#the-modern-typewriter

[speckeltail]

We're so close to something better left unknown, I can feel it in my bones.

one more fanart for the sidekick diaries for @the-modern-typewriter feat. increasingly insane interpretations

[kissorkill16]

I love when a touch starved, stubborn person is forced to give in to their feelings.

I’ve not seen any starved touched hero stories so may I request a starved touched hero and the villain finds out and helps them. It’s fine if not:)

"Tell me," the villain murmured, as the hero's breath came out quivering. "When was the last time that someone touched you?"

It wasn't what the hero had expected.

"People touch me all the time."

"Kindly."

"You're not kind."

But the villain's touch was such a gentle thing; the hero's brain refused to register it as cruelty, even as the villain's fingers were curled around their throat. They didn't squeeze though.

The hero should have pulled back already. They should have shoved the villain away. They did none of those things. They leaned limp against the wall, almost hypnotised by the back and forth sweep of the villain's thumb brushing sweetly against their pulse point.

It was pitiful for a nice threat to feel like affection. They were pitiful.

The villain's gaze was intent.

"What are you doing to me?" the hero whispered.

"I'm not doing anything." The villain's powers worked with touch, but they had never touched the hero before. The hero had always been too quick. The villain had managed that time though, advancing, shoving the hero to the wall and then - then this. The villain had touched their skin and then they'd gone perfectly still for a few seconds. The villain could expose all secrets with a press of their fingers, do all manner of things, but...

The hero swallowed, eyeing them. They genuinely didn't think the villain was doing anything.

Each second that ticked by seemed a confession, a betrayal, a plea for something.

The villain's hand slid slowly to to cup the nape of the hero's neck. "You didn't answer my question." The villain pulled the hero a step closer, dragged them flush. The villain's other hand wrapped around the hero's back.

They were being hugged.

A confused, entirely too soft sound left the hero's throat. Questioning. A little choked. It felt like a trap and it felt entirely too desperately lovely.

The villain tightened their grip, tucking the hero's head against their shoulder.

"Skin hunger," the villain said, softly. "Touch starvation. You are a famine, love, I can feel it."

"I-" The hero didn't know how to finish the sentence. The villain was so warm against them, a solid and reassuring presence. That couldn't be right. "What?"

"It has been entirely too long, hasn't it?"

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm hugging you."

"Your powers-"

"-Mean I know exactly how you are feeling. How much you need this. So are you going to be good and shut up and let yourself have it?"

The hero choked out another gasp of air.

Was that was why the villain had stopped? Why they'd seemed to switch gears so abruptly when they could have finally won? The hero swallowed and shut up, even if it was a bad idea. Inch by inch, when the villain did nothing more but hold them, the hero relaxed. They melted.

"Why are you doing this?" the hero managed, pressing their face against the promise of the villain's shoulder.

"Kindness?"

"You're not kind."

The villain huffed, breath rustling the hero's hair. They pressed a kiss atop the hero's head. "Mm. Temporarily benevolent. No strings attached, pinky promise."

It was definitely suspicious, but it really did feel so unbelievably good. The hero felt like they'd settled into their bones for the first time in years. Maybe longer.

They really couldn't remember the last time someone touched them kindly, for an extended period of time. A brush of accidental touch in a crowd. A hairdresser's clinical contact. None of it was anything like what the villain gave them.

"That's better," the villain said, with a sigh. "Your nerve endings have stopped screaming at me."

"S-sorry. I-"

"It was merely an observation. You don't need to be sorry."

The hero expected the villain to get back to it, or step back. They didn't. It was probably the longest hug in the world.

Finally, the hero let themselves reach out, wrapping their arms around the villain in turn.

"Good," the villain said.

"Are we still...I shouldn't let you touch me. I'm not stupid."

"No."

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"When you actually want me to, sure."

"And you can...feel that?"

"Yes."

The hero squirmed with embarrassment. The villain tightened their grip again. The hero went still.

"Years," the hero whispered, finally. "It's been years. I can't remember the last time."

"Mm." The villain nuzzled into them. "That's not going to happen again. I don't believe in torture."

Neither of them much felt like fighting when they finally broke apart.

[the-broken-pen]

Honestly the pipeline of “reading the-modern-typewriter snippets at midnight on the floor of my bathroom at age eleven so I wouldn’t get caught” to “being a tumblr writer myself” is a wild one.

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #232

Villain stepped out into Other Villain’s path, causing a little jump of surprise.

“Goodness gracious, Villain! Don’t just walk out like—“

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Villain growled. “Stop trying to take over my heists!”

Other Villain blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re always showing up to my schemes! Fighting my heroes! Forcing your way into my plans! Do you think I’m going to give you a cut? Because I’m not. Or did you think you could push me out completely? Take the goods and leave me with the heroes? It’s a clever scheme, but pretty scummy. Even for a villain. You know we have respect in this city, maybe not for the laws, but for the code we’ve set for ourselves. So back off. Before I make you.”

