#jansen fic

[ctrl-alt-em]

An Unconventional Steed

“I’m not getting on a horse.”

The posse was gathered in front of the town stables. The plan had been to rent four horses and pick up Humble Ned so they could head out on a short bounty as a full team. That plan turned out to be a bit too ambitious.

“Come on, Silas, I’m sure it will be fine. The new stableboy said this is the gentlest horse they have,” said Edie, gesturing to the old mare named, fittingly, Sweet Pea.

“Nope, I’m not doing it.” Silas crossed his arms and leaned against the stable, looking away from all the horse. “I’ll walk behind you guys.”

“You actually reckon you could keep up with a horse?” asked Delacy from on top of Humble Ned.

“I think he’s exaggerating, hun,” said Edie, stroking her own horse’s soft nose.

“Why can’t we just rent a cart or a coach like last time?” gumbled Silas.

Garnet patted her horse on the neck. “We’ll be faster and harder to catch without a coach, Silas.”

“Well then, I guess this will just have to be a four person job.”

“I have an idea,” said Nate, stepping forward. His horse munched on whatever grass it could reach behind him. “You’re only afraid of horses, right?”

Silas glared at the old man. “I’m not getting on no godforsaken pony either.”

“And I ain’t suggesting such. You all just wait here while I go speak with that stablehand again.”

Nate returned a few minutes later leading a donkey. “Silas, meet Churro.”

“A fucking donkey? Really, Nate?”

“Why not? It’s not a horse or a pony, not even a mule!” Nate gestured grandly to the donkey. The donkey gave Silas a bored look and made no efforts to move beyond a flicker of the left ear. “I even gotten the fella for cheaper than a horse. Saved a whole five dollars!”

Silas dragged a hand over his face. “This has got to be your stupidest idea yet.”

–

An hour later, the posse rode down the trail. Garnet and Silas taking the lead, Edie and Delacy in the middle, and Nate taking the rear.

“How’s Churro treating you, Silas?” called Nate with a grin.

“Shut up, old man.”

[artemiseamoon]

Not You

I hate that mustache with every bone in my body 😂 but the gifs fits the story

Lloyd Hansen x Chiara Adjua Longo (ofc) *

Status: in progress

A mini series inspired by this writing challenge: @writersironchef (tagging to give inspiration credit, thank you for this writing challenge)

Summary: When Agent Blue Fox finds out Lloyd Hansen is her assigned partner for the next few missions, she’s ready to pack her bags and go. Her boss refused to let her back out, and she and Lloyd have to find a way to get along. Things only get more complicated along the way.

Ofc full name: Chiara Adjua Longo | in her 30s

Ofc inspo: Italian Ghanaian actress/model Daniela Scattolin

*used to be a RC now it’s an OC

Only previews post to tumblr ~ read full work on A03

Part one | tumblr preview | A03

Part two | tumblr preview | A03

Part three | tumblr preview | A03

Part four | tumblr preview | A03

Next update: soon! Depends on when I can make time

Agent names

Agent Blue Fox

Agent Blue Stag

Moodboards

[strawberry-jan]

Back in late 2022, I started working on a long story about Ishin: a tale of two dummies whose weird one-night stand blossoms into a surprisingly caring relationship even as a (mostly) canon-compliant series of tragedies plays out around them. It’s a now-complete series in approximately 125,000 words and three parts, and you can read the whole thing right now on AO3: The Glorious and Bloody Deeds of Okita Soji, Volume 1: Okita Soji Versus the Scoundrel Saito Hajime; The Secret History of Saito Hajime, Volume 2: The Shiraume Incident; and, finally, Brief Notes on the Domestic Life of one Saito Hajime.

Taken as a whole, it's a story about identity and history and the stories that people tell each other and themselves about those things. And it's a story about one guy getting way too into weird Edo-era egg dishes, and another guy finding himself embroiled in an extended detective sequence, and a third guy composing a series of corny haiku that (almost) nobody wants to read. And, of course, it's also a story about people who are shamelessly and sometimes explicitly in love (so you probably shouldn't read it at work).

This whole big, sprawling thing has been a labour of love on my part: it turns out that I adore writing historical fiction and finding excuses to read books and journal articles in order to write it better. In addition to making not one but four little illustrations to celebrate the fic's completion (and please look at them up-close; I hand-inked all those kimono patterns), I've drawn up a list of some of the sources that I consulted for my writing, and you can find those under the cut.

This is not an absolutely exhaustive list of sources; I don’t think it’s super useful to catalogue the extremely nitty-gritty stuff, like that time that I felt compelled to find out what the state of strawberry cultivation was in 1860s Japan, or when I needed to picture exactly what it looked like when Haruka was repairing Ryoma’s kimono. That being said, I’ve added a couple of things that are really particular to my stories but that I thought were cool enough to share.

Foster, Michael Dylan. The Book of Yokai: Mysterious Creatures of Japanese Folklore. U of California P, 2015. (This one was a really fun read – it combines a short history of yokai in folklore with a little catalogue of yokai.)

Jansen, Marius B. Sakamoto Ryoma and the Meiji Restoration. Stanford UP, 1971. (Super useful as an introduction to the Bakumatsu era and for biographical details about Ryoma and the figures around him.)

“Japanese Wiki Corpus.” https://www.japanesewiki.com/. (This is a machine-translated collection of articles on the Japanese side of Wikipedia related to Kyoto. As with a lot of things on Wikipedia, the citations on these articles tend to be poor or nonexistent, but it’s a useful starting point for information on figures and events that don’t have an English wiki equivalent. Definitely more useful if you can then head over to the original wiki articles and parse them out yourself.)

“Kabuki21” and “The Noh.” https://www.kabuki21.com/section.php, https://www.the-noh.com/en/plays/index.html. (I’m lumping these two together because I tended to consult them in tandem. Without getting too much into my personal details I am – among other things – a non-practicing theatre scholar, so whenever I wanted to have characters in my old-timey fics refer to something cultural, my first stop was old plays. These sites have, respectively, summaries of kabuki plays and full texts of Noh plays available for you to browse. If you’ve read my other fics you will probably have seen that I referred to the kabuki play “Fuwa” in 亀が如く.)

Katsu, Kokichi. Musui’s Story: The Autobiography of a Tokugawa Samurai. Translated by Teruko Craig. U of Arizona P, 1988. (A book that needs to be taken with a grain of salt because it’s an autobiography written by a guy who sounds like a real blowhard, but it’s still a really fascinating look into the daily life of a low-ranking samurai.)

Leupp, Gary P. and Tao, De-min. The Tokugawa World. Routledge, 2022. (Of particular interest is Kimura Sachihiko’s essay, “The Shinsengumi: Shadows and light in the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate” [1104-1124], which gave me a bunch of incidental details about the Roshigumi that I incorporated into the sections of this series that were told from Inoue and Hijikata’s perspectives.)

“Old Photos of Japan.” https://www.oldphotosjapan.com/. (Pretty self-explanatory. Very useful as a resource for picturing scenes!)

“Shinsengumi Archives.” https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/. (A long-running tumblr dedicated to cataloguing resources about the Shinsengumi. There’s an absolute wealth of information collected here, and best of all, the creator cites their sources and even provides links to the original texts. Although it’s focused on the Shinsengumi, it’s impossible to overstate how useful this site is for prospective Bakumatsu-era fic writers in general. The collection of Hijikata’s poems with links to others’ translations and commentary is here: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/683071924948058112/hijikata-toshizos-haiku-poems. The creator of the blog also links to a translation of Nagakura’s and Shimada’s diaries, and while the document is machine-translated, it’s still a great source of historical details: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/678083336614428672/where-can-you-read-the-memoirs.)

Smits, Gregory. “Warding off Calamity in Japan: A Comparison of the 1855 Catfish Prints and the 1862 Measles Prints.” EASTM 30 (2009): 9-31. (Okay, this one is highly specific to my fic – it comes up in Part 2 when Okita tells his story about Kashima and again a couple of chapters later when his pile of remedies includes a crudely-drawn picture meant to ward off indigestion – but I love little details like this so I did want to make a point of sharing it here.)

“Tamago Hyakuchin” and “Tofu Hyakuchin.” http://codh.rois.ac.jp/edo-cooking/tamago-hyakuchin/recipe/, https://toyama-tofu.jp/tofuhyakutin.html. (These are collections of Edo-era egg- and tofu-based recipes. They’re two of the sources cited in Cookpad’s collection of modernized Edo-era recipes: https://cookpad.com/recipe/list/14604664.)

Vaporis, Constantine N. “Linking the Realm: The Gokaido Highway Network in Early Modern Japan (1603-1868).” Highways, Byways and Road Systems in the Pre-Modern World. Ed. Susan E. Alcock, John Bodel, and Richard J. A. Talbert. Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. 90-105. (Some of the works cited in this article also sound interesting, but I didn’t have a chance to dig any deeper as I just wanted to know a bit about the Tokugawa-era roads. Also interesting in this vein is Jilly Traganou’s book The Tokaido Road: Travelling and Representation in Edo and Meiji Japan [2004].)

Wert, Michael. Meiji Restoration Losers. Harvard UP, 2013. (Not directly useful as a source for writing about Ishin – it’s about later events and it mostly tracks the posthumous construction of one specific Tokugawa magistrate’s history – but it was an engaging read and I found it interesting as an exploration of how people continue to look back on the Bakumatsu era and the Meiji Restoration, which is something that the game is, of course, also doing.)

Yamakawa, Kikue. Women of the Mito Domain: Recollections of Samurai Family Life. Translated by Kate Wildman Nakai. U of Tokyo P, 1992. (Another one of those bits of essential reading on everyday life for low-ranking samurai, this time with a focus on women’s lives and households more generally. I didn’t use a lot of from this book in my fic, but it has everything from translations of songs to records of families’ financial transactions, and it’s fascinating to read about all the turmoil in Mito playing out in the background of these families’ lives.)

“Yokai.com.” https://yokai.com/. (The creators of this site make a point of not going into detail about their sources, and they’re very careful to state that they don’t intend for the project to be “the final authority” on yokai, but I enjoyed browsing the site to get some ideas for Okita’s stories – and once you know the name of a particular yokai that you’re interested in, it’s easy enough to go look up other sources on them.)

[garncarkakucharka]

ok but why no one has ever write Marauders Thirteen reasons why fic?

I mean

Regulus Black as Hannah Baker?

James Potter as Clay Jansen?

I desperately want to read that fic.

but I have no skills for writing... (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥) can someone write this fic for me??? please???

[wyattjohnston]

never said a thing - pierre luc dubois

summary: everyone knows that luc wants a trade... you're just the only person he hasn't told directly.

word count: 2,667

main character: gender neutral reader

note: this is a very very late pinch hitter fic for @pcttymcrlecu as part of the summer fic exchange 2k23. thank you for your patience!

i had to fudge the timeline because i didn't realise luc's trade request happened post-season. i really feel like it happened before the trade deadline

You’d known about Luc’s trade requests before you met him—the entire city of Winnipeg, the province of Manitoba and the entire NHL fan base knew. It was inescapable, just like it had been when he was moved to Winnipeg after requesting a trade out of Columbus.

You were happier about the first one, less so about the second and that only got worse as time went on and the official third one came.

Meeting Luc wasn’t anything you’d planned but had still taken longer than you’d expected it to. Winnipeg wasn’t small, though it certainly wasn’t the largest city, and everyone seemingly had some sort of connection to the Jets—even if it was a Six Degrees of Mark Scheifele sort of deal.

A friend of a friend knew where the younger Jets players liked to spend their free time, as if that wasn’t widely known by everyone in their 20s anyway, and you found yourself in the same bar as Luc, Logan and Jansen.

You found yourself at Luc’s house a lot after that.

Nobody seemed to mind the weird, nebulous state of your relationship—situationship is probably the best word to describe everything that you were. It hadn’t mattered, not really, that you showed up at Luc’s house at the first text with little care for the time he sent his you up? text because he was always just as quick to show up when you sent him a photo of your empty bed without any words to accompany it.

It was always You and Luc, even though there was no You and Luc.

The trade request rumours go unmentioned in the time you spend together—the first alleged request being negated by a one-year contract and the second, the most recent, never coming up. You couldn’t forget them, though. You caught yourself looking at Luc when his back was turned, hoping you could will him to talk to you. Hoping he would explain the request. Hoping he would tell you directly.

Time passed, though, without any mention from Luc that he no longer wanted to be in Winnipeg. Without any mention that whatever You and Luc were had an expiration date.

The Jets lost four games in a row, ending their season in the first round of the playoffs. It hurt because they’re your team—a crushing disappointment especially after winning the first game so soundly and taking game 3 to second overtime—and you watched every game from start to finish.

It was another turning point in your situationship with Luc. As much as you were always a text message away, Luc never asked right after road trips. You never expected him to. It was a boundary set in place that you were more than happy to adhere to.

Except.

The text wasn’t even the usual you up? but an explicit come over that had your heart rate spiking. It was the most direct either of you had ever been and you didn’t know what it meant at all.

He’d barely arrived home when you were buzzed into the building if the suitcase at the door was any indication. He looked exhausted, standing beside the intercom with his forehead pressed against the wall.

