#force as well. i intended it to be a sort of background thing but if the reader is like... used to white suburbs you probably dont get that

[dewmeferdavine]

Been thinking today about forcefam where you wake up... not in a different house, but with /other people/ in your house...

You finally moved out 2 years ago, you've been living alone for a while now, which was easy to switch to after collage years of cramped, sweaty dorms. The house isn't the best, but it was within budget and more important, available at all. It needed some TLC, but was in no way beyond saving, even to a new collage grad with close to no experience doing house repairs at all. Oh well, in the age of Youtube, anyone can do it. It was a 2 bedroom, but the other room sat empty, save for some boxes from moving you keep kicking yourself for still never unpacking... but it's a strange house.

Such a happy, nice looking neighborhood. You first noticed it was for sale some time ago, and expected it to be bought in a matter of days. But it sat and sat. When you were ready to look for a place to stay, it was shocking to see it still there, vacant. In a reasonable walkable distance to some local buildings, in a safe part of town. Too good to be true, you thought at first, but when they allowed you to look around inside, the agent allowed you to scrutinize every inch.... No termites... the foundation is fine... pipes and amenities dont need to be replaced (though upgrades are always nice)... The most it needs is a fresh paint coat and treatment for some moisture issues like mold. Otherwise, the house was perfect. It came with a lot too- the fridge, stove, even the washer and dryer. The neighborhood was wonderful too! Everyone's yards looked great, with gardens in the back and flowers out the front, kids played on the sidewalk but it didnt ever really feel 'too loud'. Apparently it's close to the schools around here too, but you havent visited them. You used to pass this area often but never really saw people out and about, so the bustle of the neighborhood life is actually a bit exciting and it sounds fun to get to know some new folks, though a bit intimidating as well...

The agent who was leading you around explained everyone nearby's been pitching in to keep it from getting overgrown while its been vacant, mowing the lawn, cleaning the gutters, and one of the teens a few houses down has been practicing using his dad's powerwasher before summer comes around because he wants to do some jobs while schools out, and he sure seems to be doing a good enough job at it because the house looks great. Why, the house hardly even looks vacant, it's been so well kept it nearly feels like the homeowner will pull in any second... which almost makes it seem like the house is calling for you to be the one to grace it.

So, you moved in. It's still surreal over 2 years later. It almost makes you feel guilty you havent been doing as much with the house as you planned, its always easier in the moment to say you'll do it. Things that were more pressing got done, sure, like cleaning out some mold and replacing a few lights. You've finally got the hang of living alone, but it's a bit strange all the same.

Some days, it still feels like you'll walk into your living room and see someone on the couch, scrolling absently on their phone, or watching the news. Maybe that's why the shock doesnt set it immediately when you wake up this monday morning to a gentle shake.

"Wake up dear, come get dressed so you can eat breakfast before heading out."

A woman's voice... You sigh as you hear footsteps leave the room. Deciding you must be dreaming, you allow yourself to lay still, keeping your eyes closed. As much as you'd like to fall back into the gentle numbness of sleep, something keeps you where you are. Can you not fall asleep in dreams? You realize you dont know as much about this as you wish you did. Maybe it's time to borrow some books on dreams from the library. You dont open your eyes much at all when you hear the footsteps return.

"Come on now, it's Monday baby. If you dont eat breakfast soon, you'll be late. And im not sending you off the school without breakfast!"

That woman's voice again. You dont get a good look at her before she goes again, you were still too bleary eyed as you sat up. You let yourself take in the environment. The morning sun is coming in through the blinds, gentle bars of gold line the floor from their half opened plastic strips... Does it really take a dream to think, 'I really have to replace those gross old dust traps.' you ask yourself jokingly. But the world only gets clearer the longer you sit up, and a feeling of anxious mystery begins to settle on your back. It's... definitely your room. But you didnt put up those plastic bits. No, theyre not yellowed, they're those tacky glow in the dark stars. The half folded clothes on top of your dresser you didnt put away are gone too. The time worn old stuffed animal youve had sense you were 5 or so sits on top of the dresser now. Sure, you took it with you when you moved out, but the sentimental lump of dust and polyester had been sitting in a box for years now. It's only now that you start to hear the quiet sound of a kitchen in use, and the smell of something sweet and baked.

You will your legs to move, wanting to investigate but not wanting to do so in your underwear, regardless of if this is a dream. The dresser drawer opens in your hands to a flash of colors you dont quite recognize. reds and blues and yellows, scattered graphics of cartoon characters or animals, colorful stripes and childish patterns. Feeling more intrigued by the minute, you just grab at random for a shirt and pants, putting them on and going for your bedroom door. It hung slightly ajar, but even that didnt quite help you as you hesitated to open it and go. But with an inhale and spare scraps of courage you power through.

Creeping out to the kitchen, the woman who must have woke you stood, facing away, focused on something else. Pancakes sat on a cooking rack. Unfortunately, she turns around and notices you, and although you're a bit shocked, you dont feel in danger. It's just a dream after all, right? Just a weird dream.

"Good morning dear!" She greets you, walking over and pinching your cheek. "Dont you just look adorable~! Dressing yourself these days? Grab a plate, if you want any juice, i just too it out of the fridge."

She shuffles off to the other side of the house, leaving you a bit baffled. Nonetheless, you do as you're told, but as you sit down and start to eat, you start to struggle to swallow, as the fear sets in.

Can... can you eat in dreams? These taste... well, fine. Clearly a box mix. But thats the troubling part. It's a dream so you told yourself theyd taste like cake, but they dont. no matter how much you concentrate, they dont. They taste like totally passable instant mix pancakes. You noticed it before, but it's only started to trouble you seriously now, but everything feels real. Walking, breathing, seeing... feels real. The clothes feel... like clothes. You look back at the train track print on your arm, desperately trying to control your breathing as you feel yourself pale.

It's normal. It's... totally normal. Legible. With your clear vision. A bird sings outside the window. You hear the woman downstairs begin to speak, sterner than she did with you.

"Danny im not saying it again, get up. You're not just walking yourself to school you know, and with my new job I cant drop you off anymore."

... Who the fuck is DANNY? And now that we're thinking about it, who the fuck is this woman? You really start to worry about having eaten, and thank yourself for having not touched your glass of cold orange juice, even if it's sweating glass is hard to resist. You feel your body betray you as you freeze and tears start to well up at the bottom of your vision. It's the type of situation every person probably thinks theyll just simply handle 'right'. But as the stranger walks back over to the kitchen, and a second pair of footsteps walk up from the basement, you dont run to the phone. You dont grab a knife, or dash for the door. You sit there helpless as she notices, coming over and drying your face with a sleeve.

"Oh honey, i know nobody likes to go to school. You cant stay with mommy all day though, mommy has to go to work soon!"

M.... mommy?

...

School?

[intuitive-revelations]

Random headcanon I came up with early this morning, because I’ve been thinking about Gallifreyan language recently:

The reason why so many Time Lord things are decorated with circular Gallifreyan, often too impractically to actually be read (eg. on the Moment), is because it’s a cultural touchstone that remains from pre-/early-Pythian Gallifrey’s use of magical runes and sigils.

Presumably it was more typically Old High Gallifreyan used in that time (though The Timeless Children does seemingly confirm circular Gallifreyan existed at least as far back as Rassilon's time, if not earlier), however. Twelve describes it as ‘the language of the Pythia’ in The Lost Magic, and as Eleven says in The Time of Angels:

ELEVEN: There were days, there were many days, these words could burn stars and raise up empires, and topple gods.

This is obviously very reminescent of the Carrionites' (themselves from the Dark Times too) "word-based science" from The Shakespeare Code:

MARTHA: What did you do? TEN: I named her. The power of a name. That's old magic. MARTHA: But there's no such thing as magic. TEN: Well, it's just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead.

In other words, while they probably weren't actually intended as such and may have their own specific meaning, whether they be poetry, namesakes, histories, instructions, whatever... these are basically protective wards:

[ID: Five screenshots of Circular Gallifreyan in New Who.

1. Rassilon's Inner High Council meeting in The End of Time Part 2. The table and headrests are inscribed with circular Gallifreyan.

2. The Moment in Day of the Doctor. Gallifreyan writing bends round the edges of the wooden frame.

3. The 'whirligig' rotar in Eleven's second TARDIS, inscribed with individual Gallifreyan symbols.

4. Set photo of the glowing Gallifreyan writing on the steps of Thirteen's TARDIS.

5. Tecteun's laboratory in The Timeless Children. Circular Gallifreyan lines the light above her, and a door in the background.]

As a side note - if they actually are kind-of intended as a form of protection, perhaps this is why we were only introduced to Circular Gallifreyan in New Who, despite it seemingly existing through Gallifreyan history. Because it was retroactively inserted into Gallifreyan culture as a form of defense during the War in Heaven / Last Great Time War?

Regardless, this also opens up questions how many other Time Lord traditions are holdovers from the Dark Times.

For example, who's to say that the renegade naming tradition didn't begin as a form of protection from hexes - either from hostile forces in the pre-anchoring universe, or from oppressive magic-users back on the homeworld? This may also be connected to the change in Gallifreyan name format before and after the Intuitive Revelation (eg. ancestral -sti and -sor names), though shifting power structures, gender roles etc. presumably played a role too.

Heck, is this one reason why Gallifrey's own name has changed over its history? From Jewel to Gallifrey in Rassilon's time to try and protect it from vengeful Pythian curses. From Gallifrey to just 'the Homeworld' in the War to protect it from new rituals of alternative histories and paradox?

[cozymochi]

Character question! TWST is an isekai, right? What was Tia doing before she got zapped into the setting?

If TWST is not an isekai and I'm mistaken, just ignore me 😂

TWST IS AN ISEKAI SO YOU’RE RIGHT, DW. It’s pretty much baked in that the viewer makes up who the MC is (not everyone does, but, I do) 🩷 Sry it took a minute (WEEKS) to answer. I was drawing things. Sometimes I don’t think I articulate with words well enough to explain myself nor to retain attention. I did not proofread and the text got wonky so excuse that.

Now what was Tia doing before being forced into the setting 🪷

Prior to being whisked into Twisted Wonderland, Tia was a normal person from New Orleans, yay! She lived with her **grandmama (but she doesn’t like being called that, she ain’t OLD m’kay?) and older brother (Not appearing in the following images.)

There’s a bit more background but I’ll stick with the most recent and basic stuff.

At the end of her school year, Tia got accepted into some kind of once in a lifetime apprenticeship program, where she and 4 other selected people, will shadow a world-famous chef in New York City. During the summer, she’s been cooking, reading, and doing part-time jobs nonstop in excess-preparation.

She was intending on transferring to a new school and live with her great aunt in NYC (grandmama’s sister), graduate, then get started in her career climbing up the ladder and eventually be able accomplish a long term dream of hers— opening her own restaurant.

Though, obviously, Tia has issues with being so laser focused on her goal she tends to neglect everything else in life. Like, y’know. Having friends, having fun, literally doing ANYTHING outside of working. Let alone sort out her own feelings or heck, even consider if this is truly something she wants to do. She’s pretty much convinced herself into it, and for the past year in particular she’s been more engrossed than ever.

Either way, things were going swimmingly by her standards. Tia was just SO CLOSE to getting a foot in the door and everything was about to go right for her— Almost there, even. Two weeks until she flies to NYC to start her new life and really get her dreams started!!

Well.

Till the black carraige showed up. Shit.

[EVENT NOT DEPICTED]

**EDIT as of Nov. 2024: Revising Tia’s Grandmomma to being her Aunt.

[gouraminnow]

Hii, if you still write, could you do a continuation for the yandere shanks headcanons please?