Other Villain gaped. “I’m not trying to do any of that! I’m just helping out!”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Villain sneered.

Other Villain looked at the floor and flushed. “I just like being with you.”

[389]

Barrie Tullett explores in Typewriter Art: A Modern Anthology

[funplexflip]

RIP Bunny you would've loved Grammarly

[lord-emerson]

⬤, ✈ or # for Howard and Oz <3

- @letters-of-fire

[3 in 1 for you, my dear <3 Send me a symbol for a drabble!]

⬤: being called soft things like baby, sweetheart or honey; ✈: reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!]; #: shaky hands 

In Case of Emergency

Rating: General

Relationships: Howard Underhouse/Oswald J. Emerson

Tags: Modern Setting, Banter & Bickering, Hospital Visit, Fake Marriage (barely fake at this point tbh), Fluff & Angst, like 90% fluff 10% angst tbh, this takes place after Oz had a medical emergency but he's fine by the time the fic begins dw

Words: 758

Summary: "He was alive. Oswald was alive and breathing next to him and that was all that mattered."

He was alive. Oswald was alive and breathing next to him and that was all that mattered. Exhaustion was radiating off of Howard in waves as he laid his head in his hands next to Oswald’s hospital bed.

He should be fine within a week, the nurse told him. There was no need to worry — appendectomies were a routine procedure for most surgeons apparently. But having to rush to the hospital, not yet knowing why his partner had just gone into surgery was certainly not a routine procedure Howard. In fact he’d only done it once before, and by the end of the week she was…

This is not about her, he had to remind himself. It was a different situation altogether. She was his wife whom he loved with all his heart, and Oswald was… Oswald was…

“How…ard?”

Howard startled at the sound of Oswald’s voice, roughened by sleep. He was rubbing his eye with one hand and mindlessly reaching out towards Howard with another. Howard took the hand into both of his without hesitation.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The nickname, often spoken with an air of irony and contempt between the two of them, was currently showing trace of neither. “How are you feeling?”

Oswald didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to be taking in his surroundings, slowly piecing together recent events through the haze painkillers and exhaustion.

“I’m just peachy,” he said, staring into the middle distance. Howard tried not to think too much of it. He was ready to ask another question, when Oswald beat him to it:

“What are you doing here?”

He was looking straight at him now. His gaze was intense and focused, so much so that it had Howard letting go of his hand immediately. Coughing into his closed fist, Howard made an attempt at composing himself.

“I’m the closest thing you have to an emergency contact, I’m afraid. Could’ve called Bella or Monty, but given that we are legally married, they called me.”

Oswald gave him another long look. Then he sank back into his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

“I suppose,” he said. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a big breath in preparation for a sigh, which got interrupted by a wince of pain.

“Careful,” Howard said, rising to his feet to… Do what, exactly? Tell Oswald not to breathe? Jesus, get a hold of yourself.

He was hoping he could avoid the embarrassment of Oswald seeing him fussing for no reason, but of course his eyes opened just in time to catch him in the act. He cocked his head a little — despite everything, it was almost endearing. And for the first time since waking up, he smiled.

“Good, you’re up. Can you bring me a Fanta Orange?”

Howard snorted.

“Oh, so now you’re happy to see me, huh?” He was smiling, too. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to eat or drink yet, actually.”

“Fine. Orange juice then.”

“I don’t think that makes a difference.”

“And I think it would be cruel to dismiss the last wishes of a dying man.”

“Oh, shut up. You just had an appendectomy. You’ll live.”

“You don’t know that. I could still die. I need a source of vitamin C if I am to survive this.”

Howard shook his head fondly. Even now, the man had enough energy to get on his nerves. Seeing that this particular battle was won, Oswald was quietly basking in his victory. He lifted his head in an all too familiar fashion — a sign of haughtiness, as well as a clear invitation for a kiss.

When Howard reached out a hand to cup his husband’s face, he was surprised to see it shaking. He saw that Oswald saw it, too. Uncertain if he was about to comment on it or not, Howard quickly leaned down and pressed his lips against his.

Looks like I won this one, he thought distantly as Oswald hummed into the kiss. After they broke apart, Howard graced Oswald’s cheeks with one more kiss each. He was ready to pepper him with even more when Oswald turned away, pushing on his chest with all of his reduced might.

“No more distractions, Howard. Only orange juice.”

“Tsk. I thought you had better manners than this,” Howard said, eyebrows raised.

Oswald rolled his eyes.

“Could my dear legal husband get me a beverage before I die of thirst? Preferably of the orange-flavoured kind? Pretty please?”

“It would be my honour,” Howard chuckled, planting a final kiss on the tip of Oswald’s nose.

