#I don’t need bad takes on my dash/for you page.

[variaandroise]

Point taken. My response was effectively a very extended version of the previous “That was an affectionate fuck you” response. I still stand by the idea of this post being mostly a culture clash (because I want to take people in good faith). I wanted to explain why some people reacted how they did in a manner that wasn’t as… obviously antagonistic as everyone else on this version of the post. Just don’t want to be misconstrued.

I agree, this should mostly be conducted with people who are already your friends or at minimum in a more closed space so one can leave it easier if they don’t like it. This general mode of interaction would make most people uncomfortable if they were dropped into it unexpectedly, so put them somewhere they don’t leak (much, some people are either unthinking or assholes, but banning/blocking works in those cases).

We've all gotten just a bit too comfortable being jerks to strangers on the internet I think

[lovelybucky1]

Crane Motel

Kinktober Day 12- Somnophilia

warnings: DARK FIC, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: AFAB!reader, Psycho AU, non-con, somnophilia, struggle fuck, groping, incel!jonathan, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ Minors DNI

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

The sky is pitch black and the heavy rain makes it difficult to see even ten feet in front of your car. You can't continue driving in these conditions, so you take the nearest exit in hopes of finding a place to spend the night or at least a place to pull over.

You drove about five minutes into the town off the highway until you came across a building. Crane Motel the neon sign read. Vacancies. It doesn’t have to be nice, it just has to be dry.

You pull into the lot, gravel crunching under your tires. It’s hard to see the parking spots, but no one else is here and you doubt they’ll come at this hour. You collect your items and make a dash for the porch of the office, locking your car with the remote once you’re away from the rain.

You open the door to the office and you’re met with the warm light from a lamp and an empty desk.

“Hello?” you say. No answer. “Hello?” Still no answer. You notice a bell on the desk so you try your luck and hit the bell. The metallic ring fills the office and from the closed door behind the desk, you hear a thump.

The door swings open and a young man in a light blue button down shirt that hangs off him and khakis appears.

“Hi,” he smiles. “Welcome to the Crane Motel.”

“Hello,” you smile politely. “I’d like a room please.”

“Of course,” he says, taking out the guest book and opening it to today’s date. As he flips through the pages you take note that most of them are blank, and the ones that are written on only have one or two names. “We don’t get many visitors up here,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Well, I’m only here for the night. The weather’s too bad out there to keep driving.”

The man nods in understanding. “I’m Jonathan, by the way,” he says, extending his hand to you.

You shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan.”

“Likewise. I run this motel. My mother owns it, but she’s too sick to take care of things around here so I’m in charge of it.”

You nod along as you sign your name in the guest book. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Has been all my life. My dad died before I was born so it’s just been her and I.”

You find it a bit odd that he’s sharing so much of his life with a stranger, but you figure he doesn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Can’t lose what you’ve never had,” he says with a smile.

Jonathan tilts his head to look down at the guest book and reads off your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“How are you gonna be paying?” he asks.

“Cash,” you say, taking out your wallet.

He furrows his brows. “Cash? You’re not on the run, are you?” You look up at him with a confused expression, but when his face splits into a smile you catch on that he’s joking. “I’m kidding. People usually use cash if they’re on the run or having an affair, but you’re here alone, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, no reason to be suspicious of you then. That’ll be $30.”

“Only 30?”

“We’re not in demand enough to charge anymore that,” he chuckles. “Besides, you seem nice and you’re just looking for a place to stay.”

“Well, thank you, Jonathan.”

He takes your cash and counts it out, confirming you gave him the right amount. He then unlocks the cash drawer and puts the bills in their appropriate slots.

“Alright, I’m gonna put you in Cabin 1. It’s closest to the office in case you need anything tonight,” he says as he takes the key labeled 1 off of the hook screwed into the wall.

He hands you the key but before you could turn to leave, he catches your elbow.

“I was making dinner for my mother and I but I accidentally made too much. Would you like to join us?” he offers.

“Oh, thank you for the offer but I’m super exhausted from driving all this way. I’m just going to head to bed,” you say.

“Okay,” he says, letting you go of your arm. “You never said where you’re from.”

“Um, about a two hours south from here.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing all the way up here?”

You sigh quietly, growing tired of his questions. “I’m going on a trip with some friends.”

“Sounds fun,” he says.

You nod with a close lipped smile. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” he says.

You turn and exit the office, shutting the door behind you. You run to your car and grab your bags as quickly as you can to avoid getting soaked, then take cover again under the roof. You walk across the wooden porch to the door labeled 1 that is connected to the office. You unlock the door and walk into the room, taking in the surroundings.

The room is small but it has a bed and a bathroom, so it will suffice. You drop your bags at the end of the bed and open your suitcase, digging through it for pajamas and toiletries.

You change into your t-shirt and shorts, then disappear into the bathroom to wash up. Unbeknownst to you, the kind man you met at the desk is not what he seems.

He put you in the first cabin not so it would be easier to attend to your needs, but because behind a picture frame in the office is a hole that he can look through to see the bed.

Jonathan was infatuated with you the moment he laid eyes on you. He doesn't interact with many people other than his mother, especially not someone so beautiful and interesting as you. He knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away. He had to have you before you left in the morning.

He waited for you to return from the bathroom and when he heard a thumb through the thin walls, he peered back through the hole. Seeing you undress was exhilarating. Your body is gorgeous, exactly what he likes. It's almost like the universe sent you to him for a reason.

As kind as you are, Jonathan knows you would never agree to a night with him if he were to ask. That's why he's going to wait until you're asleep to make a move.

Apparently you're less exhausted than you let on, because instead of going right to sleep like you said you would, you stay up for another hour watching TV.

Once you finally turned off the TV and lights, Jonathan waited fifteen minutes for you to fall asleep before sneaking into your room. He unlocks the door quietly and turns the handle before opening it so the knob doesn't click.

He's used to seeing in the dark, so he has no trouble making his way over to the bed. The faint light from the neon sign outside illuminates your face, making you look angelic.

Jonathan gently untucks the covers from your arm and pulls them down, revealing your body. He sighs in delight as he trails his fingertips gently down your arm, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin.

Luckily you're laying on your back so he has easy access to everything he wants to see. He pushes your shirt up over your breasts, revealing even more soft skin and peaked nipples that catch the light from the window. Jonathan brushes the pad of his thumb over them gently, curious as to what they feel like.

Getting braver, he palms your breasts and squeezes them. He's seen plenty of breasts before online, but he's never even been this close to a pair in real life. He is mesmerized by how the flesh jiggles.

He has been hard in his slacks sine you first came to the desk, but now that he is touching you, he is growing increasingly needy. He undoes the fly of his pants and lets his cock hang out from the zipper. Even having it out in your presence made him ache with pleasure.

Jonathan then turned his attention to your bottoms. He slips his fingers under the waist band and gently pushes them down as best he can. They get caught under your as, but he can pull them down enough to get a glimpse of your pussy.

His hands shake as he gently caresses your mound, surprised that you're even softer here. He lets his finger dip between your folds, feeling your wetness. Jonathan then pulls his hand back and holds it up to his face to take a deep breath of your scent. It's delicious, and he can't help but taste it off his finger.

He reaches under your shorts again, exploring your pussy and teasing your entrance while his other hand jerks his cock. He gets a bit too carried away, because his unpracticed hands must have poked you the wrong way and you stir.

Jonathan yanks his hand back and waits to see if you'll wake up. You remain asleep, but you roll onto your side, turning your back to him. He is a bit disappointed at first, but then he gets another idea. He pulls your shorts the rest of the way down and lets them bunch at your knees.

He gently spreads your ass cheeks to look at your holes. He has to stifle a groan when he sees the glistening of your pussy. Jonathan leans down to lick you from behind. At this angle, only the tip of his tongue makes contact with your folds, but it's enough to get a taste right from the source.

He moves his tongue back and forth as much as he can, imagining that he's doing this for your pleasure and not his own perverted desires. Between his legs, his cock his painfully hard and leaking onto the shitty carpet.

Feeling bold since he's done all of this to you and you haven't woken up yet, he decides to go a little further. He eases you onto your stomach and gently lifts your legs so he can slot himself between them. He slowly eases onto the mattress and spreads your folds so he can find your entrance.

He lines his cock up and begins to push in. It's a little difficult when the only experience he's ever had has been with his hand. He manages to get the tip in when he feels your body jolt. You make something of a whine and Jonathan's heart begins racing.

You try to adjust your position, still mostly asleep, but when you find yourself being restrained, you start to thrash. You kick your legs and claw at the sheets, all while yelling out.

"Get the fuck off me!" you cry, shaking your body like you're a mechanical bull trying to throw him off.

Jonathan doesn't want to stop. He's made it this far already. He presses down on your shoulder blades to keep you from squirming and your arms are pinned under your chest so you can't try to hit him.

You're still screaming, but now it's broken up by heavy sobs and pleas. You can scream as loud as you want but the only person around to hear you is the one making you scream.

Jonathan continues to push his cock into you, though he faces more resistance now that you're awake. You're so much tighter when you're scared, he notes.

"Don't hurt me, please. I-I have a family, please stop," you beg.

Jonathan frowns. "I'm not hurting you," he says.

How could he be hurting you? Sex feels good, and women love to have sex. That's what he's seen in all those videos. They love it so much they'll even beg for it.

Jonathan ruts into you and after a while, you lose the will to scream for help. All you can do is lay there and sob while he violates you. Jonathan, however, is enjoying himself very much. The tight, wet heat of your pussy around him is like nothing else he's ever experienced. It's addictive, and though he feels himself getting close, he doesn't want this to end.

Jonathan tries to stave off his orgasm but he's too worked up. He bucks his hips quickly, jackhammering you until he cums. He's fucking you like a fleshlight, using you as a place to stick his dick weather you're willing or not.

