#writing this was unexpectedly nostalgic

[captainventi]

Stars On Ice

The new season of Stars on Ice, a hit reality show where celebrities learn to skate alongside professional figure skaters, kicks off! Fateful encounters, first steps on the ice, grueling training sessions, and dazzling performances await the star-studded participants. And, of course, their main goal is to make an unforgettable first impression.

Episode 1. APT. (Rosé, Bruno Mars)

Pairing: celebrity!Caleb x figure skater!MC

Summary: An Olympic figure skater reunites with her childhood friend, now a popular baseball player, on the ice for a routine that turns unexpectedly personal, as they navigate old memories and unspoken feelings.

CW: figure skating!au, friendship, fluff and a little bit of awkwardness

Notes: this is one of the first episodes of the planned oneshot series that I hope I eventually finish. Post with all episodes (as soon as I write them) here. Caleb header from pinterest, dividers by @/saradika_graphics

One of my friends, a pair skater, once told me she spent some time skating with her ex — and that was a whole experience in itself. But honestly, I think my own story might just top hers now. How would you feel skating with the guy who stole your first awkward kiss during a game of spin the bottle? And even better — skating a routine about spin the bottle? Sounds like ready-made material for a stand-up show, doesn't it?

The main culprit clearly enjoys the joke that's gotten way out of hand. No, of course, he hasn’t gone blabbing to anyone about that embarrassing episode of my life — he’s way too good of a guy for that. For everyone else, we’re just two old friends performing a light, funny routine that’s a nostalgic nod to our good old sports college days. But he definitely loves smirking at me every chance he gets, making it very clear that the North remembers.

I honestly don't know if the producers of Stars on Ice, who paired me up with a popular baseball player, were aware that he actually used to be my next-door neighbor and my college buddy. Maybe they just figured we'd look good together and hoped for some Lady and the Tramp vibes — the graceful figure skater and the laid-back boy-next-door with a bat. Well, if that's the case, Caleb and I smashed those stereotypes right on our very first day: we ran into each other in the locker room and immediately broke into our college anthem — and then its much more inappropriate parody version. After our first practice, when he dragged me to a coffee shop suspiciously similar to the one by our main campus building, we were already reminiscing about the good old days, safely away from the all-seeing cameras.

That's when the infamous story resurfaced.

And, well... it was technically my fault. I mean, nobody made me say it. I just blurted it out, staring at his almost unchanged features I'd once known like the back of my hand:

“You know, I’ll lose it if the producers try to push any romantic stuff on us. I mean, come on, nothing’s gonna top that one spin the bottle disaster.”

“Well, at least none of the other pairs can brag about such a unique experience, right?” he smirked.

And he wasn’t wrong. That kind of comedy could only ever happen to us.

Somehow, it got to the point where we’re now skating to APT. — two young, goofy idiots in almost matching t-shirts and leather jackets. No sexy undertones, obviously. Purely brotherly. I mean, even our first kiss was purely brotherly... in its own deeply memorable way.

Caleb looks at me with that mischievous glint in his eyes, holding my hand as I lead him into the dance, silently asking, What else have you got, pipsqueak? How else are you gonna surprise me? And I deliver — maybe not surprising exactly him (we've been rehearsing this for three weeks, after all), but definitely surprising the audience: I leap onto him, and he instantly catches me, spinning around. It takes a lot of trust to attempt a lift like that with a rookie, and honestly, with anyone else, I probably wouldn't have dared. But this is Caleb — the same Caleb who never failed a trust fall test when we were kids, the same Caleb who always caught me whenever I crashed backward into him. It feels like catching me and carrying me around is as natural to him as breathing, smiling, or swinging a bat.

“Good job, pips,” he manages to whisper in my ear — how many times have I told him not to? He'll lose his breath just like that — but hey, he's not used to rhythmic sports, after all.

Naturally, he loses the beat a little, and I scramble to cover for him, improvising instead of doing our planned synchronized twizzles. I catch a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he immediately goes with it. He trusts me, too. And I know I need to learn to be a real partner — not just a solo skater anymore.

Things are different now. We have each other, and that changes everything.

"Don't do that during a program again," I tell him backstage as I hand him a water bottle — I’m dying of thirst myself after skating. "I get that emotions run high during a performance, but this isn’t a baseball game where you can just shout your thoughts right after a good pitch."

"Okay, okay, I won't," he says, giving me these big, apologetic puppy eyes. "It's just... you nailed that jump so perfectly, I couldn't help it. You're my little champ, how am I supposed to keep that in?"

And that casual "my" — you're my little champ — hits me like a bat to the back of the head. My? Since when? Who decided that I somehow belonged to him?

But I choose not to make a big deal out of it. Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue, nothing more.

Maybe I’m just overthinking things.

Maybe.

[bernardsbendystraws]

Hi Rose, this is kind of an embarrassing request, but you remind me of nostalgia itself, so hopefully, you’ll let it slide:

Could you write a blurb where Doll gets a Fingerling toy as a gift from Matt and gets super excited about it? Matt teases her at first but then tries it out himself to see why she’s so hyped. While using it, Doll notices how fluffy and cute he looks, especially with his veins popping, and she ends up getting really turned on.

and that ofc turns into him fingering her- fingerling to fingering typeshi (ho im so funny)

please rose like im begging

you feel mee seeeeeeee i can even write my versionish before the smut to get the idea:

The excitement bubbled up in Doll’s chest as she ripped open the neatly wrapped package Matt handed her. Her eyes sparkled as they landed on the tiny, colorful Fingerling toy nestled inside.

“No way! You actually got me one?” she exclaimed, bouncing slightly on the couch. She didn’t even wait for Matt’s response before slipping the toy onto her finger, watching it light up and make soft cooing noises. Her grin stretched ear to ear, pure childlike joy radiating from her.

Matt leaned back, arms crossed, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re way too excited about something made for, like, five-year-olds.”

“Oh, shut up,” Doll shot back, sticking out her tongue but failing to wipe the grin from her face. She wiggled the toy, making it chirp again. “This is adorable, and you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“Jealous? Yeah, right.” Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t help chuckling. “Alright, lemme see what all this fuss is about.”

Reluctantly, she handed it over. Matt slipped the toy onto his finger, and she felt her breath hitch slightly as she watched. His long, veiny fingers flexed slightly as he adjusted the tiny gadget. The way his hand moved—strong and sure, yet delicate enough to handle the small toy—made her heart flutter unexpectedly. The veins along the back of his hand stood out, a subtle roadmap that added a certain rugged beauty to his otherwise relaxed demeanor.

“Huh,” he muttered, his lips quirking as he pressed the buttons, his fingers moving with practiced ease. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s kinda cool.”

Doll swallowed hard, heat rising to her cheeks as she tried to focus on something other than how distracting his hands were. “You good over there?” Matt asked, smirking when he caught her staring. He wiggled the toy for emphasis. “Or is this little guy more entertaining than me?”

She laughed nervously, trying to shake herself out of it. “No, no! It’s just—you look so cute messing with it,” she blurted out before realizing what she’d said.

“Cute, huh?” His grin turned downright smug, and he leaned closer, holding up the toy like a trophy. “You’re really losing it over this?”

“Shut up, Matt,” she mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him, but her flushed face gave her away. His teasing laugh only made her heart race faster, and she secretly vowed to steal the Fingerling back as soon as he wasn’t looking.

OFC u dont need to im only asking cus ur the most nostalgic person I know and this soooo matches the vibe of ur fics ilysm if u see this

YOU LEGIT WROTE IT FOR ME AND THIS IS SO CUTE ILYILYILY

[swordsandarrows]

Excuse me for a moment while I get nostalgic...

Happy anniversary to my fic Paddleboard!

This time last year, I was sitting in the middle of a lake, on a paddleboard, in the very place this fic is set, overflowing with ideas and itching to write.

I never expected it to become a 100k+ word, multi-chapter piece when it started out as pen and paper. I never expected for it to get the traction it has on AO3 (even if it's not that much).

