#rather not have and responsibilities he’d like to abandon. it’s also interesting bc him and Phylidia clearly had very different ideas abt

[scrappedtogether]

one of your posts made me remember that I used to be obsessed with riva ras regas when I was a kid because i had a crush on rufus lol

This is so valid, Anon!!! I also had a pretty big crush on him when I was a kid. I think it was a combination of his voice, his stage presence, and how sweet he was with his cat. 😂 He’s for sure one of the reasons I love Riva Ras Regas so much! You’re not alone at all, Anon!

[wackernagels]

prefacing this w personal meta on yang jian as a god but it’s actually just more meta on my yang jian esper oc:

i understand yang jian as someone who loves and cares very deeply, and also as someone who adheres strictly to a set of morals. and like most times these two things can coexist bc in most cases it is not a bad thing to care about others, etc. but if he has to choose between one or the other it almost seems like he is conflicted in the choice. to save his mother is a decision he made while acknowledging he would defy the most powerful heavenly figure if he does so. to imprison his sister is to follow heavenly law, but i imagine he did it with a heavy heart. he can be kind and loyal and devoted, but he is also a punisher, an enforcer of heaven’s will. i think he places a certain degree of trust in his superiors, which can just as easily be taken away for injustice or malevolence.

i think that’s probably why i stuck with him having an emotionally platonic d/s relationship. it doesn’t really matter who he has it with, so long as it’s someone who’s understanding and willing to support him. my concept for a tu’er shen esper just happened to fit the bill. tianhu isn’t quite anywhere in life either, but he’s not burdened by choices. he’s gone through enough to empathize with yulang but he has the space and time to be a source of comfort or offer him a break from his life. yulang’s not in a position where he should keep deep bonds if he doesn’t want to run the risk of having to destroy them, but there’s less of an obligation to physically be around in order to keep a friendship, as opposed to a romantic relationship.

yulang is still very interesting to me as a character who has basically been forced to mature too quickly. this is something that could have been touched on with characters like li ling or tang xuan who have been given power/responsibility at a relatively young age but it doesn’t appear that they’re struggling with it in any way. yang jian himself is a person who lost both parents and possibly a sibling as a young child, and it’s not unrealistic to think he would’ve carried the trauma into his journey to split the mountain. it’s not just grief and love for family but the fact that he should not have had to grow into the world to take their place. with the disappearance of her sister and the death of his bil yulang has instantly become the head of the family. he is the only one left who can take in xiang liu, who up until this point was more like a younger brother. to find his sister is to try and fulfill this desire to shift his responsibility away, to be distant from his nephew and make his sister return as a beacon of the family. (realistically, i’m not even sure if he’d even find her alive or in a state where everything can go back to normal. it’s been years since he started trying and there’s a good chance she’s already gone.). it’s selfish, ultimately, though he does care for her and want her safety. he does grieve for her and how she is gone from his life, but i think he tacitly understands that she would’ve rather have yulang look after his nephew than drop everything to try and save her.

the mature decision IS to make choices that would benefit xiang liu and yulang’s relationship with him, but it’s not an easy decision and yulang would find himself at times trying to go back from it. he’s been forced to grow up too early. though 21 year olds are adults, most of them aren’t adults who worry about jobs, benefits, or the future of other family members. most of them are still in this transitional phase of entering society and learning how to live off it. yulang was forced to speedrun this transition at 17 and though it is the selfless to fill in as household head, is it worth it? does he have to? he’s unable to experience several aspects of a quintessential early adult life bc he has taken up the weight of the family. does he deserve to grow up normally? would he even forgive himself if he abandoned the responsibility?

ollie is someone with similar experiences to yulang, the difference being that he has made a decision to abandon his role as an heir and reject the burden of his family to seek justice. it may have even been the only path he was offered. he was someone i considered yulang could’ve bonded with, but not right now. i don’t think yulang’s situation as i currently have him allowed him to meet and connect with ollie.

i also considered at one point putting yulang in the shadow decree as a sort of infiltrator, or perhaps someone who works there in exchange for the safety of the sister they stole from him. i eventually decided against it since the choice would distance him so much from xiang liu, becoming the result of a choice that’s so selfish the yang jian in yulang would have refused to go down that path in the first place. but possibly in a timeline where he goes off the deep end, almost if i want to go in the vein of lotus lantern (1999) chenxiang and yang jian, it might’ve been viable?

[all-seeing-ifer]

Greek mythology references in Ulysses Dies at Dawn masterpost

I saw a post a while back by @spacetrashpile analysing all the arthurian references in High Noon Over Camelot, and since I know quite a bit about Greek mythology I figured “hey! I should do something like that for Ulysses Dies at Dawn!” I’m just going to go through each of the songs in order and analyse/explain the references in them - hopefully other people will find it interesting!

“The City”

Starting with the title - Ulysses is the Latin name of Odysseus, legendary king of Ithaca and hero of the epic poem The Odyssey. Interestingly, Ulysses is the only character in UDAD who is given a Latin name instead of a Greek one. There’s a couple of potential reasons for this but the most convincing to me is it’s meant to reflect Ulysses’ opposition to the Olympians, who are all based on the Greek gods.

Jonny calls the story a “labyrinthine task of a twisted tale”, referencing the Greek myth of the Minotaur, which was kept in a labyrinth to hide it from the world. This reference becomes even clearer when we later learn the City’s original name.

This one’s less a reference to Greek mythology and more to like, actual history, but the description of the City expanding to cover the whole planet is reminiscent of Greek expansion in ancient times. Ancient Greece was made up of many city-states, or poleis, which established colonies or “daughter-cities”, mostly in western Asia, or “Asia Minor” as the Greeks and Romans called it.

The story opens at a “run-down gin join” called Calypso’s - Calypso is a sea nymph who plays a fairly major role in The Odyssey, keeping Odysseus/Ulysses trapped on her island for seven years.

Fittingly enough, Calypso’s apparently pays money to Dionysus, whose mythological namesake is the Greek god of wine.

Broken Horses

Ilium is the Ancient Greek name for Troy, the city that Greece went to war against, according to myth,. Part of this war is described in the epic poem The Iliad, in which Odysseus is one of the soldiers laying siege to Troy.

Much like the Trojan War of Greek myth, the siege of Ilium is said to have lasted a decade.

Ulysses’ gambit with the horse statue sending out a signal driving the people of Ilium mad is pretty obviously a reference to the Trojan Horse - the wooden horse the Greeks built as a “peace offering” to the Trojans that they used to sneak their soldiers into the City and that brought them victory in the war. Like in the UDAD version, Odysseus/Ulysses was apparently responsible for coming up with this plan.

“Olympians”

Ulysses’ wife is named Penelope, same as Odysseus’ wife in the myths

The Acheron is the name of one of the five rivers of Hades, along with Styx, Cocytus, Lethe, and Phlegethon

As a sidenote, in Greek mythology Hades is the name of the underworld as well as the name of the God of the dead - fittingly enough reimagined in UDAD as the controller of a vast network of half-dead minds (and also Ashes)

The most powerful families in the City are called the Olympians - the name given to the twelve most important deities in the Greek pantheon

Poseidon Industries is named for Poseidon, Greek god of the sea and one of the twelve Olympians. Jonny calls them “one of the architects of the Ilium War”, which seems like an odd reference since iirc Poseidon doesn’t have a whole lot to do with the Trojan War. I guess that’s just there to give Ulysses a reason to want to rob Poseidon Industries.

In the Odyssey, Poseidon hates Odysseus/Ulysses for attacking his son, a cyclops called Polyphemus. In UDAD this is changed to Ulysses stealing the diamond from Poseidon Industries’ laser, which is also called The Cyclops.

My Name is No One

The song’s title and chorus is a reference to Odysseus’ famous trick for escaping the Polyphemus’ cave. He tells the Polyphemus his name is “no one/nobody” (depending on the translation) so that when he attacks Polyphemus and the cyclops tries to call for help, he calls out “No one is attacking me” which obviously none of the other cyclopes take seriously. (There’s also a great pun in the original Greek based on the Greek words for “no one” and “cunning” being very similar, but it loses a lot in translation)

However, just like in UDAD, Odysseus messes up this plan badly by calling out his real name when he’s still too close to the island of the cyclops. (although in the Odyssey it’s motivated by him wanting Polyphemus to know his name so he can get glory, rather than just being drunk)

Odysseus bests the cyclops by taking out his eye (there’s debate around it but cyclopes are generally depicted as having only one eye). Obviously in UDAD the cyclops is a machine not a monster, so this is replaced with the diamond at the heart of the laser being called its “eye”.

Also, I’m not sure if this is an intentional reference, but there is a fun irony to the fact that in the Odyssey, Odysseus tricks Polyphemus by getting him drunk so he can then blind him, while in UDAD Ulysses steals the eye of the Cyclops while drunk themself.

“Trial By Wits”

As well as My Name is No One, the whole concept of no one knowing anything about Ulysses’ appearance, gender etc. could also be seen as a reference to the “My name is nobody” trick, or possibly just a spin on Odysseus being a kind of “archetypal hero” - they could be anyone!

Heracles is better known by his Latin name, Hercules (son of Zeus, demigod, inhumanly strong and all that jazz)!

Ariadne is the name of the Cretan princess who helped Theseus slay the minotaur

Orpheus is another of the most well-known Greek mythological figures - the main myth surrounding him says he went into the underworld to rescue his dead wife Eurydice

Oedipus is most famous as the main character of a famous tragedy. His parents are given a prophecy that he would kill his father and have sex with his mother, and so decided to abandon him. As is so often the case with Greek oracles, he ended up doing both things anyway, seeing as how he, y’know, didn’t know who his parents were. The mechs apparently chose to reference this in the most mature of ways by having Jonny call Oedipus a motherfucker. Kind of a lot.

Aside from committing both patricide and incest, Oedipus’ other achievements in myth included winning a battle of wits against the Sphinx, a monster that was killing anyone who couldn’t solve its riddle. This monster is reimagined in UDAD as a disease that Oedipus finds a cure for.

Riddle of the Sphinx

The chorus of the song is taken almost word-for-word from the riddle asked of Oedipus by the Sphinx: “What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?” The answer to the riddle is “man” - crawls on all fours as a baby, walks on two legs as an adult, and walks with a cane (third leg) in old age. The Mechs being the Mechs, this is made completely literal in the world of UDAD.

“Ulysses’ Will”

Like the Oedipus of myth, UDAD Oedipus also ends up killing his father and marrying his mother without knowing. Since he’s replaced his eyes with data sockets by the time he helps kidnap Ulysses, it’s pretty strongly implied that he blinded himself like mythological Oedipus as well.

The “twenty years of sirens” could be a reference to the twenty years Odysseus spends away from Ithaca in the Iliad and Odyssey

Sirens

The sirens were half-bird half-human creatures that Odysseus encountered as part of the Odyssey and that tried to lure him to his death with promises of knowledge.

As well as referencing this story, the line “let the lotus set you free” references another episode of the Odyssey, where Odysseus and his crew arrive on the island of the Lotus-Eaters. Anyone who eats the Lotus fruits falls into a state of apathy and will never want to leave the island, so it’s a fitting episode to reference in a song about Ulysses drugging themself to escape their memories of war.

“Trial By Strength”

Heracles’ backstory is essentially the same in UDAD as in the original myths: one of the many children of Zeus’ many affairs, except in UDAD Zeus has affairs with women from “the lower levels”, instead of just mortal women.

Favoured Son

The tasks Heracles performs for Zeus are a reference to the most famous myth about Heracles - the twelve labours he performs to atone for killing his family.

The song references “the ferryman” who takes people into the Underworld. In Greek mythology the dead travel to the Underworld in a boat rowed by the ferryman Charon.

In both the myth and in UDAD there are...what you might you might call “extenuating circumstances” for Heracles killing his family - in the myth he’s driven mad by Zeus’ wife Hera (bc she’s very angy about Zeus having all those bastard children with mortal women) but since Hera doesn’t play a role in UDAD this is changed to him being framed by Zeus himself.

In addition to being king of the gods, Zeus is also the god of thunder - which is where Heracles’ nickname “The Thunderbolt of Zeus” comes from

“Loose Threads”

Heracles and Orpheus “Backing up Jason on the fleece job” is a reference to the myth of Jason’s quest for the Golden Fleece along with his crew (the Argonauts), which included Heracles and Orpheus.

Hylas was Heracles’ servant and another member of the Argonauts. While on the quest he was kidnapped by nymphs, and depending on which version of the myth you’re looking at, either fell in love with them and stayed there forever, or was murdered by them (Hylas is also the only character referenced I had to google to even know who they were lol)

Heracles telling Ariadne that “Your dad helped me out once” is presumably a reference to the seventh labour of Heracles: capturing the Cretan bull. Now the story of the Cretan bull is actually really long and ties into a bunch of other myths but essentially it was sent to Ariadne’s father, King Minos, as proof that he was the rightful ruler of Crete. However, Minos ended up helping Heracles by letting him take the bull with him to prove that he’d successfully caught it (which seeing as the bull was destroying Crete at that point doesn’t seem like a huge favour on Minos’ part, but ok)

Trial By Song

UDAD Orpheus shares the mythical Orpheus’ main defining trait: his skill at singing that he used to help him on his journey to the underworld.

Trial By Song is a lot more metaphorical than all the others so there’s not that many direct references to the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in the lyrics - probably the most direct one is “But all the landmarks moved as I walked past/Now I can’t look back”, which references Orpheus’ deal with Hades that he can take Eurydice back to the world of the living as long as he doesn’t look back at her.

“The viper town that bled me dry” could also be a reference to Eurydice’s death from a snake bite.

“Hades”

UDAD Orpheus’ motivation is the same as mythical Orpheus - wanting to bring back their dead lover from Hades.

Ulysses, Heracles, and Orpheus all visiting the “underworld” is taken directly from mythology (although unlike in UDAD, Ulysses/Odysseus never actually speaks to Hades).

Underworld Blues

In Heracles’ confrontation with Hades, he says that “I was sent here your dog to seize/Of my tasks, of my tasks/This was to be the last”. There’s a couple of points here - the mythology reference is to the last of the twelve labours of Hercules: capturing Hades’ guard dog Cerberus. However, I do wonder whether this is meant to be literal (in which case guys, why are we not talking about the fact that Ashes obtained a pet dog while in The City?), or if this is a similar case to all the mentions of ‘horses’ in High Noon Over Camelot actually being about motorbikes.

Orpheus singing to Hades and trying to convince them to release Eurydice is also taken directly from Greek myth, except instead of being moved by Orpheus’ song and agreeing to release his love like in the myth, Ashes just tells him he’s poor for a bit and then says he should go commit some crimes.

“Trial By Love”:

The general concept of Ariadne’s backstory - her helping Theseus fight the minotaur only for him to abandon her - is the same basic idea as the myth of Ariadne and Theseus. Although UDAD Ariadne is at least a bit more fortunate in the sense that she wasn’t truly in love with her Theseus, and he also doesn’t straight up leave her on a deserted island.

Ariadne’s family creating the minotaur is also part of her character in the myth. The difference is that in UDAD the minotaur was created intentionally, while the mythological minotaur was the result of Poseidon making Ariadne’s mother fall in love with the Cretan Bull as punishment for King Minos not sacrificing it to him (I said the Cretan Bull story tied into a bunch of other myths!)

The presence of the minotaur in the City is yet another thing that makes even more sense when we learn about the City originally being called Labyrinth!

Ties That Bind

Ariadne’s family name is Minos, same as the name of her mythical father King Minos.

Ariadne describes her family’s actions as casting a “dark horned shadow” over her, which references the typical depiction of the minotaur as a man with a bull’s head and horns.

In the myth of the Minotaur, Ariadne helps Theseus by giving him a ball of string that he then unwinds as he walks through the Labyrinth, letting him find his way out again. In UDAD this is changed to “strings of code”, that shut down the minotaurs programming. (And if you think that pun’s bad, just wait until we get to Torn Suits!)

The song’s title also brings to mind string or thread, so it can be seen as a subtler reference to Ariadne’s gift to Theseus. Same for Ariadne’s line about “heartstrings long since cut”.

“The Daidala”

Daedalus, the leader of the Suits, shares a name with the mythical craftsman and father of Icarus

He is rumoured to “trade as an Olympian under the name Hephaestus” - a fitting alias as Hephaestus was the god of craftsmen and artisans like Daedalus

The rumour that he killed his son for “getting too ambitious” references the myth of Icarus, who famously died after literally flying too close to the sun using wings held together with wax. The heat of the sun caused the wax to melt and Icarus to fall into the sea. The story is often interpreted as a warning about the dangers of ambition.

Interestingly, it could also reference another myth surrounding Daedalus - one in which Daedalus kills his nephew Talos because he was jealous of his achievements.

Daedalus is also apparently the architect of The City, which was originally known as Labyrinth. This once again references the labyrinth which held the minotaur, and which Minos forced Daedalus to design. Considering the labyrinth’s purpose in myth, it seems like an appropriate name for a city that keeps all its inhabitants trapped with no way out.

Presumably the Daidala in the title refers to the City: Daedalus’ finest creation. In Homeric Greek, daidala is a word that refers to finely crafted objects such as armour.

This track also has another reference to the Orpheus and Eurydice myth when Orpehus offers to sacrifice himself to open the vault - “But he can’t see it through can he? Flinches, looks back. And it doesn’t work.”

Torn Suits

This song is notable for having quite possibly the worst pun in Mechanisms history - “Ulysses pulls out their snub-nosed laser and fires the last shot, splitting the beam across twelve axes”. This references one of the climactic scenes of the Odyssey, where Ulysses/Odysseus wins an archery competition against his wife’s suitors by shooting an arrow through twelve axe heads. (get it, axes as in the weapons becomes axes as in the plural of axis do you get it?????)

Another, marginally less bad pun is Heracles getting “the lion’s share” of the beams, referencing the popular image of Heracles wearing the skin of a lion he killed as one of his labours.

“Sunrise”

The code to Ulysses’ vault: Elysium, is another word for the Elysian Fields. In certain Greek religions, this was an afterlife separate from Hades’ world where heroes and those chosen by the gods would go after they died.

Ulysses’ vault is revealed to contain the “sole surviving oak tree”, under which Penelope is buried. While it’s not as direct a reference as some of the others, this is pretty clearly inspired by the way Odysseus proves his true identity to Penelope at the end of the Odyssey - by telling her that he carved their bed from a tree still rooted to the ground, something only the two of them know.

The track ends with an homage to Homer’s use of similes in the Odyssey: “And as the weary hound, once more at its master’s feet after so long, lays down with the sunlight warming its fur, breathing its last – even so did the eyes of Ulysses close forever.” Not only is this stylistically identical to Homer’s similes, it also doubles as a reference to Odysseus’ dog Argos, who waited for him for twenty years and finally died when he saw Odysseus again.

Elysian Fields

This is possibly a bit of a stretch but the image of Ulysses lying beneath the last tree, next to where Penelope is buried, especially with how they say they’re “with my beloved” and “beside my wife” really brings to mind the scene in the Odyssey where Odysseus and Penelope lie in their tree-bed together for the first time since Odysseus’ return. Which, incidentally, is theorised by some to be the “real” final scene of the Odyssey and everything after that was added on later, but that’s another story.

That’s everything I’ve picked up on but it’s possible there’s more I’ve missed so let me know if there’s any more! I’d like to thank the Mechs for giving me an opportunity to put my useless and extremely niche knowledge to good use!

[writesowhatnext]

wouldn’t bet on it // seamus finnigan

Summary: Seamus isn’t just your boyfriend, he’s also the cattiest, judgiest best friend you could’ve asked for

Request: Can you do a fluffy Seamus Finnigan imagine during 6th year where Seamus is dating a Pureblood so she gets forced to go to Slughorn's party and takes Seamus but they ditch early to celebrate their 2 year anniversary (they got together at the Yule Ball)? Also if you wanted to, you can include that they've been watching/giving advice about all the relationship drama between their friends

A/N: I sort of kinda made the reader a non-Gryffindor so big oops but tbf slytherin!reader is my favourite thing as I am completely biased also this is like a combo of the books and films bc I needed a refresher

Reader: unspecified, non-Gryffindor

Warnings: swearing I’m sorry, kissing

If anyone had looked at you and Seamus at that moment, they would’ve said that you were a pair of gossipy bitches and whilst you would never actually knowingly agree with them, you had to acknowledge the element of truth in the accusation.

“Two galleons says Granger is thinking about Weasley,” you whispered, tilting your head towards him, trying to hide your smile behind your glass. You hated these stupid parties, or anywhere, really, where you were invited because you were a pureblood and then had to spend time with other purebloods. However, you did enjoy picking apart the relationships of the school and more than anything, you enjoyed being at Seamus’ side.

“Two galleons? You’re mad. No way. You can’t tell what she’s thinking,” he insisted, shaking his head and leaning backwards.

“Oh really?” you asked, turning towards him with raised eyebrows and a smile. He frowned at you; eyes trained on your face. “Watch and learn, my love, watch and learn.”

You both turned to watch Hermione Granger disappear behind the curtain next to you, hiding from her date, the Quidditch meathead, McLaggen. He’d been handsy and annoying all night and whilst he was a complete idiot, she had invited him. In your book, as long as he wasn’t an arse, she’d just have to cope. Almost seconds later, Harry Potter walked towards you, frowning. He looked at you and Seamus; the both of you conspiratorially standing in the corner of the room, as thick as thieves, watching him. He was slightly caught off guard by your stare but shook his head, remembering Hermione. When he too disappeared behind the curtain, you and Seamus both leant toward it, eavesdropping.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Harry asked, standing in front of her. “And what happened to you?”

She sighed and you glanced smugly at Seamus behind you. He poked you in the side gently in response.

“I’ve just escaped-“

“McLaggen.” You and Seamus whispered at the same time.

“I mean,” she carried on, looking very concerned. “I’ve left Cormac under the mistletoe.”

You tried to contain your snort, shaking your head at the image of that imbecile abandoned in a doorway.

“Cormac?” Harry frowned and you looked up at Seamus to see the same distasteful expression. “That’s who you invited?”

“I thought it would annoy Ron the most…” she admitted, running her hands up and down her arms.

With that, you circled back to face Seamus, a cocky smirk on your lips. Surprised at first, his expression turned rather unimpressed as his shoulders deflated.

“Two galleons it is,” he sighed, clenching his jaw as he placed his hand on your waist, moving so he was stood behind you. You leant into him, sipping from your drink as Longbottom meandered around in a gaudy white uniform with a tray of drinks. Whoever gave Longbottom a tray of glasses, you thought, did not know him well.

“Don’t worry,” you mused, placing a light kiss on the underside of Seamus’ jaw before turning back around. “That can be your compensation for coming with me to this.”

“Pfft. This party may be a load of rubbish,” as he leant closer to you, you could feel his breath on your cheek. You both looked over at Zabini in a group with some other Slytherins. “And full to the brim with self-important tools.”

“Is that really the end of the sentence? I’m sure there should be a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

His chest vibrated as he chuckled.

“Couldn’t let anyone else come with ‘ya, could I? Have ‘em steal you away from me.”

“Nobody here is interesting enough.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you smiled, wetting your lips cheekily as he gripped your waist with both hands, jabbing his fingers into your sides to make you laugh.

You would’ve drawn quite a bit of attention had Filch not stumbled in holding Malfoy by the scruff of his neck.

“Someone’s in trouble,” you muttered.

“When you thought it couldn’t get worse.”

Although you both loved hearing the classic school gossip and enjoyed nothing more than Malfoy getting berated, when you turned to look at him, you could tell you were both thinking the same thing.

“Wanna wag?” you asked, an eyebrow raised with a smiled. He looked at Snape, who had appeared out of nowhere to scold Malfoy, and then back at you. He watched the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in amusement before he kissed his teeth.

