#noves writing

[spectorgram]

the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall. 

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly. 

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.” 

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him. 

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients. 

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says. 

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap. 

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy. 

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line. 

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip. 

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up. 

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation. 

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower. 

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies. 

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’” 

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak. 

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fic #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #harry potter #slytherin boys #✶ NOVE WRITES

[barbreypilled]

also like if ur going to publish derivative fiction im sorry but it has to be good. u actually have to do something interesting with it u can’t just google a bunch of tropes, make the characters do them and call it a day like at that point just do fic prompts I guarantee it will be better in the long run bc u won’t have to inevitably get cancelled for review bombing books that ppl actually had to use their brains for

#I get to write my jane eyre subway au because it’s actually good and I’m literally just using the framework of the original #which I have like. actually read and have actual thoughts on #can u tell I’ve just now been exposed to booktok drama and im spiralling #I’m so obsessed w this whole phenomenon it’s so fascinating and I’m sooo glad I didn’t have the resources to publish my shit ass first nove #when I was 16 like my life is so much better for it #anyway I need to go work on my non-derivative novel bc I’ve been neglecting it #get over here Richard I need to beat u mercilessly #also the Richard in question is a different Richard my Richard Mason stand-in is not named Richard

[e-thonrudwrites]

Happy third birthday "The Old Guard"! To the inspiration you gave me for my novel, and to all the fanfic I've read of Joe and Nick, and written.

#the old guard #author #wip #writing community #inspiration #enemies to lovers #mm romance #action scifi #nove in progressl

[riveluart]

There’s a graphic novel writing residency I really want to apply to but they need a writing sample and Idk if it has to be related to the project you’re planning on working on or not because if it does need to be related to the project I need to finish a few pages before the deadline on the 20th and I don’t know if I can do that with our households... situation 

#ally cat rambles #not art #but like a residency would be so nice it would give me so much freedom to actually do things and actually have my own spaceeeee #if i had known about this sooner i would have prepared before now #but also its in portland which #isnt some where i really planned on ever living but its only a summer residency so doesnt really matter #honestly i should have started looking for residencies sooner #maybe ill wait and try to prepare for the next residency opening or look for other residency programs for comics #maybe ill find something in mn and actually get to see my friends again #who knows #i need something to help me get the chance to finally work on the graphic noveli want to write

[pctaldrunk]

me, trying not to write replies that are A MILLION YEARS LONG and failing miserably:

#ooc #((me @ me: oh nice i'm matching length!!!)) #((me @ me a paragraph later: wait wait no ro you nEED TO BE DONE THIS IS TOO MANY PARAGRAPHS UR NOT MATCHING LENGTHS UR JUST WRITING A NOVE

[roachmattea]

killing you in real time btw

theres even funnier ones i havent even gotten to yet

#i dont want tio die before the writing demon comes to me :( #shamsi tag #ask #amelie and nove interact™

[flurry-of-stars]

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 -𝕴

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story. 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.” 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so (A/N: I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are. I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.) ❤ Reblogs are appreciated ❤

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹? 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹? 𝒪𝒽...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈.... ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze. Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write. He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all. A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful. Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters. Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of. His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake. For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen. He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories. Or rather, attempted to. His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late. “Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!” Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid. His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.

He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell. Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky. The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk. You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow. You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.

The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds. You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins. This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.

The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published. You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created. “Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade. Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name. You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird! You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you. The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement. An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.

He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat. You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer. You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here! Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly. You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…” You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–” “Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”

You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–” “No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.” You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue. One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell. But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting. “Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?” His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”

‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod. You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’ It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now. ✩

Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you. Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write. His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling. It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands. He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace. “You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.” He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him. It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next. The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand. “If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?” “Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..” She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?” “Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s. It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task. You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on. “I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place. The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”

You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!” You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard. But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you. Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived. But he never offered you a cup. Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice. “I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–” You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”

‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen. You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’ You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit. He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream. He would not stomp that flame out. A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance. You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements. He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend. But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness. He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch. Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay. Almost.

But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.” You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs. You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought. There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again. Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes. You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.” Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over. You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published. He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed. Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.” “We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”

He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–” ‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp. Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him? Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise. He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!” “I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?" "Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–” “You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously. You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you. “You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes. His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.

“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *

He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery. He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job? ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “You should have cut him some slack.”

“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”

“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”

“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest. The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.

It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left. You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”

You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help. But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–

You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!” “Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating. Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”

You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”

You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator. He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–

Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize! You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.

Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.

“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.

You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.” The incident…

You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”

“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.” A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”

“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance! Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.

“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town. You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.

Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”

“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't? She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.

“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this. “This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”

Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek. The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.

Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin. Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.

The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week. No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.

You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well. They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.

You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape. Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.

He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you. He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.

Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.

Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace. Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.

You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light. Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”

You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you. He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.

“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine. “I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor. “I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”

He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him. These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.

You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.

Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–

“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”

Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot. Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.

✩ You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back. Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?

Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.

The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts. He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.

As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel. He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.

He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.

You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.

With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room. Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.

Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.

Dividers: @/saradika * Translation:  Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

[crunchietoast]

ᶜᵒᵒᵏⁱᵉˢ & ᶜᵒʷᵇᵒʸˢ| ʲ.ᵐ

Pairings: pre-outbreak Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 2883 (✨Including Bonus Scene✨)

Summary: You loved days like this. Days sitting on his couch in the dark living room of your neighbour’s house. Yes, that's right, you were spending your Saturday afternoons on your neighbour’s couch on a rainy day. But the term neighbour might be a little insensitive after all he was more than any other neighbour you have ever had.

