#i will leave the audience to draw their own musings from this

[kerorowhump]

[planet-dusk]

yunho princess treatment 🤭

🏷️ jeong yunho x fem!reader. cw ; fingering, choking, praise, slight size kink, pet names: love, princess, good girl ( 587 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

“tell me what you need, love.” 

yunho’s breath tickled the side of your face. his fingers burned hot on your bare thigh, inching closer to the apex. 

“n-need your fingers inside of me, yuyu, please.” you knew you didn't have to beg; he’d give you the moon and the stars if he could. still, it came natural to you. 

yunho chuckled, then hissed when his calloused fingertips came in contact with your soaked panties. “this wet for me already, princess?” he swallowed your moans when he sank two long fingers into your aching hole, “can’t wait to feel this tight pussy around my cock.”

he found the right spot with ease, fingers curling and his thumb drawing firm circles over your clit. “that’s my girl right there,” he muttered when your eyes rolled back in pleasure. “will you cum for me, love?”

you nodded dumbly, eyes already glazed over and fingers curled tight around his biceps. “choke me,” you managed to get out between moans, and yunho wasted no time in wrapping his large hand around the column of your throat. he kept his touch light, only applying dizzying pressure on the pulse points at the side, the effect immediate. 

your legs fell open wider and yunho’s eyes trailed from your puffy cunt back to your blissed out face. “you look so pretty like this, love,” he mused, tightening his grip. “all spread out for me. greedy pussy’s sucking in my fingers like you haven’t been fucked in days.”

in truth, it’d only been two nights. it was impossible to go for long without yunho, and he knew it. he always gave you exactly what you wanted. he’d tease you about it first, sometimes, but he was just as quick to give in. you were his princess and he treated you accordingly. 

“i’m going to make you cum on my fingers, love, and then i’m going to fuck you.” yunho’s voice sounded low and determined, “any way you want, for as long as you want. how does that sound?”

you tried to answer, a pathetic choked-off whine leaving your throat, his hand still wrapped tight around it. yunho knew you were close; the telltale signs as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. that same hand he now watched pumping in and out of your soaked pussy, your juices dripping down his fingers and pooling in his palm. 

“you need to cum fast, princess, before i fold you in half and fuck you full,” he groaned. “i can’t wait much longer. look at you —” he flexed his fingers around your throat before tightening them again “— you’re such a vision, love. prettiest little thing i’ve ever seen. tiny pussy’s taking my fingers so well, need me to add a third? get you ready to take my fat cock?”

the stretch made you keen, your hips bucking up into his hand. he rolled his thumb over your swollen clit and watched you fall apart under him, pinned to the bed by his hand around your throat. “that’s it, you’re doing so well love, just a little more.” he slowed down his movements, dragging out your high until you began to squirm underneath him. 

“my good girl,” he brought his fingers up to your mouth and you latched on eagerly, moaning around them when you felt the head of his cock bumping your clit, “don’t worry, i’ll give you what you want, you know i will.”

you knew, and you’d never get enough of him.

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

[taesanluv3r]

forever muse

han taesan x reader

i needed to write something tht's target audience is me bcs ive been so so sad and need to feel better. friends to lovers <3 insecure and jealous taesan TT mentions of other idols as their classmates. cuss words, lowercase intended, ignore any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors! enjoyy :3

wc: 3,387

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"yn, this is crazy good! thank you so much"

kim leehan shoots yn ln a big smile, his hands holding onto a framed drawing of himself. it had been the kim boy's birthday and yn had gifted him one of her infamous hand-drawn portraits. it was a gift she gave to everyone on their special day, something she could whip up the night before and simply put inside of a wooden frame she picked up at her local art supply store. by the end of the year, almost every one of her classmates had received one. everyone except for her own best-friend, han taesan.

he doesn't understand why, watching with envious eyes as she stroked the loose ends of her hair behind her ear, grinning at the other guy's compliments. he couldn't help but notice the way the skin beside her lips dipped into dimples when she smiled, or the way her cheeks stained a shade of red darker than the cool-toned pink blush she had put on that day. a billion thoughts ran through his mind in that moment. it was his own birthday just two months ago, yet all he got from her was a card and a new sweater- which, granted, was the really nice sweater he'd been eyeing for a while and he was really thankful for it but still! couldn't she had taken the time out of her day to draw him the way she did others? was it cause he wasn't as pretty as the girls in their class? or maybe he just wasn't as handsome as leehan! or maybe she didn't care for him as much as he thought she did, maybe she just didn't want to waste her time and the ink of pen on him because maybe he just wasn't worth all of it and-

"taesan! you there?" the familiar female voice interrupts his rapid train of thoughts, his eyes widening slightly and his back straightening up. "huh? sorry, did you say something?" the boy asks and yn snickers, sitting down on her desk beside his. "no, don't worry about it. just wondering what you were zoning out about, that's all" he nods at her words, "it's nothing...i take it mister kim 'popular' leehan liked your little gift?" the obvious blush on her cheeks made his stomach turn, watching as she stared at the boy across the room from them. taesan rolled his eyes before she turned to look at him again. "i guess he did" yn smirked, a prideful look displayed against the features of her face. "well good for you" he replies, though his voice came off somewhat thicker and colder than it usually was. that, paired with the way he slammed his book shut and got up from his seat, left the girl confused by his sudden mood change.

"hey, where you going?" she asked, looking up curiously at his tall figure. he just shrugged, "i don't know, just gonna take a walk or something" the girl laughs, finding her friend's mysteriousness rather silly. "want me to come?" her eyebrows cocked up as she inquired, head tilted off slightly to the side. he shook his head, a single sentence escaping his pursed lips before he was out the door,

"i wanna be alone"

he disappeared into the distance, leaving his best-friend alone with the thoughts that began to swim into her brain. strange, she thought. the han taesan she knew was rarely ever this way- especially to her. sure, he looked mean and mysterious but even then he was never this cold. what's up with him?

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

the bell had gone off and their last period of the day had started, yet the desk beside yn's remained empty. taesan hadn't returned from his walk. it worried the girl a little, her mind coming up with a thousand scenarios, unable to focus on whatever piece of the great depression her history teacher was trying to teach to the group of seniors. the girl's gaze moved towards the window that was starting to get wet from the sudden droplets of rain that had fallen from the sky. hope he doesn't get caught in the rain...he might get sick, she thought, wherever he is...

as soon as the class ended, the girl stuffed all her belongings into her bag, not really caring for the creases that might fold onto her textbooks. as she's about to leave the classroom, a voice stops her. "yo, yn! me and some of the others are gonna head to the froyo place...come with?" leehan smiles cheerfully at her, his perfect hair and his perfect teeth complimenting his perfect face, but the girl shakes her head. "sorry, leehan, i have something important to do. have fun though! happy birthday, again- bye!" she didn't even give the boy enough time to process her words before she was running out the door.

the girl skips through the whole school building in the speed of light, her eyebrows knitted together when she can't find a single trace of her friend. yn stands on the steps at the back exit of the campus, groaning when she can't find an umbrella amidst the rain that began to grow heavier. she sighs, swinging her backpack over her head, deciding to make a run for it. her feet take her to the entrance of the art building that was separated from the main one of the academy, her make-shift backpack-umbrella proving to be useless as she spots her wet hair through the reflection on the glass doors. yn ln pushes on it, her damp shoes making contact with the white marble floors and she entered the cool building. if i can't find him here...where else would he be?

she begins to walk up the staircase, a sense of comfort engulfing her body at the familiar scent of her favourite area in the whole school. her fingers graze softly over the collection of canvases displayed on the walls, a smile making its way onto her lips when she spots a piece of art of her own. it's odd, but the girl seemed to have felt a presence when she arrived at the second floor, his presence.

the smell of acrylic paint mixed with melted hot-glue entered into her nostrils, causing her to wince at the intensity of the scent. a minute goes by and she finds herself entering the empty art room at the very end of the hall, it was the art room she self-proclaimed as her own, one that nobody apart from her ever really used. her hand presses softly against the door, a creaking noise alerting anyone that happened to be inside- though it was rare, she just knew he'd be in there. as expected, the girl walks in and is immediately met with his familiar figure sat on the floor. his head titled upwards to look out the window, his knees to his chest and his hands resting on them. yn sighs in relief when she noticed that despite the rain he remained completely dry, like he'd been here the entire time when she was worried he'd wandered off elsewhere.

"i've been looking for you...even got rained on" her voice is sweet, like she just knew he wouldn't be up for her usual enthusiasm. han taesan didn't look at her, paying her no mind as he continued to examine the droplets that pitter-pattered onto the glass windows from outside. this confused the girl, the same way he did when he abruptly got up and out of the classroom hours ago, the same way he did when his words came out so coldly earlier. "what's wrong with you today?" she asked, starting to get annoyed at her friend's ignorance. he scoffs, "today?" he repeated, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to look at her at last.

"what's wrong with me everyday?"

his words take her by surprise, as did the way his voice cracked and eyes watered slightly as he spoke. it's a sight she'd never seen before. never in the years they've been friends would she have ever imagined she'd see han taesan...cry.

"what...what are you talking about?" yn asked, the empathy in her heart threatening to escape as little tears through her eyes. "it's just...i feel like you don't care about me the way you do others!" the boy's voice is clearer now, almost louder and strict. she's about to say something, but he won't let her. not until he's done. "i mean, sure, i'm not as handsome and popular as leehan. sure, i'm not as smart and punctual as class president jungwon! and maybe i'm just not as cool as hanni and minji- or as funny as haruto-" yn tries to interfere, "what are you even saying-" but even then he doesn't let her. "but i mean, i'm your best-friend, right? i'm the guy you're closest to...so why? why does everyone except for me..." he trails off in frustration, eyes moving from the floor to the ceiling, anywhere that wasn't a direct view of her. of the girl who stared at him with intent, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"why does everyone get a drawing for their birthday and all i get is a sweater and a card?"

the minute those words entered into her ear, a feeling of shock coursed throughout her body. a look of absolute disbelief present on her complexion as she let's out an exasperated sigh. "you're kidding me...right?" taesan fully looks at her again, confused this time. "i'm not" his voice is stern and serious, making the girl realize the weight of the situation. her features soften, a small smile returning to her lips as she looked into his teary eyes and sweet pout.

"you're so stupid, taesan...of course i care about you! just as much- if not more than anyone else" yn says, a giggle escaping her mouth towards the very end of her sentence. "then how come you never draw me?!" he exclaims slightly, eyebrows knitting together. this time, she fully laughs at his dramatic expression. "are you kidding?!" she asks, the same intensity in her tone. yn sighs before getting up, she fixes the wrinkles on her skirt and stretches an arm out for him to grab. the boy sits still however, only staring at her with eyes that resembled a lost kitty. the girl rolls her eyes, "c'mon! i need to show you something" she sighs once more when he doesn't budge. "fine, stay there. i'll bring it to you"

his eyes trail off to follow her as she rummages through a drawer over on the other side of the art-room. the side he knew she spent most of her free-time sitting in, running her pens and pencils over sheets and sheets of paper. he stares curiously at her when she pulls out a familiar looking sketchbook. yn closes the drawer, walking back towards the boy who was still sitting on the marble floor.

