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anonymous-dentist · 2 years

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Part three of the semi-annual series of oneshots set in @casinoarc's mall au! I heavily recommend reading the previous parts first. (1, 2)

Five months. Five fucking months, and rumor has it that Sapnap and Karl fucking Jacobs were spotted making out in the photo booth beneath the escalators across from the FYE.

Quackity, for whatever reason, feels the sudden urge to slam his face into his keyboard until it breaks.

“Yeah, and it was weird, right, ‘cause they were making some weird noises, too,” Tommy continues, because of course Tommy was the one to spot them. Of course it was Tommy, the mall’s number one nuisance, and Quackity’s favorite prospective employee. When he's older and legally allowed to work, then maybe Quackity will hire him.

Quackity is doing payroll. Or. Well. He’s supposed to be doing payroll. But then Tommy barged into his office and sat down in the chair on the other side of Quackity’s desk (it’s a lawn chair, green and plastic and stolen from a Lowe’s he worked at three years ago) slurping on a large cup of Mountain Dew from the Burger King Tubbo is working at today.

But Quackity is doing payroll, and his Google spreadsheet hasn’t been touched in fifteen minutes, and he’s going through just a bit of a crisis.

“Noises?” he asks, voice cracking just slightly. Just a little. “You mean like…?”

Tommy nods, sage and more serious than he’s been in his entire life. “Yes, Big Q. They were having se-”

Quackity lunges across his desk and claps a hand over Tommy’s mouth, knocking over his pencil cup and a desk calendar that’s been stuck on Schlatt’s birthday for one and a half years. Tommy’s eyes widen, but they quickly crinkle up in a smile.

“Don’t,” Quackity lowly says. “I do not want to hear the end of that sentence, do you hear me?”

“What sentence?” Tommy innocently asks. He bats his eyelashes like an idiot. “Me saying that they were having se-”

“Tommy!”

“SEX!”

Quackity groans and collapses back into his own chair (it’s also a lawn chair, blue and plastic and stolen from the Lowe’s he met Schlatt at three years ago.)

“I didn’t want to hear that,” Quackity groans, putting his head in his hands, and then promptly slamming his face into the desk. He is acting so mature about this. “Tommy, what the hell, man?”

“What? I thought you’d be happier about this.”

“Why,” Quackity stresses, voice so muffled by his desk that it’s barely audible, “in the world would I be happy about this?”

“Because you ‘n Sapnap are friends, aren’t you?”

Friends. Hah. That’s fucking hilarious.

Friends wouldn’t ghost you for five fucking months because they got hired at the fucking Disney Store and they became best fucking friends with their manager who they also apparently seduced enough for them both to have sex in a fucking photo booth. God. Quackity is going to throw up.

Quackity sniffs, unwilling to acknowledge literally any of the thoughts swirling around in his head at the moment. Most of them are sad. Sappy, even, just like Sapnap, because Sapnap is Sappy, that’s what his name can be shortened to, god-damnit. A couple thoughts are angry. Jealous. One inexplicably has flashes of Post Malone in the background as he imagines Sapnap and Karl on a sickeningly-sweet ice cream date to the Coldstone across the street.

“Uuuuh, you good there, man?” Tommy hesitantly asks. Quackity feels a hand on his back as Tommy pats it awkwardly. “You’re kind of vibrating.”

“I am not,” says Quackity, practically vibrating in place out of… anger? Anger.

“Uh, yeah, right, sure, look, I’m just saying- alright, so maybe they weren’t? You know…?”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, Big Q?”

“Tell Wilbur to unblock me.”

So Quackity hates Wilbur Soot. He also considers Wilbur to be one of his better friends, especially now that Sapnap is basically completely out of the picture.

Wilbur works at the Hot Topic directly across from the Spencer’s. He’s manager, actually, and he and Quackity both spend half their monthly budgets on improving their storefront displays to steal customers from each other. They block and unblock each other on social media once a week or so (it always depends on the social media in question; Instagram takes two days max to complete the cycle, meanwhile Wilbur has been blocked on Twitter since he and Quackity first met.) Half the time they spend shifts glaring at each other and flipping each other off when their customers aren’t looking.

Wilbur clambers into Quackity’s 2008 Toyota Prius and bangs his head on the ceiling just as he always does, and Quackity has to hold back a snicker as Wilbur then proceeds to bang his knees against the dashboard. This car is not made for tall people, especially not lanky motherfuckers built like telephone poles.

Rubbing his head with one hand, Wilbur grumbles his way into pulling his seatbelt on and even manages to fold his legs into a tangle that doesn’t look that uncomfortable.

“Get a better car,” Wilbur huffs. “Fucker. I know you can afford it.”

“Can I?” Quackity lightly asks. He flicks the air conditioning on, smirking as it hits Wilbur at full force, already preset and pre-prepared to blast Wilbur like an Arctic wind. “Hey, what do you think, conch or snakebites?”

“Snakebites, are you kidding me? Also, hello? Tommy said you were crying earlier?”

“Tommy’s hobby is making fun of people behind their backs,” Quackity grumbles, both hands firmly on the wheel, definitely not looking like he wants to cry. Again.

He carefully backs out of his parking space, mindful not to make sure that Batshit “Bad Boy” Halo isn’t on the road doing donuts in his Bugatti, and then he tears his way out of the mall parking lot and onto the highway.

Wilbur instinctively grabs onto the ‘oh, shit’ bar above the window, says, “That’s our hobby, excuse you.”

“True!”

“But,” Wilbur continues, because he sucks and Quackity hates him, “you never ask me to get piercings with you if you aren’t going through some kind of emotional trauma.”

“It isn’t trauma,” Quackity protests. He merges left between two semis, always living life on the edge. “I just wanted to hang out with you, God, not everything is trauma, Wilbur. We all can’t be you, you know.”