I haven't done hcs for him before? I can do em now tho :) This is mostly the background idea I was working off of for my drabble but it's not super concrete

The guy is notoriously flaky. Honestly I feel like a lot of OP men are. So if you manage to catch his eye in a way that gets him to fixate on you, well... good luck lol

The idea I had for the mini fic I wrote was a civilian Mc who had managed to bargain for a ride to another island, for whatever reason. Nowhere specific, just anywhere but where you are now, and he obliges. The obsession isn't immediate, but he decides there's something about you he likes, whether your funny, charming etc. And since you aren't picky about where he drops you off, you don't question it when he doesn't let you off the next time the Red Force docks somewhere. You believe him when he cites a lack of safety, whether it's corrupt Marine presence, other pirate crews, etc.

And it's fun, anyway. Whatever reservations you had about running off with a notorious band of pirates are easily quelled. Shanks himself is so easy-going and carefree, you open up without realizing or really thinking about it. They're friendly, they invite you to join the party, and they're more than willing to show off for someone so easily impressed. Towards the end of the night, you're throwing bottles into the air, laughing as Yassop easily snipes each and every one out of the air despite everyone being drunk off their asses.

The parties are fun, the food is good, everyone is friendly and you don't think much of the casual affection given by Shanks. Arm around shoulders if he isn't using it to drink, being pulled into his side... what you do think is weird is when you come down with some sort of minor illness, and he insists you stay in his bed rather than the room they set up a cot in. Isn't there an infirmary? He tells you he just feels personally responsible. Wants you somewhere he can keep an eye on you himself. This... doesn't make much sense to you, but you relent. You are his guest after all, you don't want to be rude... Things start adding up. He's the only one who touches you so much. You start noticing the looks the others give the two of you, the way they seem to be herding you towards him... the safety excuse worked the first couple times they wouldn't let you disembark, but the 4th? 5th? 6th? Eventually you learn to stop asking, and opt to try and sneak off while they're on land- and that's when the Marine incident happens, and you learn you have a bounty.

You don't understand how. You stay below deck any time there's any sort of skirmish- and the Red Haired pirates end any conflict awfully quickly. Even if you had been spotted, loitering on deck before being ushered to safety- you doubt anyone survived long enough to speak of you, let alone get a photo. And it's not one you recognize, either. Did someone back on your island report you to the marines, when you decided to run off with a band of pirates? Did Shanks do it? That wouldn't make sense, so you think it was probably delivered by someone scornful back home...

You wake up in bed with Shanks, resting against his chest. You blink, trying to pull away, and for the first time since you've known him his stern expression is directed at you. You'd seen it when pirates or marines were spotted on the horizon, but never because of you, never at you. He finally confirms that you won't be leaving. That he doesn't intend to let you go. And you have a bounty now, anyway, for associating with him, so even if he wanted to part ways it would only endanger you. And that's when it really hits that you had gotten far too comfortable with a group of men who's jobs include the bonus of might making right, of taking whatever they want. But then again, if Shanks still decided he wanted you, having discretion wouldn't have saved you from a man like him.

Now that you know, he doesn't need to hold back anymore. Gone is the cot and room to yourself, you sleep with him. He smothers you- a hand on your hip, thumb gently rubbing. Always looming if you're on deck with him. Pulling you onto his lap to start a makeout session in full view of the others, much to your horror. He's aggravatingly casual about the whole thing, too. Seems to think the best solution to your tears is to hold you close- in reality he does know better, of course he knows it's because of him. He just doesn't care.

[herstoryheaven]

Draco Malfoy x Reader: Venom And Vulnerability

Prompt: Y/n, a Muggle-born Slytherin, struggles to fit in among pure-bloods, especially under the torment of Draco Malfoy. As their rivalry evolves into something deeper, Draco becomes Y/n's unexpected source of comfort, leading to an unlikely romance.

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word count: 3259

Average reading time: 11 min 50 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes of emotional distress, bullying, and manipulation. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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The Slytherin common room was as cold as ever, the air thick with whispers and sneers. I sat in my usual corner, pretending to read a book I had no interest in. My eyes drifted over the same sentence repeatedly, unable to focus as the flames in the fireplace flickered, casting chilling shadows across the stone walls. This place had always felt more like a cage than a home.

It wasn’t easy being a muggle-born in Slytherin. From the moment the sorting hat declared “Slytherin!” on my first day, the room had gone deadly silent. The weight of all those eyes on me had been suffocating. I had tried to shake off the discomfort, standing tall and proud, but deep down, I knew that my life in Slytherin was going to be a constant battle.

The pure-bloods saw me as a freak, a mistake. It didn’t matter how well I performed in classes or how hard I tried to fit in. They only saw my blood status, something that, in their eyes, made me less than them. And no one reminded me of that more often than Draco Malfoy.

“Oi, Y/n, can’t you find somewhere else to lurk?” Pansy Parkinson’s shrill voice cut through the common room like a knife. She was sitting with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode, all of them staring at me with matching sneers.

I looked up, meeting her gaze with a cold glare. “This is my common room too, Parkinson. I’ll sit wherever I please.”

She snorted, her lips curling in disapproval. “You’d think with your background, you’d be more… respectful to your betters.”

Millicent and Daphne giggled, a sharp, mocking sound that grated against my nerves. I felt a surge of anger rising within me, the kind that burned hot and bright, but I forced it down. I wanted to lash out, to say something cutting, but I knew it would only make things worse. They thrived on my reactions, and I refused to give them the satisfaction.

Before I could respond, Malfoy walked over, his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him. His silver eyes locked onto mine, and I braced myself for whatever cruel remarks he had in store.

“Still playing pretend, Y/n?” Draco’s voice was smooth, laced with mockery. “I’m sure the professors find your little act amusing, but we all know the truth, don’t we?”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to remain calm. “And what truth is that, Malfoy?”

He stepped closer, his presence looming over me like a storm cloud ready to burst. “That you don’t belong here. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be one of us.”

The words stung, more than I cared to admit. It felt like he had taken the doubts that plagued me every night and voiced them for the whole world to hear. But I wouldn’t let him see that. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You don’t get to decide who belongs here, Malfoy.” I spat, my voice shaking slightly despite my best efforts.

His smirk widened, as if he could sense the cracks in my armor. “No, but the rest of us do. And it seems like the agreement is pretty clear.”

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt in my eyes, so I looked away, staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace. They reflected in his eyes, cold and unyielding, as he leaned in closer.

“Leave her alone, Draco.” Blaise Zabini’s voice cut in from behind him. Blaise, one of the few Slytherins who didn’t actively partake in the daily harassment, stepped forward, his dark eyes narrowed at Draco.

Draco glanced at Blaise, his expression tightening for just a moment, something unreadable passing between them. He looked almost… conflicted. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that infuriating smirk. “You’re lucky, Y/n.” he said, his tone cold and dismissive. “Zabini’s got a soft spot for lost causes.”

His words hit harder than they should have. They made me feel small, insignificant, like a mistake that shouldn’t even exist. But instead of breaking down, I felt anger build up, hot and blinding. I opened my mouth to snap back, to say something, anything, to wipe that smug look off his face, but the words died on my tongue.

Draco turned and walked away, his friends following after him like obedient shadows. I stayed rooted to the spot, the sting of his words lingering in the air long after he was gone. Blaise gave me a small nod before turning back to his book, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I knew he meant well, but his intervention only made things worse. It reminded me of how isolated I was in this house, how I was constantly in need of someone’s protection, as if I were some fragile thing that couldn’t stand on its own.

I tried to push the encounter out of my mind as I returned to my book, but the words blurred on the page, my frustration and hurt boiling just beneath the surface. I could feel the eyes of my housemates on me, their judgment like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. The walls of the common room seemed to close in, the air growing colder, heavier, with every passing second.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Slamming my book shut, I stood up abruptly, the noise echoing in the silent room. Heads turned in my direction, and I could feel their eyes on me, filled with judgment, disdain, and worst of all, pity.

Ignoring the whispered insults that followed me, I stormed out of the common room, my footsteps echoing harshly against the stone floors. I needed to get away, to find somewhere I could breathe, somewhere I didn’t feel the constant suffocation of their expectations and judgments on muggle-borns.

As I hurried away, I couldn’t help but glance back, just once. Draco was still watching me, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that almost looked like regret. It caught me off guard, and for a moment, I hesitated, but then I shook my head, pushing the thought away. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t let myself believe that he cared, not after all these years.

The dungeons were dark and cold, the silence broken only by the echo of my footsteps as I wandered aimlessly. My thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess, a storm of anger, hurt, and confusion. How much longer could I keep this up? How much longer could I pretend that their words didn’t affect me?

I turned a corner and found myself in an empty classroom. The door creaked as I pushed it open, and I slipped inside, closing it behind me. The room was dimly lit by a few scattered candles, the shadows dancing on the walls like specters.

It was here, in the silence, that everything I had been holding back finally broke free. The anger, the pain, the loneliness, all of it came crashing down on me, and I collapsed against the wall, my knees giving out as the first sob escaped my lips.

I buried my face in my hands, my body shaking with the force of my cries. I had fought so hard to be strong, to prove that I belonged in Slytherin, but it felt like I was losing the battle. No matter what I did, it was never enough. They would never accept me, never see me as anything other than a Muggle-born intruder.

All I wanted was to belong, to feel like I had a place in this world that didn’t require me to constantly fight for every scrap of respect. But here, in the heart of Slytherin, surrounded by those who saw me as less than, I felt more alone than ever.

-----

I sat there, my body trembling from the force of my sobs, when the door creaked open behind me. I was too lost in my misery to care who had found me, too consumed by the hurt to acknowledge their presence.

“Y/n.” Draco’s voice broke the silence, slicing through the darkness like a knife. My breath hitched in my throat, tension flooding my veins. Of all the people who could have walked in, he was the last person I wanted to see.

“Go away,” I choked out, my voice hoarse and broken. “Just… leave me alone.”

But instead of the retreating footsteps I longed to hear, I listened as the door closed softly, the sound final, like a lock clicking into place. His footsteps drew closer, slow and steady, and before I could react, I felt his hands on me. He pulled me into his chest with a firmness that made it clear he wasn’t planning to let go.

I stiffened in his arms, my entire body locking up at the unexpected contact. “Let me go.” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I weakly tried to push him away. But he didn’t budge. Instead, he held me tighter, the warmth of his body pressing against the cold that had settled in my bones, threatening to melt the ice that had formed around my heart.

“I’m not letting you go.” Draco murmured, his breath warm against my ear. His voice, usually so sharp and cutting, was surprisingly gentle, sending a shiver down my spine. “Not until you listen to me.”

I struggled against him, my fists feebly pounding against his chest, but it was no use. I was too drained, too tired to fight him, and fresh tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. “Why are you doing this?” I cried, my voice breaking under the weight of my despair. “Why now? After everything…”

“Because I’ve been a fool.” he confessed, his voice thick with an emotion I had never heard from him before, regret. “I’ve been blind, and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never take back. But I’m here now, Y/n. I’m here, and I’m not going to let you go.”

His words only made me cry harder, the fight draining out of me as I slumped against him, my hands clutching at his robes in desperation. It was as if he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. “You don’t understand.” I sobbed, my voice muffled against his chest. “You’ll never understand…”

“Maybe not.” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear in a way that sent another shiver down my spine. “But I want to. I want to make things right, Y/n. Please, just… let me.”

I shook my head, the pain in my chest overwhelming, crushing. “You can’t. It’s too late. I’m broken, Draco. I’m so tired of fighting…”

His arms tightened around me, his voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur as he held me close. “Then stop fighting, Y/n. Stop fighting me. And let me care for you.”

His words wrapped around me like a promise, tempting me to believe, to trust in something I wasn’t sure I could. “How can I trust you?” I whispered, my voice trembling as I looked up at him, my tear-streaked face searching his for any sign of deception.

Draco pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt my chin up with the tips of his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. His silver eyes, usually so cold and calculating, now held a sincerity that made my heart ache. “I know I don’t deserve your trust,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “But I’m going to earn it, Y/n. Every day, I’m going to prove to you that I’m not the same person I was. Because you’re worth it. You’re worth everything.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over my lips as he hovered there for a moment, giving me a chance to pull away. When I didn’t, he pressed his lips to mine, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, filled with all the things he couldn’t say.

