#forgot that i said. like it was not relevant to the journal at all

[karinyosa]

hot prof having us write class journals and him writing notes back is just sooooo intricateritualsy it's driving me nuts. i can feel the way the pages have warped from the way you held it + we're literally writing each other like bro oh my god. it's literally a semester long journal and like at this point this thing is becoming an archive an art project like kshsjsjs thats intimate

[mbgwriting]

Describing Setting with Intent

Recently, I saw a post expressing the sentiment somewhere along the lines of I’m a good writer until I have to describe a room and then forget about it. And my first thought was…so don’t describe the room. Just don’t.

I know what you’re thinking. But my reader won’t know what’s in my mind if I don’t describe it! It’s lush and atmospheric! (Or possibly, It’s my story and I want to!)

Listen. Writer to writer. I know. But if your reader is too bored with your description of the setting to get through the page, they’re not going to see your vision at all because they’re not going to finish your story. 

That doesn’t mean that you can’t give them an idea of what they’re looking at, and that doesn’t mean you can’t ever describe the setting! Let’s talk about it. 

-If you’re bored, your reader is bored. First and foremost. This is just something to remember all the time when writing. If you don’t want to write it, if it’s not working, if you think it’s not interesting–that is your writer’s instinct telling you something! Find a way around it instead of slogging through because you think you have to. 

-Sprinkle in your scene imagery. Think of yourself as the salt bae of descriptive information. Instead of info-dumping, only give tidbits of information as they become relevant to your POV character. Your character notices the breeze as it blows their hair into their face. They notice the uneven ground as they stumble on it. And look, on your first draft, maybe you do info-dump! It’s okay! You have the words on the page, that’s what the first draft is for. When I catch myself doing this, it’s as simple as asking where you can flesh out (and spread out) those details in a more interesting way. 

-Remember what your POV character would actually notice. This example isn’t a room description, but the concept applies. I read The Silent Patient this year. The first chapter begins as a journal entry, and it includes a detailed description of the journal…which we are meant to believe the POV character is currently writing in. When was the last time you wrote in your diary and said “yeah this is my pink Hello Kitty notebook and she’s eating an apple on the cover”? Never. You’ve never done that. You know what the notebook you’re writing in looks like. And guess what? As a reader, that information was not essential to me. I know what a journal looks like. So your main character shouldn’t be describing a familiar setting to your reader like they’ve never seen it before. That isn’t to say you can’t get away with a throwaway detail here and there. It means that it should be just that—a throwaway, so small that it’s barely noticeable, but adds to the visual experience. 

-Go beyond the visual. This goes hand-in-hand with imagery. What does your setting sound like? Smell like? What is the lighting like? Is it warm or cold? Does it feel damp? This is especially useful because even in a familiar place, you might overlook visuals but still pick up on other sensory input–like when you walk into your house and notice if it smells like dinner is cooking or if someone forgot to take the garbage out. 

-Use character action to give texture to the room. What the heck does that mean? It’s a really obnoxious way to say the same thing you’ve heard a thousand times. Show, don’t tell. This can be as simple as mentioning that a chair feels rickety as your character sits down, or giving your characters something to do as they have their conversation. Even if they are simply chatting over the dinner table, you can describe the clink of the cutlery during an awkward silence, the way a character watches the condensation trickle down their glass in order to avoid eye contact, the way another character is distracted by the background noise.

-When you do describe a room, do it with intent. There are times when you can actually describe the room. But people don’t need to know the wall color or that the curtains are made from your MC’s grandmother’s favorite dress unless that’s important to the story. The details you give need to hold weight. For example: in my most recent novel, I spent 2-3 sentences describing the meticulous neatness of my character’s bedroom, but only so that his father could come in a page later and find something to criticize about it. At another point I described a room in a different character's house. This time I used a lot of detail, turning the description into a deluge of information—because I was describing a room in a hoarder’s house. I wanted the reader to feel just as overwhelmed by the room as my character did. 

-The setting description should always do double duty. You’ll notice that all of the examples I gave came down to one simple point: if you’re describing something, there needs to be a reason. It needs to tie into characterization, or theme, or plot, or tone. It needs to add value to the overall story. Otherwise, endless setting descriptions are just…a little bit boring.

[drawlfoy]

benefits of journaling p.2

read p1 here!

