#and the (lovely) prose got in the way

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in January - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 2

I am still neck-deep in DC fandom this month and the fics have been so so good. Unlike last time, I am too tired to write mini summaries/reviews, so I'm going to feature my favorite quote from each fic instead.

My first DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Floor Plans by @oh-mother-of-darkness (Teen & Up, 1k, 2016) “I really didn’t want to die,” he finished. “I was kind of hoping if I laid here long enough, I would remember what that felt like.”

Losing two brothers in six months takes an emotional toll.

almost right by @bitimdrake (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) He desperately wishes that he didn’t know what Dick’s cheekbone feels like under a gauntleted fist.

Bruce sucks in a breath, hand raising to fix the cowl. Dick flinches back.

but more with love by @danishsweethearts (Teen & Up, 3k, 2022) Dick wakes up one morning, groggy from a dream that he thinks might’ve been about the circus and also about his favourite car and also about how lonely he is, and realizes that he can’t remember what his mother’s voice sounds like anymore.

O Robin, Robin, wherefore art thou Robin?

The Mechanics of a Hug by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 4k, 2017) “You know… that crushing sense of depression? Like,” Dick chews his lip. “It’s. A physical weight. Makes it hard to breathe?” “Yeah,” Tim says, soft. He smiles, wryly. “I sort of hoped you didn’t, though.”

“So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.”

No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 1k, 2020) Tim’s eyes go even wider. “You stole my organs?” “Technically,” Jason chimes in, “the doctors stole your organs. We just gave them permission.”

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?” Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by @birdchildsnest (Teen & Up, 7k, 2020) “Oh my god. Bruce. I can’t even tell if you’re serious. When everybody finally eats the rich—they’re going to eat you first.”

At least, back then, Tim had barely been a teenager. He could almost forgive his own volatility. And he’d been smart enough (scared enough?) not to tell Jack that he didn’t need him. What was his excuse now? Bruce was his dad (at least, in the legal sense), but (surprise, surprise) it turned out that Tim wasn’t any better at being a son. Or Tim and Bruce still have some things to sort through after the adoption.

I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 21k, 2022) He doesn’t want to be loved if being loved is like this.

"I think I'm leaving," Dick whispers. "I think I'm not coming back."

bad boys bad boys (whatcha gonna do) ♫ by @drakefeathers (Teen & Up, 20k, 2014) "They live their lives thinking they can charge through the city with the right to hurt and kill and destroy as many lives as they want. And they do it all without a shred of remorse." “But—” Damian begins, brow furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that like you?”

a Jason and Damian as Batman and Robin AU!! featuring a bunch of graffiti, a rival dynamic duo, and Cat Jason (a cat named Jason).

The Biggest Mistake by @oh-mother-of-darkness (General Audiences, 1k, 2016) “I could ground him anyway, if it would make you feel better.” “He only said it because I called him ‘a garbage can so ineffective it actually became garbage.’”

"You know what really needs to be addressed? Bruce's truly terrible treatment of Damian." -Me, on a daily basis

been a number and a name by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 35k, 2023) “Turns out if you just say ‘spacetime’ until people’s eyes glaze over they don’t really question anything you say. Also, somehow nobody expects me to be able to actually do enough math to explain it.”

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 70k, 2024) "Wait, ugh, you're not my dead dad, right? If I'm getting a dying vision of my dead dad I want a do-over because he suuuuucked."

When Gotham's crooks have to scrub down their lairs, who do they call? Jason Todd, Gotham's first and only underworld crime scene cleaning specialist. He's spent his life dodging the Bat, but after a chance encounter he saves Robin's life. Tim Drake finds himself drawn to the conflicted rogue, and soon Jason becomes Robin's street informant. But they can only stay on opposite sides of the law for so long before something breaks.

3:16 by @wufflesvetinari (Teen & Up, 70k (WIP), 2023) “Try to decouple one thing from the other. I’m proud of you, but ice cream isn’t my grand statement about whether you’ve been good or bad today. Good things are good. Happiness is precious. Sometimes you just want caramel chocolate chip.”