"here, look at this" she says, sitting beside him and handing him the book. taesan looks at her confused, "what? the sketchbook you always have your head in and never let me look through? you're really telling me to look at it? now?" she nods, "mhm! take it or leave it, taesan. this is a once in a lifetime opportunity" he shakes his head at her words but his fingers began to stroke over the leather material of the expensive-looking sketchbook's cover. he used both his hands to softly pry it opened, greeted with her messy scribble-like handwriting on the very first page.

'this book in your hands, the book i always use though if you looked into it you'd be confused flipping through the pages you'd find the same idea overused you'd find that only one person remains my forever muse.'

yn watched the way his eyes scanned over the poem she wrote, the confusion evident on his face as he tried to analyze the riddle-like clause. "your forever muse? if this whole book is a collection of drawings of kim leehan, i really don't want to see it" taesan says, scoffing in the process. the girl furrows her brows, "what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes, "what do you mean? i'm obviously talking about your seriously obvious crush on mister popular!" her mouth falls opened in shock, "you idiot, i do not have a crush on that dork! never!" he chuckles, "you don't have to lie, yn...i understand it if you do...i mean isn't he just so dreamy?" he bats his eyelashes dramatically as he looks up at the roof, mimicking the way most girls thirsted over his popular classmate. she clicks her tongue before placing one nice big slap on the side of his arm. "ow! what was that for?" he whined, rubbing the spot that hurt.

"that's for being a fucking idiot...just look through the fucking sketchbook if you don't believe me!" her words are loud in his ears, a new voice of anger that juxtaposed the sweet tone she used earlier. it freaked the boy out for a second, sensing that he was wrong and obliging to her words. "alright fine...no need to yell" he said, fingers going back to fiddle with the pages of the book that now sat on his lap. he took a deep breath in, as did she, before finally flipping over to the next page. he gasps in shock, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight before him. there, drawn in ink and pencil, the one thing that caused this whole scene to begin with. the thing he'd been longing for that he thought she never cared to make. it was a portrait of himself.

"what...is that me?!" the boy turns to face her in shock, suddenly questioning the reality of this situation. she snickers, "yeah, no shit! and if you could quit yapping and looked through the rest of the book you'd find a thousand more drawings of you" taesan lets out a laugh, wasting no time as he continued to flip through each and every page. yn watched the way the corners of his lips began to point upwards, his smile getting bigger and bigger after every drawing.

soon the ink-stained pages turned into blank ones, yet to be doodled on by the artsy girl. taesan shuts the sketchbook closed, turning to look at his friend with the fondest of eyes. "so you do care about me" he says, his voice sincere and warm. she laughs, "i care about you so so so much, stupid" he giggles, a giddy feeling in his tummy, "i mean obviously you do...a whole book of drawings of me?! you might as well just tell me you're in love with me!" he's laughing still, though he can't help but notice the way she had quieted down. did he say something wrong?

"hey...you okay?" he asks, a hand moving up to press softly against her shoulder. she's frozen, unable to utter a word. "was it something i said?" he continued, tucking bits of her hair away from her face. "what is it, yn? just tell me..." the boy was growing impatient, not really understanding what was going on in that little head of hers. she sighs, looking up at him again. "okay...but you can't be dramatic about it" she says, making him roll his eyes, "when have i ever been dramatic?" the girl glares at him, "taesan" he goes silent, "okay, i'm sorry, just tell me" she nods once, inhaling deeply.

"taesan, i think i kind of really am...in love with you"

han taesan gasps, his eyes as wide as the earth as those very words left her lips. yn watches his shocked expression, beginning to regret everything she just said. "fuck, i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said anything-" her rambling comes to a halt when his gleeful laughs serenade the room, confusing the girl for the millionth time that day. "why are you laughing?" she asked, unsure of what emotion she was supposed to feel. he smiles, "because i'm happy. don't happy people laugh?" his cheeks were dusted with a shade of pink, a similar colour on his lips that smiled warmly at her. "huh?" yn was still lost, everything that he spoke beginning to sound like a foreign language to her.

"i love you too, yn. i always have. i mean, why else would i be jealous of mister popular and all our other classmates?" the boy's words were natural, he spoke like he had no doubts and worries anymore. she looked at him with adoring eyes, eyes that were glossed with a layer of pre-mature tears. "oh don't cry, you idiot!" he said, his ears catching the silent whimper that fell out of her lips. "well then don't make me, stupid!" she whined, slapping him on the chest. taesan giggles again, pulling her into his embrace. "you're such a big baby, yn" he says, his teeth out for display as he grinned into her hair that still smelled of rain. "says the one who was literally about to cry because he thought i didn't care about him" she pushed herself off of his chest, a great big pout present on her lips as she glared at him like a child. he clicked his tongue, "don't look at me like that, yn" she's confused again, "like what?"

"like you want me to kiss you"

yn smiled, "and what if i do?"

the girl moves, getting on her knees and scooting closer to him. he adjusts as well, their faces inches away from each other now. his hands found home over on the sides of her face, her own ones soothing the skin of his neck. they stare at each other for a while, neither one of them making a move. yn gets impatient, one hand moving from the back of his neck down to the red tie beneath the collar of his school uniform. she tugs at it, sending taesan forward and crashing onto her lips. they kissed like they'd never again, an entanglement of tongues filling the otherwise silent room with lustful sounds. she giggles as they separate, gasping for air. their foreheads remained stuck together, her eyes never leaving his. he grins, leaning in to connect their lips once again. it was quick this time, a soft peck followed by about a dozen more.

"you're so handsome, taesan" the girl says, examining his features closely as she traced her finger over each one of them. "even more than leehan?" he asked, the envy still existing in his heart. she rolls her eyes, "a billion times more" the boy raises an eyebrow, "really?" yn looks up at the ceiling, as if she were making a really big decision. "maybe not a billion times more..." taesan frowns, his expression sending her heart to beat faster than a bullet train. "i'm kidding. you're a billion times more handsome than anyone ever" she assures, playing with the ends of his dark hair. "oh yeah?" he smirks, feeling proud again. "i mean duh...you are, after all..." yn trails off, pressing her forehead against his again.

"...my forever muse"

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"yn! so sad we missed you for froyo yesterday" kim leehan says as yn ln enters the classroom. she smiles, "yeah sorry about that, i had somewhere to be..." he nods in understanding before hopping off of the table he sat on and beginning to walk over to her. "that's alright, maybe you can come after school today? it'll just be us though...what do you say?" he had a shit-eating smirk placed onto his lips, confidently winking at the girl. she opens her mouth to answer but a familiar voice enters the classroom, interrupting her before she could even speak.

"the answer is no! and stop perceiving my girlfriend! she does not want you!!"

han taesan glares at the other boy, an annoyed look on his face as he wraps a protective arm over yn's shoulders. the girl sighs, slapping a palm over her forehead when leehan shoots her boyfriend a weirdened out look. the kim guy moves his gaze from the han boy and over to the girl, raising his eyebrows so as to ask for confirmation. she nods slowly,

"sorry leehan, my boyfriend asked me out for froyo today already"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

writing this made me feel so much better after ive been sad TT hope u guys enjoyed this <3 reblogs n feedbacks r greatly appreciated!! tysm for readinggg! love, kona.

[genericpuff]

You mentioned multiple times that Persephone is a self insert of Rachel, how is that so?

Also, I love Lore Rekindled

So obviously it's not like Rachel herself has outright stated that Persephone is a self-insert, but there's a lot of narrative and visual evidence that points to this being so.

Disclaimer before I continue: a lot of this is speculation, take it with grains of salt, but understand that all of the following evidence is why so many people subscribe to the idea that Rachel is using Persephone as a self-insert power fantasy, myself included. This is going to be a long post.

First, the most obvious - Rachel and Persephone look virtually identical, especially when Persephone's hair is short. In a way that's not even reaching at this point, like there are times when Persephone literally looks like she was traced directly off Rachel's face. It's panels like these where you don't even have to squint or fill in the blanks with your own interpretations, Persephone literally looks like Rachel.

There was also that time she dyed her hair pink and her own audience called out how she looked like Persephone (unironically for the most part, which goes to show how much the implications of Persephone being a self-insert of Rachel has gone over their heads, sigh)

She's also made absurd claims in interviews that Persephone and Hades were her "muses" since all the way back in middle school.

I say these claims are 'absurd' because frankly I just don't think that's true, there's nothing from her early-mid 2000's online presence (which is still accessible via the Wayback Machine) that suggests she was into Greek myth content, most of her stuff from back then was medical fetish and lolita art and not a single piece of Greek work is mentioned on any of her profile bios, favorite book lists, or interests, not even once you get to the 2010's when she started shifting away from blatant medical fetish art and more towards marketable storybook-style art.

(she definitely mentions Lolita though 😒)

I firmly believe she's just making up that whole "Persephone and Hades were my muses" thing the same way she's made up her 'folklorist' label to hide the fact that she has no connection to Greek myth whatsoever and was just creating LO on a whim during the era of Hades x Persephone shipping prompts that were popular on Tumblr at the time. It just so happened to become massively popular so she stuck with it and tried to pretend like she always loved Greek myth as a way to justify her success when really it was just luck and circumstance.

But we can go further back than that.

You see, Rachel also really... really likes Mads Mikkelson. Like, beyond just enjoying his work and entering teenage girl obsessive cringe territory. I wouldn't be calling it out if she was a teenage girl or even a young adult, but she isn't - she's thirty seven years old.

Mads Mikkelson is, of course, her dream cast for Hades, and when you see how she views Mads Mikkelson, the rest practically writes itself.

But we can go even further back than that.

Because, you see, Rachel has old art accounts from long before Lore Olympus. Normally I try to avoid posting a lot of this stuff because it's very much old skeletons that we usually understand to leave buried, but this particular piece is very relevant to this discussion.

'Madame issue' was the screenname of her account where this drawing comes from. You may also notice this is very likely where the name 'used bandaid' came from. This character is meant to be Rachel. It was very common for her to draw herself with short pink hair back then and it seems that's barely changed now.

Just wanna also throw it out there real quick that Rachel's birthday is March 21st. Guess what date Rachel chose to make Persephone's birthday? Oh yeah, the first day of Spring, literally March 20th. Which shouldn't even exist yet as Lore Olympus is based on The Hymn to Demeter which outlines the creation of the season. But I digress.

Now, this may be a little irrelevant and nitpicky, but to circle back around to the point I made earlier about her not having any genuine connection to Greek myth, Rachel seems to have always behaved like this, in a way that tries to 'hide' the fact that she's not 'legit'. There are old FAQ's from her art pages that answer questions she's asking herself in a very arrogant "how dare you ask me this" kind of way. Like, she claims to have imposter syndrome, which I'm not saying is a lie, but if she does, she definitely uses blind arrogance as a way to cover up for it. It reeks of early 2000's 'mean because it's cool to be mean' energy and that seems to be an attitude that she hasn't left behind in the early 2000's where it belongs - she's just channeled it into 'girl boss' Persephone instead.