It's my pride and joy, honestly. I've never been so invested in writing something than I have with Paddleboard. Which - btw, if anyone is curious (doubt it) - Paddleboard was only supposed to be the draft name, but I grew so attached to it, it just stuck.

I realize I've lost some readers due to the direction I decided to take the fic - making it unexpectedly dark and gritty, over sweet and fluffy, but sweet and fluffy was never really the plan. How could it be when it comes to these two? They need drama and chaos to thrive and push their relationship forward.

Anywayyysssss

THANK YOU sincerely, to everyone who has read, commented, liked, reblogged - you all mean the world to me and I can't wait to get the next chapter out!

Cheers to me for a year of Paddleboard!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62537050/chapters/160059604

[isagrimorie]

Concept writing for a potential April Ludgate/Jen Barkley story…

But I can’t just start Jen and April off as falling into some relationship because it won’t be true to April’s character. April truly loves Andy… Their relationship is one cornerstone of Parks and Rec.

But Jen Barkley is exactly the type April Ludgate would Stan, and that we didn’t see them interact on Parks and Rec is a crime!

I know Parks and Rec closed the book on the entire gang with happy endings but as I’ve mentioned again and again; I hated how April gave in to Andy’s wish to have kids when she’s been vocal for several years on the show that she doesn’t want any kids.

Anyway, just trying this out as a concept writing.

---

Eight months after the Halloween dinner with Leslie and Ben, April decided to divorce Andy.

It wasn’t a decision April came to lightly. She loved Andy more than air. She can’t remember a time when she hasn’t been in love with Andy.

But Andy wanted kids and every year that ticked by, it felt like his desire to be a father was a sharp wedge between them that April couldn’t climb.

She even had a talk with Leslie. April hoped that Leslie’s pep talk would help and maybe it did a little because April did like teams and being on the winning team.

The feeling didn’t last long. The next time Andy expressed his wish to have a kid it ended with April staring at the ceiling, staring at one spot, feeling like the walls were closing in.

April didn’t like who she was becoming whenever the topic came up. Angry and biting. She liked being angry, but she didn’t like being angry with Andy. She didn’t like the resentment that was slowly building in her chest or the sick feeling she had at the pit of her stomach she’s beginning to have at the sight of Andy.

Unexpectedly, it was Ann who finally pushed April off the cliff. They all promised to attend an event Gerry was throwing for their old Parks department, and of course, Leslie roped April into helping organize the party. April didn’t mind, she was feeling nostalgic for the old days.

Oliver Traeger and Leslie’s Triplets ran around with Andy chasing them.

“They look so happy,” Ann observed.

April rolled her eyes. “Of course they are, Ann. Andy’s the best.”

“Andy would make a wonderful dad.”

One kid dropped and rolled, Andy stopped to check, but that was a ruse and Oliver tripped Andy into crashing. April watched the kids pummel Andy.

“April, is something wrong? You look… angrier than normal?”

“Do you remember what I told you about my gut?”

It was years ago, but April expected that Ann would remember the few times April ever spoke to her. Ann didn’t disappoint because she answered uncertainly, “That your gut was always right?”

“I’m going to correct that because my gut is killing me. My gut’s being an asshole.”

“Wait, are you sick?”

April glowered at Ann. “No.” And then she crossed her arms. “Did you regret following my advice about your gut?”

There was a thoughtful expression on Ann’s face, and April didn’t like it. “No, I think that was one of the best advice I ever got from you.” Ann’s eyes darted behind her and back to April. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“No.”

And then April walked away to get some booze.

But she also had her answer, and she hated it.

Two weeks after that, April told Andy she wanted a divorce.

The entire night was… terrible and April never wants to live through that again. She called Ron and Ben and told them that Andy needed their help. April didn’t tell them what for but made sure she wasn’t anywhere when they arrived.

April took an assignment that would take her out of the country. Donna appeared the day the news got out. She knew when it did when she received wave after wave of messages and calls from Leslie. She ignored them all.

But Donna knew her itinerary since she helped April book her rental in Puerto Rico. Donna flew out — “I’m only here for the day. Joe and I are heading out for our South American extravaganza.”

“Donna…”

Donna took out a tequila bottle and began pouring them into the hotel glasses. “Drink. I invested in this Tequila company, and it’s fire.”

April did what she was told and drank the burn of the alcohol going down her throat was amazing. “Blaaah.”

“I get it,” Donna said, after things calmed down. She was pouring them another round. “Leslie doesn’t understand why, but I get it.”

True to her word, Donna was just there for a day, she left April her third Fuego tequila bottle and a truly stupendous hangover.

Leslie blew up her phone, asking to meet her, but April shut it. April was back in DC and she knew it was only a matter of time before Leslie found her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

April cringed but opted for the truth. “Because I thought you’d talk me out of it.”

“That’s fair. I probably would have,” Leslie said with some chagrin, but then her face softened. “I told you, whatever you decide, Ben and I will support you.”

“Okay,” April could feel her face crumple."You can go now.”

Leslie ignored the goodbye, as usual, and then hugged her. “Stop,” April ordered, but even her arms didn’t listen and she found herself leaning into Leslie’s hug.

She’s never cried so hard. She felt empty. But, a good kind of empty.

“I promise you, no matter what happens, April. You’re never alone, we’ll be here for you. Team April is great.”

That was a stupid thing to promise.

“I hate being a grown-up.”

“Yeah, me too.”

--/--

tbc, Part 2

[love-brianna]

- mysterious man -

pt. 2 pt. 3 pt.4

rapper!rafe & singer!reader meet at the grammys

warnings: none that i can think of!

authors note: first time writing btw! sorry if you don't like it

word count: 1.8k i finally made a long part 😛 are you guys proud of me 😁

The night air wrapped around you like velvet as he led you away from the madness. The chaos of the paparazzi faded behind you, replaced by the low hum of city life and the rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement. You followed him without question, your fingers still laced with his, the silence between you unexpectedly… comfortable.

He stopped in front of a bright blue Lamborghini. Flashy. Screaming money.

He opened the door for you, the soft interior light spilling across the seat as he gestured. “Get in.”

You did. Of course you did.

The drive was silent, but not in a tense way. It was the kind of silence that settled over two people who didn’t need to fill every space with words. The city lights blurred past the windows, painting the inside of the car with moving strokes of gold and red. Every once in a while, you’d glance at him, catching the way his hands rested confidently on the wheel, or how his jaw tensed ever so slightly when he changed lanes. He didn’t look at you—not even once—but you didn’t mind. You didn’t feel ignored. You felt… noticed, even in the quiet.

After what felt like twenty minutes, he pulled into a small side street lit by warm fairy lights strung overhead between lampposts. Nestled at the corner was a quaint little diner, vintage neon glowing soft pink and turquoise. It looked like something out of a movie—nostalgic, untouched, and somehow perfect.

He parked and finally turned to you, his blue eyes meeting yours. “Hungry?”

You smiled. “Starving.”

The inside of “Juneberry’s” smelled like vanilla milkshakes and warm waffles. You slid into a booth by the window while he grabbed menus from the counter, sliding one across the table to you.

“No bodyguards? No cameras?” you asked, glancing around. No one seemed to recognize you. Or maybe they just didn’t care.

He shrugged. “I figured you needed normal tonight.”

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He nodded, then glanced at your menu. “The pancakes here are life-changing.”

You raised a brow. “At midnight?”

“The best time.”

So you ordered pancakes and he got a cheeseburger, and while you waited, the silence began to melt.

You talked.

Not about the Grammys, not about your fame or his fame or your album or his album or anything remotely related to your public life’s. You talked about music, yes, but the kind that made you feel something as a kid. You told him you had a secret obsession with sad acoustic covers of pop songs. He laughed and said that made total sense.

You learned his name: Rafe.

He was twenty-three. He traveled a lot, mostly for his tours, but didn’t say what music he made. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, it felt like he meant every word.