He buries himself deep inside you when he cums, emptying his overfilled balls into you. Jonathan is moaning and whimpering above you, completely overwhelmed by pleasure. He lays himself over your back and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

His face is far too close to yours and you scream again, hoping it will make him leave you alone. With a satisfied sigh, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He bends down to look at his cum leaking out of your pussy, just like he sees in all the videos he watches.

He grabs your covers and pulls them back up over you, tucking you in. You lay facing away from him, body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'll see you in the morning for breakfast," Jonathan says before exiting your room and heading back to the office.

Tonight he'll sleep on the sofa in the parlor in case you need anything. And he'll wake up extra early to watch you get dressed in the morning.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Will Halstead (Ft Platonic! Jay Halstead): I'll Call Will 

This was supposed to be short! Why can’t I ever just write a page or two? Oh well- I like how it turned out. I have no medical knowledge and I made shit up.

This is like my People We Love story reversed regarding it being more Platonic Jay x reader than Will x reader.  

You shift and feel Jay’s eyes shoot to you. He had been eyeing you like a bomb that was about to explode since he got to your and Will’s apartment two hours ago. You were trying to ignore him and his detective's gaze, but it was starting to get irritating. “You know if you keep it up, I’m going to take your fun uncle shirt and replace it with a worry wart one.” 

“You’ve been having cramps off and on since I got here, and you don’t look like you feel good.” You roll your eyes at your brother-in-law affectionately. Shooting him an amused look from across the couch and resting your hand on your prominent baby bump. 

“It must be that glow everyone talks about. I'm almost seven months pregnant, Jay. Braxton Hicks is normal.” What you don’t want to tell him as they had been becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. You hadn’t gotten off the couch since he got here because you felt lightheaded with a side of vertigo. “I went to the OB last week for an appointment. They said everything was just fine. No problems, no restrictions.” You tell him and remind yourself.  

You were trying to take the pregnancy in stride. People had babies in fields for years but it didn’t mean you didn’t get nervous sometimes. You had never been pregnant before and didn’t know what to expect and you had learned the hard way that Will was not the one to ask. He was a wealth of information. Too much information. It often made your anxiety worse after talking to him rather than better. He had too many horror stories from the ED.  

Jay looked unconvinced but dropped the subject and went back to watching the trashy TV show you had turned on. The two of you watched another episode and a half with rounds of minor cramping on your part. The commercial was just ending when a cramp so painful jolted through your belly that it made you grab at it and whimper. When you blink Jay is in front of you. He looks angry but you have known him long enough to know it was actually worry clouding his features. “Okay that’s it we are going to the hospital.” 

“Jay, I don’t think-” He doesn’t even let you finish your thought. 

“You either let me take you to the hospital right now or I’ll call Will.” You search Jay’s eyes. “Your choice.” He is clearly over it and reaches for his cell. You can just imagine your husband after a call like that. He would leave work and speed home in a mad dash to get to you. You would feel so bad if he did all that for a few Braxton Hick contractions.   

“Okay! Okay, fine, let’s go.” Jay wastes no getting you to your feet and out of the apartment steering you to his car. “Just what the world needed another Doctor Halstead, Will will be so proud.” You tell him before Jay rolls his eyes and closes the car door. 

You sit in the hospital bed waiting for the OB to come back.  Your doctor was out today and the woman that came in was all warm smiles and a reassuring tone. She must have been new because you didn’t recognize her or her name. “It looks like the cramping is just Braxton Hicks. It’s completely normal and nothing to worry about.” You looked over at Jay who had been lurking near the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“What? It was better to get you checked out just in case.” Jay’s tone is defensive, and you roll your eyes lovingly at your brother-in-law. The OB smiled at him and patted him comfortingly on the arm. 

“It is a good thing that he brought you in.” You look at the woman in surprise because her tone goes serious. “Your blood pressure is much higher than I would like. Have you been under more stress than normal lately?” You sigh as you begrudgingly tell her about your increased workload. “Have you been feeling more fatigued than normal? Lightheaded, dizzy, or any vertigo?”  

“I’m almost seven months pregnant, isn’t feeling off kind of normal?” You put your hand on your rounded stomach protectively. 

“It can be but with your blood pressure being so high it’s concerning. I’m going to order a blood panel just to be on the safe side. Now, let’s take a peek at this baby.” The ultrasound is all normal. the OB points out your baby's face and hand. You look over at Jay who is watching the screen in awe. He had seen the pictures, but this was a new experience. He breathed a quiet wow as the quick heartbeat of the baby filled the room. “It all looks good. It shouldn’t take long for that panel then you will be good to go.” 

A familiar nurse that you can’t name comes in and draws your blood. “Maybe I should message Will and let him know we are here.” Jay pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins typing. 

“Why so he can wait with us? He is working- leave him alone. Besides that was our deal, wasn’t it? There isn’t an emergency.” Jay holds his hands up in surrender. “And will you sit down please- your pacing is driving me crazy.” Jay flops into the chair giving you a ‘happy now’ look. “Geez, it’s like having a real brother.” 

“Yeah, and you're stuck with me. You and that bean, you got growing.” 

You smile caressing your stomach, “I’m good with that.” As much as you had fought him on it, it was nice to know that he cared enough to drag you to the hospital. Jay was protective and you knew he was going to be a lot more than just the fun uncle who only stopped by when he felt like treating your kid to a good time. “Can I ask you something?” At his nod, you continued, “Why were you at my apartment at 2 in the afternoon on a day you knew Will worked a double? Did Will ask you to check up on me?” 

“No,” You gave him a look of disbelief, “No, really, he didn’t. He didn’t ask me to come over or anything like that. He just mentioned that he thought you may not have been feeling good the last few days. So, I just wanted to make sure that you were- Are you crying?”  

You were.  

You had big crocodile tears running down your cheeks, “It’s the hormones. And honestly, that is just the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” More tears streamed down your face and Jay looked uncertain of what to do. When he saw a strategically placed tissue box, he grabbed it and held it out to you. You grabbed a few and started dabbing at your eyes. Your own family hadn’t been part of your life much since you had moved to Chicago. Not that they had been very good to you throughout your childhood into your twenties. You felt like you looked out for them more than they ever would for you. “I hope you know that I appreciate you and I’m so glad you are going to be in this baby's life. I love you, Jay.” He looked a little miffed but flattered as he rubbed your back soothingly.  

“Of course, I love you too.” 

You had gathered your raging emotions by the time the OB had returned. “Alright, everything looks good. I’m not going to put you on bed rest, but I highly encourage you to take it easy for the next few days.” You thank her and swing your legs over the bed to start the process of getting up, which is much harder now with a protruding belly. The woman paused in the doorway before turning and taking another step back into the room. You and Jay both look at her. “You know, another good natural way to get your blood pressure down is by having sex. I don’t see any problems with you having sexual activity right now. And with the looker you got- I would take every opportunity you get before the baby is the one keeping you up at night.” The doctor gives you a knowing wink before exiting the room. 

You look over to see a mortified Jay. His eyes were closed tightly, and he brought his hand to scrub down the bottom half of his face. The woman had barely made it out the door when you started laughing uncontrollably. When Will walked into the room less than a minute later and looked at you in bemusement as you tried to catch your breath. “Everything okay?” 

You immediately sober, “I told you not to bother him!” Will walked over to your bedside and helped you shuffle off the bed. His hand came to rest in its now familiar place on your stomach.  

“He didn’t, Maggie saw your name on some bloodwork. Are you okay? Everything okay with the baby?” Will’s face was furrowed with concern. You put your hand over his stroking your thumb across his knuckles.  

“Everything is fine. I had some cramping and Jay took me in to be on the safe side. It was just Braxton Hicks.” Some of the tension left Will but you can tell he is still on alert. “My blood pressure is a little high. But don’t worry, the doc thinks it is just from stress. She told me I should take it easy for a few days and gave me a few...natural ways to bring it down.” Will furrowed his brow trying to think of what you could be referring to. Then he turned when he heard Jay cough and mutter something under his breath. Will looked between the two of you knowing he had missed something.  

You give him a soft smile, “I’ll explain later. But really, don't worry, okay. I’m just going to spend the day on the couch watching Love is Blind. Taking it easy and relaxing, just like she said.” You push up on your toes and oblige you by leaning down for a kiss. “Now, I really have to go to the bathroom.” You say as you make a beeline for the public bathroom down the hall.  

“Is she really, okay? It must have been pretty bad for her to feel like she needed to call you.” Will looked even more worried after you left the room. Jay rested his hand on his shoulder to comfort his older brother. He knew that Will had been trying his hardest to keep all of his own worry as a doctor from bleeding into you. He had been trying hard to do everything at your pace and not overstep the line of future dad to doctor. It hadn’t always been a struggle he won. It didn’t help that you hated hospitals and felt like less was more when it came to OB appointments. You had a tendency to cancel and never reschedule them much to his frustration.  

“She’s okay. I was actually already over there. She started getting some cramping and I kind of forced her to come here to get checked out.” A guilty look crossed Jay's face. 

“Forced her?” Will found that hard to believe. It was like pulling teeth to force you into doing anything. You had a stubborn streak to match the Halstead clan. 

“Well, more of an ultimatum really. I told her she could either agree to come in or I'd call you.”  

Will hummed in understanding, that sounded way more plausible. “You were already over there? I thought I told you I was working a double.” 

“You did.” Jay agreed, “You also told me she had been feeling well.”  

The gratitude that Will felt for his brother at that moment was overwhelming. “Thanks, man. I’m glad you were there. It means a lot.” 

“You would have done the same for me,” Jay stated simply, “Besides that what you do for family.” He sighed heavily, “That’s why after I buy her the pizza she has been talking about for the last hour, I’m going to sit down on the couch with her and watch that trash she calls TV. I’ll make sure she is all good until you get home.” 