Warnings: implied NSFW, cheesy cowboy books, Tommy being a little shit, eating; cookies and popcorn, mentions of shirtless Joel, swearing, FlirtyJoel™️, use of Y/N unfortunately, low-key cowboy kink, most likely writing errors leave meh alone :') (lemme know if there are any more <3)

You loved days like this. Days sitting on the couch in the dark living room of your neighbour’s house. Yes, that's right, you were spending your Saturday afternoons on your neighbour’s couch on a rainy day. But the term neighbour might be a little insensitive after all he was more than any other neighbour you have ever had.

Since you moved in next door, you and Joel have become very close and spend a lot of time together. You hate to be cliché, but you have grown especially fond of him, more than neighbours should, or even more the friends should. Yep, that's right you had a huge fat crush on the boy next door. But the boy next door wasn't actually a boy, in fact he was a man, a very single man that just so happened to be a loving father, and as you have recently found out, someone very cozy to share a blanket with.

You and Joel’s friendship was interesting to say the least. You two were flirty, very flirty, but you both knew the line and tiptoed on the edge; never dare crossing it. Being close with Joel was just easy, you knew what one another needed.

For example, crying at his front door, face smothered in his shoulder after a hard day. You knew he’d be there. No questions asked but the silence was loud enough. Comforting in a way.

He has made it very clear you were welcome over any time but Sarah on the other hand, uses a tactic you like to call broad-line trickery. You really couldn't say no to her puppy dog eyes when she begged you to stay over for movie night.

“C'mon Y/N! Dad doesn't cook the popcorn like you do!” she pleaded, knowing full well you and Joel made the popcorn the exact same way.

“Well if you insist,” you playfully rolled your eyes and making eye contact with Joel, acting as if it were a chore to be around the adorable curly hair girl and her absolute DILF of a dad.

Joel scoffed and rolled his eyes back as he chucked Sarah’s bedding on the couch that she insisted on having to make a blanket fort with.

“Only if you're Dad says it okay though.” You say again with a smile on your face. Sarah exclaimed in joy.

“Okay with it? Pft! Dad would make you move in if you'd let him” Sarah made sly eyes at Joel as his eyes widened before he threw a pillow at his daughter.

“Okay, that's enough! If you want Y/N to stay you better go get more blankets and pillow, hurry up or the pizzas gonna come and you’re not gonna get any…” Joel teased as he picked up the home phone from the coffee table. Sarah ran upstairs with loud thumps you and Joel chuckled quietly.

“Move in huh?” You battered your eyes.

“You shush girl, or no pizza for you either” he narrows his eyes at you.

So yes, you loved sitting on his couch on a cold rainy day more than anything. You two didn't even need to talk really, simply sitting on the couch with your legs laid on top of his lap as you read a book, his thumb gently rubbing your ankle where your sweatpants and socks don't exactly meet as he watches whatever is on the tv on a quiet volume.

Some would think you’re a couple, which in all honestly would make sense, but nope. Neither of you says anything for fear of ruining the comfortable abode you’ve made yourself. So, sitting here will have to do for now.

“When is Sarah gonna be back?” You asked glancing up from your cheesy cowboy novel.

“Why? My company not enough?” he pretended to be offended and you giggled and shook your head as your eyes rolled, “she’s gettin’ dropped off at Tommy’s tonight, she wanted to have a slumber party with her uncle apparently. Gon’ get him to tell her all bout’ his date on Tuesday” he deadpanned. You chuckled slightly at the thought of Tommy and Sarah having a ‘slumber party’, you can imagine it now, Sarah braiding his hair as he rants and swoons about the pretty girl he just went on a date with. “He better keep it PG, don’t want Sarah coming home tellin’ me all about how Uncle Tommy just got laid” he said, which only made you laugh louder, head thrown back against the arm rest of the couch.

“Now that would be hilarious” you said as you stood up from the couch, throwing the fluffy blanket and book onto the couch next to Joel as you walked to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you heard him scoff from the living room as you got a bag of popcorn out of the cabinet. “For you. I’ll be the one that has to give Sarah the talk unless you wanna give it a go Darlin'” He laughed loudly at the thought.

“I’ll leave it to you, thanks” you say sheepishly as you pressed the buttons on the microwave, then grabbing a cookie from the jar above the microwave, which are surprisingly still here. Joel and Tommy love the cookies that you and Sarah make, they never usually last a week.

A few seconds past with nothing but the sound of the popcorn popping, the TV on low volume and the heavy rain hitting the windows and roof outside. It was peaceful.

“His hands were rough, just like she imagined. Real hard-working hands must be from all horse riding and heavy lifting he’s been doing she thought to herself. Those same hands now moved down her body slowly,” You heard Joel say from the living room.

‘What in the world is he on abo-’

Your book. He’s reading your book.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing not getting touched the way she shoul-” he continued.

“JOEL NO! PUT IT DOW-” you ran into the living room diving onto the couch scrambling to get the book from his grasp. His laughter boomed loudly as he held the book out of her reach.

“Is this what you've been readin’ all this time sweetheart? Paper porn?” Joel laughs loudly as you’re still trying to reach the book, climbing all over him in the hopes of getting it back.

“Joel! give it back, it’s not what it looks like!” you said smacking his chest with a bright red face.