The kiss stole the breath from my lungs, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I was too shocked to respond at first, my mind struggling to catch up with the reality of what was happening. But then, something inside me snapped, and I found myself kissing him back, my hands fisting in his robes as I pulled him closer, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly turned upside down.

Draco growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, holding me in place as he took control. His other hand trailed down my back, his touch firm and possessive, sending sparks of heat through my body.

He pulled away slightly, his lips hovering just over mine as he whispered, “You’re mine, Y/n. No one else’s. Do you understand?” His voice was low and rough, filled with a need that made my knees weak.

I nodded, unable to find my voice, too overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. He smirked, satisfied with how easily I gave in, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then lower, his lips trailing down the side of my neck.

My breath hitched as he found the sensitive spot just below my ear, his lips and teeth teasing the skin there. “Draco…” I whispered, my voice trembling as I clutched at him, unsure whether I was trying to pull him closer or push him away.

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against my skin as he continued to pepper kisses along my neck, his hand sliding under my robes to caress the bare skin of my back. “I’ve got you.” he murmured, his voice soothing as he pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine in a way that made my head spin. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, not anymore. You’re safe with me.”

He tilted my head to the side, his lips brushing over my ear as he whispered, “You’re the princess of Slytherin now, my princess, and I’ll make sure you will always be happy and protected, Y/n. I swear it.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in the feeling of his lips on my skin, the warmth of his body against mine. For the first time in a long time, I felt… safe. Protected. And as much as I wanted to hold onto my anger, my hurt, I found it slipping away, replaced by something softer, something that scared me even more.

Draco’s lips found mine again, and this time, the kiss was slower, more careful, as if he was savoring the moment, committing every detail to memory. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other’s.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n.” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet determination that made my heart skip a beat. “I’m going to prove to you that you can trust me, that I’m not the same person I was. And I’ll start by protecting you from anyone who dares to hurt you.”

His words wrapped around me like a promise, a vow that he would keep no matter what it took. And as much as I wanted to doubt him, to push him away, I found myself nodding, my heart daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. That maybe, with him by my side, I didn’t have to fight alone anymore.

-----

After that night, everything between Draco and me changed.

The walls that had once divided us were replaced with a connection I never thought possible. Draco, who had been the source of so much pain and frustration, now became the one person I could rely on. The harsh, cold demeanor he had always worn like armor softened whenever we were alone, revealing a side of him that I had never imagined existed.

In the days that followed, Draco made good on his promises. His change was nothing short of impressive. He was always there, watching over me, making sure that no one dared to hurt me again. The whispers in the common room, once so biting and cruel, began to fade away. No one wanted to cross Draco Malfoy, and with him by my side, they knew better than to even try.

Our relationship, though new, was intense. Draco was possessive, his protective streak evident in everything he did. He walked me to every class, sat with me during meals, and his gaze never strayed far from me when we were in the common room. It was as if he had devoted himself to protecting me, and in some strange way, I found comfort in that.

But it wasn’t just about protection. Draco was unexpectedly tender, constantly surprising me with small gestures of affection. He would brush his fingers lightly against my hand under the table, or tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear as we studied in the library. He was always near, his presence like a shield against the rest of the world.

And at night, when the weight of the day would press down on me, he was there to hold me, to whisper soothing words in my ear until the anxiety and fear melted away. He would trail kisses along my skin, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding me in the moment, reminding me that I wasn’t alone.

There were moments when the old doubts would creep in, when I would question how things had changed so quickly, but Draco was always there to quiet those fears. “I'm yours, love.” he would murmur, his voice filled with a possessive tenderness that both thrilled and terrified me. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

The Draco Malfoy who had once been my enemy was gone, replaced by someone who saw me, who valued me. He wasn’t perfect, he still had a temper, still had his moments of arrogance, but with me, he was different. He was softer, more open, his sharp edges dulled by the feelings he clearly struggled to express. And I found myself falling for him, despite everything, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t.

But perhaps the most surprising thing was how natural it felt. What had started as a relationship forged out of pain and misunderstanding had transformed into something deeper, something real. We were still figuring things out, still navigating the complexities of our feelings, but we were doing it together.

In Draco’s arms, I found the safety and security I had craved for so long. And in me, Draco found someone who accepted him for who he was, flaws and all. We were an unlikely pair, the Muggle-born Slytherin and the prince of pure-blood supremacy, but somehow, it worked.

Draco had become my protector, my confidant, and, against all odds, my lover. And as we stood together, facing the world that had once sought to tear me apart, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them side by side. Because, for the first time I didn’t feel alone. I felt cherished. I felt loved.

And that was worth everything.

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[baeddel]

tagged by @amarocit and sort of by @amoebo-id to say what books i'm going to read

i think it's supposed to be a specific number like 9 but idc

so you don't have to read this long and tedious post, i'll tag everyone first.

i tag: @enarei @everycorner @assaultmystic @xrafstar @boyremover @shimakaze-revivalism @hakasepouring2lbottleofcola @fenist @circumlocutive @vickir0se (the prompt is something like: '9 books you're reading right now? write a post in answer and tag some more people in it')

in any case, what am i reading most presently?

table of contents -i philosophy -ij languages -iij fiction -iiij other stuff

-i philosophy

i am pursuing a nexus around Machiavelli; who read Machiavelli and how did they read him? at the centre of my reading is the Machiavelli-Fichte-Clausewitz nexus, but there is also a Machiavelli-Spinoza-Marx as i mentioned in another tag meme.

Ficthe wrote at least one book on Machiavelli, and a young Clausewitz wrote Fichte a letter about him which Ficthe published. Spinoza we know read Machiavelli, and he possessed at least a few of his books physically, and it is said that he influenced him. Marx i haven't entirely settled on his relationship to Machiavelli or to Spinoza; i know he did read them, but i don't know if they were important to his project or how. but he is placed in that triad for now, so he has somewhere to be.

but these nexus also rest within further nexus (recursively, into, if not infinity, at least an enormous empirical web of things really said and done, and their counterfactuals also--by the way, are counterfactuals empirical in nature?). some of them are so deeply embedded as to be inseparable to the reader; primarily i mean that Ficthe does not pry easily from Kant. to lesser extent, Spinoza and Descartes (as well as the Tanakh (though i am reading that already--including, i apologize, more than just my Sheva Mitzvot--and i know it may be prohibited to non-Jews to do this--but i say i am following the advice of Rabbi David Bar-Hayim, who says that this prohibition applies only to the oral Torah, using as evidence, after a great deal of philology, the fact that the Torah was in Moses' time written down on stones and displayed to the nations in every language, presumably so they may read it, and thus what is really prohibited to non-Jews is to sit down and try to apply Mitzvot and so forth--which in fact convicts me for attempting to grapple with this question in the first place, rather than living in ignorance of it, and i am in fact liable for the death penalty after all--thankfully i don't live in Israel (where i would have actually been forced to study the Torah, regardless of what the Sanhedrin said, as Muslim children are!)--in any case any Jew i have told of my dilemma has laughed at me--or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Rashi) and Rambam) form a similar pair. thus i will also read Descartes (hopefully in Latin by then!), and if i'm going to the trouble of reading Descartes, then i demand the right to read Malebranche, for pleasure rather than busines, and thus i will read him too. these thinkers are, likewise, embedded, and i desire to go one recursion deeper, to their sources in Asian and Muslim-world philosophy; though this does not form the whole of my interest in Asian and Muslim-world philosophy, and thus we will see only a very limited selection of the total of what i intend to read (on earth or in heaven) of that philosophy.

however, this all points out further, to another nexus which i desired to read, which may be named as Husserl-Heidegger-for-Vienna Circle, that is to say, the phenomenological tradition which emerges from the background of German philosophy after Kant, and the review of its project by Heidegger in one way and the Vienna Circle in another. and one of my interests is the reception of earlier philosophy by the Vienna set. this also prepares the ground for, say, the Ponty-Ayer encounter, etc. in effect, my mission is to take all these things i've been nibbling at here and there, using and misusing for this and that, and read them systematically. thus i have the following reading list which will (nonexclusively) keep me busy for--what do you think? ten years? twenty years? here's the one:

sorry for the pictures, but trying to get tumblr to format this was awful. anyway, now you've seen the whole list (i haven't written the Asian philosophy part yet, because i would have to find out the sources of transmission and identify what they transmitted and so forth, and it takes a little doing); i am not reading all that soon, so let me, now that you have seen the general shape of this one project, tell you how i intend to proceed through it in the near future. it is as so:

Kant i have no interest, whatsoever, in Kant. he is grist for Ficthe and to a lesser extent the others that come later, like Heidegger. thus reading him is drudgery, and i have tried to eliminate drudgery. so i have narrowed him down to a <500 page effort, which does not include the First Critique at all. if i need to, i can come back to him, but my hope is not to need to. so i am reading:

a. the Prolegomena <- my shortcut past the First Critique, where he lays out his own philosophy at a very high level for a popular audience (and constantly tells you to go read the First Critique). i'm reading that presently (though i doubt i'll reach my goal now of finishing it by the 14th). b. the 'Moral Trilogy', ie. the Groundwork, the Second Critique, and the Metaphysics of Morals <- all of these are relatively short, and all concern the practical aspects of his philosophy (ourselves having sipped the needed theroetical aspects from the Prolegomena already). that is the part we need if we're intending to confront Fichte as an anarchist looking for answers about freedom and subjectivity from him.

secondaries: a. Strawson, The Bounds of Sense: An Essay on Kant's Critique of Pure Reason <- imposed on me by @assaultmystic, who i will read it to impress. we worked out a bit of a system for it, where i read some chapters alongside, and some after, the Prolegomena. this will help fill in the gaps w/r/t theory, i believe, and besides i'll be able to talk about it with Flutters.

Ficthe

some order of:

a. Foundations of Natural Right b. Vocation of Man c. Characteristics of the Present Age d. Machiavelli as Author

since these are some combination of introductory, popular, or concerning his philosophy as it pertains to freedom and intersubjectivity, &c, which is why we're reading him. and the Machiavelli book. then we can go through the Wissenshcaftres if we like; but if we're doing that, then we're reading the First and Third Critiques of Kant as well, because we've bought in hard enough to that philosophical system at that point. and i expect that part to be reserved for heaven, and thus it doesn't belong on any earthly reading list.

secondaries:

Beiser, German Idealism: The Struggle Against Subjectivism <- a classic secondary, mammoth in size; should help contextualize Kant and Fichte and the other guys. i have read some of it before, but not that much; i read it's section on Ficthe, which is why i decided to try to read him.

Clausewitz

Karl:

a. On War b. his letter to Ficthe on Machiavelli c. everything else <- conveniently collected in the volume Historical and Politican Writings, trans. and ed. Paret & Moran d. his letters

Maria:

a. Bellinger, Marie von Clausewitz <- secondary, idk if she wrote herself...

Karl i must read a bit differently to the others. he builds arguments as these long dialectical trains which he allows to crash much later. thus your notes can be going one way, then suddenly seem pointless and stupid, because you were tracking a thread of argument he wasn't actually making. thus Clausewitz should be read the first time for pleasure only, without the notebook handy, until you've chuckled and grinned along with him until the last page, then you have to go back and savour some notes from it. so i am reading him non-rigorously, in leisure, here and there. he is one of the few writers i own a physical book of, so i get to read him in the garden. i'm having a good time with him.

Maria i am interested in because i know she had a strange and passionate relationship with him, and then spent the rest of her life editing his abstruse book and getting it working once he suddenly died. she just seems like an interesting person, and i'd like to, at least, see her husband as she saw him, for a little bit.