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

wolf-king of rome by @mysterycitrus (Not Rated, 25k, 2024) “You go after Joker, but you don’t kill him, because it’s not about the Joker dying, it’s about Bruce breaking his code for you. It’s about Bruce loving you enough to change himself for the worse. It’s about your idea of grieving.”

Jason doesn’t fear Dick Grayson. Fear itself has changed shape for him, since his return from the Pit - it tastes of dirt in his mouth, of drowning, of fire and blood and laughter, more than a tangible face. Still, he’d be stupid not to be cautious. Dick liked playing on an uneven field, and would do anything to keep him off balance, so he just had to stay focused. That’s the nature of the armistice, both waiting for the other to make a move. It’s like balancing on the head of a pin.

Declensions by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 13k, 2018) “Do not tell them your name. Do as I did to survive. I lied. I have always lied. Make one up. Do not let them have you. Say your name is…is…is…Richard Grayson. Or something. They are going to steal you; do not give them anything to steal.”

“My father,” Dick says, “worked the rope. It cut him. His hands were never clean.”

Passiontide by @bigdvmnhero (Teen & Up, 5k, 2025) Despite its faults, the day had tried to be good. He felt young, like someone's son.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

the time you won your town the race by @silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 4k (WIP), 2022) Tim. Tim is Dick’s. Death sharpens, clarifies these things. Who will receive the body, decide on the funeral, receive condolences, make all the decisions that matter. No one has questioned it, not even Tim’s friends. There’s a terrible clarity about death. If Dick said, let’s burn everything he owned, Alfred would do it.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

door, opening by @cowboysorceror (Mature, 70k (WIP), 2024) Dick, with the keys to every locked door Jason has ever tried to open, tucked inside the cradle of his skull; all of that, snuffed out like a candle.

It’s barely audible, but he knows what he heard. A short, four-note whistle, chirping down – E, C#, then jumping up to A, F#, a little trill on the finish. He waits a moment, head turned slightly towards the dim shapes of storage containers between him and the ramp, eyes straining against the blackness. Long, stretching seconds. There it is again. His gloved hand, prickling with cold, closes into a fist. It’s a wood thrush. A small North American songbird that doesn’t sing at night, doesn’t live in the city. He knows what it means. It means hold, steady, not yet. It means wait for me, I’m behind you.

[itsladykit]

Realized the other day (while listening to a podcast about a book) that writing beautifully isn't really my aim. I don't aim to be quotable. I don't aim for beautiful prose.

I want to be functional. I want the words to disappear so thoroughly that my readers can see and hear my characters. As a writer, I want to be nearly invisible.

And you know what? That realization gave me some peace and cured some of my feelings of inadequacy.

[da-janela-lateral]

At this point I don't think Teruki's parents are exceptionally horrible individuals (long-term psychological consequences still happen in cases in which the abuse isn't considered particularly severe + everyone is capable of harm, even "good" people), but they weren't the best, without a doubt.

Okay, they got too busy with their jobs and had to move overseas to progress on their career. External circunstances. Things that happen. They left their son behind, but that could always be justified by hectic schedules of ever-moving businesspeople. How else could he have a stable routine to focus on his future? They're just busy. Teruki hasn't seen them in long but that's not their fault, right?

They cared for Teruki, didn't they? His parents made sure that there was someone home to watch him whenever they were far away. It was inevitable that there would be times he would be with himself, though. But that's not bad! It only became a problem once those strange espers tried to take hold of him on the street. And even then, they were so weak he could barely give them the title of a psychic. It wasn't an issue that it happened more and more and there was no one to intervene. Or that Teruki had to torture descriptions of "Claw organization" and "brainwashed soldiers" out of these grownups to know what they wanted with him. His parents couldn't know. Why should they know? Better put: what could they do?

What could a normal person do against someone with psychic powers?

It was Teruki's choice to live by himself. He could manage it all. Contrary to the other kids, he was an independent and responsible young man who could be trusted with a house and money. Such a great boy. His parents were so proud to have someone as competent as him as a son, one which wouldn't mean hard work for them. One who always had the best grades and was the soccer team's best player and was the best student on the town's best middle school.