“Oh baby, I think it’s exactly what it looks like, see the page was even dog eared,” his laugh only getting louder as you straddle his lap, pulling at his arm that’s in the air with the book.

“No fair Joel, give it back!” you whine as he laughs slow down.

“Alright Alright girl, calm down,” his hand comes up to grab at your wrist that’s trying to get the book. You glare at him crossing your arms with your hand, that Joel was holding, out waiting the return of your precious book. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, here’s ya porn-” you jab the side of his ribs “OW! - okay okay here’s your…literature” he said finally handing the book to you as you snatch it out of his grasp, holding it tightly against you, the glare remaining.

“Cowboys really do it for you?” Joel askes curiously.

“Shut up, didn’t your Momma ever teach you not to touch what isn't yours? Or did you just not listen, hm?” You said pulling his ear gently to add emphasise to your words. Joel grabbed at your wrist again.

“Oh no Darlin, don’t worry I listen real well.” he said smirking as your face burned.

“Dick.” you scoffed, slapping his shoulder with the book before getting off of Joel, trying to ignore the fact you realised you were sitting on him a few seconds ago. Joel just laughed.

“Yeah Yeah, now would you be an angel go get the popcorn for your handsome rugged cowboy?” Joel said reaching for the TV remote nonchalantly.

“Ughh, I hate you” you whine throwing a pillow at his head as you walk back to the kitchen placing the book on the counter, away from Joel, and emptied the popcorn from the microwave into a bowl.

“Where's the book?” Joel asked as you sat back down on the couch, your legs bent with your cold feet under his thigh in hopes of some warmth, bowl of buttery popcorn in hand.

“I’m going to burn it.” You say dead serious as you tug the blanket back over you, Joel shuffling under as well, munching on handful of popcorn.

“What?!” He groaned “I was really getting into it” He continued, smirking as you glared at him again.

“I’ll buy you one for your birthday.” you say still serious as you smack his arm coming to pinch at your chin affectionately.

“Na, why would you do that when we can just read it together, huh? Go on off you go, get the book” he said throwing his arm on the backrest of the couch and shooing you away with his other hand.

Bright red covers you from you neck to the tip of your ears at the thought of reading a dirty book with Joel. With him.

“Absolutely not. There is no way in hell I’m reading that book near you ever again, let alone with you!” You said throwing a piece of popcorn at him. Joel laughs.

“Don't let me ruin it for you, I’m sure you were really into it. Up to the best part of it as well” Joel replies, chuckling as you shove your face into the pillow you grabbed from behind you, groaning loudly.

“You’re such an idiot, I’m never making cookies for you again!” you threaten as your face is still shoved in the pillow.

Joel grabbed behind you knees and pulled you closer to him, so your legs laid over his lap completely, you squealed into the pillow. He put his hands on your waist where your his hoodie had rod up and started to tickle, your head shot out from the pillow and screeched bloody murder as you tried to wiggle from his gasp.

“Don’t be so mean to your cowboy, he loves eating his girls’ cookies!” he said as he continued the assault.

“Joel stop!” you squealed again between words as he just kept pulling you closer every time you managed to crawl away. “Let me go!!” you're screams began mixing with uncontrollable laughter.

“Na-uh girly, you’re not going anywhere. I will not hesitate to lasso you up!” Joel kept the cowboy joke going because he loved the reaction it got out of you. And this, for one was definitely a reaction.

You laughed harder, the joke now becoming more funny than embarrassing. Still embarrassing of course but funny too now.

“Pl-please! I-I can’t!” you screamed as tears welled at the corner of your eyes from the laughter. Joel was laughing loudly as well, showing dimple on his right cheek that you loved so much.

His fingers finally stopped moving and your laughing slowed down, you opened your eyes to Joel’s shit eating grin pasted all over his face. He was sitting on his heels now, facing you, between your thighs as your legs were over his thighs and down by his sides. His hands on the couch, either side of your hips to hold himself up.

You’re smile hurt your cheeks and the tears from laughter rolled down the side of your face. Joel was quick to wipe them away with his thumb.

“Fine I’ll make more cookies.” you say quietly, like a whisper for only him to hear.

“Promise?” Joel whispered back as his smile went gentle.

“Promise.”

The words felt like they had more meaning than they lead on. Like it wasn’t about cookies, or cowboys. Like you were promising something more than his favourite home baked goods. And it felt okay. You didn't know what it was at the moment but whatever it was, it felt okay.

“Good.” Joel concluded. “Can’t live without em’” he said as his thumb gently touched your waist again.

“Me either” you giggled.

This definitely wasn't about cookies or cowboys.

✨Bonus scene✨

WC: 846

“Yes, the bear with the blue ribbon, I got it! Just stay in the car, won’t be long girly!” Tommy called out to the car as he walked into the kitchen from the back door.

“Hi Tommy, whacha doin?” you asked him as you stood at the stove pulling out another tray of cookies, as Joel ate the rest.

“Hiya sweets, just picking up a few things for Sarah she forgot. Apparently, she can’t live without em’ for even a day,” he said as he looked around the kitchen “where is Joel at?”

“Oh, he’s in the shower, shouldn't be too long” you said as you took the oven mites off your hands, chucking them on the bench next to the stove.

“You guys been behaving?” Tommy smirked as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes at him and ignored the blush on your cheeks.

“We always do” you smiled at him with a warning eye, that if he were to ask again you would hit him with a wooden spoon. He got the idea.