Machiavelli

every scrap. his political theory, his histories, his letters, his book called "A Description of the Methods Adopted by the Duke Valentino when Murdering Vitellozzo Vitelli, Oliverotto da Fermo, the Signor Pagolo, and the Duke di Gravina Orsini"--everything. he is a man i have unorthodox feelings about; to really study him will be a little painful, as opposed to the delerious pleasure of fangirling in slight ignorance. but he'll survive it. won't you, Niccolo? yes you will...

i may get bored and skip around in my list a little bit; i'm entitled to do that.

-ij languages

i have four languages i must take seriously: Old English, Latin, Chinese, and Japanese. all impose some reading.

right now, i'm reading a fantastic new book called Osweald Bera by Collin Gorrie. it's basically Lingua Latina for Old English; it's entirely written in Old English and you learn it by reading Old English. i have a headstart, having studied for almost 3 years already, but i'm at precisely the stage where i long for easy reading material, and it's perfect for that. so i'm reading that.

after that i also have a book by Peter S. Baker which is a translation of Alice in Wonderland into Old English, called Æðelgyðe Ellendæda on Wundorlande. so maybe that's next, or it's a bit more advanced and is saved for later. then it's Henry Sweet's Anglo-Saxon Primer (read extensively rather than intensively, since i'll be good enough to do that; reading it intensively was the largest part of how i learned for the year before starting Osweald Bera), Sweet's two Readers, and the Analecta Anglo-Saxonicus. by then i should be ready to read native prose, so i'll work through things like Wulfstan's lectures and Ælfric's grammars and such, and then i'll get to the good stuff: the OE translations of Theodore cover to cover, Ælfred's translations of Boethius and Augustine, etc. and i should be able to start working on poetry too.

Latin: Lingua Latina. EZ. by the end it has you readng native material all by itself. hopefully i can line it up so that i can read Latin and Old English Theodore, Boethius and Augustine back to back. and, as i said, Descartes. but most especially, for Latin-language philosophy, i am patiently awaiting being able to read Roger Bacon in his own language (which most of his books are locked away in). and then translate Hermaphroditus if i can, by Beccadelli; at least write about it and make its contents available.

for Chinese and Japanese the road is simple: i use the Assimil books, plus some other material that works through the writing system in a graded way and work through it with anki, until i can read and listen to simple things and get along a bit myself (for Chinese i'm using the New Practical Chinese Reader for that). then i do graded readers (in text and audio forms), until i'm ready for easier native material. then eventually just use the internet, and watch videos on BiliBili and NicoVideo respectively, and be doing extensive reading and listening very naturally.

-iij fiction

currently doing some reading for so to speak 'research' for a short story i'm writing for @everycorner. the list i wrote there is:

i finished the Pit and the Pendulum just yesterday.

-iiij other stuff

long-time readers may know i owe tithes to some other disciplines; i have linguistics textbooks to get through, and i have to finish the SICP and get onto more compsci stuff. and i have more stuffy Old English philology books to read. to you i say i have not forgotten. but i have been so ill and have been doing so disasterously badly that i am struggling to get along, and so i am just now trying to reintegrate some of my reading and writing. so let me do but a little of what i must, and feel good about it; then i'll do the rest. but they don't belong on a list of what i'm reading 'currently' or in the near future.

and if you think this list is excessive, as not all books i claim to be reading i really have open, let me insist that i perceive books as moments on a long trajectory, and always read to some purpose or end, and cannot think of books but to organize them in this way.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Roy Phillips Isn't a Monster, Actually

I know a certain portion of the Fallout 3 fandom might object to this take, though I suspect many of those people won't be found following the ghoul fucking blog, frankly.

The game came out in 2008, well before I ever got into gaming enough to actually play anything myself, so its presence has sort of lingered in the background of everything I've ever heard about the Fallout franchise. Many of the characters are well-loved, so well-loved that I felt fairly well acquainted with them before I ever successfully booted the game up (after several soul-draining hours of trying). On the other hand, many of the other writing aspects, including the backstories and plot arcs of said beloved characters, are cloaked in an infamy that almost makes it hard to see the game impartially going into it.

Many of the side quests of Fallout 3, especially, are discussed as weak points in the game, whether in terms of the game's writing, its code, or both. There was a reason Tenpenny Tower was at the top of my list of side quests to complete myself when I started playing the game for the first time: I'd argue that no other side quest is more contentious among the fan base. This isn't shocking, since the writing almost seems intended to cause arguments (and, if I'm so honest, to enforce bias against ghouls...but then again, I suppose you should never attribute to malice what can be attributed to pure ignorance).

Quite frankly, my case for Roy's humanity is simple. The game gives you plenty of evidence in his dialogue that he's not exactly foaming at the mouth to cause the deaths of the non-bigoted Tenpenny residents who will inevitably get caught up in his feral ghoul plan. Between the exchange you see between him and Gustavo at the beginning of the quest, Gustavo's dialogue when he propositions you to kill the ghouls, and Roy's claims when you speak to him, you see that he has more than exhausted the "diplomatic approach", only to have the door slammed in his face over and over again. The ghouls aren't demanding to move in and change everything; they're only asking to be allowed to live in the Tower, pay rent, and follow the rules like everyone else. When you tell him that you've successfully convinced everyone (or convinced them to leave), he's excited, praises you, and even remarks that he doesn't "have to" release the ferals into the building.

This man may relish in the misery of those who discriminate against him purely for existing (which...fair, if you ask me), but ultimately he really does feel that his hand is being forced in this situation. Notice he says he was "willing" to do what he was planning to do, not that he wanted to. If you ask me, part of his viciousness towards smoothskins is Roy projecting the way he knows most people already see him. When he first tells you about his plan, he essentially says as much:

The idea of asking the community how they feel about Roy and company moving in doesn't even come into play until you get involved; though Gustavo claims he's only doing Tenpenny's bidding, he, personally, doesn't like ghouls, and wouldn't allow them into the tower if the choice was his and his alone. He's not exactly jumping up to put the whole thing to a vote. I'm not saying Roy would necessarily accept a building-wide straw poll that didn't favor them, but they aren't even given that pittance of consideration. They aren't seen as humans, but animals, creatures that belong outside, scuttling around some dusty abandoned building or dank, dark train station.

Or worse, in a mass grave.

Frankly, I think if you find Roy completely unsympathetic, 100% evil with no redeeming qualities, you either missed this line of dialogue that makes his motivations and logic very clear:

...or you're intentionally choosing to let the writer's shitty choices for the ending of the quest's plot retroactively color your understanding of what are, really, very graspable thoughts and feelings. It speaks to a certain lack of perspective, if you ask me. Not that you did. This is so clearly about much more than having a nice place to live to Roy. It's about clawing back a piece of their humanity, asserting themselves as people who deserve rights and comforts just like anyone else.

Whether or not you agree with or approve of his actions, his distrust for smoothskins, is irrelevant. The distrust, especially, is justified. Even the Tenpenny residents who are open to the idea of the ghouls moving in make shockingly ignorant statements about them, down to claiming they look forward to putting them out or even hunting them for sport if they step out of line. The man has a reason to be as ready to fight as he is. If it's you or me (because you've decided we can't occupy the same space), I'm choosing me.

Most everyone in the Wasteland is incredibly indifferent to the suffering and the death of ghouls. By and large, they're seen as pitiable wretches deserving of a merciful death, at best, subhuman monsters at worst. When no one is ever on your side, when no one steps up to protect you when you need it most, you come to value protecting yourself and those like you more than anything else. Gustavo isn't the only resident who expresses a desire to be able to pay to wipe the ghouls out of existence. If you tell Roy that Gustavo offered to pay you to kill him, he isn't even surprised. If his life, and the lives of the people he values the most, are worth that little to most folks, why would he give a single shit if a few "innocent" people die when he makes his stand? Those people refused to have empathy for him, and now he has none for them.

Obviously, a lot of people understand all of that. I think most people who really hate Roy either hate him because he's willing to commit acts of violence to ensure rights and protections for himself (to which I ask you: name any of the major rights anyone ever won through simply asking their oppressors to stop treating them unequally), or they find out how the quest ends if you help the ghouls move into the Tower and they write him off as a bloodthirsty hypocrite.

I can't describe how much the whole "an unspecified Incident occured and every non-ghoul in the tower was murdered, the end" choice for the diplomatic route's ending pisses me off. For one, it only stands to reinforce the bigoted statements of those who had previously claimed to fear for their safety. And for what? To make the writers feel smart because they get to pull the rug out from under your feet? Roy's "couldn't have done it without you" line is literally just them rubbing it in your face that they got one over on you. "Ha-ha, dipshit! You believed in the better of man's natures and had a modicum of hope that diplomacy, the core of human society, might've stood a chance. More fool you!" Let me roll my eyes harder.

As an outcome, it doesn't gel. The slaughter just seems completely indiscriminate in a way that could have been avoided, unlike when the plan was to release a bunch of ferals. Even Herbert Dashwood, who has a pretty decent reputation among ghouls, all things considered, is slaughtered. The fact that they don't even tell you what triggered it is lazy and cowardly. It feels simultaneously unfinished and finished poorly on purpose, a half-thought-out twist thrown in at the last minute to make things seem more "morally grey" when the correct way to handle the situation is painfully clear. Thank god for mods.

And yet, despite my venomous hatred for how his one side quest canonically ends, I find Roy Phillips to be both a relatable and a incredibly sympathetic character. The man is deeply misunderstood, and by no one moreso than the people whose job it was to tell his story. However, an unsatisfactory ending doesn't change the fact that his struggle is noble.

Plus, he's one of the most fuckable ghouls I've come across to date. That certainly doesn't hurt.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

The Copollogism Essays - Part 2: The Assassination Scene

Part 1 (The Tent) ~ Part 2 (The Assassination) ~ Part 3 (Lester's Reaction) ~ Part 4 (Leo's Questions/Seeing Commodus Again) ~ Part 5 (The Arena) ~ Part 6 (The Waystation) ~ Part 7 (The Yacht) ~ Part 8 (The Final Moment)

Analysis: Part 1 (Apollo and Commodus as Individuals) ~ Part 2 (Toxic Relationship?) ~ Part 3 (Codependent - Or Is It?) ~ Part 4 (Other Thoughts)

Oh ho ho ho. Here it is. The One You Have Been Waiting For.

A little personal background–

This was the scene that I remembered that made me pick the Trials of Apollo books back up last year.

It was this scene that brought me back into the fandom.

Everyone say thank you to this scene because it is a masterpiece and I sure damn well hope I do it justice.

Anyway. Let us begin~

I KNOW WHAT YOU are thinking. But, Apollo! You are divine! You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach. It would be an honor if you killed me! I like the way you think, good reader. It’s true I had laid waste to whole cities with my fiery arrows. I had inflicted countless plagues upon humanity. Once Artemis and I slew a family of twelve because their mama said something bad about our mama. The nerve!  None of that did I consider murder.

None of that, none of the deaths Apollo has caused, did he consider murder.

But Commodus’s he does.

This has always stuck out to me, even when I first read the books. 

The praetorian prefect Laetus had pulled me aside only an hour ago: We failed at lunch. This is our last chance. We can take him, but only with your help. Marcia, Commodus’s mistress, had wept as she tugged at my arm. He will kill us all. He will destroy Rome. You know what must be done!  They were right. I’d seen the list of names—the enemies real or imagined whom Commodus intended to execute tomorrow. Marcia and Laetus were at the top of the list, followed by senators, noblemen, and several priests in the temple of Apollo Sosianus. 

Something that was pointed out by @amiti-art was how Apollo’s priests were set to be killed. This is baffling for a couple reasons: 1) Apollo is well known to deliver terrible punishments onto those who even treat his priests with disrespect (Agamemnon in The Iliad got a nice plague for his disrespect); and 2) Why would Commodus do this? Why would he specifically kill Apollo’s priests?

I suggested it could be a way to “get his attention” so to speak. Because remember, in Part 1, we know Apollo left after Marcus has died. And now, Commodus is deep into his paranoia and lashing out at everyone and everything he perceives as a threat.

