#that you’d have spent finishing another novel

[mxtxfanatic]

Do you have any recommendations for danmei novels that are at all like SVSSS in tone? Or MDZS?

I have already read TGCF, but while I enjoyed it, the extended downward spiral without as many mental breaks from cutting to happier times proved to me a bit much for me.

I also tried 2ha but bounced off it hard as the POV character is just too unlikable at the start (even knowing why he's like that courtesy of tumblr spoilers couldn't save the unpleasantness of his POV).

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think I’ve read any book that quite hits the same spot as svsss while having similar quality. The only novel I can think of is that’s similar in feel is Peerless Immortal Surrounded by Demonic Disciples, but the writing quality kinda sucks. Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know feels like it has a similar comedic tone to svsss, but that’s about it with the similarities. For mdzs recs, First-Class Lawyer, Copper Coins by the same author, and Record of the Missing Sect Master comes closest. These have MCs that are most similar in personality to Wei Wuxian without also having that extended downward spiral with minimal breaks that you mentioned.

The thing about mxtx’s writing is that I think her most unique skill amongst the writers of cnovel I’ve read with serious topics is her ability to weave humor into dark moments of the story to give reprieve from the pressure without completely breaking the momentum. A lot of stories either end up dropping the humor as the plot gets serious or adding too much humor, causing the somber moments to seem goofy and unserious. However, if you want stories that are mostly humorous with a few moments of somberness expertly woven in, then I’d suggest Ascending, Do Not Disturb and The Times Spent in Pretense.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Remus Lupin x Potter!Reader

Part 2 • Part 3

Summary: the boys try to guess who Remus is seeing after finding a pink bow tied to one of his bookmarks

Warning: oral fem receiving

—————————————————————————

Remus couldn’t help but to fall in love with you. You’d always been sweet, always too pure for this world. When you were kids, he couldn’t help but want to protect you. It was in all the boys instincts to protect their best friend’s little sister. But as you got older, you and Remus began to spend time together without James. Your relationship truly started last summer at Potter Manor, when you and Remus started an unofficial book club when the boys would play quidditch for hours outside. You guys just had so much in common, and you were more comfortable being around Remus than any other boy besides James. So the two of you spent a lot of time in the library, reading books together and getting into heated debates about writing styles. It didn’t take long for his eyes to wander to your lips when you smiled at him, and it didn’t take long for you to notice. Before you knew it, the two of you were sneaking off to your room while the boys played quidditch, and locking the door behind you.

So that’s how Remus found himself with his face buried between your thighs in the middle of lunch hour. You’d been reading a novel with his head in your lap, innocently trying to finish your chapter before class. But Remus couldn’t constrain himself. He didn’t care if you had class in twenty minutes, you could go with your cunt pooling under your skirt.

“Remi,” you whined, pulling his hair into a fist. He hummed into your core, fingers massaging your thighs as you clenched around his head.

“Shh, be a good girl and let me finish,” he said hastily, before diving back into your folds. He let his tongue ruin you as you squirmed on his bed. Your shirt was bunched up now, buttons undone and tits pulled out of your bra. Remus chuckled as he thrust two fingers into you. He loved seeing you come undone. You were always perfect, also so innocent. It made Remus hard thinking about being your first, being the only one to make you come. He ground himself down into the mattress as he felt you begin to tighten up under his tongue. He almost told you to be quiet but his mouth was occupied. You shuddered and let out a whiny moan as you came onto his mouth. He grabbed onto your waist as he kissed your cunt and drank every drop you gave him. As you began to relax, he brought himself over you, littering you body with kisses.

“Rem,” you chuckled, “now you made yourself all worked up.” You grabbed hold of him under his pants. He was rock hard and it made your pussy throb just thinking about it inside you. He chuckled and kissed you.

“I’m saving it for you later. Wanna go on an adventure tonight?” Remus smirked, rubbing his thumb on your hip. You nodded eagerly. You wished you could just come to his dorm at night but it wasn’t exactly possible considering your brother slept three feet away from Remus.

“What time is it?” You asked, suddenly remembering you had class. Remus looked at his watch and sucked through his teeth.

“Uh, time for you to go love,” Remus chuckled as he watched you scramble out of his bed and fix your clothes.

“Remus! I told you I was going to be late, ” you scolded him, grabbing your bag and hurriedly putting your tie on. He only chuckled and gave you a kiss on the head as you ran out the door. He took his time getting ready for his class, which involved having a smoke until his dick got soft again. Remus spent the rest of the day in class thinking about you, daydreaming about how you would look tonight when he fucked you. Like a ghost wandering the castle halls, Remus brought himself back up to the dorm after his last class, immediately wanting to have another smoke. James and Sirius were already by the window when he came in.

“There he is Pads,” James chuckled, ashing his cig on the window sill, “go on and ask him.” Sirius’ brows were furrowed and he looked quite mad. Remus was confused until he saw your book in his hand.

“And what the fuck is this?” Sirius asked, shoving the book into Remus’ chest. Remus felt his heartbeat speed up. He was never one to enjoy lying.

“My book, you prat,” Remus quipped, nodding his head towards James to pass him a smoke. James looked thoroughly amused. Sirius let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Your book my ass! What is this then?” Sirius held up your bookmark decorated with a cute little pink bow, just like the one you wore in your hair. Remus was glad that James wasn’t the brightest because anyone who spent time with you knew you loved to tie your hair up with that exact shade of pink. Okay, maybe only Remus noticed, but he couldn’t help that you looked absolutely adorable with it.

“Erm, a bookmark,” Remus tried to play it off, focusing more on his smoke than looking either of the boys in the face. He’d been dreading James finding out, and wanted the right moment to do so. When you were ready to tell him.

“Yeah we can see that,” James laughed again, “but who’s the girl?”

Remus’ heart sank into his stomach. Fuck. James had her same smile, her eyes too. He couldn’t lie to his best friend, especially when it was his little sister he’d been fucking.

“I, um,” Remus choked on his words. Sirius squinted his eyes in scrutiny.

“I knew you’d been acting strange! All happy recently, I knew you had to have been getting some,” Sirius grumbled.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Remus said quickly, unable to stop himself. It truly wasn’t like that, he was head over heels for you. You were so much more than a fuck to him, even if he did think about fucking you all day long. James eyes lit up.

“Moony, are you in love?” He clapped hands together and smiled, “why didn’t you tell us? Remus! Who is she?” James was positively beaming with excitement now, looking to Sirius who looked a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know,” Remus cleared his throat, placing your book down on his bed. This was the truth at least. She didn’t want James knowing, mostly because she presumed he would be insanely controlling over their relationship. Remus wasn’t sure she would be wrong about that.

“But, we won’t tell anyone. We won’t, right Sirius?” James pleaded. Sirius rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement. Remus just chuckled uncomfortably and loosened his tie. He felt like he was choking in there.

“Sorry guys, I can’t break the ladies trust,” Remus turned away from the boys and started to change, effectively shutting down the conversation. Now, both Sirius and James were grumbling to themselves, unhappy with their lack of gossip. Remus let out a breath. That was the first time you two had slipped up. You’d have to be more careful.

“Well, if you seriously won’t tell us,” James sighed dramatically, “do you want to go get dinner?” Remus laughed and agreed, happy to spend time with the boys not thinking about his terribly kept secret. The three of them waltzed down to the great hall, making loud and obnoxious jokes at any opportunity they could find. Remus wasn’t quite sure how you and James were related sometimes, you seemed years older in maturity. Once they reached the Gryffindor table, the boys immediately sat out and began to grub. A few minutes in, James eyes lit up towards the entrance hall.

“Hi, Y/N,” James smiled and waved with food in his mouth. Remus heard you chuckle.

“Hi, Jamsie. You’re disgusting,” you stuck your tongue out at James as you passed by the boys. Remus turned around just enough to see your beautiful face and your perfect hair tied up with a pink bow. Shit. In the split second that Remus had before he turned to face James, he prayed to any and every god he could think of, hoping that James hadn’t noticed your bow. His reddening face and clenched jaw told Remus that he had, in fact, noticed. Sirius looked dumbstruck, shaking his head slowly at you as James stood up from the table.

“Y/N. Come here right now,” James growled, causing multiple heads at the table to turn. You stopped smiling and looked between James and Remus. Oh fuck.

[rafesbabygirlx]

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 “𝙸’𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍” 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚢

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚔𝚢𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 (𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐)

𝙰/𝚗- 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎. 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜! 💗

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍

It was late in the evening, the golden glow of the sunset fading into the soft twilight spilling through the window. You sat cross-legged on your shared bed, phone clutched in your hand, grinning like a fool. Drew had been away for a few days, caught up in press junkets and interviews for Queer, the film that had just solidified his status as a powerhouse actor. It was all anyone could talk about, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

For the last three years, you had been Drew’s partner in every sense of the word—his anchor, his confidant, and his biggest cheerleader. And now, seeing the world finally recognize what you’d known all along, you felt a swelling pride that had butterflies stirring in your stomach. It was intoxicating.

You had spent hours scrolling through Instagram, TikTok, Twitter—hell, you even Googled him to read every article, fan comment, and review. Some may think it’s obsessive. No. It was love. And joy. And pride.

Then, a curious link to Tumblr caught your eye. Clicking it, you discovered a treasure trove of fanfiction. Some of it was about his Outer Banks character, Rafe, but most of what you found centered on him. The words were vivid, raw, and dripping with the kind of unfiltered adoration you felt but never could articulate.

You devoured the stories, one after another. Heat crept up your neck as the authors painted vivid, intimate pictures of Drew—or Rafe. Hours later, your phone’s low-battery warning flashed. You didn’t even care.

It wasn’t until Drew’s voice broke through your concentration that you realized he was home.

“Hey, babe,” he called, stepping into the room. He looked every bit of a movie star—broad-shouldered, a perfect mix of rugged charm and boyish mischief in his eyes. You hadn’t even noticed the sound of the front door earlier.

Startled, you straightened up, quickly adjusting to sit with your back against the headboard. “You’re home early,” you said, your cheeks flushed.

“Caught you off guard?” he teased, stepping closer. “I missed you. What are you doing?”

You patted the space next to you. “Come here. You need to see this.”

Curious, Drew sat beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. “What is it?”

You handed him your phone, biting your lip as he started to read the story you’d just finished. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then a slow, amused chuckle escaped his lips. He ran his thumb and pointer finger down his mouth, shaking his head.

“That was, uh… interesting,” he said, his voice laced with amusement and just a hint of something else.

You couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “Right? They’re so good. Better than any of those smutty novels you tease me about. But only because they’re about you. I don’t have to drown out the descriptions of the characters to picture us.” Your voice dropped and you moved in close to his ear, your breath hitching slightly. “I don’t even have to imagine you. It’s you.”

Drew’s eyes darkened slightly as he registered the shift in your tone. His turned his head to look towards you, gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

You moved quickly, straddling his lap. His hands instinctively settled on your hips as you leaned in, your lips grazing the edge of his jawline. “I’ve been reading these all day,” you whispered against his skin, your breath warm and tantalizing. “And they’ve got me… worked up. If you know what I mean.”

You pressed down against him, your arousal unmistakable. Drew’s hands tightened on your waist as a low groan escaped him.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, though his voice was full of amusement and lust.

You kissed along his neck, your fingers threading through his hair. “Mmm, but you like it,” you teased, rolling your hips ever so slightly. “I want to have some fun.”

Drew tilted his head back, his grin laced with heat. “I’d say you’ve earned it.”

As you continued to tease him, Drew's hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine. You shivered at the touch, your lips finding his in a hungry kiss. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he stood up, lifting you with him.

"I've been thinking about you all day, didn’t think you were too. I couldn’t fucking wait to get home." Drew growled, his voice low and husky. "I've been thinking about fucking you, about making you scream my name."

You moaned, your body responding to his words, wrapping your arms around his neck. "These stories had me thinking about you too," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I've been thinking about your cock inside me, about feeling you fuck me senseless. Just like the one you just read.”

Drew smiled, his eyes burning with heat as he undressed you and laid you down on the bed. "Get on top of me now. Please, Drew," you whispered, your voice filled with desire. "I want to feel you inside me, I want you fuck me like you mean it."

Drew followed, undressing and positioning himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your entrance. "You want me to fuck you like I mean it?" he repeated, his voice dripping with filth. "You want me to make you feel like a slut?"

You nodded, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I want you to make me feel like a dirty little slut, I want you to make me feel like I'm yours."

Drew smiled, his eyes burning with heat as he entered you. "You are mine," he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're my dirty little slut.”

He bottomed out in you and immediately began his ravishing pace, the pads of his fingers found your clit, rubbing against it in a gentle, teasing touch. "You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with filth. "You like feeling like a dirty little slut, you like feeling like you're being fucked senseless."

You moaned, your body responding to his words. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Tell me then.”

"I love feeling like a dirty little slut, I love feeling like I'm being fucked senseless."

As he continued to move, his hands grasped your hips, holding you in place as he pounded into you. "All fours baby," he whispered, "I want you to feel me fuck you from every angle, I want you to scream my name."

Drew pulled out, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. "I want to hear you fucking scream when I fuck this pussy," he repeated, his voice dripping with filth. "You want me to make you feel like filthy whore?"