“Hey Darlin’ do you have my shir-” Joel said as walked into the kitchen as soon as he saw Tommy he huffed and leaned against the counter.

Oh, you forgot to mention, shirtless as well. Since you were indeed wearing his shirt. Why you ask? Don’t.

“What are you doing here?” Joel asked Tommy bluntly.

“Hello to you too brother,” Tommy said smiling slyly at the sight of you wearing said shirt, Joel not wearing said shirt and…wait what’s that, a book on the counter? “Just picking up some stuff for Sarah, the girl really needs a bear with a blue ribbon apparently”.

“Armchair in the Living room on the right” you said as you walked into the laundry room near the kitchen, grabbing Joel a new shirt.

“Thanks” Tommy said as he walks closer to the counter with the book. Joel is so distracted to by the cookies that just came out of the oven, attempting to make it look like he’s not drooling as he stood near the stove top with the tray on top, that he doesn’t even notice Tommy looking at the book.

“’Save a horse, Ride a cowboy’?” Tommy read the cheesy book cover out loud as he picked it up.

You rushed back into the kitchen throwing the new shirt at Joel’s face as he wiped around from the stove top to get to Tommy as well.

“NO!” You both said in unison. Somehow Joel got there first and snatched the book out of his brothers’ hands. Tommy was extremely confused, it took a bit for the book title and the reaction of you both to process, but when it did, and he knew what the book was most likely about a huge smirk smeared disgustingly over his face.

“A cowboy book?” Tommy said as Joel and your faces went red. Joel fiddling with the cover of the pages.

“It’s Joel’s!” you said quickly. Joels eyes instantly went wide as he panned his head towards you. His grip on the book tightens. Tommy looked between the both of you.

“No, it’s not! Y/N, its hers she loves cowboys!!” Joel shouted whipping his head to Tommy as if he was a kid caught stealing candy. He swung his head back over to you with eyebrows furrowed and jaw swingling open. “How DARE you.” He emphasized the word dare.

“Joel it’s okay, your allowed to like what you like. Nothing to be ashamed off.” You smirked at him as you (fake) empathetically patted his shoulder. See how he likes it.

“Okayyyy…. Well, I’ll leave you to cookie making” he pointed to you, “And I’ll leave you, dear brother, to cowboy readin’” tommy said patting the shoulder of Joel. You kept in the snort of laughter as Joel once again snapped his head to his brother, glaring firmly at the younger man. Tommy nods at the both of you and walked backwards to the Livingroom to finally get the bear Sarah wanted.

“You little shit.” Joel said looking over to your sheepish smile. His eye twitched as you shrugged your shoulder and giggled guiltily.

“What? You did say you loved the book…” you said, still smiling, as you picked up the shirt you threw at Joel in the struggle and dusted it off before handing it to him with both hands.

Joel snatched the shirt and tossed the book back onto the counter, aggressively pulled the shirt over his head.

“Tommy, did you find the bear?” Joel asked keeping his glare on you.

“Uh… Yep! found it right he-” Tommy said from the Livingroom.

“Great. Get out.” Joel said firmly. Tommy got the hint and began pacing for the backdoor again.

“No! Tommy please don’t leave, here have a cooki-”

“Bye Y/N!! Goodluck!” He said as the door closed behind him. Your eyes went back to Joel’s which had yet to stop staring. Joel waited until he hears Tommy’s truck drive away.

‘Those cookies better be the best damn things I’ve ever eaten. Or you’re screwed.”

#CrunchieToast #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #hes so fucking hot guys you dont even understand #cookies & cowboys #tommy miller #bella ramsey #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #x yn #x reader #pre outbreak!joel #dividers and images not mine

[spectorgram]

worth a thousand words

din djarin x gn! reader summary: at school, grogu drew a picture that brings you and din a little closer. notes: none word count: 1.0k

You and Din hadn’t said a word to each other in two days. Well, it was really two days, five hours, and thirty-three minutes — not that you were really counting or anything. With another bounty on Nevarro coming up, the current state of affairs in the Razor Crest didn’t bode well.

It was, admittedly, supremely uncomfortable to be in such close quarters and basically ignore each, but you and Din were as stubborn as they come, neither willing to yield first. 

The whole reason for the argument was ridiculous in your opinion. You two had been in Mos Eisley on a call from Peli, who told you that some Twi’lek had broken into her shop and taken some of her most valuable parts. You had tracked down the target, finding him in a cantina at the edge of the town but when you two got ready to ambush him, he pulled a blaster out and fired. The blast was headed for Din and even though, logically, you knew it would just bounce off his beskar armor, you shoved him out of the line of fire. The blast just grazed your arm but kriff, did it sting. 

Din subdued the quarry and you two found the stolen goods, returning them to Peli. With the quarry frozen in carbonite, you used some bacta spray to heal the blaster burn, and Din had looked on silently. “You’re just going to watch me do this?” you asked playfully. 

Din huffed at you. “This isn’t a joke. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You frowned at him and replied, “I know what I’m doing, Din, I was hunting on my own before we teamed up.”

“That doesn’t matter if you’re going to act rashly.”

“I was trying to help you,” you said, scowling. You stood and started to head for the cockpit.

“My beskar would’ve protected me. You don’t have that luxury.”

“Kriff, Din, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to say that you’ll never do that again.”

You glared at him. “I’m not going to say that, Din.”

The two of you held each other’s stare for what felt like hours. Then, Din huffed through his vocoder, turned on his heel, and pushed past you into the cockpit. That was the last time you two talked. 