Of course they would suddenly allow Teruki to live on his own. Any parent with a child like him would, wouldn't they? Anyone on their right mind and who knew the slightlest about him would be sure he could do it.

And even if this "Claw" organization scared him a bit and he felt a bit lonely at times, it wasn't an issue. Issue would mean it was an obstacle - which it wasn't, as Teruki did perfectly on his own. His parents believed on so. That's why he had his own apartment at 12 on the first place. Teruki was so wonderful at this. It wasn't horrible if they didn't answer his calls, because they were so busy and he wasn't a little kid who depends on his mommy. None of this was their fault. He shouldn't bother them or himself over this.

Because they cared, right? On the end, it was only a pile of tragic circunstances and coincidences no normal person could act against. It was part of life as someone special like him. He couldn't expect that his parents could change any of this, and this made his loneliness the best possible choice. It was obvious that they would support such a decision.

What would a normal person do against someone with psychic powers?

[seajestic]

Recently read hell take us, heaven can wait by KivaEmber. Am now obsessed with the idea of Demi-Fiend Akechi Goro. Sometimes all you gotta do to solve your daddy issues is to just nearly die and then get turned into a half demon in the most traumatizing way possible.

If you wanna read it, link is below the read more

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Where The River Meets The Soul

cosy-ish fantasy, romance

follows a herbalist who decides to find a magical bloom with healing properties which has become rare in recent years, after her sister is diagnosed with a terminal illness

she travels to the city, and along with a friend and an heiress, discovers that reuniting two reincarnated ancient soulmates will restore the bloom

but when she encounters corruption and betrayal, and finds herself getting feelings for one of the soulmates, things get more complicated

ace MC, genderfluid LI

[necromancy-savant]

In undergrad I took a Shakespeare class with the head of the department and he mentioned in class that he had a first folio facsimile in his office and we could come see it any time if we wanted, so the first time I was there to discuss a paper it took everything in me not to blurt out "ravioli ravioli give me the folioli"

[sundancedyke]

i would have been obsessed with this at like 17

[raiiny-bay]

there isn’t a single universe in which dhes graduates from college…

[eyeballsoup7310]

Hell yeah it is baby!!

[fingertipsmp3]

Don’t get me wrong I like purple prose, but there’s a point at which you’re just baffling me on purpose

[aquynh]

im now 50% through fsp and its like well, when i had the novel pitched to me initially i was expecting something kind of more serious than what i got….but idk what i expected when i already dont like entertainment industry focused plotlines

[lesbiansaaviik]

Can I be beautifully honest with you guys? I hate 91 Whiskey and So Says the Sword

[sincerelybubbles]

HEY *tap tap tap* HEY IM HEARTBROKEN NOW

if you love me, keep it to yourself | s.r.

[previously]

in which Spencer gifts you a necklace for your birthday and you begin to question why you continue to push him away

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (kinda flangsty) content warnings: blowing smoke part THREE, kissing, starcrossed lovers, spencer being interested in other girls, jealous!reader, maeve, reader has hair that covers her neck (?), circa s10, dancing, reader's birthday but the weather/time of year isn't mentioned word count: 2.24k a/n: i meant to post this earlier but i got distracted by animal crossing. my bad.

You shifted your feet again, wary of your heels slowly digging into the dirt behind Rossi’s house—mansion. You folded and unfolded your hands, waiting for something to happen while everyone’s attention was on you.

In true BAU fashion, they’d thrown you a birthday party despite you insisting that you didn’t want one, which left you in a party dress, sitting on the outdoor furniture and watching the way the stars glimmered this far away from the city. Exhaustion wore at you like waves, waiting for an acceptable time to abandon the festivities.

They surrounded you. All of your friends minus Kate, who had gone home early to spend time with Meg, and yet, it still felt like there was a piece of you missing. Something inside of you had been chiseled away with an ice pick, and the raw flesh stung with fresh hurt when Spencer stood in front of you.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked you softly, providing you with a false sense of protection from prying eyes. Spencer’s brown eyes glowed beneath the warm string of lights, studying your appearance as if it was the first time he’d seen you all night.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, feeling cold despite the heated patio you were sitting on. “No one else is dancing, Spence,” you told him, watching as he took your rejection for what it was.