He remembers when he and Wilbur had one of their more infamous showdowns over by the PetCo. Poor Ranboo ended up with a broken arm. Wilbur considers it equivalent to murder and lets Ranboo and Tubbo both steal pins from the counter to this day.

“Fuck you, Quackity,” Wilbur sniffs. “My psyche is delicate.”

“Ooooh, it’s delicate.”

“Mock me again and I’ll jump out of this car literally right now.”

“Fucking do it then, I don’t care.”

They both know Quackity has the child safety locks on, though not for Wilbur. (Before Quackity was allowed to drive again, this car was Sam’s, and he drove Quackity to work, and Quackity hasn’t bothered changing the locks in the year or so he’s had the car.)

Wilbur mindlessly slings an arm across the gap between the seats. It settles on Quackity’s shoulders, loose enough for Quackity to easily be able to shrug it off if he wanted to. (Because Wilbur knew Schlatt before Quackity did, and he’s not that much of an asshole.)

“So there’s no trauma,” Wilbur says. “Alright. You’re just getting snakebites done after years of saying you’d never get snakebites done coincidentally the afternoon after Tommy went around saying that Sapnap and the Disney guy made out in the photo booth.”

Quackity prides himself in not steering into traffic.

“There is no direct correlation between these two events,” he calmly says.

“Oh, sure, sure.” Wilbur nods, clearly sarcastic. “They didn’t have sex, though. Tommy was making that up.”

“And how would you know?”

“Who do you think was with him? Phil’s birthday’s coming up and I wanted to get him a picture of me ‘n Tommy hanging out when we aren’t causing grievous bodily harm to someone.”

Aw, that’s sweet.

“So, wait, you let Tommy come to me to tell me they had sex when they didn’t? What the fuck, Wilbur?”

“I needed you to follow me back on Instagram!” Wilbur exclaims. “It is imperative that you see my latest post, Quackity. It is vitally important.”

Quackity sighs, “What is it?”

“Aww, c’mon, I’m not just going to tell you! Look for yourself!”

With another sigh, Quackity plucks his phone out of the cupholder and tosses it into Wilbur’s lap. Wilbur, of course, knows the password (it’s Tubbo’s birthday) and unlocks it easily, scrolling to Instagram and presumably opening his profile. Eventually, he turns the phone so Quackity can see the screen.

Quackity glances over. It’s a picture of Technoblade passed out asleep on a pink donut pool floatie with one hell of a sunburn coming on.

“Know what?” Quackity says. “Worth it. Like that for me.”

And Wilbur does.

Quackity walks into the piercing shop with Wilbur draped across his back like an annoying, British cape, stumbling under his weight. Asshole.

“Get. Off,” he grunts, wiggling his shoulders fruitlessly.

“I can’t walk!” Wilbur whines. “Your driving is terrifying, man! We could’ve died!”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “But we didn’t. It was just three red lights, jeez, calm down.”

“Three red lights! That’s fucking criminal!”

“You’re fucking criminal.” Quackity manages to shrug Wilbur off and smiles politely at the confused and mildly-terrified employee at the desk. “Hey, hi, yeah, I’ve got an appointment for eight?”

The employee nods and looks him up in the computer after getting his last name. Once that’s settled, Wilbur confirms his appointment for 8:30, and they both take a seat in the waiting area. It’s only 7:30, but it always takes twenty-odd minutes for Quackity to calm himself down for an appointment. He likes having piercings, but they take a bit of work to work himself up to.

Wilbur pulls out a collection of Eliot poems from his coat pocket (literally how did that fit in there?) and starts reading, foot tapping on the floor to the beat of the music playing on the overhead. Fallout Boy, unfortunately, and not the good shit, either. He probably breathes the lyrics, the motherfucker.

Quackity, much cooler than Wilbur could ever be, swaps his sunglasses out for his reading glasses and does a crossword on his phone.

Somewhere around fifteen minutes later, the door to the shop rings open. Quackity doesn’t bother looking up, genuinely not giving a shit, but Wilbur apparently does because he chokes on his breath and elbows Quackity in the arm. Without thinking, Quackity elbows him back twice as hard. Wilbur elbows him again.

Quackity is about to elbow him back when he hears an unfortunately-familiar voice say, “Uuuh, Jacobs? Karl? I have an appointment for, uh, 8:15?”

Quackity looks up from his phone to see Karl fucking Jacobs leaned against the counter in a sweater that fits him very fucking well, unfortunately.

It takes Quackity half a second to realize that Karl is wearing Sapnap’s sweater. That is Sapnap’s sweater. It’s a weed sweater. Sapnap bought it at Spencer’s for his birthday and Quackity let him use an employee discount even though he didn’t even work there.

It takes Karl half a second after that to glance over, make eye contact, and burst into a wide grin that makes Quackity contemplate murder.

He snaps his gaze back down to his phone. 9 across, a four letter word for something that lives in the soul. What the fuck?

It has to be fate that the only seat left in the waiting area is right next to Quackity. It has to be fate. Cruel, cruel fate.

Karl sits down, because of course he does, and he immediately strikes up conversation, because of course he does.

“Hey, you’re Quackity, right?” he asks, and he sounds so earnest about it that Quackity wants to punch him.

“Yep,” Quackity politely- so politely- replies.

‘Worm’ doesn’t work with 4 down and 12 down. Fuck. He backspaces and decides to come back to that one.

“Cool! I’m Karl!”

He extends a hand that Quackity pointedly ignores.

“Cool,” Quackity says, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

It isn’t.

“You’re Sapnap’s friend, right?”

“Uh, no.”

“That’s weird. He doesn’t ever really stop talking about you.”

Quackity curses his fragile romantic heart for skipping a beat over that. He also curses Wilbur for snickering quietly to himself, for Wilbur is all too aware of Quackity’s… problem with Sapnap by now.

Blushing a little, but only a little, Quackity types in a quick ‘panda’ into 5 down (bear-like animal native to China) and says, “Uh, that’s weird.”