It's become abundantly clear after going through old LO asks/livejournal/flickr/etc. posts that Rachel herself 1.) romanticizes purity culture (again, like the Greek myth 'self-proclaimed folklorist' thing, she's trying to claim she's 'deconstructing' purity culture when her actual beliefs are the exact opposite), 2.) values naivety and youthfulness vs. experience and wisdom, especially with how she talks about Persephone and 3.) constantly tries to act like a 'boss babe' similarly to Persephone.

There's also the fact that the time skip perfectly aligned Persephone's age to be in the same range as Rachel - she's now 30 to Rachel's 37. The time skip didn't have to be exactly ten years, if it was purely to retcon the age gap problems then she could have made it far longer, but she made it specifically 10 years and I feel like it can't be a coincidence when we consider how close in age Persephone and Rachel now are. Recalling that earlier point that Rachel seems to be obsessed with naivety and youthfulness, she probably didn't like the idea of making Persephone 40 because that would be too "old".

That's not even getting into the actual way that Persephone is written. This is the part where I say there's nothing inherently wrong with writing self-inserts, even famous authors do it, but the issue lies in authors writing them as power fantasies and not actual fleshed out characters. Persephone is not a fleshed out character. She does not have flaws - at least none that are recognized as flaws - and she never loses. She does whatever Rachel wants her to do on a whim even if it contradicts previous actions or information we've been shown. Sometimes she's an inexperienced "uwu" teenage girl, other times she's attempting to be a 'boss babe' (but really it just comes across as her acting like a Karen.)

All that said, it's not uncommon for poorly written self-inserts to lack consistent characterization because the author is too hopped up on writing them to fulfill their fantasies, even if those fantasies don't align with pre-existing information. There's also the fact that Persephone herself never suffers any consequences for her actions, even when she's in the wrong, and terrible things that happen to her are more for the sympathy of the audience and less for actual character development, depth, or underlying meaning. The comic's universe and the characters that reside within it bend around Persephone and her wants and needs, and this is something that happens with poorly-written self-inserts a lot especially when they're being written purely as power fantasies and not actual character studies or reflections. Nothing bad will ever happen to Persephone, she'll never suffer real consequences for her actions, and she'll never make any real sacrifices, because Persephone is Rachel and Rachel can't write Persephone separate from herself.

This kind of goes hand in hand with the whole "she didn't make Persephone 40+ because then she'd be too old" thing, but I'd also like to mention real quick that Rachel has never written a female character who isn't like this. All of her main characters from all of her works are women, which is perfectly fine in isolation, but they're all written as the exact same woman, sharing traits of naivety, inexperience, youthfulness and innocence. None of her female characters are over the age of 21. Making Persephone a "doesn't know she's sexy" 19 year old who's often drawn very childlike was very intentional as it's the exact same kind of character she's been drawing for years now, and the fact that she's 30 now is simply Rachel trying to retcon the problematic age gap that she got called out on; with the added bonus that it makes Persephone even more like Rachel.

No, Rachel has never directly confessed to Persephone being a self-insert, but I don't think someone like Rachel - who already speaks with a veil of disingenuous arrogance - would admit to it anyways. The writing is on the wall: how she's written Persephone and every female protagonist who has preceded her is a deliberate choice based around Rachel's own beliefs and values - that women are only desirable when they're young and thin, that the "ideal man" is someone who's above everyone else in power, wealth, and status and will and should use that power, wealth, and status to get what they want, and that women should be as cute and innocent as they can be until any degree of opposition or questioning comes their way, in which they are justified in exercising outright cruelty and abuse towards those in their way, with no in-between.

And that's all I'm gonna say on that.

[earlgreytea68]

i dont actually know the general consensus on I Am My Own Muse but to me it very clearly feels like pete addressing the fans directly - almost like a conversation? like the opening lines "here i am not sure you should take a chance. I like playing dumb letting you figure me out" basically completely summarises petes relationship with us during the early parts of this era. His uncertainty coming back but also the way he likes to keep us on our toes (like hes always done). His constant surprise that even one person appreciates his art. His odd fourth-wall-esque relationship w us - he always knows more than he lets on. like. these are crazy opening lines.

Especially looking at other songs petes addressed to us (namely thriller and our laywer). Those songs still feel like petes putting on a persona for our benefit. Hes talking to us through the mask he thinks we'll like best - but for his benefit not ours. In those songs he still wants to show his appreciation for the fans but hes afraid to be vulnerable about it. He hides behind tongue and cheek self deprecation (put this record down, we are bad news, we're only good to have almost famous friends... that whole song tbh) or like implication of rejection/disaster (we r not making an acceptance speech, car crash hearts, only thing i havent done yet is die) and its all glitz and distraction bc thats what he does. he will tell us their hearts beat for the diehards but not before telling us why its a bad idea. its defensive from the get go but in Muse he doesnt do that. yes he defends himself but his tone is balanced between resigned and resolute. its stripped down to just his own thoughts voiced aloud. it feels so much more genuine despite how much vaguer in address it is.

Also the general theme of this song is feeling hidden/secret (e.g. the angels didnt know his name, him feeling faded, feelings were tucked away) but trying to draw attention anyway(throw the year away, smash all the guitars, drop a bomb on things we care about) even if its hard/painful (twist the knife again, trying to keep it together).

This coupled with the title is a perfect representation of his journey as an artist in this era no? The vulnerability hidden in old songs and spoken word poems that he relives each night of the tour. An amalgamation of every little moment he created and tucked away is reborn on stage. And who has he shared this particular journey with??? The fans. It was us who he finally trusted with his works and words in the shows and we sang them back at him. Patricks journey alongside pete has felt more obvious bc of his whole demeanour but its pete who wrote his heart out to us. I think this song is a way of pete kinda of juggling this idea in his head before it ever took shape in thw real world. A way of connecting back with his audience. Not as an act of nostalgia but as moving on together. its a gorgeous song and it feels like a love letter to us in the very oarticular way a love letter from pete wentz feels like. its not soft or even sweet but it leaves you feeling comforted and stronger anyway. its solidarity yk.

ANYWAYS thats my ramble for today hope it was worthwhile <33 i really had to get that one out otherwise i may have exploded. can you tell smfs as an album and an era is my baby. sorry this is such a long one lol. hope you r having a great day :)

Awwww I *love* this. I *adore* "I Am My Own Muse" and I always have and I love everything you say about it. To write a song that sounds like that and then call it so deliberately "I Am My Own Muse," like, that we are there and ever-present but in the end he's got to come from his own authentic place. And it's like his instinct is to play a little coy and not be so vulnerable, but also he just wants to scream so someone hears him: Smash all the guitars 'til we see all the stars, like, he's screaming so that we will all see. He's trying so hard to keep it together, keep it together, so smash all the guitars 'til we see all the stars, because we are all in it together, and throw the whole year away and start fresh.

Look, i am Peterick all the way, we all know, and I think I've even used lyrics from this song in a Peterick fic, but in my secret heart of hearts, if you really ask me to be serious, what do I think Pete Wentz is writing about........I kinda think he's always writing about us.

[ikeromantic]

Kyubei - Secret - 🤭

Alas, poor Kyubei. The suitor that deserves to be! Approx. 1700 words.

Kyubei had a secret. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t an important secret. No fortunes would be made or destroyed by it. No lives irrevocably changed. If it got out, there would be no wars fought over it or assassinations because of it. The secret was small and his and he held it in him like a child’s lantern held candle-light. The warm glow of knowing it made his life more bearable. 

“What are you smiling about?” Mitsuhide’s sharp gold gaze landed on him as he brought in the night’s reports. 

“Am I smiling?” Kyubei drew his mouth into a firm line. 

Akechi’s own mouth spread in a grin. “You were.”

“Then perhaps I am learning from you.” Kyubei did his best to imitate the razor sharp smile his lord was known for. And then, before more questions could come, he set his bundle down on Mitsuhide’s desk. “There are two missives from Kasugayama, one from Kyoto, and a full report from one of our eyes in the south.”

News would draw away the too-perceptive eye of his lord. And it did. Mitsuhide opened the bundle, long slim fingers graceful as they plucked the important papers from the rest that could be read later. 

Kyubei did not wait to be dismissed. He was already backing out with a bow when Mitsuhide glanced up. “Stay. I may have need of you yet.”

“Yes, my lord,” he replied. Because what other reply could he give? Kyubei settled in, watching Akechi read through the urgent reports. He already knew what was in them, and had a fair idea of what his lord would request done. Another agent sent south, some letters and payments to certain merchants that traveled through Kasugayama, and for Kyoto . . . 

His musings cut short as the door opened. The chatelaine stepped in with a tray of tea and some food. “I know you don’t break for lunch but I thought -” she paused as she noticed Kyubei standing there. “Oh! Hello!” 

“Princess.” Kyubei bowed, hoping the movement would hide his face long enough to subdue the sudden rush of heat in his cheeks. 

The chatelaine smiled at him shyly and tucked her hair over her ear. The tray wobbled in her remaining hand and he darted forward to take it from her. “Thank you. It would be just like me to make a mess when I’m trying to be helpful. I’m so clumsy.”

“You are as graceful as a deer, princess. Next time, ask me. I am pleased to help.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. She was so beautiful. 

“Ahaha, no - omg - no. No one has ever said I am like a deer.” She wasn’t laughing at him or his words, but at herself and it made Kyubei’s heart feel full to bursting to share this moment with her. 

Kyubei returned her smile with one of his own. “Then I am lucky to be the first. Though I am surely not to be the last to notice your beauty.”

And then Mitsuhide cleared his throat, reminding them both that he was there and an unwilling audience to this awkward, inappropriate moment. 

In just a heartbeat, Kyubei came crashing back to reality. To the world in which he was a vassal, a man that should not even look above the feet of an Oda princess. The warm glow of his secret fluttered in his chest, buffeted by the cold truth. He turned from her and set the tray on his lord’s desk without another word.

“S-sorry to distract you two,” the chatelaine told them. “I just wanted to make sure you ate something today. Besides whatever crumbs are in your pockets.” 

Mitsuhide gave a wry laugh. “I promise you, I eat when I am hungry. I do not need you to look after me. You or that meddlesome dragon.”

The chatelaine blinked in surprise. “I didn’t say anything about Masamune!”

“You didn’t have to. This has his mark all over it.” Mitsuhide sighed. “I suppose now that you’ve brought it, I must appreciate the effort appropriately. But you will stay and enjoy it with me.”

Kyubei saw his exit and gladly took it. “Then I will leave you both to -”

“No. Kyubei, why don’t you stay? Have a cup of tea.” Mitsuhide’s smile was relentless. 

“As you command.” He poured three cups of tea, tense and reluctant but determined not to give anything else away.

The chatelaine watched him with interest. “You’re so good at that. The perfect pour. Have you practiced?”

