#writing setting

[prompt-heaven]

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

[yyprompts]

🌙💙🤍

more unique settings for stories! (pt.2)

A butterfly farm covered in lilac mist.

In an empty concert bathroom with music booming outside from the concert.

In a store that specializes in mirrors and hangs them everywhere, so all you can see is yourself.

On the school rooftop where no one is supposed to go during class time, but isn't patrolled.

At the convenience store down the street in the middle of the night.

In a sober living home in the middle of a run-down neighborhood.

In a mysterious white palace in the heart of a nation that people refuse to explore because it's rumored to be haunted.

In the middle of the little dipper (lol).

On the seafloor, in a literal forest of seaweed.

On an empty cargo ship that's finished unloading for the night but isn't about to sail back for a while

A world in which everything is perceived in a specific color palette (ex. grayscale).

The hollow secret inside of a huge mermaid sculpture an artist made thousands of years ago.

On a beach overcome with baby hermit crabs.

The strangely pretty yet decaying palace in the kingdom of the undead.

In a pharmaceutical manufacturing facility during active hours.

[books]

Writing Workshop Week 3: Stories of a Place

Hello again, my very talented writers of tumblr! I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed reading your work. I’ve seen such stellar craft happening, and I’m eager to see where you’ll take this next prompt.

In week 1, we focused on a single object. In week 2, we attended to the objects in our environment. This week, we’re considering the environment as a whole—setting.

One of the reasons I’ve chosen this order specifically, small to large, is because setting can become overwhelming. But last week we already practiced it in our real environments by observing our surroundings, and putting those details into our work. Setting is not as huge and amorphous as it may seem—when it comes down to it, setting is the interaction between character and place. Notice I didn’t say that setting is the place itself, and that’s because a place is meaningless without grounding it in the personal stakes of a character. It’s like walking around a grocery store and not putting anything in your cart. A setting only exists to hold its contents. 

Setting can refer to the largest and smallest of places: universe, galaxy, planet, continent, country, city, home, bedroom, pillow fort. Setting can also refer to time: millennium, century, decade, year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second. 

In writing, not all of these things have to be defined, nor should they. The difficulty in setting is the negotiation between our lived reality—in which we have all of this information at all times—and the restrictive nature of writing, in which we not only control all these variables, but we also have to organize and convey them. In reality, events can occur simultaneously. You can drop a plate at the same time you get a text message. But in writing, even if those things happen at the same time in the lived reality of your character, you have to convey the plate dropping and then the phone vibrating in consecutive sentences, linked usually by the word “simultaneously.” Your reader then retroactively crafts those moments happening at once in their memory, but there is a brief moment between those two details where the reader knows the plate has dropped but not that the phone will vibrate. Just as a film is restricted to the width of a camera’s lens, writing is restricted to the sentence. As immersive as writing can be, it is still always a constructed thing.

When it comes to setting, you not only have control over all these details, you also have to figure out the order of information those details are conveyed. Which brings me to…

Decision Fatigue

One of the reasons people think fanfiction is “easier” than original fiction is because there are fewer decisions to make. You have an established universe to play in and so you don’t have to pull up a name generator to figure out the name of your protagonist, or however you make those choices. But that’s not true—fanfiction requires a different type of decision-making and therefore a different (but equally difficult) skill set of creative thinking. The analogy I like to use is a playground versus a beach. On a playground, the equipment is already there, but you can use it however you want. On a beach, you have to decide what to bring with you. One is not inherently better than the other. It’s all play. 

I say this because I’ve coached a lot of writers who are transitioning from fanfiction to original fiction. It can be jarring to go from the playground to a beach. And so I see a lot of writers succumb to decision fatigue—the exhaustion of creativity. You have to decide what kind of car your character drives, how old they are, where they live, what they do for a living, their relationships, the conflicts of those relationships, their educational background, and so on. Creativity is making decisions. And that’s why it’s hard.

Relevance

I would argue that setting is the most difficult series of decisions to make. Our entry into a new piece is generally a character, a premise, or an image. Or, as we say on Tumblr, we put a guy in situations. That guy’s environment will affect him and his situations, because that environment will either help or hinder him in some way. A meet-cute, for example, is nearly always related to setting.

I remember doing my first generative workshop on setting. It sent me into a spiral I couldn’t climb out of for four years. The spiral was this:

All narratives, even narrative poems (as opposed to lyrical), exist in a time and place, and the author has control of those factors. The more specific those details are, the stronger the story becomes. The specificity of those details is rendered in imagery. Ergo, I have to develop my imagery.