“I dunno. I can kinda see why he does.”

Now. Now what does that mean?

Wilbur laughs again, louder. Quackity stomps his heel onto his foot to try and get him to shut up.

“I mean, we used to talk,” Quackity coolly says, desperately pretending that he isn’t vibrating at the thought of Sapnap talking about him. “But he doesn’t really come around anymore. Not since you hired him.”

“Oh, really? That sucks,” Karl says, and he sounds so genuine. He sounds actually upset about it like it isn’t his fault that Sapnap left in the first place.

“Yeah. It does.”

“Do you not, like, have his number or anything?”

No, because that was one of the many lines that Quackity refused to let himself cross. If he got Sapnap’s number, then that meant that he liked Sapnap enough to get his number. Same goes for a Snapchat, an Instagram, a Twitter. Fuck, Quackity was even a little flustered looking at Sapnap’s LinkedIn back when he was going to hire him.

“No,” he stiffly answers.

“Oh! Here, I can give it to you!”

And before Quackity can really even protest, Karl has his phone in his hand and is tugging Quackity to the side to yoink the phone out of his hands and go to his contacts.

Quackity looks to Wilbur helplessly. Wilbur just looks amused, the fucker. He’s probably having a great time. For all Quackity knows, Wilbur recommended that Karl fucking Jacobs come get what’s probably going to be his first piercing at this particular store at this particular time immediately after Quackity messaged him telling him that this was happneing in the first place. Why are they friends, again?

Karl hands Quackity’s phone back over with a fresh smile. His nails are painted, Quackity idly notices. They kinda look like the little aliens from Toy Story. Ugly colors, but he’s somehow making them work.

“There,” he says. “I put Sap’s in, and, uh… mine.”

He’s blushing, just a little, and isn’t that bizarre? Maybe he’s just a bit flustered after seeing Quackity’s home screen (shirtless Joe Biden; he lost a dare.)

“Uh,” Quackity intelligently says. His phone is still on, and he can see Karl!!! pulled up in his contacts list. With a kissy emoji next to his name. Quackity should… fix that. “Cool?”

He awkwardly switches back to his crossword. The only one left open is 9 across. There’s an ‘L’ and an ‘E’, but what…?

It hits him just as Karl comments, “Oh, yeah, I got a look at your crossword. It’s ‘love’, by the way.”

Just then, Quackity hears his name called and stands up in a rush, unwilling to acknowledge literally anything about the past fifteen or so minutes.

“It’s ‘love’, by the way.”

No way. No fucking way.

#karlnapity #c!karlnapity #mall au #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#a.d.'s fics i suppose #i pride these fics on not being the Best but still being a good time anyway #this is me writing a romcom

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hamletthedane · 1 year

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The fact that Shakespeare implied an entire fraught backstory to Beatrice and Benedick’s relationship with only five words - I know you of old - is so genius. This play is so genius. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the cleverness and subtly of writing in Much Ado.

#much ado about nothing #had a professor tell me once he preferred As You Like It bc the writing was ‘more nuanced than Much Ado which is a soap opera play’#and I was like did we??? read the same play???#where seemingly random scenes and conversations all create a backstory and strong & memoral personality/history for every character #much ado: the mother of all funny but kinda tragic romcoms #much ado: the mother of all believable relationships set in stories with absurd plots #much ado: a work of art

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pigdemonart · 8 months

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Guau, ella es bisexual, i didn’t know that!

Vico and Fátima being little disasters, as usual. In ENG and SPA of course, tho imho the dialogue is always a little funnier in Spanish B^]

Imagine Fatima’s surprise when seeing that the captain of the baseball team from her old high school, is now being cunty at the supermarket???? The nerve. The audacity.

In reverse, imagine the horror of being openly queer but NOT knowing if the girl you’re interested in is Aware or even remotely Okay with your

💖gender thing.💖 How to even begin to explain???

Patreon | Ko-Fi

#los brujos #victor #fatima #comic #someone pay me to write and produce queer romcoms #i think i would do relatively ok #anyways my fav here are fatimas expressions #and of course fatima trying to grapple with what pronouns to use for Vico #lindo or linda fuck it — linde!!!#spanish gendered adjectives and nouns are ass but can at least be used for storytelling purposes

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valeriianz · 8 months

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I've had this Dreaming The Proposal AU sitting in my drafts for a while. Then @voukkake comes out with this art and I figured it was time to brush off the dust and share what I'd written lol. This is seriously all I'm going to write so if anyone is interested I'm begging you to pick this up. I'm dying to read Dream awkwardly interacting with Hob's family (also @valiantstarlights suggestion that Betty White is Destiny?? ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT). Anyway...

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Dream is about to be deported because his visa application has been denied. He is in the middle of a meeting with his lawyers when Hob, his secretary, pops in the room to inform Dream of a very important phone call and Dream comes up with the insane plan to marry Hob to keep his immigration status.

He gestures for Hob to come over and Hob, clueless, wanders into the room and stands next to Dream, who takes him by the arm and tugs him just a little bit further to stand awkwardly close.

Dream announces their engagement and Hob stands there, shell shocked and feels his mouth moving against his will. That yeah, they are getting married. They are in love, sure. It isn’t until they leave the office, following Dream back to his, that Hob’s brain seems to come back online.

“What just happened in there?”

Dream grouses, head down, already back to his work as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just use Hob as a pawn in his scheme to get around his denied visa application.

“They were going to make Morningstar editor-in-chief.” Is all Dream says, disdain dripping from every word. He still hasn’t looked up.

Hob stands there, still as a statue. His head is swimming with words, with emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… and a small tiny flicker of undeniable interest that he hastily stomps out.

He manages to put the pieces together rather quickly though, while Dream continues sifting through paperwork.

“This is illegal,” Hob manages to croak out, brows furrowing.

“Oh, please. The government looks for terrorists, not book publishers.” Dream’s head is still down in his paperwork.