[siremasterlawrence]

Breaking In To The Movies

After shooting my first movie had to give you guys this and it’s also a thank you for hitting this page up with 4,025 followers.

Woohoo!

“I just landed my first acting gig so I need a new body.”

Scott Eastwood is at a some stupid celebrity sporting event held in a massive field in a stadium Hollywood, Los Angeles playing that idiotic game football in all of his overly masculine macho bullshit and showing off all of his skills.He brushes past most of the field running in a circle as he caught the ball falling to the ground as he hit the end of the field in a bit of excitement and he starts to scream his clothes obviously wet as ever and doing a little dance.I sigh rolling my eyes as he returns back to his seat taking a minute unbelievably he is careless to not be aware of mi presence is looming behind him and I reach my hand out for his bottle and grab it before he can see it happen.It is sad but I don’t give a shit walking back in to the end of the hall in the cover of the halls darkness the cap is unscrewed, the needle cap is pulled off and I inject it in to his bottle as it was nothing quickly returning it back to his bag.

Cockiness does have its disadvantages like well you know pride cometh before the fall as the saying goes I think to myself happily as I watch him gobble it down for the world to see and the camera finally pans on him as I begin to feel faint. I don’t really feel much at all as my eyes slowly close in time to a excessive amount of yawning then I nod off completely falling on to the bench fading out of existence and I appear right behind him.I laugh a bit as he starts to feel odd taking left hand he starts to yank on his collar as the whistle goes off he hops back in to the game excitedly it’s so pathetic, the sweat of beads so apparent in his face to go with this lethargic sportsmanship to boot he is a true laughing stock. Sorry! Cockiness needs to be corrected I think again following him as he pretends he is proud of his performance to the crowd, he then makes a dash for the bathroom placing his hand firmly on to the sink and screams in pain before he looks in to the mirror and sees.

“BOO!” I shout before unleashing a haunting laugh.

“Who the fuck are you?” He yells

“Your worse nightmare” my attitude assured

“Do I know you?” He thinks

“Go ahead! Guess” I state

“We worked together on a movie “ he replies

“Correct and now we will not be doing that “

“Wait! This most be by imagination “

“Yeah! Let me wet my face it’s a dream”

“Why bother? It’s a dream alright “

“Yeah! I’ll wake up soon”

“Go to sleep! Nighty night”

“Dumbass! Here we go”

“Let me close my eyes”

“Oooohh! My body bow “

“Not bad! Fine ass”

“For a white boi anyway “

“Time to go for a test drive “

“This is a nice see “

“Hey ladies “

“Hey fellas”

“Bring me some drinks stat”

“Who want to be in my entourage tonight”

“Yeah motherfucker’s”

“Uh uh! We are going all night”

“This loser thinks he is a sleep “

“I am Scott Eastwood “

“Who wants to dance?”

“Really? No one!”

“Boo!”

“You all suck “

“Guys or gals”

“Does not matter “

“I swing it right and left “

“Play both sides”

“I am Scott Eastwood Bitch”

“My budding career mixed with this body.”

“Yum”

The end

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Three

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Bad Latin, language barriers, lots of yearning, Marcus Acacius is Very Hot and no one knows what to do about it

Summary: Marcus Pike shows up at your door in the middle of the night with a very broad man in Roman armor in tow. Armed with only your Classical studies education and a Latin-English dictionary, you do your best to help.

A/N: Okay, we've got three of the four members of this grammatically insane polycule in the same space! Only one more to go! I wonder how a certain Leader of the Heroics is doing.... Just a reminder, to keep everyone sane, the POV character is called out by name at the beginning of each POV switch.

Masterlist | Chapter Two | Next chapter>>

(You)

At around the same time that the leader of the Heroics was impatiently waiting for his coffee maker to finish brewing, you’re startled awake by loud, forceful knocking on your door. 

Going from ‘asleep’ to ‘instant dread’ in the span of two seconds makes your body feel like it’s short-circuiting. You tumble out of bed, grabbing the nearest object to potentially use as a weapon. You examine your choice–Stephen King’s The Stand, and shrug internally. I mean, if any book could be a blunt weapon… 

With your fingers white-knuckled around the thick spine, you peer carefully through the peephole to find–

“Marcus!?”

You yank open the door to find the Special Agent of your dreams standing on your welcome mat. “What the hell? Do you have any idea what time–”

“It was an emergency,” the Agent says quickly, holding up his hands in supplication. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.” The dread returns to the pit of your chest. “Marcus, oh God, are you okay? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not me, it’s um. Well, let me show you.” He grimaces, then pushes someone else out from behind the corner and into view. 

It’s a man–a very large man. A large, broad man wearing a dress. No, wait. That’s not a dress, that's…

“Marcus,” you say carefully. “Why is there a man dressed in Roman armor on my doorstep.

“Marcus,” the man repeats, and slaps his chest. 

“Yes, that’s right,” the Agent says tiredly, as though he’s gone through this several times in the past hour. “This is Marcus. He’s from the Rift. I... kind of almost hit him with my car.”

“Car,” the Roman says, nodding seriously. He looks you up and down in a way that makes heat creep to your cheeks, and says something in a language that you don’t understand, but seems oddly familiar.

“Oh my God,” you murmur to yourself. “He speaks Latin.”

“I’m kind of at a loss,” Marcus, your Marcus says with a tired sigh. “I don’t know whether to call someone at Heroics, HQ, or… I dunno. I mean, who the fuck do you call when you have… a Roman?”

“Hang on.” You hold up a finger and dash over to your office, which is really just a tiny room off of the living room filled to the brim with shelves and shelves of books, with a tiny desk squeezed in between.

“You should get rid of your old college textbooks,” you say to yourself in a mocking tone. “How many times are you going to move house, and you still have all these books taking up space? Well, the joke’s on you, Linda, because I’ve got a Roman Centurion in my kitchen and the man of my dreams showed up at my door at three in the morning because he needs my help and this is my moment, dammit.” Your finger finally lands on the text you were looking for–a dog-eared copy of Oxford’s Latin-English Dictionary with a broken spine and part of the front matter missing. On a whim, you grab the first book next to it, Ovid’s Metamorphoses in the original Latin, and race back to Marcus and… other Marcus. 

“Salve,” you begin, and the Roman’s eyes snap to yours. 

Marcus Pike grins as though you’ve hung the stars.

Flipping through the pages frantically, you manage to string together your first sentence.

“You… are… safe… with… us.”

You hope you conjugated the verb correctly. 

The Roman murmurs something back, speaking slowly and deliberately, understanding that this is very much not your native tongue. He repeats it twice, until your face dawns with understanding. 

“Where am I?”

“Jesus, can we start with an easier one?” you chuckle to yourself. After some quick thinking, you manage to explain to Roman Marcus that he is in a different country, very far away from the world he knows.

The man shakes his head. “Quam?” he murmurs to no one in particular. 

That’s a tough one, too. You have no idea how to explain black holes and time rifts in Latin. 

You make a face, putting your hands up and shrugging your shoulders in an exaggerated pantomime of, “I don’t know.”

The man nods slowly. You feel awful for him, really. Stranger in a strange land. He must be terrified.

“Famelicus,” he says. 

You don’t know that one. You flip through the pages to find the F’s. 

“Famelicus,” he repeats, pointing to his stomach. “Panis?”

“Oh shit, yeah,” you whisper. “Of course you’re hungry.” You turn to the cupboard that serves as your pantry and search for something he’d recognize. You pull out half of a baguette and hold it up hesitantly. The man rips it from your grasp almost comically and begins to tear pieces off of it with his teeth, devouring the bread with gusto. 

“This is surreal,” Pike murmurs under his breath. 

When the Roman finishes eating, he seems almost as interested in the clear plastic wrapping than in the bread itself. He stares at it, brow furrowed with a deep frown of concentration as he crinkles the plastic over and over again in his fist. 

“I hate to ask, but can we… can we crash here until morning when I can think straight and figure out what the hell to do with this guy?” Marcus asks, looking pained. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you reassure him. “I’ll help you. We’ll get him back to where he needs to go, or... find the person who can. In the morning.”

“In the morning,” Marcus nods, smiling gratefully. 

Turning to the Roman again, you say haltingly, “Somnus. Nox. Somnus?” Sleep. Night. 

The Roman also looks relieved at the prospect of sleep. 

“Uh, cubile,” you say, gesturing at the couch and indicating he can use it as a bed. You’re about to go rummage in your linen closet for a spare blanket and maybe a pillow, but Marcus the Roman strides confidently over to the couch, lies down, and is snoring within seconds. 

“Woah,” you remark, laughing to yourself. “Shit, Marcus, I only have the one couch…”

“I’ll take the recliner,” he says quickly, pointing to the battered, second-hand Lazy Boy in the corner of your living room. “Listen,” he swallows thickly, looking up at you with those deep brown eyes that make you melt in any situation, much less in the middle of the night in your dark living room. “Thank you. I didn’t know where else to go, and you–Well, if anyone can speak a dead language conversationally, it would be you.” His voice is soft and earnest, and you want to tell him anything at all, Marcus, anything for you but you force yourself to bite your tongue.

“It’s no problem,” you assure him. “Honestly. I mean, talk about a Classicists dream, right? When do you ever get to use the stuff you learned in graduate school in the real world?”

Marcus chuckles softly. “Go get some sleep. We’ll tackle Mount Olympus in the morning, yeah?”

“That’s Greek, not Roman,” you snort.

He winks at you, and you will your knees not to buckle. “Whatever,” he teases playfully. 

“‘Night,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too breathless. Without waiting for a reply, you retreat to your bedroom before you can make a fool of yourself even further.

“‘Night,” Marcus returns softly, and when you turn to close the door, he’s still looking at you. 