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: recreational drug use, language, mild gore, snakes, a mouse gets eaten (thoughts and prayers), tom is a little bit gaslighty, the quality of my writing declines sharply

a/n: note that this is not finished at all, but i'm not planning on finishing this series unfortunately :/ i just have too much going on. this is unedited, unrevised, unoutlined, etc. so adjust your expectations accordingly. i just kind of want to get this out so i've given u guys at least *some* semblance of closure for this series. (UPDATE: now that i’ve written this i’ve changed my mind. i will be working on the next part. i forgot how much i love tom)

wc: 6.7k

enjoy !

This time you were unceremoniously dumped into a hard wooden library chair. You gasped as you braced yourself against the hard table in front of you, drawing in shaky breaths as you gathered your bearings. 

 A loud bang startled you into wrenching your gaze up. Tom had dropped a thick book with an ebony cover right next to you, nearly atop your hand. 

“Here you are,” he said pleasantly. “Happy reading.” 

“Do you think I can take this back with me into my world?” you asked. The cover was smooth under your fingertips. 

“Unlikely,” said Tom, dropping elegantly into the chair beside you. “You’ll have to read it here.”

You gulped. “Alright.” 

The papers were yellowed and fragile against your touch, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how old it was. 

“Any section you’d recommend starting with?” 

The book was around 700 pages with tiny, fine print.

“Perhaps the beginning.” Tom waved his wand and wordlessly summoned a stack of books, lifting one up and beginning to read for himself. 

You’d thought that you’d be less intimidated knowing that he was also doing something besides staring at you reading, but the back of your neck still prickled as you pulled the book to the edge of the table and began to dig in.

It was bizarre, reading next to a boy like this. The only one you ever studied with before had been Ishan, and he hardly counted. It was different with Tom. His presence hung in the air around you, a tension so tangible that it wasn’t unthinkable that you might feel something if you let your fingers sift through the space between you.

Despite all you’d told Tom, spending time around him made you unfathomably nervous. He was too good-looking to feel even remotely normal around him, and it was all you could do to hope that he didn't notice how much you blushed whenever he spoke to you.

The book he’d given you was dense and horrific, detailing magic so ugly and foul that you felt dirty just reading it. It covered topics you’d heard of before, like cases of the Imperius curse or the misuse of love potions or the nature of dark magic. 

But there was nothing pertaining to Tom’s situation.

“Can’t you at least point me towards a chapter? Or…a general section of the book?” you asked him. 

Tom lifted his gaze from his work, quirking a brow. “Having trouble?”

“This is going to take me forever to read.” You motioned at the width of the book. 

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing much more of you.” 

You couldn’t fight back the flush that spread across your face. “Well, this is an easily solvable problem. You really ought to just point me to the most relevant part.”

“And here I was, thinking I was doing you a favor,” said Tom. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment you thought you saw the slightest suggestion of a smirk on his lips. “Given that you’re such a glutton for knowledge and not at all singular in your academic pursuits.”

“That’s not—” You paused when you saw the amusement on his face. He’d been playing with you. “I’m flattered that you remembered. I suppose you’re right.”

And since you refused to let him win, you flipped the book back open and picked up right where you left off. 

It was really stupid to feel so light at the fact that Tom had remembered a sentence you’d said verbatim, because even if it implied that he’d thought about your last interaction enough to commit it to memory, it was hardly a surprise. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do in his empty version of Hogwarts except read books he’d probably already read many times before.

You snuck another look at him a few chapters later. A few waves had fallen across his face, dangling over his brow. For a moment, all you could do was keep yourself from reaching out to tuck them back into order, to know what it felt like against your fingers.

But that was a boundary you hadn’t crossed yet—if you even could. Who knew how the rules worked in this dimension?

You resolved to believe that you couldn’t touch him. That it was impossible. Because if you believed that, maybe you’d stop wanting to. 

“You never ended up telling me if you were a Parselmouth,” you realized aloud after you’d completed another gruesome section about ritualistic Dark Magic. 

You watched him closely but didn’t detect even a glimpse of surprise. 

“I didn’t,” he agreed smoothly. He didn’t look up from his page. 

“So? I gave you a secret. Many, actually.”

“I think you already know.” He turned the page, dark eyes darting across the next. 

“Well—” You paused, worrying your lip between your teeth as you realized that he was right. “What’s it like?” 

That was what prompted him to finally lean back in his chair and lift his gaze from the book to your eyes. 

“What’s it like?” 

Repeated back to you, it did sound very silly. 

“I mean,” you said, cheeks hot, “What do you even talk to snakes about? The weather? Whether or not there’s enough mice in the area?” 

“It’s unlikely to find snakes that do more than listen to me,” he said. “Most aren’t very good conversationalists.”