And now I’m going to tell you the result of that line of thinking so you don’t fall into the same trap: I wrote a totally unpublishable novel. It was too long and not very interesting, and both of those things happened because I was more dedicated to developing my setting than my story. 

Although that was great practice, it kind of sucked to spend an entire year working on something only to put it in a drawer and never look at it again. What pulled me out of the spiral was dedicating myself to narration—I decided I was only obligated to describe that which my narrator observed. And because I didn’t want to bother with setting anymore, I made a character who was totally oblivious.

(We’ll be looking at narration next week.)

I began to view the setting through a character rather than around a character. My narrator was narrow-focused and obsessive, so I was only obligated to write that which came into the one-lane bridge of her attention. In other words, I only wrote what was relevant to her. And the only thing that was relevant to her was the object of her fixation. 

The big caveat here is that a story isn’t always obligated to its narrator. That’s a choice I’ve made for my own work, because I’m interested in narrators and the development of voice. My prose will never be beautiful or floral. I’ll never have the patience to lovingly describe what it’s like to live in Ohio. I’ll probably only ever write a character who has driven past the HELL IS REAL sign a dozen times and who maybe has strong opinions on corn. It’s the best way I can find to help me avoid the decision fatigue of building an entire world. 

Prompt time!

For this week’s activity, I’d like you to think of a place you really love. This can be your home town or the house where you grew up or wherever has brought you joy. (Remember: love inspires.) 

Next, I’d like you to write 3 facts of public information and 3 facts of private information about that place. 

Public information is anything that can be found, either by researching the place or visiting it. This could be factual—population, square footage, location. It could also involve community knowledge, like legends, cultures, or customs. It can also include major historical events. If you were to show this place to a total stranger, what would you tell them about it? This part may require some research. 

Private information is what can’t be known by anyone but you (and maybe the people who were there with you). This includes memories you have of the place, secrets, unknown histories; anything that can’t be understood unless you have intimate knowledge of the place or lived there during a particular moment. 

For example, when I taught in the South, I had a lot of students who had lived through Hurricane Katrina. They were all young children at the time. When I had them do this activity, many of them chose to list facts that anyone could find about New Orleans in August of 2005—that there were over 1300 casualties, that Katrina was a Category 5 hurricane. They also shared things that no one else could know, about their families housing total strangers whose homes were destroyed, about living for days or even weeks without electricity. About why their parents chose to stay rather than leave, or leave rather than stay. About loved ones who had died.

Once you have your 6 things, I’d like you to write a piece based on them. Here are some ways you can approach it:

If you want to write nonfiction, tell the story of one of your private pieces of information.

If you want to write fiction, write a story using at least one of the public pieces of information. For example, you can tell the story of a legend, or make a legend up. Or you could do something similar to what we did last week, where you take those three pieces of information and weave them in.

If you want to write a poem, try to capture the sense of place by using one or more pieces of information, either private or public.

If you want to write something experimental, write a story about a piece of private information from the perspective of the place itself. 

You don’t have to share your 6 things (unless you want to). While you’re writing, note the details that emerge naturally while drafting, what becomes relevant to the story versus what doesn’t. Like our previous prompts, allow yourself to lean into associative thinking and make connections with your memories.

Questions? Ask ‘em here before EOD Tuesday so @bettsfic can answer them on Wednesday. And remember to tag your work #tumblr writing workshop with betts if you want her to read your work and possibly feature it on Friday!

And, for those just joining us: @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

[carriejonesbooks]

Setting Is SO FREAKING Important

Setting is where your story happens. It’s the time period. It’s the physical place. You can have more than one setting. There. That’s the definition. We’re all good, right? Wrong. Let’s really talk about setting. WHAT SETTING DOES Setting is the foundation of your story. It is the ModPodge that has an addictive smell (Cough. Not addicted to ModPodge. Look away.) and glues all the story…

[heartbreakincident]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[lostfountains]

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧ reblogged for inspiration in your next writing prompt or art

𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰’𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴

[an-ruraiocht]

Ballet, like opera, is wonderful because it is monstrous, the hyper-development of skills nobody needs, a twisting of human bodies and souls into impossible positions, the purchase of light with blood.

Irina Dumitrescu, "Swan, Late: The unexpected joys of adult beginner ballet."