And you surprised yourself with how much you shared. How the Grammys, though incredible, had left you feeling more exposed than ever. How your album had been ripped open by critics and fans alike, and though you knew that was part of the deal, it still stung. And he related to you. You told him you’d written most of the songs at 3AM, crying in your kitchen with a bottle of red wine and a keyboard that barely worked.

He listened. Really listened. No interruptions. No performative sympathy. Just presence.

After dinner, he walked you back to the car. The night had grown colder, but you didn’t notice. You stood near the passenger door, reluctant to get in.

“I had fun,” you said.

He tilted his head. “Even with the pancakes?”

“Especially with the pancakes.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here.”

You handed him yours, and you exchanged numbers. Just like that.

No games. No pressure.

“Text me when you get home,” he said. “So I know you’re safe.”

You nodded, heart thudding a little faster than it should. “I will.”

He opened the door for you again. “Night, Pretty Girl.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Don’t call me that.”

His smirk returned, that now-familiar gleam in his eyes. “Can’t make any promises.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

You collapsed onto your bed, still wearing your after-party dress, your shoes kicked somewhere near the door. Your Grammys sat proudly on your dresser like twin suns, glowing gold in the dim light of your bedroom.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to make sense of the night. Then, almost without thinking, you grabbed your phone and hit the call button.

Sofia picked up on the second ring.

“Bitch, I’ve been waiting all night! Where the hell have you been? I saw your dress. You looked like an actual goddess. And TWO Grammys? Are you KIDDING ME?!” she screeched.

You laughed. “Sofi, chill. I’m alive.”

“No. No chill. I’ve been stalking the hashtags all night waiting for a sign of life and suddenly—poof—you disappeared off the carpet like a ghost! What happened?! Where did you go?!”

You hesitated for just a second. Then: “I met someone.”

The line went dead silent.

“…you what?” she whispered.

“I met someone. Kind of randomly. Backstage before the performance. Then again in the crowd during the set. Then… after, he pulled me out of the paparazzi swarm and took me to this cute little diner. We had pancakes. We talked. He gave me his number.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m sorry, did I accidentally call a Hallmark movie?”

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped the phone. “I swear it wasn’t cheesy. It was… kind of perfect.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rafe.”

“Last name?”

You blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Ugh, you’re lucky you’re hot and famous, because anyone else would be on Dateline by now. Hold on, I’m gonna stalk him.”

You flopped back onto your bed, grinning. “You don’t even have his last name.”

“Watch me work.”

You could hear the furious tapping of keys on her laptop. You stayed quiet, scrolling through a few photos of the night on Instagram. Your performance. The trophies. Your smile felt real in those pictures—not staged. Not forced.

After a few minutes, Sofia gasped.

“Found him.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Okay, listen, I typed ‘Rafe’ plus ‘blue eyes’ plus ‘Grammy after-party’ and scrolled until I saw this TikTok from someone who filmed you getting pulled into a car by him. They tagged someone named Rafe. I clicked it.”

You sat up, adrenaline suddenly rushing through you. “And?”

“Girl… he’s hot. Like, stupid hot. His Insta’s mostly blank—just some travel photos, tour photos, and a few moody black-and-white shots. But here’s the weird thing…”

“What?”

“There’s this photo. It’s from, like, five months ago. He’s in Paris. With a woman.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. “So what? Maybe it’s his sister.”

“No, no—listen. The caption says: “For her, I would burn the world.””

Your breath caught.

“I mean, maybe it was for a collab, like a PR stunt. But… I don’t know. Something about it feels off. There’s no tag. No name. Just this woman. And you can’t even see her face, really. Just her back, leaning into him.”

A chill moved through you.

You opened Instagram and found the account through Sofia’s message. It was him. Definitely him.

The Paris photo was the third post down. The woman was faceless, turned away, hair blowing in the wind. His hand was on the small of her back. The caption read exactly what Sofia said.

You stared at it for a long time, heart racing.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” you whispered.

“Maybe,” Sofia echoed. But her tone said she didn’t believe it.

You refreshed the page. Something new appeared.

A story. Just posted.

It was a close-up. A blurry image of a diner napkin, your lipstick faintly smudged in the corner.

And a single word beneath it:

“Tonight.”

navigation | masterlist | taglist

[cloudsandcrescents]

can you tell us about what you’re working on next?

Ah, sure a little teaser wouldn’t hurt. Existing works will still get their much needed attention but I’ve learned that sometimes when I’m stuck, the best thing is to switch to something else.

One work which is just about done is a smut one shot for Beca/Chloe. Basically from Chloe’s POV where, after an unexpectedly steamy night a few months ago on her birthday, Chloe tries to get Beca to take charge in the bedroom the way she did that night and discovers that the best way to do that is when her girlfriend is high and jealous.

The other work is actually one that I’ve had in the archives for a really long time. I just never quite got around to writing for it. It’s Chloe but she’s got a slight corruption kink. Beca’s the new girl at church and basically, Chloe’s made it her mission to get her in bed. I promise she’s not like a grimy dog in this lol. It’s a normal routine but for some reason with Beca it starts to feel different. I haven’t decided if this will be a longer one shot or a multi-chapter fic but I’m leaning more towards the latter.

The other idea I’m working on is a little different as it’s actually a Beca/Emily fic. It’s still in the early planning stages but I’m thinking a fic where Emily decides to follow in her captain/mentors steps and ends up interning for Beca. Emily’s introduced to the glitz and glamour of the industry from a different side but finds that she’s more interested in her mentor than the lifestyle. Meanwhile, Beca’s drowning and Emily’s her safe space. Emily makes her feel nostalgic and like kids in college again, only, Emily wants Beca to see her for who she is now. A lot of push and pull and “we shouldn’t do this” spiciness.🙂‍↕️

There you have it. These have been my thoughts and projects I’ve been toying with. I’m still trying to make sure I focus on the existing works but even just fleshing these ideas out has helped with the writer’s block I’ve been fighting with. Stay tuned!🩵

[fishwithtitz]

Can you write something about Copia accompanying Reader to their tattoo appointment? I'm a little jittery about mine (even though I really want a tattoo of Copia's cornette/year zero look)

Thank you sm 💙

Your wish is my command, darling.

"Marked"

Summary: You're nervous about your upcoming tattoo appointment. Lucky for you, Papa Copia has agreed to accompany you.

Rating: Teen

Papa Emeritus IV x reader / 1.9k words

Warnings: suggestive language, description of tattooing/needles, mention alcohol, poorly translated Italian

ao3 link

“Tesoro, you are fidgeting.”

Rolling your eyes, you lobbed your head to the right to peer out the car window. It was midday on a Saturday and the roads were unexpectedly clear as you drove towards the city center with Papa Emeritus the fourth to your long awaited tattoo appointment.  

You were hoping that he’d missed your annoyed gesture, but as always, he was ever perceptive. His eyebrow rose and his tone became a little darker, though you were sure you could hear an edge of jest. 

“Am I going to have to pull this car over, hmm?”

At this, you couldn’t help but smirk. You turned to face him and saw a similar look engrain his own features, his green eye peering at you from across the vehicle. Reaching over, you slapped at his thigh playfully in retort. 

“Don’t tempt me,” he all but growled, waggling his eyebrows playfully before his face took on a more serious demeanor. “Why do you fidget, eh?” He returned his gaze to the road. “You’ve done this before. You know what to expect.”

You bit your lip. “I know, Papa. I jus —” Letting out a sigh, you ran the palms of your hands over your black leggings. “I’m working myself up, I suppose.”

Papa looked over at you briefly with a warm smile and a hint of mischief. Damn that man. “Well, none of that. That is my job, sì?”

The irritating part was that he was right. You did know exactly what to expect. It wasn’t as if you were afraid of the pain — pain you could handle. Besides, you knew that given the placement, it wouldn’t be all that painful. No, it was the idea of something permanent. Something quite literally etched into your skin by someone else. And as an artist yourself, letting go of the creative control to allow someone to mark you was an act of vulnerability, of trust. 