“A boy in my—our, I guess—year has a pet ball python,” you told him. “I just don’t understand why he’d want one. They don’t seem like very good companions.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have no emotional depth,” you said. You could feel your voice slipping into the tone you used when you tutored younger students, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You’d researched this extensively in the library after the Incident in third year when you were looking for any good academic reason for how terrified you were of Malfoy’s pet. “They have no limbic system, so everything for them is about survival. There’s no—no mutual concern or love like you’d get from something normal, like a cat or an owl. As their handler, you only matter because you’re what keeps them alive. I don’t think I’d ever be able to get over that.” 

“So all your companions have to love you?” Tom was resting his chin in his palm now as he looked at you. “They’re worthless otherwise?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you responded. “But I like my company to see me as something more than an avenue for survival or a means to an end.”

“Their companionship isn’t enough?”

You blinked. Everyone else that you’d given your reptile spiel to had completely understood. You couldn’t quite figure out why Tom wasn’t agreeing. “It’s just nice to be cared about, don’t you think? And it’s…it’s nice to care about something without it feeling meaningless.” 

“I imagine that that’s true,” Tom said evenly. 

Something deep inside you twisted at the implications of his answer. You’d sort of forgotten that he grew up in a muggle orphanage and likely didn’t have any sort of emotional closeness during his early childhood. But he was so pretty and sharp and witty that it was hard to imagine no one caring for him. Perhaps that had changed upon his admission to Hogwarts. He had said that witches and wizards found him charming. You could attest. 

~

You passed the following Potions lab with flying colors and a perfectly brewed Draught of Peace that made even Snape nod approvingly. It was thrilling. It was incredible. All you wanted to do was get Tom’s diary out right then and there and document it as it happened—as if he were right beside you—but you refrained. You told him that night instead, when you were back again for another reading session.

You were falling into his world on a daily basis, devouring as much of the book as you could without forgoing any conversations with Tom. He’d been impressed to hear about your potion in his own very Tom way. He didn’t tell you outright that he thought that you were brilliant or smart or incredible. Instead he seemed entirely unsurprised, like he thought you capable of nothing less. Somehow that made you glow more than any explicitly stated praise that he could’ve offered.

When you weren’t reading, you were walking around the grounds with Tom and just talking, much like you used to write to him. At first you’d been nervous and uncomfortable with being as open with him in person as you’d been in writing, but Tom had a funny way of making you feel seen. Despite his slight aloofness and obvious air of pretension, he listened to you and appeared genuinely interested in your life by way of remembering things you’d said months ago.

Like when you’d told him off-handedly that it was raining back in the real world and that it was your favorite weather, and ever since the Hogwarts you were transported to was constantly overcast with torrential downpours unless you two were walking outside. 

You still never dared to touch him, though. That was a line that you refused to cross. Tom seemed to hold the same opinion, keeping a wide berth around you whenever tactile contact was in the realm of possibility. 

“How did you become a Parselmouth?” you asked him one day while you were taking a break from reading and walking through the Transfiguration Courtyard. 

His eyes narrowed as he turned to you. “Do they not teach you about Parseltongue in Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore?”

“No,” you said. “I’ve only ever heard about it by reading a book from the Restricted Section. It was very vague. All I know about it is that it’s the language of reptiles.” 

“No one becomes a Parselmouth.” Tom turned his attention back to the walking path, adjusting the cuff of his robes for just a second. “All Parselmouths are born. It’s entirely hereditary.” 

“So did you have to learn it?” you asked. Your interest was piqued—you’d never heard of a language that was passed through genes.

Tom shook his head. That one rogue strand of black hair had escaped its orderly wave, just like how you remembered him from his yearbook picture. “I’ve never had to think about it. I’ve just always known how to say what I want.” 

“Do you think that you could…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed thickly. You weren’t even sure why you’d started asking him that question. Of course he couldn’t teach you Parseltongue. You didn’t even really want to know it, either. You’d never use it. But you hated being told that you didn’t know something. That you couldn't know something. 

“We can give it a try,” he offered. 

You dared to glance back up at him and found him already looking at you. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I don’t know.” He appeared to be making a valiant effort to quell a grin. “I suppose it has something to do with your approach to acquiring knowledge. One could almost call it…gluttonous in nature.”

You sent him a glare.

Tom shrugged, properly smiling now for the first time in front of you. He had shallow, almost perfectly circular dimples. “Anyway. I’ve never taught anyone before. I actually don’t believe it to be possible, but we might as well give it a go.”