(Pike)

Marcus awakens to the comforting sound of someone puttering quietly around the kitchen. He opens his eyes to see you–what a beautiful sight–reaching up on your tiptoes to take three mugs from the cupboard. The other Marcus is awake too, sitting at the kitchen table and watching your task with curiosity.

When he stirs from the recliner, you smile in greeting. “I made coffee,” you offer brightly. 

“Sainted being,” Marcus groans tiredly as he gets up from the chair, his joints creaking and protesting as he stands. 

“Cah-fee,” the Roman repeats as you pour the steaming liquid into three cups. 

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it,” you say with a chuckle as he reaches for one of the mugs. “It’s hot. Calidus. Be careful.”

“Care-fool,” the man nods seriously, and Marcus can’t help but smile at the bizarre domesticity of the scene. 

He sips cautiously, makes a face, and lets out a string of Latin that Marcus takes to understand that he didn’t like the coffee.

You snort. “I told you. How about, ah, milk?” You flip through your dictionary. “Lac? Lacte?” You take the quart out of your fridge and hold it up.

“Lac. Mil-k?” 

“Yes!” you squeal excitedly, spinning around to grab another cup. Before you can turn around, however, the Roman has managed to open the carton of milk himself and begins chugging from it. 

At your shocked expression when you turn back around, Marcus can’t help but let out a loud laugh. The other man stares at him questioningly, and he gestures to the cup. “The cup.”

“Cup,” the man repeats, and laughs too. 

“I’m gonna make some eggs,” you announce. “He should like that, you think?”

Marcus shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

You hold up an egg for the man’s inspection. “Uh, ovum?” you ask.

His face brightens. “Sic, ovum,” he agrees. He stands and inspects the carton thoughtfully. “Quid est?” 

“Ovum,” you answer again, not understanding the question. 

“No.” The Roman picks one up carefully and points to himself. “Ovum,” he says patiently, then points to you.

Oh. Marcus grins. “I think he wants to know the word in English.”

“Egg,” you tell him. 

“Egg,” he repeats. The word seems to strike him as funny, because he repeats it several times, chuckling as he does. 

Now that understanding has been made, ‘Quid est?’ seems to be the man’s new favorite question. He repeats it over and over as you make breakfast, getting in your way in the process and generally causing chaos throughout the small apartment. Marcus tries his best to run interference, answering all of his questions to the best of his ability. Thankfully, he seems to stick to objects that are familiar to him–a pillow, chair, fork–rather than ask Marcus about the microwave, or, god forbid, his cell phone. He repeats every English word thoughtfully, in a thick accent and rumbling voice that he can’t help but find attractive. 

“Hey, you don’t think anyone else saw our friend here last night and said anything?” you say suddenly while the three of you sit around your kitchen table eating the eggs. 

Somehow, the thought hadn’t even crossed Marcus’s mind. “Shit, I dunno,” he admits.

“I’m gonna check the news.” you grab the remote off of the coffee table and switch on the TV. 

The noise and pictures emanating from the screen immediately cause Marcus to spit curses in Latin. He tries to rise from his chair in alarm, but you place your hand on his forearm and repeat several words in Latin softly and reassuringly, and the man calms. 

The local news is, as it has been since its arrival, fixated on the Rift. Everything seems as expected–normal seems to be the wrong word–until Marcus realizes what the anchor is saying. 

“ –was successfully closed around six am this morning. Joining us now is Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, to give us an update on the situation.”

“What do they mean, ‘Closed?’” you ask with a frown. 

“Shh,” Marcus says. 

“Mr. Moreno, representatives from your team are saying that the portal is now closed, is this correct?” the anchor asks. 

“That’s right. The um… the security risk was too great, and we don’t really know what that kind of rip in the fabric of uh, you know, space and time, is capable of. Our team of physicists have been working on a solution day and night and I’m happy to announce that the Rift has disappeared completely and Pennsylvania Avenue should be reopening in the next few days as cleanup begins.”

“Is there any chance of it opening again?” the anchor asks. 

Marcus Moreno looks uncomfortable. “Listen, the… the math around this isn’t my strong suit, but my understanding is that these kinds of things–rifts in space and time–can only happen when an exponential amount of energy is released, so barring another supervillain somewhere out there with the same Black Hole bomb, there shouldn’t be any more Rifts opening in the nation’s capital anytime soon. Uh, thanks.”

“He’s always so stiff in interviews,” you comment. “You think he’s uncomfortable with the limelight, or what?”

“Are you being serious right now?” Marcus shakes his head in disbelief. “The portal is closed. The Rift is gone. And our friend here is trapped on the wrong side.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe. “Oh, fuck. Marcus… what do we do?”

“I’m gonna go to Heroics HQ,” Marcus announces. “To talk to Moreno one-on-one and try to keep this situation quiet. He’s a good guy, he’ll use discretion.” “You know Marcus Moreno?”

“How is that your takeaw–nevermind. I mean, I don’t know him, but I’ve definitely come across him in professional settings in the past. Why?”

“He’s–” you laugh nervously. “It’s silly. I always kind of had a crush on him. Childhood celebrity crush, you know how it is.”

“Oh. Right.” Is it hot in here? Did someone raise the temperature in this room? Marcus can’t explain why the prospect of you finding the leader of the Heroics attractive eats at him so much, but the next thing that you say nearly makes him swallow his tongue.

“Actually, you resemble him a lot,” you comment nonchalantly. “You’ve got the same pretty brown eyes.”

The other Marcus chooses this moment to hold up his empty plate and ask, earnestly, “Egg?”

[beelsnack]

Sweet Nothings - OM Beelzebub and a Diabetic MC

Listen this is one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've ever written and I'm not ashamed of it. There's no way I'm the only diabetic simp in this community lol

This was meant to be part of a bigger series but I got carried away and made it it's own piece. So, sneak peak for future works I guess.

For my non diabetics out there, the thing that the human has on their arm is a CGM - continuous glucose monitor. It's exactly what it sounds like, a little sensor you stick in your arm so you can keep a constant eye on your levels.

-----

“What’s that?”

The human glanced up at Beelzebub from across the table the two of them were sitting at. A new restaurant had just opened up in the heart of the Devildom, and the owner had invited Beel to come on the grand opening day as a PR move. Beel, in turn, had invited the human to come along with him as his date.

“What’s what?” they asked. Beel inclined his head towards where they were holding the back of their phone against their shoulder.

“The thing on your arm.”

“Oh,” the human pulled their phone away and glanced at it. “I’m just checking my blood sugar. This thing is so much better than having to prick my finger all the time.”

Beel looked even more confused. “I don’t understand. Humans have to check their blood?”

“Not all of us,” the human muttered, frowning at their phone. From the angle they had it, Beel couldn’t see exactly what it said, but the screen was a vibrant orange color. “I knew I felt gross. No dessert for me, I guess.”

“Why not?”

“Sugar’s high,” the human shrugged. Now that he thought about it, the human did look a little weak and pale. They reached into the little bag that they always carried with them and pulled out a pen. They uncapped it, spun the little dial on top, and Beel watched in shock as they lifted up their shirt and jabbed the needle into their abdomen.

“You have to give yourself a shot?”

“Five times a day,” they recapped the pen and slipped it back into their bag. “Kind of sucks, but it beats the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?” Beel asked. He had completely given up on looking at the menu in favor of staring at the human in abject horror.

“Shakiness, going blind, organ failure,” they shrugged again. “Honestly, I try not to think about it too much.”

Beel’s eyes were as wide as the plates that their appetizers had been served on. “So you can’t eat sweets?”

“I can, just not a lot, and I have to be careful,” they shrugged. “Not tonight, though.”

Right then, the waiter returned to take their order, looking anxious. Word had probably spread about Beel’s notorious appetite, but he was also known as a generous tipper, so likely the server didn’t quite know how to feel about this one. About half-way through Beel’s order, the human saw the poor demon roll their wrist to alleviate some pressure.

“...That should be enough, right?” Beel muttered to himself before turning to the human. “Sorry, I ordered without asking if you were ready.”

The color seemed to drain from the server’s face and they hurried flipped over to a new page. The human resisted the urge to laugh.

“I’ll have…” they trailed their finger down the menu and stopped about a third or the way down. “That one, please.”

The server looked relieved and scribbled down the order before dashing off, likely afraid that Beel would tack more on to the order if they stayed around for too long.

“So, wait,” Beel started, looking thoughtful. “Why can’t you have sugar? Are you allergic?”

“...Honestly, not a bad way to put it, but not technically.” the human replied. “So human’s need to eat food to get energy to do things, right?”

Beel nodded.

“So insulin is the hormone that lets the energy from the food get from the blood into the cells. I have a disease called diabetes, which means my body doesn’t make that hormone. They can make it artificially, which is that shot that you just saw me give myself.”

“Where do they get it?” Beel asked, eyeing the server as they walked past them carrying someone else’s order. “Do other humans donate it like blood?”

“Y’know, that is a great question for Google when we get home.”

The server appeared beside them. “Would you like some more water?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” the human smiled, scooting out of the way so the server could refill their glass. When they turned around to leave, however, Beel called out.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The server flinched before turning around and acknowledging Beel with a very tight smile. “Yes?”

Beel reached over to where he had tucked the dessert menu. “We won’t need this, sorry.”

The human raised their eyebrows. “Beel, you can have dessert.”

Beel shook his head as the server dutifully tucked the menu under their arm and darted back into the kitchen. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to have dessert if you can’t. We’ll just go out for ice cream when you feel better.”

[mimiii-3]

Yandere Crowley x Reader

Note/warning: gn reader, typical yandere behavior, a lil angst + comfort?

Extra note: Crowley’s dialogue is pink

. . .

You were in the middle of taking notes in Professor Trein’s class when you received the letter. The cursive writing looked like art on the parchment. Writing you knew was Crowley’s. The way he weaved his words and writing was almost playful.