A quiet calm washed over the car and you did your best not to shift in your seat or wiggle your leg. The only sound was the soft rumbling of “Darling Nikki” playing over the car’s speakers and Papa’s fingertips tapping to the beat against the steering wheel. A love of music was something that the both of you shared, and when he’d offered to throw the artist formerly known as Prince on while you drove to your appointment, you nodded with urgency at the nostalgic comfort you knew that His Royal Badness would bring. 

At about the time that the song ended, Copia pulled into the parking lot of the tattoo parlor and put the car into park. He killed the engine and clicked off his seatbelt before turning to you. 

“Do you want me to be supportive or incoraggiante?” He said, eyes peering at you with sincerity.

You snorted. “Is there really a difference?”

He cast a slightly annoyed look at you and again your eyes took a somersault. “Fine. Supportive.”

He nodded. “No one is making you do this, dolcezza. You know this. No one will judge you if you decide not to go through with it—”

“—I know, Papa. I want this. Free will and all that.” You made a circular motion with your wrist in the air as you said it, punctuating your sentence with your hand in sarcastic reference to the key tenet of the church your boyfriend led. Talking with your hands was something you’d picked up a few months into your relationship with Copia, though to be honest, it was something you didn’t even realize you did. You hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’m just nervous, is all.”

The older man leaned over the center console and brushed a loose strand of hair from your eyes. You felt your stomach melt into your ribs at the satiny feel of his leather gloves as they stroked your cheek. 

“I will be by your side the whole time.”

You threw a look of gratitude to him and nuzzled your cheek against his fingertips for good measure. After a beat, you unbuckled your own seatbelt, and moved to exit the car. Papa rounded the vehicle and slipped his hand into yours, giving it a light squeeze as you both made your way through the chiming door of the tattoo parlor. 

Immediately, a distant buzzing sound tickled your ears and you felt the pattering of your heart begin to uptick in your chest again. Your tattoo artist sat at the front desk seemingly waiting for your arrival. As he looked up, a confused look imprinted into his otherwise rough-looking mug. You assumed this was at Papa’s appearance. It wasn’t every day that most people were privy to seeing a man in full skull paint wearing a poet shirt and cravat with impossibly tight jeans. But then again, it was something you loved about your Copia. 

The artist was chosen with purpose. You’d spent months researching someone local who could specialize in the specific style you were looking to get: a woodcut design that emulated block printmaking from centuries prior. To your relief, you noticed that the artist was able to quickly hide his momentary surprise at Papa and a professional façade took over as he greeted you and led you to his station in the back.

With every footstep, your heart thumped loud enough to quake seismic shockwaves. Your nerves seemed to be peaking, now, and you did your best to ignore it as you sunk down into the black pleather seat.

After a brief discussion of your desired design and a quick examination of the stencil the artist had prepared for you, you settled into the backrest of the chair. You barely registered as your arm was cleaned and prepped (although had you looked to your side, you would have seen Copia’s expression contort into one of confusion as the artist ghosted over your skin with a disposable razor to remove the peach fuzz). Your dissociative reverie was broken when the tattooist asked you to confirm the stencil placement. A fleeting look in the side mirror accompanied by a meek “looks great” was all you had in you to respond. 

Papa sat next to you, calm and gentile, and reached over to grasp at your hand lovingly. Normally, he would attempt to make small talk with the artist and end up causing awkward conversation, but he could tell you were already overstimulated enough by the bright light and noises of the shop, so he kept his lips sealed. The moment that the needle pressed against your skin, you sunk into the padding of the chair and closed your eyes. It felt just as you remembered: a scratching feeling, a slight sting, but not unbearable. 

You could feel Copia’s presence over you and you opened an eye to see him loom over your body to get a better look at the machine. You held back a giggle. The man was insanely curious and completely uncouth about hiding his childlike wonderment of how things worked. What you weren’t expecting, however, was the color to begin to drain from what little flesh peeked out from around his meticulously placed paints. Copia leaned back and all but cemented into his own chair. 

You’d forgotten about his fear of needles. 

“You okay, champ?” You teased, although a slight undertone of seriousness laced your words. 

“Me? Oh- sì, yes, I am just fine. It’s just the eh, ehm…” the painted anti-pope cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down, a hand moving up to scratch the back of his neck, “needles.”

“Copia, you have a tattoo,” you shot back with a contested look on your face. 

“Pah,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. You could tell he was trying to appear more stoic despite his obvious discomfort with the tattoo gun. “Don’t remember getting it. I was uh…sbronzato. Too much sambuca.” 

“Salute,” the artist quipped. It was the first time he’d said anything since starting the tattoo, and his timing made it hard for you to hold back your giggles. 

A blanket of comfortable silence followed. You leaned back once more in the reclined chair and allowed for your eyes to flutter closed again. The drumming hum of the tattoo gun as it scoured the precise lines into your skin acted as a kind of white noise that threw you into a trance. 

Time passed at a moderate pace, and before you knew it, the tattoo gun was clicked off and its absence created a temporary void in your eardrums. You felt a wet pressure as a sterile towel was wiped over the design, clearing it of any ink remnants still clinging to the surface of your skin. 

“We’re all finished, if you’d like to take a look,” the artist said, wheeling back on his stool to give you some room to stand. 

You rose, feet a little unsteady from sitting for so long, but eventually made your way to the full length mirror perpendicular to the artist’s station. Turning, you hiked your arm up a bit to get a better view of the final piece. 

It would be an understatement to say that you were in awe. The subject matter you chose —an occult-themed portrait — was beautifully captured in a medieval woodcut style. A smattering of precisely hatched lines varying in thickness danced across your upper arm in a way that seemed like they were always meant to be there. The contrast was beautifully evident and your skin served as some sort of divine light on the value scale. Your lips curled in a smile that bled kismet. 

You didn’t even notice that Copia had slunk up behind you until you felt his infernal eye boring into your reflection. His hands came to rest on your stomach and lower back, gaze moving to rake over the stylized design on your brachium. 

You watched as his irises slowly scanned your reddened skin in wonderment. His own lips, which had been perpetually pursed as a side effect of his trypanophobia, were now relaxed and barely parted in awed, focused study. He must have realized this, because it lasted only seconds before a small smile crept across his painted features. 

Later on, during the car ride home, it was nearly silent. The stereo was switched off and the only sound audible was the tires rotating against the asphalt below. You held your hands in your lap as you rested your temple against the cool glass of the window. 

Papa was the first to break the silence. “I’m proud of you, tesoro.”

He reached over to squeeze at your left hand with tenderness obvious to avoid shifting your now sore arm. 

“It’s not like I did anything that brave. It’s just a tattoo,” you murmured. Immediately, you bit your lip as you realized how your response must have sounded. You’d always had trouble taking a compliment. “ —But thank you, mio cuore.” you added, removing your head from the window to brandish a blush and an upturned corner of your lip.

He licked the black pigment coating his own. “You were bellissima before, ovviamente, but there’s something about your tatuaggio that just—” A light groan emanated from deep within his chest. You felt your own tighten inside your ribs and flames licked through your limbs. 

“Although,” he added a second later, “I wouldn’t mind leaving some marks of my own.” His hand snaked down from your own to brush at the tight black polyester covering your thigh, trailing up its expanse ever so slowly before kneading at it with his gloved grasp.

The motion (along with his husky tone) made your flip flopping titillation take a sudden nosedive straight into your core. The dull ache of your arm was replaced with one building in your abdomen. And as your mind filled with the possibilities of the bites and bruises that could pepper your skin later that evening, suddenly you were open to an entirely different form of artwork.

image credit: pinterest, reddit

[sloppysequinz]

hiii glitz [cool new nickname for you]

i was wondering if you could speak on your writing process? all your stories are so good and as someone who veeery occasionally writes i'm curious how you go about doing it? thanks !