You didn’t wait before moving towards him, your footsteps disgustingly loud in the otherwise silent apartment, and pressed your forehead into the space between his shoulder blades.

In a hoarse voice, muffled by the wall he was leaning against, Luc asked, “When’s it my turn to win?”

He wasn’t crying, something you were grateful for because you knew you were ill equipped to deal with it, but he may well have been. The sagging of his limbs, so tired and dejected that his muscles weren’t even tense, and the defeat in his voice were foreign to you.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, unable to think of anything else and not wanting to make a wrong move and upset him even more.

He signed, his entire body shaking with it, and admitted that he just wanted to go to bed.

You agreed, despite it being far from what you’d gone for. Moving him was easy; he put up no resistance as you led him down to his room. You’d never seen him so low, never moved him so easily, and, as many times as you had undressed each other in that very room, taking his clothes off was the strangest part of it all.

He helped you undress him in so much as he moved his limbs when he needed to, but he was very much just doing as he was told.

“You’ve got so many more years in you, Luc,” you said when you were finally laying in the bed.

“It never feels that way.”

Waking up in Luc’s bed wasn’t strange by any means, nor, quite frankly, was the morning wood pressed against your lower back. Being the familiar territory that it was, you roused Luc from his sleep and started your morning the right way.

He was visibly happier than the night before—or, maybe not happier but definitely less noticeably distraught—and falling into old habits was simple and welcomed by both of you. The closeness, physical and emotional, something he needed judging by the way he held you through breathy moans.

It wasn’t until you were showered and sitting at his kitchen island with a coffee as he got ready for end-of-season interviews, grumbling as he moved throughout the house.

Your timing probably wasn’t the best, waiting until you were standing at his front door saying goodbye just before he fronted the media, but you had never shied from the hard conversations. Even if you delayed them until the last—often worst—possible moment.

“I’ll see you when you’re back for training camp?” you asked tentatively, wringing your hands in your lap.

Luc hesitated for so long that you thought he might never say anything. He couldn’t meet your eye when he said, “Yeah. End of August, probably.”

You watched him carefully, scrutinising the painful casualness of his response, the lack of any giveaways that he was lying or that he hoped what he was saying wasn’t true.

You knew too much, though.

His casual demeanour faltered as you met him with an equally long silence—you weren’t hesitating for any reason other than to make him uncomfortable.

He shifted his feet and looked everywhere in the room except at you. He was opening his mouth to speak when you finally decided to keep talking, cutting him off.

“Are you ever going to talk to me about requesting a trade?”

Luc’s demeanour changed from confused to defensive immediately when he asked, “Do I need to?”

“I mean… yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. “You were really just going to leave for the summer and never come back?”

“I—” The colour drained from his face. “Yeah.”

With your hands pulling at the bottom of your hoodie, you felt your heart rise into your throat. There wasn’t anything else for you to say, which was a blessing because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure what would have come out.

You nodded once, stiffly, and then again after a beat before you let the barstool screech against the tiles as you stood. He didn’t make any move to stop you as you grabbed your purse, and you could feel him staring as you walked out the door. You cursed the apartment building for having quiet closing doors when all that would have made you feel better was hearing something slam behind you.

June came and went, July disappeared as quick as it arrived and August… well August dragged on painfully.

You worked through the perfect weather and the perfect photos your friends posted of their perfect vacations. It wasn’t all that different from every other summer since you graduated and it was no different to the previous summer because you didn’t see him then anyway.

A lot of energy had been spent trying to get him out of your mind, not least because all of your work colleagues seemingly spent their every waking moment talking about Pierre-Luc Dubois and his trade request. When the trade to LA had finally happened, all they could talk about was “eight years and eight point five million, who does he think he is?” or “he’s just going to ask for another trade in 2 years so jokes on them!”

You, though? Mostly you’d been able to move past it. August rolled around and you didn’t care about Pierre-Luc Dubois.

Until, that is, you were standing in The Forks Market, ready to eat your weight in mini donuts because it had been a long, long week, and, above every other head you saw him.

You couldn’t leave in the rush that you wanted to, or at least suddenly speedrun the market, because you did want your donuts more than you wanted to leave so you turned your head, tried to hide behind some other people and hoped that he’d never spot you.

That was too much to ask for, of course.

The stall called your name and you knew that everybody in the immediate vicinity had heard it but still you collected your food and tried to make a beeline for the exit only to have your name called again.

You stopped but didn’t turn around, hoping that maybe Luc would just turn and leave but you knew that was foolish. You felt his presence as he got closer, his body so much larger than those around him that even without seeing him you just knew.

He said your name, in such a deceptively soft voice that you had no choice but to turn around, to look at him and see a sorrow on his face that you hadn’t ever expected. Definitely nothing you’d ever seen before.

“You got something to say or?” you prompted when he just continued to stare at you.

“How are you?”

You recoiled at the question, your eyebrows pulling together, followed by an eye roll so rapid that it actually hurt. Luc flinched himself but didn’t rush to say anything else.

“That’s not the conversation I want to have,” you said, brutally honest. “Especially not with you. So, I’m going to take my food and leave. Enjoy LA.”

You stepped away, causing him to stand up straighter and reach for you—but only briefly before he thought better of it. Still, he said, rushed, “Come back to mine.”

“And why should I do that?”

“I have—” he cleared his throat. “I have to talk to you and I don’t want to do that here.”

You hesitated but ultimately agreed when curiosity got the better of you. As much as you’d not wanted to think about him, it had been impossible to shake the desire for any sort of explanation.

Walking into his apartment again didn’t feel like a bad idea, but it did feel weird to see it mostly empty with packing boxes stacked against the walls. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was going—gone—and yet the reminder still had you looking away instantly back to Luc.

Luc pulled out the food that he’d bought at the market—an actual meal—and set it down on the kitchen island where the only remaining seats in his apartment were, just three barstools.

“I hope they gave you a fork because I don’t have any cutlery,” he said sheepishly.

You sat down beside him, placed your own bag down and told him, smiling to yourself, “I don’t think I need a fork to eat mini donuts.”

The laugh that erupted from him shocked both of you. You more so, you thought, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him laugh so heartily, so carefree. It ended up being the reason for your abrupt silence, the joy being pulled from you and a donut being shoved into your mouth to avoid any questioning.

He didn’t seem to notice that your laughter had stopped for any reason other than deciding to eat, so he ate his curry still smiling and starting a conversation about Ryan Gosling as Ken that you had to admit was endearing even if you didn’t want to. Your own contribution to that conversation was minimal despite how much you had enjoyed the movie in the first place.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked during a break in the conversation where Luc was getting ready to start playing the movie’s soundtrack. That was so far past normal that you had to get out of it, that you had to bring him back to the reason you’d even gone to his apartment in the first place.

Luc looked chastised as he put his phone back down on the table. He turned the stool so that he was facing you, the one stool still in between you, and all joy had fallen from his face. He reached one hand out, resting it on the empty stool, and inhaled.

“I asked for a trade.”

“So, I heard.”

“I can’t keep losing.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning sympathy, “Because the Kings got so much further than the Jets did. Understandable.”

Whatever was left of his openness disappeared, his face making it clear that he’d shuttered. You didn’t care, really, when that was the lame excuse you’d gotten.

“I don’t even care about that,” you said, waving off the poor excuse. “Honestly, I don’t care that you requested it because whatever it’s your career and your life, you can leave if you want—why didn’t you tell me, Luc? If I hadn’t asked, I really don’t think you would have told me.”

“I should have,” he admitted, without hesitation, his face relaxing into something somewhat remorseful. “I know I should have. Even if we’re just… casual, fuckbuddies, whatever we’re calling it, of course I should have told you. It just took me until you got mad for me to realise that.”

 “What? You didn’t realise I was human until that moment?”

“I didn’t realise you cared.”

That chastened you quite effectively, because it was true that you’d never given much—or any—indication that it was more than just sex. Not a great deal more, at least not until you thought you were going to lose him, but enough that the friends in friends-with-benefits had clearly meant a lot more to you than it did to him. You couldn’t have expected him to know that when your conversations were limited to if the roads were okay on the drive to one another’s place.

You admitted, quietly, your eyes averted to your lap, “I don’t know if I did until I heard you wanted out. Then I thought about it at length and by the time I asked you about it… Lying to me is just about the worst thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t think you’d bring it up,” he said slowly. “I really just thought you would leave; I’d go back to Quebec and then, when the season started, I’d be somewhere else and then you asked and… I realised I cared about leaving you behind.”

Your eyes fell shut, overwhelmed by what he’d told you. You were sure nobody had ever cared about leaving you behind before. You wondered, briefly, how long it would have taken Luc to contact you if he hadn’t seen you that evening, though it was something that could be found out later. More pressing was the confession you’d just received.

Your eyes opened, and Luc was looking at you with a softness and longing that overwhelmed you all over again. All you did was laugh nervously, shyly, to yourself, and tell him, “I don’t even know anything about you that I haven’t learnt from the Jets’ broadcasts.”

“I don’t think I know anything about you either,” he confessed, unabashed. “I want to learn; if you want to teach me.”

Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

i forgot i have a tag list rip (very sorry if you’ve already seen the fic!!)

@fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @laurenairay @jarmorie @diary-of-jj @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @sssstarstruck @pr3nt1ss

[samiwife]

Idk if you're requests are open at the moment, but if you get the chance I'd love a Steve Jansen fic if possible? Pretty please

OMG, I LOVE STEVE <3 Yes, requests are open. Thanks for the request <3

The Set Up ੈ✩‧₊˚ (Steve Jansen x Reader)

𓆩♡𓆪= Smut

ੈ✩‧₊˚= Fluff

⋆ ★= Angst

𓆩⟡𓆪 = Headcanons

Double dates were always scary. No matter if your friends said they were nice. You just never liked them but your friends kept persisting you go with them when they went out with their boyfriends. Especially your friend "Cherry". She was dating David who had a younger brother named "Steve". Steve was your age and was super shy around you. But that still didn't change your mind when Cherry asked you to come with her and David on a double date.

"Y/N, come on it will be fun. I know double dates are uncomfortable but give it another shot please!" Cherry persisted.

"No! They're always boring and awkward for me. I always get left out." You explained your arms crossed annoyed. Cherry exhaled and looked at you.

"Y/N, you know them though. It's just David and his brother Steve. " Cherry ranted out. You uncrossed your arms and began to listen. Steve was coming along. Most of the dates Cherry took you on was always one of David's friends. But this time it was Steve.

"Wait? Steve is going to be there tonight?" You asked excitedly. Cherry's smile grew wider from your curiosity.

"Well, yeah. He's off tonight and has nothing better to do. So David invited him along to keep you company." She explained leaving you shocked and intrigued.

"Okay, sure I'll go." You agreed smiling. Your friend quickly sprung up and cheered in happiness. Cherry quickly ran to your closet ripping the clothes off the hangers. Causing you to become confused.

"Woah woah, what are you doing?" You asked standing up. Your friend chuckled and apologized.

"Silly, I forgot to mention. The date is tonight so we better get ready." She said with a wink. Your mouth hung wide open. You didn't expect to be going tonight.

"Wait! Tonight? There's no way! I'm not ready!" You exclaimed while Cherry scrambled to get you the perfect outfit for tonight. She jolted to you and sighed.

"Look Y/N, you won't regret this. Just hush and let me lead." Cherry excitedly said. You rolled your eyes and sat in the chair while Cherry did your hair and makeup. After an hour of makeup, you were finished. Cherry quickly threw the dress and shoes you were going to wear at you.

"Go change, we only have an hour left." She rushed as she was pushing you into the bathroom. You quickly got dressed and put on the shoes. You walked out carefully. Cherry gazed at you and looked in awe.

"Wow, yeah. Steve's going to freak out when he sees you." Cherry said smiling. You sighed and looked down at the outfit. It was a silk black dress with sparkly heels. Your hair was up with silver barrettes. You were wearing black eyeliner, mascara, and red eyeshadow. No doubt you looked gorgeous. You and Cherry quickly got into the car and drove to the apartment where dinner would be held. You became more and more nervous by the second. You have never been on a date with Steve. You always saw Steve as a friend but a date? That was something else. Cherry noticed you shaking.

"Y/N, it's okay. It's just Steve." She said chuckling. Which is true. It is just Steve. you and Steve hung out all the time without Cherry and David. So why was it such a big deal now? You always thought Steve was handsome, funny, sweet, and everything. But you never thought about it. After thinking for what seemed like hours, Cherry tapped your shoulder and told you to go. You nodded and stepped out of the car. The two of you walked up the stairs and to David's apartment. Before knocking on the door, Cherry fixed the clips in your hair and smiled.

"You got this, you look gorgeous and you are strong," Cherry said smiling. You smiled and thanked her. Cherry knocked on the door and David answered. David immediately welcomed the pair of you. David quickly kissed Cherry and hugged you.

"Come in! I'm so glad you could make it! And Y/N, you look great!" David said smiling at you. You looked down and thanked him. Cherry complemented the makeup she did. As Cherry and David were talking, Steve stepped out of the room dressed in a white collar button-up and red tie holding a bouquet of flowers meant for you. You stared at him in awe.