“Come on then, you rebel.”

Avoiding Snape and Filch expertly (practice making perfect), you both snuck out from the party, walking around the castle in your evening dress. You probably should’ve been quieter given the time and the fact that you weren’t where you were supposed to be, but when you were with Seamus, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You always ended up having a riot.

“Have you heard about Dean and Ginny Weasley?” you asked, letting go of his hand and walking ahead into the courtyard. The moonlight cast an iridescent light onto your skin and Seamus stopped short, watching you, remembering the last time he’d seen you dressed like this.

“Anybody there?” you waved your arm at him, noticing his glazed-over eyes.

“What are you on about?”

He walked closer to you, out into the courtyard, almost stumbling on the uneven cobblestones.

“I said,” you made a face as you wound your arms around his neck. “Have you heard about Dean and the Weasley girl?”

He didn’t even try to seem interested as his hands found your waist and pulled you into him.

“You look just as beautiful as you did two years ago.”

You bit your lip at his words, remembering the Yule Ball like it was yesterday.

“You look awfully handsome, too,” you brought one of your arms around his head, pressing your thumb into his eyebrows. He just stared at you, his eyes shining, completely unfazed by your movement. “I’m glad they finally grew back.”

“You cheeky-“

You tried to pull away, knowing his reaction, but his arms held you in place as he poked at your sides. A loud, cackling laugh filled the courtyard as you pushed against his chest to get away from his ticking hands.

“Shhh,” he insisted, his expression mocking. “Or we’ll get caught, won’t we?”

You made a face at him, sticking your tongue out. He smiled at that, the same charming smile you remembered from the ball.

“It’s been two years since you first kissed me,” you said proudly, slotting your thumb behind his ear and cupping his neck. You scratched his head softly with your fingernails and he leant into your touch.

“Can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner to shut you up-“ You gasped, an angry pout pulling at your lips. “Y/N, love,” he said, unable to contain his grin. “I love you, but you’re a massive gobshite.”

You crinkled your nose as your mouth twitched in amusement and you couldn’t help but pinch the back of his neck lightly, drawing a disgruntled huff from him.

“What I can’t believe is that you haven’t kissed me yet tonight.”

“Not for lack of wanting, believe me.”

“Crack on with it then.”

When he kissed you then, his hands pulling you even closer, you were reminded of how confident he’d seemed when he asked you to the Yule Ball, the way he’d told you that you looked ‘grand’ when he first saw you that night, his barely contained nerves when he’d tried to dance with you. It reminded you of every time you’d teased him about his explosive tendencies and every time you’d kissed before and in the moonlight, it felt like everything you’d ever wanted in life. He’d only just opened his mouth for the fun stuff when you heard Filch across the courtyard.

“What is going on here?” he shouted, already hobbling after you. You barely had time to remove your lips from his when a breathless laugh escaped your mouth.

“Bollocks,” Seamus whispered before he was already off, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him as you ran away from Filch, your laughter tumbling behind you into the open sky of the courtyard.

[periminkle]

Orphic | 02

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.0k

rating: PG-15

warnings: animal cruelty, death, blood, swearing

author’s note: I cut this chapter into two parts bc it was turning into a monster :((( i did try to research DNA and genes and all that fancy stuff but it was too much for my small brain, so beware of inaccurate facts!!! also wanted to say that my heart hurt writing this </3

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The light breeze fluttering through the back door enveloped the bare skin of my legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

I couldn’t recall the last time I lounged around the house in the morning—not flurrying around like a chicken with its head cut off, in a rush to catch the bus. If it wasn’t work then it was grocery shopping, borrowing articles and studies from the library or filling my car’s empty gas. 

Consequently, I refused to change out of the oversized sweater and the lousy pair of bright yellow shorts that currently adorned my laden figure. With any luck, the comfort from the soft articles of cloth would somehow seep into my mental state as well.

Yet the optimistic notion wasn’t proving its validity thus far, becoming a more of a burden due to the lack of a proper barrier between my humble abode and the wilderness outside. 

For the most part, the structure of the door was left unharmed but the handle containing the lock that had been smashed into was another matter completely. Upon further examination, accompanied by an hour of fiddling around with the busted latch, it seemed to be a problem beyond my capabilities. I reluctantly admitted defeat and ordered a replacement. 

With nothing to secure the door to the adjacent wall, it remained slightly ajar.

Another hour whizzed by, scouring through the limited resources at my disposal to—at the very least—find a temporary fix. I tried taping it shut, propping a chair, a step stool and a table up against the remainder of the handle to no avail. 

A stroke of genius hit when I stuck a command hook on the wall nearby, fastening a broken hairband from the latch to the hook. However, the placement of the hook was a little too close and the hairband a little too loose to keep the occasional draft from finding its way inside. My fluffy pokémon shorts provided meager defence at best, but I could hardly spare a thought to the lower temperature when my mind was fully occupied with more urgent matters.

After the run-in yesterday night, I remained by the fridge, shaken from the events that had transpired for longer than I’d like to admit. I was unsure if the familiar sylvan scent that lingered was a result of the stranger or simply a waft from the forest, which wasn’t unlikely, considering my defective door.

Once I’d finally gotten a hold of myself, I dialled the police, doubting that my shaky limbs could safely carry me to the nearest station at such an hour. Other than an aching wrist and some medical supplies that could be restocked, my physical well-being and that of my house were surprisingly fine. 

Excluding my poor back door, of course.

I was rather fortunate that the robbery, if stealing bandages could even be labelled as such, was more mentally taxing than anything. The drops of blood were rather annoying to clean off my tiles too, I guess.

Trying to get any rest that night was fruitless, tossing and turning, worried that the man might return for something more valuable or another fiend finding his way inside to do worse. 

It struck me as more than a little odd that he would come to my tiny cottage, of all places, for first aid supplies. If he wasn’t looking for some extra coins to pocket, why wouldn’t he go to the hospital? Where had he gotten a wound that couldn’t be treated by a doctor? Maybe he had partaken in various illegal activities that couldn’t warrant the suspicion of a governmental figure? Ugh, my brain hurt the more I thought about it.

Along with my raging thoughts, the perpetual feeling of being watched disturbed my slumber as well. It was if another set of eyes were locked on my vulnerable form, peering past the closed blinds and under the protective layers of blankets I’d piled on. No matter how many times I peeked into the darkness though, I was only met with the sight of my backyard enshrouded in the night sky. 

When the rays of dawn broke through the tenebrosity, I abandoned any notion of sleep and hesitantly called Jin, unsure if the busy man was even conscious yet. His bright and cheery voice quelled my worries and I informed him of what had transpired within the past twelve hours. Relief flooded my lethargic frame as he delved into a crazed panic, which I greatly appreciated, accepting his offer to take a day off.

Jin was excessively sympathetic and compassionate, reminding me of a mother goose with how he squabbled over staying somewhere else for the time being and taking a week-long break. But I didn’t want to be a burden on any of my new friends and going back to the city wasn’t an option at this point. Reflecting on the matter for more than day wasn’t necessary either.

I haughtily believed that the criminal didn’t deserve any more free real estate in my mind than he’d already occupied.

In order to comprehend the situation, as well as the fact that I would be utterly useless if I went to work with my mind engrossed in other matters, I thought one day to digest everything and get it out of my system would suffice. Though I knew it would come more so with time, I also had to work on regaining an impression of security within my own walls. 

To take a rest from my turbulent concerns, I made a trip to one of the populated parks within the small town, figuring that I would feel more safety in the numbers that would surround me. Ridiculously, I found myself stumped when I got there, drowning in my own vulnerability, so I promptly headed back.

At nightfall, I skipped out on meeting with the cat yet again. Evidently, I lacked the mental capability to tend to my own needs the day before, never mind another being, thus I didn’t visit the little guy. I felt a wash of regret and worry that I hadn’t even set out some food. As a result of yesterday’s blunder, I put a heaping mass of tuna on the porch this time, hoping the animal would understand my apology. 

The hours flew by as I sat there, stirring in my own solitude. In order to bring the negativity of the day to an end, I invited the trio I’d gotten close to as of recent, although Jin adamantly refused due to his papers that, “wouldn’t write themselves.”

I took the steaming pot of ramen off the stovetop right as the clear ring of the doorbell resounded throughout the cramped place. Hastily, I placed the noodles onto the table with careful hands, grimacing as I realized it took up a bit more than a quarter of the surface.

With a brisk shuffle, I pulled open my front door to the sight of a disgruntled Yoongi, hidden behind the towering stature of a rosy-nosed Namjoon. I barely made out the mutterings of, “it’s freezing out here,” and “took you long enough,” before I was being shoved aside.

As they trudged over to the kitchen, following the scent of freshly cooked ramen wafting around the house, Yoongi scoffed at my tiny table. Since I only purchased two chairs for the space, I cracked open the step stool to act as another seat. I honestly wasn’t sure what I would have done if Jin had tagged along too. Maybe pulled out the ladder too?

The shorter man grabbed the handles of the pot, heading over to the direction of the living room as Namjoon and I trailed after him like baby ducks. “If we’re going to eat like poor college students then we might as well keep up the act and sit on the floor.”

Although Yoongi’s cold and distant facade perplexed me as I was getting to know him, eventually I picked up on the hints of affection he’d drop every once in a while. Mostly, I found that I was able to burn time fooling around with Taemin as he completed enough drudgery for the both of us or a piping hot mug of hot chocolate would be waiting for me in the break room after long hours. 

Even now, though he acted irritated, I knew Yoongi well enough to decipher his true intentions: that he was trying to be considerate of my humble living conditions and opted to play it off as a joke. At this point, I was even inclined to believe he harboured a soft spot for me.

In response, I pretended to be peeved by his actions as I ambled back to gather the bowls and utensils I placed at the table, carrying them to the spot we’d occupied on the floor. It was difficult to hide the growing smile on my face.

Once I’d gotten a few drinks down my throat, I finally felt the tense muscles between my brows and shoulder blades relax, forgetting about the worries that echoed in my head all day.

The TV screen flashed with the intense scenes of an action movie that Namjoon had picked out. I was only half paying attention to the redundant plot line, more interested in the outrageous story spewing from Namjoon’s lips.

“-and now he’s bragging about how one of his puns got milk spilling out of Yoongi’s nose!”

The tipsy state I was in got me laughing harder than I should have, but with both men around me in a relatively similar state of mind, no one seemed to care.

“That’s literal bullshit, Eunmi told me that I was drinking the milk meant for Taemin right when Jin finished telling his dumb joke,” Yoongi complained despite the gummy smile stretching across his features.

I clutched my chest at the mention of one of the creatures who had stolen my heart, “aw, my pretty little Taem, I miss him so much and it’s only been one day!” 

“You’re getting too attached to him Y/N, you know that he’s not gonna stay at the lab forever,” Namjoon lightly warned. I knew he was concerned for my emotional welfare, but even the mention of Taemin being taken away got me stewing in my own misery.

“Joon, why would you say—I don’t even want to think about that!” My inebriated state obviously enjoyed to spill more information than necessary when I stated, “I need to cuddle Taemin enough for the both of them.”

“Both?” The younger man spared a questioning glance at his companion in before turning back to me, “do you have a cat?” The two of them began scoping out the area, trying to locate the nonexistent bundle of fur.

“Oh no, no, I wish I could afford a pet but I think taking care of myself is challenging enough for now.” At their probing eyes, I continued, “I was just talking about a little kitty that visits me every night in my backyard.”

Yoongi’s dark eyebrows scrunched together, a huff escaping him. “If you’re talking about a domestic cat, there’s no way it would be living out there,” he pointed to the forest outside with a tilt of his chin.

With the shake of my head, I felt myself sober up a bit as I explained, “I think it’s just one of my neighbours’ pets.”

Namjoon and Yoongi stared at each other, appearing baffled. “Well, it’s definitely not Eunhyuk, his son is allergic.”

“But you think mean old Sangmin would have a cat? We’re talking about the same guy who refused to have kids because he’s ‘not a bank’ right?”

Namjoon redirected his attention to me. “Are you sure it’s a cat? Maybe you just saw a rat or something.”

“No, it can’t be...” Their insistent refusal planted seeds of doubt that began to fester the longer I thought about it; they both lived here for longer than I had and obviously knew the area much better as well. It wasn’t like I had the best eyesight, anyway. But I remembered the piercing emerald green irises peering back at me, slit pupils honed in on my form with vibrant clarity. “It’s definitely a cat. It has to be a cat.”

A teasing snort came from Yoongi, who was leaning back on his palms with disbelief written all over his face. “You’re just seeing things, Y/N.”

I pouted at their lack of trust in me. An aggressive urge to prove them wrong began bubbling in the pit of my stomach and with a glimpse of the time from the clock above the stove, I noticed that it was well into midnight—around the hour in which I’d meet the kitty.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t believe me you can come see for yourself.”

“Is it outside?” I revelled in the satisfaction Namjoon’s widened eyes brought me and loftily smirked at him.

The plentiful amount of alcohol I’d indulged in forbade my legs from gracefully standing, wobbling like a newborn fawn instead as I fumbled over to the door, slipping the loose hair tie off and yanking the faulty mass open. Strangely, the night air was deathly silent, even the usually chirpy crickets seeming to have migrated to another yard.

“Hey, buddy. You out there?” I mumbled, scanning the bushes nearby, trying to pick up even the faintest flutter. “Bud?”

When I felt two pairs of curious eyes pierce my back, the pressure skyrocketed. I couldn’t let them believe I was spouting utter nonsense earlier, but the lack of response wasn’t proving my case very well.

After a few minutes passed with only the low whistle of the wind to keep us company, I felt a tinge of worry knot itself into my belly. “Okay, that’s enough Y/N. Let’s go back in.”

“No! It’s just scared because there’s a lot of people out now, you two go back in. I’ll call you when it’s out.” Desperately, I examined every inch of the stationary woodlands.

“We believe you, just get back in here! It’s cold and you’re not wearing a jacket, come on.” Namjoon’s long fingers wrapped around my forearm, tugging on my hesitant form.

As the dark-haired male dragged me back, I caught sight of the abundant helping of tuna I’d left on the last step of the porch yesterday. A pang resounded throughout my chest, disquiet settling into the recesses of my mind. Why didn’t the creature eat the offering, was it angry that I hadn’t shown up the last few nights? I couldn’t stop myself from imagining the worst; if it got lost somewhere, collapsed from starvation or was brutally killed by another animal.

If either one of the guys noticed the unusual pile of food, they didn’t comment on it.

Once back inside, tucked into Namjoon’s comforting shoulder and Yoongi’s warm side pressed against mine, I found myself unable to focus on anything of value. It was as if all my senses had dulled to an absolute minimum, barely processing what flashed on the bright TV screen and only picking up bits and pieces of the conversation between the two males. All I could think about was what could have possibly happened to my poor kitty. 

My eyelids began to droop, heavy from the weight of the last few days’ events. With my body molding itself into Namjoon’s sturdy torso, I welcomed the peaceful darkness.

Taemin’s entire body shook from the force of his tiny sneeze and I could have sworn that my heart ceased its endless beating right then and there, was I in heaven? 

Unaffected by my inner turmoil, the baby jaguar started bouncing around, weaving in and out of my legs as if he was participating in his own agility competition. I crouched down to his level to reach for his lithe body. The little guy always transformed into a flurry of excitement whenever I stopped by his cage, elated that he was free to play around without his constricting muzzle. 

Once I’d discovered what a sweet bean he was, I couldn’t help but comply to his wishes. It didn’t take a mind reader to see how he consistently pawed at the contraption, even clawing his face a couple times on accident. 

The reasoning behind all the safety measures wasn’t lost on me though, as I had witnessed the terror he instilled in most of the staff. About a week prior, I caught Minzi trying to lure Taemin out of his cage with some treats, but all her attempts proved unsuccessful when he didn’t even spare a glance her way.

With an annoyed sigh, she reached into the pocket within her lab coat, retrieving a syringe that I knew she had filled with telazol, a tranquilizing fluid for small animals. That prompted a reaction out of Taemin, his haunches tensing and lowering towards the ground, mouth peeling back in a snarl. The low growling sound vibrating from his small body instantly put me on edge; it was the first time I’d ever seen or heard the animal’s anger.

Before I could move a muscle, the irate woman stuck the needle into his hind leg. Taemin yowled in pain, but sunk his claws into her arm when he got the chance, only able to exact his revenge for a couple seconds before his body fell limp. Minzi detched his paw to find a stream of crimson red besmirching her white coat.

Now that I thought back to it, his growl eerily reminded me of the night of the break-in. Funnily enough, I thought the criminal had the more menacing vibration between the two—and Taemin was a jaguar for god’s sake.

What I found truly inhumane was the assistant assigned to handing Taemin his meals. The callous woman didn’t have half a mind to remove his muzzle before placing a handful of dog kibble in his cage. 

At a glance, Taemin appeared severely underweight for his size, but I could have never chalked it up to his nutrition being fed through the bars around his snout. He struggled to attain such inadequate portions that weren’t even created for his species in mind.

Nevertheless, the instant I’d seen his horrifying feeding conditions, I dismissed the careless assistant and took on the task of keeping Taemin alive, a job that I didn’t think someone could fail so terribly at.

Taemin blindly swiped the air, bringing me out of my reverie. I chuckled as I saw he was a just a couple centimetres off the sleeve of my coat and I brought my hand, palm turned upwards, to meet his paw.

His eyelids were shut closed as tightly as they had been the first day he’d arrived at the lab, a fact that Yoongi informed me of when I’d inquired about Taemin’s lack of sight. Neither him nor Namjoon knew why he refused to, or simply couldn’t, open his eyes and my chest ached thinking about the unfulfilling life he was leading.

The memory crushed the lighthearted atmosphere that had arisen from fooling around with the dark-coloured feline. I rubbed the fur covering his foreleg while stealing a glimpse of Yoongi, seemingly hard at work from his hunched form.

“Hey, Yoongs?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that.” The low murmur was slightly muffled from the microscope covering the entirety of his face.

Disregarding his previous statement, I voiced out my thoughts. “What if Taem can actually see? I mean, we could just check whether the PDE6C gene—”

A lengthy exhale interrupted my speech. “Wow, now I guess I know how Jin feels.”

“Listen, I know what you said before but—”

“Y/N, we have tons of gene sequences to analyze, we don’t have time to waste looking for a faulty PDE6C, okay?” He finally tore his gaze away from his work to peer into my pleading eyes, running his fingers through the strands marring his forehead. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you play around considering the amount of work we have to finish.”

At that, I shut my mouth and concentrated back on Taemin’s restless figure, a much better alternative to the DNA waiting to be analyzed at my desk. Since he was confined within his cage all day, I made it my goal to tire him out enough that he would be forced to rest until the next time I had the chance to abandon work, essentially getting paid to keep him amused.

I gently brought his paw to the floor and scurried away to collect his favourite toy; a fuzzy mouse I’d bought one day after discovering the building was devastatingly unequipped to entertain an extremely bored feline.

Although he whimpered at the loss of contact and the sound of my retreating footsteps, I swiftly grabbed the rodent at the bottom of the drawer, by Yoongi’s legs, and hurried back.

Another half hour passed as I tried to exhaust as much of Taemin’s boundless energy as I could, although my plan backfired when I found that my own strength was depleting just as quickly. His natural hunting instincts were definitely still intact, what with the torn up toy in the corner, held together by mere threads at this point. I made a mental note to go shopping for sturdier prey next time.

Presently, he laid on his side as a content, black loaf, purring from the belly rubs he was receiving. To tease the cub, I would pull away every once in a while only to have his long tail wrap around my wrist, tugging my limb back to action.

“Y/N.” My head turned to meet Namjoon who had wandered over from the assistant researcher’s lab where I’d last seen him. “I finished the sequence for his canines. Do you mind leaving it on Jin’s desk?”

I guiltily stood from my seated position, a sheepish grin plastered on as I gave one last pat to Taemin’s head. “Yeah, of course. Could you lock up Taem for me?”

With his affirmation, I took the papers from his grasp and gave a pat to the crown of Yoongi’s bleached head. He shifted towards me in feigned annoyance, but I was out of his reach before he could get back at me and I celebrated my victory with sticking my tongue out.

I began to make my way upstairs, but not before picking up on Joon’s exasperated remark to Taemin, “I hope you know that I could build you from scratch if I wanted to.”

Once in front of the familiar wood of Jin’s office door, I decided to knock in case he had guests. I restrained the awkward memory of walking in on the whole board of directors from resurfacing and distracted myself by rapping my knuckles with more force when there was no response from within. “Jin? It’s Y/N.” I pushed the handle down and pleasantly found it unlocked. “I’m coming in.”

I waited a couple more seconds before opening the door, meeting the chaos that was the assistant director’s office. As per usual, I winced at the mountain of papers piled upon his desk, astonished that it only seemed to grow since the last time I’d seen it. At this rate, I was just waiting for the day that I’d walk in here to see the towers reaching the ceiling. 

Striding over to Jin’s side of the desk, I laid the notes down in the dead centre, resting on top of three separate piles. Sympathy flooded my senses as my gaze roamed across the masses. How could such a hardworking individual accumulate so much work while he was working? 

Even staring at the copious amounts of print made me feel queasy, hence I hurried to get out of the nauseating area. But, as I scuttled by, my gaze caught on a file with thick, messy letters scrawled on the front.

Jaguar.

To say my curiosity was piqued whenever Taemin was involved was an understatement. After a glance back to ensure that I was able to safely snoop around until my heart’s content, I reached for the file, making sure to keep my posterior to the camera in the corner, concealing my actions.

Ultimately, I knew Taemin was brought in to make progress on their “top secret, strictly confidential experiment,” which meant that I wasn’t to touch any of his files. At least, according to the brusque Minzi I wasn’t. However, an underlying, devious part of me enjoyed rebelling against her words and I secretly rejoiced as I directly disobeyed her orders, opening the folder.

Basic information was scattered along the first page, his name, birthdate, birthplace, so on and so forth. I casually flipped through the rest, finding the documents we routinely handed off to Jin when we’d written down sequences that brought about certain genes concerning the jaguar. This was probably where Jin would store the note Namjoon had made me deliver.

Losing interest, I flipped the bulk of the papers back to the front and seamlessly slid them into the file. When I unintentionally skimmed the first page once again, my eyes caught on a baffling sentence.

Heightened sense of sight, especially keen night vision.

I wet my suddenly chapped lips in my state of bafflement, double and triple checking that the file was indeed for seemingly blind Taemin; the very same animal that was probably napping downstairs. The statistics even matched up with what little knowledge I had about the animal, sending me into a greater spiral of confusion. They must have accidentally written the observation down on the wrong paper.

Unless...? 

I shook my head, trying to dispel the outrageous thoughts swarming my mind.

Heading back down, I caught sight of Yoongi still wrapped around his microscope, jotting notes down with his other hand. My attention shifted to the unconscious feline next, muzzled and locked behind bars.

My fists clenched, fingernails engraving crescents into the palm of my hand as I resolved to finally clear out these murky waters.

An hour passed before I finally located it and then another few hours slipped by as I examined the sequence.

The PDE6C gene on chromosome ten. Perfectly intact and working exceptionally until the halfway point, around the thousandth base. Some of the letters got mixed up, binding with incorrect base pairs and bestowing Taemin with his current lack of vision. 

Of course, I was prepared to deal with the repercussions of wasting precious time, examining a sequence that did not correlate to any favourable gene. But after connecting some dots, I recognized the agent that brought about such errors.

Ethyl methanesulfonate, or EMS for short. A chemical mutagenic that induces base substitutions, mutating the DNA molecule as a result. I couldn’t imagine why they’d inject a carcinogenic compound into the mammal, but it obviously had something to do with trying to enhance his natural vision. 