Spencer turned from you, walking along the path to the gazebo, minding the gaps between the stones as he hung his head. You watched him smooth his suit jacket as he looked up at the same sky that you’d been keeping an eye on, waiting for it to fall.

Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you glanced over to see Dave giving you a disappointed look. “Now,” he started, “I hope I’m not overstepping when I saw this, but if you keep holding him at arm’s length, eventually he’s going to walk the other way.”

You slid further down on the chair you were perched on. He was overstepping. Overstepping so far that his foot was going to slide off of the edge of the world. Part of you wondered if you were watching it happen right now, if Spencer was finally turning and walking away from you for good, but as you eyed him from the patio, he peeked over his shoulder, looking to see if you had moved to follow him.

That was your cue. Pushing yourself to your feet, you wrapped your shawl over your shoulders and followed the cobblestone path that would lead you to Spencer. Your heels tapped gently on the old stone until you halted at the entrance of the gazebo, holding a hand to the worn wood column to keep yourself steady. “Hey,” you greeted, an involuntary smile flying to your face when his head lifted at the sound of your voice.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered. Your proximity to the team was no longer a concern of yours, but the two of you still chose to speak in quiet truths. Using small voices sometimes seemed to quell the gravity of your situation. Two people in love who would never be able to find their way together.

You wanted to move on from stolen kisses in bars and tears shed in your apartment, but every time you looked at him, you were struck with the memory of years past. You thanked him, conscious of the tentative peace between you. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and his hair had grown considerably since the last time you stood opposite each other like this, but he was still Spencer.

His tie was crooked, and you put your hands behind your back as if to physically restrain yourself from fixing it for him. Besides, there was something about his crooked tie that made him undeniably Spencer—it was so endearing that it built a pit in your chest. “I got you something,” he spoke again, digging in his back pocket for something.

Your breath caught in your throat when he produced the dainty chain; a simple necklace dangled from his fingers and without giving it a second thought, you lifted your hand and took the chain from him. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, wondering where Spencer acquired the skill of picking out jewelry.

“I don’t see any dancing,” Rossi heckled from the patio, and as if he was controlling you, the two of you took a step toward each other.

You were toe to toe; goosebumps spread across your skin while Spencer’s hand splayed across the small of your back. You set your free hand on his shoulder, the other one dedicated to clutching your new necklace as if your life depended on it. “We don’t have to dance,” he offered to you, still whispering as if Rossi had bugged the gazebo.

Shaking your head, your face warmed when someone turned the volume up and the rest of the team retreated to the indoors. “You like to dance,” you countered, swaying gently with the music.

Every bit of coordination that Spencer lacked with sports, he made up for with dancing. His mom taught him when he was a kid. At least, that’s what he’d told you years ago. “I know I do, but… I was really just looking for a reason to get you away from everyone so I could give you your gift.”

Squeezing his shoulder, you smiled despite yourself and shrugged, “I like dancing with you, Spence.” You wanted to slip something in about being a good friend, but you bit your tongue. He’d just given you a necklace, and you knew better than to push him away now.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in response, “We could dance all the time if you’d go out with me.”

Your steps faltered, you would’ve tripped over your own feet if Spencer wasn’t there, keeping you upright. “I thought we were past this,” you said after regaining your balance.

“I never will be,” he responded immediately. “Can I be honest?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked up at him, “If you must.”

“When you told me ‘not right now’ in that bar last year, I didn’t anticipate it taking this long,” he told you, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t mind waiting for you, but part of me was worried that you forgot.”

“I remember,” you assured him. “I told you I’d let you know, and I will.”

Spencer laughed nervously, the gold glimmering in his irises under the faint lights of the gazebo, “You wouldn’t happen to have a timeline for me, would you?”

Your smile returned to your face; he pulled you closer to him with the flat of his palm on your back. “How was your date with that surveillance agent?” You spun the conversation around, acting as if you didn’t remember Dorian’s name. They’d gone out for coffee, and you recalled being in a particularly rotten mood that day.

He hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

“Oh,” you feigned surprise, “Why not?”

“She’s not you,” he answered easily, maintaining his façade that you were the only girl in the world—at least as far as he was concerned.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re going to have a hard time finding someone to go out with if that’s your prerequisite.” You tried to resist the flattery that his words brought to you. Your heart clenched at your brain’s outright refusal to accept him.

He shrugged, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Your feet stopped, pausing the dance, “Spencer…”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “I’m tired of dancing around each other.”

Looking around, you spotted the bench in the gazebo. You nodded in the structure’s direction, “Did you want to sit down then?”

He glanced over his shoulder to the bench, “I was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah,” you breathed. “Well, how do you think we should move forward?” You let him lead you over to the bench, minding the way the curtains of the house moved—a sign that your friends were eavesdropping.

His eyes flickered down to your hand. Your fist was clenched around the necklace that he had gifted you. “You could start by wearing the necklace,” he proposed, taking your hand in his.

Spencer cradled your fist, peeling your fingers away from your palm one at a time before revealing the pendant. “Why don’t you put it on me?”

Plucking the chain from your hand, you turned away from him, lifting your hair from the back of your neck so he could have a clear view of the clasp. His fingertips touched your bare skin ever so slightly when he released the necklace.

You were so close. You were so close to calling everything off and telling him you were ready, but when you turned around and met his eyes, you saw it again. You looked into his eyes and saw the terror. The vague sense of haunting that had been there since the day Maeve died still bloomed in his irises.

You’re not sure why you spoke again, but he had given you something. You felt inclined to return the favor. “Do you know the first time I knew I was in love with you? I mean really knew that I was in love… It was the case right before Emily joined the BAU—the first time. There were two killers operating in St. Louis at the same time, and you had found their communication in the classifieds. It seems so insignificant looking back at it now, but there was something about the way you explained it to me. I realized it wasn’t just that I was impressed by your brain, but I was in love with you.”

He's silent for a long time, and you know why. You’ve never told him you loved him. There had never been a moment before this where you’d truly confessed your love for him, and yet, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. “That was eight years ago,” he croaked, his voice suffocated by turmoil.

“I know,” you breathed. Your voice was so soft that you weren’t sure he’d hear you, but he did. Spencer always heard you.

He took a deep breath, looking at you frantically like he was waiting for you to take it back, “You never said anything.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“I—” he faltered over his feelings. “I wish you’d said something to me years ago. We’ve missed so much time together.” His words implied that there was a new sense of togetherness now. It wasn’t as easy as being in love with each other, you knew that.

Shaking your head, you dropped a hand to the bench you were sitting on, the wood soft with years of occupants. “I don’t know, Spencer,” you shrugged, tracing the woodgrain with your fingertips. “I’ve seen the other girls over the years. I never thought you’d be interested in reciprocating my feelings.”

He frowned, “Other girls?” His hand caught yours on the bench, enveloping your hand with his warm, nimble fingers.

“JJ, Lila, Austin, Maeve,” you listed, redirecting your focus to the ridges of his hand. You wanted to commit each crease and swirl to memory before he inevitably dropped your hand.

Surprise lit up his face, cocking his head to the side while he looked at you patiently, “None of them are you.”

She’s not you. None of them are you. His words echoed around the confines of your skull like a ping-pong ball. “You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It means everything to me,” he insisted. “You mean everything to me.”

His ice pick had returned, chiseling at your resolve like you were running out of time. “They’re just words,” you said desolately, the dainty chain around your neck applying pressure like shackles on your shoulders.

“Can I ask you a question?” As expected, he withdrew his hand from yours, leaving your palms empty, begging for more.

You hummed, bringing your hands back to your lap, “Like that’s ever stopped you before.���

Slowly, he slid off of the bench, kneeling in front of you while he took both of your hands in yours. “You’ve built your walls up so high, how do you know if you’re protected or imprisoned?”