You nodded, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you whimpered, your voice barely audible. "I want you to make me feel like I'm yours to use and abuse."

Drew smiled, his eyes burning with heat as he entered you from behind. "You are mine to use and abuse," he growled, his voice low and husky. He was always good in bed, but between how hot and bothered you were from all the reading and Drew taking these fantasies out on you that you just became obsessed with, you didn’t know how much longer you could last.

As he moved, his hands grasped your hips, holding you in place as he pounded into you. You felt yourself building towards a climax, your body tensing as the pleasure grew. Drew reached his arm around you, his fingers finding place on your clit again.

He thrusts into you hard, fingers working in quick circles. You find yourself meeting his thrusts and it became hard to keep yourself up on your hands. “You scream out his name when you come and your upper half goes limp on the bed. He gives you a few minutes to come down from your high and catch your breath before he speaks again.

"We’re not done yet, ride me," Drew whispered, his voice is deep with desire. "I want you on top of me, I want you to use me to fuck yourself.”

You pick yourself up, moving towards him at the head of the bed as you straddle his hips. You sink down on his cock, it stretches you wide open, you sat for a moment as he peppered kisses along your neck. You began to move, your body bouncing up and down. He lifted his hands to your breasts, squeezing them as his fingers played with your nipples. The sensation was exhilarating, the pleasure building again as you moved.

As you continue to ride him, your legs began to tire and he could tell. Drew's hands moved and grasped your hips, guiding your body up and down keeping the momentum, you grew closer to climax and began clenching around him again.

"Fuck you feel so fucking good," he moaned out, his voice dripping with filth. "You're so beautiful, and tight, and so wet for me baby.”

You smiled, your lips curling up as you continued to move. It being the only thing you could do. No words seemed to be able to form. The heat inside you was building, growing with each move. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tensing as the climax approached.

And then, in a burst of pleasure, you came, your body shuddering as you collapsed onto Drew's chest. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you caught your breath.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

"I love you too," Drew whispered back.

As you two settled in for the night you grabbed your phone and downloaded Tumblr immediately.

When I think of this, these are SOME fics flashing through my mind:

This blurb by @starkeyisthelastname

This blurb by @starkeyisthelastname

Trailerpark!Rafe by @starkeyisthelastname - clearly I’m in love with you

behind closed doors by @httpsdrewstarkey

the annual christmas sorority date auction by @starkeysprincess (and basically anything else she writes)

swipe, fuck, leave by @cameronsprincess (again, everything else she writes too)

breathe, baby by @rafescokewhore (including every other writing and her Drew series flights, I’ve read it 4x and still can’t get enough)

Taglist (including some moots 💞)- @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @megiiite @percysley @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @kieeslove @snowtargaryen @angelicameron @maybankslover @etheraltides @cooper8224 @hockeybabe87 @xdaughterofpersephonex @leather-n-velvet @mima116 @urbrunettebombshell @pogueprincesa @purplerose291 @frankoceanluvr11 @ivysprophecy @starsmoonn @akobx @rafestify @marleymarleymarleymarley @littlelamy @diasnohibng @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @carolineisdelusional @rafeysangelbaby @nemesyaaa

[backtothefanfiction]

Nicknames

Summary; explaining where you and Felix get your nicknames for each other from.

Warnings: fluff, tragic backstory, neglect, sibling bullying

A/N: the whole point of the Summer at Saltburn shorts is that you can read them in any order and they make sense but this is probably one with the most context as to why reader lives/spends their school holidays at Saltburn.

Summers at Saltburn Masterlist

You can’t remember a single summer you haven’t spent at Saltburn. Even as a kid, before your father ran off to South America (when he came under investigation for embezzling company funds), you had always spent some time at your Godfather’s house; because his kids were the same age as you. You were the youngest of four, a “happy” accident 6 years after your older brother had been born. He was supposed to be the baby of the family, not you and the age difference between you and them (they all had only a year or two between them) made them cruel.

Felix had started to call you Daisy in response to hearing your older brothers and sister refer to you as Oopsy at one of his parents parties.

“Why do you call her Daisy, my darling?” Elspeth had asked her son when she realised he’d started to refer to you exclusively as the small yet resilient dainty flower.

“Because her family call her oopsy, as in oopsy Daisy.” He says through a mouthful of food.

“Oh how horrible. Is that true darling?” She says turning towards you. Elspeth had always treated you as if you were one of her own and the thought of people being so cruel to you made her blood simmer under her collected exterior.

You paused before saying “yes,” unable to look her in the eyes.

“Well,” she said, patting your hand that lay resting on the table between the two of you, “I much prefer Daisy, because you are. You are beautiful and strong and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

——————/////—————

You had taken to calling Felix “Fix” only a few summers back, when he finished secondary school and brought his first school friend home for the summer. It wasn’t until another 3 summers later and Felix brought Oliver home for the summer that he finally asked you why.

You had decided to hide yourself in the field in hope of actually trying to get through one of the books you’d brought with you to read this summer. You actually hated the field. It had a very specific rule, if you were going to lie out in the field, you have to do it naked. It wasn’t the rule itself that made you hate it, but the fact you always seemed to get bit by something hiding in the long grass.

You’d managed to sneak away and remain undetected for all of 30 minutes (which was a new kind of record because searching the whole house for someone could take up to an hour at times) before Felix came stalking across the field towards you.

“Clothes.” You called out from behind your book.

He was silent as he stripped off his polo shirt and shorts before stomping through the long grass towards you. He remained silent as you continued to read but his fidgety fingers and legs told you there was something he wanted to talk about.

“Just say it.” You say, your eyes pausing at the end of a paragraph to make sure you wouldn’t lose your spot, hoping his question would have a quick answer and you could go back to the novel in your hand.

“Why do you call me Fix?” He says.

It’s not a question you were expecting and find yourself dropping your book into your lap to turn and look at him. “I thought it was obvious.” You say, peering over the tops of your sunglasses at him.

“Well apparently it’s not.” He replies.

“It’s because you like to fix people.” You say, lifting your book back up to your eyes, figuring it was answer enough, but alas, Felix protested.

“I don’t like to fix people.” He scoffs and as you look over the top of your book at him, you can see the small scowl forming on his face around his furrowed brow.

“Oh yeah?” You say before you both get distracted by the sound of another pair of feet making their way across the field towards you. You look to see Oliver making his way towards you both and it’s like the god’s have just handed this to you on a plate. “Ahhh look,” you say, seizing the opportunity, “here comes exhibit C.” You say to Felix, before shouting a reminder of “Clothes!” At Oliver.

Felix doesn’t say any more about it that afternoon, but when he corners you that evening before dinner, he has to ask. “Okay, so if Ollie is exhibit C, I’m assuming Michael was exhibit B…” he pauses as he waits for you to give him a small nod of confirmation before he asks, “Who’s exhibit A?”

“Me.” You say, as if it’s obvious. One look at his face tells you that you’ve stunned him into silence. Your face is calm and confident as you make your way into the dining room, leaving him alone in the hallway to ponder his thoughts.

[sugarandspicewriting]

I am humbly requesting some headcanons for Genshin women,,, can I get Ei and Arlecchino dating hcs, I am asking for myself.

Anything for you pookie

Summary: General dating hcs for Ei and Arlecchino

Warnings: Does Scaramouche count as a warning. 828 words.

A/N: Arlecchino's section includes Scara and is set before he erased himself.

Arlecchino

You’d have to be a high ranking member of the Fatui or a harbinger to get close to her.

She’d have to come to like you on her own terms. No amount of flirting or seduction is going to get her to like you if she doesn’t already. 

She will not waste her time on you if she doesn’t see value in you. So if she does express romantic interest in you, it’s probably because your goals are closely aligned.

That being said, the way she flirts/shows affection can be vaguely threatening.

“Can you run in those shoes?” 

“What?”

“I said, can you run in those shoes? It would be horrible if something were to happen to you…”

Hey queen! What did you mean by that.

Anyways, romantic threats aside,  she’s very old fashioned in her courting rituals.

She absolutely calls it courting

SHe carefully arranges dates for the two of you. You really should be grateful she makes time for you in her busy schedule.

She enjoys inviting you to her residence in Fontaine at the hearth and drinking tea with you while chatting. 

She takes you on walks to places where she’s noticed beautiful scenery.

She keeps correspondence with you through letters when she’s away

But in the brief moments you get alone, she is open to receiving  physical affection.

She enjoys having you on her lap. To her it represents the power she holds over you. If you’re lucky she’ll allow you to do it while she’s working at her desk.

“Are you a child?” Scaramouche sneered. His face contorted into a look of disgust. Arlecchino continued writing, choosing not to dignify his statement with a response. You tore your gaze away from the iron cast  flickering fireplace from your spot on her lap.  

It wasn’t a good idea to indulge Scaramouche by replying to his insults, but the compromising position he had found you in left you feeling defensive.

“And what if I am?” you retorted, your voice steady despite the irritation bubbling within. “It’s better than being an insufferable fool.” Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more.

“If you two are quite done,” Arlecchino’s voice rang out from behind you. “I have work to finish. Do say what you came for and leave Scaramouche.”

She isn’t a conversationalist, but she’ll allow you to discuss whatever you’d like. If anyone else wanted to discuss their favorite light novel with her, she wouldn’t allow it. But you get the privilege of discussing trivial things with her. 

If she has the time, she might even read the novel herself.

A relationship with Arlecchino would be unconventional, but it’s not something she’s concerned about. If a conventional relationship is what you wanted, you’d be with someone else.

Ei

You would need to be someone who worked in Tenshukaku. Ei very rarely leaves and doesn’t have anything romantic on her mind when she does. 

Yae will probably have to help her decipher her feelings. After having spent so much time in the plane of euthymia she would have forgotten how it feels to like someone in that way.

“I cannot recall ever feeling this way about anyone else. Just simply being around them brings me great joy. I find myself wanting to experience new things with them, and add them into my definition of eternity. What does this mean?”

“Ei… you’re so childish sometimes.”

Once she stumbles her way through her confession, she likes to give you little trinkets she finds when she does leave, or even something she finds around the building.

One day she might give you a rock that reminded her of the color of your eyes, another time she might give you an exorbitantly expensive necklace she saw on one of her rare outings. 

As someone who has been alive for hundreds of years and has her sights set on eternity,she sees both of those gifts as equally valued, and expects you to see them that way as well.

It’s important for you to help her get out of her head sometimes. If she had it her way she’d keep you in Tenshukaku, or even the plane of Euthymia at all times to keep you safe. She knows that’s not what you would want, so she won’t but she worries about you.

She enjoys sharing meals with you. Every time she discovers a new treat, her first thought is to share it with you.

“Have you tried this before? It’s called Daifuku. It’s a mochi stuffed with sweet filling! Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

“Ei, I thought we were supposed to be eating dinner, not dessert.”

“Not every meal has to be particularly nutritious. The Shogun doesn’t know everything.”

“Ei!”

Being with Ei as a mortal being will be an interesting experience. She doesn’t like when things change, and she knows you won’t always be around. But she is more than happy with spending a moment in her eternity with you.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 4

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

I am now uploading this fic on AO3 for those who'd prefer to read it there. You can find it here.

TW: Mentions of Death - Jason always talks about his death

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Chapter 4

Tim thought the letters were a stupid idea.

And maybe he had a point, not that Jason asked for his opinion. It was his memorial foundation. He died for the right to set stupid parameters for his scholarships. Besides, it wasn’t like you were the only one to receive a scholarship. He picked two other students from the pool of applicants.

One wanted to be a doctor and work at the Martha and Thomas Wayne clinic in Park Row where she grew up. Another wanted to study law so they could provide pro-bono representation for people who couldn’t afford it. Three scholarships didn’t seem like nearly enough, but it was a step in the right direction. Maybe he’ll expand it to five next year. There was plenty of money in the foundation.

You were the only one he asked for letters from—not because he didn’t want to hear from the other two—he just figured you’d appreciate the parallel to your favorite novel more than they did. Irony was delicious, and it seemed more fitting for a writer.

Or at least, he thought that would be the case.

The new semester started that week, and Jason might have been excited to hear from you. Giddy was a better word, but he had a reputation to consider. He checked the PO box daily in anticipation of your first letter.

The first week passed.

Nothing.

He texted Tim. You’re sure she accepted the scholarship?

His response: Srsly? Get a life.

Rude, but whatever. Tim already confirmed you accepted—several times now. Jason even saw the finished paperwork with your signature (only because Tim wanted him off his back). Asking again wasn’t going to change his answer.

Jason shrugged off his initial disappointment. You would write to him, er, Bruce Wayne next week.

No one paid him any mind as he approached the PO box the following week. He wore street clothes, another variation of joggers and sweatshirts because it was too much effort to figure out his aesthetic as Stephanie had told him. Seriously, he had no idea what the fuck lunarcore was. Unlocking the box, a frustrated growl rumbled in his chest, earning him some startled looks from the postal workers behind the counter.

Empty.

Again.

Maybe he overestimated your appreciation for poetic irony. Or Tim had lied to him about you accepting the scholarship. He always expected Tim to get back at him for the Tower incident one day. Psychological warfare seemed more his speed.

If all of this—you, the Jason Todd Memorial foundation and scholarship—had been a cruel joke, it might be enough to break him.

He grabbed his phone to text him. Halfway through, a notification appeared at the bottom of the text box.