“You’ve never tried?” you asked. “None of your friends at Hogwarts asked you to teach them?”

“No,” he said. “No one knew I was a Parselmouth. I kept that a secret.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “I enjoy my privacy. Right, then. Serpensortia.”

A large, hissing snake appeared at your feet, thrashing about in the grass as it unhappily acclimated to its new environment. 

You yelped, leaping nearly a foot in the air. Tom simply stood still, watching you with an amused expression on his features.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to let your eyes move from the wriggling snake in front of you. “I’m just—surprised.”

“It won’t hurt you.” His voice was low, gentle. “Don’t be afraid.” 

“I’m not,” you said, but the slight wobble in your tone betrayed you. “Just—get on with the lesson, alright?” 

He stood silently, his head tilted in concentration.

“What’s it saying?” you found yourself asking. “Is it—I dunno—threatening my life or something?”

Tom sent you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s scared of you.”

“Really?” A spark of smugness lit up within you.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“It’s expressing how upset it is at how suddenly I’ve conjured it. Apparently we’ve interrupted the start of its meal.”

“What do I say if I want to apologize?” 

 He appeared to consider your request for just a moment before opening his mouth and making a hissing noise that you didn’t think you could replicate if you had a thousand years. 

The snake immediately quieted and stopped its thrashing, its tiny head lifting from the ground to regard Tom curiously. 

He looked back at you, expectant.

“Again, please,” you said. “A little slower this time. I didn’t quite catch it.” 

He obliged, going through each syllable separately.

You felt very much like you were back in muggle school before you’d found out you were a witch, being forced to read out a passage in French. The sounds that came out of you were clumsy and not at all what you thought they’d sound like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you accused. “For the record, I know it was bad.” 

He didn’t address it beyond just the slight upward twist of his lip before he repeated it again, syllable by syllable.

You tried once again with the same outcome. 

“Your tongue should be a little behind your teeth,” he said. “You have yours too far back on the roof of your mouth, which is why you’re losing control. Try again.” 

This time, it came out much cleaner. The snake took notice of you for the first time, its dark scales glistening under the cloudy sky. It hissed something back. Tom’s mouth split into a grin.

“What did it say?”

“It wants to know if you have any food,” he told you. 

“What’s ‘yes’?”

Saying yes in Parseltongue was much easier than saying sorry—it only took two syllables, both of which were made up of sounds that you were pretty sure you had in the English language.

The snake was giving its full attention to you now. Its forked tongue stuck out for just a second. 

Gulping, you accioed a small stone into your palm and cast a quick charm to transfigure it into a mouse—something that you’d learned years ago. 

You set it on the ground and watched the snake lunge.

“Gross,” you said under your breath, wincing as it began to swallow it whole, its body twisting and contorting as it shoved it down.  “I—I think I’m done with the lesson now. I’ve learned enough.” 

“You really didn’t need to feed it,” Tom pointed out helpfully. 

“Yeah. I know that now. I just felt like it deserved something for the trouble.”

Once the snake had succeeded and the only evidence of the mouse was a bulge in the adder’s scales a little past its head, it lifted its head again to meet your eyes, its tongue slithering out as it made a sharp hiss. 

“What’s it saying?”

“It thanked you,” said Tom. He was giving you that look again—like he was reconsidering you. 

“And if I wanted to say ‘you’re welcome’?”

“I thought you said you were done with the lesson.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Consider this my last request. I’d like to be polite.” 

Tom let out a sigh, then made a sound that glided from a long S to a few sharp, pointed consonants. 

You clumsily mimicked him, feeling like your tongue was much larger than you’d ever bothered to notice. 

To your surprise, the adder slithered towards you, dragging itself onto the rock of the courtyard and in front of you. It coiled around your shin, slowly pulling itself up your body.

“Tom!” you whisper-screamed through your teeth.

“It’s alright,” he said. 

“Do something!” 

The snake continued up your leg, looping once around your waist as it continued its ascent up to your shoulder. It was cold and oddly heavy, its scales clammy against the bare skin of your neck.

For one terrifying moment, you thought that it was going to coil around your neck and squeeze until you asphyxiated. Your breath caught in your throat as it came around behind your neck, both ends dangling around your neck as you were paralyzed with fear. 

Then it did the most peculiar thing; it stopped, just hanging in a loose hold around the base of your neck, its face nestled into the collar of your robes. 

“What’s it doing?” you whispered. You tried to ignore the lump in its body that you could feel at the side of your neck.