“Yes, have you?” Mitsuhide’s grin grew wider.

Kyubei swallowed. “Yes? I am always seeking to improve my service to the Akechi.” 

She laid a hand on his arm and the light touch sent heat coursing through him. “Maybe one of these days we can hang out and you can show me your technique.”

Which was exactly the sort of offer Kyubei dreamt of. Time alone with just the chatelaine. Spending time with her, listening to her. But he couldn’t say yes because he was only a vassal and she -

“I’d be happy to lend Kyubei to you for whatever you like. In fact, he’s an excellent instructor for many subjects.” Mitsuhide gave a nod. “You could start this evening.”

“I must - what?” His polite refusal halted as his lord’s words sunk in. 

The chatelaine clapped her hands excitedly. “That’s great! But . . . only if he wants to. You can’t loan him out like a bike, Mitsuhide!” She turned the full force of her gaze on Kyubei. “So, would you be willing?”

And of course, he couldn’t say no to her. Not when she looked at him like that. “I would be glad to,” he replied, which was the simple truth. 

Mitsuhide picked up his tea and took a sip. “Then that is settled.” 

The break felt to Kyubei like a fever dream. Each time a subject came up, Mitsuhide would look at him and say, “Kyubei can tell you more about that.” Or, “Kyubei is an expert in -” Or even, “What are your thoughts, Kyubei?” 

And the chatelaine’s eyes were on him and he felt as if his whole body might catch on fire. He fought the heat down from his cheeks but feared his expression made his feelings too clear.

When they finished with the tea and snacks, the chatelaine stood up and picked up the tray. “Sorry again for interrupting. But I hope you enjoyed the food.”

“Certainly. And the company as well.” Mitsuhide grinned. “Feel free to stop in whenever you like, little mouse.”

“Yes, thank you for coming by,” Kyubei bowed low, reminding himself again that she was a princess and he was a vassal and this was a favor to his lord. Not to him. Not for him. Not about him. 

His secret flickered, wavering, but held steady. It was alright, he told himself, to hold this one-sided love. So long as she never found out. When he straightened, his expression was appropriate. Only polite. Nothing more.

The chatelaine grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I am glad you were here when I did! I’ll see you later. Tonight.” She smiled. “It will be fun.”

And he couldn’t help but smile back, genuinely looking forward to it. “I am looking forward to it.”

She let him go and left, and when she was gone the office felt so much emptier. Kyubei took a deep, slow, steadying breath before turning back to work. 

Mitsuhide studied his expression and then sighed. “You will have to work on that.”

“On what?”

“Hmm. On what indeed.” He picked up one of the reports he’d been reviewing before they were interrupted. His eyes returned to the text. Kyubei thought he was in the clear until a few minutes later when he spoke up again. 

“She’s quite pretty. Not a court beauty, of course. But pretty.” Those piercing gold eyes found him again. 

Kyubei chose to play dumb. “Who are we speaking of?”

Mitsuhide’s knowing smile was his answer. Then, a few minutes later, “She isn’t a princess either.”

“The Oda adopted her.” Kyubei’s back tightened as he realized his lord was not going to let this drop. He buried his secret further down, hiding it under the proper words. 

Mitsuhide nodded and his gaze returned to the page as if that was the only point he needed to make. But this time, Kyubei didn’t relax. He knew what his lord was like on the hunt. And he was surely hunting now. 

“There is more than one tale in which a commoner marries a princess.” Mitsuhide didn’t look up this time, and Kyubei was glad for that because he wasn’t sure what face he made right then. “And those were women born into it. She barely knows what her title means.” 

He took a moment before replying, calming the part of his heart that leapt in response to that idea. “Perhaps. But most of those tales end in tragedy, too.”

Mitsuhide scoffed. “Because they were ill-considered.” He did look up then, and there was something in his gaze besides the usual calculation. An unexpected kindness. “I know you are many things, Kyubei. My most trusted assistant. My friend. But you are never careless.” He smiled and it was a gentler expression than his cutting crescent moon grin. “Should you - and I am not saying you are - but should you ever find yourself in love with any kind of princess, take hold of that happiness while you can.”

Kyubei nodded. He understood the fragile hope he was being handed. The gift, given with intent. “I will take that under consideration, my lord.”

“Good.” Mitsuhide’s eyes sparked with mischief. “And when you do, please do me a great favor. Moon after her out of my sight? I think your passionate gazes left syrup on my reports.”

“At your command,” Kyubei chuckled. “But surely it wasn’t that obvious.”

“I could have scraped sugar from the walls, watching the two of you dance around each other. She was about to crawl into your lap.”

“No. She was not! And I was holding back! Trying to be appropriate!” Kyubei protested.

Mitsuhide shook his head. “If that was your best attempt to pretend not to like a girl, I’m going to have to reconsider sending you out to spy for me.”

“You are as cruel as they say,” he sighed and put a hand to his chest. But inside, he was aglow with hope. Delicate as it was, as improbable and unlikely as anything, he was in love with a princess and maybe - just maybe - that was alright. She might even like him back.

[arctic-shard]

scp-012 causes whoever saw it to continue the notes using their own blood and if that person were to finish a section of the sheet, the person will kill themself declaring the piece is impossible to finish, I just thought it would be interesting gift for the Yellow Lord.

Bumping this up the queue because the furnace is broken and my office is too cold to work in, so drawing is out for now ( I can set my laptop up anywhere, but hauling out the peripheries like the scanner is Too Much Effort and I have no space for it in my temporary workspace. ) But I can write, and while I could just do a little illustration for this, the idea intrigues me too much to leave it at that anyway.

Dunno how old you are @randomlbirdo, so here's the warnings: No sex happens but there's a couple mentions of Odious as a sexually-active being. Self-harm, sort of, does it count when you're not doing it to hurt yourself, you just need to feed blood to a cursed artefact?

----------

The Unending Crescendo

The Yellow Lord Odious has an anomalous object stolen from the Foundation. It can resist the curse, but it can't resist a challenge …

---

The Lords of Alagadda, much as they considered Earth a backwater world, still kept an eye on it with their agents and cults. It was a wild place, full of emotion and stories and creativity and Alagaddans craved those things.

The Earth also contained the SCP Foundation - not a threat, but something to keep tabs on. The Foundation meddled with Alagadda occasionally, which was what initially drew the attention of the lords, but what kept their attention were the artefacts the Foundation had hidden away in storage. In their attempt to keep anomalies out of the hands of their fellow humans, the Foundation had gathered them up into convenient boxes that a determined Alagaddan Lord could borrow whenever it pleased.

There were ways to smuggle things in and out of Alagadda unchanged. They involved complicated alchemical wards and rituals, but it was doable.

This was not what the Yellow Lord, Wearer of the Odious Mask, was thinking about at the moment. It had put such plans into action weeks ago. It was busy in its study, sketching out musical notes as it played them - primary hands on the violin, secondary to write. The wastebasket nearby was overflowing with torn and crumpled sheets. Aside from the desk, the room contained dozens of musical instruments, including the organ it used for practice. The grand pipe organ of il Palazzo dell'Ira was in the audience hall.

Odious snarled as a knock on the door distracted it. Not that it was making any more progress than usual, but what if this time the notes were correct? It set down the violin with uncharacteristic gentleness, crumpled the sheet and threw it in the general vicinity of the wastebasket, then stalked to the door and flung it open.

A servant stood there, struggling with the weight of a gold case covered in alchemical symbols and the Yellow Lord's brand. The servant tried to lift the case to present it, but the gold was too heavy. "My Lord, I have the artefact. But do be careful with it."

The servant flinched under Odious' glare, the Yellow Lord not deigning to answer vocally. How dare this lesser being be concerned for it and not hateful? Odious was no apprentice alchemist who needed warnings, Odious was one of the great powers of Alagadda. But it did note how reluctantly the servant parted with the case, not because it wanted to protect Odious but because the artefact inside pulled at it. Odious had prepared for that - once the case was locked, only Odious could open it again, protecting its lessers from the artefact's curse. Odious needed the servant alive to deliver it, after all.

Odious chased the servant away, locked the door, and set the gold case on its desk.

It was one of the contradictions of Alagadda that Alagaddans were not themselves creative. The Humours were muses, sparking creativity in lesser beings but incapable of true creation themselves. Mirth was too stupid to care about this and Diligence even seemed to prefer copying, but Odious was different. Its role to be discontented, and one of those sources of discontent was that it was unable to compose its own music. Every time it tried, it only heard other composers - not mere influences but the core of the work. Nothing in its own compositions was Odious.

Deep in its twisted heart, Odious longed to be heard. Perhaps the only one who truly knew Odious was the Hanged King itself as it plundered Odious' mind for new sensations. But did the King really know it? Was it only interested in the hate Odious was created for and ignored its soul?

Odious could scream and use telepathy and fuck and torture, but these were all crude methods of communication compared to music. Music was pure. If Odious could just compose something of its very own, if it could write its Self in musical notation, maybe it would finally reach someone. Maybe someone would finally understand.

Maybe the King would be proud.

Millennia of failure had left it desperate enough to dabble in unknown magic. It drew a key from one of its pockets, licked the teeth to coat them in its bile, and opened the gold case.

Inside was a single sheet of music, penned in blood.

Perhaps it would accept Alagaddan ichor as a suitable ink.

Odious could feel the pull of the artefact. The page wanted blood. Odious denied it for now - no mere artefact could usurp the will of a Humour. Instead it set it on the desk. It hummed the melody as it read the score.

An interesting piece. Bold and jarring, but Odious quickly determined that this artefact wouldn't solve its problem. The score didn't change with each new blood donor, the music was using the blood to complete itself. Odious could add nothing to it but ink.

Odious lifted a hand to rip the paper to shreds in frustration, but changed its aim at the last instant to tear scratches in the table. It had put in an effort to claim this artefact. It would be more of a waste to destroy it immediately. Perhaps Odious could figure out the mechanism of it, to craft a page that it could wring out its heart over and write its own soul.

The melody had intrigued it. How would it sound with more parts played? Music was the purest language, playing the score would help Odious understand the artefact. It set the page on a music stand, settled itself beside the organ, and picked up the violin again.

Odious played perfectly. It always did. It had a passion for instrumental music from its awakening and had practiced for millennia. Two hands for the violin. Six on the organ - it didn't need to look at it to hit every note and pull every stop correctly.

The music was a discordant cacophony, mere noise to someone without Odious' experience. There was something in it, a pattern just at the edge of understanding. And the music just kept building. It shouldn't have been possible - a crescendo can't build forever, there needs to be a release or at least lessening of tension, but it never came. The single page somehow held thousands of lines of music, and the music swelled and built up and up for hours, frustrating and leaving Odious desperate for a conclusion, like an orgasm that just wouldn't come off …

The score ended so abruptly that for an instant Odious thought it had died. But it couldn't be dead, it had been dead before and its dead husk's hearts didn't hammer like this, its lungs didn't heave like this when it was dead. With shaking hands, it lowered its violin.