Perhaps something triggered him to think the priests were some sort of threat, or maybe he’s so far in his delusions that he thinks he can have everything be “fixed” if he draws Apollo back to him. As we saw in Part 1, Commodus looked to Apollo first at the news of Marcus’s death— maybe even now, he’s trying to rebuild that bridge because everything’s falling apart.

If so…he did not think it through 😬 I mean… *eyes the plague Agamemnon got; Clytemnestra being killed by her own son for murdering Cassandra* yeah…things don’t end well for those who mess with the people in Apollo’s cult.

I pushed open the bronze doors of the emperor’s chambers. From the shadows, Commodus bellowed, “GO AWAY!”  A bronze pitcher sailed past my head, slamming into the wall with such force it cracked the mosaic tiles. “Hello to you, too,” I said. “I never did like that fresco.”

*wheeze from alder* I get the feeling there was very casual banter in their relationship lol

Commodus knelt on the floor, clinging to the side of a sofa for support. In the opulence of the bedchamber with its silk curtains, gilded furniture, and colorfully frescoed walls, the emperor looked out of place—like a beggar pulled from some Suburra alley. His eyes were wild. His beard glistened with spittle. Vomit and blood spattered his plain white tunic, which wasn’t surprising considering his mistress and prefect had poisoned his wine at lunch.

This whole paragraph really gives you a glimpse into Commodus’s mindset, even if we don’t see his thoughts. He is quite literally at his wit’s end. His mistress and prefect have just tried to assassinate him. Everyone is against him. He is completely alone; no father, no lover.

Except Narcissus.

But if you could look past that, Commodus hadn’t changed much since he was eighteen, lounging in his campaign tent in the Danubian Forest. He was thirty-one now, but the years had barely touched him. To the horror of Rome’s fashionistas, he had grown his hair out long and had a shaggy beard to resemble his idol, Hercules. Otherwise he was the picture of manly Roman perfection. One might almost have thought he was an immortal god, as he so often claimed to be.

Not very important but short-haired teenaged Commodus canon 👍

Sike, this can be important because it is INTERESTING that Commodus deviates from the traditional Roman culture here. He grows his hair out, as well as a beard. Roman men didn’t typically do that.

But you know who does?

Greek men. Such as Heracles (which is why Commodus does so.)

I find this VERRRYYY interesting, especially paired with his relationship with Apollo. Because if you look at Commodus…he’s not very Roman, no? I’d say he’s more Greek-flavored than Roman.

Because here’s the deal: Besides the longer hair, Commodus (historically, at least) also liked to sing and dance. That was 100% accepted for men to do in Greece, but in Rome?

Rome had a very convoluted attitude towards singing and dancing. It was essentially “oh the upper class OBVIOUSLY can get SUPERB teachers for it, but if they're TOO GOOD AT IT they are NO BETTER THAN A WOMAN OR A SLAVE!!!!”

The kicker here is that the Greeks were typically slaves within Rome. They were regularly hired by the Roman elite to perform music and dances.

(Interesting how Apollo is their god, too.)

Out of all the Romans, out of the Roman elite…Apollo falls in love with the most Greek one he can find.

What’s even better is that Commodus continues the trend of ‘Apollo’s lovers are related to his domains’ because of music and dance.

That is what they bonded over. You bet Apollo made Commodus feel better over what he liked doing when the society he lived in looked down on it.

My poor, precious heart 🥲

“They tried to kill me,” he snarled. “I know it was them! I won’t die. I’ll show them all!”  My heart ached to see him this way. Only yesterday, I’d been so hopeful. We’d practiced fighting techniques all afternoon. Strong and confident, he’d wrestled me to the ground and would have broken my neck if I’d been a regular mortal. After he let me up, we’d spent the rest of the day laughing and talking as we used to in the old days. Not that he knew my true identity, but still… disguised as Narcissus, I was sure I could restore the emperor’s good humor, eventually rekindle the embers of the glorious young man I’d once known. And yet this morning, he’d woken up more bloodthirsty and manic than ever.

Ouch. Owie. This hurts.

Time to discuss Apollo’s disguise now.

Narcissus, now, was a real person. But it appears in the RRverse, Narcissus was Apollo the whole time. And Apollo’s goal here was to, and I quote; “restore the emperor’s good humor [and] eventually rekindle the embers of the glorious young man I’d once known.”

Apollo initially disguised himself because he wanted to stop Commodus from going down his bloody, awful path. Apollo had been keeping such a close watch on what was happening that he knew things were getting bad enough to warrant his interference, with the hope of steering his former lover away from a dark fate.

*insert ‘I can fix him!’ meme here* ah, Apollo. If only you could RIP

Also wow, Commodus wrestled Apollo— Apollo, who beat Ares in a wrestling match— to the ground? And would have broken his neck if he were mortal?

I’m guessing Apollo was holding back here, considering…well, considering the ending of this scene heh. But I doubt Apollo was a slouch even holding back, so Commodus is probably very good at hand-to-hand combat. Sheer brute force is exactly his style.

I approached cautiously, as if he were a wounded animal. “You won’t die from the poison. You’re much too strong for that.”  “Exactly!” He pulled himself up on the couch, his knuckles white with effort. “I’ll feel better tomorrow, as soon as I behead those traitors!”  “Perhaps it would be better to rest for a few days,” I suggested. “Take some time to recuperate and reflect.”  “REFLECT?” He winced from the pain. “I don’t need to reflect, Narcissus. I will kill them and hire new advisors. You, perhaps? You want the job?”

It’s really telling how much Commodus trusts Apollo— that is to say, Narcissus— here.

It’s also telling how Apollo— his lover— is using his father’s words to get him to stop.

Marcus Aurelius’s advice is coming out of Apollo’s mouth, but Commodus has no idea; he does not know it’s Apollo telling him this.

Not until it’s too late, that is. When it’s revealed once and for all that he has no intention of stopping.

But it does make you wonder what Commodus would have done if he had known it was Apollo. Would the combined might of his father’s advice and his lover be enough to prevent him from killing more innocent people?

Or would it have only made things worse?

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. While Commodus concentrated on his beloved games, he turned the powers of state over to prefects and cronies… all of whom tended to have a very short life expectancy. “I’m just a personal trainer,” I said. “Who cares? I will make you a nobleman! You will rule Commodiana!” I flinched at the name. Outside the palace, no one accepted the emperor’s rechristening of Rome. The citizens refused to call themselves Commodians. The legions were furious that they were now known as Commodianae. Commodus’s crazy proclamations had been the final straw for his long-suffering advisors.  “Please, Caesar,” I implored him. “A rest from the executions and the games. Time to heal. Time to consider the consequences.” He bared his teeth, his lips specked with blood. “Don’t you start too! You sound like my father. I’m done thinking about consequences!”

Apollo is once again putting on his Marcus Aurelius hat.

But once again…Commodus does not listen. He’s done listening to wise counsel. He’s done doing what other people have told him to do.

He’s emperor, after all.

Nobody can stop him. He’s blessed, after all. Who would even try?

My spirits collapsed. I knew what would happen in the coming days. Commodus would survive the poisoning. He would order a ruthless purge of his enemies. The city would be decorated with heads on pikes. Crucifixions would line the Via Appia. My priests would die. Half the senate would perish. Rome itself, the bastion of the Olympian gods, would be shaken to its core. And Commodus would still be assassinated…just a few weeks or months later, in some other fashion. I inclined my head in submission.  “Of course, Caesar. May I draw you a bath?”

Read no further if you wish for a happy ending 😢

Commodus grunted assent. “I should get out of these filthy clothes.”  As I often did for him after our workout sessions, I filled his great marble bath with steaming rose-scented water. I helped him out of his soiled tunic and eased him into the tub. For a moment, he relaxed and closed his eyes. I recalled how he looked sleeping beside me when we were teens. I remembered his easy laugh as we raced through the woods, and the way his face scrunched up adorably when I bounced grapes off his nose.

Their relationship was more carefree in nature. It was more teenager-esque, with Apollo even saying “when we were teens”, despite the fact he is merely a teen in body.

Even so…

I sponged away the spittle and blood from his beard. I gently washed his face. Then I closed my hands around his neck. “I’m sorry.”  I pushed his head underwater and began to squeeze. 

Apollo begins with gentleness. With cleaning him off. He doesn’t immediately kill him— perhaps to give both of them one last moment of peace.

But then that gentleness turns to murder.

Commodus was strong. Even in his weakened state, he thrashed and fought. I had to channel my godly might to keep him submerged, and in doing so, I must have revealed my true nature to him. He went still, his blue eyes wide with surprise and betrayal. He could not speak, but he mouthed the words: You. Blessed. Me.

Apollo is forced to reveal himself in all his glory— and in that moment, they are both aware of his betrayal. Commodus is floored by what he sees— by who he sees.

This isn’t merely his trainer who he has grown to trust.

This is his lover who he has loved for decades.

The lover who blessed and reassured him that everything would be fine.

But it’s not.

Apollo’s the one with the hands around his throat, and all Commodus can do is throw his promise back in his face: You. Blessed. Me.

*and this is the moment everyone knew: they started bawling*

Tissues, anyone?

The accusation forced a sob from my throat. The day his father died, I had promised Commodus: You will always have my blessings. Now I was ending his reign. I was interfering in mortal affairs—not just to save lives, or to save Rome, but because I could not stand to see my beautiful Commodus die by anyone else’s hands.

And even at the end, we can still see the toxicity that permeates their relationship.

Commodus took Apollo’s love and support for granted. He thought he could do anything he wished because he had the love and blessing of a god.

Apollo loved Commodus so much that he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else killing him. He could have kept his own hands clean of the kill, but he did not.

Because he wouldn’t be able to bear it to allow someone else to do the deed.

His last breath bubbled through the whiskers of his beard. I hunched over him, crying, my hands around his throat, until the bathwater cooled.

Even after Commodus is dead and gone, Apollo stays sitting there. Crying. He is utterly distraught by what he has done, and will continue to torment himself over it.

Perhaps even for eternity.

Britomartis was wrong. I didn’t fear water. I simply couldn’t look at the surface of any pool without imagining Commodus’s face, stung with betrayal, staring up at me.

That, my friends, is how you write an ending. That is how you write a tragic, doomed romance.

This is the deepest romance in all of Rick’s books. And we’ve only gotten through the flashback scenes.

We — and Rick — are merely getting warmed up.

[tezzbot]

Okay.. so... fairly long post under the cut with the sort of background to my Sonic Underground AU!! If anyone's interested fjdgv I have thought about it a Lot lol

So basically, The background is that Eggman has definitely been up to shit since before Sonic was born lol and one of his sort of things when he I guess started out in villainy ? was he started trying to claim land and take over so that he could build his cities and theme parks and factories and what have you and rule over everything. So, after claiming some untouched land he started attacking “Mobian'' settlements, (not sure whether to stick with Mobian or what but the word gets my point across so I’m using it now sfgdh) and I guess started working his way up until he found Christmas Island, which is the small Kingdom Aleena ruled over at the time. This caused the Kingdom to fight back and started a war with Robotnik. However. Obviously the warzone was no place to be raising the Very recently born heirs to the throne (the three who would grow up to be Sonia Sonic and Manic, they might’ve had different names back then lol) and so Aleena with a Very heavy heart sent the three Far away, they had them sent to a dinky little orphanage in a fairly distant zone, intending to pick them back up when the war was over.

Unfortunately, Very early on in the triplet’s stay at the orphanage, when they were still practically babies, an unfortunate cot placement led to Manic being kidnapped sometime in the dead of night (don’t ask why they did it I just think it’s funny love and light). He was taken to a nearby city, and somehow managed to endear himself to Ferral, the leader of one of the larger sort of crime rings active there. This is where he learned to get by and live and thrive, little crime family they love each other and rag on each other so much smile smile smile.