[definitly not drunk-girl shh]

Ok definitely not @drunk-girl! I've been dwelling on this ask for quite a while. I really appreciated the question a lot :) This answer ended up being kind of long so I put it under a read more for courtesy. Also I loooove the nickname glitz <3

So generally my writing process starts with a little seed of an idea. It could be a text post or a photo I see on here, something that happens across my mind while I'm out and about, it could be a suggestion from a friend. Baby's First House Party came from being in a town where I used to go to school and feeling nostalgic about house parties, Step-Mom came from a story with drunken wetting on here that I just found unexpectedly hot, Meet Cute came from memories of when I lived in a place with a screen door that had a view of my whole living room. The idea just has to spark some kind of interest in me. Sometimes I recognize it right away, sometimes it takes a little bit.

Then I usually spend some time fleshing it out, just in my mind. For me, this usually happens right when I'm falling asleep. I tend to daydream about horny stuff in bed anyway, so it kinda comes naturally. I just spend some time figuring out character dynamics, what the "core" scene or scenario I'm getting at, and to be crude, what turns me on. I follow the turn on down the rabbit hole and let it take the wheel. Sometimes I don't realize I have a good idea until I'm lying in bed fantasizing about something I hadn't thought about before. Sometimes I think I have a good idea, but if I cant generate organic fantasies about it, it won't make a good story.

Usually by the time I sit down to write, I have a good idea of what the characters are, the key thing I want to get to, and how I'm going to get there. For characters, I don't necessarily have names, but a general personality and archetype. When I say key "thing", that's usually whatever I find hottest in the imagined scenario that I want to frame in the center. For Step-mom, this was the scene of her drooling on the table and grabbing her own tits while pissing. For Meet Cute, this was Mel staring in awe as Yvette chugged a whole can of beer. For the first Mona and Lacy story, it was Lacy drunkenly begging Mona to drink while calling her mommy. I have a rough idea of how I'm getting those characters to that big scene.

Usually I just sit down and start writing from the beginning, describing the scene as I see it in my head and writing any dialogue I've thought of that seems hot or in character. Sometimes the characters will surprise me and say something I'm not expecting. Sometimes I have enough momentum to just write the whole thing from start to finish and be done, but not usually. Usually I'll write the opening, then I'll just jot down bullet points for the rest of the story. As an example, I pulled this from a draft of a sequel to Meet Cute that I'm still working on:

Yvette's a little forgetful but lets her in

Mel has brought more beer and a bucket of fried chicken

Yvette has two of the 12 beers left and half a pizza

Wants Mel's help to finish the pizza

"Come sit."

Once I have a rough outline of all the events I want to happen, I go back and slowly flesh them out. Depending on how much time I've spent dwelling on the idea, I may take some time here to workshop what works and what doesn't, what's hot and what isn't. Also, sometimes I start with the juice scene I want to get to, then do bullets for both before and after.

Once I've gotten it all written down, I save it as a draft and leave it alone. I come back a day or two later and proofread it. Once I'm done tinkering, I tag it and hit post (sometimes I realize there are typos or mistakes and I'll just edit the post if I have to).

In general though, the strength of my writing comes from the fact that I am a 30 year old woman who writes for my job. My work writing is a very different kind of writing (which makes this a fun break), but all the same, I have a LOT of practice. On top of that, I have multiple academic degrees that required a lot of writing to get. I also love to read and have read a lot of books. My advice if you're looking to get better at writing is just to do a LOT of it, and to read a lot of books. When I first got into intox kink at 21, I couldn't even figure out how to write down my fantasies, and now I just can't stop.

[thefeastandthefast]

Since I promised Mr. Feast I wouldn't watch ahead of him and he's slowly catching up, I've taken a pause in my gleeful binge of 一念关山 A Journey to Love to jot down a few of the disorganized thoughts I have about my best beloved favorite girl Yang Ying in the wonderful first eighteen episodes of this drama.

MILD SPOILERS BEYOND.

I cannot wait to see little pocket sized wolf cub Princess Yang Ying do her thing in the next half of the show. Honestly feel so blessed to have this character; there’s no one else like her in cdrama or American TV for that matter!

One of the themes I enjoy in stories about royal power struggles are narrative arcs for female characters who transition from naive to knowing, usually borne out of experiencing the inescapability of their femaleness in a treacherous sexist environment and consequently the limited array of tarnished tools at their disposal and the ways these tools are then deployed. I enjoy that type of story- Book Sansa Stark, my nostalgic fave! Zhen Huan! Minglan, even, in a way. As for historical examples, Empress Matilda! Isabella of France!

But I'm also absolutely relishing this twist on the familiar theme in A Journey to Love.

Because Yang Ying is a royal woman being explicitly trained to grasp the duties and wield the power of a prince, not the oblique power of a princess. The success of the mission, and the lives/fates of the Wu emperor, her subjects, and her now beloved friends in the delegation, depend on her ability to convincingly wear the mantle of princely responsibility, power, and prerogative and to physically and mentally embody this role. And for a child who is as malleable as she is in the beginning of the show, this incredibly formative AND transformative extended roleplay will inevitably become forever entrenched in her conception of self and her sense of possibility.

The kind of limited power she might have been able to achieve as an impoverished minor princess requires a very different skillset from the one she's acquiring. It would only be a contingent and conditional power, a la her sister-in-law the Empress of Wu or the Noble Consort Chu or Chuyue, the tomboy princess from the state of An, who perfectly demonstrates how a clever, capable, wealthy, beautiful royal woman with a powerful family is still a blunted sword.

What would be fascinating to explore, beyond her triumph as Prince Li of Wu (which, to reiterate, I'm SO EXCITED FOR), is the inevitable friction of what she would feel and do after mastering and embodying princely power but then must contend with the expectations and limitations of the identity she has long outgrown but will still be expected to perform once the mission is complete.

I don't think the drama will have time to cover this- after all, she is a supporting character and it would be a thematic tangent. But I suppose that's what fic is for! Maybe I will once again be inspired to write fic, depending on how they end Yang Ying's story...

Stories and characters that reveal emotional truth through pretense will always be my jam. In addition to the unexpectedly delightful Ren Ruyi/Ning Yuanzhou, I love this show so much for giving me Yang Ying.

[bookcub]

Books I Read for My SFF Class Rated from Worst to Best

clearly this is the most objective list ever obviously (jk this is based on how much I got from reading the text to how useful it was in context)

also while this syllabus included movies and tv shows, I am focusing on the books cause this is a book blog

19. Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan- The worst of the worst. Contains racist ideology and a magic system that makes no sense. This is a book clearly written by a white outsider about Hawai'i. I am also far too old for dystopias. One upside is that there were no random romances and it was about familial love.

18. Survive the Dome by Kosoko Jackson- Despite agreeing with the ideology of this book, this was truly a horrible reading experience. Poorly written, annoying and bland characters, and very inconsistent.

17. Blazewrath Games by - You wouldn't guess that a book that's essentially The World Cup with Dragons could be boring, but you'd be wrong. Nothing significant in this text rip.

16. Peter Pan by J M Barrie- Unfortunately, this book makes sense being included in this context of children's SFF so I can’t say it shouldn't be included, but this book was agonizing to read. Beautiful writing. And yet, some of the most racist and sexist content I have ever read in my life!

15. Charlotte's Web by EB White- Pretty painless to read and interesting to discuss in the context of sff literature cause uh, not generally a book I would categorize as such. I didn’t think our discussions were particularly notable and I would have preferred another text.

14. The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline- *sighs* There are some incredibly important concepts in this text but woof. Again, I am too old for dystopias but unexpectedly I had a real problem with the way women were written in this.

13. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L Frank Baum- Again, this is helpful in context of a children's fantasy class and it was fun to read in context as a Wicked fan. If I didn't know it from related media, this would be super forgettable.