Did they think the possibility of disabling him was worth the slim chance that his eyesight could improve? By the bases that were effected, I guessed that they were trying to sharpen his sight when submerged in darkness. If the guanine alkylation hadn’t spread so far, they might have succeeded in their experiment.

Nevertheless, their hypothesis was dreadfully incorrect and Taemin was blind as a result of their recklessness.

My grip on the pencil tightened in pure, white fury. In the fruitless hope that the EMS hadn’t affected his whole body, I took several samples of cells from various areas of his body. Albeit, samplings of his cheeks, ears and legs all provided the same conclusion that I’d reached earlier—deformed DNA from ill-fitting base pairs. 

All the blood drained from my face from the appalling notion of just how much EMS they must have injected into his blood stream for it to have tampered with every cell in his body. My jaw clenched as my mouth ran bone dry.

They mutilated him.

Digust washed over me, for the false claims that the lab protected their lab animals, for every ruthless employee that harboured such barbaric morals, for myself, who blindly assisted in the cruel methods of this place. My heart rate picked up at my own helplessness, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scrambled out of the corner I had holed myself up in.

I didn’t know if it was the bruising despair or the fuming rage that had me stomping my way across the halls, headed for the director’s office. The rational part of me was aware of the fact that I couldn’t do anything, change their twisted morals or bring down that metaphorical sword of justice that I was so fixated on. But that didn’t mean I had to play along as a clueless, complaisant pawn in their gruesome experiments.

Keycard or not, I was determined to wreak havoc until I could properly screech obscenities at one of the incredibly asinine brains that ran this revolting laboratory. Storming past the Namjoon and Yoongi’s office, I picked up on a shrill cry that seemed to douse my whole body in ice water, stopping me in my tracks.

A turn to my right gave me a direct view of Minzi struggling to pull a semi-conscious Taemin out of his cage, arms which he desperately wriggled against, thrashing violently to escape her hold. Now knowing what malicious behaviour deserved such treatment from kind-hearted Taemin, I rushed at her. 

“How could you!” I roared, seeing red when she turned, glaring condescendingly.

Her calculated eyes examined my rapidly approaching, ruffled figure. “Oh, good, I needed a coffee. Could you fetch me a tranquilizer while you’re at it? I didn’t think he would wake up.”

I grit my teeth as my temper flared, resentment embedded into each of my features. Stopping a step away from her unbothered form, I seethed out, “you guys claim to look after the lab animals? Then why would you permanently damage his genes!”

“What have you been wasting time on instead of researching what we told you to?”

“Answer the question!”

She sneers. “I thought I warned you to stay out of anything that doesn’t concern you. That includes any testing subjects.”

“Testing subjects? How the hell do you think you can get away with—”

“Woah, what’s all the ruckus here?” Hyunho’s lazy form strolled in with a lax yet domineering countenance. The appearance of the other head researcher made my hair stand on end. “Do we need to put up a sign to remind some people that they’re to use indoor voices inside a laboratory?”

My eyes quickly narrowed at his patronizing remark. “I don’t know what kind of fucked up project you guys are conducting, but if you’re harming innocent animals, I don’t want any part of your imbecilic research.”

“Ooh, it seems that newbie is a feisty one, isn’t she?” He took a step towards me, the scent of a cigarette he probably smoked earlier invading my senses and invoking an appealing urge to regurgitate my dinner all over him. “Listen here girly, I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse us of here, but I’ll be sure to report your unruly behaviour to the director if you keep this shit up.”

“As if I give a flying fu—”

A hand wrapped around my mouth before I could unleash the rest of my resentful spew. “Ah, Dr. Lee.” I recognized the subtle undertone of panic in Namjoon’s deep voice as he addressed the burly man with respect that he didn’t deserve. “You see, Y/N had a pretty rough day, some family matters back home, y’know? I’m just going to take her outside to clear her head a little.”

“Yes, that would be a good idea.” Hyunho stepped back to Minzi’s side.

“If you would excuse us then...” I flailed about in Namjoon’s sturdy hold before he all but manhandled my to the back entrance. The refreshingly cool air grazing my overheated skin quelled some of my fury, although I felt its presence simmering beneath the surface. The tall man released my trembling limbs and I whipped my head over to examine Namjoon’s concerned countenance. 

Did he know?

I couldn’t bear the thought of any of the limited friends I’d made in this place willingly taking part in such horrid research. They couldn’t have known. My heavy head fell into my hands, thinking of innocent Taemin who didn’t merit the attention of these corrupt individuals, who had no one to protect him. 

If I quit my job here, would anyone care for him? Obviously his basic needs would be met, Namjoon and Yoongi would make sure of that, but were they aware of what exactly that experiment entailed? I’d only scratched the surface, but the prospect of finding out every gritty detail terrified me.

I felt an overwhelming weight crushed me, being helpless beneath it all. “Joon,” I managed to croak out, “I didn’t come here for this.”

With the low volume of my voice, I didn’t know how much he’d heard, but a tug on my wrist enveloped my body into his embrace. As he stroked my head reassuringly, I held onto his thin lab coat with clenched fists.

If it meant I could save Taemin, I would keep my mouth shut. If it meant I could act as some salvation to each animal that came into this wretched place, I would stay.

My disgust for the laboratory only multiplied.

“I didn’t come here for this.”

A pleasant tranquility took shape after a brief greeting had been exchanged, both Jin and I on a well-deserved break after too much time cooped up in our respective offices. Well, even though the assistant researchers’ office wasn’t technically mine in title, the majority of my belongings resided in that space. Namjoon didn’t mind much and Yoongi complained about everything under the sun, so I made myself comfortable there. 

The hum of electricity powering the building and the whirr of the coffee maker spurring into action intensified as I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the sofa. I stared up at the ceiling with a vacant expression and tried to clear my thoughts for a bit.

A ceramic mug clinked against the surface of the coffee table in front of me. “Drink.” I lifted my head to take in the reassuring crinkle in Jin’s eyes. “You look like you’ll need all the energy you can get right now.”

I scoffed at his statement, the end of my own lips flitting upwards. “Just tell me I look like shit.”

Gratefully accepting the cup of coffee, the bitter taste on my tongue already started to rejuvenate my aching muscles. Jin was aware of my deep-seated aversion to the drink, but I guess my appearance revealed too much of the chaos inside my head. “I was going to, but I had a feeling you might just break down if I did.”

Although the work itself was tedious and relatively tiring on its own, the fact that all my efforts were going to fuel that wretched project made me feel rotten to the core. The knowledge sapped my stamina at an exponential rate that I wasn’t accustomed to.

“How’s baby Yeri doing?” I placed the pungent beverage back down, stroking my chin in faux deliberation. “Or I guess I should ask how Chaeyoung is holding up instead, huh?”

Jin let out a hum of aggravation around his own glass, swallowing the liquid before slapping his unoccupied hand against his thigh. “Don’t even get me started. Chaeyoung keeps telling me to take some time off work to come help, but honestly I would take the peace and quiet of the office over Yeri’s nasty diapers any day.” He shook his head at the thought, repulsed by the dealing with another one of Yeri’s accidents.

I’d heard the story one too many times not to let a giggle slip at his misfortune.

Abruptly, an alarming shriek disturbed the placidity. As my head shot up to identify the source, the sound was muffled, then silence resumed. I scrambled to discern who the perpetrator was when my gaze met Jin’s static form. “Did you hear that?” When his weary eyes met mine, appearing confused, I clarified, “that scream.”

“Oh, they probably just dropped something. Don’t worry too much about it.” But I couldn’t find a trace of compassion in his words, especially with how gut-wrenching the shout sounded. Rather than shock, every note was filled with agony and something felt vaguely off about the whole ordeal.

The look of guilt that Jin sported stopped me from prodding. I refused to believe the stubborn man who was always drowning in papers to complete, shoving fried chicken down his throat like there was no tomorrow, who had the sweetest daughter back at home knew anything about the experiment. Not what was really happening.

That’s why the regret and shame written all over his countenance made me pause.

More shuffling, whimpers and yelps filled my limbs with apprehension, seeping deep into my bones and making me restless. Jin kept his gaze trained on the floor, unable to look me in the eye as he excused each sound with the fault of a clumsy, irresponsible researcher and other rationalizations that I wasn’t sure he, himself, believed. 

At this point, the raucous was becoming increasingly bestial and I couldn’t decipher the species that was belting out the miserable noises. I tried to grit my teeth and ignore them, distracting myself with Jin’s moronic cover-ups to keep me glued to my spot. Without a keycard, I had no access to the upstairs lab anyway, it was out of my hands for now.

When my thoughts strayed to Taemin though, I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach, recalling how I had been dragged away before I could stop Minzi from taking him. Suddenly, I lost the ability to think logically, fixated on Taemin’s well-being. I had to know if it was him.

Hastily, I jumped out of my seat, coffee long forgotten as I sprinted down the hall. Jin’s pounding footsteps followed after me, though I gave them no mind.

Once I reached the first floor, the sight of two unfamiliar men dressed in heavy gear greeted me. The bulkier of the two lifted the cage as if it were as light as a feather and I noticed how unusually clean it was. “No, you can’t take it upstairs!” I grabbed onto the bars, halting him in his tracks. “Where is he? Tell them to bring him back here!”

“Sorry, no can do miss,” he drawled out. “We were asked to—”

“I don’t care what you were asked to do! Tell them to bring him back!” He rolled his eyes at my accusatory tone and yanked the cage out of my grasp. As I reached out again in a frenzy, the other man blocked my path. The odds weren’t looking too great for me.

I saw Jin emerge from the staircase, following the ruckus I’d created. Relief flooded my veins as I sought his backup. “Jin, they want to take his cage.” Pursing my lips, I pointed to said object. “Could you tell them to leave it here?”

“No, Y/N. Get out of the way.” My breath hitched at Jin’s steely tone, locking onto his fatigued gaze. I tried to remind myself that he was oblivious to the horrors that they’d already inflicted upon Taemin, but the back of my eyes still burned at the betrayal I felt. “Come on, let them do their job.”

Though I refused to show how dismayed I’d become, I couldn’t bear the idea of Taemin residing upstairs, where they could inject anything without suspicion. “Please, Jin. Please. Believe me when I say that he won’t last a day up there.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, let’s go finish our coffee, hm?” I huffed out through my nostrils in frustration, wringing my fingers together as I debated whether or not to tell him the truth I discovered for myself not too long ago.

“Oh, my. What’s this? I believe I told you what would happen if you caused a commotion again, didn’t I?” Feeling defeated already, I didn’t even turn to meet Hyunho’s form as I heard him approach. “I’ll need you to get out of the way now, girly.”

“It’s Y/N.”

His fake grin put his crooked teeth on full display. “Yes, yes. Scurry along now.”

“No.” With a hardened resolve, I glared back at him. “Bring Taemin back. Let him stay on this floor.” Hesitant but desperate, I added a barely audible, “please.”

At my plea, he brightened up, utterly pleased with watching me grovel at his feet. “You should use that tone more often, newbie, it could really get you places.” The stealthy once-over of my chest didn’t go unnoticed by me and I wrapped the lab coat around me tighter. He pulled back a little, satisfied with my discomfort. "You didn’t hear? He died of natural causes, so we have to clean up this mess for the new tiger cub coming in. Don’t worry though, he’ll be staying on this floor when he gets here.”

I took a step back, skin stinging as if he’d slapped me across the face, feeling my blood run cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the bewilderment reflected on Jin’s features, as well as the sudden appearance of Namjoon and Yoongi, both looking as distressed as I felt.

When my breaths came in heavier and burning droplets rolled down my cheeks, I knew the dam had broken. “Don’t feed me that bullshit... You monsters.” I felt my bottom lip quiver as my voice cracked. “Killed him.”

One of Hyunho’s thick eyebrows raised in amusement at my shattered state. “Haven’t you been taught not to mess with fire, girly?” He crossed his arms after giving a flick of dismissal to the man still carrying the cage. “You could get burned.” 

A pair of arms wrapped around my torso and dragged me away before I could wail anything out. Through the blurry mess of tears, I made out a discarded, mangled mouse toy by the corner.

tags: @aurorakingsley​ @bubbletae7​ @iamunrecognized @bangtanloverrrrr​ @walkingdeadfan25​

[haec-est-fides]

Filodox’s Trials of Apollo Reactions [Part I]

Welcome to part one of a reflective journey through Trials of Apollo ft. my original ebook annotations! I’ll be your host, 2020!filodox.

For this first episode, we’ll be going back to May 2016, the beginning of it all: The Hidden Oracle.

Annotations for this round are brought to you by 2016!filodox.

Is there anything we should know before we begin, 2016!me?

2016!filodox: I swore on the Styx never to read another Riordan book after he killed Octavian. And yet here we are.

... Alright then! Let’s get started.

But first, a more detailed overview on how this series will work: I will excerpt bits and pieces of the books based on what I highlighted / annotated on my first read. Beneath each quote, I will share what I wrote in the annotation. Below that, I will (occasionally) laugh at my past self, clarify the note, or say how my view has changed.

I encourage questions, comments, and concerns (of which there may be many), so go ahead and use that replies feature if you feel so inclined! However, these are just my opinions and (occasionally) emotional reactions, so no hate pls. <3 (Or, if you do send hate, pls make it funny.)

Now, diving right in with Riordan’s dedication!

To The Muse Calliope. This is long overdue. Please don’t hurt me.

2016!filodox: Hurt him. He didn’t even name the chapters.

As you can see, I had yet to experience Lester’s haiku and was already mad based on the table of contents alone. I went into this series very salty...

I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy.

2016!filodox: At least he did something right. Once.

I was just,,,extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill. (Though I was a huge Troy / Aeneas stan before all this, just to be clear.)

Is anything sadder than the sound of a god hitting a pile of garbage bags?

2016!filodox: I actually find this particular god crashing into a dumpster quite amusing.

I also blamed Apollo for what happened to Octavian. I think that had a lot to do with how Apollo acted on Delos in Heroes of Olympus, basically disowning Octavian and whining about how some “creature” scammed him? That was bullshit. Apollo needed to own the fact that he blessed Octavian, but he just abandoned him and denied all the blame. TL;DR I had a grudge, okay?

My mind stewed in confusion, but one memory floated to the surface -- the voice of my father, Zeus: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

2016!filodox: Wait, is this bc everyone blames Octavian and therefore Apollo? Bc lol but also no?

*cough* Octavian did nothing wrong 2k16 *cough*

Zeus will reconsider, I told myself. He’s just trying to scare me. Any moment, he will yank me back to Olympus and let me off with a warning.

“Yes...” My voice sounded hollow and desperate. “Yes, that’s it.”

2016!filodox: Apollo is a self centered frat boy, I forgot...but it is slightly...endearing? *narrows eyes*

Ah, how close I was to stanning Lester in the first chapter, when he was at his most “goddy”. You know, I actually made a rule for myself when I started reading Trials of Apollo that I would not under any circumstances stan Apollo. That was a naive goal, because it was never really a danger.

Regardless, Zeus had held me responsible for Octavian’s delusions of grandeur. Zeus seemed to consider egotism a trait the boy had inherited from me. Which is ridiculous. I am much too self-aware to be egotistical.

2016!filodox: I am going to Murder him.

*chef kiss* the hypocrisy ! the lack of self-awareness !

“I just...I assumed -- I hoped this would be taken care of by now.”

“You mean by demigods,” Percy said, “going on a big quest to reclaim the Oracle of Delphi?”

2016!filodox: That sounds like a decent quest, or you know, QUESTING FOR THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS

I’ve always said I can see the future but an inch to the left. Also, I don’t like Ella.

It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube. Say what you will about gods being absentee parents; our children inherit many of our finest personality traits.

2016!filodox: AND HE’S MAD ABOUT OCTAVIAN?!

I mean ?

Apollo, when Austin and Kayla show ambition: THEY GOT THAT FROM ME <3

Apollo, when Octavian (or Nero, or Caligula) shows ambition: srry i don’t know him ??

He had a weak jawline, an overlarge nose, and a beard that wrapped around his double chin like a helmet strap. His hair was curly and dark like mine, except not as fashionably tousled or luxuriant. His lips curled as if he smelled something unpleasant. Perhaps it was the burning seats of the bus.

2016!filodox: Nero ???

Not quite sure how to feel looking back at this moment. Call out post @ myself for instantly recognizing Nero, when afaik this scene was before we had any hints that Roman emperors were even a plot point? But here’s the thing: I don’t remember why I could recognize him so easily. I don’t remember where 2016!me obtained this ancient Rome knowledge. A mystery.

On another note entirely, did Nero really like,,,astral project into Apollo’s fever dream to address him directly? Because Rhea does. And sometimes Python does. But Nero? Can he do that?

The man laughed as flames licked at his purple sleeves. “You’re not sorry yet, but you will be. Find me the gates. Lead me to the Oracle. I’ll enjoy burning it down!”

2016!filodox: I too enjoy burning things down. # Nero confirmed

My only comment here is “oh you sweet summer child,,,”

Oh. Perhaps some of you are wondering how I felt seeing [Will] with a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.

2016!filodox: No, actually. I wasn’t wondering. I was plotting how to kill you, them, and quite a few other people. Do you think I could trade you for Octavian?

Oh man, back at it again with the salt. XD

I could only remember my conversations with Octavian, the way he’d turned my head with his flattery and promises. That stupid boy...it was his fault I was here.

A voice whispered in the back of my mind. This time I thought it might be my conscience: Who was the stupid boy? It wasn’t Octavian.

2016!filodox: I can’t really...explain my emotions upon reading this. I’m still not quite okay, but this...it’s bittersweet in a way. I don’t know if this is a poor attempt at a proper closure, the author’s way of beating a dead horse, or just a way to make Apollo seem pitiable. Whatever it is... Octavian was important enough to remain in Apollo’s mortal memory. He somehow made promises to a god and had Apollo wrapped around his finger. And despite being so much like Apollo, the god blames him. Like everyone blames him. But Apollo also realizes, accepts on an infinitesimal scale, that “it wasn’t Octavian”. He wasn’t perfect, but neither is Apollo. Apollo is (at least) subconsciously admitting his own guilt in the whole affair.

...yeah. I will note that this bit isn’t meant to develop Octavian, but rather uses Octavian as a prop to support Apollo’s development? Which is why it still stings. Like thanks, I guess.

“Your judgement in the past has been...questionable. I wonder if you have chosen the right tools for this job. Have you learned from your past mistakes?”

2016!filodox: Nero has made plenty of mistakes to learn from

Love how I just assumed it was Nero back in chapter 10 and went with it, zero hesitation. Also love how I heard Python say Nero has made mistakes and went “oh absolutely”. In fact, here’s something funny in retrospect that will become more and more apparent: I did not like Nero in 2016. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t. There’s something really odd going on here that baffles me, looking back...

“A triumvirate is a ruling council of three,” I said. “At least, that’s what it meant in ancient Rome.”

“Which is interesting,” Rachel said, “because of this next shot.” She tapped her screen. The new photo zoomed in on the building’s penthouse terrace, where three shadowy figures stood talking together....

2016!filodox: Is it bad that I’m smirking? Because it’s getting interesting ~ *clear malicious intent*

Wow, edgy. Triumvirates are just a neat, Roman thing and I stanned.

“The last triumvirate I dealt with included Lepidus, Marc Antony, and my son, the original Octavian. A triumvirate is a very Roman concept...like patriotism, skullduggery, and assassination.”

2016!filodox: THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL EVERYONE. MODERN OCTAVIAN IS A VERY GOOD ANCIENT ROMAN. POLITICS, ESPECIALLY SHADY AF POLITICS AND POWERPLAYS, ARE QUINTESSENTIALLY ROMAN. Also, I’d like to note that it’s confirmed, in this universe’s canon, that Augustus was a son of Apollo.

Ohhhh, wait. I think I’d watched the HBO series Rome by 2016, which would at least partially explain my ancient Rome knowledge. (Amazing tv show btw!)

“He heard them talking in Latin.”

“Latin? Were they campers?”

Pete spread his hands. “I--I don’t think so. Paulie described them like they were adults. He said one of them was the leader. The other two addressed him as imperator.”

2016!filodox: !!!! (obligatory 💕)

I was such a simp for Latin in high school. And the Roman Empire. Still am, but hey.

“The Beast is planning some kind of attack on your camp. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be big.”

2016!filodox: Runs in the family I guess

The Octavian / Triumvirate parallels are everywhere... 👀

“The emperors made themselves gods. They had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them.”

2016!filodox: # deify me

*smacking my past self with a stick* You stop that! Edgy child!

Anyway, a much better point here is like,,,the Imperial cult was huge in the ancient Roman world. Looking at Apollo’s explanation here, why did only the “worst” three emperors get to be immortal? Did famously “good” emperors like Augustus and Marcus Aurelius have the option of becoming minor gods, but they chose Elysium or something? Are there slightly less infamous emperors just hanging around anywhere as minor gods? A lot of Roman emperors live on in human memory is all I’m saying.

“Wait!” Will said as I reached the door. “Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?”

“The worst of my descendants.” My fingers dug into the doorframe. “The Christians called him the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero.”

2016!filodox: I honestly can’t believe it took this long to reveal this? Was anyone surprised?

Nero’s reveal is rather late in the book compared to Commodus, Caligula, and even Tarquin iirc? But it makes sense, being the first book of the series. Also love how 16-year-old me was like “this reveal is silly because everyone, like me, recognizes Nero on sight” and didn’t question that assumption at all.

“Germani.” Instinctively, I moved in front of Meg. The elite imperial bodyguards had been cold-blooded death reapers in ancient Rome. I doubted they’d gotten any sweeter over the centuries.

2016!filodox: BITCH. See? This is why I love Rome. They knew what they were doing.

Ngl, as someone of Germanic heritage, I felt really represented by the Germani, which is hilarious on so many levels.

He tried to compensate for his ugliness with an expensive Italian suit of purple wool, his gray shirt open to display gold chains. His shoes were hand-tooled leather, not the sort of thing to wear while stomping around in an ant pile. Then again, Nero had always had expensive, impractical tastes.

2016!filodox: I don’t exactly like Nero, and actually think he was quite the shitty emperor, but I guess I mildly respect and “like” him on principle (in this book at least).

OH YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I was so convinced that I didn’t actually like Nero, despite all of the lowkey evidence to the contrary? Who hurt you, past me? (Lmao, it was Tacitus, Suetonius, and Cassius Dio.) My working theory is that I was too much of an Emperor Augustus stan at the time to admit liking Nero. It’s hysterical. Look at me equivocating like a champ.

I’d been so proud of my son, the original Octavian, later Caesar Augustus. After his death, his descendants became increasingly arrogant and unstable (which I blamed on their mortal DNA; they certainly didn’t get those qualities from me).

2016!filodox: I’m glad Apollo and I can agree on something. Augustus was amazing and those who came after him...significantly less so.

See! The propaganda really got to me, what can I say?

Nero clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Oh, my. It seems we’ve had a slight miscommunication. You see, Apollo, Meg brought you here, just as I asked her to. Well done, my sweet.”

2016!filodox: This was obvious but I still find it...gods, the only word I can think of is “delicious”

. . .

“The Beast killed my father. This is Nero. He’s -- he’s my stepfather.”

I could not fully grasp this before Nero spread his arms.

“That’s right, my darling,” he said. “And you’ve done a wonderful job. Come to Papa.”

2016!filodox: Okay, but we should have known this since it became apparent her weapons were Roman. Also, oof. Also also, WHY did Riordan feel the need to add that last line? Why?

ASDFGHJKL: I CAN’T

“After the fire, we’ll rebuild,” he said. “It will be glorious!”

2016!filodox: The amount of times I have used this very logic is worrying.

For (some) context, Firelord Ozai is my favorite character from AtLA. <3

The scene might have been funny except that the Germani were now back on their feet, five demigods and a geyser spirit were still tied to highly flammable posts, and Nero still had a box of matches.