“It’s resting on you,” said Tom. 

“Why?”

“Because it likes you.” 

You stared at him, floored. “It does not.”

He hissed something to the snake around your neck. It responded with something you couldn’t even begin to understand. 

“It just told me so,” said Tom.

“How do I know you didn’t just make that up?” you said, mentally crossing your arms across your chest but refraining since a snake was taking residence there at present. 

“You don’t trust me?” asked Tom. “I’m hurt.” 

Before you could respond, you felt the slow, languid movement of the adder as it lifted its head from your collar. Without thinking, you offered it your hand, watching in quiet fascination as it slithered around your wrist.

“Hi,” you said shyly, like you’d speak to a nervous cat.

“It won’t understand—”

“I’m aware, Tom,” you interrupted, sending him a look before turning back to your wrist. “We’re bonding. Bugger off.” 

He held his hands up in exasperation. “Bonding? Are you going to take him back to the real world as your familiar?” 

For a moment, you actually considered this.

“Because that’s a terrible idea,” continued Tom, crushing your dream right then and there. “Adders are venomous. Once you don’t have me around, you won’t be able to communicate with it. It’ll probably bite someone.” 

“Then perhaps we should start brainstorming ways to bring you back,” you said. “For safe snake handling, if nothing else.” 

Tom didn’t say anything to this; instead, he reached out and gently unwound the adder from your wrist, his skin not brushing yours once. 

“Surely there’s someone wondering where you are,” he said once the snake had been deposited on the ground. “You’ve been here longer than usual.” 

“Do you not want to get out of here?” you asked, frowning. “It hardly seems like you’re trying.” 

“I’ve been doing research when you’re not around,” he said simply. “I think I just need to theorize for a bit longer—figure out the best course of action.” 

“The process would be sped up significantly if you let me help.”

“I won’t ask that of you. It’s very complicated magic—” He paused for just a moment, noticing the derisive curl of your mouth. “—Not that I think you incapable, of course. But you’ve better things to do. It would distract from your exams, and I tend to work better alone in this stage of research.”

“Oh,” you said, hoping the hurt wasn’t showing on your face. It made sense that he would want to work on this alone. You understood not wanting to have to explain things to people when you could already be going down a rabbithole that you’d deemed important. Plus, your current Tom rendez-vous schedule was eating enough time as it was. But it still stung. 

“You’ll be the first to know if I stumble across anything conclusive,” said Tom.

You snorted. “Obviously.”

“Well—” Tom stopped himself. You thought for a moment that you detected the slightest flush across his pale skin, but that was likely because of the chill outside. “That was more clever in my head. Sorry.”

“I imagine that being in solitary confinement for half a century might addle your mind a bit,” you offered diplomatically.

“My mind is not addled.”

“I was very graciously giving you an easy out.” 

“Someone is probably wondering where you are,” he repeated, his jaw tense. “So I’m going to send you back now.”

Without giving you another chance to argue, you were catapulted back into your desk chair.

~

“You look like you could do with a night out,” Lucy observed as she watched you storm into your dorm and send your satchel flying through the air to land messily on your bed.

“Casting my first and last Unforgivable on McLaggen would be preferable,” you said through gritted teeth. 

He’d been your partner today in Arithmancy to work on a partner problem set. It apparently wasn’t enough for him to be dreadfully stupid and slow—he had to be an absolute chauvinistic arse about it. Whenever you attempted to correct him, he’d look at you with so much amusement that it made your head pound.

He didn’t even need to say anything—the look in his eyes told you that he didn’t even see you as a person. 

The last person to treat you so dismissively had been Pansy Parkinson, but at least she’d been smart. And a witch. McLaggen dripped with conceit and smugness and was disgusting towards the most pureblooded witch on a good day. 

It’d been nearly 3 hours and your blood was still boiling. 

“Well, I can’t arrange that,” said Lucy. “But I can tell you that Hufflepuff is throwing tonight. McLaggen probably won’t come—Ernie hates him, and he’s the one who put it all together.” 

You considered this, looking longingly once at the bag on your bed. You hadn’t done anything with your friends in forever; nearly all the time you had was spent either studying or with Tom. 

The Hufflepuffs were always gracious hosts, too. The last time you’d gone, they’d given you something to smoke that had smelled like a meadow on a sunny spring day and made you feel like you were floating. You’d giggled all night with Lucy, clinging to one another. You’d gone on some tirade about how much you loved her, touching her face and tearing up as you said something about how you didn’t know what you’d be without her. Lucy’d beamed back at you, her face wide open with raw gratitude. 