Sonic stayed in the orphanage a lot longer than Manic, but doesn’t really remember his time there all that much. As soon as Sonic figured out how to, he ran. Ran as fast and as far as he was able. Ran until he had no idea how to get back. But he'd not a guilt on his conscience. He was free, for the first time felt truly free. He learned how to survive on his own and met a little two tailed fox cub and his life played out pretty much exactly the same as it does in the main line continuity :)

Sonia is the only one of the three who has any memory of staying in the orphanage and was the only one to leave there by regular means dgfhfg. At about five years old, she was one of a few girls from across the continent to be chosen to attend and live at an all girls school where they would grow into proper ladies™, being taught etiquette and manners and so on. She managed a fairly cushy lifestyle here but was never truly happy there. She obviously has her besties like Mindy, but it always felt far too restrictive and (figuratively) cold. So while she does do well there, she is slightly prone to getting in trouble and feels kind of belittled and invisible among her peers at times

So in the triplet’s maybe 3rd year? The war on Christmas Island ended and the Mobians were unfortunately forced to go into hiding. Aleena made it out and went into her own hiding in the form of laying low in a residential area in a nearby city, and attempted to blend in there for a few years before making the trip to finally reunite with her children. Unfortunately by the time she gets there, all three are gone :( Even though the orphanage may know where Sonia is, she feels as though she has failed all three as their mother and wouldn't be able to face any of them (despite the fact they're like. 6 year olds lol), and so retreats back to her city home.

Until, over a decade later, Aleena sees the world renowned hero Sonic the Hedgehog that she hears so much about, (maybe he’s just saved that part of the city from a badnik attack or something like that) and there is just… something about him that is so uncannily like her Bernie… His heroism and humility right down to his mannerisms, the being blue also adds to the effect. And… Aleena is not one to get her hopes up, but the chance of this being one of her missing children after all these years…

Then I’m thinking maybe, she is wearing the equivalent of the three medallions and, maybe as she gets closer to Sonic one of them has some sort of magical reaction ? or something I’m not actually sure. But something DOES confirm to Aleena that This is one of her kids oh my god!! And he’s just like his (other) mother… Aleena gets overwhelmed and ends up not talking to him. Sonic maybe notices someone in a long flowy jacket running away from the crowd, but gets distracted by the many other thankful citizens around him to really take note of it lol

This is when Aleena writes her letter to Sonic. She looks him up, tries very hard to find out where he lives. Ultimately coming up with nothing she’s like IS MY BOY HOMELESS?? But then what comes up eventually is a plethora of small garages and laboratories under the name Dr. Miles Prower and is like Oh! An apprentice maybe :) lol and so she rolls the dice and chooses one of those locations at random and hopes her message gets to him soon.

This is just the leadup to what would be the "main plot" of the AU and I do have more for it!! So if this like. Text based way of explaining my ideas is alright I can share more from the google doc if ppl are interested!! And maybe I'll doodle some stuff for it here n there who know (seems likely tho lol)

[voxofthevoid]

JJK Teasers: September 2024

Still doing this, though I kinda forgot about it last month after the initial post. Oops. Once again, here are ~200 (unedited) words each from the JJK updates intended for this month.

Ch. 10 of (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

“Who’s Suguru?”

Gojou mouth clicks shut; his eyes being hidden doesn’t stop his whole face from radiating shock. Yuuji curls his hand into fists on either side of his body and waits, viciously patient. Yuuji imagined this a lot. These last three weeks, without even a single rambling message to indicate Gojou was still alive, Yuuji has had plenty of time to cook up all sorts of scenarios. What else could he do? The first week, he trained until he passed out, but that kept taking longer and longer and longer, until twenty-four hours passed with Yuuji’s mind still stubbornly online, and he’d wondered, once or twice, if that was Sukuna’s doing somehow, and then he’d somehow started wondering if Gojou was ever going to come back, if Yuuji was going to rot in this gilded cage until he starved and died, and then he’d thankfully passed out on the ground, waking up freezing and miserable the next morning without a cold or even a bruise to show for his stupidity.

After that, he tried to keep his imagination constrained to conversations. Sometimes, he screamed. Sometimes, he apologized. He knew he wouldn’t do either.

When he slept, the dreams were almost a solace. The blood and the bodies were warmer than his bed.

Even Sukuna’s amusement was just dull background noise after a point.

“He…was someone I used to know,” Gojou says finally, the silence only louder for the breaking. “It’s not important.”

Liar, Yuuji doesn’t say.

He asks, “When you fuck me, are you thinking of him?”

Ch. 3 of i can offer you a black-lit paradise

“Taking it slow isn’t always a good thing, Yuuji,” says Gojou. The overlapping fingers on Megumi’s hips turn bruising, making him hiss. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that. Here, I’ll show you.”

“Wait—” is all Megumi manages to say before he’s forced down.

White-hot sensation tears through his body, concentrated pulses of it lashing at his asshole and clawing up and up and up, till he’s choking on a supernova. Gojou’s cock feels like a solid spear of fire, the flesh around it scorched raw.

“—was too much, sensei,” he hears, the voice soft and close. “Are you okay? Fushiguro?”

“M’fine,” Megumi grits out, prying his eyes open only to be immediately assailed by cow-eyed concern. “Stop it.”

Itadori blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop,” Megumi says carefully, trying to focus past the screaming hurt in his lower half, “looking at me like that.”

Itadori blinks again. “Like…what?”

“Like I’m going to break!” Megumi snaps.

For a moment, Itadori looks taken aback. Then he grins, inexplicably. “That’s just like you, Fushiguro.”

“A bit of dick isn’t going to change who he is.” Gojou’s the one who answers, the words soaked in mirth. “And you should know that very well, Yuuji.”

What the hell does—

Itadori laughs, ducking his head a bit. “I do, I do. Sorry, Fushiguro. Didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

Ch. 3 of your resistance, prophetic self-destruction

“You look so miserable, you poor thing,” Gojou murmurs, voice so soft that Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s mockery or sympathy; he wants nothing do to with either. “What do you want from me, Yuuji?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuji lies. But his mouth’s got other ideas, adding in a mortifyingly small voice, “I like you, sensei.”

“Do you?” Gojou asks, tone painfully neutral. “Or do you just want to fuck me?”

Yuuji raises his eyes from the wetly clumped white hair at Gojou’s navel to glare at his face. “What kind of a question is that? Why the hell can’t it be both?”

Gojou just looks unreasonably amused. “Sure, it could be. But at your age, it’s very easy to confuse this”—a tap his chest, right over his heart, and then a hand delving under the water to curl around Yuuji’s limp dick, squeezing once—“with this.”

Yuuji hates his body reacts even to that cruel touch.

“Stop that,” he snaps, curling both hands on the edges of the tub so he won’t do something stupid like try and strangle Gojou. “I’m dumb but not that dumb.”

“Oh, you’re no fool, Itadori Yuuji,” Gojou says, tongue curling softly around the syllables of Yuuji’s full name with a gravity that never fails to fill his spine with molten lead. “But you are very young and full of life—and planning to die that way, aren’t you?”

Yuuji’s whole body goes cold. “What?”

Gojou’s still smiling. “Don’t you want you die, Yuuji?”

Ch.2 of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

“Gojou-san?” Nanami calls.

Satoru and Yuuji are in perfectly respectable positions, standing close together but with a good foot of space between their bodies, when Nanami and Shouko reach the bottom of the stairs.

They both promptly freeze.

Beside him, Yuuji makes a noise.

“Kento-kun, Shouko-chan,” he practically gasps, “you’ve grown so much.”

Satoru turns to stare incredulously at Yuuji.

He gets his hair yanked and told he’s grown a bit, all with a gently mocking air that no amount of fondness could hide, but these two get—

Well, apparently, they get Yuuji pulling them into a hug they’re too stunned to reciprocate—or resist.

Even with the Six Eyes, Satoru can only barely see Yuuji move. Isn’t that wonderfully terrifying?

Yuuji releases his frozen victims fairly quickly, but only so he can take Nanami by the shoulders. He and Yuuji are nearly the same height—a fact which seems to delight Yuuji.

“You’ve really changed!” Yuuji says, and unless Satoru’s ears are betraying him, that’s pure glee in his voice. “You’re wearing a suit. And your hair. This is adorable.”

Adorable, Satoru mouths to himself.

Shouko’s wide eyes meet his for a fleeting second before she returns to staring at Nanami and Yuuji in evident fascination.

And Nanami—

Nanami looks catatonic.

It’s that blank-eyed stare over a distinct blush that snaps Satoru out of it. “Yuuji, you’re breaking him.”

[jesawyer]

I'm really interested in hearing about the thought process behind Brother Guy not being the victim in the final version, as well as where his backstory we learn about in Act II might have come from. Considering Act II also introduces the Sommerfeld family, was there a background decision at some point of "hey, we need to acknowledge what is happening with Jewish people in this setting?" Is Guy's story and approach to everything going on meant to sort of contrast with the Sommerfeld's (i.e. Guy as a descendant of forced converts vs Rachel and Benjamin as Jewish people active within their community)?

This element of the game just really keeps sticking in my brain, and I'd love to learn more about what was discussed behind the scenes!

He was never intended to be the Act I victim. When working on prototypes, I try to approach them with the explicit declaration that everything we use will be thrown out. It doesn't mean we will throw everything out, but that needs to be the attitude.

Prototypes are built for effect rather than for establishing pipelines. I.e., the prototype is about creating an experience we can all agree on. The vertical slice expands that experience but builds it "the right way". Vertical slice content usually winds up in the game so it should not only be the experience that you want, but it should be built the way you expect to build (most of) the rest of the content.

If we lean too heavily on material we made in a prototype during our vertical slice, we may incur debt because those things may have been built badly, or oddly, or simply in a way that is different from everything else. So while we did use a lot of our prototype material in our vertical slice, the main quest itself was scrapped (as it was always intended to). The murder in Act I needed to fit into a larger narrative framework and Brother Guy's death wouldn't have worked for a variety of reasons.

Some spoilers below:

Cf. the murder of Adelmo in The Name of the Rose. The death of one monk, even under suspicious circumstances, is only of great concern to the abbot because the Papal delegation is arriving. The death of Baron Rothvogel is of great concern to Father Gernot due to his friendship with the Prince-Bishop of Freising.

As far as Guy's background, I thought it was important that the story addressed various things happening to Jews around Europe at the time. The early modern period was very turbulent for Jews and I thought that should be reflected, even if it was happening in side stories. His experience is not the experience of the Sommerfelds and his way of dealing with prejudices toward his ancestors is certainly unique.

We didn't want to make historical prejudices central to the identities of people in Tassing or Kiersau for the same reason we didn't delve deep into things like corporal spousal/child abuse (though characters like Franz and certainly Lenhardt are clearly emotionally abusive at least) even if that were quite common in the period. The topics are so severe that they would likely derail focus on the other plot and thematic elements. Characters like Vácslav also indicate there are background prejudices at play that keep him in the company of charcoal burners and executioners. Anyway, even if the people of Tassing and Kiersau had likely been indoctrinated with prejudices, they have bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

[annabthesolitarywriter]

IMPORTANT!

I've seen some of my moots post New Year Resolution lists/To-do lists so I thought I'd share mine. It contains important information my mutuals deserve to know.

I suppose you all don't remember my WIP The Lady of Ithilien.

Don't worry, it's a very small thing I've never really talked about. Enna? Eönwë? I don't know who these people are (just kidding, of course). Well, I have to announce that it will no longer be a WIP. It won't be a WIP for a long time, since I don't plan on posting new chapters until the latter part of this year and possibly even early 2026.

Much has changed since I posted chapter 3 back in April. I've created many, many, many OCs and some of them will appear in the story quite soon. As such, I need to have them completely (or semi-completely) figured out (full names, lineage, background, personality and role within the plot) BEFORE I start writing about them.