Hob blinks, taking a step up to Dream’s desk. “I'm not marrying you.”

“Sure you are.” Dream sets aside a stack of papers and finally gives Hob his attention. “Because if you don't, your dreams of ‘touching millions of lives with the written word’ are dead.”

Hob’s jaw drops. That was a line, corny as it was, that he’d used in the panel interview for this job. Three years ago.

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“Were you not in that room? I could get fined, I’ll go to jail over this. If you want me on this deal, you will promote me to editor.”

Without even glancing up from his phone, Dream scoffs.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then I guess you’re screwed. Buh-bye.” Hob turns with a flourish and has to bite back a grin at how Dream splutters behind him and grabs him by the arm.

“Fine– fine! Editor.” His face seems to go through the five stages of grief. He drops his hold on Hob.

“And You’ll publish my manuscript.” Hob throws in. In for a penny.

Dream’s brows narrow and he shakes as if he’s physically controlling the urge to stamp his foot.

“Sure. I’ll publish your hack manuscript.”

“Good.” Hob slips his hands in his pants pockets, staring at Dream, deciding on one last nail in the coffin.

“Now do it properly.”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “Do what properly?”

“Propose. Like you mean it.”

Dream’s entire body seizes up, but he manages not to let it show, distracting himself by slipping his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Will you marry me?”

“No.” Hob, the arrogant bastard, is visibly biting back a smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”

Dream takes a long, steadying breath through his nose.

“Hob Gadling. Will you–”

“And get on your knees.”

Dream absolutely refuses to decipher the thrill that shoots through his body at Hob’s command. Instead he keeps his mask of irritation and indifference on as he scans the crowd around them. They are still outside the courthouse, and the concrete sidewalk is going to potentially tear Dream’s Hugo Boss black wool pants.

So he carefully lowers himself, scowling as the smirk on Hob’s face only widens as Dream slowly settles onto the ground.

Once he’s as comfortable as Dream’s going to get, he clears his throat.

“Hob Gadling,” he glares at his subordinate from under his lashes. “Will you fucking marry me?”

Hob curls his lips in mock consideration, looking up past Dream’s head. He rocks back on his heels and nods with a forlorn sigh.

“Okay.” He still hasn’t met Dream’s gaze. “Could've done without the sarcasm but it will do. See you at the airport tomorrow.”

And turns and walks away, leaving Dream to fend for himself on the ground.

#dreamling #hob x dream #the sandman #my writing #i guess this is my niche now?#transcribing romcoms into dreamling fodder lol #i cant stop thinking about that *chefs kiss* perfect line on the airplane #when Dream asks Hob what he's allergic to. as a test.#and Hob confidently responds with 'tree nuts. and the whole spectrum of human emotion.'#or Dream cornering Hob at his family's home and getting in his face at how irritated he is by the taunting and teasing and that #Hob needs to step it up #and Hob. sly as ever. throws back: 'oh. thats no problem for me. i can be the doting. sweet. smitten fiance. but it's /you/...#... that needs to be convincing.'#and then he idk offers them to practice kissing in private and Dream is so mortified by the prospect but also.#.. definitely a little (a lot) interested #okay im done lol #the proposal au

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awkward---bean · 11 days

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today is where your book begins (the rest is still unwritten)

hey hi hello this is my first published fic ever!!

“Headed to the wedding?”

“Of my sister?” Kara replies curtly, pushing her bag onto the compartment again—with success, this time. She turns to give Lena a flatly irritated look. “Yes. I am.”

Lena nods, sardonically amused. “What are the odds?”

Kara rolls her eyes. “I don’t think there are thousands of flights headed to Sydney every day,” she says, sticking her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Oh, but there kind of are,” Lena pushes on, each word dripping with more and more smooth condescension. “There’s American, Qantas, Qantas through Dubai, codeshares. Just our luck, I suppose.”

“Right,” Kara answers flatly, pulling her hands out to cross her arms tightly. “How blessed are we.”

By a lovely happenstance, Kara shares an electric first date with a beautiful stranger she meets at a coffee shop—but, the morning after, their firey chemistry turns ice-cold. A year later, they both find themselves thrust together again at a destination wedding in Sydney. Will they be able to get through their unresolved attraction unscathed?

OR OR

The Anyone But You AU!

read the prologue here on ao3!

#supercorp #kara zor-el #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #the way i'm so excited about this story #i just love anyone but you idc what anyone else says it's a solid silly romcom #but pray for me bc i'm about to take my college admissions test 😭#anyways hopefully after that i can write a lot #words by yours truly

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james-stark-the-writer · 2 months

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19:45 into the absolute rom-com classic Jaane Tu... Ya Jaane Na bc i wanted to feel good today and revisit a little bit of nostalgia and i was in the romcom mood so. here we are. anyway, this movie is like Camp Excellence, and also astonishingly well directed, i'm glad young me had great taste, this movie is very much from the year 2008, but, along with Mamma Mia! which somehow also released in 2008, nothing else even comes close to making me love love and life as this does.

#james talks #james watches stuff #jaane tu ya jaane na #jaane tu... ya jaane na #guess something about 2008 movies just hits different #also yeah i did chuckle at the gay joke. it's from 2008 guys. let it go.#and Ratna is just playing a toned down Maya Sarabhai and i'm having a blast #but also her getting fake mad at Jai to stop him from dreaming about his father triggered like real PTSD in me lmao #asian parents are the fucking worst.#they'll say shit like 'i can't believe you'd dream about that. i'm so disappointed you even had that thought' and genuinely mean it lmao #anyway banger songs great acting really good direction and writing AND they synthesized a literal audience and made it work!!!!#you want me to be normal about romance? you want someone who grew up on Imran Khan romcoms to be normal about romance????

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riddled-fingers · 1 year

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once upon an office party (1/?)