The violin had a chin rest made of Alagaddan porcelain-chitin, one of the few substances that Odious' bile couldn't destroy. It hadn't helped - Odious had leaked so much from its eyes and mouth that the bile had overflowed and scorched the instrument. Odious threw it aside and glared down at the music sheet.

"Where are you going with this? How do you end?" it hissed, taking the glove off one of its secondary hands and slicing the soft palm open with a talon. Thick, black ichor dripped onto the page and formed more notes.

Odious read the new lines. No conclusion, just more build-up. But it had to be near a resolution. It had to end. Odious ruptured some inner chambers in its body to send more ichor out of the wound.

The notes continued to form.

Odious wasn't going to let a piece of paper defeat it.

It picked up a new violin and readied itself beside the organ. There was no place to start from but the beginning - to begin in the middle would be an insult to the piece.

Odious could focus on regenerating its ichor to drip on the page and play the violin and play the organ. And, just to show the page who held the power, it sang the melody as well, a sharp, wordless soprano. It was the greatest musician in Alagadda, in all the lands of the Nevermeant, possibly even the multiverse. It was going to play the piece perfectly and to the end.

Hours later it reached the part written in its own ichor and kept playing. Odious was going to make it to the end. It was going to find the conclusion.

---

Odious woke up stiff and aching, staring up at the ceiling of its study. It tried to strech but couldn't move.

Finally awake, my lord?

The Ambassador. Odious managed to turn its head to find the hateful creature delicately unfolding the crumpled balls of paper from the wastebasket. It had no face, but Odious knew it was sneering at its attempts at writing music. Odious flexed its arms, recognising the feel of rope around them. "What are you doing here?"

Amusing myself by reading your pitiful efforts to create, my lord.

"Fuck you. You interrupted my practice."

The Ambassador huffed. Practice? You allowed yourself to be possessed by a mere artefact. I had to bind you to pry you away from it, all while you screamed that you had to finish the song.

While the Ambassador prattled, Odious managed to curl around to drip bile on some of the ropes to burn them away. With a few arms free, it began untying itself. "Where is the cursed music sheet?"

Back where your stooge took it from.

Perhaps the artefact was more dangerous than Odious had given it credit for, if the Ambassador itself had deigned to remove it from Alagadda. It was the humans' problem again. "What do you care what I do?"

I do not.

Which meant that it had been ordered. Which meant that the Hanged King had sensed something wrong with Odious and sent its servant to sort things out -

Odious' thoughts were interrupted by the Ambassador's laughter. Is that sentiment I sense in you, my lord? Does the Seething Prince long for daddy's approval? For shame. Our King will be most disappointed.

Finally free of the ropes, Odious lunged for the Ambassador. It stepped out of the way and Odious ended up tackling its own desk.

When Odious untangled itself from the furniture, the Ambassador was gone. Odious howled in rage, at the loss of its prey, at the Ambassador's taunts. You twist my thoughts! I don't want love and approval! I don't want softness! I am everything I am meant to be - I am hate and anger and passion and violence - and I am the best at it! I play my role perfectly! I want -

Odious needed to be perfect. Nothing less was enough. It had to be so perfect that no one could ever find flaw, not even itself. It was a hard way to live, a crescendo without end. If it was perfect, then people would finally notice all it did for Alagadda and appreciate it, instead of taking the rituals and concerts and efforts for granted. It did what it was meant to do but nobody cared that it did it well, they only noticed when Odious made a mistake, so Odious had to be perfect, perfect, perfect …

I want …

The ending Odious craved was to become so hateful, so despised that the Hanged King itself grew angry enough to blast it out of existence. To be seared into oblivion by the hate of a god … glorious. Perfection.

But Odious also wanted to lay its head in the Hanged King's lap, feel the desiccated fingers stroke its hair, and know its efforts and work were seen and appreciated. To know that it had succeeded at being the Yellow Lord, at being Odious. To know that the King was proud of it. To be able to rest, just for a little while.

Triumphant fine or quiet diminuendo, there could be no applause, no rest, until the play was over.

I want to know how it ends.

[sunlightandsuffering]

https://www.tumblr.com/sunlightandsuffering/743958271343427584/i-actually-tried-to-read-the-comments-but-past

I don’t deserve you 😭❤️ I actually just commented on your newest drabble on the dark blog!! My guilty pleasure would be under the table shenanigans during the dinner double date in MM but I know you haven’t written that yet so don’t worry!! I’m just curious about your ideas 👀

BABY ILY U DESERVE EVERYTHING! I HAVE TRIED LIKE 1000 TIMES TO WRITE THIS FOR U I HAVE LIKE 6 ITERATIONS SO ILL GIVE U MY BEST ONE SO FAR 😭😭 I’m having trouble with the tension or something it just keeps turning into a meme instead so I think after this scene where like they fight that Eren is gonna pull out the big guns under the table! HES GONNA STEAL COLTS CHAIR NONCHALANTLY !! AND THEN THE HAND ON THE THIGH ACTION WILL START! And after that it’ll be all magic 😈😈 and Mikasa will be forced to react but we’ll see my writing usually gets away from me 😂😂

“I hear seafood can be a real aphrodisiac,” Hitch says breathlessly as Eren hands her another oyster, her face flushed and Eren smiles wickedly at the change in conversation.

“I guess later on we’ll find out.”

Mikasa restrains herself from reaching across the table to stab Eren with her fork. Their plates are thankfully cleared before Mikasa can follow through on the desire.

Because Eren’s hand is grasped in Hitch’s, and she’s smiling up at him with such adoration, Mikasa can barely take it. The entire restaurant suddenly seems too suffocating, and she stands abruptly before she can do something stupid like strangle the blonde girl.

“I’m going to wash up before dessert,” She excuses herself and without another word she’s gone, off towards the bathroom without a look back.

Even the women’s washroom seems too cramped, and she bypasses it entirely to head out the large fire exit a little past the kitchen where chefs are barking out orders. The cold air is a relief as she steps outside into the brisk winter air, she hadn’t realized just how hot she’d been inside.

Mikasa fans herself lightly, flushed from emotions other than just her raging jealousy, fuck her stupid sex magic, fuck all of it.

Her musings are interrupted by none other than the problem himself, the back door slamming shut behind him, and immediately she greets him with a murderous glare.

“Antagonizing me during dinner, really, Eren?”

Eren shrugs casually, unphased by the accusation, “It’s not antagonizing, I was trying to make you jealous.”

Mikasa scoffs, looking away from him to stare out into the dark alley, a few dumpsters and a stray cat their only audience.

Before she can respond she can feel Eren’s dark presence looming behind her, his breath at her pulse, “And it’s working.”

Mikasa refutes this vehemently, “It’s not–”

She is cut off by a kiss that goes straight to her head, so ruinous that all protests leave her mind at once, the harsh possessive grip of his hands at her hips, lips bruising her own.

He’s walking her back towards the wall of the alley, and she’s sealed between cold brick and the addictive warmth of Eren’s body, caging her in. He kisses her like he’s trying to convince her of something and fuck it whatever it is she’s convinced, her hands knotted in his hair, yanking him closer.

They go blow for blow, he squeezes her ass, hauling her up into his arms, she pulls his hair, pulling it from its tie. Let him explain that to Hitch, the hair she’s been covering all night, she was the one who got to touch it first, mess it up.

They kiss like they fight, with more passion than she’s ever felt in her life and probably more aggression than is appropriate.

He slams her back into the brick wall so harshly that for a moment the breath is knocked out of her but there is no reprieve, Eren stealing the air from her lungs as he follows her with kisses.

But she’s not to be outdone, bites his bottom lip so hard she draws blood, digs her nails into the firm muscles of his shoulders.

“Fuck Mikasa,” he grunts shoving the hem of her shirt up, rough hands hungrily exploring soft curves, mapping out every inch of smooth skin

[builder051]

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies

—————-

Chasing Ghosts. Warning for drug mentions/implied drug use. Meant to be stupid and funny.

—————-

James sits at the table. He presses his cheek to its cool surface and wraps his arm around his head. He should go, he thinks. Somewhere. Not here. Or at least turn off the light.

The logical thing to do is plant himself in the bathroom and wait out his seasick headache. The thought of the bathroom sends James’s throat up to throb behind his clenched teeth. He won’t be turning off the light. He won’t be moving at all.

“It’s bad?”

Steve seems to have materialized in the kitchen. James doesn’t know how long he’s had an audience. He’d taken his hearing aids out a while ago. With his echolocation gone and his eyes hidden, James knows he’s a sitting duck. Not that Steve would ever hurt him. Well, not on purpose. He sometimes gets a little rough when administering first aid.

“Eh,” James says to the inside of his elbow. “You probably know better than I do.”

“Mm,” Steve muses. James imagines him stroking his chin in contemplation. “You have a headache and feel like you want to hurl?”

“Yeah…” James pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “I don’t know. When, I mean. If.”

“You never do know.”

There’s a scraping sound and a vibrating sensation as Steve pulls up a seat. James bites his lip. He’d rather taste blood than bile.

“I mean, I can guess. I can try to help. Hold your hair. Or a mop.” Now that he’s close, James hears the uncertainty in Steve’s voice.

“Yeah. Try consulting your magic 8 ball or something. ‘S as good as anything else.”

Steve gives a quiet laugh. “I would if I could.”

“Wait, what?” Tasha’s running up the hallway, her words going from muffled to sonorous. James pretends he doesn’t suppress an instinctive swallow. He can’t acknowledge what doesn’t exist. Logic bends as James’s head makes a particularly strong throb. He’s losing his grip on reality. He must be. Tasha awake and moving at this hour on a Saturday morning? James assumes it’s still morning. It was morning when his mild headache turned to extreme vertigo and sent him tilting toward a chair.

“Oh, hey, Tasha.” Steve says.

James forces out his own sound of greeting.

“Who has an 8 ball?” Tasha speaks quickly, tripping over her words. She’s probably on an upper already. Hopefully her very own, very legal Adderall. She has absolutely no need for cocaine.

“Nobody,” James groans. He lifts his head just enough to give his sister a scathing look. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a bathrobe that hangs far to low in the front.

“I heard you—“ Tasha starts.

“No.” James shuts his eyes and bows flat to the table again, this time cooling his aching forehead.

“It was, you know.” Steve sounds slightly embarrassed. Maybe because he won’t leave the bedroom in just boxers. Whose dignity he’s still pretending to protect, James will never ask.

Steve clears his throat and goes on. “Like, the toy kind? Where you ask it a question and shake it?”

“Oh.” Tasha’s disappointed. She recovers in a beat and says, “I had one of those once. As a kid. It was dumb. It wasn’t right about anything.”

“I was thinking about ordering one on Amazon.” Steve puts too much positivity into his tone. The man will do anything to avoid a confrontation.

“If you really want one, just give me a few bucks. I can have it by tonight.” James sincerely hopes she’s joking. Well, not joking, exactly. He hopes she won’t do it, whether to spite him or any other reason.