The two of you made your way to the Nevarro school, Din holding Grogu on his hip. When you entered, the kids were doing their pre-lesson playtime, and the teacher smiled at you when she saw you. “It’s nice to see you again!” she said when she saw you.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said, elbowing Din. He glared at you but offered a polite nod to the teacher. A little reluctantly, he handed Grogu over to her. You told her, “We should be back by the end of the day.”

“No worries at all.” She brought Grogu to the play area, placing him down with the other kids. He immediately waddled over, plopping down with a group of children to play with blocks. 

You and Din set off on your hunt in an oppressive silence. 

The hunt had been pretty simple, so it didn’t take you and Din long to knock them out and drag them back to the Crest. There had been slight progress with you and Din — you had said a few words to one another: “Over there,” “Watch out,” “Thanks.”

The silence that followed was slightly less uncomfortable than it had been for the past two days, but neither of you were ready to give up the ghost just yet. 

Grogu was one of the last children left in the school when you returned. When the teacher saw you, she called to him, “Grogu, look who’s here!”

His head turned faster than you’ve ever seen, and he toddled over to the two of you as fast as he could, arms outstretched to you. You scooped him into your arms and he squealed delightedly. You thanked the teacher for watching him and turned to leave when she said, “Oh! I almost forgot!”

She handed you a piece of paper from atop her desk and said, “We did some drawing today! The prompt was ‘Draw something that you love.’”

Din took the paper from her hand and looked down at him, stilling. He glanced briefly at you and Grogu before nodding. “Thank you.”

On the walk back to the Crest, Din kept looking over at you contemplatively, and you squirmed a little under his gaze. When you got back to your ship, you realized that Grogu had passed out in your arms, snuffling softly. Your heart melted a little as you held him a little tighter. Din opened the bunk and you gingerly lowered Grogu into his little hammock. When you turned, you saw Din standing only a foot or two away. He asked, “Did you see the picture he drew?”

With a shake of your head, Din handed the paper to you. On it, scribbled in crayon, you saw three figures. One was a blur of green and beige with a little black, the other mostly gray and black, and then one that matched your skin tone and hair. You gazed at the photo and softly asked, “Is this us?”

“I think so,” Din said. He moved closer to you and leaned over the drawing. “The teacher… she said that she asked the class to—”

“Draw something they loved.” You touched your finger to the crayon-drawn Grogu and whispered, “His family.”

“Our family,” Din murmured. 

You chuckled shakily and finally, you said, “I’m sorry, Din. I shouldn’t have jumped in front of the blaster. I just… I knew, rationally, that your armor would protect you but I… my body moved faster than my mind and I—”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I know why you did it. But I didn’t like that you got hurt because of me.”

You laughed a little, “I’m sorry I gave you the silent treatment. It was just really stupid.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry too.”

You smiled at him, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. You looked back down at the drawing and Din said, “Our clan of three.”

“Our family.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #mandalorian imagine #✶ NOVE WRITES

[tweetsongs]

once again i am asking people to read jwqs

i bet you thought you saw the last of me, motherfuckers *maniacal laughter increases*. that’s right, today in ‘rain’s unhinged webnovel recommendations,’ i’m here to tell you why you, yes YOU, should read jwqs.

what is jwqs?

jwqs, translated as clear and muddy loss of love, is a novel by the author Please Don’t Laugh/PDL, an author known for writing wlw webnovels such as female emperor and the eldest princess. jwqs is another one of her baihe, or wlw, novels, and is complete at 303 chapters and change in extras.

what is jwqs about?

qiyan agula, the prince of the grass plains, is the eldest daughter of the chief of a tribe living across the river from a rival kingdom. she has been raised as a boy from birth because ~politics~. when the rival kingdom massacres her people, she decides to take revenge by integrating herself as a male scholar in their country and working her way up the political ladder until she is in a position to burn it all to the ground. unfortunately for her, she does a little TOO well and is in the perfect position as an imperial scholar to be betrothed to the emperor’s favorite daughter, the youngest princess nangong jingnu.

the novel spans their decades-long relationship, including both their growing feelings towards each other, the political machinations of the court, civil instability within and around the kingdom, as well as qiyan’s road towards vengeance.

so this is a standard enemies to lovers arranged marriage story, so what?

oh my dear sweet summer child. you darling little fool lost to the winds of cliche storylines. this is no mere collection of hot tropes, this is a turducken of dramedy that will rip your still-beating heart out of your chest and cackle as it burns it in front of you. this webnovel will bury itself in your synapses until you sit up in bed at 4am Thinking about cycles of violence and the inevitable degradation of memory. while it IS a romance, it is also a dizzying political drama with a deft touch for platonic and familial relationships the likes of which i’ve rarely found in other texts.

Not only that, but to characterize jwqs as enemies to lovers is to simplify their relationship to an insulting degree- these two useless sapphics go through basically every relationship dynamic possible at some point, and most of the time at least one of them doesn’t hate the other! Their relationship is maybe best summarized by this twitter post, which makes me cackle every time.

so it’s more plot-focused than relationship-focused?

while jwqs IS largely concerned with broader issues within the kingdom and the opposing wei and grass plain factions, it would be remiss of me to say that it isn’t as concerned with its main relationship! the political drama of this novel is reflected through the evolving relationship between qiyan and jingnu, and their positions being what they are, their personal decisions and shifts in power dynamic ripple out to have significant consequences in the broader setting.