Freezing, you gave yourself a moment to process his words before you tilted your head down in shame, “I’m not entirely sure anymore.” Your confession came as a surprise to both of you. You swallowed thickly, leaning over to be closer to him, “but I think I’d like you to kiss me again.”

Not needing to be told twice, Spencer craned his head forward and pressed his lips to yours. He rose to his feet, cradling your cheeks, he held you like water in his hands. He kissed you and it was just as sweet as it had been the first time, pulling away slightly, he whispered I love you against your lips.

That was all it took for you to drag yourself away from him. Three words that you’d waited a decade for, and all you could get yourself to say was, “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” He asked breathlessly.

Frantically, you stood up and smoothed out your dress. “It will be,” you offered. You headed back to the house, leaving Spencer—and your heart—behind.

"All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire." - Edgar Allen Poe

[valeriehalla]

I have gotten a lot of messages saying that they really love the presentation of CURSE/KISS/CUTE. Often the commenter in question can’t say what exactly it is about the formatting that they appreciate, but that it just reads well and looks good. Well!!! Allow me to bare my wealth of secret knowledge for you once and for all:

I sorta just did some research into book typography...?

Here’s something you should know about web development, alright: typography on the web is really, really bad. The tools we have at our disposal—HTML and CSS—are incredibly powerful, but they are set up to fight you every step of the way towards Good Typography. When you know what you’re looking for, you can fix all the common issues quickly and easily. But it’s not easy to know what to look for, because

problematic typography is overwhelmingly the norm on the web, and

good typography is invisible.

Here’s a screenshot from CURSE/KISS/CUTE episode 0:

Now, I don’t want this post to come across as prescriptive. It is not my intention to tell you, “This is what good typography looks like, so follow my lead exactly.” I made a lot of choices with the typography of my web novel: many of those choices would not make sense in other contexts. What I want to convey to you is what those choices are, so that you will know they’re available to be made.

I mentioned that the web “fights you” when it comes to good typography. What do I mean by that? Well, check this out:

This is how that passage of text renders “by default.” In other words, this is how a web browser would render that text without any input from me about what styles to apply. It kind of sucks ass! But it also looks pretty familiar, right? This is not that far off from how a lot of websites—even websites full of prose (looking at you, AO3)—render text.

I think the most illustrative thing to do here would be to walk you through my thought process and show you, step by step, what decisions I made to turn this unstyled text into the styled version you see in the novel.

So, first things first:

1. We have got to shrink that text column.

Computer monitors... are wide. They are wider than they are tall. They are so wide, and they have so many pixels. This means you can fit a lot of characters on them. If you wanted, you could just have a wall of characters from the left side of the screen all the way to the right side. Talk about efficient!!

You should never, ever, ever do this.

This is one choice that I actually will make a prescriptive statement about, because it’s supported by quite a lot of research: fairly narrow text columns are more legible. Specifically, research seems to support the idea that a width in the range of 50 to 70 characters per line is the most comfortable for people to read*. Every font is different, so it takes a little doing to turn that “characters” figure into a pixel measurement; I went with 512 CSS pixels for the maximum width of my text column:

Isn’t that just so much nicer to read already?

*A commenter reminds me that I’d be remiss not to point out that the research on column width legibility isn’t completely conclusive. You do want to limit the width of your text columns, but going over the 70 character-per-line recommendation isn’t necessarily the end of the world, and you might have good reasons to do so. I did not: as mentioned, one of my goals was to mimic book-style typography, and books by nature have fairly restrained column widths, on account of they’re books.

2. Picking a font.

I’m not going to give you the blow-by-blow on how I decided what font to use. The short story is that I asked some designers, and one of the recommendations I got was the free font Crimson Pro, which I took a liking to immediately:

It’s just an all-around attractive serif font, but one thing I really like about it for use in a novel is its highly-visible quotation marks. They’re just kinda jumbo! They’re real big! Easy to see! In a novel, those things aren’t just ornamentation. It makes a great deal of practical sense for them to stand out just a bit. It also has a fairly large x-height, unlike a lot of the more traditional options, which is good for legibility on a computer screen.