Tiny Tim Drake has notifications silenced.

Jason gritted his teeth and slammed the ‘notify anyway’ button before sending three more texts in quick succession—just to spite him. By the third text, he was notified that it couldn’t be delivered. Jason swore under his breath. The bastard blocked him.

He slammed the door closed, rattling the middle-aged worker who sorted mail in the corner. His fingers curled and uncurled as he breathed through the irritation welling in his chest. Irritation could quickly turn to anger and anger was… well, destructive.

At one point, anger was all he knew. It burned at the center of his chest, hot and bright. He spent so long feeding the flames, and for what? Acting on his violent urges rarely left him satisfied when the smoke cleared.

But there wasn’t always anger. Frustration, certainly. He had been frustrated with the hand he was dealt. Park Row was unkind but he managed to look past the shit and chose happiness instead. Smiling wasn’t a chore. Robin gave him magic—before it was ripped away from him.

If he chose happiness once, Jason believed he could do it again. He just wasn’t sure how.

Jason stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, other passerby parting around him like water around a boulder. These letters. They were supposed to make him happy. He needed to speak with you.

But how?

And as who?

Jason Todd was supposed to be dead—killed abroad in a terrorist attack. A tragic hero in the story Bruce fabricated to hide the truth. A ghost. Nothing more.

The nameless man you met in passing on the subway didn’t know your name, let alone where to find you.

But you knew Red Hood. He knew about the writing program, just not that it had panned out for you.

You even shared the general location of where you lived…

He shook his head to dislodge the plan slowly forming in his head. Getting involved was a bad idea. You didn’t need him meddling any more than he already had.

Jason was intelligent—certainly. One didn’t spend their life tucked between the pages of a book or working for the Batman and not learn a little common sense. He recognized all the different ways this could blow up in his face, and yet…

One last time, he promised himself as he continued toward his apartment. Once he spoke with you, he could move on with his life.

But first, he needed to change.

***

The air cooled significantly with the setting sun, enough to sting his skin as he navigated the rooftops of Park Row. For someone like Jason, who always ran a few degrees hot, it was a welcome change. His footfalls stayed surprisingly light for a man of his stature, not that anyone was around to appreciate it (nor would they have heard him coming until it was too late).

As he closed in on your complex, he counted the windows to find your apartment. His efforts were moot because, well, there you sat on your fire escape with a notebook balanced on your knees. No yellow hoodie this time.

Jason slowed his stride, assessing how best to make his presence known without startling you.

Your gaze shifted up as he reached the edge of the adjacent roof, pinpointing where he hid amid the shadows. He froze. How did you…? You squinted; another hard expression tinged with what he could only describe as morbid amusement.

“Stalking isn’t a good look for you.”

He hopped down to join her on the escape, the iron groaning under his heavy boots. “I’m just checking in to make sure you haven’t gotten into any more trouble.” Even Jason heard how lame that excuse was, especially given you hadn’t been the one to seek out trouble in the first place.

You, of course, called him on it. “Bullshit.”

“Standard protocol,” he insisted, though he sounded less certain.

“I wasn’t aware the Red Hood followed protocol. Doesn’t really seem like your style.” You tapped your pen thoughtfully on your notebook before adding, “You track down every person that you save, weeks after the incident occurred?”

“I happened to see you,” he tried again, grateful that his modulator hid the desperation in his tone, “So, I decided to see how you were doing with the…” He threw up his hands in defeat. “How are you?”

Not even the Red Hood alias saved him from his painfully awkward attempts at small talk. His fingers flexed at his side. He had a nasty habit of fidgeting under pressure, and your discerning gaze stressed him out. You already clocked him as a liar. What was stopping you from connecting the dots between this and everything else?

When you failed to respond in favor of staring at him, he asked, “Do you look at everyone like this?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like the world is out to get you.”

“You saved me from getting mugged the first time we met.”

False. You were trapped with him on a subway while he rambled about books for ten minutes the first time you two crossed paths, but he caught his tongue between his teeth before he admitted it.

“I think I’m allowed to be wary of people, especially when they wear masks and track me down at my home to check in.”

A flush crept down his neck. “Noted. This is weird, isn’t it.”

“A little weird,” you agreed.

“If it counts for anything, I’m aware that I'm not very good at this,” he admitted.

Your expression softened. “Or maybe I’m being a little harsh. I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”

“Why?”

“For starters, the semester started two weeks ago?”

Jason jumped at the opportunity to talk about your classes. “Does that mean you got a scholarship?”

“That’s the other part. I did. It’s a Wayne Foundation scholarship. Real niche, I guess. It wasn’t even listed on their website when I applied. Now it is, so maybe I just missed it, but…” You sighed. “Now they expect me to write letters to Bruce Wayne every two weeks.”

“And you don’t want to?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“It’s not that,” you insisted, “I don’t mind it, I guess, but writing them seems a little old-fashioned. It would be easier to send an email instead.”

“Maybe he finds emails impersonal,” Jason muttered before he could stop himself. Emails would also require Jason to have a business email, and that was a little too corporate for his blood.

“I get it. He’s old, but I didn’t think he was that old.”

Jason flinched. People, mostly adults, called him an old soul. He used to preen under their attention, believing it was a compliment, but being called old outright—by you—didn’t feel as good.

“But there’s something romantic int the art of writing letters,” he insisted.

You shot him a dubious look—a favorite in your arsenal of guarded mistrust, it seemed. “Romantic?”

“I-I mean, not in the context of romance, but through the lens of an idealized reality. Picturesque, idyllic, pick your favorite synonym. I’ve always been partial to quixotic myself. Not enough words starting with the letter q.” More blood rushed to his face. This was going south and fast if he was talking about his favorite synonyms. He should have left well-enough alone and gotten a life as Tim suggested.

You exhaled sharply. It was almost a laugh, but not quite. “No one said he’d ever write me back. Honestly, I doubt he’ll even read my letters. Who has the time to read about what I’m learning in French?”

Jason perked up. “You’re taking French?”

“I want to read Victor Hugo in its original language.”

He curled and uncurled his fingers—excitement this time. Bruce might not care about your schooling, but he wanted to know everything. Your thoughts and opinions, which classes were your favorite, and whether you joined any extracurriculars. It allowed him to close his eyes and act like he was there too. Some might call it selfish, but he could live with that.

You sighed and uncapped your pen. “Technically, I needed to send a letter last week, but I’m not sure what to write. I want to make a good first impression, just in case he does read them. What if he decides I’m not the right fit for the scholarship and rescinds the offer?”

His heart sank. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I want to be witty and charming, but everything sounds wrong as soon as I get it on paper.”

If that was all you were worried about, Jason felt infinitely better. He didn’t want you to pretend for his—er, for Bruce’s sake. “I think you should write what feels good to you. The foundation picked you for a reason, so I think he’d know if you’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

You eyed him curiously. “Is it standard protocol to give unsolicited advice?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man of depth and multitudes.”

You laughed at that, and his heart swelled. It was a nice laugh.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Your eyes sparkled. “It’s everything I ever wanted and more.”

“I bet it is.” Jason curbed the whisper of jealousy that curled in his chest and focused on the good he was doing instead. You looked happy, and that was all that mattered. “I’m glad someone took a chance on you.”

Before you could respond, his comm beeped with an incoming message. He swore under his breath. “One second.” He popped onto the roof to put some distance between you and him before answering. “What?”

“Have you sufficiently wallowed in your failure?” Artemis asked coolly.

Her voice, while not unwelcome, left him a little disoriented. They hadn’t really spoken since he dipped a few weeks ago. It usually fell to him to keep the channels open, and he’d been a little distracted, so hearing from her without his reaching out first was a little unexpected.

“Maybe.”

She clicked her tongue. “We have a new bid from a new client. We await our fearless leader before we proceed, but only if he pulls his head out of his ass first.”

Jason ground his teeth. “When?”

“In a month, so wipe your tears and try not to be late. I am happy to step in as leader in your stead. Or we could call Nightwing to replace you. Or the one called Orphan? I hear the Gotham lot are interchangeable.”

It was hard not to take everything she said as a personal attack, but he was used to her blunt tone. It was her way of knocking some sense into him. He usually deserved to be bullied, and this time wasn’t any different. The Outlaws needed him. They weren’t always on a job, but this was the longest stretch of time he’d gone without reaching out since they decided to work together. Another job might be exactly what he needed to get over… whatever this was with you.

“Message received.” He chuckled a little. Loud and fucking clear. “Send me the details. I’ll be there. You still as the safehouse?”

“Yes.” The line went dead.

Artemis also wasn’t that big on goodbyes.

Jason sighed and hopped down to join you once more. You peered at him over the edge of your notebook. “Duty calls?”

“Uh, yeah, I have to—” He left it there. The less you knew about his work, the better. Some clients were more unsavory than others, and he didn’t know fuck all about this one. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your classes. Good luck with your first semester.”

You shot him a mock salute. “See you around, Hood.”

He hoped not. Seeing you again gave him the closure he needed, but indulging himself could easily turn into a slippery slope, one he wasn’t too keen to take. From here on out, it would be the letters, and that’s it.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Bookworm

Summary: Clark Kent/Superman x Fe!Reader -> Clark surprises you with a library...of sorts. But that's not the only surprise in store.

Disclaimer: This is based in the 90s Superman series but I haven't finished it so no spoilers please. There aren't any spoilers in this, I don't think. I just fancied writing something for this era of Clark Kent. Mostly fluff, Reader works at the Daily Planet and has the nickname 'Bookworm'. Mutual pining, idiots in love, friends-to-lovers, a dash of angst/sad I guess, small mention/description of periods/cramps. Not Proof Read.

…Klara’s latest book provides a new light on what has been a dwindling sector for the publishing industry. In her very first interview for her latest novel, she said-

Typing away at your next article for The Daily Planet, you felt a small pinch to your side before the entire chaos exploded into your lower back, leaving nothing more than a deepening dull ache. 

For a moment, you lowered your head and pressed your hand to your lower back. 

“You okay there, Bookworm?”

You looked up and found Jimmy standing by your desk, a pile of papers in his hand. You tried your best to recover. 

“I’m fine. Just a little pain. What’s up?”

“Publishers called.” He handed you the note and the fax sheets. “They’ve got three new authors and they want you to write about their books. They’re not published yet but an early review from you means more people will probably read their books when they finally do come out.”

Taking the sheets from him, you nodded. “I’ll give them a read.”

You’d worked at The Daily Planet since you’d left University. You’d started out as Cat Grant’s assistant until Mr White needed someone to write an article on a book that had been sent to him. The author was relatively new but he’d decided to give them a shot. 

He had planned on giving the task to Cat, until you walked into the office and found the book on his desk. 

“For all I know, it’s another Cinderella romance but I’d like you to write a piece on it. 500 words? It doesn’t have to be too much.”

“It’s not.”

They both looked at you. It wasn’t often you spoke up when you were in meetings. More than anything, you were quiet and got on with your job. You also had the ability to avoid hitting people when you walked through the office, which made hiring you a lot easier for Mr White than it did hiring anyone else. 

“Excuse me?”

Your weight shifted from foot to foot. “W-Well, it-it’s not a Cinderella romance. I’ve read it. It’s about a woman’s journey returning home after a tragedy. I-I mean, it does have romance. She falls in love with her best friend of, like, ten years. But it’s mostly about her journey dealing with grief, past mistakes and new opportunities.”

Both Mr White and Cat looked at you stunned. But as they looked back at each other, they seemed to have a silent conversation. Then Mr White smiled. Looking up at you, he shook the book at you. 

“I want you to write me a piece on this book.”

“Sir-”

“You’ve clearly read it. Write me a piece. If I like it, and more importantly, if the public likes it…I’ll hire you as a full time entertainment journalist. I’ve got more books than I know what to do with. ‘Course, you’ll do more than just write about books, but…”

Cat looked at you with a kinder smile than you’d seen on her face before. 

“S-Sir, I-I don’t know if that’s-”

“She’ll do it.”

Leaving the office, you followed behind Cat. “A-Are you sure? I don’t know if-”

Stopping in her tracks with a sigh, she turned on her heels and faced you. “You didn’t apply here just to be my assistant. And I’ve read some of your work.”

“You have?”

“You sent in two articles, right? When you applied?”

You nodded. 

“You can do this. Now go and do it.”

Four years later, you’d gained the nickname ‘Bookworm’, you had your own desk and you spent most of your time reading and writing reviews. 

“What is it today? Romance? True Crime? Fantasy?”

Looking over your book, you found Clark Kent leaning on the wooden divider between your desk and Cat’s. You got a promotion, but considering you already had a desk, you didn’t need to be moved. 

You smiled. “You’re back. When did you get back?”

“Just now.”

“Did Lois get what she wanted?”

Clark nodded with a smile as he pulled a chair up to your desk. “And more. I think the janitor will still be shaking from her interrogation in a week’s time.”

You felt yourself laugh a little.

“So what are you reading?”

“Oh,” holding up your book, you showed him and he read it. 

“Any good?”

You shrugged. “It’s a non-fiction lifestyle. Right now I’d rather be fighting dragons on top of mountains.”

Clark laughed. “I’m sure I would, too.”