"Oh there he is, Steve come greet Y/N," David said gesturing to you as he walked away with Cherry. You blushed brightly as Steve walked up to you handing you the flowers. "Good evening Y/N, I got these for you. Hope you like them," Steve said looking down at you since you were smaller than him. You smiled widely.

"Good evening Steve, how are you?" You asked still blushing madly while holding the flowers. Steve tilted his head to the left and smiled. "I'm doing just fine, could I get you something to drink?" Steve said.

"Um, maybe just water." You said looking at Steve. Steve nodded and went to the kitchen to fetch you some water. You placed the flowers on the counter nearby. Cherry smiled as she grabbed David's hand.

"Well, we'll leave you two alone. Me and David are going to the downtown market to get something. Bye bye!" Cherry said walking out with David. You nodded and chuckled at Cherry's obvious attempt to have you and Steve alone. Now it was just you and Steve. Steve walked out of the kitchen and handed you a glass of water.

"Did Cherry and David leave?" Steve asked while looking down at you. "Yeah, they said they needed to grab some stuff at the downtown market." You explained. Steve shook his head. You figured David set this up with Cherry to have you two alone.

"How about we sit down and chat?" Steve said smiling. You nodded and quickly headed to the couch. Steve sat next to you. There was an awkward silence due to you and Steve not knowing what to do. You sighed and sipped your water.

"Look, sorry I'm awkward at this. It's just I'm not good with this date thing." You said looking at Steve. Steve chuckled and then smiled at your apology.

"No need to apologize Y/N, I'm not good at this either. If it makes you any more comfortable. We can just do this date as friends." Steve said with gentle eyes. You quickly smiled and placed your cup on the table. "That sounds better." You said. Steve quickly got up to the record player in the room and shuffled through the record case to find a tune. He eventually found one and placed it on the record player. You stood up and began to dance to the rhythm. Steve stared at you in awe and began to dance too. You two danced individually and occasionally teased each other. The two of you grew tired of dancing and collapsed on the floor out of breath from dancing.

"Steve, can I ask you something?" You asked as you lay next to Steve. Steve looked over at you. "Ask me!" Steve responded. You inhaled and then exhaled lightly. "Have you ever fallen in love?" You asked him. Steve looked up at the ceiling and chuckled a bit.

"I don't know, frankly I don't think anyone knows what love feels like until they get a unique feeling when they see them," Steve explained. There was silence. Until it was broken by Steve's voice. "Have you ever fallen in love Y/N?" He asked. You stared at the ceiling.

"I think so, I look at him and I don't know how to feel. I feel scared of saying the wrong thing and confident when we hang out with each other. So in a way. I feel confident and scared around him." You explained while smiling. Steve turned his head towards you.

"Well if you feel so confident, then may I have this dance?" Steve said sitting up and holding out his hand. The music was the perfect tune and tempo for a slow dance. You quickly sit up and take his hand. "Yes, I will." You accepted while standing up. Steve's hand lands on your hip and quickly you and him are moving to the beat of the music. It was a surreal moment. His touch was gentle and soft. Your finger interwinds with his. You two danced around the room until you paused in the middle of the room. Your faces were so close. Closer and closer, your lips touch his. You closed your eyes and savored this moment. Steve places his hands around your waist and pulls you in closer. After a few minutes, Steve pulls away.

"Do you still feel scared?" Steve teased you. You rolled your eyes in a joking manner. "Not anymore, you big dummy." You said smiling. Steve smiled and pulled you in for a kiss once more. You gently grabbed Steve's cheek. You pull away when you hear a door open. It was Cherry and David. The two of them walked in and began chucking and cheering. Steve's face turned red and he hid his face in embarrassment. You chuckled as Cherry walked up to you.

"I see you're getting comfy with Steve." She teased and winked. You gently hit her in the side. "C'mon let's go home, I think you had enough fun for tonight," Cherry said smiling. You groaned in disappointment and looked at Steve.

"Well Steve, this has been fun. Thank you. You'll be hearing from me?" You said looking up at him. Steve quickly nodded and smiled. "Yes of course Y/N," Steve responded. You walked back to the counter grabbed the flowers Steve gave you and waved goodbye as you walked with Cherry to her car. On the way home, Cherry was teasing you about Steve.

"No wonder you wanted to go on this date. You like Steve!" Cherry exclaimed while laughing. You smiled and looked down at the flowers that Steve gave you. They were gorgeous and you wanted to keep them forever. You held them close to you as Cherry drove home.

[coffee-at-annies]

6+43 you pick the pairing.

6+43: Bookshop AU+Dance of Romance

This is very hard for me because I fully believe most hockey players cannot read. There is reason the Sidney Crosby School for Hockey Players Who Can’t Read Good is a thing that I believe with my whole heart that exists. You said dealers choice on the pairing so I hope you’re ready for an entire au and many, many pairings. Remember, you asked for this.

Anyway small independent bookshop owners Sid and Geno. They’re gay and married and semi-successful and it’s cute.

Kris is the bitchy barista who barged into their store one day and bullied them into adding a cafe and then took over running it.

He’s got some sort of situationship going with his longtime regular, Tristan, who has never picked up a book in all the time he’s been coming there. He is there every day for his caffeine fix and to do suduko or something else juuuuust close enough to be book adjacent but isn’t reading. I’m not sure there’s enough thoughts in Mouse Boy’s head to read a whole book. At least that’s what he wants us to think and I’m gonna give it to him.

Jake and Bryan (Rusty) are two kids Sid hired from the local college that basically never left after graduating and are still here.

Flower runs the bakery down the street and makes sure Sid has pastries for Kris to sell. He has tried and failed to lure Kris away to do coffee for the bakery. (Flower also used to work at the bookstore but left to go pursue his dream of the bakery and they love and support him but Kris isn’t leaving).

Marcus and Ricky are two Swedish dads that come in for kids storytime and let their kids play around.

They’ve started bringing new Swede-in-town Erik and his daughter with them.

Chad doesn’t work for the bookstore but will occasionally stop by kid in tow for Sid’s storytime.

Ryan Graves just got hired to run the late night shift so they can be open later. (Yes this is a graveyard shift pun)

Magnus is the delivery man who drops off and helps unload book shipments.

(This is a very crowded small bookstore)

Ned is there regularly for book club with EK, Reilly (who is new in town) and Jason (Zucker) (an old regular), along with old not quite married couple Carl and Patric (Hags&Horny).

(All people I believe can read, unlike Jarry)

Jared and Brandon are around somewhere. Probably. (Look I love them).

Zach and Conor and Teddy used to work in the store while in college but unlike Jake and Bryan they left after graduation. Some of them are still around town but some of them have moved away.

The only people I’m missing are 4th line and I’m sorry idc where cookie and neets are tbh and BJC is around. Probably. Maybe he’s a regular, maybe he works the register, idk idc.

That leaves, basically everyone you just said “hey you forgot X” aka Lars Eller and the kids/wbs. If you were wondering why I didn’t mention them, that’s because this fic is about them. Well actually it’s about DOC and POJ because my brain decided that’s the pairing. Don’t ask me why. Big Z is right there with the rest of his harem but no we’re doing PO and Drew (probably because of that silly tortilla video). Anyway all the boys are college students at the local college. Drew is in a study group with Radim, Valterri, Jansen, Vinnie, Sam (Poulin), and Ty (Smith). They’re all taking Professor Eller’s class and they meet up once or twice a week in the bookstore to drink coffee and go over the homework.

Where is PO you ask? Well he’s behind the counter working under Kris as the backup barista. Don’t worry, this romance isn’t going to be customer/barista. No, no. The reason they started meeting here is because Drew works at the bookstore. He’s been there for about a semester (and the summer) but hasn’t really spent much time in the cafe part. It’s not until Big Z talks Drew into running study sessions in the cafe that they start noticing each other.

See PO took Professor Eller’s class last year, so one day, after watching the boys struggle for with the homework for way too long, he pops out from behind the counter and sits down and helps them out. He’s welcome at the study sessions and sometimes when he’s not on shift he’ll bring his school work and while they’re majoring in different things it’s nice to bounce ideas off them.

If you want to know what they’re majoring in, actual real life DOC majored in sociology while playing for Dartmouth. PO has not been to college but he did tell Taylor that if he wasn’t gonna be an athlete he wanted to be a vet or a psychologist so I’m going with he wants to be a Vet Tech and is majoring in whatever is the veterinary sciences equivalent of premed is.

Anyway they hang out at work more and more. This goes on for like a month and then Geno comes up with a big idea for a fall event. They’re doing a Halloween party. Jake and Bryan and Drew and PO have to help decorate the store and on the day of it’s filled with college students, kids, and regulars. Drew is trying desperately to avoid getting his cheek pinched by the old ladies from the knitting circle again. PO is safe because he’s behind the cafe counter serving drinks. PO has fake vampire fangs as his costume. Drew showed up in a not-couples costume with Big Z. If you wanna know what everyone else wore, please see this photo. Except I’m pretty sure Kris is either a prey mantis or the letits are out whichever option makes you, dear reader, feel more insane.

Eventually Sid and Geno shooo all their employees to go mingle and have fun. Drew and PO end up in the makeshift dance floor, music blaring, and after a couple jokes and a some negging from their friends, PO gives Drew a half twirl or something and they laugh it off before the song is even over.

It’s not until later when they’re cleaning up, all alone, music still going in the background, that they start joking about it and one thing leads to another and they actually dance. PO gives drew the full twirl. They bust a move. They slow dance a bit. They’ve never been this close. They’ve only casually touched and now they’re pressed up against each other. They’ve been hanging out at the bookstore outside of study group and Ohohoho what’s this? A feelings realization. Except wait. They’re both idiot college students. So they both awkwardly disengage to go do their job and part ways.

In the following days things are so completely awkward between them at work that Kris throws PO out of the cafe and won’t let him back until he can look Drew in the eye. Drew meanwhile cancels study session because he doesn’t know how to be normal around PO. Don’t worry they can’t continue like that for long. You see there’s a big test coming up and Z ropes PO into helping Drew out cause it’s like 40% of their final grade and Drew has been failing the at-home practice tests something terrible.

They end up staying way later than the rest of the study group going over this exam. Its way late at night, only Ryan is there to lock up behind them, and PO has just spent 4 hours explaining the test back to front - forgetting his awkwardness in the face of his determination to make sure Drew doesn’t fail. Drew definitely stares at PO explaining for a little too long, decides fuck it and goes in for a kiss. These are idiot college boys so instead they bump noses or headbutt each other or something. Poor boys. Can’t even do a surprise kiss correctly. Drew apologizes and then they do have the confession conversation and then the actual kiss. And more kisses. After that, more studying.

The end.

[iusedtohavesixtoes]

I was missing this immortal father of hundreds. I should write for him again.

Maybe a fic where the party (mostly Jansen, maybe a bewildered Sarah) wonders where in the world Kaim found a shirt like that.

[hertzwritings]

Kiss with a fist (Dark!August Walker)

A/N: I literally lost track of who asked for what first, so I’m working on a “oooh this might be fun to write today”-basis. Don’t fret, my loves, I’m getting through all prompts and requests as well, mostly because I need the distraction. I am living in HellTM currently. Prompt: Y/N works for CIA, who sends her undercover in the FBI. They, in turn, send her undercover in M16 - who then sends her right back undercover in CIA. Her superior is very confused.

Also also, this is probably going to be my first real Dark!Fic, because it just kind of lends itself perfectly for the idea, I’ve been playing with. Just a warning. It’s probably not as dark as I could make it, but I gotta ease into it 😉

 You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized drabble, one shot or multichapter fic, with whatever you want in it!

 Remember, feedback feeds the soul (mine in particular) and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits because I am me, and I have none!

 MASTERLIST

PROMPTLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

 Pairing: August Walker x female reader

Contains: Language, coworkers to lovers (or like, boss to lover) smut (18+ MINORS DNI), non-con, degradation, praise, sir-kink, spitting, impact-play, mentions of blood, p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering, use of a gun, anal with a gun, mentions of vomit, mentions of necrophilia (sorry, but it’s BRIEF), cream-pie, forced orgasm, forced cream-pie, use of a belt, breath-play, actual choking, gagging and probably more than that

 W.C.: 5.022 (whoops)

 Kiss with a fist

  “You want me to do what?” You asked incredulously, staring with wide eyes at Mr. Walker. He raised his eyebrow and crossed his muscular arms over his chest, his button-down straining dangerously at the seams. “I don’t want, I need you to go undercover in the FBI. We’re sure there’s a mole, and important information might get leaked at any point.” “But… I… I’m new.” You said, sagging slightly in your chair. “I have no experience with being undercover, Mr. Walker.” “Which is why you’re perfect for it.” He sighed and leaned over the desk, his elbows resting on the smooth wood. “Listen to me, you’re amazing at what you do. You’re one of the brightest heads here, and you think quick on your feet. I wouldn’t send you unless I was sure, you would be able to handle it.” You nodded. You weren’t getting out of this one. “Alright.”

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

The FBI was very different to the CIA – there was a lot more hustle and bustle, and you tried to blend in as much as you could, giggling at the water cooler with the other women from the office, trying to get gossip that could actually be beneficial. Lucy, the receptionist, had managed to slip during a coffee-break, talking about an anonymous man, who seemed to slip in and out of the office constantly. It was strange, how little people noticed, because he was a tall and broad man, and she had conspiratorially whispered to you, that it was strange that there always seemed to be a case right after his visits.