#tma #the magnus archives #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #oooooooo if i had the attention span to actually write fics you guys would be drowning in hurt/comfort #my art #what if. and hear me out here. the magnus archives was a cheesy romcom #anyway stay tuned for more #featuring: jon being really honest/obvious when hes drunk

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impala-dreamer · 3 months

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is this too romantic? am I going too far? is there any other way to write romance than all in, all encompassing, perfectly magical? no. this is fine.

#talking to myself as i write #it's so flufffffyyyyyy #i should write romcoms i'd really be great at it #except someone would inexpicably die or get shot out of nowhere #and then ya know #“dying in the rain talking about theology”#classic me #also fuck you bc theres so much i cant share anymore #because you took it all away #why am i rambling in the tags agani #no one reads anyway #so screw you you hurt me #but im not going anywhere #i'm gonna stay here and write this stupid fluffy romanctic shit #and love it #and then i'll write my dean and jensen and misha #and i will love that too #and someday i won't be so sad or indifferently angry at you #and maybe i'll get back to writing what i used to but cant now bc you took it from me #i should delete this but honestly no #i'm not goinig to #now im just curious to how manyt ags i can have #someone count this i cant math #anyway whatever #writing #henry cavill #whatttttttt

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areyoudoingthis · 10 months

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"con has said" who cares

#get back to me when they hire him to write the show #the guy didn't know it was a gay romcom until episode 5 for crying out loud

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venusleontios55555 · 11 months

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A SPECIFIC MOVIE TROPE

Only girl in a boys group : Macho, not like other girls, all the guys will fall in love with her.

Only guy in a girls group: Feminine, soft, all the girls bully him, maybe gay.

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teruel-a-witch · 1 year

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mcdanno + How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003)

Steve Mcgarrett is a betting man and he loves a challenge. He wagers that he can make any guy fall in love with him in 10 days to win a marketing contract with a prominent gay media mogul to show that's he's an expert in what men who love men want. Danny Williams' disastrous love life made him an expert at driving people away, so he thought he might as well capitalize on it by writing an article on Dealbreakers in a New Relationship. Both men are determined to win and have no idea they just met their match. What happens when love gets in the mix? Will they throw the game for a chance at something real?

#mcdanno #someone write this fic for me #h50 #mcdanno au #incorrect mcdanno #h50 incorrect quotes #h50edit #myh50 #hawaii five 0 #h50 caps #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #can't believe this movie is turning 20 this year #time to update it ;)#mcdanno romcom #h50 scenarios

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marypsue · 23 days

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Weird Science-style movie where a modern high school girl, who's obsessed with 80s movies, but especially one particular (made-up) 80s John Hughes-style high school comedy, and has a huge crush on its female love interest character, somehow manages some bullshit to bring that love interest character into the real world. (Maybe, in homage to the actual Weird Science, this is some nonsense involving a deliberate misunderstanding of how generative AI works.)

At first, our main girl is hype, because this character is very much along the lines of Kelly LeBrock's Lisa meets Molly Ringwald's Claire and basically her only personality traits are being hot, popular but not in a mean way, and attracted to whoever seems like the narratively appropriate scrappy underdog. Who, obviously, in this case, is Main Girl. Thanks to Character's expectations, wanting to keep Character's attention and admiration, and wanting to convince Character that she's the kind of person Character canonically likes, and also because covering for Character's presence keeps forcing her into Situations, Main Girl has to pluck up the courage to stand up to bullies, stand up to her overprotective parents, dance with Character in front of people, foment and lead a minor student rebellion against an oppressive administrative regime, etc. etc. etc.

Everything seems to be coming up Main Girl. But it all very quickly gets weird for her when she gradually comes to realise that Character basically doesn't have any will or opinions or desires of her own. So she sets out to get Character to experience what being a real person is all about, and figure out what she really wants. (And if Main Girl realises, along the way, that there are some things she never really thought all that hard about, but really doesn't like, about her favourite movie(s) and the ways they treat women...?)

By the end, of course, Main Girl has to decide to let Character go, so Character can continue to figure out who she is and what she wants outside of being romantically attached to somebody. But the things that Main Girl did over the course of the movie, thanks to Character's influence, have made her brave enough to approach another real live human girl who she figured never even knew she existed. The movie ends with Real Live Girl turning out to have seen some of what Main Girl got up to over the course of the movie, thinking Main Girl seems interesting, and agreeing that they should hang out and get to know each other better.

(Also, Main Girl shared the tech she used to bring Character into the real world with her online best friend who she met through writing fanfiction about the same movie. Only HE'S obsessed with the main scrappy underdog character who Character was the love interest for, and the very last scene ends with Scrappy Underdog standing in Online Best Friend's bedroom and asking him, "Why are you wearing a bra on your head?")

#honestly i bounced off Actual Weird Science despite being generally interested in 80s babes and wish fulfillment #and I think this is why #because my wish fulfillment very much does not involve the 80s babe being unable to say no to anything I say and having no will of her own #but I think this would be a fun way to address that. part homage part criticism 100% sexy 80s-obsessed lesbian wish fulfillment romcom.#however i will not be writing it because modern high school is an arcane black box to me

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normalhuman-menace · 2 years

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The girls are fightingggggg <3 (I had fun playing around with the texture of this)

#wwdits #wwdits art #nandermo #nandor the relentless #nandor the relentless fanart #guillermo de la cruz #guillermo fanart #nandermo art #nandor wwdits #wwdits fanart #uhhhhhh idk what else to write #omfg my husband got me this little devil plushie #hes very cute I named him baroque :)#I rlly just treat the tags like my personal little diary #as if I was a girl in a romcom #in reality im actually a vampire in a werewolf documentary

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caparrucia · 1 year

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Written wholly and entirely for @garbria who always comes up with the best ideas and enables me terribly.