My dearest, Prefect,

I ask that you leave your class at once and join me in my office. There are sensitive matters I need to discuss with you.

Yours truly,

Headmage Dire Crowley

You let out a long sigh and rub your forehead with your hand. What could he want now? You’ve already taken care of the overblots, organized an nrc festival, and cleaned up several of Crowley’s messes. What more could he even ask of you?

You quietly pack up your things and slip into the empty hallway. The only sound that can be heard is the tapping of your feet on the freshly waxed floor. You arrive at the front door of his office and take a few deep breaths. You can do this. Whatever he asks, you can handle it.

You pull open the door to find him sitting behind his desk with his hands folded on top of a manila folder.

“Ah, Prefect. You came even faster than I thought you would! What a diligent student you are!”

His beady, yellow eyes are honed in on your form. They’re trying to catch every minute detail. Every blink, every twitch, every shiver is absorbed and processed by his gaze. After setting down your things, you sink into the velvety armchair. You miss the way he’s staring at you and nod your head.

Yeah, well I have to come right away since last time you freaked out and threatened to give me more classes.

He shifts in his seat, seemingly embarrassed that you remember his last outburst.

“Oh yes. I had been meaning to apologize for that but it seems the incident slipped my mind. You do forgive me don’t you? Of course you do.”

You shake off the sharpness in his tone and prop your chin up on your fist. He does this often. Ask you something and then abruptly answer in your stead. It drives you nuts.

So…why exactly do I need to be here right now?

Crowley clears his throat and opens the Manila folder. He flips through a couple of pages before finding what he was looking for.

“You know How I’ve been tirelessly working to find you a way home right? Day and night I’ve been tormenting myself in order to grant you your near-impossible wish.”

Your nonchalant attitudes melts right off of you. Is this it? Has this numbskull of a headmage finally done his job? You can barely contain your excitement as you lean forward in the armchair. You bite your lip in and wring your hands. All this time. All this work. It’s been worth it. You’re finally going home. You can hardly wait until you can see your family and friends again. Has anything changed? How much time has past? Before you can start to shoot off questions to Crowley, he holds up his hand and speaks.

“About that wish…I have some bad news for you, Prefect.”

Just like that, your excitement has been dashed against the rocks. The temporary joy has now been replaced with a crushing sense of dread. You swallow thickly and scoot back against the chair.

Why didn’t you say that earlier? Please tell me you found a way and the bad news is something small.

Crowley struggles to hide his smile. He loves how easy it is to lift you up then throw you to the ground. He loves the sparkle in your eyes when you are filled with joy. But he lives for the despair that washes over your face.

“There is no way for you to get home. I’ve exhausted every resource and asked every professional in an out of NRC. Every book in the library has been read from front-to-cover. There is every way to enter this world, but no way to leave it. There is no one who can help you. I did my best. I hope that you can see that.”

You world is collapsing. Everything you know and love is gone forever. Your family and friends are living on without you. They have each other while you waste away in this land. You have no one here. You are no one here.

You pull up your knees and hold your legs tightly. You can’t stop shaking. It’s like every emotion, feeling, and thought you’ve had about your home is racing through you. Hot tears start to roll down your face. This can’t be happening.

You start to ugly cry and don’t care that Crowley’s watching. How can you? This is it. All hope is lost. All this time you’ve been waiting for absolutely nothing. Your broken cries bounce against the walls.

Crowley stands from his chair and makes his way over to you. He wraps his slender arms around your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head.

You don’t have the strength to push him away. You’d love to tear into him. Curse and hit him till you faint from exhaustion. Call him every name under the sun and stomp on his smug face. But you can’t.

He knows it. He knows you don’t have the strength to fight and he uses it to his advantage. Crowley hums and rubs his hand up and down your back.

He can barely contain the giggles that are bubbling up in his chest. This went even better than he expected. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to calm himself. Look at you. So helpless in his embrace. He could get used to this.

“Don’t worry, Prefect. I will take care of you from here on out. I promise.”

. . .

Note: yandere Crowley headcanons otw

[thespacelizard]

Hi! I saw your post about Obsidian (for note taking) and I was wondering how you added custom fonts? Or if there's some resources you could point me to that would help figuring out some tips and how to use it

hello!

so, the simplest method for custom fonts is to first make sure it’s installed on your computer (if you download a new font, right-click and hit ‘install’).

Then if you just want to change the base font in obsidian for either all of the interface, or for editing/reading mode, you can go into settings, then under ‘Font’, you select the ‘manage’ option, and there’ll be a text box/dropdown you can type in to find the font you want. Click ‘add’ and then that’s done!

If you want to do custom fonts for headings, or for specific pages/cssclasses (like I’ve done for Obedience and claws in my notes), then you will have to do a little bit of css, but it’s not as scary as it sounds i promise!

To make a cssclass, all you really need is a text editor. You can use notepad if you’re just doing a few little things, but if you want to start doing a lot I recommend getting one that’s more designed for it. I use brackets because it’s free and easy, but a lot of people use VSCode which is. too intimidating for me. and too much for my usecase anyway.

im getting offtopic. FONTS!

now, i am. out of date with all the new variables and also i write bad css, but the way I do it if I want specific header fonts is like this:

.markdown-preview-view h1 { font-family: COOL FONT; }

OR apparently, as I just learned in checking to write this, you can use ‘.markdown-rendered h1’ as the class. either seems to work…my css is very old.

now there is a way to do this for all headings at once without copy-pasting it for h1, h2, h3 etc but i don’t know how to do it right and at this point my css works and so i Leave It Alone

this only does it for Reading Mode, because i like having more ‘text-y’ fonts for writing and then pretty ones for reading when I’m done. to change things for live preview/source view, you need to do

.markdown-source-view.mod-cm6 .cm-header { font-family: COOL FONT; }

And if you want different fonts for different headers, change the ‘.cm-header’ part to ‘.cm-header-1’ (or whatever number of heading size you want.)

You can add things other than fonts in there as well, like font-size, text-transform, and other css classes. (this is why i like brackets, it suggests classes and property fills as you’re typing which is good because i. forget what the options are)

If you want to go poking around in obsidian to figure out which selector is doing what, hit Ctrl+shift+i on windows (for mac, I believe it's command+option+i), and it’ll bring up the developer console, so you can use inspect element to track down selectors. (selectors are the thing you put after the period (.) and tell the css which element to target)

I like to make custom css classes for things, and to make one of those, you just type ‘.classname’ before the variable you want to change. E.g. for claws it looks like:

.claws.markdown-rendered h1 { font-family: LEVIBRUSH; }

then to add that to a note, you need to add the ‘cssclasses’ property in the frontmatter. you can make the frontmatter with three dashes like this:

--- cssclasses: claws ---

or you can use the properties side panel and hit ‘add property’ and then make cssclasses. this then means that all the css wizardry you do prefixed with that class will only apply to pages with that class, which I really like for making unique workspaces for different projects.

adding your snippet

so now you've made your snippet, you just need to load it in. the simplest way is to head to Settings -> Appearance, and scroll down to where it says 'CSS Snippets'. Hit the folder icon, and that'll open the folder you need to save the snippet.

make sure you save your notepad or brackets or whatever document as '.css' first. you can literally just do this by right clicking a saved notepad document and changing the name to 'name.css' if you need to.

save that css document into the snippets folder, go back to settings and hit the 'reload' snippets button to get it to show up, toggle it on, and voila!

now what you can do is edit that snippet live in obsidian just by. editing it. and hitting save. it'll live update and you can tinker. that's all i do: have brackets and obsidian open at the same time and just. fuck about till things work. i like problem solving, so it's usually fun for me :)

resources!

Obsidian CSS Quick Guide - Share & showcase - Obsidian Forum → a quick guide to poking around and how to find css classes in obsidian

Headings - Developer Documentation → full list of css variables you can play with. this gives you an idea of just how many things you can customise in obsidian which is to say. all of it.

i also just recommend googling around about CSS and how to use it. W3 schools is usually my go-to, it’s pretty good. Or searching ‘how to do x with css’ and usually either reddit or stackexchange will have decent answers.

you can find fonts all over, and i know google is a bitch, but google fonts has a bunch of good fonts. that's where most of mine are from, honestly

[luminoustarlight]

hiii i absolutely love all your writing and your account set up !! it’s amazing. I was wondering if you could share any tips on how you started your journey, like how you started writing and got you stuff out there and how you put together your pinned post ! I really want to start writing and i’m just a little nervous about it all

-🪞

hi darling🪞!!

1. thank you for your compliments! i appreciate it so much. i’m not an expert writer, nor am i an expert at tumblr. i think other people have much nicer blogs but for me, the simpler the better.

2. i’ve been writing for as long as i can remember. before writing fanfic and posting it, i was reading it. i think i finally decided to put ideas to paper when i really wanted to see something written but couldn’t find it, so i decided to write it myself.

3. honestly, posting on tumblr is a hit and miss. the tagging system sucks booty and it can be really discouraging. however, with that said, it’s not all bad. i’ve directly messaged writers i look up to asking if they’d like to be friends. i won’t ask them to read my work because i don’t want them to feel obligated and pretend they like it, even if they don’t. BUT if something you write comes across their dash and they read it, you might have gained a new reader.

4. my pinned post is pretty much a “catch all” destination for other links to my page and recent uploads. it’s nothing fancy but if you need further help, i’m happy to be of assistance.

5. i’m also happy to give writing tips as well, but i’m currently in my own little drought so take that with a grain of salt.

[serpentsapple]

(This post will contain mild spoilers for Yellowface. There will also be brief mentions of racism.)

Yellowface was a breath of fresh air!

Hello, welcome, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I honestly thought this blog would be abandoned to inactivity until now when I received renewed vigour to write for it. The cause is simple, really. I finally found another book I thought was worth talking about regarding its portrayal of women.