“I mean, you’ve never seen his face?” You asked casually, tipping your coffee-cup to your lips. She shook her head. “No, that’s the weird part, right? I mean, he just comes and goes, I’m not even sure he work…” She stopped talking when your “boss”, Mr. Jansen, came over and gestured for you to follow him into the office.

“Y/N, I’m going to need your help. You are very skilled at what you do, and I can appreciate you helping from the office, but I have gotten a tip.” You sat down. Jansen was a no-nonsense kind of man, and you were mentally preparing for whatever he was going to say. He never coddled anyone. “I need you to go undercover in M16. I got a tip that someone from there is trying to bring the internal parts of FBI down, and we need to nip it in the bud.” Again? You were going to be a triple-agent, now? “Sir, I…” “It’s not a question, it’s an order. Pack up, you’re doing double-duty.” “Sir, I just started here, and…” “And you have a glowing review. You got this. Now, get.” You stood and walked to your office, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening. You grabbed your phone and debated calling Mr. Walker, but thought better of it; you were undercover, and you couldn’t afford to blow it now.

 M16 was a whole different shit-show. You had been thrown into the middle of some serious office-heat, agents on each other like cats in an alley, and you were surprised any type of work was being done around here. On your first day, you had – unfortunately – to give a sweating, large man a kiss with your fist, when he thought it was smart to put a hand up your skirt. Everybody pretty much got the message after that, and most lewd comments weren’t said to your face, at least.

Not that it mattered to you at all, because you seemed to have stumbled upon something bigger than moles in the organizations – it seemed to run a lot deeper, weaving some dangerous webs. You couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed that whoever did this (or helped) didn’t bother to try and cover their tracks.

 It seemed to be some sort of manifesto, that had been hidden under layers of coding, and for now, all you had managed to get deciphered was Lark and Apostoles, which, granted, didn’t give you much to on, but it did lead you down the rabbit hole. It would seem as if there was a larger ploy at work here, and you were beginning to feel uneasy about it.

A late night – after pushing several men away from your desk with the promise of castrating them with a finger, if they didn’t leave – you finally managed to get through, and you were surprised at how much information lay between the many lines of the manifesto, along with several instructions to both the FBI and M16; The Syndicate seemed to be printed along any and everything, and you felt sick to your stomach. John Lark was the name that kept popping up, along with a simple A., who seemed to be the one giving instructions on how to dismantle several areas of the inner workings of the FBI and M16.

It wasn’t a mole, it was several. And they all worked towards the same, common goal: Destroy a third of the world’s population. You had to admit, the way they talked about it both gave you a case of serious ick, but also intrigue. You weren’t really on any rouge sides, nor had you ever wanted to be, but there was something in the way they described the entire thing… It was overwhelming. Haunting. But beautiful, even though you were well aware that it would be impossible to ever get done.

 “Y/L/N.” You screwed your eyes shut and turned before opening them, looking at the very angry face of Porter, your “boss”, who was currently tapping her heeled foot to the ground. “Are you alone in the office?” You nodded. She terrified you. “Good.” She walked with brisk steps to your desk and sat down, pointing at the several folders full of your findings. “I see I’m not the only one, who managed to figure out something was off.” You shook your head. “No, ma’am.” She didn’t need to know that you theoretically had been sent by C.I.A and FBI. “I’m glad someone has a bright head. It’s why I trust you to do this.” She sighed. “How long have you worked here?” “Uh, around six months?” You answered. “Would you be comfortable to be in the field?” “I mean, that’s what I was trained for… Do we have an OP, I’m not aware of?” She shook her head. “No, this is very much between only a few people in the office. It needs to be dark.” “Okay…?” Her eyes bored into yours. “Can I trust you?” No. “Of course, ma’am.” “Good. Now, I need an insider on the C.I.A. I need feet on the ground and eyes on the sky in there.” She pointed to the folder in front of you. “I’m sure I’ve found a link between some of the higher ups in there and John Lark.” You gulped. “Uhm, ma’am…” “I know, it sounds crazy, right? But look at this.” She flipped a few pages and pointed to a signature, along with a few lines of instructions. “That is definitely government speech. I can sense it, and we need to dismantle this shit as quickly as we can. Weed the weeds before they grow roots.” You didn’t exactly want to tell her that for weeds to grow, they already had roots. “Okay. What do you need?”

 --------------

Walking back into your real workplace was somewhat unsettling. You had to try and lie your way through why you were back; not that you truly thought it mattered, because nobody would bat an eyelid at you for being back. Well, except Mr. Walker.

“Y/L/N?” Shit. “Hi, Mr. Walker.” He was next to you in two wide strides, brows furrowed and upper lip trembling a little. “What the hell are you doing back here?” In a very unceremonious way, he grabbed a tight hold of your elbow and dragged you to his office, closing and locking the door behind him. “You were supposed to be on intel with the FBI!” You sighed. Time to lie your face off. “FBI sent me on a wild goose chase. I’m sure they’re trying to get the lead buried before I can get to it, and I just needed…” You sighed and rubbed your forehead. “I guess I just needed some sort of normalcy. I think better here.” You said, biting your lip. He stared at you, gesturing for you to sit on the chair in front of his desk. “You came back to think?” You shrugged, sitting down. “I suppose. They’re… Well, it’s a harder job than I expected it to be.” You said – it wasn’t a lie, per se, you were just omitting parts of the truth. In all honesty, at this point, you actually didn’t care who did what, who was behind what, and who or what wanted to blow up a third of the world. You really just wanted to have one damn organization to stick to, thank you very much. He looked at you, clearly searching your face for something – any signs of lies. “What do you know?” He commanded. He stood against his desk, arms crossed, and you realized two things at once; first, that he was very attractive when he was being all demanding and used his “I’m in charge”-voice, and second, that his eyes flickered for a brief second. The smallest of movements, something most – if not all – people would miss.

It was a flicker of fear.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The signature of A, the tall, broad man who kept to the shadows at the FBI, the somewhat familiar wording in the manifesto.

 “Not much yet.” You lied trough your teeth. “There’s rumblings about someone going in and out of the high office, but not much more than that. A lot of watercooler-gossip, so far, but not anything of note.” You swallowed thickly, and your eyes fell on his pants, where you saw the gun resting against his hip. Well, that and the other gun.

“Hm.” He tilted his head to the side. “And what does the watercooler-gossip tell you?” “That Lucy is fucking her boss.” You said nonchalantly – you didn’t know how to word anything out without giving yourself up. “Apparently, she got some intel from him about something being coded heavily, but that’s the gist of it.” You saw the way his demeanor changed, even before he moved or talked again; there was an unmistakable shift in him, and it made your stomach drop in fear. He sighed and pushed off from the desk, leaning over you, large, thick and muscular arms trapping you in, as his hands grabbed the sides of the chair.

“Y/N. How about we don’t lie to each other?” he said with a dangerous smile. “Sir, I’m…” “Don’t play with me, little bird.” You choked on your own spit at the nickname. “I’m well aware that you’re an incredibly talented and bright woman. It’s really on me, trying to throw you off by sending you somewhere else, digging for leads that wouldn’t get you anywhere.” You swallowed thickly, fear seeping from your pores. The way he looked at you, completely calm and collected, with a small, dangerous smirk on his lips and eyes lit with rage, sent shivers of fear down your spine. “I should’ve known better. See, my problem with you…” He leaned in a little closer, his face closer to yours. “Is that I like you, little bird. Oh, how I liked watching you look at me all attentive, your back straightening every time I spoke the smallest command.” You couldn’t breathe. “It was so easy for me to control what you looked into, what you saw and what you did, when you were right under my nose. You got a little too close, didn’t you? A few months ago, you stumbled on some very bad information, and you…” He smirked dangerously and almost degrading at you. “You ran straight to me, like I would’ve been able to save it. I had to send you off. I needed you away, so you didn’t screw up more for me.” You swallowed thickly. “Sir, I’m… I won’t…” “No, you won’t.” he pushed away from your chair and his eyes glinted. “Go on, little bird, spread those sweet, little wings.” He nodded at the door behind you. It was instant, the way your body kicked into gear; fight or flight was on the tip of your tongue, you could taste metal as you practically jumped the chair and rushed to the door.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. As soon as your fingers landed on the lock, a strong hand grabbed the back of your neck, pushing you roughly against the door. You exhaled a shaky whimper at the impact; you were well aware that August Walker had killed people with less than a hand on their neck, and for the first time in your life, you were fearful of death. His body pressed against your back, fingers wrapping in your hair and pulling roughly. You were shivering as his torso pressed against you, his breath hot and sticky on your exposed neck. “Oh, sweetheart, why would you think I would make it easy on you?” His lips scraped against your neck, his beard tickling you – you wanted to vomit. “I’m going to make things very hard for you now.” With a single move, he had you turned around, hand still on your neck and in your hair, and he pushed you down to the small sofa in the corner of his office. You grunted when your back hit the sofa, and your head would’ve hit the wall, if he didn’t have a strong grip on you. He slowly, while his eyes were burning into yours, moved his hands until his thick fingers pressed against your throat, cutting off air supply. You tried to struggle against his grip, clawing at his arms, but you were too small, too weak for him to even take notice. His eyes darkened when he took your state in; your hair was coming loose from your bun, your skirt had ridden up on your thighs, your chest heaving, trying to catch your breath, and unshed tears glossed your eyes over. It was a sight to him. “Well… I did have other plans, but I suppose we can make our own fun first.” He mused, his free hand trailing down your body. “Don’t fucking touch me!” You spat breathlessly at him, trying to recoil from his touch. He didn’t take that well. His hand collided with your cheek, the smack echoing in his office, and you felt, more than you heard, the small crunch of your jaw moving slightly out of place. “Don’t test me, you fucking slut. I’m trying to be nice, and that’s how you repay me?” He was seething with rage, and his grip on your throat tightened even more; you gasped, the air leaving your body completely now. He spat at your face, the spit landing on your cheek and nose and he hummed appreciatively at the sight. “There’s a good, little whore.” His thumb caressed your skin, smearing the spit around. You felt the burning of tears in your eyes. “You can cry. I like it when you do.” He said with a dangerous smile, his free hand again moving down your body. You didn’t have a choice, there was nowhere to go, and you wanted to throw up at the feeling of his fingers on you; you ignored the sliver of you that began to respond to him, desperate for your body to shut off. With a flick of his wrist, three buttons on your shirt popped off, and he had a view to your chest. “I always knew I liked you for a reason, Y/N.” You saw black spots float in and out of your vision, and you almost hoped to just pass out. His grip slackened. “Oh no, we can’t have that, can we? You deserve to see, what we’re going to do together, little bird.” You whimpered and tried to clench your thighs together to avoid his fingers dipping in. He chuckled darkly and with the same effort he’d probably use to swat a fly away, he ripped your skirt completely.

 You didn’t have the time to react nor say anything, before his large fingers grabbed the thigh highs and tore them down your legs. “So pretty… I should’ve fucking hired you as a secretary, you would have been so much fun to train, wouldn’t you?” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and you realized that this – whatever you had previously hoped or thought – was moving in a direction, that made your hairs stand up. Fuck.

“August, please…” A slap landed on your cheek again, and you groaned at the pain; one more of those, and your jaw would dislocate. “Do not call me that. I am Sir to you. Daddy, if you’re being good.” You whimpered and the tears began flowing freely now, when his strong hands pried your legs open and tore your underwear in half; he wasn’t a patient man, and you had already dragged it out way too much for his liking. He chuckled and his tongue darted out, licking the tears away from your burning cheek. You wanted to recoil from him, but his grip on your throat was a little too tight.

Without warning, he thrusted two thick fingers inside of you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, hoping someone would hear you and help. He began dragging his fingers in and out of you, spitting down on his fingers as they almost left your body to lubricate them. “Scream all you want, darling, nobody comes in here.” Your tears were rolling down your cheeks now, his thick fingers ripping you apart with every thrust. You wanted to hate yourself, your fucking body for slowly warming to him; you felt it, the way you fluttered around his fingers and the ease, he began sliding in and out of you.

“There’s a good, little whore. You’re liking this, aren’t you? Liking being put in your place; just taken however I want to?” he chuckled again and sped up his fingers. You whimpered, your teeth gnashing on your lips to the point, where you could taste blood. His lips found yours, forcefully kissing you and lapping the blood from your lips, while he fucked you relentlessly with his fingers. “I think… Maybe I’m not going to kill you right away, little one. No, I think my friends would love to meet you.” You whimpered at the thought of it – there was so much laced into the words, and you would rather die. “You’re doing so well, just swallowing my fingers with your greedy, little pussy. Jesus, look at you, you’re such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” You didn’t want to like it. You didn’t, but your body was reacting to everything he did and said, and you felt yourself near a high, that terrified you – if he thought you liked this, what else would he do to you? “Don’t think, you fucking whore, don’t worry. You’ll get yours.” He sped up and pressed his thumb roughly against your clit. You didn’t have time to try and stop it.