2016!filodox: Oh, I find this plenty amusing!

The emperor stared at his empty hand. “Meg...?” His voice was as cold as an icicle.

2016!filodox: The various ways his tone / voice have been described throughout this conversation are just 💕

*looks at camera like I’m on The Office*

Seriously, though. Nero’s voice is like the central descriptive element of his character because he’s so manipulative. It’s really cool and a great use of detail.

[Meg] turned to Nero. “You told me never to lower myself to my enemies’ level.”

“No, indeed.” Nero’s tone had frayed like a weathered rope. “We are better. We are stronger. We will build a glorious new world. But these nonsense-spewing trees stand in our way, Meg. Like any invasive weeds, they must be burned. And the only way to do that is with a true conflagration -- flames stoked by blood.”

2016!filodox: Real 👏🏻 Gods 👏🏻 Require 👏🏻 Blood👏🏻

I was way too enthusiastic about this whole situation, wasn’t I?

Nero grinned. “Good-bye, Apollo. Only eleven more Olympians to go.”

2016!filodox: Wait, shit, WHAT

Having read Tower of Nero, this probably had something to do with Python interfering with the Fates, huh? But does that mean it’s more Python’s plan or Nero’s? If this was Nero’s plan (with his 12 kids literally replacing the Olympians) that’s,,,really fucking bold.

Then I heard the screaming from Camp Half-Blood.

2016!filodox: Music to my ears ~

I’m presenting every edgy detail of my annotations so I have a proper case file when I inevitably have to face the question “On a scale of one to ten, how relatable is Emperor Nero and why should you have realized it’s a ten sooner?”

In a flash of silver light, the camp’s magical barriers collapsed. The Colossus lurched forward and brought his foot down on the dining pavilion, smashing it to rubble like so many children’s blocks.

2016!filodox: Payback! Dear gods, I can’t stop smiling! I’m just like “YES!” I know this will all probably get fixed or whatever but I’M HAVING A MOMENT.

I’ve learned to appreciate the small wins. <3

Percy grabbed one of the crown’s sunray spikes. He sliced it off at the base, then jabbed it into the Colossus’ forehead.

2016!filodox: As much as Nero is FAR from my favorite, I really don’t like defacing ancient (or replicas of ancient) statues and art...

This is where I just start laughing at myself tbh. I was so insistent on not liking Nero. Like, I sound like I’m in denial. Peak equivocation. What happened to that heart emoji a few chapters back? Why did I suddenly make it about *checks notes* ancient art? Updated translation: nooo don’t ruin the Colossus Neronis it’s so sexy aha

Just as the [arrow] reached its apex and was about to fall back to earth, a gust of wind caught it...perhaps Zephyros looking kindly on my pitiful attempt. The arrow sailed into the Colossus’ ear canal and rattled in his head with a clink, clink, clink like a pachinko machine.

2016!filodox: HOW MANY EX MACHINAS IS THIS ?! The dryads, the arrow, Percy, the enchantment, and THIS ?

One of my criticisms of Trials of Apollo in general is just that the stakes are so much higher and Riordan usually solves that problem by having his heroes win on long odds. The chances of them succeeding at like,,,anything they attempt are astronomical, but of course they manage. It’s not surprising but it does get a little tiring.

“Yo, Nico,” Leo called, “please tell me that’s it for the physical abuse.”

“For now.” Nico smiled. “We’re still trying to get in touch with the West Coast. You’ll have a few dozen people out there who will definitely want to hit you.”

2016!filodox: Oh I’d love to hit him. With the flaming, Imperial gold payload of an onager. Preferably WITHOUT the Pontifex Maximus attached to it -- unless of course you mean the false pontifex, Jason Grace.

Leo was the salt in the wound for this one, ngl. He rekindled my undying ire over Octavian’s death. As I said at the beginning of this, I was extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill after Heroes of Olympus. That sentiment sticks around for a while...

And we can call that a wrap!

Though it may seem like it, my annotations are not, in fact, a compilation of Nero’s greatest hits. There are a lot of scenes of his that I love (naturally) but I didn’t have anything to say about them when I first read the series. Maybe I’ll share those another time.

In any case, I hope you got something out of this ridiculously long post! Until next time! <3

[immclate]

✧･ﾟ: * ( cis man / he/him / alexander dreymon ) — welcome to ireyne, [ ICARIUS VYNORAN ] of [ ETILLE ]. when the doom came, you were [ UNALTERED ]. at [ THIRTY SIX ] years of age, the world around you changed. the act of [ TRAVELLING PAINTER ] suits you; after all, the whispers always said you were [ ADROIT ] but also [ DUPLICITOUS ]. you are [ NEUTRAL TO ] the doom. ( nova / 24 / cst / she/her / n/a )

hello my fellow hellbeings, i’m nova & i’m so stoked to be here tbh i’ve been wanting to join a good fantasy rp for SO LONG !! between (re)watching shit like the last kingdom & the witcher & merlin i have neeeeeeeded this ... anyways this intro is probably going to be a mess but ! pls bear with me . 

born & raised in etille on a small farm, by a kind stranger who took him in after finding him abandoned as a child along the side of the road. he doesn’t remember his parents, or know what happened to them. he assumes that they’re dead, although they could still be out there somewhere

he worked on the farm growing up, until he was old enough to venture out on his own. as soon as he started discovering all of the wonders of the world, he hardly ever returned home. he was grateful to the woman that raised him, but he always felt trapped on that small little farm. it was too far away from anything and everyone. 

he never stayed in one place for long, his curiosity leading him to want to see more and more. he was insatiable. 

it wasn’t until he traveled to arella that he found a passion for the arts. he always loved seeing beautiful places, and he’d always wished he could somehow encapsulate them forever. painting allowed him to do just that. it took a lot of practice, but after a while he excelled at painting just about anything. and since he didn’t like sitting still for long periods of time, he got pretty fast at it too.

 word travelled across the kingdoms and soon he had many offers. it suited him perfectly, being able to venture out to different places, taking in all of the different culture and people. oh, the people. growing up with little to no interaction with people, it was always a kind of relief to be surrounded by so many now. especially the pretty ones. 

he often found someone to lay with in each city he visited, always charming his way into someone’s bed, both women and men alike. he didn’t much have a preference, but he had to admit it was easier to find women as it was more ‘socially acceptable’. he doesn’t give a shit, but there are many men who would rather keep it secret. 

the more paintings he finished, the greater his reputation became and he was able to charge more and more for his services. he rarely had time to paint the things he truly desired, but the temptation of riches got the better of the young man. 

after a few years, he grew bored of jumping from city to city just to paint for rotten nobles who never truly appreciated his art. he hated having to put up a polite facade whenever around them when all he wanted to do was tell them how pathetic he thought their lives must be, stuck in such a repetitive & controlled environment. the thought of being any kind of royalty sent shivers down his spine. he knew he would hate it, as he was starting to hate just working with/for them.

upon returning to arella to gather his bearings and pick up some art supplies for personal use, he met a quite enchanting woman named francys at a shop he’d wandered into. they bonded over a shared interest in painting, and as he often did, he charmed his way into her bed. then, as always, he would leave just as abruptly as he would arrive. something about her always had him coming back, though, every time he returned to arella. was it her warm bed or something more ? --- eh, likely just the bed. 

currently . . . 

he still travels frequently, craving adventure & never able to sit still, despite having a daughter in arella that he barely knows. he likes to blame francys’ sister for banishing him, when in reality he just doesn’t want the responsibility of being a father. 

spoiler alert he is 100% a shithead 

he still paints occasionally but never for money. instead he hustles, placing bets that are rigged to his advantage, or convincing people to buy things from him at a higher value than they’re worth. he’s got a silver tongue so it’s hard to dispute the things he says, especially when you don’t know him. 

will sleep with ANYONE and everyone ,,, hit it & quit it type of mans 

a certified MESS like seriously 

someone pls kick his ass . im begging 

although he DOES ... know how to fight since he’s travelled so much ,, learned how to defend himself after getting his shit absolutely ROCKED one time (lots of times lbr) but he never starts fights for no reason ... unless he’s drunk then there’s no telling wtf he’s gonna do . 

very indifferent to this whole doom thing since it didn’t alter him in any way, bc he’s a selfish prick so like ??? what ?? this horrible thing happened but it didn’t effect me in any way .. oh well ! doesn’t concern me ! (or so he thinks) 

         alright ! that’s all i have for now but i’ll probs add to it or make an actual lil bio eventually BUT !!  please feel free to slide into these DMs if you’d like to plot, here or on disco ! i’ll probably throw out a little connections page soon as well :)  

[langdvnshepherd]

Good For You ~ Epilogue (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE ~ PART FOUR

MASTERLIST

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, smut, daddy kink, voyeurism (sort of? not really but), lost of fluff hehe 

A/N: Surprise bitch, I bet you thought you’d seen the last of sugar daddy!Duncan and Y/N 😏. Since everyone seemed to be feelin some type of way that Part 4 was the last part, I figured I’d finish them off with a cute lil sum sum bc why the hell not lmao. This also kinda fits in line with it being finals szn, so for all my thotties still in school, enjoy!! Also I barely proofread this pls forgive me. Once again, thanks for all of the kind words about my writing, it means the world to be as always!

     A set of keys rattling on the other side of Duncan’s apartment door indicated her arrival. They jangled rapidly, as if getting inside was of utmost importance. Duncan knew exactly who it was, as only two other people in the world had a key to his place. Annette, whom he’d only recently just reconciled with after the earth-shattering news that revealed she wasn’t actually his mother, had taken off to Mexico earlier that week to tend to international ties with The Shepherd Freedom Foundation, so it wasn’t her. Which led him to believe that only other person, a person he’d been thinking an awful lot about lately, could possibly be making their way into his apartment...

-

     “I DID IT!” you yelled as you bolted through the front door of Duncan’s, well yours and Duncan’s, apartment. Probably a little too loud for his neighbor’s liking, but you were too excited to give a shit. Paying no mind to behave like a civilized human being, you dropped everything at the entryway and jumped over the back of the quilted leather sofa to plummet into Duncan’s lap; textbooks, designer bag, and the obnoxiously large keyring to your new Audi (an anniversary present from Duncan), all clanking to the floor in one large pile.

     Duncan grunted in response, the weight of you crashing on top of him so suddenly knocked the breath out of him. His face quickly became consumed by a genuine, ear-to-ear smile as he remembered what you had set off to do this morning.

     “I knew you would,” he stated matter-of-factly as his arms wrapped securely and comfortably around your waist, his lips reaching over to plant a quick kiss on your lips before you told him all about the day you’d just had.

     In the years that the two of you actually spent together as a couple, you’d come to realize many things about the infamous Duncan Shepherd. One being that he loved physical contact. He wasn’t quick to expose that side of himself back when he was considered strictly as your sugar daddy, but that passing of time had made him soft. He loved touches. Even little touches like pressing his knee against yours under the table during boring gala dinners, or rubbing small circles on the underside of your ass while his head was between your legs. Duncan lacing his arms around you had become customary, part of your daily routine when either of you came home for the night.

     “The department loved my thesis. They said my research was impeccable, and that there wasn’t a single thing I could have done to improve it. I’m set to graduate in two weeks!” you gloated, and you damn well reserved the right to. 

     For the past 3 years, you’d been working on your thesis for graduate school, and it just about took every ounce of sanity you had left. You couldn’t count the number of days and nights you’d spent huddled over a textbook or sobbing into your laptop because your numbers weren’t coming out right or you felt like your argument was pointless. But Duncan was there for you through it all. He saw how drained you were for months on end, and wanted to make sure he was doing everything he could. You quit your job, finally giving into Duncan’s pleads to let him cover your expenses full time. You’d even been living with him for just over a year now, not counting the many, unofficial months prior when a large collection of your bras and underwear had mysteriously taken over drawers of Duncan’s dresser. Your roommate was pissed after finding out you were abandoning her to move in with your boyfriend, but she quickly retracted her remarks upon realizing she’d be able to visit Duncan’s lavish apartment whenever she pleased. 

     “So I’m guessing my little stress reliever really helped take the edge off for your presentation then, hmm?” he snidely remarked, referring to last night, when his fingers worked you over the edge repeatedly. You’d been up all night worrying, sleep being the furthest thing from your mind. Duncan begged and pleaded for you to come to bed, but you refused. Too many last minute diagrams to perfect and statistics to memorize before your thesis defense the next morning. He’d somehow managed to coax you into the satin of his sheets with the promise of a good night’s sleep. There was no teasing, no holding back, just Duncan making you feel so incredibly good, knocking you into a deep slumber in no time.

     “I just got my fucking master’s degree, and you want to try to make this about yourself?” you sarcastically jabbed, playfully shoving Duncan’s shoulders against the back of the couch.

     He pretended to be hurt, unwinding one arm from your waist to dramatically massage the skin where you’d pushed him.

     “I’m teasing, dove. You wanna go out? I’m feeling like this calls for a celebration. We can go to that new seafood restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. You have to have a reservation, but I could probably get us in.”

     “Can we just stay in? I’ve been standing in these heels for hours and I really don’t feel like talking to anyone else,” you muttered while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, the exhaustion evident in your body language.

“Of course,” he replied, resting his chin on the top of your head while brushing his fingertips absentmindedly across your forearm. “I can call in something. What are you in the mood for? Sushi? Thai?”

     “Can we order pizza from that place by my old apartment?” you asked, a cheeky grin creeping its way onto your face. You knew damn well the reaction that suggestion would get out of him. You’d gotten Duncan to eat there once, but only once. After some begging on your part, Duncan agreed to give it a shot. His upbringing consisted of caviar and charcuteries, meaning greasy, $2 a slice pizza automatically made his stomach churn. He ate it, but not without complaining the entire time. Despite growing accustomed to Duncan’s ways after being with him for so long, you still yearned for that shitty, cheesy, pumped-full-of-chemicals pizza that had comforted you on many drunken nights while walking back to your old apartment.

     Duncan pulled back from where he was cuddled into you to reveal the most genuine, stink face you had ever seen. His lips were pressed together firmly and turned down in disgust and his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Clearly not amused.

     “You’re joking, right?”

     “Serious as a heart attack, handsome,” you rattled your fingertips against his peck for emphasis, peering up at him with doe eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

     He paused for a moment longer, praying you’d suggest something, anything, else besides that stupid fucking pizza he hated so much. He honestly didn’t see how people could stomach food like that, but he wasn’t going to crush your spirits on your special day.

     Realizing you weren’t budging on your wishes, he audibly groaned.

     “You’re lucky I have a hard time saying no to you. You know that, right?”

     “As if you ever would, Donut.”

     He suppressed a chuckle at the nickname you’d recently picked given him, still trying to seem annoyed.

     “Whatever, brat.” He snorted effortlessly flicked your legs off of his lap, sauntering towards the kitchen to grab his phone and place an order for what he considered the worst meal on the planet.

-

     Somewhere along the line, the pizza had long been forgotten. Maybe it was when you’d purposely reached over Duncan to grab the tv remote, making sure he got an eyeful of your breasts as you moved. Or maybe it was when you’d kissed him to shut him up amidst his incessant bitching about how the pizza tasted like it had been left out in the hot sun for 3 days. However it went down, you’d found yourself straddled across Duncan’s lap, his hands clutched tightly at your waist, occasionally roaming down to your ass to grind you against his hardening cock.

     You felt your core pulsing beneath you as Duncan ground his hips against yours, arousal pooling at your entrance. As old as Duncan was, he was always in the mood, ready to take you whenever and wherever. He had situated his body so that his legs were propped up on the cushions and his back was leaning against the stiff armrest, where he was able to hold your body as close to his as possible with ease. You were lost in the moment, not thinking of anything or anyone else except the way Duncan was making you feel.     Once you were able to pry Duncan’s hands from of your ass, you withdrew your lips from his with a pop. Sliding down his body, you held eye contact with him as you reached for the buckle on his belt, eyes blown with desire. Duncan had this look on his face like he was contemplating doing something or saying something, but he certainly didn’t want you to stop either. He let you undo his belt buckle and unzip his trousers, making one less layer between you and his aching cock. You pressed your lips over the cotton of his boxers, making him groan as you mouthed at his erection that was begging to be set free.     Just as you reached for the waistband of his boxers, Duncan gripped you by your wrists.     “What? Are you okay?” you stopped suddenly. Duncan was never one to put things on hold, especially when your pretty, little lips were mere inches away from where he wanted you most.     “Put your shoes on, I need to show you something.”     “You’re joking, right?” you asked, sitting up from your place between his legs.

     “Serious as a heart attack, angel,” he responded, batting his eyelashes and speaking in a sing-song voice, clearly mocking your words from earlier on in the evening. 

     “Come on, let’s get in the car.”

     Glancing down at the bulge in boxers, you gave him one last, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this first?” look. He simply smiled in return, taking your hand in his to help you up from the couch.

-

     The car ride lasted for what felt like an eternity, largely due to the fact that Duncan had used one of the emergency ties he kept in his backseat to blindfold you, making you completely unaware of where he was taking you. You begged and pleaded for Duncan to tell you where you were going, but he wouldn’t budge. It was a surprise, he insisted.

     “Is it a dog?”

     “Jesus, no.”

     “A cat?”

     “Absolutely not, Y/N.”

     “A bird?”

     “Why would I blindfold you to take you to get a fucking bird?”

     “I don’t know, Dunc? Why did you throw me in your Bentley and blindfold me at 11 o’clock at night anyway, hmm?

     “Will you just drop it? You’ll see when we get there.” He was annoyed but the tone of voice let you know he was still entertained by your whining. You knew he was smirking despite not being able to see anything but the darkness that the blindfold allowed.

     “Fine, but a dog would still be nice.”

     The rest of the way consisted of silence; the whirring of the engine and the breeze of the air conditioner being the only sounds filling the confines of Duncan’s car. You tugged at the tie around your eyes, trying to stealthily catch a glimpse of a highway sign that would even slightly indicate where you were headed. He caught you every time, scolding you and sarcastically threatening to drop you off on the side of the road if you tried it again.

     Suddenly, you felt Duncan applying pressure to the brakes, the car slightly jerking as he shifted the gear to park. Finally. Whatever Duncan was planning was about to be unveiled.

     Your hand wrapped around the back of the tie, attempting to undo the knot and take in your surroundings. Duncan was quicker, swatting your hands away before you could slip the fabric away from your eyes.

     “Not yet. I’ll tell you when you can look.”

     Exhaustingly, you threw your head back into the headrest of the seat with a sigh.

     “Will you stop being dramatic? We’ll be inside in like 10 seconds.” You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were rolled so far back into his head they might have fallen out.

     You heard the click of the door handle, and felt Duncan’s hand on your elbow, prompting you to step out of his car. Your shoes scraped against pavement, meaning he hadn’t driven you into the middle of the woods to kill you. What a relief.

     He guided your steps with his fingers laced in yours, oddly soothing you as your anxiety was climbing at not having any idea where you could possibly be. The air outside was crisp, slightly chilly due to the time of night. The only noise coming from outside was the continuous chirping of crickets and other critters alike. Wherever you were, it was secluded.

     “Okay, stay right there. Don’t move.” Duncan commanded, patting you once on the shoulder before leaving your side.

     You heard four electronic pings and the whoosh of a door swinging open like he was hitting buttons on a keypad. Where the fuck were you?

     Duncan’s hands were back on your arms in a moment’s notice, guiding you over the threshold of the door he had just opened.

     “Watch your step.”

     Immediately, the smell of fresh wood and chemicals filled your nostrils. Yours and Duncan’s steps echoed loudly throughout the space as he continued to lead you; the harmony of the various sounds of the outdoors no longer present. 

     “You ready?” Duncan asked, speaking low into your ear, the stubble of his beard just barely ghosting over the nape of your neck.

     “Been ready since you blindfolded me an hour ago, Dunc.” you fired back.

     Duncan was too tired to comment on any more of your whining, he just chuckled lightly in response, pressing a kiss to your temple over the thick material of the tie. 

     Antagonizingly slow, his fingers worked at the knot. He knew what he was doing, pissing you off even more by dragging it out. Duncan could feel the way you froze in your spot, your chest barely moved with each breath and your hands were frozen at your side; indicating your skyrocketing anxiety. He was nervous too, but you weren’t currently in the position to be able to notice the way his heart looked like it was going to beat out of his chest.

     The tie fell from your eyes, ribboning to the ground and pooling around your feet. And then you saw it.

     The ceilings had to have been at least twenty feet high. The walls were stark white, the one at the far end covered almost entirely with a seamless, glass window. There was a grand staircase in the middle, leading to a breezeway that overlooked the space you were currently standing in. You put it together. You were in a house, and a fucking huge one at that.

     Nothing occupied the space. No furniture, no art hanging on the wall, not a single indication that anyone even lived here. It was empty.

     “Duncan, where are we?” you asked, too entranced by your surroundings to turn around and look at him as you spoke.

     He came around to your side, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him.

     “Home.”

     You broke away from his hold to look directly into his eyes, unconvinced that he’d just said what you thought you heard.

     “What?” it came out as barely a whisper.

     Duncan nudged his head forwards, prompting you to follow him. He paced himself, creeping along against the marble tile. You were further into the house now, catching new details you weren’t able to see from the front door. No words were spoken, just Duncan steering you throughout the first floor with his hands crossed behind his back. There was a kitchen, a kitchen at least three times bigger than the one in Duncan’s apartment with a double oven and appliances that looked far too advanced than anything you’d ever seen. Connected to the space was what would be a dining room, big enough for a table that could seat at least twelve. Duncan stopped just as were standing in front of the ginormous, granite island resting in the center of the kitchen.

     “You made a comment a couple months back,” Duncan began, turning to face you.

     “Something about how my closet was getting cramped because of how many pairs of shoes we both had. It got me thinking. I’m older now. Got a good head on my shoulders. I‘ve got you. Why am I still living in an apartment like a twenty-something bachelor? So I started looking at houses. And then I found this one. I was gonna wait until the renovations were done before I told you. There’s still a couple more things they need to do upstairs and some electrical work here and there, but other than that it’s basically finished. You looked really happy tonight, and it made me not want to wait any longer so....here we are. Happy graduation, I guess.”

     You felt a warm tear roll down your cheek, too busy staring at Duncan to register the buildup in your tear ducts. He looked at you like he always did when he professed his feelings to you, with genuine, whole-hearted, adoration. With love.

     “This is our house?”

     “This is our house.,” Duncan confirmed, a confident smile on his face.

     “I even made them put in a bigger tub ‘cause I know important bathtime is to you. And the closet is extra roomy. But if it’s not enough, you can just use one of the many spare rooms for all of your things. I know I tend to go a bit-overboard-with my gift-giving.” 

     A silent laugh escaped your chest, huffs of air expelling from your mouth each time. 

     “Duncan Shepherd, I love you.”

     “And I love you, Y/N Y/LN. I can’t wait to live here with you.” 

     He brought you in for a kiss, cupping your cheeks in both hands as his lips melted into yours. You broke away in a smile, shifting your way out of Duncan’s grasp to look once more at what looked like the abyss that you would soon call home. 

     “Can you see it?” Duncan spoke up as your eyes wondered. “A giant sectional back by that room we first saw when we walked in, a dining room table over there. Black obviously. Maybe some plants over by the windows.” 

     And you could. You could see it. Duncan’s weird art hanging on the walls in the entryway, both of your cars parked side by side in the driveway you assumed was wide enough to back a bus into given what you were already looking at. It already felt like home, despite being an empty shell of one.

     In your trance, you’d seemed to have missed when Duncan walked up behind you, pressing his chest against your back. His hands had started at your waist; rubbing soft, soothing circles against your hips bones. Inch by inch, he ever so slowly trailed his fingers up your body towards your chest, where they were now purchased just below the swell of your breasts.