3. Adjusting the line-height

Web browsers default to a line-height of about 1.2em, which, as you can probably tell, is quite cramped. If you go and Google “optimal line height for legibility”, you’ll get a number of results right off the bat suggesting 1.5em. Sounds good! Let’s do that:

Well... hmm. That’s definitely an improvement, but between you and me, it actually looks a bit too spacey to my eyes. I wonder why?

I’ll cut to the chase: the 1.5em recommendation makes some assumptions about the font you’re using. In Arial, the letter “A” is about 0.6em tall; in Crimson Pro, it’s about 0.5em. That means that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to spacing your lines, because different fonts have different amounts of empty space baked in. How annoying!

Let me tell you something about the kind of nerd I am. When I had this realization, I grabbed some books off my shelf and pulled out a literal micrometer. I started measuring the line-heights against various font features to see if there were any patterns I could spot in professional typesetting. Here’s what I found:

Almost every book on my shelf spaces lines such that the distance between one baseline and the next is about three times the x-height. How cool is that? I clapped my hands like a seal when I put this together.

Adjusting the line-height to match what I observed in the wild gives us this:

It’s a subtle difference, but to my eyes it feels just right. It’s almost like magic!

4. Paragraph spacing...

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Probably the most controversial choice I made with CURSE/KISS/CUTE’s typography was to opt for book-style paragraph indentation rather than web-style paragraph spacing—like so:

I did this for a few reasons:

It’s what I’m used to. I’ve read a lot of books, and this is just the way that books are formatted. I think for something aspiring to the title of “novel”, there’s value in making it look the way a reader probably expects a novel to look.

A novel has a lot of paragraph breaks in it. A paragraph in, say, an encyclopedia entry might go on for half a page or more; whereas it is unusual for a paragraph in a modern work of narrative prose to run for more than a handful of sentences, especially in any scene with dialogue. Because paragraph breaks are so common, spacing between paragraphs in a novel results in a lot of wasted space. Also, subjectively speaking, the additional space seems to me to lend an undue amount of weight to paragraph breaks. I’m just starting a new thought; there’s no need for a 21-gun salute, you know?

Having said that, here are some good reasons you might decide not to do paragraph indentation anyway:

Doing it right requires a bit of extra legwork. Notice how the very first paragraph in the image above has no indentation. That’s because it’s the start of a new section, and the first paragraph in a section traditionally goes unindented. This is an easy detail to miss, and it can be difficult to wrangle CSS into doing it for you automatically.

Web users don’t expect it. For the first decade of the web’s existence, there was no good way to do paragraph indentation; by the time CSS rolled around and made it easy, paragraph spacing had already become the norm. And while CURSE/KISS/CUTE may be a novel, it is also, specifically, a web novel!

But it’s my house and I get to make the rules, so I went with indentation. Incidentally, there seems to be a dire lack of research into the question of whether indentation or spacing is more legible for readers—but the data that does exist appears inconclusive at best. So, the choice really does come down to vibes.

5. The tragedy of justification.

You’ll note that one way in which I did not make my web novel look like a paper novel is the text alignment. It’s un-justified: the right margin is ripsaw-ragged.

This is because it is not possible to justify text on the web.

Oh, you can try. Look right here: there’s a CSS property for it and everything. Just turn on “text-align: justify” and...

Nightmare! The interword spacing on that first line is almost as wide as the indentation!

Reader, I’m afraid that your web browser is simply too dumb. That’s not the browser’s fault: robust algorithms for justifying text without creating these distractingly huge gaps between words have existed for many decades, and modern computers are powerful enough to run them in real time with little performance impact. It’s just, uh—nobody has ever bothered to implement them into web browsers. It is the damnedest thing.

I tried, I really did. You can mitigate this problem a bit if you enable automatic hyphenation, but browsers are unfortunately also kind of dumb at hyphenating. Firefox, for example, will refuse to hyphenate any word containing a capital letter, so any sentence with a lot of proper nouns in it is a lost cause. I tried manually inserting soft hyphens with a text preprocessor I wrote myself, but still these overjustified lines plagued me: when the text column narrows, for example on a phone, even hyphens can’t save you. The line-breaking algorithm is simply too naïve to optimize for well-justified text, and that’s not something you can fix as a web developer.