Now this may surprise you but we don’t particularly enjoy expelling negative energy on books. We started this blog out of a naïve hope that perhaps we would be put in touch with like minds and find books that speak to us. Fast-forward a few years on and that hope was dashed. My co-partner had grown busy with other pursuits and equally had few words to speak on anything literary, and we packed up this blog prepared never to update it again.

That is, until, my saving grace came in the form of a most unexpected source.

I had heard whispers of Yellowface prior to its publication but I admit after reading its premise and a few advanced reviews, it didn’t seem like anything I would be interested in. How it pleases me to be wrong in this instance! And to have taken a chance after having seen a few friends speak its praises. The premise to Yellowface is a simple one: set in a contemporary America, Juniper Hayward steals the manuscript of her deceased Asian female friend and passes it off as her own, and this callous act of self-serving ego rockets her to stardom.

Juniper Hayward is one of the best female protagonists I’ve read in quite a long time.

Before I continue, I want to make a few things clear: Juniper Hayward is no feminist icon. She is racist. She is egocentric, prideful, catty, self-interested. She is, in all respects, the villain of the story and the orchestrator of her own misery. And yet… and yet… she compelled me. She reflected an ugly side of being an artist I longed to see portrayed by a woman. While she is the furthest thing from an aspirational and awe-inspiring individual she was so startlingly human, so flawed, so hungry, that I couldn’t get enough of her. I devoured Yellowface in the span of two days and afterwards I was left utterly enthralled by Juniper and Athena both and their parasitic, competitive friendship. 

Deep down, I’ve always suspected Athena likes my company precisely because I can’t rival her. I understand her world, but I’m not a threat, and her achievements are so far out of my reach that she doesn’t feel bad squealing to my face about her wins. Don’t we all want a friend who won’t ever challenge our superiority, because they already know it’s a lost cause? Don’t we all need someone we can treat as a punching bag?

This is the sort of representation I was looking for! Women who are deeply driven by their own want and ambition, compelled to succeed until it takes them to unprecedented heights (or leads to an almighty fall). I truly commend Kuang for bringing these women to life, setting them in a book filled with equally dimensional and awful female side characters, with nary a prominent male presence to be found unless they serve the narrative. It was a genuine pleasure to read about Juniper and her desire to be recognised for her writing accomplishments, to create and leave something behind that was bigger than herself:

A musician needs to be heard; a writer needs to be read. I want to move people’s hearts. I want my books in stores all over the world. I couldn’t stand to be like Mom and Rory, living their little and self-contained lives, with no great projects or prospects to propel them from one chapter to the next. I want the world to wait with bated breath for what I will say next. I want my words to last forever. I want to be eternal, permanent; when I’m gone, I want to leave behind a mountain of pages that scream, Juniper Song was here, and she told us what was on her mind.

Juniper Hayward is a protagonist on par with Humbert Humbert. A loathsome figure full of pitiful self-excuses and delusional rationalisations for the wrongs they commit. You feel disgust with them, you feel for them, you yearn to understand them, but what you can never do is ignore them.

Plagiarism is an easy way out, the way you cheat when you can’t string words together on your own. But what I did was not easy. I did rewrite most of the book. Athena’s early drafts are chaotic, primordial, with half-finished sentences littered all over the place. Sometimes I couldn’t even tell where she was going with a paragraph, so I excised it completely. It’s not like I took a painting and passed it off as my own. I inherited a sketch, with colors added only in uneven patches, and finished it according to the style of the original. Imagine if Michelangelo left huge chunks of the Sistine Chapel unfinished. Imagine if Raphael had to step in and do the rest.

And what I love most is that, penned by an Asian woman like Kuang, there is no chance for Juniper to escape accountability for her vile misdeeds. The author holds her up in all her contemptible glory, with no veneer of justification to be found, and invites you to observe and cast your judgement. She tapped into the gnawing resentment that eats away at every writer in the publishing industry, each of us all clawing for the scraps of recognition those at the table see fit to toss our way until we all turn on each other. Why her? Why not me? Is it because I am not pretty enough? Not charismatic enough? Am I simply too blandly white and heterosexual? Am I simply too unpalatable for the masses? On and on it goes, the gears turning, powering the engine of jealousy until it churns out a monster like Juniper. 

The attacks on the publishing industry and how it commodifies and weaponises identity to serve capitalist interests were particularly salient and incisive from Kuang, I like how she tackled both sides of an argument, exposing both of their respective shortcomings, and left no one unscathed.

She’s done this in all her other novels. Her fans praise such tactics as brilliant and authentic—a diaspora writer’s necessary intervention against the whiteness of English. But it’s not good craft. It makes the prose frustrating and inaccessible. I am convinced it is all in service of making Athena, and her readers, feel smarter than they are.

But best of all, I loved how much the story was so singularly focused on Juniper’s ambitions. There was no looming romance in the background threatening to infringe on the narrative. Juniper never took the chance to lament her lack of a traditional lifestyle, if anything, she scorns it. 

I couldn’t stand to be like Mom and Rory, living their little and self-contained lives, with no great projects or prospects to propel them from one chapter to the next. I want the world to wait with bated breath for what I will say next.

However, like all books, there are shortcomings. I won’t detail them here as they are not relevant to the nature of this particular post and don’t detract enough from the positives to bear mentioning. All in all, Yellowface was a pleasant and welcome surprise and I heartily encourage people to pick it up if you’re interested in reading about women wallowing freely in their dark sides.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix Recap: Hundred Acre Wood (Hunny Slider)

Upon returning to the Hundred Acre Wood, the torn pages become Rabbit’s Howse (that’s actually how it’s spelled in game).

At Rabbit’s Howse, Sora watches as Winnie the Pooh floats on in via balloon, directly towards Eeyore’s house.

In spite of Sora’s and Piglet’s best efforts, Eeyore’s house is once again destroyed, and the balloon drifts away to parts unknown.

Sora checks in to make sure Eeyore and Pooh are okay.

“Gosh, that’s too bad, Eeyore,” Sora notes as Pooh thinks atop the ruins of what was once Eeyore’s house, “After all that work…”

Eeyore insists that it’s alright, since it probably would’ve just fallen apart no matter what.

Piglet offers to fix Eeyore’s house, and while Eeyore is thankful, he doesn’t want to ruin Piglet’s day.

Pooh recognizes Piglet, but not Eeyore.

Sora tries to jog Pooh’s memory, but to no avail.

“What could’ve happened to him?” Sora wonders, completely forgetting that he was there when the Heartless tore apart the book earlier in the game.

(Seriously, I know the recap’s hiatus was long, but SHEESH Sora.)

Piglet has an idea.

“Maybe Pooh’s tummy is so rumbly that it’s making him forget,” he posits, “If we bring him some honey, he’s sure to remember!”

Sora doesn’t sound sure of the idea, but he figures it’s worth a shot.

“Might work,” Eeyore remarks, “But prob’ly not.”

“First, we’re going to need to find some honey,” Sora remarks, before he, Piglet, and Pooh start glancing around.

Eeyore reveals that he knows where they can find some, and tells the others to follow him.

Eeyore, Pooh, and Piglet walk off, and the player is given control of Sora.

Unlike in KH1, you can’t go into Rabbit’s house, as the door is blocked by flowerpots.

Following Eeyore leads to a cutscene where Rabbit adds one more Hunny Pot to a stack by the hole leading into his house, before walking off, at which point Sora and the living stuffed animals round the corner.

Eeyore reveals this is the honey he was talking about, much to Pooh’s joy.

“But, doesn’t this honey belong to someone?” Piglet questions.

With that voice acted cutscene ending, were are then taken to a text box cutscene, where Rabbit returns to find that Pooh’s eaten all of his honey again.

“Pooh, did you eat ALL my honey?”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” Pooh greets, much to Rabbit’s confusion.

Pooh assumes the honey Rabbit’s holding is for him as well, and walks right up to him to take the overflowing Hunny Pot from him to continue eating.

Rabbit had assumed he had finally found a safe spot for the honey (right outside his house, where anyone could stumble on it), while Sora apologizes for taking Pooh here.

Rabbit greets Sora, then goes back to moping.

Pooh still calls Rabbit “Mr. Somebody-I-Don’t-Know” after finishing the newest pot, and Rabbit catches on to the fact that Pooh’s lost his memory, and much like Piglet, decides the issue is that he’s too hungry to remember. He suggests stuffing Pooh full of honey.

Sora points out that Pooh ate all of Rabbit’s honey, while Rabbit reveals he has some emergency rations.

Emergency rations that he hid a little too well.

Piglet’s still optimistic, while Eeyore still isn’t convinced this will work.

Cue the minigame for this world, Hunny Slider.

Sora and Pooh slide on a Hunny Pot throughout the Hundred Acre Wood, collecting Hunny Prizes to increase their score.

If Sora bumps into anything, Pooh will be knocked off and start losing health. Pooh’s health starts at 10, and if it reaches 0, the minigame is failed.

Sora will have to move over to Pooh and use a Reaction Command to catch him.

You can dash quickly to the left or right by holding down the block/dodge button while moving.

If you can catch Gopher, he’ll absorb one hit for you. He rides on balloons throughout the course, and you can grab those balloons with a reaction command. When he absorbs a hit, his balloon will pop, and he’ll go flying away.

To progress the Hundred Acre Wood’s story, you merely need to reach the finish line.

For Jiminy’s Journal, you need to score 8000 points.

Your Hunny Sliding starts you off in a wooded area, occasionally jumping into and “sliding” along the air between the treetops, until you fly up and into the sky.

There, Sora and Pooh fly out of the illustration and start sliding on the page, kicking up letters from the narration and dodging illustrations (the giant letters are not obstacles, but the wooden bundles are).

When you reach the illustration at the end of the page, you fall in, and land atop a snowy mountain, where a giant snowball starts rolling towards you.

