i made at the time calling me 'fei', which in turn got cuteified into 'feibean', which is what i originally called this blog right up until someone sent me an ask going 'hey feibean' and i went oh NO i HATE that, and decided that i needed a username that was like, Poetic and Pretty

the funniest part to me is that i hadn't actually read the stover novelisation at that time? i just knew about the passage it came from because a friend had quoted it at me before and i was like oh that's Beautiful. so i did probably the most pretentious thing in the process of making a pretentious internet handle, which was to refer to a thing i hadn't actually read (i have since read the novelisation LOL and highly recommend it to anyone into star wars i general, but especially if you feel the prequels had Great Themes and Poor Execution - the book does a much better job at the execution part)

SO by the time the sequel movies were announced i had been into star wars for like, 5, 6 years? and it had been a staple part of not only my creative life but also my social and romantic life, so i was primed to be fucking obsessed. at that point i wasn't journal rping anymore, and most of my creative energy was split between fic (pjo and grisha at the time) and trying to make my original book idea work (it did not), and i had gotten into the groove of Writing Fic For An Audience.

and then the first sequel movie came out and i fucking loved it! like sure it was a little derivative, but it had so much of what i loved about star wars in it, and it especially helped that kylo ren really did seem like a kyp durron expy, and i was right in the middle of my weird heterosexual lesbianism phase where all i wanted to write was Overpowered Man Gets Stepped On By Brunette Teenager He Underestimated so reylo hit me like a fucking freight train.

i think in the first month after that movie came out i wrote like, 21 fics in he space of a month. i went to my first ever music festival and was just lying in the tent writing fic on the budget smart phone i had bought so my actual phone didn't get stolen. it was SUCH a flurry of creative energy for me, because star wars before that point had been not a dead fandom, but certainly not a fandom that had a lot of Fic-Centric Life in the spaces i was in, and the movie brought so much new blood and voices and interest and readers to the canon. so if i told people i felt like writing x thing and asked for prompts, i'd get like 10 or 12 requests at a time - more than i could fulfill, certainly, but also so many that it really fed the fire of my interest and determination to Provide Content

and then, you know, the Drama and the Discourse and the weird creation of shipping as identity where people became A Reylo instead of shipping reylo, and this formation of Antis as a thing, and on and on until fandom in general becomes this place of adversarial combat that is supposed to reflect on your ethics and moral as a person and Oh Man i do remember being exhausted by all of these arguments at the time (and now tbh, but these days i am not actively participating in them). eventually i dropped out of star wars as a fandom from like, creative and discourse burnout i think, and also my relationships with the friends i shared the fandom with were changing, and i was also changing as a person and then TROS came out and was really a death knell to any joy i'd gotten out of the fandom or canon from that point.

as for a case for watching the sequels - i think if you can watch them without needing them to Be Anything In Particular, you can have a good time with them. like, for example, i think TROS was an objectively bad fucking movie, but i had a lot of fun when i watched it because i went it with a baseline of curiosity about how or if abrams could pull this off, and the answer was 'by trying to split every fandom argument of the last 4 years down the exact middle' and 'no, he can't pull it off'. that shit isn't a movie, it's a video response to every star wars trending topic between 2015-2019. and at the time of viewing, this was very fucking funny to me. i had a ball.

SO if you can watch them with the contextual understanding of like, these are massive corporate enterprises created by committee, with different people at the helm of different movies who had very different understandings on what the point of this trilogy was, i genuinely think they can be a good time. there's pew pew lasers, there are some real affecting moments, and there is a lot of bewildered amusement to be had at nature of attempting to create Billion Dollar Art.

if you are looking for a story that is going to leave you feeling fulfilled and as though the creators had consideration and respect for either their viewers, their actors, or the story they were telling, then give them a pass. like i really really think there is a lot of fun and interest to be had in watching the sequels for both 'here is a space fantasy laser fun time' reasons and 'what does art look like when it's primary purpose is to create obscene amounts of wealth based off the nostalgia of nerds but also the concept of modernising a franchise for the 21st century' reasons, and these are both big reasons why i engage in any kind of media LOL

but i also understand the special place star wars holds in a lot of people's hearts, and not wanting to engage in material thatg feels like it has sucked a lot of the joy out of that special place is always legit. so like, if you are intrigued, give them a shot, and if you find yourself hating the experience then stop watching. trust ur heart babe

FINALLY i have no strong opinion on whether people are anon or signed in! it's all about your comfort level truly, i do not put emphasis on one mode or another. sometimes people will send me something signed in and ask me to respond privately, which i am always happy to do, and sometimes people will send messages anon, but identify themselves as like 'oh im the anon who asked about sunflowers, i'm sunflower anon'. SO YEAH whatever combination of identifiers is personally comfortable for the person sending the ask is how i prefer people to communicate.

THANK U for ur ask clearly i love to Talk & Engage and i appreciate u giving me the opportunity <3 <3

#hannah answers asks #hag history

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