You came around his fingers with a choked sob of shame, your pussy gushing for him. “Good girl! Look at you, taking orders from me.” He laughed maniacally and pulled his fingers from you, keeping his grip firmly on your throat, while he opened his pants.

“Be good for me, little bird. Knees.” You tried shaking your head, refusing to fucking do anything for him. He groaned in annoyance and pulled you by your throat to the floor, yanking your hair roughly. “Don’t fucking disobey me again.” He said and pulled his cock out from his pants. It was throbbing and the tip was an angry red, already leaking precum. He was big, and you feared that you might actually choke on it. At least you’d have a chance if you bit him. His grip on your hair tightened and forced you to look up at him. “Try to bite me once and I’ll fucking skin you alive.” You swallowed thickly, and you knew the battle was lost even before it started. “Yes, sir.” He grinned. “There’s my good girl.” He lined his cock up with your lips and you slowly opened your mouth, tears still spilling from your eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. His cock slid against your tongue, and he forced himself as deep as he could go, you gagging around his cock. “Fuck, I should’ve done this a long time ago.” You spluttered around him, spit pooling around your lips and slowly dripping from your chin. You tried to pull away from him when he forced himself deeper down your throat. “No. You’ll take what I give you, and you’re going to fucking thank me for it.” He said, a little out of breath. “Look up at me.” You did what he asked, and he growled at the sight, his thumb wiping a stray tear away. You gagged and coughed around his hard, thick cock as he pushed it further down, and you lost all ability to breathe.

He didn’t let you adjust but began to fuck your mouth and throat as if you were nothing but a toy to him. He held you in place while he snapped his hips, and you spluttered again, trying to breathe – he laughed deviously. “Little bird, you’re not getting out of this. You’re going to be my little whore, aren’t you? So easy to…” he grunted and buried his cock deeper in your throat. “So easy to get on your knees, you’ve been fucking waiting for it, haven’t you? Wanted to suck my cock dry, like a good little pet?” He picked up the pace and you almost passed out when he swelled a little in your throat. He grunted and pulled out roughly, spitting in your face. “You should be my fucking lap-dog, darling.” He caressed your face in a gesture that was both way too intimate and shot fear into your veins. He pulled you up to your feet, and bent you over the desk, forcing your ass to stick out enough for your back to begin hurting. “Please, sir, you’re hurting me…” You mumbled, trying to see if there was a shred of humanity left in him. His hand landed on your ass roughly, and you yelped at the pain. “Good.” He hit you again. “See, nosy fucking bitches like you need to be punished, do they not?” You heard the unmistakable sound of a belt being pulled from loops and your face went white. “Please, no, I’m begging…” You didn’t finish your sentence. The belt hit you hard, hard enough for you to instantly feel nausea creep up on you, bile at the top of your throat, and you cried out. He just laughed and repeated the process. You lost track of time, how many times the belt had hit you, and you were vaguely aware of the trickle of warmth that ran down form your ass to the back of your thighs. He hummed and wiped the trickle with a finger, putting it in your mouth; you tasted metal. “Look at you, so obedient already. You’ll just let me spank you until you’re bleeding and not say a word to it?” You felt something cold press against your folds. “God, you really are a fucking whore, aren’t you? So stupid, so easy to convince…” You felt the cold thing press into you and you yelped, trying to move away. Your entire body was in pain.

He grabbed you by the throat again, and stopped moving whatever he had in his hand, inside of you, while he wrapped the belt – streaked with red now – around your throat, pulling it tightly. You gasped and choked, and he continued the onslaught of your pussy.

“God, getting fucked by my loaded gun does something to you, doesn’t it?” He mumbled and your eyes widened as he began fucking you hard with the barrel of his gun. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move or even try to as he fucked you with the gun. Your body was reacting to it, growing wetter by the second. “It would be so fucking easy to kill you like this, you know? I could just…” You heard the gun cock. “Press this once and you’d be dead… I could probably still fuck you until you got too cold and stiff for me.” He pulled the belt again, forcing your head back. “Say thank you, sir, for not killing me right now.” You gasped as he loosened the tightness of the belt. “Fuck you.” You spat. He pulled the gun out of you and held it to your temple, his hard cock pressing against your pussy. “No, little bird, fuck you.” You screamed in pain when he entered you in one, fell thrust, filling you to a point, where it hurt. You were barely breathing, your nails had been broken and bled, while you clawed at the desk.

He fucked you as if he didn’t give a shit. He was rough, the gun steady against your face, his cock filling you up and nudging your cervix. “Fuck, you’re so tight, aren’t you? So tight and wet for me, just ready for me to abuse you, huh?” He snapped his hips and buried himself deeper inside of you – the desk scraped against the floor as he rutted hard against you. Your legs were shaking, and you couldn’t think – everything hurt. “Aw, is my poor, little whore sad? You want to cum, little bird? Just cum on my cock, while I have a gun to your head?” You shook your head. You refused. He chuckled. “Alright.” He sped up, and to your relief, he removed the gun from your head. He was groaning behind you, burying his cock deeply in you over and over, and your relief of the gun being gone was shortlived. You felt spit land on your puckered hole, and you wiggled, trying to get away from him, when he pressed the cold, slightly sticky barrel of his gun to your asshole. “Squirm, and it’ll only be worse.” He threatened, his free hand landing on your ass; you felt the blood trickle again and you screamed in pain, as the gun entered you. He was rough. You didn’t have time to think or adjust as he fucked you with his hard cock and let the barrel of the gun slip inside of your ass, moving it in sync with his cock.

Despite your hate and fear, you felt your pussy flutter around him, the familiar, dull ache behind your clit as your orgasm neared – you were fully sobbing now. “Good girl, fuck, you’re going to cum, aren’t you, love?” He sped up and angled his hips, this time shoving the tip of his cock roughly against your cervix. You were screaming in pain, your body trembling. “Cum, whore. Fucking cum, while I fuck you just like this…” he grunted, and you felt his speed falter for a second. “Cum for me, little bird, fucking make a mess out of me.” You couldn’t hold it back, even if you tried.

You exploded around him, the sounds of your wet slick gushing over his cock filling the room. You gasped for air and reprieve, but he was relentless; his cock was spearing you completely and it felt like you were about to split in two, while the fear of him just pulling the trigger for the hell of it, was ever present in your mind.

You sobbed through your orgasm, and when his lips found your shoulder, you had to bite back vomit.

“Yes, fuck, you feel so fucking good…” Everything felt wrong and painful. His speed was faltering, the rhythm leaving him. “So good, taking my cock so well, baby… Oh, I’m going to get so much use out of you.” He grunted. “You want me to fill you? Make you fill of my cum, get your pregnant so you can’t get away from me? Just… Fuck!” he roared as you began to try and claw at him, desperate to get him out of you. “Oh, yeah, I’m going to make you fucking round with me, darling. Oh, fuck, you need to take it all, like a good little whore…” He fucked you with the gun and his cock so roughly, you thought you were about to die. “Please, please, no… Sir, please…” You begged, but he just laughed and slapped your cheek again. Your jaw rattled.

 He came with a strangled cry, pushing his cock and the gun as deep as they could go. You felt ropes of cum warm you and this time, you didn’t hold back. You threw up over his desk, your eyes searing with tears as he fucked his cum deeply inside of you. You were shaking and crying. “Aren’t you a dirty little thing?” he whispered as he pulled himself and the gun out of you, letting you go. You collapsed, your body sliding down from the desk and landing on the floor; you saw blood several places on the floor and your skin. You found his eyes and he cocked an eyebrow, while he wiped the gun down, almost caressing it.

“Now, we can’t have a mess, can we?” You didn’t answer. “I think you best clean that up, Y/N.” He pointed to the pool of vomit. “And then I think we’re going to have so much fun with you.” “We?” Your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper.

He squatted in front of you with that dangerous smile on his lips, lifting your face with the gun under your chin. “If you think I’m done with you…” he chuckled. “I have my Apostles, sweet bird.” You paled and he licked his lips. “After that? We’ll see if we need some stress-relief around.”

------------------------ 

TAGLIST:    @acaceta @a-skov​ @angelmather1​ @cooldreamlandsandwich​ @doubletriplepowerbomb​ @est1887​ @enchantedbytomandhenry​ @fionnthebandersnacc​ @herroyalbubbliness​ @keiva1000​ @kebabgirl67​ @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red​ @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler​ @pandaxnienke​ @perfunctory-username69 @sleutherclaw​ @sofiebstar​ @summersong69​ @spookyboogyuniverse​ @stardusted26​ @thereisa8ella​ @timetraveller4​ @thatonechickhere​ @themanfromu​ @thelastpyle​ @tragicphoenix13​ @yourlocalhoney​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​             

[landosgirl97]

Drunk Girl - Drew Starkey

A/N: Based on the song Drunk Girl by Chris Jansen. Please enjoy some sweet Drew fluff!

^ Do I know this gif is overused? Yes. Do I care? No, because this is the Drew I picture for this fic.

Drew was unfortunately to DD for the night so he sat in the booth drinking his water and people watching as his friends drank and danced on the dance floor. He let his eyes wander through the crowd, his eyes darting toward the door when it opened. He watched as you walked in, a little wobbly and a big grin on your face as you made your way to the bar. He saw all of the colorful bracelets on your wrist, signifying that you had been in and out of different bars all night. He would’ve thought with that amount, you were a bachelorette and people were buying your drinks. But with a quick survey, he knew that wasn’t the case. You were only with one friend, there was no ring on your finger, and you didn’t have a sash or some cheesy outfit on like most people would at a bachelorette party. With the way your friend was feeding you shots though, he knew it had to be a breakup or something similar. He watched as a man approached your friend, obviously asking her to dance since she checked in with you and then made her way to the dance floor with him. You drank the two shots in front of you with no chaser, making your way to the dance floor by yourself, singing along to every song that came on and dancing along to the beat in your head, running your hands through your hair every once in a while, leaving it in beautiful, messy ringlets around your face. He watched you pull your dress down a bit further as it was about to show your bare ass to the whole crowd, swallowing hard as he watched as your friend approached to talk for a moment, before walking out with the guy that caught her attention before. 

Soon after, his friends approached, wanting to leave soon. He couldn’t leave you alone so he approached behind you softly, explaining that he was sober and didn’t want to leave you there alone, offering you a ride home. You looked him up and down with hooded eyes and nodded yes in your drunken stupor. You and his friends piled into his car and he dropped everyone else off, taking you home last. He helped you get out of the car, being sure to not let you fall over. He held you up with one arm while he dug your keys out of your purse, taking you to the apartment you stated was yours. He helped you get inside, sitting your purse and keys on the counter as you made your way past, toward the bedroom. He left you in the bedroom to change out of your dress and went to get you a glass of water and some medicine out of your bathroom cabinet, leaving them next to your bed. You were already passed out on the bed when he got in there so he covered you up, plugged in your phone and left you a note. “Hey, this is the guy that brought you home last night. You are probably going to want to take the medicine and water next to your bed. I plugged in your phone and your keys and purse are on the kitchen counter for you. I’ll lock upon my way out. Here’s my number if you want to maybe get breakfast if you’re feeling up to it. XXX-XXX-XXXX. -Drew”

He barely slept that night. He went to get some food on his way home, and when he pulled into the drive, the bar across the street was playing “Closing TIme” and people filed out, both couples and people just looking for a fun night out.He hummed along as he walked from his vehicle to the building. He got to the apartment and turned on the TV. There was nothing really good on, not that he could focus anyway, so he muted it and scrolled through his phone while he ate his food. He could hear his neighbor coughing next door and the water running in the apartment above him as he searched and searched for any trace of you on social media from that night. He was so captivated by you, the way you were so carefree, the way your body moved to the music, and the way you managed to capture his attention before you even walked into his space. He kept running the night through his mind, wondering if he could’ve done more until he finally fell asleep.

When you woke the next morning, you were shocked you didn’t have a hangover, even more shocked you were home in bed and alone. You rolled over and saw your bedside table and immediately smiled thinking your friend had brought you home and gotten you settled. But when you reached for your phone, you saw a note next to it. You grabbed it, read it, and plugged it in, immediately texting the number.

Y: Umm.. hello? You left your number next to my phone?

Drew woke to the ping of his phone next to his ear and opened one eye to look at the screen, sitting up fully once he read the message.

D: Wow, I’m surprised you’re awake! How are you feeling?

You smiled when you read the text, knowing he was being genuine somehow without knowing him.

Y: Rough. I must’ve drank a lot last night because I don’t remember much but I’m just glad I don’t have a hangover like last time. 

Drew’s eyes widened. How in the world did you not have a hangover? You could’ve drank him under the table with how much you had last night.

D: That’s amazing with how much you had to drink. I’m even a lightweight compared to you.

You giggled at that, thankful at him for lightening the mood, but wanting the answer to the question in the back of your mind before agreeing to meet him.

Y: Lol. I was shocked that you left last night.. Didn’t want to stay?”

You bit on your lip, staring at your phone in worry as Drew typed out his honest answer to your question.

D: Didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or taken advantage of so I left, hoping you’d text or call me. Worried about you all night though.

Your heart melted at his answer, immediately knowing you wanted to go through with breakfast now.