[hinatarexie]

[frommybookbook]

i'm going to tell my kids this is the tortured poets department

[cadaverousdecay]

technically a vampire question but not really:

should I write victorian era vampire au fanfiction, is there any advice you would have for writing such a setting/any resources for immersing myself in such a setting? (rlly i just want to feed my brainworms, sorry if I’m being imposing lol.)

dracula takes place during the victorian era so i would absolutely recommend that!! as for general victorian knowledge all i have is based on the horrible histories "vile victorian" segments lmao. other than that, id say u could just do a bit of research on anything that pertains to ur plot, and there are a lot of accounts of victorian vampires and vampire panics :] mercy brown was a very popular case of supposed vampirism from the victorian era (though she lived in america, not sure where your story takes place but id assume england if ur talking about the victorian era? either way the case of mercy brown is interesting id say its worth learning about)

thats about as much as i can help with the victorian era, sorry! if u have any questions about the nature of vampirism ur portraying in ur story let me know :]

[kissorkill16]

Spicy 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Hi! Absolutely love your writing :) Would you be willing to do a enemies to lovers but with hero x villain? Maybe with like a controlling villain and the hero secretly likes it but is defiant externally? Sorry idk if that made sense lol

Thank you in advance though if you're able to!

"You can't just keep crashing my dates."

The villain glanced over their shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a mimicry of an emotion that didn't quite reach their eyes. "No?"

"No." The hero stalked closer, stopping in front of the villain, in time for them to turn. "I'm not yours."

"No?"

"No!" The hero's heart gave a little skip, at the possibility that the villain would then look at them and then say (in a growl, or devastatingly matter-of-fact, or in a teasing purr) 'yes, you are' or 'you're most certainly mine'. The villain had done it before.

The villain tilted their head, offering the hero one of the two glasses of wine they had just poured.

The hero took it, anticipating.

The villain didn't say anything, simply watching them as they took a steady sip.

The hero's face burned but they refused, stubbornly, to look away.

The villain set their glass down on the counter behind them. No rush.

The hero imagined the villain grabbing them, kissing them, as they had done before too. Twirling them, glass flying and wine sloshing, and pressing them up against the nearest flat surface. They would change every no to yes and please and more.

They both knew the routine, the dance of it. It didn't need saying.

"Your dates look increasingly like me," the villain murmured. "Have you noticed?" Their hands stayed, agonisingly, at their sides, as they leaned lazy against the counter.

The hero blinked, not expecting the comment. They took a sip of the wine instead of replying, hoping that perhaps an equally steady silence might come across as cool and mysterious instead of flabbergasted.

The villain smiled. "Say please."

"W-what?"

"Say please if you want me to screw your pretty brains out until you can't think straight."

The hero spluttered. "That's not - I'm not - that's not why I'm here." They undoubtedly would say please, but it had never been so close to the start, so when there wasn't any excuse they could possibly give for the desperate needing of it.

"No?"

"No." The hero swallowed.

"So you don't go on your little dates just to wind me up?" The villain finally straightened, taking a step closer.

The hero stepped back, but didn't run, didn't want to. Mesmerised. Their mouth felt very dry. "No." Such a lie.

The villain's smile grew. "You don't secretly wish I'd kiss you, claim you, in front of all of them?"

"No." The hero jutted their chin up. "I'm not a thing to be claimed."

The villain advanced; the hero back-tracked.

"You don't," the villain continued, a honeyed murmur, "say no, because you love all the ways I can persuade you. Because then you can pretend you don't want this. Because you like watching me take control of you."

The hero's back hit the wall. Miraculously, the wine didn't spill, still clutched uselessly in one hand.

"No."

"Mm." The villain set their palms on either side of the hero's shoulders, and the hero felt the very air between them might start vibrating with the urge to close the gap. "Perhaps I'll never crash one of your dates again then."

The thought was unbearable. The villain was bluffing, right? They had to be bluffing.

The hero wet their lips. The villain's gaze dropped to follow the movement, then flicked back up to the hero's eyes.

"You're a bastard," the hero whispered, because it was true and it wasn't no.

"Why yes," the villain's eyes gleamed, "I am." They waited.

The hero's stomach squirmed. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

"I thought I didn't control you. I thought you weren't mine."

The hero shivered.

"So how could I," the villain leaned in to the hero's ear, still not quite touching, "possibly make you do anything?"

"...please."

"What was that, love?"

"I hate you."

"Do you?" The villain's lips finally pressed against their skin, kissing down their neck.

"Yes. So much." The hero's head fell back, offering more of their throat. The wine glass drooped in their hand.

"Don't spill on my floor."

The wine glass righted with titan concentration. There was nowhere to put it down.

The villain kissed them; soft, so soft, a promise of so much more to come.

"Would you like me to stop?" the villain asked against their lips.

"...no."