[sanctus-ingenium]

split tongue

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 4)

Age

adolescent, afresh, ancient, antiquarian, antique, big, childish, crude, doddering, elderly, fresh, full-grown/full-fledged, green, hoary, immemorial, infant/infantile, junior, late, medieval, mint, modish, new, novel, older, old-fashioned, originally, outdated/out-of-date, passé, quaint, refreshing, secondhand, stale, state-of-the-art, undeveloped, up-to-date, well-preserved, youthful

Appearance

adorable, aesthetic/esthetic, artistic, beautiful, comely, crisp, dapper, decorative, desirable, dressy, exquisite, eye-catching, fancy, fetching, flawless, glorious, good-looking, graceful, grungy, hideous, homely, irresistible, natty, ornate, plain, pretty, refreshing, resplendent, seductive, spiffy, striking, stylish, ugly, unbecoming, willowy, with-it

Genuineness

abstract, actually, alias, apocryphal, apparently, arty, authentic, baseless, beta, bona fide, circumstantial, concrete, contrived, credible, deceptive, delusive, dreamy, ecclesiastical, empirical/empiric, enigmatic/enigmatical, ersatz, ethereal, factual, fallacious, fantastic, far-fetched, fictitious, foolproof, fraudulent, good, hard, historical, honest-to-God, illusory/illusive, imitative, indisputable, invisible, just, lifelike, made-up, magic/magical, make-believe, matter-of-fact, metaphysical, monstrous, mystic/mystical, mythical/mythological, nonexistent, openhearted, ostensibly, paranormal, physical, positive, pretended, quack, quite, realistic, right, sincerely, specious, spurious, supernatural, synthetic, tangible, true, unearthly, unnatural, unthinkable, unvarnished, unworldly, valid, veritable, wholehearted/whole-hearted, wrong

Movement

ambulatory, brisk, clumsy, fleet, fluent, frozen, gawky, graceless, immobile, indolent, itinerant, leisurely, lifeless, liquid, lithe, maladroit, migrant/migratory, motionless, moving, nomadic, oafish, passive, pendulous/pendent, portable, restless, roundabout, sedentary, slow, speedy, static, vibrant, winding

Style

adorable, baroque, becoming, black, bold, brassy, cheap, class, classy, contemporary, country, cultural, dashing, dowdy, eat high on the hog, exquisite, featureless, flamboyant, floral, flowery, formless, futuristic, garish, gay, glamorous, gorgeous, grand, graphic, hot, improvised, informal, innovative, kinky, loud, lush, luxurious, mean, meretricious, modish, neat, new, obsolete, old-fashioned, orderly, ornamental, ostentatious, outdated/out-of-date, palatial, picturesque, plush, posh, prevalent, quaint, refined, resplendent, rustic, scruffy, sharp, simple, sleazy, smart, snazzy, spiffy, spruce, stately, state-of-the-art, stylish, swank/swanky, tacky, tasteless, tousled, two-bit, unbecoming, unworldly, up-to-date, vogue

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[creativepromptsforwriting]

How to create an atmosphere: Club

Sight

strobo light

very different styles of clothing

groups of girls and groups of guys huddled together

people dancing wild and free

people just slightly swaying from left to right

people grinding on each other

stressed barkeepers

bored looking security guards

vip areas

Hearing

loud music

whatever their conversational partner is screaming at them

a random girl crying in the bathroom

girls having random conversations with strangers in the bathroom

a fight breaking out outside or on the dancefloor

Touch

sticky floor

bodies bumping into each other

cold glasses with drinks in them

the hand of a friend out of fear of losing each other

bodies pressed together while dancing

Smell

the smell of sweat

the smell of alcohol

the smell of smoke from the smoke machine or from zigarettes or other substances

Taste

the taste of overpriced drinks

the taste of the smoke in the air from the smoke machines

the taste of a drunken kiss

[odoraful]

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and gave a pointed glare to his twin brother. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed. 

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”  

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish. 

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[herhurthoneyheart]

I will forever be the person who says "it’s okay, I understand.." even when my heart is breaking into pieces..

[lostfountains]

Autumn mood setting inspiration 🍁

Are you a sweet angelic bookstore owner? ;⁠-⁠) Or perhaps a youngling witch trying to start her tea leaf reading company? Perhaps you are getting your leaves ready by a witch...

impatiently waiting for Autumn 🍂

[detailstodiefor]

Romantic Lined Envelopes on Etsy

[raynewolferune]

DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)

Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:

~

" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "

~

Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.