“But, it’s not too bad. It’s not as condescending as the last one. It’s got a little more science behind it than just someone’s opinion. Did you know the brain is the fattiest organ in the body?”

“I did not.”

“And that we need the healthy fats from fish to help stabilise the cell walls in it?”

Clark nodded, leaning on your desk a little. “Sounds interesting.”

“Those parts are. The others are just kinda…meh.”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go and get some coffee or something. There’s something I want to show you.”

You studied him for a moment. “Show me what?”

“You’ll see.”

Looking at your desk. Your article was finished and you’d almost finished with your book. You could do with a break. 

“Okay.”

“Great.”

As you stood with Clark, you felt yourself lean forward and grip your desk. “Ow.”

“You okay?”

You just nodded. “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clark sounded worried. “Bookworm, you’re looking a little pale. Are you sure?”

Taking a few deep breaths, you stood up straight. “I’m okay. Just…that time of the month.”

“Oh…” Clark didn’t know what to say exactly. 

“I’m okay, let’s just keep walking. It’ll pass.”

Clark nodded and you grabbed your jacket from your chair before following him towards the elevator and out into the city. 

“You know, we don’t have to do this today if you’d rather just-”

“Clark,” you smiled. “Honestly, I’m fine. It’s not uncommon for me. It can just be abrupt sometimes. But I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

Clark gave you a smile and you felt your insides warm. 

It was often like that when he smiled at you. A warm feeling would spread through you, just after a swarm of butterflies had flapped their wings. In complete honesty, you hadn’t noticed it at first. It wasn’t until after the fifth guy you’d been set up on a date with by Cat and she asked you why, that you realised. 

The guy had been…okay. Out of the five, number three was probably the closest to who you’d dated in the past. He seemed a little more your type. But still…nothing. 

“Well, what are you looking for? I can’t keep sending men your way if you’re not gonna go on another date with them.”

“You could stop trying to set me up.”

“But you need life experience! You need someone who isn’t King Lancelot on Treasure Island.”

You smiled. “I think you mean King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. And Treasure Island is a separate book.”

Cat rolled her eyes. “My point is, you need someone who isn’t…fictional. You need someone who makes you feel something.”

“But they do make me feel something. Some books are actually pretty sad.”

A small groan left Cat. “You need someone who can actually touch you. Someone who isn’t just words on a page. Did you not feel anything? Not even for Roger?”

You bit your lip, scrunched your nose and shook your head. “Not really.”

“Not even a single butterfly?”

You shook your head. 

“But he was so cute.”

You nodded. “He was cute…to you. I-I just…didn’t feel anything. He was good looking. Just not my type.”

“Then who is?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. Handsome. I can’t explain it.”

Cat sat back with a sigh but as she looked around the office, she seemed to have a glint in her eye. “What about Clark?”

“What about him?”

“Do you think he’s handsome? You spent a lot of time together? Is it him? Is he why you won’t go on a second date with Roger?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “I didn’t go on a second date with Roger because he spent the entire date talking about how to extract a rotten tooth.”

Cat finally dropped the subject. “Fine. But when you finally want a date, don’t ask me to help you find one.”

You smiled but her previous question played on your mind. Why would she think it was Clark? Sure, he was handsome. That wasn’t avoidable in describing him. And he was smart. And kind. Caring. Friendly. And maybe once or twice you’d wished you’d faked an excuse so you could have been at home, watching a movie with him. 

But was he the reason?

The answer was yes. 

By the time a week had passed from Cat asking you her question, it became apparent. You had feelings for Clark. You always had. Because your reaction was always the same. Butterflies – which you’d mistaken for nerves about being at work. Then he’d smile. A warmth would spread through you, settling the flapping wings before finally you felt your cheeks warm up, too. 

 And you were feeling that warmth again. 

Clark was smiling at you, leaning against a concrete post as he watched you take it all in. 

After grabbing two coffees from the cart on the corner of the street, you’d both walked for twenty minutes before you’d arrived at a warehouse. It looked beaten up, but the locks had been freshly broken. 

Inside, there were mountains of books. 

Old rickety shelving units lined the walls and slotted into places that health and safety regulations would probably disapprove of. In the very centre, there were piles of books. Some, looking at them, dated back centuries. A lot of them were still 20th century, but had enough dust on their covers that could easily tell its own story about the second world war. 

“How did you find this place?”

“A case Lois and I worked on last year called and said they’d finally finished processing everything. They didn’t know what to do with them since most of the libraries don’t have the space for them.” Clark explained. “So, they’re here until they find a new home. But I asked if a very avid reader I knew could have the first pick.”

You looked back at him, a wide smile still on your face. Clark lifted himself from the pillar and walked towards you. 

“I don’t even know…what to say.”

You tried taking a mental image of so many books being in one place. 

“I feel like I’m in Beauty and The Beast.”

“Does that make me the Beast?”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re too handsome to be the Beast.”

The comment slipped from your lips before you could think about it. Even if it was true, the clear embarrassment on your face only made you feel worse. 

You weren’t like Cat or Lois. You couldn’t recover from saying something, no matter how true, very quickly. By the time you had recovered from the initial embarrassment, more was likely to come because you’d then realise the person you’d just said something to had heard you and the meaning. 

Looking away, you heard a small chuckle escape Clark. Then his hands landed on your shoulders. 

“I think it might be best if you start in that corner.” Clark turned your attention back to the books. “I think every book ever printed is in here.”

With a smile, having let the moment pass, you walked over and into the far corner. 

“How was there a crime with this many books that I didn’t know about?” You asked after forty minutes of swimming in the books. 

Your coat had long since been removed and hung on a piece of broken shelf, along with Clark's own, that he had found. Somewhere in the middle of the pile, Clark was piling books together by genre. 

“I think you were away at that conference in London.” Clark told you.

“So what happened?”

“A group of guys had been robbing a few places in and around the city. Banks, jewelry stores, and a couple of storage facilities. Then they’d got wind of a storage facility holding diamonds,” he said. “Anyway, they went down there but when they opened the unit, they found books. Just piles and piles of books. But, they still thought there were diamonds but they’d been hidden. Just so happens, they didn’t realise how long it would take to look through so many books and by the time they’d gotten barely a quarter of the way through, a lady who was walking her dog across the field saw the door open and called the police.”

“So what happened to the diamonds?”

“They were being held at a facility on the other side of the city. But, the cops couldn’t take their chances so had to process every book and make sure there weren’t any hidden pockets.”

You laughed as you looked over at Clark – that same smile giving you a warm feeling. There he stood, surrounded by books, even holding on in his hands, his shirt sleeves rolled, his tie loose and his hair a little dishevelled. But that smile on his face as he looked at you. 

You turned back to the pile of books. “You know, I’m probably gonna be here a while. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure there’s somewhere else you’d rather spend your day.”

Clark just shrugged. “I’ve not got any plans. Besides, I think I’d rather be spending my time with you, anyway.”

You laughed a little, placing one book down and picking up another. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She might think you’re in love with me, then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You didn’t see, but Clark looked at you again; a warm smile on his face, but a slightly defeated look in his eye. You said it as if it was a bad thing. Like he shouldn’t be in love with you. 

But he was. 

He had been since you’d turned up outside his apartment, to welcome him to the building, with a fresh apple pie. You’d seemed so much more confident than you had been at work. At work, he’d noticed you. But nobody else seemed to have done. You avoided their every step making sure not to physically run into them; something he himself was still trying to master. You were quiet. In staff meetings, you were the same. But you were always tapping your pen against your pad – until you noticed the noise. Then you’d hold it with two hands. But unconsciously, you’d bounce your leg beneath the desk. The pen would twist around in your hands as Mr White and everyone turned their attention on you. 

But the woman standing outside of his apartment seemed…more confident. Or maybe you just had a quicker escape since you’d been speaking in a hallway rather than a staff meeting with a dozen other people. 

“I-I don’t know if it’ll be any good. It’s a family recipe but my Granny still tells me it tastes different every time. I’m still trying to work out if that means something good.” You finally looked at him as you handed the pie over. “Anyway, I live directly above you if you need anything. Bye.”

You’d gone to run away and make your exit, but he called you back. He thanked you for the pie and invited you inside. If slightly awkwardly, you agreed. But with one conversation, Clark found you warming to him. 

After that, you both kind of became inseparable. It was a quiet friendship; the kind that doesn’t need a thousand conversations to know something. In a single look, Clark could tell what you were trying to say. In a single look, you could tell what Clark was trying to do. 

On more than one occasion you’d saved him from Cat’s grasp. And on more than one occasion, he’d helped you escape a large gathering of people. 

But it was one evening, just like any other, where he let himself accept his feelings for you. He’d rented the next film on the list you’d been given from Mr White. From new films, to older ones. 

“There’s a whole range of ages reading our papers, Y/l/n. Even if the movies have been out for years, I want a piece to put in the paper. Capture the kids' attention. Let them know about real movies.” Of course, Mr White had given you a list of Elvis films alongside the list from the local movie theatre. 

But, as you and Clark sat watching Annie, you’d fallen asleep. Laying beside him, your head on his shoulder, he lifted his arm behind you and pulled the blanket down over you. You’d had a busy day at the paper and seemed ready to fall asleep before you turned up at his apartment. But the feeling in his chest when he looked down at you, cuddling into his side…his mind thought, for a moment, that it was a routine. That you lived together, that each night would be the same. You by his side, him by yours. 

He couldn’t deny the feelings he had for you then. 

And he couldn’t deny them now. 

“Would it really be that bad?”

“What would? My mother?”

“Me being in love with you?” Clark waited to see your reaction. 

You laughed. 

Not mockingly. But you laughed. 

You didn’t believe him. 

“Funny,” you told him. Then you stood, holding another book in your hand. Clark watched as you stood and started completing the new obstacle course you’d accidentally laid out for yourself as you made your way over to him. “But seriously, my mother would never leave me alone. She’s convinced that if I don’t get married soon, I never will. You know, I think if she could, she’d hand my face out on a leaflet on the street to take auditions.”

As you climbed over the loaded pile of books, your foot slipped. But you never hit the ground. Some of the books slid to the floor, but you remained on the pile, Clark’s arms around you. 

Holding onto his arm, you looked down at the sliding books and back at him. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Clark gave you a light smile, his eyes scanning over your face. “What if I wanted the role?”

“What?”

“You said your mom would hold auditions.” Clark pointed out. “What if I wanted the role?”

It took you a minute before what Clark was telling you registered in your brain. 

Standing once more, but Clark still holding you steady, your eyes remained fixed on him. You shook your head. “Clark, you don’t…you shouldn’t date me.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Clark felt himself laugh. ‘Because’  has never been a real reason. “Because what?”

“Because…” You racked your brains for an answer he would accept. “Because you shouldn’t. You should be with someone…with someone…with someone like Lois. Or Cat.”

He tilted his head a little. “Please tell me you heard yourself, too.”

“Okay, maybe not Cat. But Lois. Or Jill.”

“From accounting?”

“She’s nice. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Everything you deserve.”

“Y/n, you’re beautiful, smart and funny.” Clark told you. “And you’re kind and caring.”

“Clark.”

Clark felt something drop inside of him. “If it’s because you don’t want to, then I’ll understand.”

But you were quick to deny that. “No,” you shook your head. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

As you stood there, his hands holding your steady, your own on his arms, you looked at him. Clark had been the one person you’d been able to tell anything to. You trusted him more than you trusted anyone. Even from the beginning. 

So why couldn’t you trust him with the truth now?

“I’m scared, Clark. This…this scares me.” You finally admitted the truth to him. “I’ve had relationships before and they’ve all found a reason to leave. I don’t want you to leave, too.”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Then he said something that struck you deep into your soul. “Actually, I can.”

You looked at him as if he had two heads, but he just chuckled, holding you a little closer. “Anyone who has ever left you, have been complete idiots. You are truly incredible, Y/n. And I have been in love with you longer than I think even I realise. But despite that, you’re my friend first, Y/n. And I don’t want to lose that either.”

Looking at you, Clark told you the complete truth. 

“So when I tell you I can promise you I won’t leave, please know that I mean it. And I mean it, too, when I tell you I love you. In more ways than one.”

You smiled. 

In his chest, Clark felt a bright light shoot through him and warm his entire being. Leaning forward a little, you hugged him. And he hugged you back. 

Leaning back and looking at him again, you spoke. 

“Can we start towards the beginning?”

Clark nodded and smiled. “Y/n, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“I’d love to.” 

Like a breath of fresh air was being kicked into his lungs, Clark smiled a little wider. But then you surprised him. You kissed his cheek. 

This time, it was his moment to slip a little. But in a rush, you gripped onto him as he caught himself. Then you got an idea. 

“You don’t suppose this could be classed as a first date, do you?” You looked around you before looking back at him. “I mean, I know it’s a warehouse and it’s filled with dusty old books, but I guess the lighting is kinda dimmed? And we’re surrounded by history so it’s kinda like a library-museum thing? Unless there’s classification for something to be a date. There’s gotta be a book in here somewhere that tells us.”

Clark chuckled a little as he watched you. “I think I’d like to class this as our first date, too. Besides, we can always get dinner after this.”

You nodded. “Though, to do that, we should probably get off these books.”

Clark looked down. “Right.”

Carefully, he helped you down the cascade of books before your heels finally hit the concrete ground and with a soft landing, he landed beside you. 