"No?"

"No."

The villain hummed and kissed them again, a little harder. The wine glass wobbled treacherously in the hero's hand once more. The hero's other hand clutched the villain's shoulder.

"I think we're done with the stage in our relationship where you pretend to date other people," the villain said, when they pulled back, breathless. They caught the hero's chin, and their stare was, for a moment, serious.

The hero scrambled past the kiss-drunk haze, brow furrowing. "It's actually bothering you?"

"No," the villain said, in the same tone that the hero said no, meaning yes.

"Okay." The hero leaned in to kiss them, just once, reassuring.

Tension eased out of the villain's shoulders. The wicked playfulness returned, and they shoved the hero back against the wall again. The next kiss was a consuming, hungry thing, and the hero could only chase after more than they were given, gasping.

The villain nipped the hero's neck, before giving a chiding click of their tongue. It once again sent an anticipatory shiver of delight down the hero's spine.

"Oh, would you look at that," the villain said, with soft and bewitching menace. "You spilled my wine. However shall I make you pay me back for that?"

"Make me?" The hero bit their lip. "You think you can make me do anything? Please."

The villain grinned.

There were no more dates with other people after that.

[dudeshusband]

and the modern equivalent for dude's job is...deputy sheriff but there's NOTHING cool or interesting about the sheriff's department these days. they just suck. they don't even ride horses. it's some asshole in a ford or something. the guns aren't even cool. they aren't even sexy.

[noxexistant]

i have a new modern katherine headcanon

[mariocki]

Play for Today: The Cry (BBC, 1984)

"It's best forgotten about."

"You're not gonna be making a complaint?"

"Complaints? We're not making any complaints! We don't want to know about any complaints."

"Complaints against who?"

"Well, the police."

"Who should I complain to about the police?"

"Well, the police, I suppose."

"What good would that do me?"

[chaotic-orphan]

Dec. 20, prompt: ice-skating

*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

“I need to go,” villain pleaded. Their eyes searching hero’s. Hero. The only person who was there for villain. Who understood them in a way no one else possibly could.

Hero, who was the only thing standing in their way to freedom, or imprisonment.

Hero swallowed thickly, then stepped aside.

“I won’t forget this hero,” villain vowed.

“Go, before they get here. I’ll say you got away.”

“I owe you my life.”

Hero’s eyes filled with tears as they looked away. “Go be safe. As far away as possible villain I mean it. I never want to see you again.”

Villain obeyed without a second thought.

After hero let them live, villain gave up a life of crime. They moved to a small town where they used their powers to help fix people’s cars instead of using it to hack into the government’s secret Hero training program.

And they never saw hero again.

That was until, one Christmas years later on the lake. They were ice skating with everyone, after being invited by their boss to join them on the frozen lake. It was a ritual they did every Christmas, and villain’s heart swelled as they accepted the invitation. For the first time in a long time, they felt like they had something special in the community they had slotted into so well.

The boss’s daughter was trying to teach Villain how to skate when Villain saw them. Across the lake, hugging their boss. Villain saw hero, and hero saw villain. And villain’s heart swelled again that year.

Villain watched as hero skated over to the pair, and said with their familiar voice, “I’ll take it from here.”

They put an arm out, and villain took it gratefully, as hero skated them around with the expert grace they had in everything they ever did.

“Hero…”

“I know. Of all the places in the world.”

“I gave up… you know-“

Hero smiled at them, and villain swore they were in a dream. They never thought they’d see hero’s smile again.

“I missed you,” is all hero said.

“I missed you too.”

Then they skated.

[lord-emerson]

🎲 a kiss for Howard and Oz? 🥺 (you can do modern AU if you want hehe)

- @letters-of-fire

7. A romantic kiss

Oswald let out a tired, steady breath that ruffled the stray hairs framing Howard's face. Long hair did suit him so very well.

Coming down from a long night of talking (more talking than they've ever done in one sitting, by far), Oswald had a sudden realisation: they hadn't even kissed yet. They cleared up so many misunderstandings, soothed old wounds and acknowledged the scars. There was hope in the air, but also trepidation.

Howard reached out in the dimness of the bedroom, burying his hand in Oswald's hair.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Oswald could hear the gentle smile in Howard's words.

"My thoughts are worth more than a penny." Oswald huffed, voice breaking on the last syllable.

"Hmmm. Alright, what would you like in exchange for those precious thoughts of yours then?"

"... I want to kiss you."

"Is that the thought or the price?"

"You decide."

Oswald wasn't sure which one of them moved in first. The only thing he knew was the warm, tingling sensation that spread over him as he held Howard in his arms. His lips careful, almost shy against Oswald's own. What a concept, he thought, pulling the man closer. Eventually breaking apart, Oswald pressed a quick kiss to Howard's cheek and buried his face into his neck, sighing contentedly.