It had been sappy, but it had been fun and one of the few positive memories you had from the disaster that had been O.W.Ls season. 

“You know what,” you said slowly, watching Lucy’s face light up, “I think that’s just what I need.” 

Tom could wait. 

Lucy squealed and got right to work. In seconds, all the clothes you’d brought from home were strewn across her bed as she scrutinized each one. 

“I thought this was just going to be, like, a chill thing,” you said. 

Lucy picked up a sequined top, held it up to your chest, and wrinkled her nose. “Too loud.” 

“Lucy—”

“I never get to go out with you,” she interrupted, yanking a black slip dress from the pile that caught the warm overhead light. “Thoughts? We could do some fun earrings or something to dress it up.” 

“Are we not just going to sit in a circle and smoke again? This feels a little overkill.” 

“Well, it’s not,” said Lucy, throwing it at you. “This is hardly a ballgown. Plus, this is your annual outing. Dress to impress.” 

You rolled your eyes and slipped the straps off the hanger, throwing it over your shoulder as you turned around to change.

Lucy continued her rampage, ooh-ing and aah-ing upon seeing it on you and immediately cornering you with a scary looking brush.

“For your eyes,” she said, like that made you feel any better. 

“What?” 

“Close them.” 

You squeezed them shut, willing this to be over. You’d had your own experience with muggle makeup, which was tame and not at all exciting. The Wizarding World always had interesting takes on beauty tools, like charmed kohl that could turn your entire eye black if you weren’t careful enough. 

Something cool and wet swiped across the corner of your eyes. Lucy mumbled something under her breath, and there was a slight ruffling at the end of your lashes, like a light breeze had swept through them. 

“Open.”

You blinked, your lashes feeling a little heavier. 

“Pretty,” said Lucy, nodding seriously. “Hang on. Do you have a lip color preference?” 

You stared. A lip color preference? “Er—whatever you think makes the most sense with my undertones.” 

“You would say that,” Lucy replied, already holding a wand of lip gloss. “Put this on.” 

When you turned to look into the mirror she was holding out, you nearly started at your reflection. Lucy had done something insane with your lashes, curling them up and adding length that didn’t look too obvious. That weird tool she’d used on your eye had created a sharp, clean line that followed the contour of your lashline and licked out at the end. 

You looked really pretty. Not quite Tom Riddle level pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said, turning back to Lucy after you’d applied the gloss she’d given you. It smelled faintly of something that you couldn’t quite place—like old parchment and the memory of walking through the library in the middle of the night. It was the strangest scent you’d ever encountered in a lip product. 

Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs did not disappoint. They’d bribed house elves into bringing an entire spread of food that was fragrant and under a constant stasis spell to keep an optimal temperature. You spent the evening chatting with your Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends and feasting on ripe slices of pineapple and bites of strawberry that stained your already glossy mouth a vibrant pink. 

Then Hannah Abbott reached into her pocket and pulled out a stash of corked bottles. 

“Party Potions,” said Lucy in wonder as you both stared at the swirling liquids.

You’d heard of them before but had never personally had one. You weren’t entirely sure what they did, in all honesty, and that stressed you out enough to keep you from giving them a whirl. 

They were different vibrant colors—one an opalescent pink, one a vibrant orange, one a blood red, one a deep, midnight blue that reminded you of your house colors. 

“Anyone want one?” asked Hannah, motioning to her pile. Terry Boot raised a hand and plucked the orange one from the table, uncorking it and downing it in one go. 

“What do the different colors mean?” you asked. The longer you looked at them, the more you were mesmerized. 

“I don’t remember,” admitted Hannah. “Nothing crazy, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” you repeated.

“Just because I don’t remember why I bought each color doesn’t mean that I would’ve purposefully bought something that did bad things,” Hannah told you. “Here. Take one. It’ll help you relax.” 

The midnight blue potion sat on the fingers of Hannah’s outstretched palm. 

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“I promise it’s nothing too intense,” said Hannah. “You’ve smoked before, right? I’ve had one and it was honestly just like getting crossed. You’ll be fine.”

At the mention of smoking, common sense flew out the window. The last time you’d been offered an illicit substance in the Hufflepuff Common Room, things went really well. Who were you to deny that again?

“If you’re sure it’s alright for me to have it,” you said. The bottle pulled easily from Hannah’s hand and into your grip.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Lucy was grinning at you widely. 