Y: I’m sad I don’t remember you.. Are you still up for that breakfast?

Drew was giddy with excitement at that. He wanted to scream and shout that you agreed to go with him but he kept it cool, hopping in the shower and getting ready for what he considered your first date. When you all met up, you were shocked by his appearance. You didn’t expect the man on the other end of the phone to be so handsome. You put your hand out to shake, “Hi Drew, I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.. Again.” He chuckled, pulling you in for a hug. “Pretty name for a beautiful girl. Let’s eat huh? On me.” You nodded, following him inside.

Tag List: @pankhoeforlife @wannabestarkeysgirl @my-baexht-ls @bethoconnor @samxslaughter @tishanas-darlings @jjmaybank63 @outerbankspov @slutforsmutsstuff @hoebx @adventuresinobx @penny4yourthoughts

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Hey hi hello!! Booster club sleepover submission: ❤️

Syl is one of the loveliest humans I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and their fic about our boy Dieter Bravo deserves more love ❤️❤️❤️

https://www.tumblr.com/all-the-way-down-here/730332028148514816/this-is-why-we-fight-masterlist

Hi Aly, thank you for the boost! We love Dieter around here - come get your love @all-the-way-down-here!

Booster club sleepover

[momobani]

SEASONS CHANGE BUT PEOPLE DON’T

If Your Winter Is Hard - Chapter 1 - 6.6k

medium!minghao x exorcist!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Warnings: exorcism(duh!); discussion of ghosts + death, reference to death of family members, light violence/ fighting, mention of guns, mention of grief

Sum: You almost get someone killed on the job, which is new considering you work with the dead. 

title reference to The Takes Over, The Breaks Over by Fall Out Boy [mv link cuz can’t find audio]. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons complete performance by Janine Jansen [concert vid].

Point of reference for series: Sell Your Haunted House (and Hotel Del Luna but to a lesser extent, both amazing dramas, go watch).

Disclaimer: lot of creative licence here lol, influenced by and used a lot of ideas from Sell Your Haunted House (e.g the setting, certain plot points and prop ideas) with some adaptation, some general/ stereotypical things about exorcism you can learn from mainstream media, nothing too intricate. [seriously go watch SYHH cuz it’s incredible and underrated af and I just had to pay homage to it somehow, so here’s a whole ass fic inspired by it haha]

It’s quiet, almost too quiet tonight.

The razor chill falling over the evening has your hairs standing on edge, the cold air getting crisper and crisper as you walk toward the entrance of the gallery. It’s a grand building, giant columns and the whole wannabe Greek triangulate structure of the roof, slabs of stone place perfectly in an attempt to emulate ancient civilisation.

You hear your footsteps so loudly, the wet squelch of your boots against the cement underfoot as you lead Hoshi up the steps, and even he’s uncharacteristically quiet for the moment, diligently carrying a bag full of your equipment.

Tonight’s menu was an old ghost, one that had gone decades without detection, let alone exorcism. It had surprised you to identify it, since so many other exorcists before you could have been the ones to find it, yet had not. Suppose it wasn’t its time to go yet.

Everyone has to go eventually.

You walk around to one of the side doors instead of the main large mahogany entrance and steal through, holding the metal plated surface for Hoshi. You take a moment to dry your boots on a nearby mat, the overly cautious side of your brain taking initiative to slip in and out of this gallery undetected. Your police friends could only do so much control damage, better not cause any trouble in the first place.

You’d done the research, the scouting, the calculations, the meticulous planning that always goes into your exorcisms and the only way to get to where your ghost was, was to walk through the atrium on the first floor. You’d been on site just yesterday, making sure everything could go smoothly.

The gallery was already closed but it was the minuscule gap in time between the visitors leaving and the security guards sweeping through and taking away stragglers and guiding them out.

“C’mon.” You said to Hoshi as you lead the way to the correct spot. You almost tip toed as you kept your eyes open for any movement around you. You knew the guards weren’t doing their patrol of this wing of the gallery yet. You had ten minutes flat to get this done. No time to lose.

You stood in front of a painting by the ghost when he’d been alive; an unknown artist, who’d died a bitter death before completing what was posthumously considered his best work. It was no wonder that he’d been unable to move on. From your research it wasn’t uncommon for artists to be shunned for their work whilst alive and only recognised as genius after death.

“Play it, quick.” You told Hoshi as you started to set up the incense. It was risky to light anything in here despite it being an open space, but the incense was part of the ritual to lure the ghost to you in order to exorcise it. You’d also found a short biography of the painter where you’d learned that he liked to listen to classical music whilst painting. So naturally you told Hoshi to bring his little portable tiger speaker and play some.

“I got Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. This might be good to attract the ghost.” He says as he fiddles with the bluetooth.

“Hosh, you had one job.” You sigh as you check on the magazine of crystallised salt bullets in your gun, a modest but practical SIG Sauer P365 which gives you a generous eleven rounds to isolate a ghost. Your industry tended to take normal weapons and adapt them to your jobs hence it was full of special bullets. You usually liked to use the old fashioned salt cage method but you had no time to do all that now.

“What? Four Seasons never gets old.” Hoshi pouts as the speaker starts to play some of the piece quietly.  

“Violinists would beg to differ.” You muttered. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” You stand in position, alert for when the ghost might appear.

“I’ll put it on shuffle, the ghost might like Winter more than Spring.” Hoshi says.

“Just play the first movement and leave it.” You roll your eyes at his back and wait.

The incense is burning properly now, the light wisps of smoke floating up and you hope that by some miracle the fire alarms aren’t triggered by that tiny little bit of incense.

You feel it before you see it. The shift in energies surrounding you, a distinct dread settling in your chest, and the prickle of static in the air; the ghost is here. The cold breeze of its presence seizes the space around you.

You whip around and spot him nearing you and Hoshi slowly, the spectre of a middle aged man with sad, sad eyes and apron over his clothes, faint dried paint still visible even though he was incredibly transparent.

“Get ready.” You say. Hoshi nods and gets ready to remove the bracelet on his left wrist. It’s a simple bead design made of pitch black onyx crystals.  

Hoshi is your medium.

In order for a medium to not get randomly possessed, they must wear some kind of talisman, usually crystals, that warded off ghosts or even demons depending on which of them you were working on; demons were a harder (and much rarer) breed and only the super elite exorcists went after those. Your practice was focused on dispatching ghosts who hadn’t moved on and couldn’t find their way to the afterlife.

Hoshi’s energy is to say the least…intense. He’s kind of a perfect fit for a medium; aura strong enough to attract ghosts but also robust enough to withstand frequent possession. The regulations set by the Council of Exorcists stated that any practicing exorcist must have at least one permanent medium on their payroll at any time and employ an alternative if you perform more than 3 per week.

And so you’d found Hoshi through the network at Council of Exorcists a couple years back when your sister’s practice became yours.  

So here you were, waiting to guide the painter to the next world.

In one hand you had your gun, in the other you had the scroll of his name contained in the handle of a thin blade with which you were going to stab the ghost with. The blades were custom made and you had boxes filled with them from your supplier, since each one burned up with the ghost and their name each time you exorcised someone.

You watch as the ghost approaches, the music fading to the background of your awareness as you stared at him. He seemed calm for the moment but usually the process of possession riled ghosts up so you had to be ready.

“Now!” You instruct Hoshi. He dropped the bracelet, the crystals landing with a soft clink against the marble floor, and the ghost immediately lurched forward, zipping past you and straight into Hoshi’s body. He staggered for a moment, his head hung low as he got his bearings. Hoshi snapped his head up to look at you dead in the eye. You knew the possession was complete since Hoshi’s irises had lit up with a silvery light, a drastic change from their usual warm brown.

You stepped towards him but the ghost shook Hoshi’s body and attempted to swing his arm at you. The attempt failed since the ghost was not used to the new body. You didn’t bother waiting for him to adjust as you took it as the opportunity to storm Hoshi, blade raised. The ghost yelled out and you were thrown back unexpectedly, the supernatural energy of the yell sending you to land on your ass a few feet away. The fall knocked the gun out of your hand and you heard it skitter some distance away.

The ghost was agitated now, as expected. But what you didn’t expect was how strong the energy behind the scream was. You worried it might have been enough to alert any security nearby. You just needed to get this job done and fast. You got up and and rushed towards Hoshi’s body, who now had his back towards you as he looked at the painting, enticed by his own work. You had to stab at his heart otherwise it wouldn’t work so you grabbed Hoshi’s shoulder and yanked him to turn around.

You were about to stab the blade home before you felt a gut-wrenching cold over you. It made your stomach curl and your throat seize up, a terrible shiver wracking your body. You let go of Hoshi and staggered backwards. The ghost was attempting to break free of his confines; trying to fight the medium’s body. This hadn’t happened to you before but you knew that it was unpredictable what the ghost might do once it escaped.

Hoshi stood rigidly for a split second then levitated, his feet leaving the ground. You didn’t dare move, eyes wide, as you waited to see what the ghost’s next move. You gasped as Hoshi’s body flew towards the nearest wall and slammed into it, narrowly missing some other paintings.

“Hoshi!” You screamed, gunning towards him as he fell to the ground, the ghost leaving his body and floating away towards the atrium’s staircase. You slid next to him and checked over his head for any injuries as he spluttered away, coughing.

“I’m okay, go get him.” He managed between breaths. You didn’t want to leave him but you needed to locate the ghost. It wasn’t normal for a ghost to reject the medium’s body and if it did, then it could mean a lot of trouble.

“I’ll be back!” You said and sprinted after the ghost, blade in hand. You followed the cold trail of the energies the spirit left in the air as he moved around. You made it down the large stone staircase and heard a loud crash. You turned toward the source of the sound and noticed a movement.

The guard in the security’s office was sweeping through the tiny space, papers flying everywhere and you assumed the ghost was in there with him. You ran the few steps separating you and stood in the doorframe to assess the situation.

The guard snapped towards you sharply, his eyes zeroing in on you. He was a taller man, young and lean and if you had a second more you would notice that his shirt was stained with tea but what you did notice a second later was his eyes - it was the same silvery light marking a supernatural presence.

You knew two things in that moment: 1) the guard was possessed, and 2) you might get sued for negligence.

The only explanation that made sense to you right now was that the guard must have been a medium even if he had no idea and the ghost had decided that he wanted to try everything available to him like some kind of all-you-can-posses buffet.

Great, now you had an actual tangible problem on your hands.  

You had to exorcise the ghost, or at least trick it to leave this man’s body and return to Hoshi’s. For the sake of the guard’s safety you stepped back and beckoned the ghost to come towards you; fighting in that office was more likely to injure the civilian than out here in the atrium. After all, you had to make sure he doesn’t get hurt because of all of this.

“I’m going to need you to leave that man’s body alone. You kicked my medium’s ass and I won’t forgive that. I’m the only one that gets to kick his ass, got it?” You hoped that talking to the ghost might help it relax a little, maybe make it want to wander about again. It seemed to be working since he was focused on you, walking towards your voice.

You counted each heartbeat, waiting for a blast of cold air to hit you if the ghost left the security guard’s body. You waited in vain and instead gripped your tool. You needed to do this as quickly and as neatly as possible.  

When he was about a couple of feet away you lunged forward, blade towards the man’s heart, your sudden attack however, was greeted with a counter when the man grabbed your arm and flipped you, the world spinning around you unexpectedly. You were caught by surprise as you twisted in the air, your view of the world tipping upside down and almost moving in slow motion.

It was during your suspension in mid-air that you speculated that that was the skilled hand of someone who knows martial arts, presumably something the guard was trained in. You rolled away as you landed, blade still in hand.

You turned around and found the man was already next to you and grabbing you, his hard chest pressing against your back, your legs kicking in front of you. You were certain he’ll throw you but where and how, you weren’t sure. Before he could do anything, you kicked downwards, using gravity to aid you in bringing the two of you down so you could flip him over you this time. He landed on his back, groaning.  

“Ugh, why couldn’t you be some useless, donut loving-ahhh!” your grumbling was interrupted by a long leg swiping the floor underneath you. You landed, the air knocked out of you, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Now you were mad too. You just wanted to do your job, what were the odds of a random person being both a medium and highly skilled in martial arts?

“Right, enough.” You huffed and rushed towards the man’s body as he was getting up. You tackled him, using all the force you could muster but bringing your body to the ground first so you could bear the brunt of the landing, rolling the two of you so that you were straddling him. You drove the blade down into the man’s chest. “Go peacefully.” You breathed.

It was something that your family in particular had a tradition of saying to ghosts as you released them to the next world, the last words that they would hear on this plane. You waited as the blade burned up with the painter’s name, the tool turning to ash and dust in your hand then being carried away into the ether.

You waited for the ghost’s dying memory to wash over you as the last of the blade burned up and the soul left the man’s body.

You saw it in your mind’s eye; the painter was sitting at a kitchen table, eating a meal and admiring his work in the corner of his studio, the very same that was hung in the gallery, when you felt your (his) vision blur and the world went dark for a millionth of a second.

You exhaled the breath you were holding and found yourself still on top of the man that had been possessed earlier. His eyes were fluttering open, the colour of his irises revealed to be a dark brown, the kind of endlessness you can fall into and never get out. He gasped awake and screamed when he saw you, causing you to scream simultaneously and scramble off of him.