     “I can see you in here,” Duncan started, his hot breath fanning over your collarbones, littering your skin with goosebumps. “Standing in this very spot. Making breakfast in your underwear. Those cute, little pancakes you like to make on Saturday mornings-”

     “They’re crepes, Duncan. You know that.” you snickered, burrowing further into his arms and his touch.

     He kissed the sweet spot along your jawline, knowing all too well the reaction he’d get out of you. A soft gasp blooming from your lips halted you from speaking any longer. You were suddenly reminded of where you left off back at Duncan’s apartment. Already feeling the stirring in your abdomen at the thought.

     Duncan leaned forward with you still in his grasp, laying his elbows flush with the granite slab of the island. He moved his kisses from your neck to your shoulders, and then to your back just at the top of your spine.

     “Do we have neighbors?” you questioned, certain that anyone could see the two of you through the ginormous window. The lights were on and the house was empty, meaning your bodies stuck out like sore thumbs. It wouldn’t take a genius to catch onto what was happening. You already knew where this was going, especially since you could feel Duncan hardening against the backside of your thigh. 

     “Not yet. They’re building another house down the street, but even then it’s still about a quarter of a mile away,” he answered in between pressing kisses on your jugular. “Plus trees. And hedges. No one can see us, babe.” 

     “Good, because I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

     In seconds you felt the bone-chilling cold from the stone of the kitchen island pressed against your cheek. Duncan pressed you down on your stomach to lay as flat as you could on the granite, reinforcing you with his toned arm. Your arms splayed out at your sides, fingers spaced out pushing yourself down even further.

     Duncan’s other hand reached down to the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up around your waist and resting it on your back. The warmth of his fingers caressed your ass before he withdrew them briefly to unzip his own trousers. As he freed his leaking cock from his boxers, you felt the head brush just slightly against your skin, beadlets of precum spreading across your cheeks. Duncan swiftly tugged your panties to the side, desperate to feel you against his digits.

    He started at your entrance, gathering the wetness seeping from your core with his fingertips. In slow, calculated patterns, he circles his way up to your clit, the contact making you shiver. A small moan fell from your lips, finally getting the action you sought out hours ago at dinner.

     “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping. Tell me, who is the only one that do this to you?” he asked in fake perplexion.

     “You do,” you’d somehow been able to muster throughout the sea of pleasure provided to you by Duncan and his long, skillful fingers.

     “It’s all for you. Every time, daddy.” you grinned against the coldness of the granite. 

    Duncan was content with your answer, as a low groan rumbled from his chest in response. He leaned forward once more, so his lips brushed the shell of your ear and his chest molded into your back.

    “You ready for me, love?”

    “Mhmm,” was all you’d managed to get out.

    His fingers were replaced with the tip of his cock, swirling his member along your cunt to prepare himself for the stretch. He pressed his fingers into you once more, using the collected slick to pump himself a few times before aligning himself at your entrance.

     Duncan pressed the small of your back down further against the granite, making your ass jut out instinctively to give him easier access to your dripping core. Tantalizingly slow, he pushed himself into you, savoring every inch of your walls that clenched around him with urgency. You were both breathing heavily, the melting of your bodies consuming every nerve. 

     Once he was fully seated inside of you, he stalled, looking down at your frame. The girl he’d managed to rope back in time after time. No matter how much he knew he didn’t deserve someone as loyal and trustworthy as you, you came back. Every time. Every night. To him. He never thought he’d find himself in this position. In his new house, with whom he was convinced was the love of his life, sprawled out on his kitchen counter at his mercy.

     He leaned in once more to press a tiny, close-mouthed kiss to the back of your head before pulling himself halfway out of your drenched cunt, only to forcefully thrust himself back in again.

-

     It felt like you had been lying there for hours. You were almost certain you’d have a dent in your cheek for a week due to how hard the side of your head was pressed into the kitchen island. Duncan ruthlessly pounded into you from behind, your cheek rutting against the granite with every slam of his hips while cries escaped from your lips. Your fingers grasped for anything, everything. He had one hand on your waist and the other wrapped almost too-tightly around the back of your neck to keep you in place, so you opted for gripping the lip of the counter as best as you could. But pearls of sweat coated your entire body, making it hard to hold onto anything for too long.

     The sounds of squelching skin on skin echoed obscenely throughout the empty house. It was borderline blasphemous. Chants of, “Oh my god,” “Don’t stop,” “You feel so good,” and plenty of profanities were peppered into the mix, only adding to the indecency of the situation.

     It took some time, but you finally began feeling that familiar tingle building up inside of you, causing another rush of arousal to flow effortlessly out of your cunt. It became overbearing after a while, your desperate need to milk Duncan’s cock for all that it was worth overcoming your very existence. You chased after your release by rolling your hips backward, working in sync with Duncan to fuck you deeper and harder.

     “Someone’s eager. Am I not giving you enough, little girl?” Duncan mocked through heavy breaths.

     “Just go faster, please,” you begged, fighting to let pleasure take over, but you weren’t quite there yet.

     “Please what? Use your manners.”

     “Please, daddy.”

     Duncan loosened his grip at your waist, snaking his hand around and beneath you. You felt the pads of his fingers swirl lightly over the fabric of your panties that still covered your clit, all while he continued to thrust his hips into your backside. With each cycle around your bud, he increased his pressure just slightly, drawing out moan after moan from you. The sounds falling from your lips triggered moans of his own.

     When he finally slipped his hand through the front of your panties, you were overtaken by a swell of euphoria, just teetering over the edge. You abandoned your other senses, focusing solely on Duncan and the way he was working you open with his cock and now his fingers. Your eyes were screwed shut, hearing going in and out, fingers grasping for purchase around the corner of the island.

     “What about now? Is daddy giving you enough now?”

     You couldn’t speak. Your mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

     “No? Guess I’ll have to pick up the pace then.”

     The feeling of Duncan vigourously massaging your swollen clit between his two fingers was enough to trigger your release. You came with a shaky scream, trembling as Duncan continued to fuck himself into you through your orgasm despite the fact that he was faltering himself. The hairs on your arms stood upright, your skin quickly becoming oversensitive to his touch.

     Duncan’s hips sputtered, stilling completely as he allowed for his own release. His moans went up an octave, a sign you’d grown accustomed to recognizing as a tell-tale indicator that he was cumming. You felt his warm seed spilling deep inside of you, coating your walls as he gave your cunt a few extra pumps with his cock before slipping out of you.

     He rested his chin on your shoulder, lifting you from the island and winding his arms around your waist. You could feel the dampness of Duncan’s forehead on your neck, it was cool on your fevered skin.

     “Did you do that on purpose?” you asked, chuckling as you turned in his arms to face him.

     Duncan smirked back at you, satisfied with your current state. You had a flat, bright red mark across your cheek from being thrown against the counter, the rest of your face flushed with an adorable, pink heat. 

     “Did I do what purpose?” he responded, feigning ignorance.

     “Drag me all the way out here just to fuck me as loud as you wanted so no one would hear?”

     His grin only grew wider, you’d caught onto his little game. He lifted you onto the island, placing you gently on the granite. Through the corner of his eye, he caught his cum dribbling down your thighs. Quickly, he caught the stream of milky, white seed on his pointer and middle fingers. He raised them to your mouth, pulling your bottom lip out just slightly with his other hand. You accepted them without hesitation, running your tongue along every centimeter of his digits. As you removed him from your mouth with a satisfied pop, he answered.

     “It worked, didn’t it?”

     You shook your head and laughed once more at his cockiness, grabbing him tighter and lying your head against his chest.

     “I did, Donut. It surely did.”

     As you stood in Duncan’s arms with your head to the side, you could just barely make out a swimming pool in the backyard beyond the windows of the dining room. It was still surrounded by dirt, meaning it wasn’t quite complete. Visions danced in your head at the memories that would be made beyond those french doors. 

     You couldn’t wait for this place to be finished. You were ready to spend the rest of your life here with the man you’d once thought you’d never see again. The man that did exactly as he’d promised:

He’d taken care of you. And he always would.

~

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon   @ccodyfern @michaellangdong@michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl@aveiangdon @belusima  @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies@langdonsdemon @ticklish-leafy-plant @michaelfuckinglangdon@fpsjacket @mother-tequila  @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonshell @coloursunlimited

[bthump]

What is your favorite, most dark/twisted griffguts scenario/hc/au or whatever?

dark and twisted eh? lol this is a question and a half. advance warning for a mention of consent issues.

This is a fic idea I’ve considered writing but gave up on pretty quickly bc I didn’t think I could do it justice lol. And also I never finish anything and this is a novel’s worth of material.

AU where the behelit is an ordinary apostle behelit, and also Guts’ instead of Griffith’s. It opens at pretty much the exact same time, after the rescue, when Guts sees Griffith attempt suicide and it hits him that it’s all his fault. He destroyed Griffith and there’s no way to fix this, no one to kill to make it better, he threw away the only thing he’s ever wanted.

So the Raiders followed him down to the lake, Casca and the rest of the Hawks stayed behind, and the behelit opens. Guts ends up sacrificing the Raiders for ~the power to fix his mistake~ and becomes a monster with magic healing abilities. Because I figure that if you’re not sacrificing the person you actually love most, then you need to compensate with quantity lol, and after all the Raiders were the example, alongside Griffith, of “the place [Guts] belonged,” which should count for something.

So the result of this is you got Beast of Darkness Guts who is basically fixated on Griffith. You got a Griffith who spent a year of torture thinking about Guts and realizing he’s desperately in love with him and is thus fixated on Guts. He’s also fully healed and has a super powerful monster under his command so he’s obligated to go back to pursuing his dream in some form or another.

The situation is Griffith as an unstoppable warlord leading an army that grows and grows as dissatisfied peasants join him and others see the way the wind is blowing and join him to back the right horse, and strikes fear into the hearts of nobility until he eventually takes Midland by force (which is doable bc it’s weakened by a century long war and also an insane king). He’s embracing his “cruelty” and doing whatever it takes to attain his dream which means stuff like executing nobles and whatever to send a message and strike first with fear and intimidation. He’s more distanced from the Hawks than he was pre-torture. His image is scary and ruthless and powerful.

On the flipside he’s super traumatized and emotionally vulnerable, like lbr he’s got complex ptsd and he’s devastatingly emotionally reliant on an apostle boyfriend which in no way helps, not to mention the issues he already had pre-torture like guit and self-loathing. And the whole point is that contrast. Like Griffith ordering fortresses to be burnt and razed to the ground vs Griffith being unable to sit too close to a campfire because sometimes the radiating heat gives him panic attacks. Griffith fighting effectively at the head of an army vs Griffith losing his grasp on the present in the dark and forgetting he’s not in a torture chamber. Part of why Griffith is more removed from the Hawks now is to keep these vulnerabilities hidden.

And wrt Guts and ~dark and twisted~ griffguts content, Griffith commanding a literal monster in battle vs Griffith, eg, never once saying “no” to him in bed bc he’s low key afraid Guts wouldn’t stop, both due to his own trauma and Guts being monstery, and he’d rather just never let that situation come up. Like, loving and needing Guts but being afraid of him after the apostle transformation, and denying that fear to himself. And it could vary. Sometimes being with Guts would be perfect, everything he wants, emotional and physical fulfillment, and sometimes it would pretty much be a form of self-harm. Sometimes he would crave sex and sometimes it would trigger him. Sometimes everything at once. That kind of thing.

And like lbr we’ve seen his inner darkness, Guts as an apostle would be a nightmare. He wouldn’t care about anyone except Griffith, possibly to the point of low key being a threat to the rest of the Hawks, and he’d be extremely possessive and needy. I don’t think he’d be like, completely out of control like the armour makes him, but I feel like his judgement would be shot, his impulse control would be shot, he’d have way more casual asshole tendencies a la Black Swordsman Guts (or even his imo insufferable cockiness post-vacation). He’d still have that eagerness to please wrt Griffith tho, so he wouldn’t be completely beyond Griffith’s control. He’d obey orders, at least to the same extent he did as an ordinary human lol, and he wouldn’t do anything to threaten Griffith’s image, his control and leadership over the rest of the Hawks, like insubordination or w/e. He likes the idea of Griffith being feared, and of being the only one (give or take Casca, probably) to see the vulnerable side of him. And he likes the idea of Griffith needing him to achieve his dream as well as needing him emotionally.

Like, in chapter 71 Guts basically realized that his desire to become Griffith’s equal by finding a dream of his own was stupid and doomed from the start, so I don’t think Griffith pursuing his dream again while he has no goals himself would bother him because now he knows how important he is to Griffith. And also I imagine post-torture Griffith would be willing and able to tell him that he values him over the dream. Even shares that it feels like an obligation to him. Like after that torture chamber monologue it’s easy to see him being more emotionally forthcoming with Guts, more revealing, more self-aware, at least in some ways.

They would both relish the sheer intensity of the others’ feelings for him, but Griffith would be afraid of his own feelings, how vulnerable they make him, and he’d be afraid of Guts’ literal monstrosity, both rationally because he’s a big undefeatable obsessive monster, and irrationally because apostles instill instinctive fear in humans. (That instinctive fear as symbolic of Griffith’s intense life-ruining feelings esp post-torture might be interesting tbh.) Guts would be afraid of Griffith hating him or growing indifferent, but as an apostle that would manifest in clinginess and possessiveness and a constant craving for proof of Griffith’s feelings. And for Griffith’s part he could take advantage of that in manipulative ways. Like I love the idea of an intense toxic relationship where the life-ruining feelings between them are occasionally weaponized by both.

Oh and you also got Griffith’s self loathing and guilt, and the knowledge that Guts became a monster entirely because of him, to help him, plus he rescued and healed him, and so he’d also be torn between feeling like he doesn’t deserve Guts, and feeling like he deserves Guts but in a penitent way, esp if he feels responsible for his monsterism, which he would whether that’s rational or not. Plus also feeling like Guts, as a monster who sacrificed a bunch of his friends to become one and now wreaks havoc in battle, is the only person who can understand him. “Do you think I’m cruel?” “What kind of question is that for the guy who killed a hundred men?” writ large. All the emotional dysfunctionality implied in that exchange taken to 100.

Griffith getting more ruthless and fucked up and taking comfort in a fucked up relationship with a literal monster as he pursues his dream. “You’re rough enough to share this with to the end.” Griffith in part relishing Guts’ monstrosity because it means they’re in this together. They’ll be together because who else would want them? Like a dark contrast to a happy Golden Age AU where Guts tells Griffith how he really sees him and it’s a step towards emotional healing and self love and whatever, this would be Griffith hating himself and being comforted by the thought that Guts is down in the dark with him. Dragging each other down instead of lifting each other up, yk.

(Guts tells Griffith he doesn’t regret it. This applies to both becoming a monster for Griffith’s sake, and leaving in the first place and all the destruction that caused, since it eventually led to both of them getting everything they’ve ever wanted. A kingdom, the Hawks, each other, everything worked out perfectly. Right?)

Also you have Casca and the rest of the Hawks for that excellent outsider/disturbed onlooker pov. Casca’s got her close relationship with both as well as her protectiveness of Griffith. Judeau’s got his detached perceptive observation. Corkus has his outrage and resentment. All good potential perspectives on this imo. Like eg imagine Corkus sowing discord by pointing out that they have no reason to trust Guts esp now that he’s a literal monster since he’s not even a Hawk after abandoning them, and they can’t even trust Griffith to keep him in line because lbr Griffith already fucked them all over once because of Guts.

Idk how it would end though. Something fucked up. Like say Griffith achieves the dream, settles into ruling, the realization that he only hates himself more than ever eventually creeps up on him, and he ends up goading Guts into killing him, like an impulsive and somewhat subconscious act of suicide. Guts becomes Zodd 2.0, wandering battlefields, looking for someone strong enough to take him out. Or maybe just living miserably ever after as Griff sets his sights on an empire (bc he can’t stop, bc as soon as he stops that’s akin to declaring that this end is worth all the deaths and pain and etc on the road to it, and nothing’s actually worth that, so he’s trapped and it sucks) would be a nice anticlimactic ending. Yk, something depressing.

Like overall it would be a giant trainwreck with extreme contrasts wrt power dynamics and emotions, which is basically my favourite kind of thing. Like there are definitely way more straightfoward ways to get dark and edgy griffguts lmao, like about a million post-Eclipse scenarios, but still it’s probably my favourite of the darker ideas I’ve had.

I just love the idea of post-torture Griffith + apostle Guts lol they’d be like the epitome of dysfunctional yet inseparable, and it’s a great starting point for compounding all of Griffith’s canon issues and exploring them.

[failes-xtra-bits]

Review: Prince's Gambit Ch 1

Prince’s Gambit

Review Chapter 1:

So we start off this book with our characters riding towards Chastillon. What I really like about the beginning is that we see Damen becoming more friendly with the other men. 

“It’s hunting country,’ said Orlant, mistaking the nature of his gaze. "Dare you to make a run for it.”

This piece of dialogue is half joking, half wary (if that makes any sense) which I absolutely love and sets the foundations for the trust the builds as we go through the book. 

After a while Damen is summoned by Paschal, the physician:

It was fine. His back had healed enough that new scars had replaced new wounds. Damen craned for a glimpse but, not being an owl, saw almost nothing. He stopped before he got a crick in his neck.

  The physician rummaged in the satchel and produced one of his endless ointments.

  ‘A massage?’

  ‘These are healing salves. It should be done every night. It will help the scarring to fade a little, in time.’

  That was really too much. ‘It’s cosmetic?’

  The physician said, ‘I was told you would be difficult. Very well. The better it heals, the less your back will trouble you with stiffness, both now and later in life, so that you will be better able to swing a sword around, killing a great many people. I was told you would be responsive to that argument.’

  ‘The Prince,’ said Damen. But of course. All this tender care of his back, like soothing with a kiss the reddened cheek you have slapped.

I always found this exchange interesting (side note I found the owl thing kinda amusing.) The question “is it cosmetic” hearkens back to what we know about Akielon culture and how while male nudity is not reviled using cosmetics on the male body is. Damen’s reluctance is not just him being rebellious but is coloured by this cultural view and his reluctance is only assuaged by the physician propounding its practical value. 

Further the last bit is also very interesting, it serves to remind the reader of all the brutalities Laurent has inflicted upon Damen, but also symbolises the beginning of Laurent trying to remedy all of it. 

As they talk we find out that Paschal served the king and tended to the fallen at Marlas. 

“If you served the King,’ said Damen, ‘how is it you now find yourself in the Prince’s household, and not his uncle’s?’

  ‘Men find themselves in the places they put themselves,’ Paschal said, closing his satchel with a snap.”

This exchange is interesting because it really hones in the idea that there are people who serve Laurent out of sheer loyalty. Up until this point the reader is positioned to hate Laurent, so it's a surprise to see that there a people willing to be on his side. Slowly our hatred for him is unraveling. 

After this Damen goes to the courtyard and meets Jord who tells him to go to the armoury. Once there we meet Aimeric (who was briefly introduced at the end of Captive Prince) who was getting his ass beat. When Damen enters he tells the three men to stop. 

“It wasn’t Damen’s size that stopped them. It wasn’t the sword he held casually in his hand. If these men really wanted to make a fight out of it, there were enough swords, flingable armour pieces, and teetering shelves to turn this into something long and ludicrous. It was only when the leader of the men saw Damen’s gold collar that he shoved out an arm, holding the others back.

  And Damen understood, in that moment, exactly how things were going to be on this campaign: the Regent’s men in ascendancy. Aimeric and the Prince’s men were targets because they had no one to complain to except Govart, who would slap them back down. Govart, the Regent’s favourite thug, brought here to keep the Prince’s men in “and the Prince’s men were targets because they had no one to complain to except Govart, who would slap them back down. Govart, the Regent’s favourite thug, brought here to keep the Prince’s men in check. But Damen was different. Damen was untouchable, because Damen had a direct line of reportage to the Prince.”

I always think it must be weird for Damen (a prince, future king, war hero, etc) to see that his power doesn’t come from he himself this time but rather because of Laurent. I don’t really have much commentary on this other than it must feel weird for him. 

Anyway the men leave, Damen and Aimeric talk to each other for the first time. We learn that Aimeric is young, 19. Once again we are presented with notion of loyalty. 

“Aimeric didn’t budge. ‘You couldn’t take a flogging like a man. You opened your mouth and squealed to the Regent. You laid hands on him. You spat on his reputation. Then you tried to escape, and he still intervened for you, because he’d never abandon a member of his household to the Regency. Not even someone like you.’

Damen had gone very still. He looked at the boy’s young, bloody face, and reminded himself that Aimeric had been willing to take a beating from three men in defence of his Prince’s honour. He’d call it misguided puppy love, except that he’d seen the glint of something similar in Jord, in Orlant, and even, in his own quiet way, in Paschal/ him. 

“Damen thought of the ivory and gold casing that held a creature duplicitous, self-serving and untrustworthy.

‘You’re so loyal to him. Why is that?’

‘I’m not a turncoat Akielon dog,’ said Aimeric.

It’s kinda of interesting in hindsight now that we know Aimeric is on the regents side. I’m not going to comment on this bc idk what I can say. 

Anyway after this Damen delivers the inventory to Rochert as promised. It’s mentioned that the preparations should have happened a lot earlier and out of the 150 men the regent sent only less than two dozen are actually helping. 

Jord then approached Damen and says that Aimeric won’t foment any more tension which Damen knows is a lie. Damen asks where the Captain is and we find out that: 

“The Captain is in one of the horse stalls, up to his waist in the stableboy,”

And that Damen is going to be the one to fetch him. When Damen finally arrives at the stables we see Govart fucking the stable boy. When told that he his to see the Prince, Govart is adamant in wanting to finish his business and says Laurent is just 

“ really just a tease who wants cock”

This provokes an interesting reaction in Damen 

“Damen felt anger settle inside him, a tangible weight. He recognised an echo of the impotence Aimeric must have experienced in the armoury, except that he was not a green nineteen year old who had never seen a fight. His eyes passed impassively over the half-unclothed body of the stableboy. He realised that in a moment he was going to return to Govart in this small, dusty stall all that was owed for the rape of Erasmus.”

While we know that Damen and Govart have some history but its interesting that this reaction is provoked when Govart insults the Prince. Does it imply that Damen feels a weird sense of loyalty? Perhaps. Or perhaps he just really hates Govart. 

Eventually Govart gives in to the Prince’s orders. 

Finally it is time for Damen to report to the castellan and he is led to to the bedchamber. Here we get another crumb about the regent and Laurent’s relationship.

“The Prince stays here often?’

The castellan mistook him to mean the keep, not the rooms. ‘Not often. He and his uncle came here a great deal together, in the year or two after Marlas. As he grew older, the Prince lost his taste for the runs here. He now comes only rarely to Chastillon.”

While most of us picked up on their relationship, its a surprise Damen does not. Once again this serves to reveal Damen’s  naivety which stems from his trusting nature  and the straightforwardness of his culture. 

Food is brought and Damen waits for Laurent while pondering on the political situation the regent has created for Laurent. He intends to tear the group apart. 

Laurent finally arrives:

“'I have saved you till last'….Laurent calmly helped himself to goblet and pitcher, pouring himself a drink. Damen couldn’t help glancing at the goblet, remembering the last time they had been alone together in Laurent’s rooms.

Pale brows arched a fraction. ‘Your virtue’s safe. It’s just water. Probably.’ Laurent took a sip, then lowered the goblet, holding it in refined fingers. He glanced at the chair, as a host might offering a seat, and said, as though the words amused him, ‘Make yourself comfortable. You are going to stay the night.’

‘No restraints?’ said Damen. ‘You don’t think I’ll try to leave, pausing only to kill you on the way out?’