#rie writes #cor leonis #nyx ulric #cornyx #because what this fandom needs is another romcom multichapter with too much worldbuilding courtesy of me #obviously

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valeriianz · 10 months

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so, i HAVE an idea for something 00's romcommy (thanks to @carnelianmeluha and @wordsinhaled) but as i was writing it, i thought to myself, "but they need backstory!" and what was going to be just a few paragraphs of introspection turned into a 3.3k high school AU set in the 90s. so, have this for now. part 2 will be up whenever i feel like it :)

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“Dream!”

Hob found him in a corner, blending into the shadows and had to laugh as he looked up at the sound of his name. He was wearing black, as usual, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tight jeans.

“So glad to see you here.” Hob said as he approached, looking upon his friend with a little less restraint than he typically allowed. The vodka-spiked punch was hitting him hard.

Dream relaxed a modicum, his shoulders visibly drooping as his chin tilted up.

“I am only here because you invited me.”

Hob’s smile only widened as he leaned forward.

“Then I’m flattered. Do you want a drink?”

Dream shrugged and Hob laughed again, turning halfway and inclining his head for Dream to follow him.

Hob, despite being in with the more popular kids in his grade, wasn’t the biggest fan of house parties. He knew Dream wasn’t either; moreso, in fact. Dream was more likely to be found spending his Friday nights cooped up in the library, nose stuck in a book.

But tomorrow they were graduating from high school, and Hob’s parents weren’t coming back from their anniversary trip until the morning. Which meant this was Hob’s last chance to throw an epic rager.

Though Derek Gallagher, the star athlete of their high school’s football team, was also throwing a party tonight, so it was less of a rager going on here, and more of a casual hang sesh. Hob couldn’t complain though. At least he liked the dozen or so people in his parent’s house, and at least cleaning up the next day wouldn’t be impossible. And no one had messed with the volume control for the music yet; 90s hip hop and r&b dripping through the entertainment system.

Hob nabbed a red solo cup and ladled out the sweet drink into it, passing it along to Dream, who took it with a suspicious look before taking a sip.

Dream immediately blanched.

“Oh. That’s awful.”

Hob laughed again before biting his bottom lip. Dream didn’t seem to mind though, his own little smile peeking through.

“You can dilute it with more juice in the fridge, if you want.”

Throughout the evening, Hob tried to keep his attention on more than just Dream at his side, chatting with his fellow classmates and laughing along to stories and jokes, one last go at clearing up the rumor mill.

And though Dream mostly kept quiet, he did acknowledge those who greeted him, congratulated him on getting into a university in England, how fun it was going to be moving overseas, to which Dream hummed and nodded politely.

Hob was the only one who knew the truth: that Dream’s parents were sending him away. That while Dream had been accepted on an academic scholarship, it was only because his family had set it up for him. Had forced him to apply, had paid for his application and was having him shipped off next month, when Dream would turn 18 and they didn’t have to keep him in their house any longer.

What looked like a privileged situation was actually cruel and heartbreaking. Yes, Dream was going to Oxford. That was insane. Yes, his stupidly wealthy parents were paying for his room and board and what tuition the scholarship didn’t cover. But it was only a drop in the bucket for them. They saw Dream’s future more as a promising investment for when they grew old and needed Dream’s career to take care of them. Not as if they had plenty of money stowed away to keep them afloat during retirement and then some. Or plenty of children, for that matter.

And of course to say they had yet another child in some prestigious university didn’t hurt their reputation either.

Hob managed to derail the subject every time it came up, of where everyone else was going to college. It was inevitable, discussing the future with his classmates, given the timing. But Hob could see Dream sinking more and more into himself as the night went on, holding onto his drink more for his hands to be occupied than anything else.

“I know,’ Johanna announced suddenly, hours bleeding into the late evening. “Let’s liven things up a bit.”

She had several hands help clear a large area in the living room as she procured the empty vodka bottle, shaking it with a drunken twinkle in her eyes.

“Truth or dare, motherfuckers.”

The party, which had been dying down, suddenly turned up again. Everyone refilled their drinks and formed a large circle on the floor.

Dream plopped down next to Hob, folding his legs and throwing a lazy, tipsy smile at Hob. Who had to take another sip of his drink to keep himself from doing something drastic. Like tell Dream how cute he was right now.

His coal black hair was a mess, sticking up and curling around his ears from the excessive amount of times Dream had run his hand through it. His boots were off, his sock-clad toes wiggling in anticipation. And his blue eyes seemed to shine, reflecting off the Christmas lights Hob had hung around the house for the party.

The game started and everyone played along, turning up the stakes and performing various wacky scenarios that only teenagers were capable of escalating. Cori licked Alex’s eyeball on a dare, erupting a chorus of screams and gags and Alex furiously rubbing his eyes afterward. On a demand for truth, Rachel confirmed the rumor that she’d fingered Johanna under the bleachers freshman year to an absolute assault of jeers and hooting and hollering, causing the extremely rare sight of Johanna flushing scarlet from her ears down to her neck.

Naturally the game turned racy after that. Dares to kiss and show off hidden tattoos. Truths to admit who fucked whom and what would you do for such-and-such.

Hob feels himself getting warmer. And not to mention Dream, who remained seated next to him during this entire debauchery, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as the game wore on. Hob could sense him slowly slipping out of the circle, until his knee lightly touched Hob’s hip, instead of where it had been for the better part of half an hour, resting against his thigh.

Hob turned, finding Dream staring down into his empty cup, turning it around and around in his grasp, and had just opened his mouth to comfort him, when Johanna piped up across from him.

“Hob, truth or dare.”

Hob’s head swung forward, eyes falling on the bottle top pointing directly at him. He sniggered softly, taking another peek over at Dream and finding his eyes now on him. Hob gently laid his hand over Dream’s foot, giving it what he hoped was a comforting squeeze before facing Jo again.

Truth be told, Hob was feeling much too invigorated from the alcohol, and he’d been waiting for his time to shine. Hob loved making a spectacle and so let his smile turn into a smirk, meeting Jo’s challenging stare head on.

“Dare.”