As a result, my heavy-hearted recommendation is to never use text justification. It’s just too distracting.

6. And then some extra stuff just for me

I added drop-caps because it looks neat and I made the ellipses spacier because I think it looks good when it, uh, when they are spacier. I think that looks pretty good that’s just my opinion though.

That’s all! Hope you learned something bye!!!

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.

[omagpies]

Recently saw your roleswap AU and I’m loving it! I have a few things I’m curious about:

1. So by my understanding Anya failed her flight certification 8 times and PE was cheap enough to be fine with that? Did she never pass? Makes sense, I’m just kinda clarifying lol

2. Does nurse!Curly also feel like he wants to try something different in his career like in canon? Did he also not have enough savings after PE went under? Did he go to nursing school or did he also fail his entrance exams?

3. What’s Daisuke’s story in this AU? Did his mom push him to go to trade school to become a mechanic? Did he do that on his own and his mom suggested working with PE?

4. It’s so interesting to me that Anya tried E-dating after getting back to earth and seemingly got rejected based on her appearance, poor girl :( but I’m kinda wondering about Curly’s perspective on this, did he have feelings for Anya while she was E-dating and just sucked it up for her?

5. I’m kinda curious about Curly and Anya’s relationship pre-crash, was it a little bit flirty like in canon? Did Anya try to approach Curly with what Jimmy was doing or was the blackmail powerful enough for her not to say a peep to anyone?

haha gonna answer all of these at once! but first here's something on 5 :)

she never passed the Official Legit certification but passed what counts for it in PE (so, certified only to fly PE vessels) and kind of sees it as her last chance to make it as a pilot. still hopes to get properly certified one day, working at PE to make the money for simulator hours and exam fees

curly actually went to a med school on a football scholarship but had to drop out about two or three years in because he started prioritising studies over practice and the money got pulled. used the money he had left to switch tracks and certify as a nurse. joined PE because space travel sounded fun but is pretty bored of it because he doesn't get to do much on a regular haul. he isn't quite as existential in this regard as canon curly because working in a people-oriented nurturing profession actually makes him feel useful, he just wishes he could be more useful ya kno? has enough savings to be able to rent a place and find a job at a hospital, so overall it all kinda works out for him if you don't count all the horrors

i think in this au daisuke's mother actually pushed him to intern as a mechanic a few years earlier than in canon, which is how he met swansea (pilot with engineering background) and got inspired enough to go into trade school. by the time the events of the au begin he is a certified mechanic though not with a lot of experience :"3

curly has had the biggest fattest crush on anya almost the entire time of knowing her (i feel like he kinda spawns in already in love with anya), so her E-dating phase is kinda rough on him (like, Very rough; mans full on wasting away from his heart getting broken in tiny ways a hundred times a day), but he is king of denying himself and putting others first so he does his best to be A Good And Supportive Roommate about it. he even tries to date other people too! but with not nearly as much gusto and it never goes far. he is too whipped

there was definitely Something. i'll expand on it a bit more in a later ask i got about captain anya, but the tldr is that she goes to great pains to Act Professional and curly is never in a million years going to confess anything. and then jimmy's arrival blows it all up and any kind of romance plummets down everyone's lists of priorities. and anya never tells curly anything -- this is her problem to deal with, and with him being jimmy's friend there is a tiny part of her that is afraid of not being believed even though she overall thinks he's a good guy :")

anya writes all kinds of things, but it's all fiction. she dabbles in poetry, but her two main points of focus in prose are a) long meandering stream of consciousness type of pieces that span generations and have very convoluted plots and interpersonal relations (think woolf's waves meets one hundred years of solitude), inspired largely by the time she had to lie there and do little more than drift in and out of delirium and think, and b) shameless smut that starts out as your run of the mill romance and suddenly changes genres halfway through (funny how life can just Change all at once huh). she never really gains a Massive audience but does have a considerable number of dedicated fans of both categories

(more roleswap au)