‘Not until we get closer to the border,’ said Laurent.

He returned Damen’s gaze evenly. There was no sound but the crack and pop of the banked fire.

‘You really do have ice in your veins, don’t you,’ said Damen.”

“Laurent placed the goblet carefully back on the table, and picked up the knife.

It was a sharp knife, made for cutting meat. Damen felt his pulse quicken as Laurent came forward. Only a handful of nights ago, he had watched Laurent slit a man’s throat, spilling blood as red as the silk that covered this room’s bed. He felt shock as Laurent’s fingers touched his, pressing the hilt of the knife into his hand. Laurent took hold of Damen’s wrist below the gold cuff, firmed his grip, and drew the knife forward so that it was angled towards his own stomach. The tip of the blade pressed slightly into the dark blue of his prince’s garment.

‘You heard me tell Orlant to leave,’ said Laurent.

Damen felt Laurent’s grip slide down his wrist to his fingers, and tighten.

“Laurent said, ‘I am not going to waste time on posturing and threats. Why don’t we clear up any uncertainty about your intentions?’

It was well placed, just below the rib cage. All you would have to do was push in, then angle up.

He was so infuriatingly sure of himself, proving a point. Damen felt desire come hard upon him: not wholly a desire for violence, but a desire to drive the knife into Laurent’s composure, to force him to show something other than cool indifference.

He said: ‘I’m sure there are house servants still awake. How do I know you won’t scream?’

‘Do I seem like the type to scream?’

‘I’m not going to use the knife,’ said Damen, ‘but if you’re willing to put it in my hand, you underestimate how much I want to.’

‘No,’ said Laurent. ‘I know exactly what it is to want to kill a man, and to wait.”

 This scene here is interesting. We are once again reminded of the assassination attempt and Laurent and Damen's tenuous relationship. They are clearly not friends, there is still hate between them yet a weird sort of trust is forming. Further last bit hints at what we know in hindsight is Laurent’s almost life long obsession with wanting to kill Damen in retribution for Auguste’s death. 

“Laurent said, ‘When this campaign is over, I think—if you are a man and not a worm—you will attempt to gain retribution for what has happened to you. I expect it. On that day, we roll the dice and see how they fall. Until then, you serve me. Let me therefore make one thing above all clear to you: I expect your obedience. You are under my command. If you object to what you are told to do I will hear reasoned arguments in private, but if you disobey an order once it is made, I will send you back to the flogging post.”

The terms of their relationship are now set and now Laurent reveals why Damen is here. 

“You said you knew the territory,’ ”

[loofiedee]

This is probably going to get long because I might go into some detail, but I also might have forgotten a few things or decided not to mention them. This isn’t going to be an exhaustive list of things Snaji has “done”, and has a lot of personal opinion.

Spoilers, Snaji negativity, and a little bit of crude language under the cut so be warned!

      Snaji was never on my list of favorites. He’s the kind of character that rubs me the wrong way, but despite that he was able to fluctuate between tolerable and lovable in his own way for most of the pre-timeskip part of the series.       I didn’t hate Snaji, he just wasn’t my favorite Strawhat and that was it.

      My biggest problem with him was always his creepy and invasive behavior towards women and the fact that he thinks he’s a gentleman when he’s not.       I think the biggest thing pre-timeskip is the fight with Creep Lion where what really gets Snaji to snap is not the fact that Creep Lion has put his entire crew through hell and was going to forcibly marry Nami, no. It was the fact that Creep Lion got the peeping tom devil fruit before he did.

      But even then, most of his screen time was spent on other things. He had things he did, he had wants and needs and a personality other than being horny.       But much like most of the female characters, his personality imploded in on itself and all that’s left now is tits.

      I will not be talking about parts of the writing that happen to have Snaji in them that I think were handled poorly (the entire wedding with Pudding, for example) but more on actions that specifically Snaji has carried out that make me dislike him/how he was written.

      A lot of this stuff is personal opinion and not things he has done objectively “wrong”, so to speak.       This isn’t me trying to shame anyone for liking him or me trying to tell anyone “your husbando is shit”. I like plenty of characters who other people dislike or find to be “bad characters”.           It’s just that you asked a question, and I want to answer it honestly!

The Fishman Island Arc

      We’re going to come back to something else that happened in this arc later, but we’re just going to start by going through a few of the things he’s done that really rub me the wrong way:

Just thinking about the mermaids gave him a nosebleed so bad that Chopper was concerned for his life. Chopper proceeded to tell him to AVOID the mermaids.

He went directly against Chopper’s orders and he he saw the mermaids he got a nosebleed so bad he needed a goddamn blood transfusion

During this blood transfusion he was given blood from two gay men/crossdressers and he went into a rage because he’d rather die than get blood from gay people. (which is Holy Shit levels of gross. I know Oda is Japanese, but this is still a really unfortunate choice given in the United States it’s still illegal for gay and bisexual men to give blood)

His horniness was repeatedly a major hindrance to the entire crew during this arc. It was different when it was a passing joke about how he gets all starry eyed because Nami and Robin are pretty.

His boner influenced the plot and created problems for the entire crew. This happens over and over again, and he never learns from or improves because of it.

Dresrossa Arc

Pretty minor drop in the bucket all things considered, but the entire thing with Viola. Not the fact that he wouldn’t fight her, but the fact that once again his boner put his life at risk.

I am aware that in the end through the power of Snaji being Snaji he managed to make Viola come to their side but overall just. HUFF.

** Side note I took a glance at the wiki bc I wanted to make sure I was getting things right and even the author of the wiki seems lowkey tired of Snaji ex machina [screenshot from Viola’s page on the One Piece Wikia] [”Somehow touched by these words, Viola decided to help S//anji”]

“somehow” vfdnhjgbfdjh

Whole Cake Island Arc

A very minor one is Snaji’s instant willingness to marry Pudding and abandon the Strawhats and only rethinking it once things became dire.

More a personal gripe but Snaji didn’t develop. He didn’t change, he didn’t improve, nothing about him is different. He didn’t learn anything from Pudding, he didn’t become a better person. He was just made to suffer for an arc and then he was fine again and there’s no long term consequences to anything. Other characters who got similar arcs developed and changed. He didn’t.

The moment he wasn’t at risk anymore he was back to having exactly 1 (one) personality trait and that personality trait was being a pervert. And the entire thing just. Made me sad.

Generally,

He lost a lot of his interesting and sympathetic traits

It feels like he nolonger gives a shit about any of the other crew members except for the female ones. I miss his relationships with the other crew members a lot.

      I mentioned that we were going to come back to Fishman Island, and now’s the time. This part is purely personal and not necessarily something Snaji “did”, but I’ve been wanting to talk about it for a while and this gives me a reason.

      There’s one particular scene that gets to me more than any other and cemented how much I dislike Snaji. Compared to some other stuff it might seem unimportant but it really, really bothers me.

         At some point during the arc, Jinbei comes to Nami having heard of what Arlong did to her, her family, and her Island. And he comes to apologize and take responsibility both for what Arlong did and also for not preventing it, even though there’s really nothing Jinbei could have done.

Before Nami even got a chance to speak, without even asking her, without even looking at her, without even paying a single speck of attention to her reactions, Sa/nji jumps in.

      He jumps in and tells Jinbei to kill himself in atonement for what happened. He tells this man he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for a crime he didn’t commit, without even considering the person who was actually had to live through what Arlong did.

      He spoke over Nami, he spoke without a single concern for what she would want, he spoke over a victim and a survivor who actually has to live with the suffering these things caused.

      And not only that, but he did all of this after he showed no actual interest in hearing about what happened to Nami and her island. In the original Arlong arc when Nojiko is telling the Strawhats about what happened, about all that Nami has suffered through, when she finishes Sa/nji doesn’t even care.       He doesn’t actually care about what Nami went through because he was too busy thinking about how cute Nami would have been as a child.

      And then he feels the right to speak over her. He feels the right to speak for her, without considering her or her opinion on the matter, on whether or not she forgives Jinbei.

      He didn’t care what Nami thought, he just wanted to be a white knight.

      And when Nami tells him to stop? He tells her, the one who had to go through all of it, to think about what they did to her. As if she doesn’t know, as if she didn’t have to live it.

Nothing Sa/nji has ever done will ever piss me off as much as that did.

      What bothers me about Snaji is that he’s a creep who thinks he’s a gentleman, and who the narrative treats as a gentleman.

      Snaji is never really punished for his actions. You’re not supposed to think he’s a creep, you’re supposed to like him. You’re supposed to find it funny but charming when he objectifies women and treats them simultaneously as untouchable angels and helpless children who can’t do anything for themselves.

      What post-timeskip Snaji did is that he’s every single thing that made me dislike Snaji and almost nothing of what made him a character I could care about.

Once again, I want to say this isn’t an attack on anyone or saying it’s bad to like Snaji, I’m also not trying to say Snaji is the only character that has done bad things or things I dislike. I just wanted to explain why I didn’t care for him and what bothered me about how his character was handled post timeskip.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LINA! You’ve been accepted for the role of TROILUS with an FC change to Henry Golding. Admin Rosey: I am absolutely HOWLING. So, when I was writing Troilus, I was having an amazing time -- he’s so nuanced and seemingly superficial, but there are so many detailed facets that contribute to his happy-go-lucky attitude. He’s so utterly disarming and charming that, from the interview alone, I couldn’t help but swoon over him. Your development for him promises so much, from the sought-after revelation of Celeste’s infidelity to turning him into a hollow and hungry creature. I’m absolutely over the moon to be putting my precious boy into your hands, Lina. By all means, ruin us all. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lina. Age | 26 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | 5 – Med school honestly wipes the floor with me most days, so I can’t promise daily activity but as I’ve said before, I promise consistency and communication. I’ll request a hiatus if needed, and I won’t disappear or drop-out without warning.   Timezone | Finally back in EST (UTC-5:00) Current/Past RP Accounts | —

In Character

Character | Tomas Sabello -> Could I request an FC switch to ether Henry Golding or Godfrey Gao? I love Bob Morley to pieces but I’ve used him as an FC for long enough that I really struggle to dissociate him from the role I played. I think Henry fits Tomas’ gentle disposition best, but Godfrey has more versatility in terms of acting roles/expression which seems more in line with the mood in Verona and what he may eventually become… I dunno! I’ll leave it to you guys to choose the preferred alternate FC in the event that I do get accepted. I’d be happy working with either one.

What drew you to this character? | I really liked how opposite he is to Viv, honestly. He’s so enamored with emotion, and despite the fact that he’s an actor by trade, he’s an open book when it comes to anything that inspires feeling within him. I think Tomas loves the idea of love to such an extreme that there’s no thought to guarding himself from it. No amount of pride could keep him from offering his heart up, not even the threat of rejection. He takes and he takes, but he also gives to the people around him, indiscriminately; even to the most insignificant of passersby who’ve touched his life or inspired his creativity in some brief, ephemeral way. While Viv absorbs and safeguards whatever light she finds, Tomas reflects it freely back into the universe, and I really like that dichotomy.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

*∆* - Ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s oblivion: I’ll keep this point short and sweet; I want Tomas to find out about Celeste’s infidelity and for his heart to get absolutely shattered in the process. It could be sooner, later or whenever, but I think we’re all holding our breaths for that to happen in the story, and I’d love the opportunity to portray that.

*∆* - To fight one’s nature is a losing battle: This is a plot contingent on the arc of his relationship with Celeste and details pertaining to their marriage (how long it takes for him to find out she’s cheating on him, what they do with that information, if they divorce, etc.). But essentially, I’d like to show Tomas’ struggle with his own fidelity because in his bio, he strikes me as the sort of character that doesn’t settle on one lover easily. And he loves Celeste with every inch of his being and right now that’s what’s keeping him faithful, but I think that even if her infidelity isn’t revealed, eventually Tomas will start to feel the strain. He’ll notice the little signs along the way that hint that she doesn’t quite love him the way he loves her. I think those would put cracks in the marriage even if Isabella wasn’t in the picture. I’d like to explore those, and how little micro-tensions crop up in chronic relationships when one partner feels like they’re pulling all the weight. I want to dig into that and cast the lens on a quietly troubled relationship, and I want to see how far it pushes Tomas in response. Does he grow colder?  Does he seek intimacy elsewhere? Does he fall into the same temptation and cheat on Celeste, whether physically or emotionally? Let’s find out!

*∆* - Any way the wind blows: I’ve always imagined Tomas to be the unsettled sort, in all senses of the word. His loves have always been transient and fleeting, his decisions (both in leaving Rome and marrying Celeste) seem rash and impulsive… I think capriciousness is a trait of his that extends to all facets of his life. So one headcanon I have for him is that now that he’s on sabbatical from acting, he’d want to try his hand at something new. Activities or careers that he gets excited by every few weeks and actively chases until something changes and then he drops the ball and moves on, certain he’ll find his luck elsewhere. I think it’d be interesting to see him get into all sorts of mix-ups while catering to this instinct, and maybe unintentionally making himself a nuisance to other characters in their line of work in the rp. Just this over-excited dude picking up positions and then dropping them as if life’s his own picnic… It’s definitely going to rub some people the wrong way and I’m here to see it happen!

*∆* - The hardest of hearts:  … I’m intrigued by Tomas’ deep resentment of Roman Montague. His bio implies that it’s his acting experience which primes him to look at Romeo as if he’s also an actor, playing a part he doesn’t deserve. But I think it goes deeper than that. I think canonically, even, Tomas’ character seems to have a lot in common with Romeo from Shakespeare’s original, or at least, the earliest version of Romeo that we see. Lovelorn and lackadaisical, an innate predisposition for goodness, and yet undoubtedly leaving lovers a little carelessly in his pursuit of love, etc. So the way I see it, beyond his judgment of Roman as being unfit to rule, I think Tomas doesn’t like him bc he sees in Roman all of the same flaws he recognizes subconsciously in himself. It’s always easier to see our flaws through a mirror. I’m interested in seeing how far Tomas would go to spite Roman in order to avoid having to confront himself. The fact that Celeste is still tied to the Montagues would also be a continuous dilemma for Tomas, who dislikes both mobs. Depending on what plots come up, I might even entertain the thought of getting Tomas tied up in Capulet business, with the singular goal of bringing down Roman Montague.

*∆* - … Destroys itself in the end: In his bio, it’s alluded that Tomas took from both his parents when it came to his nature. He loved as frequently and as persistently as his mother, but destroyed those in his wake as surely as his father; leaving his path littered with broken hearts. I want to see that side of Tomas again. Except this time, instead of it being an accident of youth and of too much ignorance, I want it to be intentional. I feel like heart-break would leave him hollow and hungry, and I want to experience that side of him. I think his capacity for hurt is almost equally potent to his capacity for love, and that’s what makes him such a compelling character in my eyes.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Through a well-developed plot, yes.

In Depth

These interview chairs are always so stiff that Tomas has to wonder whether it’s intentional. Maybe it’s to keep him from falling asleep, but he’d never do that. He likes giving interviews for the most part. Of course, it was easier in his early twenties; when he had very little in the ways of a filter but was blessed with the circumstances in life that permitted him to get away with it. Oh, and an adoring audience. That always helped of course. These days, as a married man in a new city, he has to be more careful with his tongue.

That doesn’t make him any more careful with his smiles, however. And right now he’s aiming one of his most brilliant at the interviewer who’s already started asking him questions. They’re three minutes in, but she hasn’t returned any of his good cheer so far, and that’s uncommon. He’s remembered all his pleasantries, he’s been considerate enough in opening doors and waiting to be seated - but still, nary a smile. He doesn’t mind too much, but it makes his job so much more enjoyable when they do. And as a result, Isabella Gagliano is both a damper and a challenge. But before Tomas can engage her into lowering her defenses, she’s presented him with the next in a series of fan-chosen questions.

“What is your favorite place in Verona?”

”The Two Gentlemen. Certainly the best bottle of pinot grigio that I’ve ever had.” Tomas tells her, lips pressing together as sweetly as the juice from those sticky wine grapes. “You wouldn’t be remiss either if you tried the risotto al tastasal. That’s a real recommendation, you know?” He stage-whispers with a grin, “Off-the record.” But if Isabella takes note, he can’t tell.

The truth is, it’s a lie. A white lie, he consoles himself, because sometimes, the truth is too heavy a price to pay. The truth is that his favourite place in all of Verona is the recently abandoned Multisala Rivoli. It’s a cliche, he knows, an actor finding his second-home inside of a rundown movie-theatre. But it isn’t for the movies that he goes, nor out of any misplaced vainglory. Rather, it’s the promise of nondescript privacy that draws him like a bee to to honey. There, he can meet his new friends beyond the prying eyes of the media. There, he has a clandestine spot to escape the humdrum of the city for a few hours, alone with his thoughts. But it’s not a truth he’s ready to share, and moreover, the Montagues will like this answer better. It’s a nod to their territory; a little more promotion for their best-boasted restaurant. He refuses to join them, he refuses to share in their cause, but maybe sliding in such harmless tips will convince them to lay off of Celeste’s case and stop pressuring her to pressure him to join. Truth and politics don’t mix. Every time a video begins recording, Tomas is well aware of that. But above all, an actor must always remember his part.

“What does your typical day look like?”

“What, like a twenty-four hour play-by-play?” He asks playfully. “No one’s that interesting,signorina, I promise. I remember I was asked a similar question in an interview two or three years ago. I think it was for Sorrisi e Canzoni? Or maybe GQ…. Either way, it was a much more exciting answer back then. Plays, parties, private jets… ” Tomas reminisces fondly, but not fond enough to want to trade it in for his present. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not the same anymore. I’m a married man on sabbatical now, remember??” He says, directing the question towards the camera before letting his gaze find Isabella once more. His life is quieter now, but happier too. “Not that it’s boring by any stretch. I’d recommend marriage, actually. I know it’s done wonders for me! But if I start talking about her and all the ways she’s changed my routine everyone will be rolling their eyes and complaining about cavities before this interview’s over.” Tomas chuckles, thinking of the myriad of ways his daily life has become synonymous with Celeste. What time she wakes, what time she leaves, when she comes home or when he gets to persuade her out of the house on little dates… He has a life outside of Celeste to be sure, but it’s only around her that he’s really reminded of what he’s working towards. Like Eros and Psyche, he thinks. He loves, but she sets fire to his love and gives it true sustenance. A future, a family, a very happy ending - That’s all he wants these days.

“What has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

He laughs at that, taken aback by the girl’s directness. “Is that really what it says on your sheet??” He cocks a brow, leaning forward as if to sneak a peek. “Damn… That’s harsh.” Sometimes, his fans seem like tiny mosquitoes; hungry for every teeny-tiny drop of his blood as they submit questions as invasive as these. “I have to think about that one…” Tomas admits with a bemused shake of his head. “I try not to think of my experiences as mistakes. Even the ones that might feel like it initially. Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? Don’t you believe that?” He looks to his interviewer as though hoping to coax another answer out of her, but she doesn’t indulge him. He’s always preferred dialogue to monologue, despite his choice of career. It takes an exchange of ideas to see the world through new lenses, and he can’t do that while talking continuously about himself. But another pensive, stolen glance at Isabella tells him that she probably won’t care what his answer is, so long as he gives one. He could make it up right here on the spot - something like ‘I’ve started a third gang in Verona to spite the Mobs‘ or ‘I kicked a dog once’, and she probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash. He wonders why. He wonders why she’s so determinedly expressionless.

“Do you play Poker?” Tomas asks without warning. He hadn’t meant for that to come out of his mouth but somehow it does and it takes another laugh and a wave of his hand to dismiss it. “Sorry. But you could! It’s impressive actually - in a good way. To answer your question, I think I’ll have to keep this one to myself.” It’s apologetic but firm, because his biggest mistake is failing his parents. Of all the roles he’s played thus far, that of ‘son’ has always left him most wanting. He couldn’t fix their marriage. He couldn’t inspire their divorce… To this day, his adulterous mother and destructive, ill-tempered father remain tethered to each other. Two rusting anchors, weighing themselves down to the bottom of the sea-bed… Most days, Tomas tries hard not to think about it. But there are some moments, moments when he’s feeling low, that he wonders if he’s responsible for their unhappiness; wonders if he couldn’t have done more to help them find happiness, along the way. Today is one of the predetermined no-thinkdays though. The days he’s giving interviews always are. “Sorry about that… Got anything else on your nifty list?” He prompts her, hoping to move on to a happier topic.

“What has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

This question too, gives him pause. More than he’d like. There’s the shadow of fleeting suspicion as he steals a glance at Isabella, wondering if they’re posing these questions on purpose to throw him off. But what cause would a reporter have to do that? You’re being silly,he chides himself, mulling over the question. Again, he knows the real answer.

Commitment.

It isn’t easy to choose a single person in this life, Tomas thinks. To narrow his expansive romantic inclinations and promise them to one individual and one individual only. But it’s a choice he reminds himself of every morning when he wakes up, when he cracks an eye open only for his gaze to fall on the familiar comfort of Celeste’s blazing red hair, like a halo around her cherubic face. It’s a choice he must remember when he’s comparing paintings with Juliana and hears the clear-bell tone of her laughter echo in the museum. A choice he must remember when his fingers find the soft, unwritten skin beneath Santino’s wrist as they look for stars in a midnight sky. A choice he recalls even as he listens to Paola recount the tales he’s missed in her life; eyes dancing with ferocious passion and he thinks what if, what if…

… But it’s a struggle he dares not reveal. It would insult his beloved wife, it would make a mockery of the vows they took in front of that altar, all those months ago. Worse still, it would surely garner derision from the audience, especially from his most die-hard fans; some of who still count on the failure of his marriage in order to regain the bachelor fantasy they’d attached to their idol. But idols were effigies of gold and silver. He was not an idol, he was a man of flesh and blood and feeling. Do you understand?… You will never understand me like she has, he wants to rebuke them. But there’s an old fondness that he can’t help when it comes to those who loved him first. And so his countenance softens as he answers the reporter’s question. “The most difficult task for me, has been leaving behind all my loved ones in Rome. My friends, my family, my fans…” He presses his fingertips to his lips for a moment before waving them towards the camera, sending the kiss to those who’ll hope for it most, when the interview airs tomorrow night. “I send my love, and I’m humbled by your continued support.”

“What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“It’s-… It’s insanity.“

Now the Montagues won’t like that. But he feels the answer so strongly, and with so much conviction that he thinks the glassy brightness in his eyes would betray him anyway. Some lies are too big to swallow, even for an actor. “Brutal and unnecessary - do they even remember what they’re fighting for?” He asks Isabella, though he thinks she’s probably no closer to answering that than the other Veronesi. “You know, the stories say that it’s been so many decades now that no one knows any more… Isn’t that silly? To fight over something that you can’t even remember?” But deep down, Tomas knows it’s not that simple. Because mobs don’t need an impetus; not when there’s so much profit to be made in criminality. All the rest is just stories, to play on the sympathies of a winsome public. He should know… He played on that same, guileless sympathy, night after night after night on a front-lit stage. But art is one thing, war is another. And Celeste is tied up in this war, much as he hates to think about it.

“Maybe I’ll go back to Rome one of these days,” Tomas announces abruptly, shifting upright in his chair. There’s an ardent gleam in his eyes because he likes thinking in maybes. They’re so much more satisfying than the limitations of what is or isn’t strictly possible. “I’d like to take my wife with me. She’s never been… Can you believe it?? Never been to Rome… We could start there, then maybe a tour of Europe. Maybe a second honeymoon. I’m sure she’d like that.” He doesn’t know if that’s true, he doesn’t know if he can ever return to Rome, but it has a romantic ring to it nonetheless. And when has Troilus ever been able to deny the sweet-nothing whispers of romance, even as a city tears itself apart around him?….

Never, he thinks… Not even then.

——————————————-

(Thank you for Reading!!)