Up close, the midnight blue wasn’t solid—there were specks of silver in there, like thousands of stars littered across the night sky. It was stunning. You felt almost bad uncorking it and downing it, but you didn’t give yourself a chance to second-guess.

It tasted like lavender and honey and something burnt that was horribly gross but faded away with time and went down like water. 

“You didn’t save anything for me?”

“Sorry, Luce,” you said, swiping the back of your hand across your lips. 

You weren’t feeling anything yet. Or were you? Was this how you normally felt? The ceiling of the Hufflepuff common room definitely didn’t move, right? And Lucy typically wasn’t outlined in a fuschia pink. That you were sure of.

“Whoa,” you said dumbly.

“I think Y/N’s feeling something!” called out Hannah. “What’s it like?”

You stared at her, watching as a warm brown that reminded you of English Breakfast tea with milk stirred in surrounded Hannah’s edges. 

“You’re such a good person,” you said, feeling tears prick at your eyes, because Hannah Abbott truly was. “And so are you.” 

You turned to Lucy, trying your best not to cry. “Did you know that you’re the color pink?”

Lucy nodded gravely. Later she would laugh about this, but not now. “That’s very kind of you.” 

You spent the evening in a daze, staring open mouthed at your friends as you saw different colors swirl around, some overlapping and blending. 

It was beautiful. Then the sadness kicked in. It wasn’t clear to you exactly what caused your sudden rush of melancholy—but all of a sudden you were staring at the happy people dancing around you, the colors blurring and mingling, and all you could think about was Tom. Tom, who was all alone. Tom, who might never get out. Tom, who was destined for an eternity of loneliness. 

“I’m going to go back,” you said to Lucy, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention. 

She frowned. “Aw, why? Are you not feeling well?” 

“The potion Hannah gave me is making me feel really tired,” you said. It wasn’t a lie. Your eyelids were heavy and the thought of curling up under your blankets sounded better than anything. Well, almost anything. There was something you needed to take care of first. 

“Booooo,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to walk you back?” 

“No! I mean—” You gulped. “You’re having fun. I’ll be fine getting back. I think Ron’s on the rounds in our part of the castle. He’s not going to write me up.” 

“You sure? I’d be happy to take you.”

You started pushing her in the direction of the other party-goers. “Very. Go have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

By the time you’d burst back into your room, your chest was heaving with exertion from sprinting up the stairs as you wrenched open your desk drawer and pulled out the journal.

Tom you wrote. Can you let me in? 

He didn’t answer; instead, you were falling through space and into the warmly lit Hogwarts library from the 40s. 

“Tom!” You couldn’t stop the grin that came across your face. 

“Oh—hello.” Like always, Tom was standing tidily a polite distance from you, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Unlike always, he was staring at you like you’d just shot his dog. 

“Is everything okay?” The potion you’d taken was definitely still in effect. An inky blackness was hanging around his shoulders—a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. 

He swallowed, his eyes darting up and down. “Yes. Sorry. You just look a bit different.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I was at a party. Did you know you have a black aura?”

“What?”

“Your aura is black,” you repeated, slower this time. 

He just stared at you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your eyes. Maybe he was insecure about having such a lame aura color. It had been a bit rude of you to point that out all willy-nilly. 

“I’m not—” Tom stopped, pressing his lips together before continuing. “I’m sorry, is there a reason why you asked to see me? Surely you don’t mean to read after you’ve just stepped out of a party?”

“Oh,” you said, and suddenly you remembered why you’d come. A somberness dropped over you. “I was just…I was having so much fun tonight. And then I thought about you.”

He stayed silent.

“What’s going to happen to you if I can’t get you out?” Your voice wobbled as tears pricked at the back of your eyes. “Are you just going to be stuck here forever? Won’t you be lonely?” 

When he didn’t immediately answer and opted to stare at you in shock instead, you continued.

“Because I keep thinking about what might happen if something happens to me or I lose your journal,” you confessed, now ardently choking back tears. “I really worry about you. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t help you leave.” 

“Are you…” His eyes darted up and down you again. “Drunk?”

“Hardly,” you said, swiping angrily under your eyes as you collapsed onto the loveseat that you so often read on, pulling your knees to your chest. Then, quieter: “It was just some potion a friend gave me.”

“If you’re so worried about something happening to you so that I’m left alone…” You weren’t looking up at him, but the increase in volume told you he was coming nearer. “...May I suggest not taking mystery potions?”

Before you could issue a retort, the loveseat cushion shifted to accommodate the weight of a second person, sending you toppling over to the other side. 

Right onto Tom. 