12. Bunnicula by Deborah Howe and James Howe- Fun, and a fantastic audio but there wasn't much to talk about here in our class but there's potential. Very funny.

11. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling- I am dreading the class on this but I am very excited for the critical readings and it was exciting to re examine the text as an adult with the knowledge I have now. I do think that we could have done a magic school section with books responding to HP instead. Again, interesting in the context of the genre.

10. The Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen- One of my classmates had a lot of issues with the portrayal of Judaism in this text, so ideally this would be replaced with a text written by an author who did more research.

9. Feed by MT Anderson- I did NOT like this but incredibly relevant and scary to think this was written about 20 years ago. Good for the syllabus, not good for me!

8. The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien- I didn't mind listening to this and it was another sensible inclusion. Occasionally boring but I'm supportive.

7. Haroun and the Sea of Stories by - I liked the perspective this book provided and it was a pretty fun read. I think this would work best as a readaloud text. It was also beneficial to read a book written by an author who wasn't American or British for comparison to the other texts.

6. A Wrinkle in Time by - Another classic that makes a lot of sense in its inclusion in the syllabus. Sparked really good conversations about the definition of genre. I enjoyed resisting this text as well, incredibly nostalgic for me.

5. Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Cordova- A lot of fun! I love portal fantasies and this had a classic adventure but didn't feel trite at all. I actually enjoyed the love triangle and will consider reading the books later in the series.

4. American Born Chinese by Gene Luan Yang- This was a difficult book to read but it was incredibly rewarding. I had to sit with it a lot to process and I think the author asks really interesting questions. I would recommend this to most people.

3. Family Lore by Elizabeth Acevedo- Shockingly, the adult novel ranks 3 on my list. .. hmmm . . this was largely both because I loved it and hated many of the other books. Absolutely stunning as a novel, engaging, and downright magical. I love books centering family and slowly finding how much I enjoy multigenerational novels. However, it is interesting considering this class is about children's lit. . . I would highly recommend this to readers who want a story that isn't afraid to challenge normal.

2. Kindred (graphic novel) by Octavia Butler- I love Kindred and if this was the novel and not the graphic, it would be #1. An amazing book that does not stray from intense topics and makes history very accessible. The only time travel book I love. I adored presenting on this book and still believe Kindred is one of the best books I have read. Such a good inclusion on this syllabus.

1. Nimona by ND Stevenson- NIMONA MY BELOVED what is there to say. This is perfect for this class. It is certainly marketed to young adults, and uses elements of scifi and fantasy masterfully. Challenges conventions of the genre, asks the age old question of who is a monster and who is human. . .beautiful found family. . .funny as hell. Perfect.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fluff (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

all of these small things (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: It’s Dan’s first day back from his American tour, and Phil can’t believe how much he’s missed him.

and the house becomes a home again (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Dan’s plane lands at one-thirty-two AM (he’s been tracking the flight since it took off, and his stomach’s been flipping with jitters since Dan’s phone switched to aeroplane mode and his texts stopped going through).

Two and a half months, since Dan's been home, and Phil has been going crazy.

(also known as the dan comes home fic)

banging on a heart of tin (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan has a little crush.

(Spoiler: It's on his boyfriend of thirteen years.)

Charmed (ao3) - hygge

Summary: Dan doesn’t understand Valentine’s Day. That is until he’s given an anonymous card with someone’s phone number in it. It takes months of talking with this anonymous person to learn who they are, and it ends up being the person that Dan least expects.

flicking through the pages (i’ve written in my memory) (ao3) - happy_endings15

Summary: Dan and Phil return to Manchester for a nostalgia-filled day before heading off on their world tour.

Fluff (ao3) - winstonlives

Dan and Phil adopt a dog.

Forever Ain’t Half the Time… (ao3) - QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

Summary: “October would always have a special place in Phil Lester’s heart. And not just because of the seasonal drinks at Starbucks and the general spooky atmosphere.

The main reason was that he would always associate October – and Fall in general, to be honest – with Daniel Howell. The changing of the leaves would always remind him of the first (and only) time he’d ever fallen in love.“

Also known as: pure nostalgic fluff dedicated to and inspired by Dan and Phil’s ten year anniversary, and everything they’ve meant to each other and to all of us for those ten years.

Forever And Always - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan proposes to Phil on the beach. 

Forever By Your Side (ao3) - scifi

Summary: Five times Dan proposed to Phil and one time he said yes.

he kept tulips in the kitchen (ao3) - gremlinhours

Summary: dan doesn’t know if he’ll ever be enough for anyone, but in the meantime, he tends to his garden, unminding of the world.

phil works at his favourite flowershop.

In a Strange Room With a New Last Name (ao3) - yellowlampshade

Summary: The first thing Dan did after accepting the proposal was write to Chris.

Just days after turning eighteen, Dan is forced by his parents to accept a marriage proposal from an Alpha he's never met.

“Daniel? Daniel, wait, you don’t have to…” Philip was behind him, his hand on Dan’s to stop him from undressing, and he couldn’t be numb anymore. Every feeling hit him at once and suddenly he was crying and couldn’t stop. He brought his hands to his face to muffle his sobs, and this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, it was so much better when he felt nothing because now everything hurt. He missed his room and his friends and his brother and Chris and he was so afraid of��this.

jigsaw falling into place (ao3) - awrfhi

Summary: when phil accidentally takes dan's suitcase instead of his own after a flight, their lives are suddenly and unexpectedly thrown together. but can something that started out of an accident become something more?

June's good, but October... (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Phil really lets it all out for Dan's birthday present, literally and figuratively.

Little Black Box (ao3) - hygge

Summary: While packing up their apartment before they move into their new home, Dan finds something hiding in Phil's suitcase that makes him question what he wants out of their relationship.

Midnight Fluff (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Phil wants to sleep but Dan wants to cuddle. Therefore he must poke and pester Phil until he wakes up.

(Not) Knowing What's Best (ao3) - DryCereal

Summary: So what DO you do when your boyfriend refuses to tell his family he's 1; ill, 2; in hospital and 3; having surgery in the morning? Phil doesn't know either.

OR:

Phil's POV of that time Dan had surgery.

Pride (ao3) - bluewho

Summary: Dan and Phil meet for the first time as strangers at Pride.

Say The Word, Back To You (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: During their third Japan trip, Dan and Phil reflect on a notebook of things to complete together, written in 2009.

Warning: Extreme Fluff (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

A very short snapshot of morning cuddles at the end of Dan and Phil's honeymoon. Extremely fluffy, you have been warned.

Welcome home! (never leave that long again) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan comes home from tour and stumbles right into Phil’s arms. He is more touch starved than he’d realised.

[thatgordongirl]

Hey Tumblr, I need some advice. 

About a week ago, I broke things off with a guy. We only went out a handful of times over a week itself, so it wasn’t that grand or extensive of a relationship. Nevertheless, the whole ordeal feels like it’s completely altered my thinking, and it’s disrupting my life. 

He asked me out quite unexpectedly, I had no idea he was interested. I was excited, all those giddy things, even if I haven’t been in a relationship in ages. On the third sort of ‘date’ thing we went on, he kissed me. I thought we were moving quick, but I didn’t really step back and think about it. I figured I’d just get used to it and all that. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was by no means how I wanted to be kissed, or at a point in the relationship that it felt appropriate. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it bothered me all that much, and things were new, so I thought I’d grow to like it.

Even at the start I felt he was more invested than I was, but I was excited and wanted to give things a go. I kind of liked him, but I’d buried it while we were friends.

The next/last time we met up, he told me he loved me. We’d been seeing each other for four days. I panicked and said it back, but really my head had gone into overdrive. The kissing was okay? I guess? But I didn’t feel that excitement and giddiness that I did before all of it. I felt like a serious relationship was smacking me in the face, and at this point I started considering ending it.