A collection of “ooh”s and delighted giggles spread around the circle.

“Good choice, Hobsie.” Her own brown eyes sparkled with mirth. Hob wasn’t sure when Rachel had crawled into her lap, but didn’t let it distract him from her next words.

“I dare you to…” Jo tilted her chin, tapping it in mock consideration. “Kiss the person the bottle next lands on.”

Oh, easy, Hob thought. About to open his mouth to say so, when Jo spoke up again.

“With tongue.”

“Pfft,” Hob sat up, pushing his chest out. “You’re on.”

He reached forward, licking his lips teasingly as his eyes roamed around the circle of his peers, getting a hand around the bottle and giving it a powerful twirl.

The room went quiet save for a few hushed exchanges and some girls giggling that only made Hob grin flirtatiously. He felt the alcohol in his blood rushing with enough speed to make him dizzy, and the spinning bottle honestly wasn’t helping. But Hob had been patiently waiting his turn all night so watch it he would.

Soon, all eyes followed the bottle as it began to slow, a hush of anticipation that Hob’s peers had been accustomed to all night falling over the circle once more.

Until the bottle finally stopped, and Hob’s heart along with it.

Because the mouth of the bottle pointed squarely at Dream, sitting right next to him.

Scattered hollering and clapping filled Hob’s ears as his gaze flicked sideways to his friend, who was staring at the bottle, his posture ramrod straight, his hands no longer fiddling.

Hob swallowed and ignored the jeering and playful jab at his side from Cori, eyes fixated on his friend, his best friend. Who didn’t like going to parties, who only smiled when he meant it, who only complained about his parents stupid and strict rules only if Hob asked, never wanting to appear annoying, or too much, preferring to keep to the shadows.

Dream, who would fold if only Hob gave him his best pout, allowing himself to be tugged along to a concert or arcade with a well timed joke and friendly pestering. Who seemed like such a stick-up-the-ass to everyone except Hob, who only had eyes for him. Hob’s best friend, shy and awkward and a little mean, and so devastatingly handsome it was a wonder Hob hadn’t had the balls to do something about it yet.

It would take something as juvenile as a dare to finally give Hob the excuse to act upon his helpless crush. Though Dream…

Dream hadn’t looked away from the bottle. Bringing his lips in to form a line and. Hob felt his nerves begin to escape from out his ears.

“Hey…” Hob spoke gently, moving his hand to carefully rest on Dream’s knee.

Dream’s gaze snapped to Hob at once, and the look in his eyes made Hob’s stomach drop.

He looked terrified.

Hob’s breath caught in his throat, the air around them suddenly thick with an unidentified tension.

Cori’s voice popping up over Hob’s shoulder made them both jump.

“C’mon, Morpheus. Hob won’t bite, unless you ask him to!”

Hob sighed loudly, rolling his eyes for the group’s benefit, who eased up with a roll of snickering around them. One time, that happened!

“I–” Dream started, swallowing hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob harshly. “I’d rather–”

“Just one kiss, Dream,” Hob heard himself say, a little desperate. A little too drunk. “It’ll be really quick…” He felt himself already leaning in and Dream’s lips parted, sucking in an audible breath.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Jo and Cori started the chant, and everyone around them followed suit, egging Hob and Dream on.

The realistic, rational part of Hob’s brain, which was still muddled by cheap vodka, tried to remind Hob that this was just a game, and Dream didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to. He’d even opened his mouth to say so, amongst the drunken, teenage laughter and clapping in time to the chant.

But what he spoke, instead of insisting they didn’t have to kiss, that they could potentially even revisit this, and Hob’s ego wouldn’t be bruised, thank you very much, was a quiet,

“Please?”

Dream’s brows pinched together, he looked truly torn and Hob couldn’t figure out what that meant, especially as the seconds ticked away. Driving Hob crazy, waiting for permission; verbally or even a single head nod. Hob wet his lips and his stomach did an acrobatic leap as he caught Dream’s gaze flick down to catch the motion, his shoulders visibly rising as he took a breath.

“No.”

Hob blinked and Dream was untangling himself from the floor, standing up so fast he wobbled, and stomped out of the room.

The chanting died down at once. Hob felt himself frozen to the carpet in the surrounding silence.

Somebody politely coughed. Hob’s gaze found Johanna, who only looked back at him in sympathy, her eyebrows tilted up.

Humiliation and rejection burned in Hob’s chest, crawling up his neck and making his ears hot.

Cori clicked his tongue and Hob whipped his head around to glare at him.

“Tough luck, buddy.”

“Shut up,” Hob hissed, feeling all the more embarrassed for it. He splayed his hands flat on the floor, pushing himself up without another look at his classmates, and walked towards where Dream had vanished to with shaking limbs.

—------------------------------------

Hob found him quickly enough, going through the laundry room and out the door that led to the back yard.

“Dream?”

Blue eyes, barely visible in the darkness, rose to find Hob as he made his way down the steps, sitting across from Dream, against the railing, putting distance between them.

Dream looked forward again, his eyes set, face unreadable. Hob hated that he was drunk at the moment because he’d otherwise never chuckle sarcastically like he’s doing now. Hiding the pain, perhaps, hoping Dream can’t see how ashamed he’s feeling, how rejection boils in his blood and even looking at Dream right now, twists Hob’s insides.

“What the hell?”

Dream takes a long breath through his nose, pushing his shoulders back. And says nothing.

“It would have just been a stupid kiss,” Hob goes on, unprompted. Words tumbling out of his mouth like vomit. “You’re my friend. Is the thought of kissing me so disgusting you need to run away?”

Hob feels his eyes begin to sting and throws his head back, smiling derisively. He was about to start crying. Great.

Once he’s gotten himself under control, Hob tilts his head down and finds Dream watching him, his own gaze softened, if only minutely.

His lips part, voice low and quiet. “You misunderstand me.”