This is why answering character asks will be my main priority for early 2025 at the very least. I need to know who my characters are before I write them and make a mess. Please send as many asks as you can (even random questions), so that I can flesh them out as much as possible. Even stupid questions are okay. Seemingly stupid questions—I reckon questions are never stupid—are actually the best because they force me to think. Trust me, I do need to think 😂 it's the overthinking part that which I don't like.

I was re-reading the LOI prologue last night and I couldn't help but notice how different Ioreth's personality is if compared to how I wrote her character just two chapters later. She sort of has some of the same traits, but she's much more gentle and understanding in the prologue than she is later, and I don't think Enna "misbehaving" could trigger such a massive change in her personality if she hadn't shown signs of being a complete b*tch beforehand. Luckily for me, I haven't written much yet, so that issue could be easily solved by deleting the prologue and reposting it separately as a general introduction to Enna as a character. I have already copied the prologue in my AO3 drafts in case I decide go through with it, but I will wait a while longer before I make a decision since I'm notoriously volatile and change my mind every five seconds about everything. This example is just to show how writing instinctively and without thinking can impact things in the long run, so I definitely need to develop my characters. That's the first thing I intend to do this year.

Second, I need to finish the Tolkien OC Week one-shots that should've been done by the end of this past August. I am still working on the one-shot for Day 5 and I have changed my mind about the prompt for Day 6 at least a billion times. I have to expand the one for Day 7 and finish the one-shot for day 1 (Maiarin world-building is the stuff of nightmares).

Plus, I need to make sure that I don't further change my mind about things I've already written, which is something I unfortunately always end up doing. I change my mind all the time and it's honestly kind of debilitating at this point. I feel like I'll never finish anything and it's disheartening.

I legit can't stop coming up with newer ideas that I think are better than the old ones and replacing stuff I've already written with new scenarios. The thing is, my excitement wears off pretty quickly and I soon get even better ideas that quickly replace the new ones. It's a never-ending cycle which needs to stop ASAP.

I do plan to make some changes to the LOI chapters I've already posted. I'll edit the story before I resume posting later this year/next year. I've planned the following changes so far:

Possibly take out the prologue and reposting it separately [the reasons for this change are mentioned above]. Should that be the case, LOI will start with chapter 1. I haven't really made up my mind about this though. I kind of don't want to delete it because, in doing so, I would lose all my comments and comments are very important to me, but I suppose I could screenshot them, print them and frame them 😂

Change Eönwë's Quenya lines in what is now Chapter 2 to Valarin. I mean, the guy is basically in a coma and starts speaking in a second/third language? I know that Maiar and Valar are supposed to be more or less masters of all languages, but I think it would make much more sense if he muttered stuff in Valarin rather than Quenya. I did not think of this when I first wrote the chapter a year ago and I wasn't not yet obsessed with Turkish period dramas.

Carefully review the parts of Chapter 4 that I have already written and make major adjustments. Write new parts that make more sense considering the events that have just occurred story-wise (don't worry, I won't discard anything. The "current" chapter 4 will be pushed back in the timeline and possibly become Chapter 7 or 8.

Pay a lot more attention to grammar and spelling. I usually don't mind it when other writers make spelling mistakes, but when it happens to me...it's a whole other matter entirely. I've been learning English for a long time and the fact that I still make that kind of mistakes—mostly due to distraction—really irks me. I'm talking capitalization issues, wrong vowels and such. I know how to write correctly and I cannot stress how I roll my eyes whenever I spot misspelled words I perfectly know how to write. And it usually happens after re-reading the same paragraph four or five times.

Stop adding lore to asks I've already posted. How are people going to keep up if I keep adding more and more things? I literally posted the Eleniel/Celebrían ask on New Year's Day and I've edited the post twice already because I obviously came up with slightly different concepts and ideas. It's been two days and I have no doubt I'll come up with slightly different variations of things anytime I re-read the post. I don't think it's fair to the person who sent the ask (@lucifers-legions in this case, but it could be anyone) to keep changing things. I never do it on purpose (it's more of an impulse things), but I need to make decisions and stick to them. People should be able to read the answers to my asks without stressing over what I'm going to change. This applies to everyone sending asks (anons and mutuals alike), but it's even more important when someone is borrowing your characters for their story. So, I plan to be better and I really hope I will succeed. Also, constantly updating things is not good for me either (I forget half of the stuff and get confused, which is...not ideal)

Try and work on all the other asks I have queued. They include a second unusual OC/creator questions ask from @fishing4stars, four more from @lucifers-legions (three character asks and one fic-request), one from @dilettantefeminist, one from @jhelenivarsimae, one from @quillofspirit and two from @saurongorthaur9 (one character ask and one fic-request). I have started some of these and for others I had ideas which I momentarily abandoned/discarded. What I am trying to say is that I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN about these and that I'm working on them. I wish I could put things out more quickly, but...you know me by now. I'm slow. And I wish I wasn't.

Try and be more organized. I have a bunch of random files and notes that need to be neatly stored somewhere. My brain is a mess as it is and it doesn't need any more distractions.

Speaking of distractions...Tumblr (and social media in general) happens to be one. While I love scrolling through my feed here...it prevents me from actually writing and planning. Which is why I think it won't be surprising if I take even longer breaks from it. Despite this, I would like to keep in contact with all the awesome people I've met on here so. You can text me on Insta (I can give it to you via text on here) or you can email me if you like. Just text me and we'll talk about it. I'll still come back to Tumblr every once in a while (I'll never deactivate my account or things like that), but...I think I need to take drastic measures to stay focused and actually update my fics. I'll come back here to reply to the asks I get and to comments and texts I might get, but I don't think I'll ever be as active as I once was. Maybe I will be again one day, but I need to work on my concentration skills first (I honestly think I might have ADHD and I kind of would like to get it checked out. I've been doing some reading about it and most of the symptoms I have are a match for ADHD. It might also not be the case, but...I don't know.)

Update (sometime down the line) my masterlist, make it more pretty to look at and make a headcanon list to be kept in my files and also to be posted here. Most of my asks are buried somewhere and I need to keep them all in the same place so that I can easily find them. Not urgent, but also...quite urgent.

All in all, I would like to thank all of you for your continued support and thank you for putting up with me. 💕

I understand I can be a pain and I'm sorry (I'm honestly starting to think Enna and I are the same person. She's just way more unlucky)

PS: *As a testament to my overthinking, it seems I cannot stop thinking about that darn prologue (it's been LITERAL HOURS since I first queued this post and it's been haunting me ever since). Ioreth's characterization is my main issue with it at the moment, but, on second thoughts, I suppose that the whole "personality change" issue could be attributed to her acting nice while Enna was a young child in an attempt to gain her trust and manipulate her into thinking that she was way better than her mother. That's kind of plausible. She basically gaslighted her throughout her childhood and started showing her true colors when Enna grew up and started to "rebel". Okay, that's more or less fine, I suppose.

It's just that the prologue is set in Ithilien and the first chapter is literally a year later in Minas Tirith and she's already met Mairon. Mmm...🤔

Should I add a few chapters in between showing Enna's pre-drama daily life, her lessons with the most sensible tutor in Middle-earth aka Finnas, her moving to Minas Tirith with Faramir and Elboron, introduce her two main attendants and address the differences between her life in Ithilien and in Minas Tirith? Should I also include a chapter where she meets Mairon and he starts manipulating right off the bat?

I'm literally debating whether I should rewrite the story from the start [the most complicated option what will probably cause me to abandon the fic altogether], add the extra chapters between the prologue and Chapter 1 [if that ends up happening, the prologue will go back to being Chapter 1 and the other chapters will follow accordingly], or just delete the prologue and leave everything else as it is now [the easiest option]

In any case, I doubt I'll be able to post anything before next October/November, my ultimate deadline being early to mid 2026.

IF I DON'T UPDATE BY THEN...then you're allowed to consider the story officially discontinued/abandoned.

Writing LOI requires a lot of work and hopefully finishing off the one-shots first will give me inspo and motivation to work on the story. If not, Elenwë and all my OCs will only live in my mind and in the one-shots that are already posted.

Also, all the planned fics I listed on my masterlist... probably won't happen either. Let's be realistic, I'll never ever get to them in this lifetime. I get distracted too often, I can't meet deadlines and I'm never satisfied with my own work. I am never happy about it. Perhaps I'm just not cut out for writing. Maybe I should stop writing right this instant.

Lastly, I would like to thank all of my moots for their unwavering support. I have met so many wonderful people here and, even if I stop writing, I'll always keep reading and commenting!

[sleepanonymous]

I can't remember exactly where I saw it or even if it's true, but I've read somewhere that the Espera girls said they do not like being called "The Vesselettes" because it's demeaning, or something along those lines, yet you continue to refer to them as such. Why? Isn't that disrespectful? Please do not take this question as an attack on you by the way, I'm simply curious as to your reasons for it.

Hello Anon 🖤 Ty for the question, I'm happy to answer it, actually.

TLDR Answer #1: I'm too lazy to go back and change 100+ tags. TLDR Answer #2: I keep the #the vesselettes tag for visibility, especially for new or casual fans.

For a longwinded answer, Espera technically have three names: Espera, the official name for the background trio; The Choir, which encompasses their identities/part in Sleep Token; and The Vesselettes, which is a fandom created name given to the trio before they revealed their identities. I have actually called them Espera in the non-utility tags, and I've also thought about adding/editing the tags as well to include #espsera and/or omit #the vesselettes. It's just... a lot at this point 😅 Also in my mind Espera does not equal Sleep Token, but The Vesselettes and The Choir does equal Sleep Token.

As far as I know, and with a tiny bit of research, the girls in Espera didn't say they disliked being called The Vesslettes, only that they preferred to be called Espera. Granted this was in an Espera Q&A that was on the Espera Instagram page (hence why Espera does not equal Sleep Token in my mind). I wasn't present, and I haven't found a screen recording of the Q&A, but the consensus is that they didn't specifically state they disliked the term "Vesselettes" or found it offensive. The reasoning behind their preference is because they're a for-hire group and work with different artists outside of Sleep Token.

The its disrespectful point of view most likely came from fandom doing it's thing and expanding on what was said with their own feelings. There's been a lot of discourse I've seen on Reddit and in the band's Discord about the fan name. Its one of the things brand new fans or casual fans get jumped on for doing when there's actually nothing inherently wrong with what they've said. Case and point:

In addition to my extremely unnescessarily long-winded answer: the lady who claims to have coined the name "The Vesselettes" is actually a very lovely, fellow nerodivergent, woman. She's been using the name for over two years now, and (from what I can tell) it has picked up in popularity between fans. She never intended for this sort of discourse to happen; it was never disrespectful, demeaning, or sexist in any way.

Also if you want to get super ultra technical Vessel's name is not Vessel and he's literally the First Vessel of Sleep, or I, but fans kept referring to him as "Vessel" instead of "I" and it stuck and he rolled with it because early band lore was kind of a mess for reasons i probably cannot safely get into

ANYWAY if I have actually missed something, and Espera have publicly stated "Do not Call us the Vesselettes" or "We do not like the name Vesselettes," then please tell me and give me sources and I will force myself to correct all of the tags on my blog.

[idontknowreallywhy]

2 - Absence

Ok ok ok so I can explain.

So what happened was @lenfantdeverone wrote THIS which accosted me early in the morning and I accidentally wrote THIS and then I sort of incorporated that history into a Scott inner monologue in a chapter of Estera which then made me think “well, what actually did happen with Virgil?” which prompted THIS which made people tell me to make sure I fixed the Virg which I absolutely intended to do when I sat down on the train today but it all got a bit complicated and I ended up making it worse.

In summary, this is absolutely @lenfantdeverone’s fault and not in any way mine. I write fluff. FLUFF I tell you.

However I do *definitely* have a plan for making him better, I promise. Just… not today.

Is part of the whole Scott is MIA presumed KIA in Bereznik period. Trigger warnings for that plus mental health and hospital stuff… if that’s going to be difficult for you, handle with care.