It was probably presumptuous to consider that so quickly, so I put it off for a day. I thought about it, asked other people. I still enjoyed his company, but it was with this air of expectancy almost? He never pressured me, he was kind and thoughtful, and everything I voice an opinion about, he took on board. I don’t know, if felt like it had been ruined before I could fix it. I didn’t know I’d even need to set the boundary of kissing or ‘I love you’s because I didn’t think they’d be happening yet! It all caught me completely off guard. I was so confused, and I kept flipping between wanting to be with him and not. 

I broke things off a week in, citing that I wasn’t ready for a relationship. We talked it out and parted amicably. I figure I’m not if this whole situation overwhelmed me so much. It was all I could think about all day, constantly, it took over everything else. And I just didn’t know what else to do. It felt so relieving to break things off, so I guess that’s what I wanted. 

But now I’m miserable. I mean, I was already feeling pretty down, but I’m worse now. I can’t stop thinking about him - I feel guilty, I feel nostalgic and wanting to get back together, I feel anxious because I know I’d feel trapped again if we stayed together. My friends said it was better that I ended it early and that I thought of my feelings, but truthfully, I just wish I didn’t hurt him. I keep having dreams where I fix it, three days in a row, and it’s exhausting.

I can’t focus on anything. I’m already a little depressed, I think? I have depressive episodes. I can’t read, write, or do anything without thinking of him. It’s been a week since I ended things and I’m only slightly less miserable. Things feel unresolved for some reason, but I can’t talk to him so soon because he’ll still be emotionally hurting too. I feel like a horrible human being taking his love and just rejecting it so abruptly when I can’t even decide whether I want this or not. I can’t make a decision on this at all, it’s pissing me off.

I keep flipping between multiple options: Staying apart, begging to try again, messaging him, not messaging him. I cannot enjoy anything, things related to him or not. I can’t focus on me, I don’t really want to, but I can’t regardless. I don’t know what to do, all my friends are busy or I’ve already talked about it once or twice with them, so I can’t bring it up anymore. I have nobody to talk to - not him, not my friends, nobody. 

I don’t know what to do. 

[itsastronxmy]

🟠 🟡 🟢 🟣 🎱 🔮 ⚽️

For any of your OCs that you’ve made! For the “OC Ask Meme”! And I’m sorry if this is too much. I’m just curious! If you don’t want to answer ALL of them! That’s FINE!😊👍

Since I've depicted her the least, I'mma do Gambit! I think America's "Grim Reaper" needs some time in the spotlight 😊

🟠 Orange- What is a trait your OC hides about themself from others? Do they refuse to acknowledge it or begrudgingly accept it?

Gambit is actually a nostalgic person. She hides it, though, because "America's Grim Reaper shouldn't be nostalgic if she has no documented past." But it's not like she can always help it. It can be walking into a cafe and smelling coffee, or waking up early and watching the sun come up, and she remembers... something. Something of a home she used to have, whatever it had been. She's not sure why it happens. It just does, and honestly...? She kind of likes the feeling.

🟡 Yellow- What is something your OC wants but knows they can never have? How does it feel to never get this specific desire?

Gambit's... not sure what she wants. But a home is something that comes to mind a few times. Not necessarily a tangible place, no, she's on the move too much to enjoy that sort of thing. But a place she could at least say is safe ground for herself. People she could say are a safe haven for her. But she knows that's something she can't have. Not just because of her work. She's a woman who hasn't had a family in so long. She's sloppy in communication and expression. It's simply no longer her nature to have a family. And sometimes, yeah, it hurts. She watches the children walk down the sidewalk, holding the hand of their parent as they happily talk about their schoolday. So innocent, so unaware that the person who just passed by them was someone who had that carefree life taken away too early. Who had a home taken away too early. But the world keeps turning, and she walks down the path of the lonely hunter once more.

🟢 Green- What is considered a weakness in your OC that is actually a strength? What is a strength in your character that can be twisted into a weakness?

Well, I'd think that Gambit's silent and stoic demeanour can be a strength in some ways. Yes, she does struggle with communication and expressing her thoughts, but she also makes an excellent bluff. It's hard to tell if someone's lying if they've got steely eyes like her. Gambit's smart, yes, but that doesn't mean she's immune to overthinking. If too much information is thrown at her, she begins to overthink, her brain going haywire from all the possibilities she's trying to find at once.

🎱 8 Ball- What situation was your OC lucky to escape from or get out of? What or who helped them unexpectedly?

Not going to say too much because it'll spoil Gambit's backstory that I'm writing. Poland, Jan. 11, 2000. A couple and their daughter went missing after a car accident and explosion. While the parents were found dead not far from the vehicle, the daughter's body was never recovered. Some believe that she was lost immediately with the explosion, her corpse burned into nothing. Others believe she somehow crawled out of that burning wreck, perhaps with the aid of her late parents, and somehow got away.

🔮 Crystal Ball- What kind of future does your OC want to have? What would they do to make it real?

Gambit's not entirely the type to look to the future; she's not even sure how much longer she'll be on this planet with such a perilous job. She honestly intends to keep going until she eithers dies or finally gets sick of killing and decides to retire. Not much to put for this question, but I hope this kinda helps

⚽️ Soccer Ball- Who is someone that your OC believes in and roots for? Are they private about their admiration or do they make it well known?

I think Sunako fits this card, really. Gambit was the one who offered her an invitation to the Shadow Company, recognising the young woman's talent and potential. While she's definitely not open about it, Gambit really wants to see Sunako perform great in the field. She may be rather harsh and almost condescending when she gives tips to the younger, but it shows in her actions how far she's willing to go to ensure Sunako gets a better run in life than she had.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: Lolly Luck by Ellie Daines

I believe that this is a reprinted, rejacketed version of a book that was first published in 2012. I'd never heard of Lolly Luck until I got accepted for this gorgeous new edition but I thought the premise of a perpetually lucky girl sounded really interesting.

Lolly always wins games and competitions and it just so happens that Luck is her surname! But when her dad loses his job and their home, she overhears a devastating family secret that will make her look at everything a bit differently.

At times the writing style reminded me of late 1990s/early 2000s Jacqueline Wilson books that I devoured as a tween. Ellie Daines has the ability to paint warm, nostalgic, recognisable family home scenes that reminded me so much of the books I loved as a kid. Due to that, I had a really good time getting to know Lolly and her family and friends.

Lolly's parents are always arguing, so of course, I saw the inevitable happening. What I didn't expect was the secret that came out. Of course, I'm not going to talk about it here but it seemed so left field and sent the book on a course that I really didn't expect it to. To be honest, I'm not sure whether that's necessarily a positive in what was supposed to be a relatively easy, cosy children's story!

Her dad angered me at several points. I understand firsthand what it's like to lose a job unexpectedly but I always managed to keep my compassion for the people whose faults it wasn't. He fails at this many times. The thing is, I couldn't work out whether I was supposed to villify him, as he is such a tragic, hopeless character. Was I supposed to extend my sympathy far enough to forgive him for standing up his wife and apparently being too busy to tell her he wasn't showing up?

However, Lolly's mum also made my blood boil. The sentences she hurled during arguments with her clearly depressed husband were quite frankly shocking. She may well be the most unempathetic mother I've ever read in a children's book and the crazy thing is that again, I'm not sure I was supposed to read her that way! When the secret came out, I disliked her even more and simply couldn't understand any of her decisions.

Lolly Luck is an interesting book to read and review, certainly as an adult. I did fall in love with Lolly, despite her occasional rudeness but I could mostly understand that. However, her parents were both horrendous people and the ending all felt a bit rushed. I'd have liked the story to have had more depth and detail but I get that it can be hard to pitch that right in children's books.

[jellydishes]

gonna post a big chunk of my vampire oc's bsckstory from my video game in progress just to remind myself that i write gud

1: What about yours, then?"

Fowler's entire stance stiffened, his hands twitching closed before deliberately opening again. "You've already asked about my story before. How vain do you believe me to be, that asking for second time will achieve a different answer?"

1:

2: Very.