[messrsmemoirs]

So, I’m sorry this’ll be long, but I’m v interested in your perspective on this: how do u think this series of events: the werewolf prank, coupled w Sirius leaving home the very summer after that prank - played out from Remus’s perspective? Bc the prank might’ve confirmed to Remus all fears that Sirius dehumanised him & was way more like his family than they all thought, & maybe he was partly right on both counts. [1]

But I’ve never been able to disconnect Sirius’s leaving home from this incident (we know it happened the summer after the Prank bc that’s the only summer he could’ve been @ GP when he was 16, which is when he tells Harry that he left). & I have to wonder if Sirius so definitively siding against his upbringing (which ofc meant siding against a lot of toxic ideas, but their idea of werewolves being subhuman - given how Bellatrix talks about Remus & Tonks - is included in that) [2]

played a role in Remus forgiving Sirius to whatever extent for that prank. Bc it showed that if he was more like them than he could admit, he at least did NOT want to be, he wanted to be with James, Remus and Peter instead. It’s a different mindset from having an idea about werewolves and constant conviction that your idea is right; so given that, I’m wondering how Remus would’ve responded to it.[3]

I know it’s canon Remus forgave him, but tbh I’ve always had trouble working out the exact logistics of WHY - at least w/out bringing Wolfstar into it. [4]

Right, so firstly let me apologize to you and all the askers still waiting for me and my serious lack of response. It’s not personal, and it has everything to do with me and how I’m a complete mess of a human being. I take hours writing and formulating responses to asks and because it takes so long I end up setting aside a few hours just to answer one ask, and that feels like a big stress (and what if I can’t focus blah blah) so I end up getting stressed, and then avoid it for what feels like a month and surprise, it’s been six. .. Or more. So. Uh. … Sorry. 

So anyway, digging in to the core of the post:

I think we have to begin by examining firstly Sirius’ callousness and how it relates to his background with Remus. I do think that Remus was aware that Sirius could be downright abusive if he was left alone, and I would cite the way that JKR says Sirius’ features become like a dog with a scent at the sight of Snape: Sirius is an excitable person in that it was easy for him to lose track of what he was doing. When he zeroes in on something, there is a massive capacity for escalation. If ever there was a heat-of-the-moment excuse, Sirius’ face would be pictured with it. And while I think Remus and the others were aware of this (and of course it was something that Remus dealt with as a Prefect) I think it was something that they begrudgingly accepted as a part of Sirius that they, as a group, could try and help to subvert. Of course, with James “Arrogant Toe-Rag” Potter at his side, it wasn’t always easy to do the right thing. This is why someone like Peter helped to balance the group: a second voice of reason (though one not well-respected and one which was often overlooked, to be fair, but nonetheless). That isn’t to say that Sirius is a violent sociopath or that he’s unstable, but he was clearly a reckless, head-first, and very proud sort of teenager who would certainly shoot first and ask questions later. 

It’s easy to surmise that based on Sirius’ overall character and where he comes from, he didn’t grow up to be someone with a lot of emotional maturity. I think to a teenage Sirius especially, other people’s experiences weren’t as valid as his own. Other people mattered to him, clearly, but I think it was more that only the people he loved mattered above all else. And even with those he did care about, there was somewhat of a hierarchy: James, to Sirius, was like a brother. Like blood. James was family, and if anyone ever hurt James Sirius would destroy them. I think Remus was very important to Sirius, and Peter, too. But I think outside of James there was this sort of dispensability: to Sirius, he was always waiting to be abandoned by the people he loved. He loves Remus and Peter just as he loves James, but there’s something he can’t let go of and for whatever reason he doesn’t let them as near to him as James. And as far as other people? I think Sirius was wary. Un-trusting at best, and a bit of a “get them before they get me” kind of man, which on top of his emotional immaturity allowed him to be able to hurt people like Snape and not think much of it. It didn’t matter because the people Sirius cared about were having fun, and so was he. Snape (etc) didn’t matter, not in the long run. It’s also important to remember that Sirius was raised from birth to be someone for whom other (read: lesser) people dealt with the consequences of his actions. I think this would have been tempered somewhat by living among his friends at Hogwarts for so long, but it brings us back to the thing with Snape and such and how Sirius seemed not to have a line drawn in the sand–that is, no line that was too far to cross, no act that was too reprehensible. A detention served for bullying Snape was to Sirius an annoyance to be escaped from, not a punishment. His rejection by people like Lily was their problem to deal with, not his. I would argue that there is a sense of nobility in there as well, and that Sirius didn’t come down on those he didn’t feel deserved it. But that means that regardless of his intentions Sirius could justify whatever it was he was doing, because it was for him, or more importantly, for those he loved. 

Going back to Remus, I don’t think Sirius ever did consider Remus subhuman or anything like that. I do think there was a time around their initial discovery where Sirius had to confront the ideas he’d been taught about werewolves and that he decided (likely alongside and with the help of James and Peter) that Remus was none of those things and was a normal human, and their friend. I think it was more that Sirius just didn’t think of the consequences, or what it would mean for Remus that the Prank happened at all, because Sirius wasn’t the type of person for whom consequences truly mattered and that he just never got far enough in his train of thought to really consider Remus in all of it. Remus is someone Sirius is used to seeing constantly coping–whether it’s coping with his Furry Little Problem, or coping with the things that Sirius and James do for “fun”. Sirius may have just assumed that Remus would simply cope with this, too. He’s got enough practice with people being angry at him that he’s not scared of whatever Remus will say.

In the aftermath, I don’t think Sirius actually felt bad about what he had done. I think he knew full well that he had done something wrong, but that it was easier for him to understand and deal with the fact that Remus was in a great deal of pain rather than for him to understand the why’s about wrongness. For all his emotional immaturity I think Sirius understands pain, and I think it was really the scale of that pain which drove him to be apologetic and explain his intentions–which, I would bet, sent Remus up the wall, because Sirius didn’t actually have bad intentions towards him and yet through sheer carelessness had done something horrific. 

Rather than resulting in any great insight into why Sirius is the way he is, I have a feeling it was more that what saved their relationship was that brotherly bond that they both held for one another. I do think there was this shock initially about the whole thing, where Remus would have been distraught enough to think that maybe Sirius was just like his whole family, etc. etc. But, I think Remus would have eventually come down enough to really think about who Sirius is and what he represents by rebelling against his family in the past (as he had by accepting Remus as a friend and confidant, for example). I think Remus would have (with James’ help) really reflected on Sirius as a whole person, because the significance of the incident really merited a sit-down tbh. I think Remus decided that Sirius was his friend, his brother, and that while what he had done was horrific that he could take precautions not to let it happen again and that what mattered was that Sirius’ intentions were never to hurt him. Sirius realizing that he had caused Remus a significant amount of pain (again with James’ help to deal with it) would have more than likely seen him try to restore his good graces with Remus, though attempts to justify what he had done would have made it worse. I think for SIrius, saying “I fucked up and I admit that I fucked up” were enough for Remus at a certain point, because he knew that it was the closest Sirius could come to “I did something wrong and I apologize.”Remus, ever the self-sacrificing and deeply loving soul, probably forgave Sirius out of compassion. He saw that Sirius was not deliberately trying to ruin him, but that he was also a complete idiot. I think he made the decision to forgive knowing that the hurt would never truly go away, and knowing down the road that he needed to go about things differently after what happened. I think James was also a big buffer between their animosity as well, and that he really helped them move on. 

(However. I think it’s worth mentioning that rather than after his escape from Grimmauld place, I think this might be something that Sirius reflected on in Azkaban, actually. I think this is part of why he’s a little less guns blazing in the rest of the series–that, and certainly his need to protect Harry, whom he loved like a son.)

ASK COMPLETE! … Sorry it took so long, but I hope I did well enough!

[gxldensnitched]

undeniable (part 2/?)

I just finished this! It’s posted on AO3 and a few posts back if you haven’t read the first part :) I decided to make this a little Albus centric bc I love him, so I hope you enjoy!

There were a lot of things that Albus Potter was good at. Things that might actually come in useful, like potions or charms. He was quite skilled at defence (he firmly believed that his father’s additional holiday lessons had nothing to do with that) and while flying, he could pull out of a sharp drive with his broom (and bones) fully intact. 

But one thing that completely stumped him was history. He hated learning the names and tales of witches and wizards who’d helped “pave the way” as Professor Binns claimed, towards modern magic. It was something he deemed completely unnecessary. After all, what was there to gain by knowing when Stupefy was first used? Or the duration of the goblin revolution? 

Albus personally thought History was boring. They didn’t do much besides take notes and listen to their ghastly professor drone on and on about wars, warlocks, and on good days, historical potion making. 

Albus buried his face in his arms, closing his eyes. It may be dreadful, but history was a great class to take if you wanted to catch up on your sleep. He’d often joked that insomniacs could merely listen to a tape recording of one of Binns’ lessons, and they’d be able to fall asleep in no time. Rose had rolled her eyes, but everyone else laughed, so he paid her no mind. She had an awful sense of humour anyway. 

The caffeine he’d consumed that morning fought to keep him awake, and after half an hour of trying to rest with no avail, he let out a frustrated sigh and lifted his head back up. 

“Good morning, grumpy pants. You only missed every point that Binns said would be on our OWLs,” came Rose’s bored whisper from the seat beside him. 

“It’s afternoon, and I wasn’t asleep,” was his response, which came out muffled as he decided burying his face in his arms was still a better option than trying and failing to listen to the lecture while Rose poked him with her quill whenever he zoned out.

He heard Rose’s sigh and the scratching of her quill on parchment, and smiled into his arms slightly as he realized she wasn’t going to sacrifice her precious note taking time to try and keep him alert. 

After a few minutes of not so satisfying rest, the class slowly started to increase in volume, and Albus looked back up. 

“Is class over already?” He asked, as people began to stand up. 

“No, Albus. He said we could collaborate to answer the questions on the board. You have a terrible sense of hearing, you know that?” Rose asked, but there was no real malice in her voice. 

“If my hearing is so terrible, why do I know that Yann Fredericks is planning to ask you to the Valentine’s ball?” He said with a raise of his brow, looking up at his cousin smugly.

Rose’s freckled skin went pink, and she shot him a glare that wasn’t up to her usual standards. The look of satisfaction on her face couldn’t be missed, even as she turned to head away from their shared desk. 

“You’re going to abandon me? You know none of my friends were stupid enough to take this horrible class again, Rose!” Albus whined, pulling on Rose’s arm to hold her back. Despite her bossiness and love of control, she was a good partner to work with. Especially when you didn’t know a thing about a subject. 

She turned around with an exasperated look on her face, one that Albus was quite accustomed to. He didn’t mind, he loved getting a rise out of her, even if it meant getting a scolding from his mum. 

“You can sit with my friends and I. If you behave,” she replied, pulling him off the seat. 

“Your friends are all girls.” 

“So?”

“So, that’s a little weird.”

“You’re a little weird, Albus. Besides, Polly would love to work with you.” Rose gave him a slight smile, and he groaned. 

“Absolutely not,” he protested, stopping in his tracks. 

Polly Chapman had been his girlfriend of a pitiful two months, before she’d declared her love for him over dinner and he’d promptly spat out his pumpkin juice. All over the front of her new silk robes, to be specific.

In her defence, they had only been in third year. Raging hormones was Rose’s explanation. 

“Oh, give her another chance!” Rose said, putting an arm around his shoulders and pushing him towards the opposite end of the room. “She hasn’t gotten over you and you know it!” 

“She told me she loved me! We’d only kissed eight times!” 

“You were thirteen, Al! And you seriously kept count?”

Albus’s cheeks grew slightly pink, but pulled away from her. 

“I’ll work alone. Or with the vast array of nerds in this class whose names I don’t even know.” Albus watched with an expression of mock betrayal as his cousin headed over to her group of girls, where he locked eyes with Polly for a brief second before hastily turning away.

“Suit yourself!” Rose said, not looking back. 

Albus ran his hand through his jet black hair with a sigh, looking around the room to see if he could spot at least one person he knew who wouldn’t spend the period gawking at him. His bright eyes scanned the room before falling on a familiar white-blond head of neatly combed hair. 

Scorpius Malfoy would be the perfect partner. After all, his knowledge of potions surpassed even Albus’s own, which made him a certified genius in Albus’s eyes. He’d been much nicer than Albus had expected, and the last time they’d worked together was surprisingly pleasant. Not to mention the way Scorpius seemed to know the reason behind everything, from why you shouldn’t add too much lavender sprigs to why Slughorn had paired them together in the first place. 

He quietly approached Scorpius, who was sitting a few rows ahead of him, books and papers strewn all over his desk. 

“Hey.”

Scorpius startled, dropping his peacock feather quill onto his parchment, creating a coal black smudge.

He turned around to face Albus, a mixture of confusion and relief when he saw who it was. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Albus said, giving him an apologetic smile, while also trying not to laugh. He made a mental note to sneak up on Scorpius more often, except next time he’d do it when Scorpius was empty handed.

“Oh, it’s okay, I have plenty of parchment, anyway.” He gestured to the mess on his desk, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I can see that.” Albus shot him a smile before sitting down. Scorpius’s eyes widened slightly, as if he thought Albus was just passing his desk on the way to someone else’s.

“What? Is this seat taken?” Albus asked, confused. 

“No, it’s not that! You’re completely welcome to sit here.” He paused. “I’m just... wondering... why?” 

“My cousin’s being annoying, and you’re a better partner than her anyway. Unless you were planning on working alone? I can leave if you want.” 

“No!” Scorpius added, a little too quickly. Seeming to notice, he added “I mean, I was. But I’d rather work with you, obviously. If that’s what you want?” 

“That’s why I walked all the way over here,” Albus replied, emphasizing the words all the way and gesturing to his desk, only a few steps behind Scorpius’s. 

He shot Scorpius a sideways grin before fishing around in his bag for a piece of parchment. 

“Oh, right. Obviously.” Scorpius blushed, and Albus laughed. 

“You don’t have to be so nervous, you know! I’m not going to curse you or anything.” Albus laughed, and Scorpius’s shoulders loosened. Albus was used to people being nervous around him, but this felt different. Oddly enough, he felt a little nervous himself. It must have been because of the whole Malfoy-Potter rivalry thing. 

“I know, sorry. It’s just that you’re Albus Potter.” Scorpius spoke lightly, sounding posh even when he was nervous. 

“And you’re Scorpius Malfoy.” Albus responded. “Wanna make a bet?” 

This seemed to scare Scorpius slightly, and his eyes widened. Albus couldn’t help but notice how grey they were. They reminded Albus of thunderstorms, the comforting kind that make you want to snuggle up in bed with coffee (or butterbeer, if he was in the mood) and a book. He’d never met anyone with thunderstorm eyes before, and it took a while for him to pull his own gaze away. 

“A bet?” Scorpius asked.

“M-hmm. If you apologize one more time during the remainder of this class - which, I might add, is a double period - you have to be my potions partner for the rest of the month.” Albus grinned, and Scorpius visibly relaxed, letting out a breath. 

“That doesn’t seem like much of a punishment,” he pointed out. “And what if I win?”

“Then...” Albus pondered for a moment. “I’ll show you something... special.”

Scorpius seemed intrigued. He leaned closer to Albus than he was before. Albus took advantage of this, wriggling his eyebrows. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“It’s something you’d never get a chance to see with your own eyes. It will utterly enchant you.” He said, in the dramatic voice he usually reserved for babysitting Lily and Hugo, when he’d had to make something mediocre sound interesting in order to keep them still. 

This, however, was far from mediocre.

“I formally agree to this bet,” Scorpius said, and Albus wanted to roll his eyes at how he talked. He sounded like Albus would have when he was trying to imitate one of the annoying, overly serious business wizards his father often complained about. 

“Good.” Albus flashed him a wide grin, and Scorpius reciprocated, making him wonder why he’d never done this sooner. 

“Shall we get started?” Scorpius asked, rearranging the supplies on his desk.

“Do we have to?” 

“Technically, no. Failing is always an option.” Scorpius responded thoughtfully.

“I really can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” Albus laughed. “Although if you’re serious, we might as well ditch right now and go flying.” 

Scorpius laughed. 

“It wasn’t sarcasm, but failing isn’t really an option,” He said, as he started to copy down the questions from the blackboard. 

His writing was neat and loopy, and all his letters looked the same. That was a feat Albus could only dream of accomplishing, and he quickly flipped to a piece of empty parchment, hoping that Scorpius hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his scrawly, almost unintelligible handwriting. 

“I don’t care if I fail this class, to be honest.” Albus said, doodling a broomstick on the corner of his page.

Scorpius looked at him incredulously, raising his eyebrows. That had most definitely made him sound like a careless jock. 

“Not that I don’t care about my education or anything. It’s just... history is kind of useless, isn’t it?” Albus said. There was no doubt that Scorpius would agree with him, because he knew there wasn’t a pupil in all of Hogwarts who genuinely enjoyed the class. Albus would safely say he knew almost everyone in their year, and even a few students from other years, thanks to his multitude of relatives. None of them liked history. 

But Scorpius was looking at him like he’d deeply offended his great ancestors. 

“That’s not true! History paved the way towards modern magic!” 

“So I’ve heard. Every day since first year.” Albus rolled his eyes. 

“Without history, we wouldn’t have broomstick advancements. You do know that, right? Your Firebolt would be practically a tree branch. You wouldn’t be able to fly more than five miles per hour.” 

Albus put his hands up defensively. Clearly he was wrong about no one being passionate about history.

“Damn, I’m working with an actual nerd,” he said, letting out a breathy laugh. 

Scorpius paused for a moment, and it looked like he was contemplating whether Albus had meant that as a joke or as an insult. He seemed to have decided on joke, and he gave Albus an embarrassed smile as he turned back to his empty parchment. 

“You know the point of working together is so that we can get more done,” Scorpius pointed out, and Albus had to refrain from rolling his eyes. This was like working with a male version of a slightly nicer Rose. 

“Really?” Albus responded sarcastically. “I thought it was to make this dreadful class a little bit more bearable.” 

Scorpius paused before responding.

“This is my favourite class.” 

Albus almost choked.

“Seriously? No, for real?” He asked in disbelief. 

“Yes, I think history is fascinating. I mean, look at all the spells that have been created in the last decade!”

“They’re alright.” 

“Alright? They’re wonderful! You can practically do anything you want using magic nowadays.” Scorpius said dreamily, gazing off into space. Albus desperately wanted to ask Scorpius if he had a thing for historians, but he refrained. 

“You can make your bed, comb your hair, and even tie your shoes using a simple incantation!” Scorpius continued, now incorporating in some hand gestures. Albus felt like he was watching one of those muggle infomercials that often came on TV. 

“No offence, but if I needed magic to tie my own shoes, I’d probably never show my face in public.” Albus responded, rolling his eyes. 

“That’s besides the point!” 

“Okay, okay, I guess you’re right...” Albus lied, still as eager to leave the class as he was before. Not even history nerd Scorpius Malfoy could change his opinion on this subject. 

Scorpius gave him a small smile before returning to his work. 

Albus watched him write, occasionally jotting down some answers of his own. He tried to slow down, making his letters a little bit more legible than they normally were. He couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed Scorpius had gotten since the first time they’d worked together. 

Scorpius was currently gazing at his desk, with his chin in one hand and fancy quill in the other. The only other wizards he’d seen use peacock feathers were high level ministry workers at his father’s workplace. His father owned one too, of course, but Harry had always been more of the traditional sort, sometimes even using muggle pens. 

“Do... you need something?” Scorpius’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he realized he’d been staring. 

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Albus said, turning away with a little shake of his head. “I was just... admiring your quill. It’s very nice.” 

Way to make yourself sound smooth, Albus thought to himself, cringing. 

But Scorpius didn’t seem to notice, and he gave Albus a warm beam.

“Thanks! It was a Christmas gift from my father. I think he got tired of buying me books, he says I probably already own the whole bookstore. Which isn’t true, of course. One can never have too many books!” Scorpius rambled. It was something he seemed to do a lot, but Albus didn’t mind. 

“You sound like Rose.” Albus laughed. “She’s almost as big of a nerd as you, I bet you’d get along well.” 

“Maybe, if she didn’t hate my guts.” Scorpius pointed out.

“She doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s my cousin. We usually tend to have the same opinions on people.” 

“And what exactly is your opinion?”

Albus thought for a moment. What was his opinion? 

For one, Scorpius Malfoy seemed like the polar opposite of what he’d heard. Albus didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so sweet in his life. Other than grandma Molly, of course. 

He was also a huge nerd. That much was obvious. 

Apart from that, Albus didn’t know what else to think. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he should do. 

As Scorpius’s eyes met his own, he pondered what to say. He couldn’t lift his gaze, and for the first time, he couldn’t find the words to express himself, which was saying a lot considering he’d been told by many that his quick witted responses were so good that he should consider a career in magical law. 

So he settled on the truth, and shot Scorpius a small grin. The subtle, smirky kind that made his eyes flash and almost always got him what he wanted. 

“I like you.” 

[devilsbound-a]

*ﾟ· ˚  ✧ wolfie zaharov ⁞ ❛ devil in me.  /  introduction.

what’s up sluts ! admin fox here with yet another blog & yet another character .... if we’ve never met before, damn ya lucky ! but anyways lmao i’m fox, i’m twenty years old ( twenty-one next month woop woop ) and my pronouns are she/they but really whatever u wanna use is fine. this muse is kinda old but i’ve never played him in a group setting so i’m really excited to throw my garbage son into the world ! if you’d like to plot with wolfie, just give this post a ♡ or message me !

pro tip: add /mobile to the end of my url so it is easier to read !

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ matthew daddario + cis male + he/him — have you met wolfgang ‘wolfie’ zaharov? they are a twenty-eight year old known around town as the dirtbag. they currently work for the savages as a pimp, though they are also a preacher. they are a bisexual scorpio, which means they are amicable + hard-working, as well as selfish + untrustworthy. all black clothing. shaky tattoos. rosaries laying over chest hickeys. 

*ﾟ· ˚  ✧ wolfie zaharov ⁞ ❛ devil in me.  /  history.

wolfie is ajax anderson’s oldest kid ( that people know of lmao ), and he was raised by the man. his mother abandoned him with his dad when wolf was just two months old, being a drug-addict stripper that certainly wasn’t looking for the responsibility of raising a child; wolf has no memory of his mother, and the only information he has of her is the name on his birth certificate. 

ever since he was a teenager, ajax always raised wolfie to be his heir, to follow his father’s footsteps and to, one day, run the town’s local brothel. wolfgang was never interested in it, actually. for as long as he could remember, wolfie was always disgusted by his dad’s actions. he hated the life of crime, hated that his father was running a brothel, hated the gang running the town. 

wolfie’s version of teenage rebellion was to join the local church. he swore celibacy and to uphold God’s words when he was just seventeen, being one of the youngest preachers in town. wolf spent a couple of years traveling the world to spread the word of god after that, and the time away from his family and his town only made him realize the mistake he had made. 

deep down, wolfgang has always been amoral with a penchant for trouble. as he stood in front of a packed church reciting the bible, all wolfie wanted to do was hang out with the cute guy from the bakery next door and smoke some weed. he drowned his personal demons for years, denying his own pleasures because that was what he was taught to do. about five years ago, however, he simply couldn’t do it anymore. 

wolfie came back to valdez about eight years ago, and at one point he simply broke. he came back to his father with his tail between his legs, begging for a job and some comfort. it was balthazar’s idea that he kept his day job as the town’s preacher: despite his wrongdoings wolf is still a very religious man, and balthazar caito saw advantage in having some good blackmail material on the local church in case he ever needed it. 