It was another two hours before you both got food – the pizza guy, it was safe to say, was rather confused to turn up at a warehouse but he appreciated the tip and the gift copy of one of his sister’s favourite books. 

Yourself and Clark spent most of the night inside the warehouse before he helped you place your reserved books to the side. The next day, you both returned with your car and a pile of boxes to help carry them away. You’d barely made a dent in the pile, but considering you had access to the pile until the local libraries needed extra copies, you could spend as long as you liked going through them. 

Picking out some of the multiple copies with broken spines or torn covers, you took home and fixed them. And, six months into dating, you came to find Clark’s unique strength had its advantages as working as a temporary clamp. 

“This is why you agreed to date me, isn’t it?”

You gasped a little. “You’ve discovered my secret. Well, now that it’s out in the open, you should know I also agreed because you gave me a historical library.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.”

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your lips but you pulled him back in for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[strawberrystepmom]

inspired by this thought i had yesterday! modern au, coworker kakashi. f!reader, flirtation, mostly fluff. wc 1.3k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as usual ♡

You hear footsteps headed toward the edge of your desk that make you look up from where you type quickly, finishing firing off the latest round of emails that could have been resolved with a simple phone call. Most of these issues don’t even need your attention, you think while firing off minimal responses and sighing. Glancing up, you spot two gray eyes peeking over the top of the cubicle surrounding you and you laugh knowing exactly who they belong to.

“Hi Ka-”

Kakashi interrupts you when he raises his brows and holds a worn copy of the book the two of you have spent the week reading over the top of the partition, a woman wrapped in the arms of a caricature of a muscular man while tipping her head back to present her neck to him. Your face heats seeing the cover where everyone else can see it too and you shoot him a glance, begging with your eyes and hoping he’ll lower the book.

“Don’t forget this time.”

“It was one time,” you instantly jump to defend yourself after missing the book club yesterday. You got caught up on a call that was impossible to sneak away from and you received a text message from the man himself later in the day, his eyes visible over the cover of the book. It was hard to keep your laughter to yourself upon seeing it, snorting alone at your desk.

Missed you today, the accompanying text read.

The message made you ponder the meaning between the words themselves. You enjoy his company in a way you never thought you would, most of your coworkers warning you that he’s a little bit of an oddball, but the two of you clicked and have never looked back. He even organized this little club in an effort to get you to step away from work more often, knowing you’re frequently the last person left in the building long after the rest of the lights are out.

“Luckily for you I’m finishing up right now,” you snip and he watches you reach down into your bag and produce a paperback novel matching his. You can’t see his smile, it’s hidden below the partition because you know he’s bending his knees to keep only his eyes visible, but the way those very eyes crinkle a bit at the corners tells you everything you need to know.

“Good because we have a lot of ground to cover,” he mutters. “They…you know.”

He waggles his brows and you nod, smirking. They did indeed…you know…in the latest chapter and you’ve been dying to talk about it with him after 35 previous chapters of intense build up and back and forth. A teeny glimmering hope in you almost wants the book to be drawing parallels to your own life but you don’t want to make something out of a simple workplace friendship - two oddballs carving out space for themselves side by side.

That does sound a little romantic now that you think about it, doesn’t it?

“Come on then, we only have 15 minutes.”

Broken from your reverie by his words, you nod and smile, standing up and stretching a little as you hurry around the corner and to his side. He looks good today, neatly pressed gray pants and a navy blue sweater that hugs his arms in a way you noticed immediately seeing him, and your face heats again. Why is it so hard for you to accept that he’s merely your friend? 

The two of you walk in comfortable silence to the break room, plopping down in the chairs that HR insisted were placed there to make you comfortable and not because they had a complaint about there being no seating in here prior, submitted by Kakashi himself. They don’t know that, of course, but you do and you settle in, risking another glance at your companion.

“Alright so when we left off, he was admitting his feelings, right?”

You nod, pulling your own book open to the dog eared page you’d left it on. He notices immediately, watching you untuck the corner, and scoffs.

“Use the bookmark I gave you, do you know how long I had to dig in bargain bins to find two copies of this book?”

He holds up the book, Domesticating the Duke, and stares at you incredulously. Despite yourself, you laugh. Gleeful and from the bottom of your heart, in a way that no one else has managed to draw from you.

“You’re right. I need to make sure the little puppy covered bookmark stays in the book but sadly today it’s on my kitchen table so for now we are doing this,” you raise the book and thumb through the pages, showing him the other dog eared corners and making him cringe.

“Why do I hang out with you?”

Shrugging, you shift in the chair and let one of your smart casual loafers hang off of your foot. He likes to see you so comfortable, too used to seeing the way your back is hunched over your desk. He could look at you like this forever, easy going smile and one arm dangling over the arm of the chair. You make his mind feel…different and not in the usual way. You make him feel challenged yet met, comfortable yet disturbed, whole yet confused.

It’s a lot to take in.

“I dunno, you said yesterday you missed me so what is the truth Hatake?”

He laughs now, carding his fingers through his hair.

“I did miss you. We’re getting to the best parts and you ditched me.”

You gasp, putting the book in your lap and leaning forward to close some of the distance between the two of you.

“I did not! I was on an quarterly analytics call, something you also should have probably been on mister operations analyst.”

He shrugs, flip as ever. He’s only here to do the work he’s assigned to do and not go the extra mile like you feel the need to. 

“The world didn’t stop because I wasn’t there so clearly things are fine.”

How can you argue? He’s right so you back down, leaning back into the chair and picking up your book again. He sets his copy down now, on the arm of his chair, and places his hands on his thighs in a way you know means he has something to say. He’s full of quirks, all of which you’ve found yourself figuring out quickly.

“Since we’re getting to some less work appropriate parts of the book I wanted to ask if you’d rather do this after work,” he finally spits out after a few beats of silence. “If not, I get it but we should probably start picking cleaner books if that’s the case.”

You smile, dipping your chin to hide it.

“I’d love that, actually.”

It feels wrong to assume this is his way of asking you on a date but given the blush covering the bridge of his nose and the pink touching the visible tips of his ears, that’s exactly what just happened.

“Great. We can just hang out for the next 10 minutes then and we can discuss the actual points of interest at my place later, if that’s okay?”

You nod again, still keeping your face partially hidden. This is what you’ve been hoping all of these 15 minute moments, the 30 minute lunch conversations, would turn into and you feel giddy like a little girl. 

Choosing to pick the book back up to spend the last 10 or so minutes of your break reading, you open to the last page you remember looking at and scan over the words. They don’t grab you immediately so you look up over the top of the book, only to be met with a pair of gray eyes doing the exact same thing. Sneaking a glance.

[raphsmuneca]

𝓔𝓮𝓷𝔂, 𝓜𝓮𝓮𝓷𝔂, 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝔂, 𝓜𝓸𝓮

[Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe] Pt. 2: Leo’s Version

NSFW/18+/suspense/romance/fluff/agedturtles

𓆉✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

Initially, your story was shaky, but you had a clear vision. The challenge lay in persuading the creature and the audience, all while dreading the soon arrival of an arranged marriage.

They were seated, eagerly anticipating your participation, as your creative vision devised diverse narratives for the love story between Leo and yourself from start to finish.

Behind your calm facade, you were internally conflicted, struggling to suppress your emotions and genuine feelings for the four brothers, each of whom drew you in for unique reasons. But in the end, you had never decided who was best suited for you, and now it lay in the palms of another to make that choice. But you had to remind yourself, you’d only be married on this planet, so technically on Earth this wouldn’t count. Besides, this was just a means to escape. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Right?

You continued with Leo’s version of this would be romance fallacy. Or was it?

𓆉

Leo was the epitome of cool and laid-back, always eager to share his world with you, and at one point he treated you like you were the center of it. You had recalled one of those special moments. He was remarkably alert and he had caught you when you spaced out while working on an art piece, lost in brushstrokes and color choices. As you began to fall, he swiftly picked you up, smirking, "Remind me how you're a ninja?" Afterwards, he settled into his turtle-shaped chair cushion, a gift from you, and became absorbed in his novel. That was one of the many sweet memories you cherished.

But that was a long time ago, when the turtles weren’t accustomed to interacting with humans. After leading a life of freelance operations for the city under the auspices of the NYPD, he gradually engrossed himself with work and performing search and rescue missions as a hobby. He was a uniform away from being called officer Hamato. He was the best of the best so there was no blaming him there, but still, your friendship began to dwindle over time and now you were being treated like the next coworker, whereas you were once his favorite teammate.

What had changed?

You sulked in your window seat, staring outside, where showers continued to fall at 7 pm, contrary to the forecast calling for clear skies by the hour of 6. You silently rebuked the weather channel. It was the first time in months you’d be meeting with Leonardo. In the last two years you could count the times you’ve spent with him on one hand. Well technically four (human) hands, but still! Talking over the phone wasn’t the same as having a face to face conversation and you could admire those beautiful features and expressions he made.

Lately, thoughts of him have been on your mind. The possibility of losing him led you to call him on impulse. As you were no longer working together and you traveled to Japan periodically, you wanted to maintain some connection with him, fearing total loss. You have been secretly in love with Leonardo for years. You realized it the moment the two of you had grown further apart. You thought it was too late to confront those feelings and instinctively buried them deep inside, throwing away the key to prevent them from resurfacing. Somehow, the brief scare you experienced earlier beckoned you to contact him. You weren’t planning on telling him directly, but rather showing him?

The light tap on your windowpane frightened you, prompting you to leap off your seat and prepare to confront your attacker. You quickly lowered your defenses when you recognized it was Leo smiling through the glass. “Hurry up, I’m getting wet out here!” You felt embarrassed. You had invited him over and lost in thought over him, somehow you forgot you were expecting him. You used to leave your window unlocked for him and his brothers, until the visits became seldom. But that was then.

Seeing his face, you were reminded how much you had missed him and without thought jumped into his open arms and he spun you around in a tight embrace. “Wow! It feels like forever since I last saw you sweetheart!” His words were soft and meaningful. You instantly sensed that something was different about him. “Is everything alright Leo? Did something happen while I was gone?” His smile quickly turned upside down. His eyes never lied; something was amiss. “Leo?”

He put you down and pat your head gently, dismissing your questions as was his custom. “Everything’s swell! So, how were things in Japan?! Did you find that asshole that broke into your trainer’s dojo? Did you bring him to justice? I sure hope you did! Eh, who am I kidding? It’s you! Of course you handled it perfectly.” His words were haste and giving him away, but you chose to follow along until you could find the right time to get real answers. He was good at deflecting questions. That was his genius and why he made the perfect leader. “Not exactly. I feel like I’m losing my touch. It was so much easier when I had you around…”

His head turned as fast as you recognized the vulnerability in your voice. His brows furrowed, the look of concern written across his face was unmistakable. For a space, you looked into each other’s eyes and there was an unspoken understanding between you two. It was perfectly clear that he had missed you as much as you had missed him. But when and where did this come from? As long as you could remember, you meant very little to him. There was a sudden hint of guilt in his eyes. Either his eyes were developing tears or you had officially lost your mind and were seeing things. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry beautiful.”

When the fuck was Leo ever sorry? He never apologized to anyone. Was what you read in his eyes true? Did he really miss you that much? When? Why now? How? “What?” He inched closer to you and lowered his head to meet your eyes. You shied away for a second, out of both fear and anticipation. “Look at me baby. Look..” You met his gaze and your mouth opened to speak a peace you had prepared a while back for this exact moment, until you saw the teardrop roll down his face. “Baby?” You were obviously still stunned by that word. He never called you Baby. Sweetheart, Honey, Cutie Pie…endearing terms he used when addressing or calling to you. That was ages ago, but “Baby?” For two whole years he went back to using your given name, until tonight. “I need you to listen. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much. I know it’s been a while since we’ve shared any real time with one another. This is all my fault! I got caught up with the outside world. I started to forget the people that truly mattered to me. Why I became a leader. My family. My friends. And you.”

You tensed up in his firm grasp. Afraid to ask, you wondered why he singled you out from his family and friends. What made you unique? Time and space orbited around you for what felt like forever. “An…and me?” His chest was heavily rising and falling, and his grip was likely leaving small bruises on your delicate shoulders, which were clasped tightly in his large hands.

You slapped them away! How dare he express his feelings here, after all this time of leaving you wondering about his indifference and distance! You were about to confess your feelings, eventually, but he surprisingly spoke up first, despite being the one who abandoned you, discarding you like a used rag! “Out with it! What is it Leo?!”

His glare became more intense. His eyes revealed everything, and you wouldn't let him escape this time. You'd endured enough hurt. It was as if he knew your thoughts, and he quietly confessed, "I love you. I've always loved you."

At the last drop of rain, an eternal quiet followed.

“But I thought you didn’t care for me anymore? I mean, you haven’t even been a real friend lately, so how? How Leo? When? I’m so confused.” You stood there, as if you had a choice, you were still bound in his hands, looking like a sad puppy begging for a home.

“Baby, I've been too afraid. I fell for you hard, and the thought of rejection terrified me. But I've reached my limit. Even if you don't feel the same, I need to accept it. Keeping this secret has been torture. I love you!”

That was the truth you'd been waiting for. Going from his favorite team member to an overweight donut-eater seemed implausible. You'd known the truth but avoided contemplating his response, believing no mutant turtle could be interested in a weak little human like yourself. You were part to blame.