“That won’t be necessary.” James sees Steve’s gluey smile projected onto the backs of his eyelids.

“Might help your headache.” Tasha pokes James in the shoulder. He grunts and swallows frenetically, determined not to lose control.

“Tash…” James sighs. “Just leave it.”

“If you say so.”

Silence briefly ensues, then a cabinet opens and the sink starts running. Then the table jiggles again as Tasha joins them. She sips her water, then casually asks, “What question were you going to ask, anyway? The 8 ball?”

“Oh.” Steve laughs.

“You can tell her,” James says, then breathes deeply and focuses on the feeling of his nose squashing as he rests his forehead directly against the hardwood.

“It was, um,” Steve warms himself up. “We were going to ask, uh, whether or not James is going to puke.”

“Hm.” Tasha sets down her glass. “Well, duh. You could’ve just asked me.”

“What sayest you?” Steve gives James the floor. Which he may or may not be about to soil.

James has reached his limit. If he speaks, if he so much as acknowledges his turn in the conversation, his jaw will unhinge and everything will fall to pieces. He steels himself and clenches his abdominal muscles as much as he can. “Yeah.” It comes out in a gasp that’s probably inaudible as he takes off in a rush toward the bathroom.

[ratsandfashion]

Just left an RP blog I'd had for seven years, the fandom it was for, and the Tumblr RPC in general. Don't want to name it, but while I loved my mutuals and the character, the canon around the character had changed in a really negative way and fandom had reacted in kind, and slowly but surely it just made me more and more unhappy. Not only did I no longer engage with the source material because it was so shitty, but I started getting upset and jealous when I just saw things of other characters who had nothing to do with it, simply because I was envious they hadn't undergone this treatment, that even if they had a rough patch of writing they could come back from it in a way my guy couldn't, that people who were fans of them weren't alone and had entire sub-communities of support who agreed canon was being shitty. . .I just got upset at smaller and smaller things in ways that weren't healthy at all, and my misery started outweighing my good experiences. It wasn't healthy at all, and it was absurd if I'm being objective because holy shit this is just FICTION some people have REAL problems, but that's autistic hyperfixation and obsession for you. It just mattered way too much for me. I'm really sad to break away from something that brought me so much joy and connection with others, but I'd been strongly considering it since last year. Looking forward to it, even, fantasizing about being free from my own stupid overreactions having such a hold on me. I am staying in touch with friends I made there, but tbh I don't think that's going to last. Not because we're not real friends but because that's just been my experience with leaving places but staying in contact with folks from them. You don't mean to, but you drift apart sooner or later. My time in the fandom did really improve my art because it drove me to work out it, since my mutuals gave me an audience, no matter how small, and my muse gave me so many ideas and pushed me to work on things I never would have pursued drawing on my own. So I am worried about not keeping up practice and making stuff, but I'm going to do my best. Some part of me wishes I'd stayed and roughed it out longer but I know this was the better decision for my own good. I just regret that it wasn't due to simply losing interest on my own, I still love this character, but due to external circumstances making that enjoyment more of a burden than a delight. I think I'm just gonna go back to fandomless OCs for a long time after this.

[deathfavor]

@ashrifts said: "3, 2, 1..." for serpent <3

Send "3,2,1..." for a new years kiss from my muse

One year dies and another is born, and such an event calls for only the most exuberant celebrations as if to appease the new year. The club is full of dazzling lights, glittering chandeliers and the finest of decorations served alongside phenomenal food that is more art than food. ( Some people seem reluctant to destroy such beauty but ultimately cave for the exquisite flavors that burst upon their tongues. ) It is to be expected, when the underworlds greatest and society's elite are the guests of the exclusive club. More often than not, they are one and the same.

It was no surprise to Serpent that her presence was requested. Something dangerous and beautiful always gets hearts racing, and the rich are gluttonous for such catered shows. ( But they are happy, Serpent can taste the happiness in the air. ) So she appears with her venomous snakes, with her magic that no one seems able to comprehend ( how do airy bubbles turn into vibrant blue butterflies? how do flames become snow sprinkling from the ceiling ? Secrets she shall not divulge. ) They laugh and clap and look as enraptured in her shows when she's on the stage.

It is different the moment she steps off. People like dangerous things then they're protected by glass cages or seated in the audience, not when it can walk among them. Serpent is used to it, the mix of fear and awe. But no one dares approach. Certainly not as midnight draws near and traditions come to mind.

Then, Serpent sees Ran, and her pleasant enough smile becomes little more genuine. She hadn't known he would be here. Serpent makes her way easily through the crowd to him, a bright smile on her lips. " I didn't know you'd be here! Aw, if I'd known, I could have gotten you something extra. " Maybe another time. " Are you having a good time? Did you like the show? " She asks, while Vesper lifts her head from where she's been laying draped against Serpent's throat to flick a tongue in greeting towards Ran.

A cheer from the crowd draws her attention away briefly from the man. Displays flick on to show a timer, and the energy in the building becomes a buzz in the clamor to get celebratory drinks or conveniently find someone to happen to stand by. Serpent observes - she's always been alone at this time, a monster among humans. But Ran doesn't cower away from her or Vesper seems unfazed by her own serpentine visage. It'd be fun to try this tradition, at least once. Maybe she'd finally taste the happiness she brings others.

Serpent turns her hand and two cards appear in her hand, and she offers a playful wink towards Ran when they seem to dissolve into flower petals, just for her to suddenly be holding two glasses filled with blue. One she keeps for herself, but the other she offers to him with a smile. " On the house, of course. " It's sweet on her tongue when she takes a sip, no surprise to herself.

The buzzing grows louder as the countdown gets louder.

10...9...8...

Serpent blinks and then turns to Ran, till purple eyes and serpentine eyes meet.

7...6...5...

He doesn't seem opposed, so Serpent stands up on her tippy toes, cool fingertips resting gently against his cheek.

4...3...2...

Thankfully, he bends down so the strain is not so great.

1 !

Serpent leans forward and presses her lips against Ran's while cheers erupt in the room by those not participating in the tradition. It's silly, but it's all in good fun. Serpent's kiss is gentle, sweet like caramel rather than bitter like a snake's venom. Her kiss is soft and demands nothing, and she pulls back after a moment, leaving the sweetness to linger upon his lips even in her absence. She offers a cheerful giggle, sinking back into the flat of her feet again.

" Happy new years! " She offers him, turning her head a fraction to take a sip of her drink.

[dragonsinkwell]

Hihi, Rae! I'm here to ask you the following: #1, #4, #8, #11, #12, #14, #20, #21, and #23, please and thank you! Cheers, hon! ☕

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

I can't say I prefer one or the other, I just rarely have the drive these days to consider a multi-chapter. My heart's a little dim because the audience is so quiet that I don't even know who I'm writing for, and why bake a cake when there's no one to eat it? But I wish I could and had written more chaptered pieces over all my little one-shots.

Link your three favorite fics right now

Control - by you, b/c it slaps and it's never leaving my top 3

A Warlock's Magic by @aunclassynerd b/c it also slaps and has sat in my head recently

distraction - by one flintstrike on Ao3 (@suguwu) and damn, got me thinking Things for the first character in a while to have me thinking

How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Honestly??? It's not like no feedback sends me into some spiral but like, go out and make things you think are nice and take some considerable work and have no one bat an eye at any of them. Do it for days, weeks, months. It's hard and it's not very fun any more. I can just daydream my ideas to myself with no effort at all, it's not as much but why bust ass for something that honestly feels unwanted?

Everyone talks about that 'two cakes' comic but like, what good is a cake when no one wants it? I can go buy a cupcake at the store instead and not have to clean up a whole bunch of dishes if it's just myself. No one ever giving back feedback just sounds like the work's not worth it and I'm best just daydreaming and giggling on Discord with the two people tops who have any interest in it.

If you want cakes, then you have to buy them and convince the baker that the work is worth it for them, and all it costs is a little feedback from enough people, aka entirely free.

How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

It's hard to explain, I feel. In the age old 'Architect/Gardener' split I'm at least 90% gardener and just sorta... let things happen. I let the story speak to me, let the characters act as they would and I simply polish up what is given to me by the muse.

I can't say I directly feel what the characters do, but I know the feelings are there in most every case in one way or another, and I try to draw on those to help ensure some level of empathetic accuracy, so that the readers can feel at least some of what I hope to convey.

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

I can't say that I have? But then I also don't super re-read a ton of my own pieces, either, so perhaps therein lies the issue.

Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

Oh my gosh yes. I know I tried here once, many moons ago for a Spooktober collab, and I'd so gladly try again. I'm one to really love working with people, even just as someone to bounce ideas around with.

Best writing advice for other writers?

Find yourself an honest audience. Obviously, you ought to be in it as Numero Uno, but the outside voices help more than you know, especially if you want to improve. Find yourself co-conspirators who can give honest critique in the voice that helps you the most, people who can point out what your style is lacking and needs, where its slips are, but also what it has to its benefits, what your strengths are and where you're hitting all your home runs.

Critique isn't always this list of failures, it ought to also be laced with its praises too, so you can compare the two and see, yes, what you need to improve upon, but also where you're ahead of the game. It's good company for that, people who can give you both while enjoying your work that are worth more than their weight in gold.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Herodotus, Samos, and Athenian democracy and imperialism - II (the last sections of the lecture of Pr. Christopher Pelling on Herodotus and Samos)

“VII

So Samos looks forward. Let me end by thinking about the ways it looks forward to Herodotus’ own day. In those earlier cases we saw how Samian sequences leave questions hanging for the later narrative to take up; this last sequence has left questions hanging after the narrative ends, questions to be answered in the light of later events. Is this, then, a concealed commentary on contemporary affairs? Is it for instance a case of ‘Herodotus warns the Athenians’, the title of a well-known article by John Moles? 47 My own emphasis would be on this as more of a two-way affair, with contemporary events often deepening the audience’s understanding of what had gone on in the past, in 480 and 479 and before; if, after all, one is looking for recurrent patterns in human experience – and I am sure Herodotus is, just as Thucydides is – one is bound to compare past and present in some such way, noticing those elements that recur in one’s own experience just as in Herodotus’ own narrative one sees patterns recurring from one phase to another. Carolyn Dewald has made the attractive suggestion that Herodotus can be writing for an audience in the future who will know the answers to some questions that he cannot yet answer himself. 48 Will Athens’empire end by falling into the same pattern as Persia’s, as the end of Herodotus’ narrative may seem to be suggesting? Or will Athens turn out to be different, perhaps because it is democratic, perhaps because it is simply more Greek, just as the mainland Greeks were more Greek than the Samians and put up a better show? Herodotus cannot yet know the answer to that, whenever he wrote; but he knows that many of his audience will, in that timeless future that he makes clear in his first sentence that he is envisaging. 