Additionally, beyond the main couple, evolving relationships and what people can come to mean to one another forms the backbone of jwqs’ themes, and each character has a complicated web of dynamics that refract into the sociopolitical situation. Rather than saying it’s more relationship or plot-focused, it’s more accurate to say that the plot and relationships of jwqs are inextricably entwined.

short answer: kind of!

okay this sounds like a bonafide tragedy, will the ending destroy my soul?

skip this one if you don’t even want a whiff of spoilers, but for those who are worried- jwqs does technically have a happy ending! it says so right in the summary!

now, to get to the more complicated answer - it depends on your tragedy threshold. this novel will spend three hundred chapters making you think ‘oh this CANNOT end well,’ and then sprinkle in moments of such sweetness that you’re forced to consider ‘but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it did?’ i truly spent the novel expecting a purely tragic ending, but instead got....kind of a bittersweet one! if you want the true happy ending you HAVE to read to the epilogue, the ending proper will only flash a few knives between its fingers before flinging them directly at your bared throat.

any caveats or trigger warnings?

yes, definitely! once again, i’m a fan of people going into a book eyes open, so here’s a list of things in the book that may turn some people off!

the book starts with a genocide, and spends much of the novel dealing with the horrific aftermath that the survivors deal with

it’s generally a pretty heavy book that doesn’t shy away from gore

there are depictions of sexual assault (not among the main characters), though the translation does warn for it!

there’s a relationship between an older and younger woman where the younger woman is in a state of dissociative mental trauma, and it is unclear whether or not she is capable of giving informed consent. this relationship is depicted as positive and grows into a consenting healthy relationship between two adults, but the beginning can be...pretty rough, since the book itself doesn’t seem to view this as a significant power imbalance/possible assault

there is an age gap between the main characters, and one of them is thirteen when they marry for political purposes. nothing happens between them until they’re in their twenties, but this premise might not be for some!

the first chapter of the translations has a more holistic list of trigger warnings, so i’d recommend reading through that first if you have any fears! this is just what stood out to me personally

anything else to sweeten the pot?

if you’re still not convinced, please have this miscellaneous list of reasons i love jwqs:

while the main characters have a tempestuous relationship, their dynamic stays incredibly sweet and loving throughout the novel. they are SO cute and kind to each other it makes me froth at the mouth

it has some of the most nuanced and subtle character writing i’ve ever seen, and depicts every character with a deftness that would’ve come out as overwrought in most other texts

the main character is a GREMLIN and EVIL, i’ve seen all you ‘where’s my evil girl mc’s’ on tumblr...this is your time

the mc is a compulsive liar to everyone including herself (hm that sounds familiar) and that makes the book incredibly funny to read when you read between the lines

the author’s notes are.....so good. this lady just loves ladies so much y’all

SO many supportive himbos

the main character can speak to horses. no there’s no magic in this world. no this isn’t a plot point. no there’s no explanation

just....watch this:

anyways please read this stupid little book about lesbians i can’t stop thinking about them and it’s ruining my life. i need someone to holler with and force me to finish this author’s other books. you can find the translated chapters here.

#posting on my bday as a treat to myself #jwqs #clear and muddy loss of love #rain's menagerie of unhinged webnovel recs

[charmixpower]

I'm kinda fucking obsessed with Tritannus

Like he's not even a little sorry, I love that for him

They literally ask him if he's sorry and he's like "I wish I killed you when I had the chance."

I was talking about writing evil characters and Nove said "you're either the type of person who can gut someone or your not" and I definitely think Tritannus is just one of those people

While I know statistically most serial killers come from abusive homes, that just doesn't line up with the family dynamic. Usually, yes there is a golden child and scapegoat child, but that would mean that Tressa and Ligea would also get mixed up in the abuse, and none of them show signs of being abused. It's mostly implied that Tritannus has been unstable and violent since birth, causing a divide between him and his father and sister, where his brother and mother tried to connect but couldn't

The way they interact is very "I have no clue what to do with you or your murderous tendencies. I wish it didn't have to come to this but because it did I WILL stop you." If that makes any sense

Dude is just an unrepentant murderer, vibes

Also he just goes into the Oblivion portal. He doesn't need to be forced he just goes in there. Like "Ig I reap what I sow :/// at least I got to make a bunch of people suffer"

As a concept? Tritannus is narratively really dumb, but as a character is incredibly compelling. With better execution he'd make a great lacky for someone else

#winx Tritannus #winx club #rus liveblogs #winx season 5

[thecw-unicorn]

😏

#acotar #elain archeron #elain #acotar fandom #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #elain acotar #acotar series

[girasollake]

GIRASOLLAKE’s WRITING EVENT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the event is over now!

❁ hi yall!! i’m doing this event to get creative and write some stuff since i haven’t written in like… forever

❁ basically i’m gonna be opening my requests until the 1st of september and you pick a character from this list (please also read these rules), a trope and a prompt from the lists below:)

❁ feel free to add smth from yourself that you’d like me to include in the one-shot and i’ll try my best to take it into consideration while writing!!

❁ if the request will be very similar to smth i have already written then i’ll probably won’t write it

❁ have fun!!<333

TROPES:

1. one bed

2. friends to lovers

3. enemies to lovers

4. lovers to strangers

5. forbidden romance

6. secret relationship

7. fake dating

8. jealousy

9. sibling’s best friend

10. best friend’s sibling

11. academic rivalry

12. unrequited love

13. childhood besties to lovers

14. mutual pining

15. exes to lovers

16. neighbours to lovers

PROMPTS:

1. "is this okay?" "it's more than okay."