“Who the hell are you?” His eyes are wide and alarmed and it hits you just how bad this could get. You’re terrified you accidentally let the ghost possess him. What if it had hurt him? Or even killed him? Unlikely but what then? You’re stifling down your horror and anxiety as you drink him in. He looks okay.

Your brain is milling a million hours an hour and you try to rationalise each thought as it flits through your brain.

It wasn’t entirely your fault since you could never predict if there was another medium nearby but technically you could have tried to isolate the ghost while it was still in Hoshi’s body, yet you’d been so concerned with getting it done, that you’d been clumsy and allowed him to get away, although in your defence, you’d never had a ghost reject a medium before.

“Uh-” you tried dumbly.

“YN! Did you get him?” You hear Hoshi’s voice yelling out behind you. You glance back and he’s limping slightly but otherwise Hoshi’s enthusiastic and bubbly and still Hoshi so you turn your attention back to the security guard. He’s still frazzled but he’s definitely getting closer to fuming.

“Are you okay?” You ask him. First things first, injuries. “You’re not hurt?” You scan his face for injuries, then the rest of him.

“Should I be?” He asks. “I don’t know what that was but I feel weird. What’s going on?” He demands, looking down at himself, patting his arms and then legs, as if checking they’re still there.

You had to assume he had medium abilities, otherwise there was no other explanation for how he got possessed, which meant by protocol you were required to tell him the truth about what happened. You sighed.  

Something about his demeanour told you he wouldn’t believe you but you had to try anyway. But not here, it was only a matter of minutes before his fellow guards made their rounds to this end of the gallery.

“We’ll tell you everything, just come with us-”

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Please, we can’t be seen here, we might get questioned or worse they might call the police.” You pleaded with him. His face didn’t budge.

“Explain first, then we’ll see if I go.” He said, stubborn with conviction. You weighed it up for a split second that the only way to shift him was to tell him the truth right now.  

“Okay listen, it might seem really bizarre but-”

“You got possessed by a ghost and she exorcised it out of you.” Hoshi says quickly, standing next to you, arms crossed casually. You click your tongue, annoyed. You were going to ease the guy into it but there he goes and just throws him in the deep end.

“Huh?”

“Sometimes when people die, their souls-” you start.

“Hey, I know what a ghost is, I just didn’t think they actually existed.” The guard interjects.

“Well, they do exist and it seems that you’re able to host them, which is something that not a lot of people can do.” You explain.

“So, right then, I got possessed?” He asks. You nod. “By a ghost?” You nod and Hoshi nod in unison. “And you made it go away?” Each question he asked, his voice went up higher both in pitch and incredulity.

“That’s right. The ghost had originally possessed my colleague Hoshi here,” you gesture vaguely in his direction and he wriggles his fingers in a sheepish ‘hi’ to the guard. “But it must have sensed your presence and come to possess you instead.”

You give the guy a moment for it all to sink in. You really didn’t have time for this but it was obvious it was the only way to get him to cooperate. He purses his lips in thought, as if running the information through a database in his head and calculating what his next move should be. You didn’t blame him, here he was at work and some crazy people let a ghost take over his body. Not your typical night shift.

“I think I believe you but it still sounds too far fetched.” He replies, a due amount of scepticism coating his voice. “Are you sure you didn’t come to steal art and drug me so you could get away?”

You can’t help your shoulders slumping. He might take some convincing but you were running out of time. It was a miracle that no other guards had arrived on the scene yet. You had to leave now, one person was enough, but if more people saw you, they’d raise the alarm.

“Have you never had anything strange happen to you? Never walked through a cold breeze on a scalding hot day? Couldn’t remember how you got somewhere and how much time has passed?” You ask him, listing the common symptoms of being a medium as described by the books. You see the shift in his eyes as your words turn the cogs in his head. He finally had an explanation of oddities that had happened to him all his life.

“Tell me more.” He says finally.

“Come with us. We need to make sure you’re not experiencing any after effects.”

“But my shift just started. It’s my first day at work, I can’t go.” He protests as he starts to get up. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder what the odds of that are. Getting possessed by a ghost on your first day on the job. Probably less than minute. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You don’t want to cost him his job but an unprecedented exorcism could potentially cost him his life so you decide to exaggerate.  

“Well we can’t stay here. And if something happens to you then we can’t save you from jail.” You insist. The guy stands up and he sways slightly, you instinctively reach out and catch his arm, a little taken aback of the hard muscle you feel underneath his grey uniform. He definitely could have kicked your ass if he’d been awake. He looks at you and you find yourself too close so you step back, letting his arm go quickly. He looks conflicted for a moment, but ultimately nods.

“Fine, let’s go, it’s not like I was getting paid anyway.” He says. “My name is Minghao, by the way.”

“Hoshi and YN, nice to meet you…” you trail off as you look at Minghao sway again slightly and clutch his head before his eyes flutter close and you yelp whilst trying to catch him mid-fall. He’s not heavy but then again when had anyone unconscious been that light? You almost crumble as you struggle to pull his arm around you so you can carry him.

“Hosh, a little help?” You puff through gritted teeth. Hoshi looks at you, the bag of your equipment in his hand.

“Boss, I’m injured and my hands are busy.” He smiles at you and you feel the urge to wack his arm. “I’ll get the doors, let’s go.”

*

You arrive at your headquarters, the car ride silent and tense. You’d been gripping the steering wheel, constantly glancing up at the rearview mirror to see Minghao sprawled out across your backseat and completely conked out by the looks of it. It was probably his body reacting to the sudden energy entering and escaping it; it was probably a shock to the system and he must be exhausted.

You knew it was normal for mediums to sometimes faint after an exorcism, especially if they were inexperienced, you still remembered the first time Hoshi had worked for you. It was a fairly routine exorcism, a family member unable to leave their loved ones, in this case a child hanging around their parents after death, but Hoshi had nonetheless collapsed after hosting the child’s ghost. Nothing a little medicine can’t fix.

You assessed Hoshi’s injuries in the car, asking him rapid questions, playing doctor for ten minutes as you drove. You’d need to see how badly he was injured and potentially send him for a check up, but he wasn’t complaining too badly, which led you to believe he was fine for the most part. At least you hoped, you had some work coming up that would require a healthy medium.  

You managed to rope him into helping you carry Minghao, each of you placing one of his arms around you. You went through the closest entrance, the one to your office, which was on the ground floor of the building. The underground or basement floor was your living space and your storage facility. You entered through the double front doors, which were a dark wooden panel with a rectangular glass pane at the top and silver door handles, strategically designed to keep certain types of demons out since the silver might burn them.

The familiar heavyset musk of stifled air and old paperwork filled your nose as you struggled through the office area, where you met with clients and also kept record of your exorcisms, the whole room outlined with wooden cupboards upon metal filing cabinets filled to the brim with decades worth of documents, or as you liked to occasionally remind yourself, your inheritance from your family. Most people got houses or maybe cars or businesses but you got the ability to see ghosts and a lifelong responsibility to society that you couldn’t back out of.

It was a trudge to the basement floor where you had a spare room to put Minghao to lie down. You manage to not bump into anything on the way down the stairs so you agree with Hoshi to call it a success. You instruct Hoshi to sit with Minghao while you go and source some medicine. You shuffle down the hallway, your black long coat swishing as you go, keeping your eyes open.

She might be waiting for you.  

The living room and kitchen are an open plan room that takes up most of the basement floor and are almost entirely in darkness since you only have a few windows to the side and even there, most light coming in is blocked by a staircase to the basement entrance.

You flip the light switch and the few tiny lamps lining the walls and the chandelier separating the rooms buzz to life but the room is still vastly dark. The lights hadn’t been changed for a long time, the bulbs, covered by frosted glass cup-shaped shades, weak and coated in a thin sheen of dust. Just as your grandparents had left them.

The couch too was ancient; a dull flower patterned upholstery that had never left the basement and you didn’t have the heart to replace. It was full of nostalgia and memories, as was the weathered dinning table and the coffee table and practically every piece of furniture, carpet and piece in the basement. You tried not to let your eyes wander too much whilst you prepared some tea and herbal paste for Minghao but it was always hard after a job.

Exorcisms reminded you of your family.

While it was brewing you couldn’t help but look across the room, checking for signs of movement while the soothing aroma of the tea filled your senses. Your eyes finally stopped to stare at the framed photograph of you and your sister, one of the freshest things in this room sitting amongst the older frames on a chest of drawers, added almost three years ago.

It’s subconscious when you touch the ring on your hand, a thin silver band and a bright carnelian crystal, the protective talisman she had worn since taking over the family duties. You had a matching set of earrings and your aunt the necklace from the set.

The ring was one of the only things of your sister’s you let see the light of day; the rest was hidden away in storage that sat in your spare room, the majority of the space taken up by the stacks of cardboard boxes. There was a spare set of bedding you’d instructed Hoshi to set out while you held Minghao up, his head resting on your shoulder and the crook of your neck. It was too close for what you considered comfortable proximity with a complete stranger, yet you hadn’t felt your usual aversion when someone was in your personal space.

It bothered you, you thought as you stirred the mixture of medicinal herbs in a mug. That’s why you were still thinking about it. It bothered you how you could still feel the warmth of his cheek and the tickle of his hair on your skin. And what bothered you even more was that your sister hadn’t made an appearance tonight. Her ghost was still lingering in the house and the office and almost without a miss, she breezed around you to check on you after an exorcism, but tonight the house was utterly still.

When you get back to the guys, you see Minghao is starting to wake up. He seems groggy and confused, his hair sticking up in different directions, tousled after the fight and the journey here, but you think he seems otherwise unharmed. Hoshi looks up from his phone, suddenly animated.

“You’re alive!” He squeaks excitedly. Minghao sits up slowly, assisted by Hoshi as you sit down beside them with the mug of tea and herbal medicine.  

“Excellent observation.” Minghao says, voice laced with fatigue.

“Well it’s good news cause we won’t get hit with a law-”

“Hosh!” You hiss in warning; what Minghao doesn’t know won’t hurt you in legal fees. “I left some painkillers in the kitchen for you, go have some.” You wanted to talk to Minghao alone so you wait for Hoshi to hobble out of the room. You turn to Minghao. “It’s good news because it means your body is strong enough to withstand possession.” You say. “Here, have some tea, it’ll make you feel better.” And you hand him the mug carefully.

“Thanks.” He mutters.  

You watch as he takes a discreet sniff and then a tentative sip. He hums in approval after a second. You raise your eyebrows in question.

“It’s good tea.” He doesn’t elaborate. He’s quiet as he takes a few more sips and you start to worry why he’s not asking questions. He’d clearly been curious enough about what happened that he agreed to leave with you.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” You ask suddenly, not sure what compelled you to open with that. Minghao does a double take as he holds the mug to his lips. He tries to play it off as if it’s too hot, but the shift in his eyes doesn’t escape your notice. “So you have. Did it possess you?”

Minghao sighs, bringing the cup of tea to rest against his thigh. He looks as if he’s weighing up how much he should tell you. You don’t blame him; you’re total strangers and you’re claiming to know stuff about ghosts, it’s not a surprise the guy probably thinks you belong in Looneyville.  

“I think it did,” He begins. You lean in slightly, in anticipation. “It wasn’t the only time either. It was at my uncle’s house, I think it was haunted. Every time I visited, I couldn’t remember much of what happened. The way someone edits a video tape - there’s just snippets of things I saw or felt.” He says. “And then one day I saw the ghost itself, standing on the balcony and looking down at my family in the garden. After that, it stopped. I never bothered telling anyone about it all.”

You nod slowly, imagining a younger Minghao staring at the spirit speechless and confused.

“You must have been frightened. It must have been hard, all that time, keeping it to yourself.” You pause. “I’m sorry that we let the ghost get to you tonight. We should have been more careful.” You hope your apology eases Minghao’s mind, knowing that it was your fault and it can be explained to a degree.

“What do you even do?” He seems more curious than reprimanding.

“I’m an exorcist and Hoshi is my medium. We go after ghosts and get them to move on. That ghost at the gallery was lingering near his art work, too attached to it to leave this world. There is a natural progression that must be kept, so we move it along.” You explain.

You leave out the part that if a ghost stays too long, they become trapped here, their souls unable to ever leave, wandering the earth for all eternity, drifting endlessly. It happened rarely but it was a fate that could befall someone. They could also become vengeful spirits, some did, almost demonic in nature and begin to hurt anyone that was unlucky enough to cross their path.

You’d never really had to tell anyone in detail what you did, since your industry generally took mediums in and helped them understand their abilities and you never needed to tell ordinary people on the street what you did.

Clients came to you after going through a screening process set up by the Council’s Head Quarters and usually believed in ghosts before they even walked through the door. All you had to confirm was that you were indeed an exorcist and how you could help them. But telling Minghao about it seemed weird; you spoke simply of it, when it wasn’t quite as simple as it sounded.

So you’d decided to inform Minghao on a need-to-know basis.

“I think I understand. You take care of the dead, you’re like the boat guy in the underworld, what’s that myth?” Minghao thinks for a moment. “In Greek mythology, you know the one?”