*ﾟ· ˚  ✧ wolfie zaharov ⁞ ❛ devil in me.  /  personality.

wolf is... an ass. he does only what he wants to, either it be having sex with strangers, beating someone in a bar fight or nearly overdosing on a friday night. he has no impulse control, and doesn’t care how his actions may affect the people around him. 

despite his infidelity when it comes to romantic relationships, wolfgang is loyal to the core when it comes to everything else, which is why he didn’t leave the savages when his father did. wolfie started our with the savages, he intends on dying with ( and for ) them.

he can be pretty arrogant too--- wolfie knows he’s a hot mess, but he’d rather focus on the ‘hot’ than the ‘mess’. 

will probably hit on you. and your sister. and your dad. and your mom. 

he’s still a good shoulder to cry on, if you need. during his years as a preacher wolfgang became a pretty good therapist, and he still gives off advice to anyone who may come to him. ( he’s the definition of ‘do as i tell you not as i do’. )

*ﾟ· ˚  ✧ wolfie zaharov ⁞ ❛ devil in me.  /  appearances.

he’s 6′5, with a mess of dark curly hair he hardly ever brushes. 

always with a scruff bc he’s too lazy to shave everyday, though he never lets it turn into an actual beard. 

he has a bunch of tattoos, none of them very well done. most of his tattoos are black and white and can easily be considered doodles. usually only gets a tattoo when he’s plastered. 

wolf has a silver nose ring on the left nostril, but he doesn’t wear it too often anymore. 

dresses in mostly black or dark clothing; he’ll put on a leather pant whenever he’s trying to get fucked but usually he’s in slacks and a black button down. 

*ﾟ· ˚  ✧ wolfie zaharov ⁞ ❛ devil in me.  /  plots.

a best friend — more like a confidant, the one person that gets to see wolf with his guard down; probably one of the few people in town that doesn’t underestimate him.

a childhood friend — wolfie left town at eighteen, and he also left this person behind. maybe they had a lot of plans of moving away together, of escaping life in a small town and becoming somebody together in the big city; instead, frank walked away in the first chance he got and abandoned this muse without second thought.

an ex — they dated for around two years, maybe even lived together for a while ? either way it ended horribly because wolf just couldn’t keep it in his pants.

a friend with benefits — wlf doesn’t do exclusive relationships very well, but he’s great in the sex department; this character would know that well, since he is constantly hitting them up for some fun with no strings attaches. 

an enemy — maybe they had beef before wolfie moved away, maybe they just met. either way, thy are constantly butting heads, maybe even brawling a couple of times.

a hate-sex type of fling --- they hate each other for some reason, can never be in the same room without screaming at each other. that is, until they’ve had a couple of drinks and end up sleeping together as often as they fight.

a protective friend --- wolf definitely doesn’t have his shit together. maybe this person doesn’t either, but that doesn’t stop them from caring for wolfie like the mother he has never had. 

workers --- wolfie currently runs his father’s old brothel. maybe some of the escorts work for him ? we could always add more to this plot, maybe wolfie is also a regular client, maybe the escort hates his guts, maybe they feel protected by him.

a neighbor — maybe they get along, maybe they hate each other with the passion of a thousand suns. who knows ?

a roommate --- wolfie is probably the worst roommate ever; he’s constantly bringing strangers home at late hours, he drinks and do too many drugs in the living room, probably doesn’t know how to clean up after himself. he makes really good food and pays his part of the rent on time, though. 

a party friend — wolfie loves to go wild, and this person isn’t stopping him. in fact, quite the opposite, with the two constantly egging each other on.

a cuddle buddy — wolfgang is definitely a touchy person, and so is this muse. they are always pda’ing in public, though it’s very platonic for the both of them.

a partner in crime — wolfie is constantly up to no good. some nights it’s just sitting in a parking lot drinking his weight on vodka, some nights it’s nearly getting killed in a knife fight at the local bar. whatever it is, this person is always there to back him up.

a childhood best friend — this two were attached by the hip all throughout their childhood and teenage years. in the past couple of years they grew apart, and are now trying to light up that flame again; which creates several awkward hang out sessions and late nights of doing the weird stuff they used to do as kids.

[saferincages]

(you might say we are encouraged to love)

I received an ask requesting I make this response its own post in full (which of course I don’t mind doing!) so here it is:

An anon in the original post asked why, “Anakin/Vader is seen as interesting for women,” and that could be a bit of a loaded question, but I think there’s a definite rationale behind it. The way it was phrased made me think of a post I saw which addressed the fundamental split between Anakin and Vader as seen by certain audiences, why Anakin is treated by many derisively because there’s an element of the “heroine’s journey” that happens in relation to his arc and the struggles he goes through. It’s here and it’s really interesting in its entirety. “The constant barrage of degradation and trauma and unfairness of a system that benefits at your expense and refuses to validate you for it. And some of that he might have been able to reconcile by “growing up,” the same way a lot of us learn to come to terms with social fuckery, but Anakin doesn’t get the space to do that. He gets a giant bundle of unaddressed trauma and psychological issues and handed a kind of ambiguous destiny about needing to save the entire universe.” <- Imagine the burden of that, and they put it on a child and then give him zero structure to cope with it.

I’m also going to add this comment from that post because I think it’s worthwhile to note: if someone makes you angry and you show anger with your very own face you are weak, you have lost face, you have shown yourself vain and driven by a selfish, animal, irrational, feminine urge to defend yourself; but if you show anger without a face, if you show it unpersonally (the less it’s connected to direct accusation or a specific ill), especially in order to execute a role, then you suddenly appear to be the one in the position of strength, because you can no longer be directly accused of selfishness. The more you can cloak anger in the guise of necessity, the more you meet the societal expectation to be dispassionate, rational, always controlled - the more justification and legitimacy and power to you, even though this mode of anger is often more destructive than the first. This dynamic, assuming it exists as I’ve hypothesized it, is why I think Anakin codes as feminine to many, while Vader appeals to a certain masculine ideal.

Basically, the gist of it is that the emotional turmoil, the trauma, the way he’s exploited for his talents or what he can provide others, the way his agency is stripped repeatedly from him again and again tends to not be the way “male” hero journeys are told. It’s feminine coding (unfortunately) for those themes to be explored. For those emotions to be plumbed and portrayed with a substantive sense of sorrow and helplessness in the central male hero - it is not the “macho” standard. Why they thought they’d get a macho, unyielding masculine power trip from Anakin Skywalker remains a mystery to me, this is the same series where its original hero, Luke (who is his son! of course there were going to be essential parallels and contrasts between them), purposefully throws his weapon away and refuses to fight, and is characterized by his capacity for intrinsic compassion rather than any outer physical strength (even Han is much less of a “macho” guy than dudebros tend to make him out to be - not only because he’s unmistakably the person in distress who has to be rescued from capture in ROTJ, he has a lot of interesting facets that break down that ‘scoundrel’ stereotype, but I digress other than to say I love the OT, and the subtle distinctions in Luke, Leia, and Han that make them break the molds of expectation). SW fundamentally rejected toxic masculinity and the suppression of emotions from its inception, Luke’s loving triumph and role as redeemer only happens because he refuses to listen when he’s told to give up on his friends or on his belief that there’s good in his father, his softness is his ultimate strength. Anakin was never going to be some epitome of tough masculinity, and George Lucas knew exactly what he was doing crafting him in that way. The audiences who wanted Bad Seed Anakin from the beginning didn’t know how to reconcile this sensitive, kind-hearted, exceedingly bright kid, with their spawn of the Dark Side notions, and I think, unfortunately, far too many then either rejected him completely or refused to understand what the central points in his characterization are about.

The fact that this narratively would have made no sense (if Anakin had been “born bad,” then there would have been no miraculously surviving glimpse of light for Luke to save - I’ve said this before, but imagine how profoundly essential to his true self that goodness had to be for it to even exist any more at that point, after all he’d suffered, after all he’d done. the OT tells us more than once what a good man Anakin Skywalker was, it’s part of what makes the father reveal as powerful as it is - if we hadn’t heard the fragments of stories about Luke’s father, it wouldn’t be nearly as shocking, but we KNOW he was a hero, an admirable man, a good friend). I can’t fathom how tricky telling the prequels had to have been to that extent - the audience knows what will happen in the end, it’s a foregone conclusion, we know he will fall, we know Vader will be created, we know the Empire will rise (though that would have happened even if Anakin had remained in the light, which is a whole other discussion). So the question became, who is this person? What influenced him? What shaped his destiny? And that ended up being a far more complex and morally fraught and stirringly emotional story than just “badass Jedi becomes badass Sith lord.”

That talented, highly intelligent boy is taken in by the Jedi after he has already developed independent thought and very intricate emotional dimension - the argument that he’s “too old” to be trained is because he’s not malleable enough to be indoctrinated the way Jedi usually treat the children they take. They may blame this on his attachment to Shmi, but she’s not the problem (if anything, had they not been so unfeeling and rigid, and had they freed her and allowed her to at least stay in contact with her son while he was training because it was a special case - they’re the ones who stick that “Chosen One” mantle on him, you’re telling me they couldn’t make an exception? but no, because they put that weight on him and then never help him carry it and constantly undermine it and question and mistrust him - Anakin would have been stronger in his training, and he would never have fallen to the Dark Side at all. There are so many moments, over and over, where his fall could have been averted, and everyone fails him to the bitter end, when he fails himself). 

And so he is traumatized, due to years of abuse and difficulties as a slave, due to having to leave his mother behind because the Jedi would not free her, due to being told to repress his emotions over and over again when he is, at his core, an intuitive and perceptively empathetic person (he wants to uphold that central tenet of his training - “compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life”), yet he’s made to feel he is broken/wrong/constantly insufficient. He’s wounded by abandonment issues and lack of validation and the human connection/affection he craved, and he develops an (understandable) angry streak, he’s socially awkward due to the specific constraints/isolation of a Jedi’s life and due to the fact that they tried to stamp out what made him uniquely himself, which makes him continually conflicted with a never-ending pulse of anxiety (see absolutely ANY moment where he breaks down emotionally, and you’ll see him say something to the effect of “I’m a Jedi, I know I’m better than than this,” “I’m a Jedi, I’m not supposed to want [whatever very basic human thing he wants, because they make him feel like he can’t even ask for or accept scraps of decency]” - they fracture his sense of his own humanity, Padme tries to validate those feelings but that Code is a constant stumbling block in his mind). He is troubled by fear and the constant press of grief (I would argue he has PTSD at the very least), and all around he’s met by mistrust and sabotage. 

Male heroes shouldn’t be treated as infallible in their own narratives (none of them are that, as no character of whatever gender/origin is, as none of us are), but at the very least we usually see them treated with respect by others. Anakin often gets no such luxury. He’s treated the way we frequently see women treated, and that treatment comes from the same rotten core - the idea that emotions are weak, that expressing them makes you lesser, that crying is a sign of deficiency, that fragility of any kind cannot be tolerated. Anakin is even the hopeless romantic in this situation - Padme, while gracious and warmhearted, is much more pragmatic and tries to reason her way out of her blossoming love for him until she’s of the belief that it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re about to die, and she wants him to know the truth before they do. (I’d also like to note that the closest people to him all speak their love aloud when they’re at the point of death - Shmi when he finds her bound and tortured with the Tuskens, Padme in the Arena, Obi-Wan watching him burn on Mustafar, and how unbearably sad is that? even though his mother had said it before, even though he got to hear it many times again from Padme - and it’s her last entreaty to him - we shouldn’t be pushed to the brink of death to express it). Anakin is the one gazing at her dreamily and tearing up about it and professing earnest, dramatic love in front of the fireplace (idc what anyone says about the dialogue, the way he expresses himself is entirely sincere, it’s the rawness of that sincerity that I think makes people uncomfortable bc it’s unexpected), she’s the one who talks about living in reality. She, too, has been taught to guard and temper her emotions from her time as a child queen and the years she’s spent navigating the murky political waters of the Senate, but she’s become adept at it, unlike Anakin. If anything, they’re the only person the other has with whom they can be truly genuine and unafraid of exposing the recesses of their hearts, they’re the only safe place the other has, it’s no wonder they give themselves over to that, and the fact that they do is beautiful, it’s not wrong (which I have more cohesive thoughts on here and it was the underlying thesis of my heart poured into the super long playlist for them too /linking all the things). They see the joy and spirit in the other that no one else ever sees, and they make a home there.

Anakin becomes an esteemed general not only because he’s awesome in battle and strong in the Force and a gifted pilot and a skilled leader (all of which are true), but because he shows those around him respect, and great care. So, yet again, there’s a subversion of what might have been expected. No one is expendable to him. He views the Clone troops as individual human beings. He mourns their losses (many of the Jedi, with their no attachments rhetoric, allow the Clones to be used without much hesitation or thought for their status as sentient beings born and bred and programmed to die in war, but Anakin was a slave. He comprehends their status more than anyone else could). Anakin is a celebrated hero to the public, and in private is being chewed up by fear and uncertainty. Anakin is devoted to and completely in love with his wife, but has to keep it a secret. Anakin still craves freedom that even being a Jedi has not afforded him, because of their rigor. Anakin still desperately has to scrape for even the bare minimum of approval from the authority figures around him - even his closest mentor and friend, Obi-Wan, while they are irrevocably bonded and care for each other in a myriad of important ways, often doesn’t understand him and dismisses his feelings, refuses to advocate for/stand up for him when he needs it, or tells him to calm down. I’m surprised they never tell him he’s being hysterical when he gets upset, but the connotation of being told to “calm down” when angry or sorrowful or frustrated is something most women can identify with all too well. His desperate desire to protect Padme as everything begins to curl and smoke and turn to ash around him has a very clear nurturing aspect to it underneath the layers of terror and frustration and building paranoia - all he really wants is to be able to protect and care for his family, all he hopes is to save them and have a life with them away from all the war and the political in-fighting and the stifling Order. He’d quit right that second but he needs help due to his nightmares, and no one is willing to give it to him. (Except, ostensibly, Palpatine, who has been grooming him and deftly manipulating him and warping his perceptions since he was a child, all under the guise of magnanimous, almost paternal, care. Palpatine is brilliant in his machinations, perfectly cunning in his evil. He knows exactly how to slip in and break people, and he plays Anakin to the furthest extreme. I’m not saying Anakin doesn’t have choices, he does, and he makes the worst possible ones, but Palpatine pulls the strings in a way that makes him feel that he has no agency - and in truth, he does have very little agency throughout every step of his arc, marrying Padme and loving her in spite of the rules is one of the only independent choices he ever makes that isn’t an order, a demand, a fulfilling of duty - and Palpatine poises himself as the answer to all the problems, if Anakin does as he’s told. He’s been hard-wired to take orders for too long. He is so damaged by this point, and so distrusting - Hayden said something once about how Anakin is still very naive in ROTS, even after what he’s been through in the war, he’s still so young and unknowing about many things, and then his naivete is shattered by complete and utter disillusionment, and that shock is terrible and incomprehensible for him, so he clings to the one source of power he’s given, and it’s catastrophic). He is haunted by grief and impeded by fear of loss, and it drags him into an abyss. We watch all of this happen with bated breath, we see everyone fail him, we see every moment where he could have been helped, we see every path he could take if only he had the ability to stand up for himself and had been given the tools to cope with his psychological and emotional baggage, we see that he very nearly turns back, up until the death knell at the end. We know it’s coming from the moment they land on Tatooine and meet him and decide to make him a Jedi. We know, and we still hope for it to turn out differently. We know, and it still breaks our hearts.

I don’t want to make blanket statements about typical male viewers vs. typical female viewers, that’s too dismissive of a stance to take, but on a seemingly wider scale, I don’t think many of the former (especially the ones who were either older fans or who were teenagers themselves at the time) were as interested in political nuance and a tale of abiding love and a young man burdened with more than should ever have been put on his shoulders. Since the question was basically “why does he appeal to women,” (and not just cishet women) I imagine that the answer to that varies greatly depending on any one perceptive outlook, but has a similar core in each case of us wishing we could help change the outcome, even though we know we can’t, and of wanting to understand his actions and his pain, wanting to see his positive choices and his goodness validated, wanting to see him learn healthy strategies, wanting to see his love flourish, wanting to see him freed from the shackles he drags with him, from childhood to Jedi to Vader. The crush of the standards of society and expectation on him may speak to many. He is never liberated (until his final moments of free breath). His choices are either taken or horrifically tainted. His voice is drowned out by those more powerful around him. His talents and intelligence go largely unrecognized. His good, expansive heart is treated like a hindrance. The depth of his empathy and love is underestimated - and that, in the end, is important, because that underestimation, ending with Palpatine, becomes the Dark Side’s ultimate downfall and undoing. Vader may literally pick up an electric Palpatine and throw him down a reactor shaft, but that physical action is the final answer to a much more complete emotional and spiritual journey. He throws him down and the chains go with the slave master, and for the first time, certainly since before he lost Padme, his heart is unfettered, his love is reciprocated, and he is offered a true voice, a moment of his true self, a sliver of forgiveness, before being embraced again by the transcendence of the light. It is his act of rebellion, it is his own personal revolution, his final blow in the war. The entirety of the arc hinges upon him in that moment, Luke has been valorous and immeasurably valuable, but he’s done all he can do - the final choice is Anakin’s (and it’s such an interesting case because where else have we ever been able to fear and appreciate a villain, and then totally transform and re-contextualize him?). He is in that moment, indeed, the Chosen One.

All these facets are fascinating to watch unfold if you’re willing to be open-minded and heartfelt and sympathetic to the journey, if you’re willing to dig into the complex depth of his pathos.

I remember seeing AOTC as a teenager, and my love was Padme, she was where I was invested, I identified with her, I loved her kindness and her bravery and her sense of honor and justice, I loved that her femininity did not in any way diminish her and was an asset, I loved that, while she takes charge and has the fortitude to rush headlong to the rescue, while she can fight and tote a gun and blast a droid army as well as anyone, her superpowers are her intellect and her giving heart and gentle spirit. I totally get why Anakin holds onto the thread of hope she gives to him for all of those years, and why he falls in love with her as he does, but since I felt a lot of the story through her eyes, I understood why she was drawn to and fell in love with him, too. He’s dynamic and a bit reckless, he’s courageous, but he’s vulnerable and needs support, he’s deeply troubled but also radiantly ebullient at times (the scene in the meadow where she’s so touched by the carefree joy he exhibits, how it delights her and takes her aback, because she’s almost forgotten what it is to feel that, she’s almost forgotten other people could, and here he is, warm and teasing and spirited), he is often guileless, especially with her, he’s fervent and loving in a way she’s never seen or experienced, and that love is given with abandon to her. Who…wouldn’t fall in love with that? It’s a gravitational pull. AOTC impacted me in certain other personal ways as well, I was trying to understand some nascent hollows of grief (Anakin losing his mother as he does was very affecting and heartwrenching for me, at the time I’d lost my grandfather to whom I was quite close, and I’m also really close to my own mom, so his woe had an echo to me), but that vision that I specifically had of their love, the way I interpreted it (which I may not have had words for at the time, but I certainly had the emotional response) was a dear and formative thing.

I talked about this here, but to rephrase/reiterate, by the time ROTS came out, my life had shifted completely on its axis. I was still young, but my much dreamier teenage self was being beaten down and consumed by illness, and I was angry. Anger is not a natural emotion for me (guilt and self-blame tend to be where I bury anger), and I really didn’t know what to do with it. Everything felt unfair and uncertain, like there was no ground at all to stand on. I hurt all the time, literally and figuratively, I was in constant pain. I was lonely and frightened and sleep deprived and often had nightmares (this is still kind of true lol, as is the physical pain part). Padme was still my heart and touchstone - as she remains so to this day in this story - but suddenly I understood Anakin in a much more profound way, one I’ve held onto because he’s important to me and I love him. I felt his rage, his anguish, his desire to do something, anything, to somehow change or influence the situation, to rectify his nightmares, to cling to whatever might make a difference, might save him from being drowned in the dark and from losing everything that made him who he was as a person. Seeing him try and knowing he would fail was devastating, but also…relatable, in an abstract way (obviously not the violent parts, but thematically, I felt some measure of what it was to scramble up a foundation that is disappearing beneath you, that your expectations and dreams of what your life would be can vanish in disintegrating increments). All I wanted was for someone to help rescue him, because all I wanted was for someone to help rescue me. All I wanted was the hope that things could turn around - and there is hope in ROTS, despite the unending terror and tragedy, it’s never entirely gone, because Star Wars exists as a universe with the blazing stars of hope and love ever ignited at its center - but still, it was a very personally rooted emotional exploration for me, and I only started to deal with my own floundering anger when I saw how it might consume the true and loving and softer parts of me if I didn’t hold it back. (A few years later, I went through this again in an even worse way, and the source of that rage and despair was someone I cared for, and once I got through the worst bleak ugliness of it, there were a couple of stories I returned to in an attempt to gain newfound solace and comprehension, and Anakin and Padme were in there. My compassionate, hopeful heart was being torn by that fury, and I clawed my way back up from the brink of it because I knew I could die, not even necessarily figuratively, it was…a bad time, if I didn’t find my way out. Anakin’s story is a tragedy and a fable and a kind of warning - we should not deny or suppress our emotions or our authenticity, but we also cannot let it destroy us - and then ultimately his lesson is restorative, too, that we never lose the essential part of our souls, that we must allow ourselves to feel. Balance indeed). 

As consistent and transparent as my love for Padme has always been, my Anakin emotions are actually so close and personal that I intentionally avoided ever exposing them for actual years, it’s like…basically in the past month that I’ve ever been truly honest about it on Tumblr, because exposing that felt like too much, but I don’t really care about keeping it quiet any more, and that’s very cathartic. 

I myself am an incredibly emotional person, and I don’t believe that Anakin’s emotions are negative qualities, which I meant to underscore. In fact, his open emotions are an exquisite part of him, and it’s the Jedi who are wrong for trying to stamp that out, when his emotional abilities are part of what define him in his inherent goodness and his intellect and strength. He has an undying heart. For he and Luke both to stand as male heroes who represent such depth of feeling is really special, and vital to the story. Anakin is the most acutely human character in many respects, in his foibles and his inner strengths, in his losses and his longings and his ultimate return to his true self - that’s why we feel for him, that’s why we ache and fear for him, that’s why we rejoice for him in the end.

Other people could speak to the Vader part of it much better than I can, Vader’s an amazing and very interesting villain (the fact that, as Vader, Anakin is much more adhered to the Jedi code and way of thinking than he ever was as an actual Jedi, for example - he has an order to him, he is much more dispassionate, he is very adamant about the power of the Force - is endlessly intriguing, because he’s such a contradiction). I use this term for a different character, but I’m going to apply it here - Anakin is a poem of opposites. He is a center that can serve as either sun or black hole. He is a manifestation of love and light and heroism, he is a figure of imposing power and cold rage. He’s the meadow and the volcano. The question then becomes, how expansive are we? When we’re filled with the contradicting aspects of ourselves, how do we make them whole without falling apart? When we do fail, can we ever do anything to fix it? And the answers again will vary by individual, but to my mind - we’re infinite, and thus infinitely capable of, at any point, embracing our light, even if we’ve forgotten to have faith in it, and while we may not be able to fix every mistake or right every wrong, we can make a better choice and alter the path. The smallest of our actions can ripple and extend and are more incandescent than we know. That’s what he does, against all expectation. In the end, he is an archetype not only of a hero (be that fallen or chosen or divine), but of a wayward traveler come home, a heart rekindled, a soul set free to emerge victorious in the transcendent light.

In the final resonance of that story for me personally, I love him for being a representation of that journey, that no matter how long it takes to get there, how arduous it is - that things we lose can be found again, that with the decided act of compassion, pure, redemptive love can be held onto, that the light persists and that, even when it flickers most dimly, refuses to be extinguished, and can at any point illuminate not only ourselves, but can shine brightly enough to match the stars in the universe.

I hope this is at all cogent, here’s a gif for your patience ♥