2. their breath hitching whenever the other gets a little closer

3. playing with their hair until they fall asleep

4. holding them close and noticing the smell of their shampoo in their hair

5. annoying any other surrounding friends/teammates with their consistent arguing

6. "you left me! don't you realize i could have died?!" "that was the plan!"

7. not being able to say anything when watching the other get flirted with

8. "if we get caught, i'm blaming you."

9. "i'm sorry did you just say that this is fun?" "yeah, kinda."

10. returning each other's belongings, not wanting to be reminded of the other's existence

11. "why do you seem upset?" "why the hell do you think..."

12. leaving love bites on them

13. confessing their love when the other falls asleep

14. small gestures that mean a lot (ex. buying a fav candy)

15. (them buying a present) „it reminded me of you.”

16. “when was the last time you slept?”

17. you lay a hand on them one more time and i’ll take it clean off of you.”

18. waking up to them cooking breakfast for you

19. eye contact w/ sexual tension

20. subtle touches w/ sexual tension

21. just lots of *ekhm* sexual tension

22. stuck together in a room while being enemies

23. “please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” “why don’t you come over here and make me?”

24. kissing to shut them up

25. “you make me smile ... and also super horny, but that’s not the point. “

26. "come here, say it again"

27. back hugs.

28. when they wipe the corner of your mouth with their thumb

29. getting pinned against a wall

30. “oh, them? i don’t like them.” (they do). 

31. "what.. are we now?"

32. “wait- what if someone sees?!”

33. "I'm right here; I won't leave your side. Go back to sleep, darling."

34. praying that they don't notice their heart racing as they give them a hug

35. grabbing onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

36. tracing over their scars

37. hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them

38. telling them they deserve better (and silently wanting to be the one who gives it to them)

39. “this is the part where you’re meant to kiss me.”

40. "yeah no, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it this time."

41. being their server and getting flustered over how attractive they are

42. they forget something important

43. "how can something beautiful as love make one so unhappy?"

44. first kiss

45. first i love you’s…

46. first time

47. sharing an umbrella!!

48. "you. are. mine."

49. "what? no visicous insult about my clothes or hair? nothing?"

50. "my love language is bullying people." "you bully me. a lot." "..."

51. "are you okay?" "i'm convincing myself that I'm not in love with X."

52. "how come your so quiet?" "i don't really feel the need to talk. i like just... being around you."

53. "why can't we stay like this forever?" "who says we can't?"

54. "you drive me fucking crazy."

55. "please stay."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

prompts are mostly by @novelbear and @parker-fics

probably a few others but i forgot the @ cuz i forgot to write them down, pls forgive me:’)

#🤍 - girasollake writing event ☾ ⋆* #writing event #requests open #x reader #imagine #one-shot #marvel #will poulter #avengers #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #remus lupin x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #theodore nott #eggsy unwin x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #harry potter #slytherin boys #mcu imagine #peter parker imagine

[philosophika]

Hi Ginny! (@hippiewrites) Thank you for tagging my writeblr (@thesorcerersapprentice) in this super fun Get To Know Me Tag Game! Since this is a more personal set of questions (as opposed to writing-related ones), I'm going to be answering with my main, @philosophika. Hope that's ok! By the way, to my moots: do you like stories influenced by the ancient Greco-Roman world? Do you like - no, love - fantasy? Are you ready to have your mind blown? If the answer is yes, then please go check out Ginny's WIP, Echoes of the Etan!! Ok, ok onto the tag game. The rules are to tag 9 people you want to get to know better. I'm (no pressure) tagging: @inkovert @that-chibi-writer @songsofsomnia @violetboy @outpost51 @aquadestinyswriting @merlina87 @sarah-sandwich @lucianinsanity @winterandwords @d3mon-ology @threeking @avrablake @the-finch-address @thawinoakenshield @the-down-upside-finch @lunarmoment @sodaliteskull @kingkendrick7 @harps-for-days @cee-grice @tate-lin and anyone else who would like to participate!

✦ The Last Song I Listened to

"Can You Hear The Music" by Ludwig Göransson (I hated the Oppenheimer film for multiple reasons, but I loved the soundtrack).

✦ Favourite Colour Or Colours

All the shades of blue, especially those deep blues touched with red. I also quite like green.

✦ Last TV Show Or Film I Watched

Priscilla, directed by Sophia Coppola. And let me tell you, it was excruciating, not because the film was bad - actually, the film was very, very good - but because it hurts to watch Elvis Presley groom and control Priscilla. #NoMoreSaintedMonsters

✦ Currently Watching:

Slow Horses, a spy drama on Apple TV, with my dad. The boss, Lamb (played by Gary Oldman), is absolutely disgusting lol I love it.

✦ Currently Reading:

"The Will of The Many" by James Islington. It's fun, but the main character is 100% overpowered, and the inlaid criticisms of both democratic and monarchical systems of government are tepid at best. Still, it's entertaining.

✦ Sweet, Spicy, or Savoury:

Savoury, then spicy, then sweet. Speaking of savoury, have you guys heard of Ajiaco? It's the soup the Mirabel family sits down to eat in Encanto and it's one of my favourite dishes of all time! Just look at it:

✦ Last Thing I Searched Online:

Metis, the underrated Ancient Greek Goddess of Cunning (and mother of Athena). You can find what came of this research here:

✦ Last Thing I Searched For Writing Purposes:

Same as above!