The camera faces the snowball, and you must follow the direction of the Hunny Prizes to dodge obstacles and collect more.

More and more snowballs join the chase until Sora and Pooh reach the end, where they get blindsided by one final one and go flying out of the book.

The giant snowball flies out of one illustration and into the one on the next page over.

The snowball is then stuck on the entrance to a giant log, where it deposits Sora and Pooh. The two slide down the inside of the lug, and then down the sheer side of a cliff, before finally reaching the bottom and arriving at Rabbit’s emergency rations.

Back at Rabbit’s Howse, Rabbit tells Pooh to have as much honey as he likes, much to the bear’s gratitude.

Even after he’s eaten every last drop of honey, he still doesn’t recognize Sora.

He walks past the despondent Sora, Piglet, and Rabbit, as well as the basically normal Eeyore, and right up to the hole leading into Rabbit’s Howse.

“My tummy seems to be telling me there’s some hunny right in there,” Pooh remarks, before trying to climb into the hole, much to Sora’s and Piglet’s concern, “Bother. I’m stuck.”

“He still doesn’t remember,” Rabbit remarks as Piglet rushes over to his stuck friend, “What in the world has gotten into Pooh Bear?”

“Whatever it is, we have to help him!” Sora declares.

“Oh yes, and quickly too!” Piglet agrees.

Sora, Rabbit, Eeyore, and Piglet work together to pull Pooh Bear free, sending him flying through the air and landing behind them.

He declares that he’s okay.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you,” Rabbit remarks, “Why just – just look at him! He doesn’t even remember who I am. Perhaps it’s all this blustery wind, or – Or maybe he actually needs more honey! Or he’s – he’s sleepwalking and – and dreaming!”

Pooh walks right up to Rabbit.

“Well, if I am dreaming – which I suppose I could be – I hope that I get to the part where you invite me to lunch again very soon, Rabbit.”

“That’s right, you’re always stopping by for lunch!” Rabbit remarks, “Wait! Pooh! You called me ‘Rabbit’!”

“Well, of course, Rabbit,” Pooh replies.

Piglet asks if Pooh remembers Eeyore.

“Oh, hello there, Eeyore,” Pooh greets, “It’s ever so nice to see you today.”

“Thanks for noticing me, Pooh Bear.”

Pooh turns to an eager Sora.

“And hello to you, too, Somebody-I-Don’t-Know.”

Sora swallows his disappointment, choosing to instead be happy that Pooh remembers Eeyore and Rabbit now.

And with that, Rabbit’s Howse has been cleared.

There’s only one more bit of optional content before visiting Twilight Town: The Cerberus Cup.

See ya there!

-

What in the Crash Bandicoot

[reputayswift]

what do you think Suburban Legends is about?

I think it’s about having a tumultuous and undefined relationship with someone and putting up with red flags because you want to believe you’re meant to end up together. Basically this quote about Style:

This song is about those relationships that are never really done. You always [have] that one person who you feel might interrupt your wedding and be like, “don’t do, it ‘cause we’re not over yet.” I think everybody has that one person who kind of floats in and out of their life and the narrative is never truly over.

But she’s reimagining this relationship as a high school romance—as she’s wont to do!

Here are a few section-by-section explanations and parallels just for fun:

Note. Sometimes I use “Taylor” to refer to Taylor, the songwriter, and sometimes to Taylor, the narrator of the song. I’m not saying Taylor, the songwriter, experienced all of this literally lol 🫶

you had people who called you on unmarked numbers / in my peripheral vision

She’s noticed that the person she’s with often gets mysterious phone calls when they’re together, the “unmarked” implying he’s hiding the contact names from her because he’s pursuing multiple romances at once. (“I heard that you’ve been out and about with some other girl / he said ‘what you heard is true but I can’t stop thinking about you and I’ / I said I’ve been there too a few times”)

I let it slide like a hose on a slippery plastic summer / all was quickly forgiven

Here she’s combining the phrase “let it slide” (allowing someone to get away with something) with the imagery of a Slip ‘N Slide (a flat, plastic water slide you wet with a hose—usually for children). It was meant to be a playful summer romance with looser expectations, so she ignored the calls and didn’t demand exclusivity. (“August slipped away into a moment in time / ‘cause it was never mine” / “it was just a summer thing” / “no rules in breakable heaven but / o, it’s a cruel summer”)

you were so magnetic it was almost obnoxious / flush with the currency of cool / I was always turning out my empty pockets

Someone who’s “flush with cash” has all the wealth they could ever need. Someone’s who’s “flush with the currency of cool,” then, has endless charm that makes relationships easy to obtain and gives them access to anything they desire. In contrast, Taylor is “turning out [her] empty pockets”; the same charm that drew her in makes her feel insecure and inadequate beside him. A “flush” can also refer to blushing with embarrassment or attraction, further showing the effects of his charisma.

I had the fantasy that maybe our mismatched star signs / would surprise the whole school / when I ended up back at our class reunion / walkin' in with you

This is far from the first time Taylor has used high school as a metaphor for the gossip, pressure, and claustrophobia that comes with the spotlight: (“they whisper in the hallway, ‘she’s a bad, bad girl’” / “honey, life is just a classroom” / “you had it figured out since you’re in school / everybody loves pretty everybody loves cool”). High school classmates may question the compatibility of two people based on social standing (“currency of cool”) or zodiac sign the same way tabloids theorize how and when her relationship might crash and burn from the outside. The high school reunion represents an opportunity to show everyone who’s ever doubted her that they were wrong, that their love was fated and they fell back together in the end.

you'd be more than a chapter in my old diaries / with the pages ripped out

With Taylor’s diaristic writing style, she’s often accused of discarding partners and keeping the songwriting material. Again, this fantasy reunion would allow her to silence these detractors.

I am standin' in a 1950s gymnasium / and I can still see you now

A few possibilities here:

Being, physically, in an old gymnasium reminds her of this fantasy and her dashed hopes for their relationship

Taylor’s fantasy takes place in her high school gym, which was built in the 50s

Taylor’s fantasy takes place in a gymnasium in the 1950s, echoing the James Dean x Good Girl dynamic seen throughout 1989

I didn't come here to make friends / we were born to be suburban legends

Despite “let[ting] it slide,” she actually desires a defined, committed relationship. “Suburban legends” is a play on “urban legends,” which could refer to becoming the talk-of-the-town and/or a renowned power couple out of ordinary circumstances (“you and me, we’d be a big conversation”). However, the veracity of “legends” is often disputed, hinting that whispered rumors may be all that’s left of their love in the end. The use of “suburban” also supports the image of a small-scale high school romance.

when you hold me, it holds me together / and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Their chemistry is so strong she knows she’s doomed to always wonder when and if he’ll reappear.

tick-tock on the clock, I pace down your block / I broke my own heart 'cause you were too polite to do it / waves crash to the shore, I dash to the door / you don't knock anymore and I always knew it / that my life would be ruined

Again, she is placing the relationship in a “world that was one block wide,” where impromptu visits are a short walk away. Time is running out to define the relationship, and Taylor has resigned to call it off altogether knowing he’s content to string her along indefinitely. The past tense “broke” versus the present tense “dash” could indicate she’s already called it off and is visiting despite herself. The fact he no longer “knocks” (approaches her independently) confirms her fears that he’s losing interest and she’ll be left to wonder about and pursue him, alone.

[thelonesomequeen]

So this tracking software you have... you can tell who visits your blog at all times? Can you also tell who sends which anon message?

I feel a bit embarrassed because I check your page usually a few times a day; I don't like to follow a lot of blogs because I get overwhelmed by seeing too much on my dash and like to control when I can see things, when I feel like I have more time for it (I know that might sound a bit weird but yeah). Anyway I'm not one of the delulus or stalkers, just like keeping up with the gossip, haha.

I wouldn’t worry about checking our page a few times a day. It’s no different than us popping open the app to check the inbox a few times a day to see what’s come in. The commentary yesterday was more about how a certain someone spends nearly all day every day lurking on this page even when we aren’t posting. At one point, she’d refreshed our page almost 3,000 times in less than 24 hours.

All it shows is an IP address and a city. Like it doesn't show names or any personal information. And it's not perfect by any means, but we can usually figure out where an anon message comes from by process of elimination. But if someone forgot to hit anon once (like a certain someone did) and we tag it on the software in time, we’ll always know it’s that person even when they’re anon or create a new account through the software. We normally don’t use it all that much unless the harassment, death threats, etc. really ramp up. Honestly, we sometimes forget it’s something Queen enabled for us back in the day. But every now and then when things get bad enough, we’ve gotta pull it up. If tumblr isn’t going to do anything to help, sometimes we have to take the steps needed to protect ourselves.

As a matter of fact, since she was called out yesterday, she hasn't visited out blog. Instead she's got one her little friends checking up on us for her.

[arcanescholxr]

“This won’t make me explode will it?”

Elias stretches out in place, not giving any attention to the younger witch flipping through his grimoire. He agreed to let Dwight try out a spell he needed to do for class. It was a glamour spell making someone appear not what they seemed. Perhaps an animal, maybe someone entirely else. In the olden days, witches used these glamour spells to hide in plain sight and escape aggression.

Normally, Elias would be wary about letting Dwight do a spell on him. It wasn’t that Dwight was bad at magic, it was simply that he spent his entire life not being able to control it, and the college was his first time ever learning how to manage it. Since entering the college, he’s gotten better, so what harm could one spell do?

“What are you planning on doing?”

Dwight thumbed through the grimoire until he landed on the certain section of glamour spells. “How about your familiar?” Dwight nods his head over to Crimson, Elias’s wolf familiar. He was sprawled lazily on the floor, paws stretched out in comfort. “That might be an easy thing to do.”

“Why not just change my hair color? That’s way more easier.” Elias suggested.