“Then I’d love it if you’d explain,” Hob sighs roughly. “Because you just made me look like an asshole in there.”

Dream shakes his head, unfolding his arms over his lap and getting long, pale fingers around his knobbly knees instead.

“The world is ending tonight.” Dream starts cryptically, staring at how his fingers pick at the tears in his jeans. “Tomorrow we graduate. I’m going to England and we’ll never see each other again.” He looks sideways at Hob, who’s holding his breath.

“And you’re still worried about how people perceive you?” He takes a breath. “You choose to spend your last hours getting drunk and playing juvenile games? Instead of…” Dream gaze flits back toward the house, swallowing.

Hob scoots over, closer to Dream. Summer is right around the corner but the night air is cool still, clean and pleasantly quiet. And Dream blends into the darkness like he belongs there, the stars in the cloudless sky, how they light up the darkness along with the moon, giving just enough illumination to see by, to marvel at Dream sitting on Hob’s back porch steps.

Taking in the wonder that is Hob’s closest friend, beautiful, shy, wicked smart Dream. Hob feels calm fall over him like a blanket. Mulling on Dream’s words, and settling on a response.

“What would you rather be doing?”

Dream finds Hob’s gaze again, and Hob lifts his shoulders, prompting Dream further, but he remains silent. Hob takes a breath, speaking again when Dream doesn’t respond.

“If the world is ending anyway…” Hob starts, licking his bottom lip. “Then just say it.”

Agonizing seconds slip by, where Dream stares at Hob, lips slightly parted, eyes widening.

“I want to kiss you.”

Hob’s heart lurches in his chest and he feels the air leave his lungs. Dream’s voice is so quiet, so fragile, it makes Hob ache.

“But not–” Dream inclines his head slightly, toward the house. “Not like that.”

“Oh…” Hob says eloquently, finding himself petrified once again.

There’s a new tension in the silence that falls between them. Waiting, anticipating. Hob takes a steadying breath and feels like he’s jumping off a cliff.

He gets on hand on the floor between them and leans over, his other hand hovering towards Dream.

“Can I–?”

“Yes.”

Dream meets him halfway, pressing warm, chapped lips to Hob’s, and holding still.

It’s sweet, and careful, and when Dream exhales from his nose, the warm air hitting Hob, his lips part to take a breath and Hob lunges forward, getting a hand around the side of Dream’s face and pulling him in. Hob sweeps his tongue along the seam of Dream’s lips once before diving past, pulling a surprised gasp from Dream that turns into a soft groan.

Hob’s fingers caress into the soft strands of Dream’s hair as they kiss, elation popping off like fireworks under Hob’s skin as he finally is able to touch his friend like this. Move his lips along Dream’s with drunken coordination and vigor, putting as much affection and want into the kiss as Hob could, hoping Dream could understand. Could feel how long Hob has wanted to do this. And as they move together, bodies naturally closing the distance between them and Dream’s hands finsting into Hob’s shirt before weaving up and around his shoulders, Hob understands why Dream would rather share this privately, without an audience of their peers gawking.

Because this was real. Years of repressed yearning and feelings bubbling up to the surface and tumbling forth in exchanged breaths and needy whines, Hob’s fingers digging a little harder into Dream’s scalp, Dream’s hands, in response, clawing at Hob’s back, pulling him impossibly closer as his body arched like a bow so their chests bumped and Hob could feel the heat of his friend’s body against his own.

Hob tore his mouth away, taking a ragged breath, stealing it from Dream, before going back in, again and again, little lips-only kisses that elicited the prettiest noises from Dream. Especially as Hob’s lips wanders down his chin and up his jaw, causing his friend to cling tighter to Hob, tilting his head to give Hob better access, breathing through his mouth, the hot air hitting Hob’s ear and driving him wild.

“Dream…” Hob finally spoke, his low voice painted in arousal and causing Dream to shake in his arms. He nipped Dream’s ear before licking it. “Why is this all coming out now?”

One of Dream’s hands went up into Hob’s hair, fingers tangling in the brown locks as he huffed his response.

“I could ask the same of you.”

Hob smiles, but it’s sad. He’s slowed down now, gently nudging his nose underneath Dream’s ear before pulling back, facing him once more.

Dream’s eyes flutter open and Hob feels struck down. He’s never seen Dream’s eyes so dark, his blue iris’ nearly all encompassed by the black of his pupils. Hob, unable to resist now, taps his nose to Dreams, taking a breath.

“I was scared.”

He can hear how Dream swallows.

“Me too.”

They sit like that for a long moment, holding on to one another, breathing each other’s air, savoring the revelation that had just transpired. And knowing it wouldn’t last.

—-------------

They of course saw each other again at graduation, and throughout the days that followed. Hob prepared to move across the state to his chosen college and Dream prepped to leave the country all together.

Hob offered to drive Dream to the airport on moving day, but Dream shook his head, saying it was already too painful that he was leaving, he didn’t want any lingering looks. Instead Dream’s father took a quick detour to Hob’s house, where Dream stood in Hob’s doorway to say goodbye, and in full view of both their families, all they could do was hug. And Hob put his entire body into it, crushing Dream, who had always been so damn thin and gangly, in his arms and nosing his way into Dream’s hair to take one final, deep inhale.

“We’ll see each other again.” Hob promised, in that hopeful way young people did.

Dream only smiled ruefully, his eyes shining and causing a lump to form in Hob’s throat.

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” Hob nodded, getting his hands around Dream’s face and caressing his thumbs under his eyes and across sharp cheekbones. “You think you can get rid of me that easily?”

Dream huffed out a quiet laugh, the blue of his eyes sparkling.

#dreamling #hob x dream #my need for long buildups will be the death of me #i was gonna end it on a cliffy #just a hint to the flashforward i'll get into next #but ran out of steam #if anyone is curious what happened after this #message me #everything will be explained in part two #but i might wanna drop some teasers first #my writing #dreamling romcom au

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