“So?” His question surprised you. “Sooooo what?” You feigned ignorance and twiddled your thumbs while he patiently waited. “Ahem! Tell me. I can feel it you know? That and you’re a terrible liar.” Suddenly his face beamed. You had forgotten how well he knew you. This was it. This is what you had been waiting for. Don’t let him go, you fool!

“I…I love…”

“You love….?” His face matched his encouragement. He always did have to pull the truth out of you, being you were stubborn. Damn he was good!

“Okay! I love you Leo! I always have…” Again you lowered your head afraid to meet his gaze. You had finally summoned the courage, but this was HUGE! You were both your first loves. This was soooo awkward…

Later that night, you both marveled at the clear midnight sky for the first time, in a loving embrace, basking in the warmth and happiness after experiencing the most incredible pleasure.

Who knew he was such a lover?

𓆉

You unintentionally sounded excited after sharing your true feelings about Mr. Jerk, finally realizing Leo's jerkish nature. Did you miss his reaction? Was he genuinely your Romeo? In the back, Leo thought, 'Did you really feel this way the entire time? No, it was just a fabrication. You're intelligent and capable of outwitting powerful enemies. Well done, sweetheart.’

“Nicely done Earthling. You have three more tales to share. I must admit, this one alone has convinced me the beast donning the blue mask is your true match. But I promised to let you present me with all four endings. Continue…”

𓆉✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

Okay turtle crew! I’ve decided it’s up to YOU to decide which turtle deserves a “happy ending?” Okay now, relax. I won’t be taking it that far, but I realized during the making of this fic I didn’t have a final answer my damn self! So I’m gonna leave it up to you guys to decide who gets married! I’ll take a poll after releasing the other endings and let you decide.

The Introduction <- Read here!

Leo’s looking pretty freaking hawwwttt 🥵 rn!

@leosgirl82 @eveandtheturtles @happymoonangel @fyreball66 @iheartchv @imthegreenfairy86 @moonlightflower21 @m1dnyt3-w0lf @memes-in-a-half-shell @thelaundrybitch @replicasey @raphslovemuffin80 @dressycobra7 @angelicdavinci @leowleow @inspiredwriter @akari180

*𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭/𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓶𝓴! *

[projecthipster]

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Oil on paper by ratsandlilies

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! / Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd."

I don’t think I was ready for this movie the first time I watched it.

Today’s Hipster Movie, much like the last one, and, for that matter, the one before last, takes us back to the early years of the century — no surprise there, of course. Those were the years of the hipster taking form. I ought to get this one done before the end of Valentine’s Day tomorrow, because the opening monologue to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind describes Valentine’s Day, 2004. 21 years past. This movie can drink even in the most puritanical states now. 2004, a year after Robert Lanham published The Hipster Handbook and (sort of) codified this uncodifiable culture. Strangely enough, by the way, The Hipster Handbook, though it's a source for many of the lists I'm following, doesn't seem to be, itself, on the book lists. Only know that I am aware of the spot it sits in the literature / American / humour section of the Central Library. It's near the end of an aisle, low down to the floor, near the bathrooms at the south tip of the second floor. Where there's a view of the freight tracks out the windows.

But back to Eternal Sunshine. That opening monogologue comes to us from toque-clad melancholy protagonist Joel (Jim Carrey.) Like Lost in Translation again, with Bill Murray, once again this early century movie features another actor famous for comedic chops, leading an unaware viewer to think they might be in for some laughs. You’d have to be pretty unaware though. Unaware of the existence of The Truman Show (to have its own post... eventually) and Carey’s excellent dramatic skills, for one. Opening on February 14, 2004, Joel tells us he hates Valentine’s Day, a holiday made up by card companies to make people feel worse. Preaching to the choir here - although I did buy my parents some cute cakes-in-a-box today and there’s nothing wrong with that. Generally speaking, though, I'm a bitter old codger and don’t like St. Valentine’s Day very much as well. Maybe I would if it focused more on that old Roman’s role as the patron of beekeepers: a day to eat honey. I don’t really like romance stories too often either. Now it’s about time for bed, but I want to finish writing about this trippy, melancholy Valentine’s movie before the day it’s all about comes to an end.

And like the book to be reviewed next (I’m excited for that one; it’s a doozy of a brick of a novel that I spent much of last year thinking about,) Eternal Sunshine starts at the end, leaving the reader/watcher in a bit of a fog of missed context and strange mental states before leaping back, all out of order, to piece together the story. Joel moves through this timeline in parallel with Clementine (Kate Winslet,) introduced on an intercity train (God I wish we had intercities here) in a clash of baggy orange hoodie and stringy blue-dyed hair. You can see how the morose young crooners of the ‘20s (trying not to name Billie Eilish specifically, but the offing’s too obvious to pretend) have taken their aesthetics from this scene, filmed before plenty of them were born I’m sure. Point is, despite Clementine’s attempt at colour, she herself says it’s a transparent attempt. There’s a bitter greyness to this opening beyond that of the winter Long Island beach, a feeling of something missing. But still there’s great sweetness and chemistry to our leading couple and their circling and re-circling meet-cute. There’s just more to be broken down.

At this point, in the movie’s adulthood, it hardly feels like I need to throw a spoiler warning in here for what we do discover in the flashbacks. It’s the sci-fi-ish concept that the whole thing is best known for. Joel and Clementine have both taken a service to erase their memories of each other, and so the pain of knowing about their soured past and crumbled future. Technically, the most part of the movie just takes place on the night between the 13th and 14th of February, as Joel has electrodes hooked up to his head, purging sweet Clementine from his personal narrative. The thought put into how this would work is interesting in itself. It’s a home job, so there’s no strange waking up in an office wondering what procedure you went through and why. Meanwhile your house is consensually ransacked, all souvenirs memory holed. There’s a touch of dystopian possibility here– we have always been at war with Eurasia, and you have never known a hair-dyed bookstore worker. Another story about this technology might be all about how it could be misused and lied about. This one is about the consequences of it going perfectly and being used honestly. A lot of us may think we want to erase memories of pain. But a lot of us have also read enough books to know that we only grow through memories and experiences, so what do we erase in ourselves by erasing that pain? In the mid-movie series of memories, like dreams in that night, we see the original relationship evolve– falling apart before blossoming for the first time, the order more or less chronologically flipped.

There’s an obvious parallel to be drawn here, in the non-chronological decay of a relationship, to (500) Days of Summer. The tone, though, contrasts pretty sharply. Back in my post on (500) Days, I said that it’s be a very different movie with a more sombre take on the story. Well, Eternal Sunshine, predating (500) Days by a few years, may be that movie. And of course the sci-fi aspect is totally original here. That reflects in some really totally original filmmaking. As many of the memory scenes show the relationship dissolving, the memories themselves dissolve and distort in subtle ways. Day turns to night. Books turn blank. Sets grow sparser between cuts, focus blurs out and sound gets fuzzy. It’s clever stuff, and so much more interesting than if it was some high budget CGI dissolution effect. Past and present — or past and further past? — interweave within the same scenes, and it’s thanks to Carrey and Winslet’s perfect performances that you can see the transition right away. 

Reversing the order of an increasing series of arguments is also an increasing reminder of what was lost in that dissolution, what came before, and a light shone on the far from irreconcilable personal flaws involved. We realize that to start out, Joel saw a little of that classic indie movie manic pixie dream girl role to Clementine. By the end (the real end, after the beginning) she tells him she’s more than a concept, which I think is always a tough think for anyone to wrap their heads around regarding another person. But it’s less about truly seeing someone all the time with the complexity with which you see yourself; more about accepting that your image, your concept, is inevitably limited and flawed, so you should expect as much when a person is more than that. It’s tough, but also easy, and also hugely important. Funny to think that this came out the same year as Garden State, too. It feels like a response to it. Another way Eternal Sunshine differs from (500) Days, not totally but definitely, is in the susprisingly hopeful ending, an indication that growth is always possible, that love is worth it, and that even what we may not recall in the moment has shaped us. The final lines of dialogue are incredibly simple- one word, back and forth a few times, and I shan't spoil what that word is- but packed with so much meaning and acceptance. I may not be a huge romcom guy, but that can still mean something even to my old cynical heart. In the end this time-bending mind-breaking movie is as sweet as a bright orange clementine.

I give this Hipster Movie five winter beach walks out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the twentieth list, The 101 Best Hipster Movies According to Ranker.

Up next: as aforementioned, a proper beast of a book, and don't expect time to get re-stuck in the conventional order anytime soon.

Stay deck.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

ok i Deserve this 😂 from @loquaciousquark from this wip game!

hmmmm here's some segments from that don't really give too much away in isolation

“Hey,” Hawke says softly, giving the dwarf a crooked smile as he quietly closes the door and exaggeratedly tiptoes his way to the single chair. “Sorry, I forgot you were coming by.” “I checked in earlier, but you both had gone out. I’d consider not forgiving you, but I can see now that you couldn’t manage to go more than a few hours without my presence anyway.” Varric grins wickedly, nodding down at the novel laying open on the blankets.

“I used to fight golems, you know,” she says miserably. “Whole bands of thugs. A dragon even, that one time.” “I know, Hawke.” “Now I can’t even face a bowl of oats.” “I think we would have traded a lot for our biggest problem to be a bowl of oats, back then.”

hang on both of those are too lighthearted where's an angsty one

You’d think for someone who spent so long alternating running from and chasing death, she’d have put more thought into what might came after. Hawke stands staring up at the smooth, frozen face of the statue, waiting to feel—anything. Shadows shift and flicker in the candlelight, the oppressive silence slowly filling the room like an omen. That part of her died with Bethany, she thinks, though she didn’t realize it until years later. But that moment was when her heart first truly broke, rent asunder from an ogre’s blow with a wound that never fully healed. Whoever she’d been before—and whatever that young girl had believed—had slowly leaked away in the following years. She doesn’t dwell on it much, but she thought maybe now, maybe with the shadow of her own death following so closely at her heels, some flicker of faith might have returned. But not even the memory of her sister’s name brings more than quiet regret, over ten years later. Over half the life she’d managed to live. Instead of kneeling, she turns from Andraste’s stony gaze, and flees back into the night.

i DO every now and then think about posting a chapter or two. but the last chapter i uploaded ends on a kind of peaceful/high note compared to uh the kind of cliffhangers/tension I usually leave things at, so it would feel meaner to put something up and then perhaps not follow up on it for another year if it came to that. also its easy to post continually in the first half of a story where you're just opening new doors/threads but less so for the second half when i need to be tying things up alas. i think it'll be better if i just finish it out so i can edit things more comprehensively and Then post the rest... or at least have a more cohesive first draft. but yes! there is More, i still care deeply about where my Hawke's story goes, and want to make sure there's coherent follow through on the various plot elements I set up early on.

[bi-dykes]

How do you get into the perspective of your OC(s)? What were the first few things you did to get into their character and understand them better?

I absolutely love this question bc it led to me re reading my own work 😂

I somehow got to my my characters very well without ever putting my book in first person. It’s all third person, sub for one character who breaks the fourth wall and sometimes speaks without quotation marks.

I was inspired by Shannon Hale’s run of Ever After High (Ever After High has at least three different book series by three different authors, plus a Netflix tv series- it’s like a miniature MCU but with better characterization lmao) and I can arguably say that Shannon Hale has the best material on all of Ever After High.

Here is an example (the image is sourced from Etsy) of how a character breaks the containment of using proper formatting of quotation marks and speaks directly to the narrator

I do this as well. Different font, and then I write it like a text message going back and forth, disregarding quotation marks or proper formatting. However this only happens a couple of times per book for my character, and a handful (4-5) times in Ever After High.

I know my characters far too well. The main eight are like children to me, I know their deepest desire and darkest fear and coping mechanism and guilty pleasure. I have been with them for over 5 years without finishing my novel. The time has been spent with making playlists and drawing pictures and creating Pinterest boards and writing things that I don’t intend to publish or include in the final manuscript (hehehe fanfiction by the author) because I simply like to explore them in different situations. My books are going to be in third person, but I ocassionally write in first person, even if I’m planning on just deleting it, because I just like to practice getting in my characters’ heads when I have writers block.

I follow the “worst” writing advice ever. I base many traits for my OCs off of myself, which could be seen as making them Mary Sues. I write them like real people, adding in stupid dialogue of them stuttering or accidentally interrupting one another and then saying “oh sorry, you go first”. I write smut about my favourite OC ships knowing that I’ll never include it in the final draft of my book, just because I want to write about what’s happening “off screen” and what my characters are doing when the reader isn’t looking (although there are indeed some sex scenes in my book, I do like to write additional ones that aren’t nearly as eloquent or have any plans to include it in the published novel). I started my second draft before my first draft was finished, solely because I understood my writing style had improved so abruptly and the characters had evolved so much, I needed to start fresh. I look in the mirror and act out my character’s conversations with one another or their fight scenes or how they wave their hands around like Elsa conjuring magic. I take breaks for months and when I finally sit down and write, I’ll either write 5 words, or 2205 words in one sitting, and not often anything in between.

I have horrible writing advice, and I suggest you take any of it that you’d like or that resonated with you, because it has brought me so much joy in my life and has helped me gradually get to know my characters like new friends who become family.