‘Whenever he wrote…’: yes, it would be interesting to know when Herodotus published his History, and there is no space here to go into that; of course we are over-simplifying byeven putting the question like that, as in this world ‘publication’ was not a single once-for-all thing. (I will just say again that the traditionally favoured date of around 425 seems to me to rest on a total misreading of the relation of Herodotus and the Acharnians. 49) But let me play with how Herodotus might be read or heard at two particular junctures twenty years apart, first in 432 or so – a date when Herodotus was clearly still alive and it is likely that the Histories had not yet reached their final form, though doubtless many were hearing them in lectures – and a second around 411, when the work was probably but not certainly ‘finished’,and so – probably but not certainly – was Herodotus himself.

So let us recreate three friends, all very familiar with Herodotus, who meet up every now and again to muse on what they see around them. Let us call them A, B, and – T.

We catch them first in the late 430s, with Samos heavily on the mind. A is very indignant: does not that brutality in Samos show Athens to be the new Persia, the new big bully infringing Greek autonomy? What has happened to all that freedom rhetoric of 480? That man Herodotus knew a thing or two, pointing us to all those suggestions of what was coming next, Greek against Greek taking the place of Greek against Persian; and he was right to draw attention to Athenian atrocity at the very end of that last logos of his, withthat torturing and execution of a Persian Artayctes and the killing of his son before his eyes – not quite in the Persian manner (not enough mutilation for that), but quite enough to be going on with. Why, only last week I saw a group of Samians with samaina stamped on their foreheads. Not nice at all. Well, thank God for the Spartans, that’s what I say.They’ll come, soon enough: they after all were the ones who made all the difference in 479. And in the war that’s going to come, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of Greece were to be on Sparta’s side, talking as they will about their role as champions of freedom.50 

To which B replies: hah. HAH. Talk, indeed: that’s what the Spartans do, and they don’t even do a lot of that. They talked about intervening back in 440-39, but that didn’t come to much; and you’ll remember from Herodotus that they couldn’t wait to get out in 479. They’re really the ones who landed us in this: it’s their fault, letting the Athenians getting to be as big as they are.51 And if it’s not their fault, then it’s the rest of the ‘allies’: they were the ones who couldn’t be bothered to provide ships – just like those toil-shy Ionians back at the battle of Lade (remember?), so they’ve only themselves to blame.52 Not that the ones who do provide ships rather than money have done themselves all that proud, either; after all, the Chians and Lesbians joined in back in 440-39 – but on the Athenian side, not the Samian.53 So much for all that Ionian unity that they talk about in the Panionian festival: hah! And freedom? Well, I’m not sure if this new-fangled 54 talk, linking freedom and democracy, will really catch on: it seems a bit simplistic to me. If it does come to war, I’ve even heard that that Spartan king Archidamus is talking about looking to Persia for help. 55  Couldn’t rely on Spartans in 440, can’t rely on them now. At any time we may need a strong front against the real tyrant, the one in Persia. Athens was the real saviour of Greece then: Herodotus was right (7.139). And now too Athens is our only hope.

And T? He is quietly taking notes. Whatever the rights and wrongs of Athens’ actions, he knows that Athens realistically couldn’t afford Samos to get away with secession – that would be as unreasonable as to think that a tiny city like, say, Melos could afford to defy Athens, and he knows that’s just not the way empires work. It’s not the way Herodotus’ Persian empire worked either: if Ionian states don’t dance to the imperial tune willingly, they’ll dance unwillingly (1.141), and they might have remembered that. And will there be war? Yes, I dare say: I remember from various stories of Herodotus that Sparta was willing to be roused when they felt it necessary, and had had their eye nervously on the rising Athenian democracy since way back – since what will one day be Herodotus Book 5, in fact. 56  And it’sgoing to be a big one. But I’m also wondering about the cost of it all: I’ve seen an inscription that put the cost of the Samian War at over 1400 talents. 57 True, Athens is getting some of that back in reparations, but that’s quite a big fraction of the money Athens might have for a full-scale war, and Samos, however big, is still just an outlier. Why, if it comes to war and I were going to put words in Pericles’ mouth, I think I’d make him explain exactly how the Athenians are going to afford it. 58 

VIII  

Time fast-forwards. Now we are in 411; this time our three friends are meeting in Thrace, owing to an unfortunate blip in the career of T. The Sicilian catastrophe has been and gone; the Ionian War is getting underway; we are now in the throes of the revolution in Athens itself. Meanwhile Samos has acquired a new significance, as the base for Athenian operations in the Aegean.There has been stasis there again, of a sort that is quite hard to pin down. The demos has risen against the dunatoi, but it looks likely that those dunatoi were not in fact an oligarchy but the big men within a pre-existing democratic constitution; and there has been a further twist, with the new powerful clique, hitherto thinking themselves the demos, now forming a group of 300 and attacking others, designating those others as the demos (Thuc. 8.21, 63.3, 73.2). Now that has settled down as well, and Samos is a democracy again; the Athenian troops themselves there, after flirting themselves with oligarchy, are now at odds with the city, a sort of democracy in exile, and what they are now flirting with is Alcibiades. There is a lot going on.

A again goes first. Told you so: those Athenians just can’t help overreaching, and look what’s happened to them in Sicily. It’s just like the Persian empire in Herodotus – that step westwards too far. And I told you too that those Spartans would finally get their act together, just like they did back then, and get on with that liberating. True, these islands have taken their time to start asserting their liberty, but then they did the same back in 479. It’s just a matter of time; Athens’ days are numbered. And as for Samos! They couldn’t get their act together then to be free, now they can’t even manage their stasis properly. You’d think they could at least work out which side was which.

B: well, there’s something in what you say. But I shouldn’t write Athens off just yet, nor their democracy.59 They haven’t lost all their self-belief: you should just listen to how upbeat they’re being at Samos, talking as if they don’t need the city at all and can go round as kings ofthe sea, imposing their will wherever they go. 60  And you know, all this business of an Athens-across-the-water at Samos reminds me of something else: way back in our finest hour, wasn’t the whole point that Athens was prepared to move en bloc to Salamis and Troezen? And this Alcibiades chap reminds me a lot of Themistocles too: has his ups and downs with Athens, has a suspicious tendency to be found whispering in corners with Persian friends, but he has the look of someone who might be their saviour. Mind you, that might end in tears, too. And I can understand what you say about Samos, couldn’t organize a decent bit of simple stasis even after a Manchester derby; but then, that’s partly because they’re so used to complex pieces of stasis, with exiles just over the water in their own peraia for thirty years stirring things up. 61 If T over there ever writes that book of his and tries to give a clear-cut picture of stasis, I think he’d be quite wise to go for one of the early, rather simpler cases, some other island – Corcyra might do. But one thing’s clear: the way that Ionia and the islands are finding it as difficult to get a coherent act together now as they did then, and lots of them keep changing sides. God help the person who ever tries to write a proper narrative of that. 

That last point seems to be making T oddly uneasy: why, it is almost as if he has already got a half-finished manuscript in his closet. He is certainly struck, though, by this business at Athens. It really was quite something to finish off democracy after 100 years .62 But you remember the way that Herodotus talked about the inspiring power of democracy, the way people fight all the better when they’re fighting for themselves, and you can tell that by the way that the Athenians started dominating others as soon as they’d got rid of tyranny themselves (5.78)? Well, this is all turning that on its head, isn’t it? They’re not dominating others so easily any more, and so they’re less full of their democratic selves as well; it’s the inverse, they’re losing that can-do confidence. In fact, it’s something of the same again, because the people who are really doing all the work are now the ones who are seizing power in the democracy, to make sure that they’re doing it all for themselves and not for anyone else (Thuc. 8.63.4). Interesting, isn’t it, the way that these democrats always turn out not to be so different from people you’d expect to be their exact opposite? And that’s another thing that Herodotus knew, with all those hints of Athens as the new Persia … 

 IX  

So T[hucydides] might have learnt quite a lot as he mused about this war with his Herodotus in his hand and his heart: Thucydides, the man who was said to have left a lecture of Herodotus in tears, presumably tears of joy. 63 I am certainly not  suggesting that we should be chary of finding contemporary indications in Herodotus, because they can point in so many different directions at once: anything but. Whenever he wrote, even if it was as late as 411 and it probably was not, there was much in the contemporary world that resonated with whathe was describing. What is more difficult is to make that resonance simple or single,‘Herodotus warns the Athenians’ or anything else. Exactly what the most telling analogies would be between Herodotus’ theme and the present was still uncertain – whenever the present might be, including (as Carolyn Dewald said) the present that was not yet foreseeable by the historian but would be known to readers, including perhaps those readers in 411. What could be foreseen was only that there would be analogies there; and thinking about the past would be a very good way of thinking about the present too, and – importantly –vice versa as well. It is not a monologic text. Each of us can pick his or her own resonance, our own lesson, and those lessons can change as the present changes.

And if I feel my lesson is better than your lesson? Why, we can sit down and talkabout it, probably heatedly, much like A, B, and T so many years ago. 64 “  

On line source with the whole lecture: https://www.academia.edu/42060635/HERODOTUS_AND_SAMOS

Professor Christopher Pelling, Regius Professor of Greek emeritus, Christ Church. Emeritus Professor; formerly Regius Professor of Greek, 2003-15, and McConnell Laing Fellow and Praelector in Classics, University College, Oxford, 1975-2003. Fellow of the British Academy; Fellow of the Learned Society of Wales.

Source: https://www.classics.ox.ac.uk/people/professor-christopher-pelling

[sigmadolos]

@guiltscorched​ said: My muse takes a hit to protect your muse from a fatal attack, how does your muse react?     /     fyodor sees the angel fall as if in slow motion, and staggers. this was not the plan. this was not how he foresaw it; this was not supposed to be. sigma, with all his foolish fits of emotion, was supposed to stay on the chessboard where fyodor had placed him. yet here, he leaps from it, directly into an attack intended to kill. 

the demon is cold and methodical as he acts now, plans re-forming and crystallising in the grim chambers of his mind. he draws the gun hidden in his coat and shoots their assailant, disregarding his previous intent to press them for information. instinct now demands that he attend to sigma and so he does, weak arms dragging the prone - but alive! - form into their hold. "foolish," he mutters, as he begins to walk: carrying sigma, slowly and carefully, back where fyodor may tend to him. he is not permitted to die just yet. "things like this will be your undoing, sigma."

MY MUSE TAKES A HIT TO PROTECT YOURS FROM A FATAL ATTACK, SEND YOUR MUSES REACTION

     Everything had been going to plan until it wasn’t. It wasn’t a big display, the shift in the man’s  body language. It was a CASUAL gesture as a matter of fact, ordinary. Except it immediately set alarms up to Sigma because in all the behavior he’d been observing, the man did not display such body language. Instinctual dread kicked into high gear, an awareness that SOMETHING was wrong. It crawled like a spider down his spine, a gut feeling that Death was looming and Fyodor was in danger. It was an instinct he trusted because it’d helped him survive his own darkest times. He didn’t hesitate to throw himself in front of the russian mere seconds before the first gunshot rang out, loud and clear. 