“Charon.” You say automatically. You’re not really sure what to make of his comparison. In some ways he was right but you’d hardly ever thought about what you actually do. You were more burdened with the fact that you had to carry this on for your whole life - living in a world full of ghosts that you couldn’t escape. You’d never been allowed to consider doing anything else in your life; the path paved in front of you before you’d even been born.

You were born with a gift, you’d been told. A gift to see more than what meets the eye. Every time you heard that, it made you want to retch or scratch your skin off. It wasn’t a gift, it was a curse. A life sentence.

Your father had been lucky, being one of your line to miss out on the sight, the blessed sibling unlike your poor aunt, but neither you or your sister had been spared. Yet, you’d accepted your fate, your duty and the way that your life would go. Live amongst ghosts until you died and maybe became one yourself.

“Yeah, him. He helps people find their way. It sounds like a pretty important job.” Minghao pauses to look at you. Your eyes meet and you can’t find the words for it, but you feel something. There’s something heavy in his gaze, as if he’s trying to dissect you. It makes you feel naked. The look on your face must have been obvious because he purses his lips then says: “You hate it though.”

You mentally shake yourself out of his stare.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug. “Speaking of jobs. Sorry if you get fired. You could try explaining it was an emergency though I doubt they’d love that. If you do lose your job, let us know, we could hook you up with something.” You fish out a business card from your pocket; it’s solid black card with silver writing in one corner. He takes it and inspects it.

“You have an exorcism business?” He asks. Just as you’re about to answer, Hoshi limps back into the room, water bottle in hand. He settles down in the same spot to Minghao’s left.  

“What’d I miss, hmm?” He looks between you and Minghao.

“I filled Minghao in on some details.” You reply.

“Oh?” Hoshi catches a glimpse of the card in Minghao’s hand and points towards it questioningly. “You offered him a job too? That’s great, we could always use more mediums around here.” He says enthusiastically.

You hadn’t felt awkwardness in quite a long time, curtesy of working with ghosts who just don’t make you feel that way, scared, yes, frustrated, maybe, but awkward? Like never, but tonight you were getting a reminder of how much you hated the feeling.

Minghao on the other hand refused to be affected by the contagious awkwardness.

“You have an opening?” He asked simply.

���Yeah, I’m the only medium in the firm right now, by regulation we call up Seokmin every once in a while, he’s a freelancer and he comes to work between our office and Seungkwan’s office.”

“Right, and what do you actually do as a medium?” Minghao probes further. You don’t like it.  

“Hmm… I lend my body out for money.” Hoshi grins.

“So you’re a hooker?” Minghao’s voice rings with disbelief, then shrugs. “Not my place to judge.” He concedes.  

“Ignore him. Technically yes, we have an opening, but you’d have to undergo some basic training if you want to work here.” You add.

“Training?” Minghao perks up. “I’m actually a martial arts instructor, the security job was just for some extra cash. What kind of training?”

You can’t help but let out a tiny laugh. Is it relief or irony, you don’t know. So you’d been right, he most certainly could have kicked your ass if he’d been conscious.

“Ah, not that kind of training. Like learning to be a medium. After that, you could work with an exorcist, contract or freelance so you get paid per exorcism.”

“Do you think I could do it?” Minghao asks. You can tell the question is aimed specifically at you, the way his eyes roam your face, but you’re hesitating. He does have an aura around him, something still and strong about the air which he carries himself with. You had to admit he had potential and he was already looking better after the possession despite the short period of time to recover.

“Probably.” You say carefully. “It’s not the kind of thing I can judge right now since I don’t really know anything about you. But you definitely have the medium ability. Listen, this is a difficult job. And it’s dangerous too.”

“Yeah, people die in this business, like YN’s s-” you feel your heart sinking.

“Hoshi!” You warn. “Don’t scare him. It doesn’t happen that often.” You look away, unable to bear the weight of Minghao’s inquisitive look at the newfound information.  

“I’m not directly inviting you to work for us since you’ll live a better life away from all this. The offer is however on the table, working for us or within our sphere. You have the abilities after all.” You almost tell him he’s cursed too, like you, then you realise he’s not. His fate hasn’t been sealed yet, therefore there’s still hope for him. Instead you get up and walk over to cluster of cardboard boxes, kneeling to rummage through for a moment, plucking out a small jewellery box.

Once you sit back down you open it and flick around its contents until you find what you’re looking for. It’s a ring; a sleek, black onyx band, the only protective talisman you currently have in the house and you extend it to Minghao.

When he sees the ring, his eyes bug out comically, clearly misunderstanding.

“It’s a little too soon, don’t you think? We met an hour ago.” He can’t hide the look of disgust on his face. You roll your eyes.

“It’s to keep you safe, genius.” You deadpan at him. “Regardless of your decision, wear this to avoid getting possessed again.”

Minghao accepts the ring, having the decency to look ashamed at his assumption. It bothers you when it fits on his finger perfectly, the crystal hugging his skin snugly. You don’t tell him it was your grandfather’s ring, the one he wore when he and your grandmother founded the firm and indirectly cursed you years before you were even a possibility. Better he not know the weight it carried.

*

[leiamorgainedelalune]

Steve Rogers Fics

My Steve fics will range from the normal Steve Rogers we know and love to asshole to dark to complete AU.

The Master List

The Books

The Reckoning (DARK AU FIC/Mafia World - Steve/Tony’s Daughter OC)

Description

Playlist

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Wheel of Destiny (Steve Rogers/OC)

Description

Playlist

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Under Grey Skies (Steve Rogers/Clint Barton’s Sister OC)

Description

Playlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Main Master List

[featherquillpen]

Dear Yuletide Author

I hope more than anything that my prompts help you have fun and be creative. That's what Yuletide is all about.

In general, I like cultural worldbuilding, character study, friendship, taking small canon details and running with them, and Yuletide experimentation and weirdness. If you want to try something Different for Yuletide, consider this your opportunity.

I tend not to like pure fluff, fix-its, strongly divergent AUs, and fics that totally avoid/erase prejudice and bigotry found in canon.

On to the fandoms!

Nampeshiweisit Series - Moniquill Blackgoose

I love this book so much for its complex characters and intriguing worldbuilding. I have requested fic about Sander Jansen, because I loved him and I would absolutely adore a fic from his point of view. Some prompts:

My favorite part of the book was the chapters titled "This is the Story That ____ Told." I would love to see a take on "This is the Story That Sander Told."

What is the relationship like between Sander and his dragon Inga? They seem to relate to each other differently than the other dragon-bonded.

In the book, Sander is shown to adjust fairly easily to Anequs's radically different culture. I would love a missing scene of a moment where Sander and Anequs aren't quite on the same page.

And any kind of missing scene from the academy would be great!

Camp Damascus - Chuck Tingle

I loved this book for its deep dive into what it's like to live in a fringe Christian sect as a queer person, and the way the brainwashing gets its claws in. I requested fic about Saul because he's a cool character with some intriguing gaps in his story. Saul&Willow friendship as a theme is VERY much encouraged. Also, given the content of this book, feel free to get fucked up and disturbing in your fic if you want. Some prompts:

Who is Saul's lost love he doesn't dare to think about anymore? Does Saul seek him out after the events of the book?

How did Saul end up becoming a counselor at Camp Damascus?

What was Saul and Willow's relationship like back when he was her counselor at Camp Damascus? Do they ever end up remembering more about that time?

Anything delving into Saul's unique relationship with religion and any missing scene from the time when Willow lived at Saul's house would be great.

Babel - R.F. Kuang

WOW this book rewired my brain. I loved the emphasis on the ways language and translation can be used for colonialism and violence. I chose worldbuilding as my tag for this fandom because as a multilingual person I found the translation magic fascinating. Some prompts:

Empires always think that they were the ones to invent everything they have, but much more commonly, they stole it from somewhere else. In my mind, there must be translation magics that exist outside the scope of the British Empire. What are they? How are they different from the Oxford approach?

Along similar lines: how do Victoire and her revolutionaries use their knowledge of translation magic toward their own radical ends? What is their vision for the role of magic in a more just world?

Think outside the box on translation. What kind of translation magic could you do with Polari? ASL? Would the changes in writing systems in Korea and Japan change anything?

Happy Yuletide!

Poetry

[logangarfield]

tagged by @katesharmasheart (thank you!!) to do this music tag 

rules: shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first 10 tracks & list 10 songs you really like, each by different artist, and then tag 10 people to do the same

this is funny because I just play the same two playlists on repeat all day long every single day until I start a new fic so lol the songs are just from Caving In and my Angst playlist 😂

shuffle

Unloving You by Abson Seabra

Until The End Of Time by For The Win

Won’t Be by Telltale

Weren’t The One by Eddie And The Getaway

Love Is Gone (Acoustic) by SLANDER, Dylan Matthews

River Stay by The Used

Better Off by 7 Minutes In Heaven

In Two by PALESKIN

31 Days by badluv

Stranger by Riley Roth

songs

Sabotage by Thousand Below

If It’s Too Much To Carry by Jansen The Wldlfe

Walk On Water by Sal3m

Twenty Eight by Taylor Acorn

Already Numb by Dayseeker

Epiphany by UNWELL

Half Empty by State Champs feat. Chrissy Costanza

I Really Want To Stay At Your House by Wither Away

Little By Little by Patrick Droney

Weather by A Story Told

Tagging: @dickgraaysons @fairyofshampoo @spiderboytotherescue @cutetomholland @softholand @heavensenthale @matchalatteallday @yelenasbuddie @singlethread @kieumy + anyone who wants to do this!!

[thequiver]

1, 2, 3, 4, 6GA, 11, 14GA, 20GA, 21, 24, 26, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 41, 42GA, 48, 50. Please and thank you.

1. Who's your favorite character and why? So I don't.... have one. I have a lot of characters that I like hyperfixate on? But I don't necessarily think I have a favorite. I definitely do have favorites but not one in particular. So like Ollie, Roy, Mia, Connor, Dinah, Emi, Jade, David, Pietro, Wanda, Terry, Kurt, etc.

2. Who's your favorite supporting character and why?

I don't.... think I actually tend to classify characters as "supporting characters" to me they're all just.... characters, but uh... Shado.

3. Who's your favorite comics hero/sidekick duo?

GREEN ARROW AND SPEEDY

4. answered already!

6. Who's a character you love seeing interacting with Green Arrow?

for Ollie I LOVE seeing him interact with Shado- and for Connor I really like seeing him interact with his civilian family and Master Jansen!

11. already answered!

14. What's your favorite thing about character Green Arrow?

for Ollie I love all of his contradictions, they make such a fun character, and for Connor I just really adore the depth to his character, how strong he is and his constant desire to be better and do better in really meaningful ways

20. If you were given a comic run for character Green Arrow, what would you write about?

Definitely a book with both Connor and Ollie teaming up as Green Arrow and sort of them working to find a balance in that dynamic for sure, definitely push and pull in their methods of being Green Arrow, sort of showcasing how they learn from each other

21. Share a favorite piece of comics lore.

GA writers have been investigated by the CIA :)

24. What's your favorite crossover event?

I'm really fond of the Battle of Muir Island, which is apparently a lot more niche than I thought it was

26. If you got sucked into a comic, which one would you pick?

uh..... this would end HORRIBLY FOR ME, but Once and Future

29. What are some of your favorite comics blogs?

definitely @batphobique @lomakes @cissie-queen-jones @zibah-ho and @lesbianspeedy plus more friends but is late and I am bad at remembering urls

30. What's been a good change to comics status quo?

definitely hit or miss but greater understandings of mental health and the inclusion of more diverse characters - I am NOT saying these are always done well, but just the fact that they're existing is something that gives me more hope for the Big 2 especially

31. Shine a light on a character you think deserves more love.

JAY GUTHRIE AND RUTH ALDINE

32. Who are two characters you'd like to see interact more?

DAVID HALLER AND ERIK MAGNUS LEHNSHERR

33. What's your favorite tv show adaptation?

X-Men: Evolution babey

34. What's your favorite movie adaptation?

It has SO MANY FAULTS but the vibes of X-Men First Class were immaculate (also X-2)

35. What's your favorite video game adaptation?

much to the chagrin of my boyfriend and my students, I do not play video games nor am I super into watching other people play video games

37. Any characters you used to dislike but now you like? What changed your mind?

I used to really not like Pyro, but I'd only seen him in the movies and in X-Men: Evo, but I just came to really enjoy him in the comics, all it took was actually reading lol

38. What's your favorite comic book trope?

"Any last words?" being said by an adversary and then their opponent not dying- it gets me every time

41. What's a comic that keeps on giving (you enjoy rereading)?

Green Arrow: Quiver, but issue specific Legion of X #6

42. What comic had the best characterization of Green Arrow?

For Ollie it's O'Neil or Grell, and for Connor it's Dixon

48. What's your favorite elseworld/AU story?

I've never really been into elseworlds like I like making my own AUs and such, but idk... I'm a canon compliance bitch they're just not my thing

50. Share anything you'd like to about a character of your choice - a favorite fic, comic panel, an original work you made, anything!

okay so I bought this super awesome sticker of David holding his father's skull with a Hamlet reference on it and I've had to explain the context to at least 10 of my coworkers and it never gets old