3:

1A

2A: For a moment, Fowler could only blink at you. Then he unexpectedly broke out into a chuckle, followed by a rich, rolling peal of laughter that bore little resemblance to the nervous giggle he displayed when close to hunger. "I suppose I deserved that, if not quite a bit more. Fine. Ask your questions. But I promise no answers… at least, none you will enjoy."

3A

1: Let's start out with something easy. Where did you grow up?

1A: Fowler rolled his next words around his mouth as if he were tasting a fine wine. "I suppose this answer, at least, can be doled out. But it is not so easy as all that, if one moved as often as I did in my youth. But… Serbia, largely. Ukraine. Poland, for a time. If it can be affectionately called the old country by those who leave it, I have been there." Here he paused briefly. "My childhood was not nostalgic. There is nothing more to say. Next question."

1: Are you sure? What about it defied the definition?

1: Fowler's mouth twisted in an expression that was half smile, half a sneer that stretched the rarely seen tears in his skin up towards his ears, exposing more and more shark-like teeth. "Keep following that line of questioning, and I may show you."

1: Tell me. I'm not afraid to hear it.

2: I'm sorry that happened to you.

1A

2A: Fowler actually took a step back, then another. His sneer dropped away entirely, exchanged for a look of utter bewilderment. "You-" He shook his head, and as he did, the confusion hardened into an anger so intense as to bare his teeth and flare his nostrils in search of air he no longer needed. "You're sorry? You hear that my childhood was ravaged by concepts you couldn't even begin to understand, and you are sorry?"

You opened your mouth to grasp for something, anything to say, but before you could, Fowler had moved with that strange, unnatural swiftness that looked almost like a mirage. Turning the air where he had been standing into a blur that was more of a smear of color an impressionist may have painted than where a person had been standing shortly before, and then he was standing before you, close enough to back you up on your heels.

"Tell me," Fowler snarled, "have you ever watched your entire family die from disease? Be stricken one by one from something that is laughed about today, ignored? Pitied? Dysentery. It took them all. Mother, father, brothers, twin. It should have taken me as well, except-"

"Except?" You asked with a gentleness that surprised even yourself.

"Except that as it did, someone arrived who decided that they knew better than God. And perhaps they did."

Fowler's strange, curious eyes were no longer looking quite at you. "Clarion. Their name was Clarion, and they took me by the hand and raised me from what should have been my grave. What I wanted to be. I should have died there with my family, and instead this- this unholy monster, beautiful in ways no one could possibly have been any longer in that place of death, perfect and untouched and clean-"

That look of confusion was back, or… something like it. Almost but not quite. Lost, perhaps would have been a better word for the expression that made his look of fury dissolve away as if it had never existed at all. "They wore white," he said, and his voice contained a memory of horror that made your skin crawl. "Do you understand? Everything I knew then had been tainted by death and disease and rot, and they wore white."

He made a strange, small, repetitive noise that you only slowly realized was either a sob or an attempt to gasp for breath that would never come. "I tried to escape. To crawl away. But they simply- plucked me up and out of the cart for the dead and the dying, and tucked me against their breast." He looked up at you wildly, and the lingering horror in his gaze fixed you to where you stood. "I was covered in rotting flesh and filth, and none of it touched them… Everywhere we touched, it- it burned-"

Fowler extended a grey-ish skinned hand that looked otherwise unblemished, and he stared at it with that same intensity he had just fixed upon you. "Right here. They burned me, right here. Do you see?" He thrust it in front of your face, close enough to almost touch, and shook it. "They took all of the proof that I belonged to the Earth and the dust with my family, and they burned it away, with nothing but a smile and a touch."

"And then they bit you?" You found yourself asking, and Fowler finally looked you in the eyes.

"Again, you ask the questions that don't matter. Of course they bit me. But it wasn't the bite that stays with me, or the pain of it, and oh, the pain, little bird… It was the fact that I couldn't taste my own blood anymore, or the tang of death that had infiltrated every atom, every iota of my being up until that point. I couldn't taste then or since, could barely feel my burns as they faded, my hands, my clothes… Everything was as clean as if newly created upon the spot, born again. Only there was no blood, do you see?"

He started to laugh, that high, nervous giggle that marked his moments of fear and hunger. "The most unholy of births… the taking of blood, of any proof you had ever been chosen to walk the Earth and then to die. I screamed," he tittered, "out of fear and pain and all in between. Clarion smiled at me, pitied me, the way you would at a puppy performing a trick incorrectly, and they said…" He blinked, rapidly. "Stand, and walk with me."

1: "You didn't though, right? Why would you?"

2

3

1A: You'd been thinking of everything you knew about Fowler before and even during this conversation, his resistance to both kindness and cruelty, his stubbornness and pride. But again he surprised you with another strained laugh, one that gave out before he was finished. "Of course I followed them," he gasped. "What else was left for me, in a world that had rejected the most human thing I had left? My death? I was become lost in a land of spirits and demons, and my only guide was the one who had stolen me from my cradle."

You grappled with what you could possibly say in response to that, and came up with…

1: "Was my turning anywhere near as bad as that?"

2: "I'll say it again: I'm sorry that happened to you."

3: "What do you need right now?"

4: "You should have stayed dead."

1A: Fowler's face went slack with some unidentifiable emotion before it tightened into a grimace. "Worse. Be grateful you don't remember it."

"But-"

"What do you want to hear?" He snapped. "That I stole you? That I burned away all trace of who you were until you don't even remember that you properly ought to despise me? I did, all that and more. Forget it, or the asking and the yearning for some sort of- of closure will consume you," Fowler bit out in a sneer that nonetheless ended with him dropping back a few steps. "Forget it. It is better left in the past."

1: "For who?" You demanded. "You or me?"

2:

3:

1A: "No one!" Fowler thundered in a shout that tumbled throughout the mausoleum and made dust and bits of plaster rain down from above. As you watched, you realized as if for the first time that none of the grit clung to him, to either of you. "...For no one," he repeated more quietly. "The asking will destroy us both if we allow it to, as it did me."

[lotusflowerbreakingthesurface]

[𝐏𝐗 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜 𝟏𝟎] 全金属狂想 𝐛𝐲 码字的在水一方

✧ 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Full Metal Rhapsody*

✧ 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: Zhang Qiling/Wu Xie

✧ 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞: PingXie Only

✧ 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: T

✧ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Complete + Extra

✧ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞: Chinese

✧ 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 80 Chapters + 3 Extras

✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: AU Setting—Science Fiction, No. 1 Agent With Superpower Becomes a Bodyguard Ping × Small Boss of an Antique Shop With Superpower Become National Treasure Xie

✧ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜: Third Person POV, Action & Romance, No Mecha, Slow Burn, Stranger to Bodyguard to Friend to Good Brother to Lover, HE

✧ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: A Ning, Qi Yu, and Zhang Qishan's appearances

✧ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲/𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜:

“Good brothers for life?” “Can't good brothers kiss each other?”

Wu Xie was just an ordinary man who owned a small antique shop, but his abductor proved him wrong. He suddenly got attacked and treated like a fugitive. Luckily, he was saved by two people who introduced themselves as not-so-secret-agents. One was a talkative fat man, and the other was a silent young man, who later claimed himself as his bodyguard. Unexpectedly, the love bloomed between the two of them, and together they solved the mystery behind Wu Xie's abduction.

✧ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧:

The title of this fic makes me feel nostalgic. It is inspired by an anime, and it's also my favorite childhood anime series. The author said that they started writing this fanfiction in 2012, so it can be considered as an old fic. Aside from that, it's a long and well-written fanfic. The pace of the story is comfortable for me, not too slow or too fast. I really enjoy reading it ✨ It's like a beautiful blend of superpowers, action scenes, and of course the power of love ;)

✧ 𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞:

The title is inspired by anime series Full Metal Panic!

✧ 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬: Amazing fanart by Lynnn-令 on Weibo

✧ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝: Lofter (Chapter 1-2)