   It’s fast and slow at he same time. The millisecond of shock before the pain claws into his chest with razor sharp talons and macabre flowers blossom on his chest as red stains his suit. It must’ve only been a few milliseconds, before Sigma finds himself falling slowly like he’s sinking through heavy water. He doesn’t feel the pain when he hits the ground or hear the second gunshot, everything feels muted and far way. Everything except the pain that tears at his mind nd the garden of red that grows from his chest with each passing second. 

   A weak, faint noise leaves his wounded chest when he feels arms grab him, and for a moment he struggles between the present and the ghosts of past, but it’s gone in a moment when he feels himself be drawn closer to the warmth of someone else, when he hears the familiar voice in his ear. He blinks, dull eyes lifting to look towards Fyodor at the comment.

   “  No.  “  It hurts to speak, the words claw at his throat, but still Sigma speaks, shaking his head slowly in disagreement to the assessment.  “  Not to me at least. Not when your life was in  danger.  “  Fyodor’s life has value to it. But Sigma’s  .  .  .  

   His head weakly tucks itself against Fyodor’s shoulder. He didn’t expect to be LIFTED, but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t cry or whimper at any step that send jolts of pain through overactive nerves. The angel stays muted in his suffering, speaking only in his thoughts on his acts. He endured his suffering in silence as he always has. The words give him something to focus on, to help with the lightheadedness even as his eyes half-close. “  You’re okay though .  . . that’s good . . .  “  A absently mumbled comment, though if it was intended for Fyodor or Sigma to himself was an impossible task to tell without the man himself confirming its intended audience.

   “  Probably.  “  Sigma smiles a sad sort of knowing smile, whispering his agreement as he remains tucked against Fyodor’s body.  “  But I should think that I would not regret it, if there is at least meaning in it. ”  His eyes squeeze shut for a moment when wave of white hot pain seems as though it will override his sense.  “..I- I’m sorry for having to change plans.  “  He adds, voice growing softer, lifting his eyes up to catch a glimpse of the other.   “  I can...can try to grab the information from the corpse..”  He mumbles in offering, one hand clutched over the wound to apply at least some pressure to help slow the blood loss. THAT is perhaps the foolish aspect of this - to offer when he’s certain Fyodor will not accept.

   How the angel loathes to be an inconvenience! But he would relive it again a thousand times over and change nothing if it meant to save Fyodor the pain of injury or from Death’s hungry jaws. 

[amischiefofdeets]

DEADPOOL

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CHARACTER SUMMARY

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A wisecracking mercenary turned anti-hero, he tries to help people in his own way, even if that means leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He's capable of breaking the 4th wall, commenting on things happening in the real world outside of the content he's in. He's capable of healing from pretty much anything, but unfortunately it means his cancer leaves him with tumours all over his body, making him a bit wary of letting anyone see him underneath the suit.

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WRITING NOTES

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My Wade is a mix of various sources with the movies as a baseline, sprinkle in some elements of the comics, some of my own headcanon nonsense. I utilise [little boxes] when writing him, based loosely on his comic iterations. [This one] is Wade's inner voice, while [This one] is the voice of the writer - Wade is aware of the writers voice and can respond to it both internally or verbally - in the latter case most characters tend to believe he's crazy unless they're versed in meta/4th wall breaking nonsense too. Unlike any of my other muses, I almost exclusively write Wade in present tense, IE. 'He grabs hold of the thing, it seems like it might be something important but he doesn't have time to think.' because that flows a lot better with his commentary about what's going on, just feels more natural and flows better. I am not bothered if rp partners use different tense, that doesn't matter to me at all, just do what's comfy. Wade is also prone to delusions, full blown daydream scenes of things that aren't really happening, and thus in certain situations he's likely to make absolutely NO SENSE. It's totally fine for characters to address this and react accordingly.

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MUSE DETAILS

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Name: Wade Wilson Nicknames/Alias: Deadpool, DP Race: Turned mutant, formerly Human. Age: Around 45 Height: 6'1 Gender: Male Sexuality: Pansexual Location: All over the place Occupation: Mercenary/Hero Abilities: Accelerated healing, nearly immortal, skilled with countless guns and swords, and talented at hand to hand contact. Reputation: Insane. Pretty much everyone assumes he's an unhinged wackjob who can occasionally do the right thing when he feels like it, some people know he has a heart but only those close to him. Mental state: Very unstable - he is capable of breaking the 4th wall, or at least the audience understands that, everyone else just thinks he's rambling nonsense to himself.

Scars: Whole body is covered in tumours/scarring. Tattoos: N/A Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Goals: Protect the people he cares about, maybe become a hero if he can (without giving in to their holier than thou practices), have fun. Hobbies: Collecting things, playing at arcades, drawing (in crayon) Likes: Golden girls, weapons, making references, unicorns, killing, Dislikes: Being bored, people seeing his face, following the rules Family: N/A

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VERSES

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#MIXING IT UP - MAIN VERSE - Set in (mostly) canon post Deadpool and Wolverine - with comic influences.

Okay, to avoid spoilers for the time being I'm just stating where my wade differs from film canon here. I'll edit this once the movie has been out a while but the basic changes are as follows: - Vanessa stayed dead after DP2, she's now playing the role that Mistress Death played in the comics, where the two of them are separated by mortality but consider themselves in an open relationship. He can only see her when he 'dies' for long enough. - He hates showing his face, he will actively freak out if his mask is taken off around people. At most he might bring it up just below his nose but that's as far as it's going. - He's spent his time doing the whole mercenary gig and avoiding any big responsibilities between DP2 and W&D.

#HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIDE - Set during Deadpool 2 - Mostly canon.

Spending time taking out really bad guys, he ends up losing Vanessa - the love of his life - to a failed job that followed him home. Blaming himself, he tries to end his life, which only accomplishes allowing him to see her on the other side. He ends up teaming with the X-men, fails them and gets put in jail trying to protect a kid (by killing, but come ON they deserved it!) and ultimately comes face to face with Cable, a time traveller sent to stop the kid he was trying to protect. Blah blah blah, save the kid, didn't save his girl but saved Cable's family - so it balances out a little. At least he gets to see Vanessa whenever he's close to death.

#ORIGINS (NO-NOT THAT ONE) - Set during the first Deadpool movie - mostly canon

Just your typical romance story where a handsome mercenary meets a girl, they fall in love and live happily together.. Until he gets cancer. When offered a chance at survival if he becomes a human lab rat, he agrees, wanting to do by right by Vanessa even if it means vanishing in the middle of the night. Getting powers takes a lot of torture it turns out, so he's put through hell until he gets his regenerative abilities, which also fucks up his handsome face. He wants it to be fixed, chases down the guy who did it to him and failing to catch him means Vanessa gets taken. He kills the bad guy and gets the girl.

#PAID JOBS - Set pre-Deadpool movie

Just a mercenary making his money by fucking up bad guys, he doesn't need superpowers for that.

#DIE DIE DIE - Set post-'Deadpool kills the Marvel Universe' - Slightly divergent

After being sectioned by Xavier, Wade is accidentally left in the care of 'psycho man' who tries to manipulate Wade to use him as a weapon. This kills his 'little voices' and makes him aware of the fact that he is just a character - this isn't a matter of just breaking the fourth wall, it comes with the realization that every hardship both he and those he cares about has been orchestrated by the writers and comic artists.  No longer seeing those he cares about as 'people', he sets about killing them systematically, killing every hero and villain he can get his hands on in order to help them and find a way to get to the creators. This is where my Wade diverges, he never finds the writers. This Wade has been through countless universes, slowly but surely tiring of killing those he cares about but there's a coldness to him. An emptiness that will be jarring to anyone meeting him for the first time, especially if they know a Deadpool who is still so full of life. For interactions, consider: he might need a place to crash and rest, perhaps he's gone to your muse with hopes of figuring out how to get to the creators, maybe someone mistakes him for their Wade and tries to help him with whatever is wrong. Just to name a few ideas.

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TAGS

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LOGAN - FICKLEFABLES

[jodilin65]

If that was Abby on Pinterest with the Harry Potter boards who sent me that "Hey!" and then disappeared when I asked if it was her, I could totally kick myself for asking that. Totally! Once again, I scared off this person I've always been curious about. I should avoid her like the plague because we've had problems in the past, but I can't help but wonder about her, this much younger person in upstate New York who has read my journal religiously since 2017.

To recap the Abby story for my private blogs: she's a Potterhead who is also into the Pee Wee Herman movies, even though she's already 31. She's autistic, emotional, and moody, which is why I should stay away if I were smart. I think what draws me to her are two things: she's read my journal for so long, and she seems highly intelligent based on her writing. Where I would use Kate Jackson and Nane and other people as writing muses, she uses the Harry Potter characters.

The thing that annoys me about her is that while she does have some accounts that she's had for a while now, she constantly deletes and creates new accounts. I'm not sure if it's because she's that unstable or just wants to remain on the front page of the new user list. She calls it starting over, but all you have to do is delete your entries or books if you want to do that. There's nothing a new account can do that an old one can't. So, I think it's about remaining quietly in the spotlight. Sometimes, she doesn't even allow comments, as if she wants a one-way interaction with her audience.

She's incredibly shy and doesn't comment on my stuff, and if I ask too many questions, she deletes her account. One reason she is this way is that she got screwed over by some online trolls years ago. She's bisexual and has had abusive partners and family members and was going to hang herself one time when things got too much for her. When she chickened out, she was called a coward by some sick, twisted trolls.

One time she blew up at me because I gave her friendly suggestions for journaling. Because she won't contact me directly, she wrote in her bio that she didn't appreciate anyone “policing” her journal and how much that pissed her off. I wrote in my own bio that I wasn't telling anyone what to do with their journal but was merely making suggestions and throwing out ideas for her to take or leave. She apologized profusely, and while that right there is a huge red flag along with the constant deleting and creating accounts every few days and other things, it's hard for me to be smart where she's concerned. Anyone else and I wouldn't have anything to do with them. But this one definitely keeps my curiosity piqued.

I wish I could wind back the hours and respond to her message with a simple hello. It might have been fun to see what she would have said and take it from there. She started to journal in another account on PB, and I asked if it was her, and sure enough, it was, and she quit updating it. Sometimes I'm too smart for my own good. I've been very hesitant to contact her there because I don't want to scare her off and into deleting the account, knowing how shy she is. She's admitted that she avoids people to prevent conflict.

As I said, there are a handful of red flags that I should be mindful of. Recently, or at least recently enough, she cut herself. She said she did it on her stomach so her co-workers couldn't see. I guess she works in a cardboard factory.

I told her in a public blog that if it really was her and she wished to contact me anonymously, please don't give up. I told her it was the Potter pics that gave her away and to wait a while so it's not too obvious and create another account that's empty or at least with pins I wouldn't connect to her and message me again if she wants.

Now I'm left to forever wonder what she would have said had I not known it was her or at least played dumb. Funny too because I've noticed some Potter fan pages being suggested to me on Facebook. I thought Facebook didn’t recommend people who looked in on our profile but I also can’t be entirely sure that they’re connected to her any more than the Pinterest message.