I’ve been told that my writing “flows like butter” which is so odd because I juggle 4 protagonists, 2 antagonists, and 2 deuteragonists. They don’t “all fit”, but they all have a role to play. Like the delicious fries on the side of the burger, the whole meal. Your characters don’t need to be stars. They just need to be memorable. And I know they will be. Your mind is more capable than you think.

Like honestly, just word vomit on the page and write silly stuff. It will be the most human, glorious, flawed, messy, endearing, and passionate writing you’ll see. Just go create chaos. And play with your characters like Barbie dolls. In a little while, you’ll know them like you know yourself.

At the end of the day, anything you write will be an achievement because you took nothing and turned it into something, transformed a blank page into a series of words and letters. That’s god behaviour right there. Even if it’s shitty writing, you created it from scratch.

But also, don’t worry about setting deadlines and timelines. I’ve been at this since grade 10 and now I’m in university and I’m still not done. Let your characters marinate and soak and rest in your mind. Let them grow. There is no rush. All is well 💜 and one day your characters will grow like little plants from seeds 🫂🫂🫂💕💕💕 just be patient with yourself, and have fun with getting to know your characters!

[fleet-off]

yet another Off the Handle excerpt

from the one where Vegas over-reacts following a dishwasher argument.

Pete drops to his knees, skin showing pink like a burn in his cheeks and the tops of his ears as he lets Vegas apply his sunscreen.

His arms rest across Vegas’s lap, muscles firm against his fingertips. It’s more body contact than they’ve had in nearly a week and it aches a little, the way casual touch does when it’s Pete.

“I don’t need it,” he’s saying, although not particularly protesting, “I spent a lot of time indoors the last few years, but I can handle some sun.”

Vegas massages lotion into his cheeks. “...You’d tell me if you noticed something wrong with your skin.”

“What, like an infection?”

“A rash, a weird mole…”

Pete gives him a funny look. “Yeah, I’d tell you if I were worried about skin cancer.” He butts his face against Vegas’s hand, shocking enough that Vegas nearly jolts back. He gentles his palms for Pete’s face to nestle against. “Really, don’t you think you’d notice first? You know my skin better than I do—you and your mole-biting and your weird ingrown-hair thing.”

Vegas bites back a retort. He shouldn’t have to defend his kinks—they both know Pete’s are weirder. “Tell me anyway,” he says.

Pete frowns. “Sure.” Softening up, “Odd to think of a future long enough that we have to worry about cancer.”

“…Yeah,” Vegas says thickly, and, “Turn around, I need to do your neck.”

Pete’s neck is sweaty already—it really is miserably hot. “We’ll leave by eleven,” Vegas tells him. “Pick up lunch on our way home.”

He pats Pete on the shoulder when he finishes and receives an unexpected kiss on the cheek for the trouble—doesn’t know what to do with it, after days of tension and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Probably he looks a little sunstruck, because Pete smiles and flicks his nose. “Sure you don’t want to get in the water?” he asks. “Just up to your knees? It’ll cool you off.”

“Have fun,” Vegas says, picking up his novel and the pieces of his composure. “And get Macau back here for his turn, will you? He has our mother’s skin.”

[lilac-vapor]

gardenia.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: Ominis/OFC

A/N: Find me on Ao3 under Bounteous

Ominis does not consider himself to be ambitious. Now, he can’t quite figure out whether it’s a result of his upbringing—having spent the majority of his childhood despising his family and naught else���or if basking in the tall grasses is his only desire in life currently. Warmth prickles at his skin, oscillating between pleasant and unbearable and he very much can’t help the worries still plaguing the recesses of his mind.

His fingertips brush along the bumps dotting the pages of his book, running over the same words again and again, slow as he is to remember the pattern’s meaning. Braille, she’d called it. He also recalls the indignation with which she’d slandered the whole of the wizarding community’s, “blatant disregard for disabilities.” Regardless, he appreciates not having to hold his wand in one hand while those thick school tomes sit in the other. He also appreciates the atmospheric silence as opposed to the translator spell deafening nearby ears.

He mutters lowly, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, ignoring the soft thumping of footsteps headed toward him. Hattie peers over his shoulder, and Ominis can faintly smell the earthiness of dittany as she does so.

“How goes the reading?” she asks, the cadence of her soft voice trailing down Ominis’ spine.

He smiles in spite of himself. “Difficult, I must admit. Haven’t the need to put my French to much use until now.”

“There’s not much braille in English, I’m afraid.” She straightens herself, dusting off her dress of whatever remedy she’d been procuring beforehand. “But you’re doing quite well! I could find you another muggle novel, if you’d like. You’re almost finished with that one, I see.”

He lifts his head in her direction, smiling fully. “That’d be much appreciated, thank you.”

“Of course! Now, come. I’d like you to accompany me to the market today!” 

He imagines she’s either holding out a hand to help him up or standing with her hands on her hips in that pleasantly proud sort of way she does so often. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

“The muggle market or the wizarding market?” “Basinbrooke—I’m on the lookout for more Valerian Root. Was in the middle of brewing some Blood-Replenishing and couldn’t find any.”

“What of Anne?” “She’s napping. Now will you please grab my hand so I can whisk you away on a magical adventure?”

He’s barely lifted his finger from the page before she grabs his hand with the personable confidence of most Hufflepuffs and pulls him up from his nestle among the grasses and flowers. He snaps his book shut and tucks it against his chest as he stalls, “At least let me tidy up. I can’t very well go walking about like I’ve rolled around in the fields.”

Ominis had not expected to travel today. He would have been content to sit about reading or dozing or walking around the property, so he hadn’t put much thought or effort into his choice of clothing. Simple breeches and hose, boots he’d accidentally waded through a creek in, and his button-up with sleeves he’s rolled up to his elbows. Oh, he must look a sight.

Hattie merely squeezes his hand and tugs him along. “Nonsense, you’re as beautiful as always.”