✦ Current Obsession:

As always my current obsession is my WIP, The Sorcerer's Apprentice, a fantasy novel that explores the interplay between colonialism, capitalism, and environmental catastrophe through the fraught relationship between a mysterious sorcerer and his protogé. Check out the project at my dedicated writeblr:

✦ ✦ Question Template Under the Cut ✦ ✦

Last Song:

Favourite Colour or Colours:

Last TV Show or Film:

Currently Watching:

Currently Reading:

Sweet, Spicy, or Savoury:

Last Thing I Searched Online:

Last Thing I Searched For Writing Purposes:

Current Obsession:

#Spotify #Tag game #Writeblr #Writeblr tag games #priscilla 2023 #slow horses #jackson lamb #Greek mythology #Metis #Ajiaco #The Will of The Many #James Islington #Oppenheimer score #NoMoreSaintedMonsters

[roachmattea]

YEAH ILL TELL THE WRITING DEMON TO VISIT YOU NEXT TIME—

thanks shamsi

#ask #amelie and nove interact™ #shamsi tag #me when i eagerly await the writing demon outside my window

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group K Round 3: #K5 vs #K6

#K5: Adopted magical girl learns to love, live, and also fight

#K6: Slice of life in the middle of nowhere

Details and poll under the cut!

#K5: Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha ViVid

Summary:

Vivio Takamachi, a Sankt Kaiser royalty of ancient Belka, was previously subjected to mistreatment. Fortunately, she now lives a peaceful life with family and friends while practicing martial arts with her coach, Nove Nakajima. However, Vivio soon becomes the target of the mysterious fighter Heidi E. S. Ingvalt, who demands Nove to reveal the location of the ancient Belkan royals. Refusing to disclose this information, Nove finds herself in a losing battle, but Heidi soon falls unconscious. In addition, Nove discovers Heidi’s true identity to be a middle school student named Einhald Stratos.

When she regains consciousness, Einhald clarifies that she has no animosity toward ancient Belkan royals. Having inherited the passion to defend and harboring regretful memories of her ancestor, the ancient Belkan ruler Claus Ingvalt, she simply wants to prove that her fighting ability is strong enough to protect others. Intrigued by the girl's situation, Nove arranges for Einhald to meet with Vivio. Although they get off to an unconventional start, Vivio enthusiastically trains with Einhald, assisting her in finding peace of mind while developing a vivid friendship along the way.

Propaganda:

It’s such an interesting setting, like it’s so fucking weird and I love it despite the queerbaiting. But basically these two magical girls retire ro run a dojo and adopt another magical girl who was abused. It focuses on the abused kid (previous series focused on the two magical girls) and that kid learning to be a kid and fight not for survival but like fun, and making friends and having a family they trust. All while in a sci-fi magical world with some fascinating and enjoyable world building. It has flaws, but for me the setting and characters make up for the sometimes misogynistic additions.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination

#K6: Non Non Biyori

Summary:

Hotaru Ichijou's lifestyle completely changes when she leaves Tokyo and moves with her family to the isolated Asahigaoka village. Her new school has only five students including herself, all sharing a single classroom regardless of grade level. There are no convenience stores in the area, and it can take up to two hours for a bus to arrive.

Nevertheless, Hotaru finds herself captivated by the countryside's charm thanks to her four unique schoolmates with whom she quickly forms a genuine bond. The most colorful of them is Renge Miyauchi, a first-grader who is often perceptive despite her age. However, no less intriguing are the three Koshigaya siblings: the quiet oldest brother Suguru, the petite older sister Komari, and the prankish youngest sister Natsumi.

Having someone from the city join their cheerful little group enlivens the ordinary days in Asahigaoka. Not only does Hotaru bring firsthand knowledge from the alluring outside world, but her fresh outlook on life welcomes a blossom of change to their usual routine.

Propaganda:

Non Non Biyori is a show that, at first glance, seems to be little more than a standard Iyashikei affair with above average background art and below average character writing. What the show lacks in surface-level complexity, however, it makes up for with its delivery of capital T Themes.

The first season serves as a foundation, where it creates a strong sense of place through gorgeously rendered background art. We’re frequently given long, wide-angle shots of the background as characters walk through going about their business. The characters, though simply written, are given strong interactions with each other in order to grant a better understanding of the sense of community within the town. This serves to establish the town itself as the single most important element of the show, allowing the themes to blossom come season two, where we can better see the underlying melancholy behind the show’s lighthearted tone.

Non Non Biyori is ultimately a show about good times that can never last. The town they live in and the lifestyle it represents is dying, and the kids will grow up someday and will probably leave in search of better opportunities, with the possibility that they will never return to their hometown. Even in the short term, the age gap between the characters means that high school and eventually college will separate them, and though they’ll likely remain friends things will have irreversibly changed. Though the threat of change looms over the narrative, importantly, it’s not something that’s ever lingered on for too long, and when it is, it’s delivered with a “less is more” mentality, where we’re given only enough information to infer how the characters are feeling ourselves without it needing to be explicitly stated. This approach delivers Non Non Biyori’s central message: that even though change is inevitable and all good things come to an end, the single best thing a person can do is enjoy the good while it lasts.

Trigger Warnings: None.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #group stage #group stage round 3 #tournament polls #group k #mahou shoujo lyrical nanoha #non non biyori