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Virgil kicked irritably at the scratchy soulless sheets and threw himself on to his other side with a quiet growl. Now the unfamiliar dark had a blurry glow of something-or-other in it… he frowned, trying to force his synapses to push through the cloying effects of the sedatives and process what it was. Oh. The lcd display of the tiny clock on the bedside unit gleamed at him. But his eyes were too out of focus to read the time… or were they? He squinted. No… His glass had been removed again and replaced with the hated translucent plastic tumbler that made water taste like it had been drawn from a long abandoned watering can. It was blocking the numbers and now he knew that, it irritated him. He reached out to nudge it to one side but the clumsy half-numb bunch of sausages that had replaced his once dexterous hand swiped it to the floor with a clatter.

He closed his eyes in defeat as a nurse came running and swept away his mumbled apologies with a constant monologue of reassurance. She checked his vitals and he flinched at the stench of antiseptic that surrounded her like a cloud, the cold dead touch of gloved fingers. Everything smelled so cold. There was no song here, not even the comforting background hum of familiarity of home. Just a constant clashing chord of harsh, sterile emptiness.

The nurse finally left with a promise of returning with more of the cursed meds which made him drowsy and incapable of coherent thought but couldn’t take away the ache of loneliness and the sense that he’d lost the better part of his soul.

This was his own fault of course. Barely three months of trying to hold the mantle of big brothering and it had all proved too much. He couldn’t keep the promise. He hadn’t even meant it when he made it because the words Scott had said as he left were just what people in the military always said before they left home. Leave nothing unspoken, make sure they can go on without you. Nobody really MEANT any of it…

He hadn’t believed for a second that he had needed to mean it, that he would step into his brother’s enormous, if technically a size smaller, shoes. Virgil had tried, he’d tried so hard but he’d lost his way. He couldn’t be Scott and he didn’t want to be Virgil anymore because he couldn’t see how there could even be a Virgil without a Scott.

What was the earth without the sky?

He closed his eyes and tried to let himself drift into blessed oblivion but his eyes stung and he found he couldn’t ignore them. He dragged his face over the already damp pillow, trying to wipe away the tears but too many more came.

Cold hands again, brushing the hair from his face and rolling him over. He didn’t want to roll over. They didn’t care. His face was wiped gently with a cheap towel that smelled of too strong soap and he wanted to fight and run away but his limbs were like lead. He wanted to run away and find Scott but nobody would let him follow his brother. He’d always followed his Scotty, ever since he could crawl and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like an exploded plane come between them.

He was dimly aware that saying things like that was perhaps related to why he was imprisoned here and clenched his mouth closed so the words wouldn’t come out and make them increase his sentence. He smiled his most charming smile at the nurse and told her he was fine and Scott grinned his way more charming grin and told him off for stealing his catchphrase.

She squeezed his jaw gently and put the capsule on his tongue. Scotty winked at him. He sipped the water and swallowed obediently. Then closed his eyes and rested his head back on the new, dry but equally hollow smelling pillowcase and tried to look relaxed. There was a discussion at the doorway and it was pulled softly to, but not closed. Easier for them to sneak in and out he presumed.

Slowly, activating every last mental faculty he had, he eased the tablet from between his back right molars with the tip of his tongue and spat it into the palm of his hand. Scotty grinned again and threw it away for him. Together they were going to get out of here.

He just needed to wait.

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Next bit

[sneakysmediacorner]

I fiiiiinally read boy meets maria ages after getting it!!

The art is SO LOVELY, it's weird to say because there's no insanely complex shots or crazy panel compositions or anything else that would obviously show off the author's skill, but every pose, no matter how low-key, is drawn really clearly and appealingly, and the expressions are so good... There's a bit of a sensitivity in the art that i would associate more with shonen manga? A sliiiiight tendency to de-glamorise the character designs, it feels like the artist never sacrifices personality and charm for the sake of things looking "pretty", and a lot of the humour hits really well too (the thinker gag... And the little background gag of taigas friends with the arima mask took me out). And outside of character art, too - the setting is a super basic one, a regular highschool with the occasional theatre stage, but there's little moments of creative layout/staging - my favourite example might be early on when taiga follows arima through a corridor

The cover is gorgeous too! And the sketchy style used for one of arima's flashbacks is very effective! The art is probably my favourite part of this oneshot

The romance was my other favourite part in the sense that all the cute scenes really were very cute... The extra at the end killed me too. I loved the juxtaposition of the grace of maria, the ridiculously pure enthusiasm and puppy love of taiga, and the dry, at times tsundere-ish behaviour of arima. Such a fun dynamic!!!

(tw for mentions of csa)

The parts I'm not so sure about are the dark ones... First of all, that was a REALLY graphic rape scene considering the absolute lack of any warning. Even as i could kind of see what it was leading up to i was expecting something far more subtle. Not sure if that's an issue in and of itself in my mind... I mean, i definitely think some sort of content warning is in need considering how insanely triggering that scene could be, but the use of rape as a plot point also didn't quite sit right with me. The depiction of the teacher as this crazy maniac and the focus on the gorey details felt a bit pulpy or exploitative... But I'm not sure.

More than that, what made me scrunch up my nose was the portrayal of gender trouble in the narrative. I picked this manga up expecting some sort of trans adjacent plotline, but what i found is a lot more muddled than what i expected. The forcing of a kid into the "wrong" gender role already feels iffy seeing as this is an accusation so often baselessly thrown at parents who accept their child's trans identity/questioning. Then I wasn't sure if the sexual assault was intended to be seen as tied to arima's female presentation? Or the opposite, because it only happened once he opened up about being a boy? And THEN there's the attempted castration element! And then it's like... Arima socially transitions to be seen as a boy. But he keeps performing female roles. But he also tries a male role. But then his rapist is in the audience and this incident ties performing male roles to his trauma..? So now his trauma is connected to his childhood as a girl, but not to performing as a girl, and to performing as a boy, but not to presenting as a boy in daily life..? It feels a bit convoluted. Is it like, every time he attempts to assert his masculinity he experiences trauma? And he has a line about not wanting taiga to see his feminine side, but that doesn't apply to his on stage maria persona..?

Anyway. It is interesting reading while keeping in mind the context of the japanese society's treatment of trans people. I heard that basically, as long as you're straight and gender conforming, being trans is actually a bit more socially acceptable than in many western countries. So with that in mind, the reactions of arima's classmates make more sense - what confuses them is less the idea that someone might be a different gender "inside" than "outside", but rather the ambiguity of arima's stance... It's interesting reading this right after boys run the riot, which also doesn't really differentiate between being a man/woman and being masculine/feminine, and sometimes suggests that liking women/men is an inherent part of that experience as well.

Last point is that of taigas dad, who goes from implied spousal abuser to heartless cheater to selfless hero and protector of assaulted children... That part really didn't sit well with me. If his true sin was just being a crappy husband who didn't care enough for his dying wife, why have that broken plate scene that beat for beat replicated every fictional depiction of violent spousal abuse? If he wasn't actually running off to see another woman, why did his wife say he fell in love with more than one person? Where did the entire crate of flowers go after he was seen only giving arima a few flowers at most? If his reason for missing his wife's death was so selfless, why did he never mention it to his son? If he really was a heroic person, why is his face ominously shaded in the introductory scene where taiga describes him as such? Each decision in his writing makes sense for the story at the given moment, but they don't really coalesce into a coherent character.

...but the little scene where arima recognises him did feel like heartwarming and narratively fulfilling payoff :) and his embarrassment after realising what a cheesy line he said was perfect haha

[burnwater13]

Grogu, Din Djarin and Seb Ta'low on the surface of Zoh. Nice lightsaber, Seb. Figures and background by LEGO. Image by me.

It might be fun… Part 17 of LEGO My Lightsaber

Grogu didn’t even have the words. Dank Farrik!, wouldn’t do. Womp Rats!, wouldn’t do. Nerf Herder!, wouldn’t do. Maybe walking tin can back stabbing fink would do? Hmmm. Maybe. 

There he was, Din Djarin, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter extraordinaire, holding a beautiful lightsaber aloft while an engine cowling lie in two still smoldering pieces to either side of him. He looked like a Jedi who had stolen Mandalorian armor, instead of what he really was. A Mandalorian who had somehow obtained a Jedi lightsaber. A really pretty, really large, really impossible for Grogu to even carry, let alone wield, lightsaber. Talk about your skank in a skud pie! 

Of all the things he thought his dad might say when he ran down to check on him when the New Jedi Council realized they almost dropped a part for the ‘Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong’ on his head, ‘Whoops’ was not one of them. And that one word gave it all away. 

Din Djarin hadn’t been there thoughtfully minding his own business, just happening to have the lightsaber handy in order to keep it secure. Nope. Not him. He’d had it out already. He was testing it. Sure. Right. Testing it. Playing. Playing with it. The Mandalorian was playing with a Jedi Lightsaber and Grogu just had to witness it. It was an outrage!

“Well, what have we here, Master Grogu? Will you take him on as your padawan?”

Seb Ta’low had followed him over to the scene of the mischief. They had all been distracted by the sound of a lightsaber slicing through the metal of the cowling. Only Grogu knew that the cowling wasn’t supposed to be stored in two semi-even pieces and promptly investigated. He supposed that Seb had decided that he should provide assistance. Seb was very good at that sort of thing.

“Nope.”

Grogu couldn’t take on a padawan who didn’t have the sense that the Force gave a gundark. Those critters knew better than to play with weapons. He expected the same out of the Mandalorian, given the reverence they all displayed towards weapons of every other ilk. Apparently Jedi weapons were not to be respected. Din Djarin would have to stay in the creche with the younglings.

“Now, now, Grogu. I understand your frustration. I’m sure your padawan has a good explanation for his dangerous actions. Don’t you my friend?”

Grogu watched the two humans exchange looks and the frown he was wearing couldn’t help but get deeper and more fierce looking. 

To his surprise, before he replied to Seb, the Mandalorian did two things. First, he shut down the lightsaber. Second, he took his helmet off. 

Grogu could see that his dad was upset. Not angry. Sorta sad, maybe? He couldn’t really tell.

“Buddy, Grogu, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to disturb the work that you and Seb and the others are doing. It’s very important. At the same time, I needed to, well, I thought it was a better use of my time, to just check to see if this lightsaber was real. I didn’t intend to put your project at risk.”

Huh? Din Djarin was apologizing to him? He hadn’t seen that coming. 

“Well Master Grogu? I think your padawan has learned his lesson. What do you think a Jedi Master should do? What would Master Beq have done?”

Dank Farrik! Seb was really good at asking those questions that made Grogu think. 

“Forgive.”

Grogu noticed that his dad seemed to sag into happiness. That was weird. He’d rarely considered whether or not the work they did to rid the galaxy of former Imps really made Din Djarin happy or not.

“Good.”

Both Seb and his dad said that at the same time. Grogu jumped up and gave his dad a hug. His dad, to get a better quality hug handed the lightsaber off to Seb. Grogu doubled the strength of his hug and took the opportunity to tap his dad’s head with his own green noggin. Not his helmet. His head. Yippee! It wasn’t anything like as cold and hard as that darn beskar.

“Interesting find here, Djarin. This lightsaber has been missing from the Jedi archives for hundreds of years. Even when I was being trained on Coruscant I’d only ever seen vids of it. What are your plans for it?”

Grogu looked at his dad and waited to see what he’d say.

“To hand it over to the New Jedi Council. I’m a Mandalorian, not a Jedi.”

Grogu sighed. It was a happy sigh. His dad still knew who he was and his purpose. That was good. 

“Well Master Grogu, what do you want to do?”

“Too big. Leia?”

“Excellent suggestion. I will ask the Senator what she thinks. Otherwise, I will store it in a safe place. Then, when you call for it, it will be waiting for you or for Djarin. No reason you can’t have more than one Jedi-lorian in the your clan.”

Seb laughed at the look Grogu knew he was giving his friend. Could he really train his dad? It might be fun trying?