“But everyone is going to do that!” Dwight pouted. “I really want to impress people, I want to do these cool spells.”

“Wow you are really living up to the Blackburn name.” Elias teased lightly. “Okay then kiddo, give me your best shot.”

Dwight read through the grimoire and gently set it down against a nearby desk. He grabbed his staff and held it up. The young witch closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Soon, the staff started to glow, life omitting from the magical artifact. Elias watched as the carved sigils on the staff started to glow as Dwight concentrated his energy into the spell. Then as quickly as it appeared, a ball of magic came from the spell and hit Elias.

A small cloud came from the other witch and when it cleared, Elias was gone and in place was a black cat.

Dwight gasped, a smile upturning his face. “I did it! I mean, I meant to disguise you as a wolf, but hey! I’ll take a cat.” The young witch knelt down to examine his glamour.

The cat, or rather Elias, appeared to be a black cat. He had green eyes and his tail swished behind him. “Hey not bad kid.”

The glamour could fool the untrained eye but if you disturbed the glamour, it could wash away. Dwight touched the cat, expecting it to disappear and Elias would stand there once again. Expect, he found that Elias had very soft fur.

Dwight touched him again. And again. And the glamour wasn’t going away

“Uhh, are the glamours supposed to be this strong? Or is this a family magic thing?” Dwight asked.

Elias realized around the same time that he felt different more than he looked different. A yowl left the cat. “What did you do to me?!” Elias demanded, running over to the closest mirror, examining himself. The glamour didn’t dissolve.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“I-I don’t know, why isn’t it going away?” Dwight stammered as he watched Elias panicked. The cat hopped over to Dwight’s open grimoire, eyes scanning over the text before looking over at Dwight in what could be described as anger.

“DWIGHT! This is transformation chapters, not the glamour chapters!l

“I-I thought they were the same thing! Don’t they both turn you into something else?”

“One tricks people into thinking you’re something else, the other MAKES you turn into something else!” Elias hissed.

“Oh god, Elias I’m so sorry, I-I’ll fix this.” Dwight grabbed at the grimoire flipping through the pages. There was shuffle of noises, and Dwight looked over to see that Crimson got up from his nap. And he was looking at Elias. And looking at the now cat Elias, hungrily.

Elias, noticing immediately, walked backwards away from his familiar. “C-Crimson, it’s daddy, don’t you recognize me?”

The wolf familiar barked excitedly and made a mad dash for Elias. The cat yowled and ran away, with Dwight in tow.

“No Crimson stop! Bad dog! That’s Elias, bad dog!” Dwight called out as he chased down the two.

October Event: Elias is now a black cat for the month of October.

[m1d-45]

Any advice for writing Genshin fanfics? Asking because I have a lil fanfic side blog and I want to start posting Genshin stuff, but nervous

imma be straight up…. i don’t know what i’m doing-

Seven Points to Success(™️) beneath the readmore

hi :) i have no idea how to tumblr :))

in all honesty, i started posting bc i wanted this as a sort of archive for all the shit i write. i have a habit of deleting docs i don’t like and eventually wishing i didn’t so i could read them, so i figured what better motivator to write and encouragement that no, this isn’t shit, then the internet?

i guess that’s my first point: don’t write for anybody but yourself. write what you want, and then post it in case somebody else likes it. otherwise, you’ll probably end up losing motivation and getting burnt out. write what you want, and don’t be embarrassed to do so.

two: as with any fanfic, get to know the characters! please! the last thing you want is for readers to be flung out of a story because somebody was out of character. the genshin wiki is a goldmine!! the voice lies can give you an idea as to how a character speaks, and their story will let you in on, well, their story.

uhhh three: grammar. this isn’t pointed at you specifically, just genuinely… please refresh yourself on grammar rules. fics could have an excellent premise, but it’s not gonna be read if everything is a run on, with multiple speakers per paragraph.

what not to do:

“isn’t the sunset pretty?” kazuha said his hand brushing yours. “it is”, you agreed leaning into his shoulder. “i knew you’d like it” he smiled.

^ don’t do that. don’t. paragraph changes every time someone new speaks, and commas go before the quote.

in addition, try reading out your dialogue (out loud or in your head doesn’t matter) to check it sounds real, and like it’s in that characters ‘voice.’ kinda goes hand in hand with point 2.

(minor point: while some grammar rules can be bent or a bit fudged—such as my entirely writing in lowercase and excessive use of commas—there are lines that cannot be crossed. that sounds serious but all it means is that some fundamentals need to be followed.)

point 3.5: use a readmore. please. do it. if you’re on mobile, click an empty line, type ‘:readmore:’, then hit enter. idk how to do it on desktop but please. do it. everybody will thank you. i will personally thank you. just type out a title, summary, maybe a paragraph of the fic to get readers hooked, then a readmore. makes everybody happy, and it’s easier to navigate your blog that way.

point four: practice! please please please practice. you will get better with time. trust me. i am sitting you down, handing you a warm drink, and asking you to promise to keep writing. just do it. it’s gonna be bad sometimes. it’s gonna make you cringe when you look back on it. whatever. keep. writing.

obviously don’t burn yourself out, but if you’ve got an idea, open up a doc and start writing. what starts as an idea put to page tends to spiral into fics for me, but even if it doesn’t for you, you have started. you have done the hardest part. you can keep going, i promise, you can always rewrite what you don’t like.

take it from me: i start every fic as a short blurb outlining the idea, and always have to redo the introduction for tumblr to neaten it into something presentable. it doesn’t matter if it isn’t perfect, it just has to work.

if you don’t like your sentence structures, vary the length of your sentences. short. long. semicolons, m dashes, paragraphs in parentheses, it doesn’t matter. if you don’t like your word choices, pop open a thesaurus and find a different word. do not do this for every single word ever, obviously, but if you’re using the same word over and over, it might be better to have some synonyms in mind. additionally, they can make the emotional points stronger—i.e. ‘cried’ vs ‘sobbed’—or emphasize the point you want to make more—like ‘hissed’ vs ‘seethed’.

the point above does not apply to ‘said’. ‘said’ is not dead. obviously use dialogue tags, but also use ‘said’. everybody who says ‘said is dead’ is a liar and a fraud. it is okay to use ‘said’. ‘said’ ‘say’ and ‘says’ are our beloveds.

(minor point: i use apostrophes as quotations as a stylistic choice, but you never use these in technical, grammatically correct writing. “he said ‘purposeful,’ so it wasn’t an accident.” <- that is not a grammatically correct line of dialogue, but it’s how i would stylize it. this is just to let you know that i am not grammatically correct—after all, i type entirely in lowercase because i think it looks better, so…)

point five: tag things! but don’t over tag them. tag whats relevant, tag whats important, and nothing else. i don’t know how to draw the line here bc it can get blurry, but try reading a fanfic and then looking to see what was tagged if this is confusing. tag whats relevant so people can find things, and leave out stuff unrelated so others can scroll through that tag in peace.

(minor point: tag warnings if your piece contains triggering topics. i’ve seen varying opinions as to how obvious these warnings should be, but at the very least some form of tag about it is courteous, in my opinion)

(minor point 2: if you write ‘x reader’s—you didn’t specify, but you asked me for advice, so—then please, please, pretty please, mark your readers gender. it’s ok if you solely write fem! reader, but please just say so. nobody wants to enter a fic only to get hit with the she/her without warning. i didn’t do this for a while because i solely write for a gn reader w/ you/yours pronouns, but i know better now. tag your readers. write what you want, just make sure others can find it too)

point 6: organize. do it. i know it can be annoying but pls. a masterlist saves lives. mine isn’t the best example but hey, it works.

in the same vein, have a navigation post pinned, with stuff like rules, whether requests are open, a link to the masterlist, and whatever else you deem important. again, mine isn’t the best example, but it works. this way, people can easily find your works, and return to where they were if you write a series/ a lot in general.

point seven: take everything i just said with a grain of salt, no matter how small. i am just one guy. i don’t know everything. i don’t even know what i do know. you think i know how i have almost a thousand followers? no. i just write about boys i find pretty and put them online for the internet to read. maybe you write best by solely writing for the community. maybe you work completely off any sort of schedule. i don’t know. i’m not you.

you are you. you know you best. take breaks, take care of yourself, and just go for it. i promise, the worst that can happen is that nothing happens. you’ll be okay. you can do it.

— midas.

(p.s.: sorry if this reads particularly incoherent i have an illness again :) sick three times within three months, call that f2p luck)

[infernalpursuit]

Rex’s Gardening Service here.

Loamy Soil:

I’m really glad that you’re here. You put a lot of work into the community, because you care. And your care is very visible. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit though; there’s been a lot of rain clouds around the RPC this year, but in all of those times, there you are, sending out asks to everybody, stirring up conversation, starting commentary on the dash. I honestly don’t know what we would do without you, and I think we could all take a page out of your book, and contribute to the vibe. Thanks for being my friend Gio!

Sun Light:

Hey, what’s it like to RP literally everybody under the god damn sun, and manage to be REALLY, REALLY good at it consistently? There is SUCH a strong, visible structure in every one of your muses, be it canon, or OC. I love all of them, but I think my favorites (BESIDES GUZMA, since I gush about Guzma all the time), are Silver, Fresa and Kris. I wanna see more from Kris! I’ve been super bad at keeping up with threads lately because of physical pain issues, but every time we write, I really feel like we get a fulfilling interaction; I’m HYPE about what we got brewing for Guzma and Proton. >:)

Drizzle from the watering can:

Which one of your muses would kick everybody else’s ass at Monopoly?

[ REX??? SOBS??? TOP 1 MESSAGES THAT MAKE ME CRY FR??? ;;

i. genuinely dont know what i expected when i liked that and this wasnt it this. got me so hard, and. yea id say that today i really needed that

thank you very much ;u;

...also kris would win without even trying. and also you're right. i need to write her more ]