His face burns hotly at her words. “L-let me put the book away, then,” he stammers.

~~~

Basinbrooke is a hamlet roughly the size of Lower Hogsfield, but every two weeks during the summer months they host a large market for all of the surrounding hamlets to join, barter, and trade. Ominis has discovered, though Hattie finds the smallest delights in most things, this market holds a special place in her heart. He’d be a fool to believe she only came for the Valerian Root and not at all to converse and peruse the various trinkets, delicacies, and other displays. 

He’s lost her nearly three times now, though she always finds her way back to him. Currently, he’s immersed himself in the lovely taste of lemon shortbread as he sniffs about the hundreds of teas this stall is selling. He has half a mind to buy himself some Earl Grey fresh on the spot. And perhaps some oolong for Hattie, woodsy and rich like those muggle herbs she enjoys.

The square, if that at all, teems with life and laughter, with chatty customers and even chattier vendors. Ominis hasn’t been around such thralls of people since Hogwarts and he can admit with utmost confidence that he doesn’t miss it. While navigating is a pain in his arse, it’s that he much rather prefers the company of silence and stillness as opposed to this cacaphony of grating voices and footsteps on gravel and—

“Sweets and sugary delights! Accid pop, darling? They’ll melt your mouth!”

“Uh, no, thank you.”

“Oh, fine, young sir, this hat would look absolutely stunning atop you!” “I’m okay, thank you.”

“Palm reading, perhaps? Your future is full of twists indeed.”

“No.”

It appears he can’t go one second without being accosted by some stall or other despite the countless patrons strolling right on by. Merlin, where is she?

Mesmerized by the candle vendor, of course.

“I can’t believe you stranded me in the middle of the crowd like that,” he admonishes jokingly, shaking his head. “I could have been mauled.”

Hattie giggles, and he imagines anyone else might blush in slight embarrassment, but she is nothing if not assuredly herself and he knows she is simply smiling. At him, he hopes.

She says, “Apologies, Ominis, I was looking for a candle that smells like you, though I haven’t any luck just yet,” and he thinks his heart must skip several beats at such a bold, unobtrusive statement.

“W-why on earth would you be searching for a candle that smells like me?”

She picks up another candle, sniffing several times before humming in disappointment. “Because you smell good, obviously. But mostly because it’s so familiar and I can’t quite put my finger on it, so I thought I could figure it out by finding a candle.”

“A candle that smells like me?” Ominis supplies dumbly.

“Yes!”

Hattie is strange in a way that makes Ominis uniquely warm and fuzzy inside. It’s not that she has a loose tongue, that she might inadvertently anger the wrong wizard by opening her mouth faster than her brain can shut it. It’s that everything she says, she says with such meaning and conviction. Every single word, every sentence is true and well-intentioned and never lacking in sincerity. 

She will stop in the middle of something wholly important just to tell a young witch that her hair is so strikingly beautiful and there will never be any hidden intent, maliciousness, or snide remark in the aftermath. She will mean it with every ounce of her being and she will say it with such colorful articulation and inflection that it leaves Ominis nearly tearful.

It shouldn’t still be so monumental that she expresses her feelings in such a way to him. But it is.

“Juniper.”

He feels her still beside him. “What?”

“Juniper, I think, is the scent you’re looking for.”

She sets down the jar in her hand, lets it lightly thump against the table as she turns toward him. “How do you know that?” 

And he feels the ingenuity wrapped around the question like vines as he smiles fondly. “My aunt.” Though it hurts to reminisce, he loves having someone new to talk about her to. “There…there was a muggle family she became quite close to. A friend of hers from school who was muggle-born. They had juniper trees in their yard where they liked to sit and talk. She said I smelled like them, odd as it is.”

Hattie is silent for several moments and Ominis begins to wonder if he’s overstepped before she speaks, “That was a really lovely story, Ominis. The way you spoke of your aunt…is she?”

He merely nods, swallowing down the lump in his throat instead of speaking aloud.

“I’m very sorry. She is right, though. You do oddly smell like juniper.” She places a jar in his hand, keeps hold of it as she tugs him closer. “I’m sad because I don’t think they’ll have a juniper candle here. It’s not a very summer-y scent. But I do hope you’ll enjoy this present from me to you. I know you like to smell the roses and all that.”

He struggles to speak in such close proximity, feeling the way her breath tickles against his cheek and her hands press against his. “What is it?”

He hears the smile in her voice. “Sniff it, go on!”

What he smells is something strong, something almost like fruit but heavier. Comforting in its familiarity and he smiles once he deduces the candle sat delicately in his grasp. “Gardenia, is it not?”

Hattie jumps, her fingers tightening against his as she squeals, “Yes, yes! Do you remember when I took you around that muggle park the other day and you mentioned how you absolutely adored those flowers?”

Hattie certainly enjoys her walks and Ominis will forever indulge her, even if her stamina will always trump his. Strolls to Hogsmeade and back pale in comparison to the trips she takes him on, though, as is always the case, he can’t tell her no. Seems to be that way with all his friends.

He laughs, low and breathy, replying, “I don’t think I used that phrase, but yes, I recall.”

“Well, they have it here…in a jar for your burning pleasure!” She steals him away from the stall, from the utterly confused proprietor, probably, and back into the hustle and bustle. This time with her arm through his. “I was going to wait until we got back to the cottage, but you found me first. I’ve also got some sugary sweets for Anne, a couple absolutely exquisite quills for Sebastian, and a stunning wand handle for Nirvana. She does so adore collecting those, doesn’t she?”

They make their way through the market, through the shade of the willow trees that incase the Floo Flame. Ominis can feel the tendrils brush against his arms and cheeks and Hattie giggles as she accidentally guides his face straight into one. He tries to fight the blush as she brushes away the bits of green lodged in his hair.

It’s not until they’re halfway back toward the coast that Ominis speaks, “What did you get for yourself?”

Hattie, so lost in the wonder that is the world around her, merely hums in acknowledgement.

“You bought gifts for all of us except yourself?” Ominis wonders how someone could be so thoughtlessly selfless.

“Well, yes, but I didn’t need to buy my gift. He’s right here next to me for free.”

Ominis nearly trips on his own two feet, stopping in the middle of the path as he sputters about for a reply. It’s so strange, so stupidly and wonderfully strange because even Sebastian, fiery Sebastian, wasn’t able to fray Ominis’ nerves quite like this when they’d first met. Perhaps he need only play catch up considering a long part of his life left him without compliments or niceties or even sweet nothings to be watched as they’re whispered from his father to his mother. Perhaps he simply needs to get used to Hattie.

He’s not so sure he wants to. No one’s ever made him feel like this before.

Hattie laughs, grabbing at his arm and nuzzling against him. “I didn’t mean to frazzle you so, Ominis. Let’s go home, shall we?”

It’s not until they’ve reached the front door that Hattie exclaims, “Oh, blast, I forgot the Valerian Root!”

Ominis’ breath catches in his throat. His heart stops. His limbs and appendages seize movement. Is this what love feels like?

[janec23]

Writing question tag

Thank you @mariahwritesstuff for the tag, I love these questions! Here the original post :)

My quest to finish my tag games is moving forward!

I tag: @rickie-the-storyteller, @digital-chance, @romanceandshenanigans, @phynewrites, @harleywriteshit (if you did this already, sorry!)

Rules: Answer the 10 questions if you feel like it ^^

Questions at the bottom!

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you’ve ever had?

It's not really an idea, but I really want to crush the tabu about menstrual cycle. Half of the population on earth has period, so why not mention it in my writing? It's just part of my OCs life, so I mention it if necessary.

2. Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

The question was: why do you care so much about your writing? You are a scientist and you care more on improving your writing style than your career. I know I can improve my writing and it makes me feel good, my career? Not so much... :/

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

Favourite: Feeling what my OCs are feeling while I write. I love becoming my OCs, think like them, act like them. Daydreaming about their adventures as well!

I would leave the editing, I hate it, I'm not good at it. I can rework scenes hundreds of times to make them better, but please, don't make me work on punctuation and cutting out stuff >.<

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

Knowing that once I am done writing I will have another story to read and re-read that I enjoy when I am down. The confort of knowing my OCs will be there for me is undeniable ^^

5. What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Become your OCs and write like you're them, act like them, write what they feel and think at that moment, do not over explain useless stuff only for the sake of the reader.

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

The classic: show don't tell. I was 13, so you can imagine the pages spent on over-explaining every single detail of the world I was building. -.-"

7. What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

It's a sequel of The midnight's witches, where I focus on Alessia. It takes place 5 years after the main story, she's 17 and facing a lot of challenges as the perfect daughter that is starting to explore the world for the first time. Without her mother breathing down her neck all the time she's finally free to date that guy.

8. What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

"Did that silver spoon got stuck in your ass, snobly?" Sneered Julien.

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

This is a slippery slope. I would say Renewa. She's a healer and most of her patients are elderly, so she is suppose to cure them, but since the setting of the story is in a middle age kind of world, sometimes they don't want to suffer anymore and ask her to help them in other ways... And she does it. I respect the way she feels about it, she's just doing her best to ease their suffering, respecting their wishes. I made her to be controversial also in the novel.

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

She would be amazed at the amount of stuff I wrote, winning small prizes and pushing forward in my quest to improve. She would be happy to know fantasy do not extinguish when you grow older, but like wine it becomes better.

Questions:

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you’ve ever had?

2. Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

5. What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

7. What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

8. What is your favourite out-of-the-box quote?

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

[questioningespecialy]

i’m constantly reminded of mortality, and it doesn’t bother me the way you’d think

repost from that time i deleted an article i spent 4 days on T-T actual post this time since i somehow posted it privately yesterday 😭

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Hi, I’m Questioning. And I like to waste my life away dedicate my free time to random hobbies that catch my hyperfixation interest on the fly. Currently, I’ve returned to something most important. Updating the encyclopedia-esque database of AlternativeTo.net. o_o

Let me finish.

See, I started exploring the world of Visual Novel (VN) makers, which led to me discovering the world of Interactive Fiction (IF)–their predecessor afaic. And that’s where it got strange. What I’ve found is interesting developments in terms of innovation and such. Like Undum (image)–“a game framework for building a sophisticated form of hypertext interactive fiction” according to its GitHub. IFWiki calls it “an authoring system for CYOA-style stories playable on web browsers.” It was created by I.D. Millington in 2009, released in 2010, had returned in 2018, and would’ve changed the IF genre (kinda like Twine did) if not for how hard it was to get into.

Undum’s flexibility and power have made it the engine that drove some of the most significant works in IF (The Play, Almost Goodbye). But it has always been relatively inaccessible. Undum is not the system of choice for writing straightforward hypertext games; it’s a challenging system to learn and use that demands the author build their own engine on top of it to drive their game logic. Consider Raconteur for “Undum with batteries included.” -Bruno Dias (x)

Enter Raconteur, “a friendlier way to write Undum hypertext fiction” that was announced by Bruno Dias in 2015. More accurately described as “a library of Undum tools that can get someone writing their story quickly.” Here’s the thing about the “library of Undum tools” part: Undum did not come prepackaged with any… even though they were required to write your game,…😐 which “meant doing a lot of your own tooling.” 😑

Yeah, no surprise it won the award for Best Technological Development in XYZZY Awards 2015.

But hold up, somethin’ ain’t right…

Undum’s only got 21 games on IFDB.org and Raconteur’s got 4… with 1 overlap with Undum. 😐

So~… wth?

Well, someone else had a similar question on intfiction.org in March and got Josh Grams’ opinion on it: JavaScript.

🤷🏿‍♂️

So even though Undum was designed as the visual version of bookbinding and with the specific goals “aesthetic” & “technical” in mind, shit’s too intimidating compared to alternatives.

I hoped [writing Undum in JavaScript] would make it accessible for a wider range of dabblers, requiring transferable skills rather than learning a new language. It also made it achievable to write and document over a few weekends: I didn’t have to worry about parsing, or creating a complete runtime. But the best benefit, and in some ways the one least exploited in practice, is the ability to use Undum as part of a bigger game. I imagined a strategy game with CYOA elements, or a piece of interactive fiction using natural language generation to be different each time. -Ian Millington (x)

And here’s~ where it gets a bit fucked.

Remember the other person who had a similar question–J. J. Guest? Well, they ended their post with “Was it simply superseded by Ink / Inky?”

Let’s keep this simple:

Ink [image] is the core narrative engine itself, written in C#. It includes the code for the compiler. If you’re not technical, you don’t need to worry about this. Inky [image] is our ink editor, which is a text editor with support for playing as you write. If you’re just starting out with ink, this is all you need. inkle is the game development studio that created ink (x)

So it’s “a narrative scripting language for games” and yet another CYOA maker. Why do I bring them up? Well, Inkle (the company) “was founded in 2011 by two Cambridge game developers [Joseph Humfrey & Jon Ingold] with a passion for storytelling and beautiful design” (x). They started off with their unique “inklebook” format, which had an early prototype game in ~2008 that Jon described as

an iPad-based choice-driven story made of ‘pages’ which stitched together into a single flow via frequent choice points. It was a lovely UI for a choice-based game, even in prototype form, and we had a strong scripting language underneath it – the first version of ink. (x)

In January of 2012, they released “a web-tool for writing and reading simple interactive stories” called inklewriter. Joseph described it as “a simpler subset of the inklebook format” (x) and admitted “inklewriter was partly born out of the surprise that there isn’t anything out there for quickly and easily writing non-linearly.” (x)

After already having “moved away from developing inklewriter for a long time,” it went “permanent beta” in September of 2017 due to “increasing frequency of persistent bug-reports.” Sad news considering the statement “we’ve had hundreds of thousands of stories created by hundreds of thousands of users; we’ve won awards from school and library associations; and hopefully we’ve helped kickstart a few interactive writers careers” (x). And since writers (who became aware in time) were able to “rescue” their story from the bugs and potential wipeout with a simple Save Page As, it was probably a bit less heartbreaking when inkle revealed less than a year later that inklewriter would be shutting down completely in August of 2018. Seemingly because “it’s real work to fix the issues that arise” with the constant browser changes. 😐

Only 7 months later, it returned in March of 2019. Stable, still free, and now open-source after developers in the open-source community “produced a full port of inklewriter to modern web-tech.” 🥳 Writers needed to make new accounts and import their stories to the new database, but that was it. And since the legacy version was (and is) still around, they could do it pretty quickly. (x)

But where dahell was I going with this? Let me tell you about the original connection first: Unity Integration.

The [ink-unity-integration] plugin provides you with everything you need to get started with ink in Unity. It automatically recompiles ink files as you edit them, and even comes with a simple previewer that lets you play stories directly within the Editor, without writing a line of code. (x)

Remember Ian Millington’s statement from awhile ago? “But the best benefit, and in some ways the one least exploited in practice, is the ability to use Undum as part of a bigger game. I imagined a strategy game with CYOA elements, or a piece of interactive fiction using natural language generation to be different each time.” (x)

Well,… Stoic Studio (announced that they) did it in January 2013 when they used inklewriter for The Banner Saga. Though, inkle recommends you use their ink scripting language instead for Unity projects. 🤷🏿‍♀️ A scripting language that was ported to JavaScript in May of 2016, btw. The port (inkjs) having its latest release just 6 freaking days ago while Undum and Raconteur had their last GitHub edits in 2018 & 2020 respectively.

Either way, Ian’s imagination of “a strategy game with CYOA elements” happened… with another mofo’s software. 😐

And what’s that? I left something out?

I left working on Undum to develop Varytale, a short lived commercial IF endeavour that shared a lot of the same aesthetic and narrative structure. And then I retired, and it lay fallow, aside from email help requests that still drip into my inbox. -Ian Millington (x)

Let’s see what IFWiki says about this endeavor:

Varytale was a platform for authoring and publishing browser-based CYOA, created by Ian Millington and Alexis Kennedy; it occupied a point somewhere between Undum and StoryNexus [a comparatively mostly defunct endeavor from 2012]. The Varytale website was live from approximately 2011 to 2015. The first posts on Varytale’s blog appeared in June 2011. On March 7, 2014, Varytale posted a comment on the Varytale Facebook page saying, “The project is stalled, due to key people leaving the project. So there’s no news, and I’m not sure if or when there will be.” The last Wayback Machine snapshot of www.varytale.com/books was taken in September 2015. (x)

On its May of 2012 public beta announcement on FailbetterGames website, something slightly poignant was said.

But the technology is great [seriously] - it’s easily the most flexible and powerful tool of its kind, and it’ll be fascinating to see what people can do with it once the writers’ programme opens up. And as it happens, Jon Ingold / Joseph Humfrey’s very elegant inklewriter has also just gone live [4 months prior]. (…) …[inklewriter] covers some of the same territory as Varytale, but it’s (by design) simpler in concept and execution. (x)

Life is truly cruel.

If you check the archive from possibly days before its shut down in September of 2015, you’ll see 4 official books (Bee, Fighting, How To Read, Hymn & Shanty) and 3 User Published Books (London Road, Sixth Tower, Tillinghast). That’s 7… 7 books. 😐

But it’s not that sad. According to the Varytale blog’s 2nd to last post (in June of 2012), “we passed 50,000 reads across the seven books currently on our reader’s beta.” This was perhaps a full week after they released the floodgates and actually allowed people to start readin’. Das alot to me. They clearly succeeded in “building a platform for authors to write great books, and for publishers to publish them.” Even built a whole-ass “system that does generative design,” creating “artwork based on the author’s choice of patterned design or photograph” (x). Or, as we’d quickly say 12 years later, some AI shit.

So wut 👏🏿 in da fuq 👏🏿

Why’d they never get past the 7 book mark in the 2 years between Reader’s Beta and project stallation? Well,… there’s a hint at the end of that 2012 blog post: “We have a queue of people wanting to write content, who are been added a few at a time. So lots of hard work in the beta still to go.” hm~ 🤔

If The Way Back Machine had archives past January of 2013, we’d definitely know more, but this is it (i ain’t diggin’ a wider hole at this point). And what is it? I think it’s a matter of workload. Too much for too few people who had however much goin’ on in their lives. Remember much earlier this bit from IFWiki?

On March 7, 2014, Varytale posted a comment on the Varytale Facebook page saying, “The project is stalled, due to key people leaving the project. (x)

Maybe things weren’t smooth enough for awhile. Maybe it was something else for those 2 years prior. 🤷🏿‍♂️ And you know… the end of Emily Short’s blog post Writing for Varytale might hold the answer.

There are still some challenges about using the Varytale system, though it’s evolved tremendously over the course of beta. One of the biggest authorial challenges is that, while there’s the awesome structure tool shown above for looking at branching structure inside a storylet, it can be considerably more challenging to get a view of what’s going on at the macro level. And I’m not even sure what the tool for this ought to look like. The strength of storylets is that they can affect which other ones pop up in a fairly freeform way, and one can affect another (via their shared stat use) without explicit logic in either. But that’s also what makes it really hard to graph how they will act. Most of the bugs that arose in Bee were related to this issue of envisioning the total structure of the work and detecting storylets that were going to break that structure. (x)

So in this case aswell, the innovations of Ian’s Varytale make it… (a bit) intimidating to work with. 😑Whether or not this difficulty was ever ironed out post-beta is unknown to me, especially considering the end of Ian’s thankful response to Tom H.’s suggestion for fixing the macro level problem: “When will I get chance to code it? That’s a whole other matter!”

…hm~

And on the same post lies magnus4444’s statement that “There isn’t a lot of documentation out there yet on the implementation of more advanced effects but, on the plus side, Ian is generous with advice and tips.”

🤷🏿‍♀️

So wtf do we have here. Effectively two developers (i’m simplifying it; fight me) who 1) made a CYOA maker (Undum & inklewriter) for very similar reasons, 2) put development aside to focus on other CYOA makers (Varytale & Inky), 3) had their neglected work taken up by open-source developers for the good of everyone, and 4) reaped the benefit of the other’s labor in some way. Now, here’s where we’re back to the sad part. Inkle’s version of the tale is the American Dream ™. Inklewriter was beloved by many and had mainstream success. Ian’s version is the harsh American Reality. Undum only bore 24+ games over the course of its 13 year existence on the internet and in the world of IF. And if a single person’s opinion is to be taken as fact… then the reason was simple: shit wasn’t easy to pickup. And thus, regardless of Ian & Bruno’s efforts, it (at this rate) is bound to become an obscure software regardless of its potential. All while Varytale remains gone and Inky (released in June of 2016) is still goin’ strong with 160+ games released using its Ink language/engine.

Which brings me back to the matter…

i’m constantly reminded of [my] mortality