Your hands went flying to the opposite armrest, fingers digging into the worn blue velvet with a death grip as you righted yourself, pushing your knees from where they’d landed sprawled in Tom’s lap.

Which you could actually touch, by the way. The implications began rolling in once you were back on your respective side. He’d been solid and warm and completely void of any attributes that may suggest he was a ghost. Which meant that it was probably possible to…

No. No. You weren’t going to think about that right now. 

“I didn’t realize I could touch you,” you heard yourself saying, staring at him in wonder. “I just assumed I couldn’t.” 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Oh.” 

And for purely scientific purposes (no reputable academic came to a firm conclusion based off of a single trial), you reached your hand out and experimentally poked his forearm again. 

“Wow,” you said.

“Will you stop that?” said Tom. 

“Yes.” You retracted your hand and placed it firmly in your lap. Then, because your manners hadn’t completely abandoned you: “Sorry. That was rude of me. I just sort of assumed that since you’re—well, whatever you are—it’d be like touching a ghost or something.” 

“Whatever I am,” he echoed, looking off into the distance with what you could only describe as a very harrowed expression. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, but you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. 

Instead of responding, he buried his face in his hands, heaving a heavy sigh as his fingers tangled into his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

He just shook his head, scrubbing his face with his hands once before he let them fall. 

“Er, all right then,” you said. “Would you like me to leave? I’m sorry for bothering you.” 

“You really shouldn’t worry about me,” he finally said. The awkward, slight pauses between his words gave you a sneaking suspicion that he was choosing his words very carefully. 

“Of course I’m going to worry about you.” Now that you knew that you could touch him, nothing stopped you from reaching out to flick his arm indignantly. “We’re friends, and I like to think that my friends would worry about me if I was stuck in journal jail. Or whatever this is.” 

He was still staring at where you’d touched his arm. 

“...Unless you don’t want to be friends,” you added, suddenly feeling a little silly for jumping to such rash conclusions. “Which I’d understand. I can give your journal to someone else. A Slytherin, maybe. Someone a little more your speed.” 

You decided to blame the potion for the obvious hurt that had seeped into your voice at the prospect that there was someone else who was better suited as his confidant. 

“I don’t want you to do that,” Tom eventually said. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

“Then what do you want?” The strength in your words surprised even you. “I don’t understand you. You tell me you want to get out, but you still won’t let me help you. You let me talk to you and come visit you and read with you, but then you expect me not to care. It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense.” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” said Tom, thumbing the ring he always wore around his finger. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“So help me understand!” Your voice rose sharply, echoing off the walls of the empty library. 

Tom finally turned to you, his face split open with something so uncharacteristically raw and open that it takes everything within you not to gasp. 

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” He drew in long breath. “Not right now. I need more time.”

“Oh, a half century wasn’t enough?” you retorted. “Need another?” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Tom, an edge of franticness in the way he spun the ring around his finger quicker. “I never thought that I’d—I didn’t think I’d ever be found. I wasn’t supposed to be found.”

You didn’t know what to say to this. Instead, you sat there with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, eyes set on the floor, your mind racing with all the implications of everything you’d learned.

A moment passed. Then another. Once it appeared clear that you weren’t going to say anything back, Tom spoke up again. “You’re angry with me. I understand that this is…” He paused. “Unconventional. But I am grateful you’ve found me, and I’d really rather prefer that you don’t give me away to another student.”

You were just about to respond when—

“But of course I’d understand if you did,” he added hastily. 

It was the most unnervingly emotional speech you’d ever seen come from Tom, ever the stoic, and under the influence of the potion that Hannah had given you, it was almost enough to make you give in and move on. But not quite.

“You said ‘supposed to’.” Your eyes still didn’t move from where they were trained on the scuffed wooden floor of the library. “You said ‘I wasn’t supposed to be found.’”

“That’s right.”

You turned to look at him, inky black aura spilling over his equally dark hair. “‘Supposed to’. Like you knew this was going to happen. Like this wasn’t an accident.”

And the change you saw in him was so miniscule that if you hadn’t been spending enough time studying his face, you might not have noticed it. But you had, and the slight dilation of his pupils and twitch of his jaw was enough to betray his panic. 

Then his mouth split into a smile and his face smoothed over, his eyebrows furrowed with just the right amount of concern. The shift was startling, like he’d slipped on a mask. “Of course this was an accident. Do you really think that I’d choose to be stuck here for eternity?”

“That’s—” You paused, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.” 

“I wouldn’t,” he pressed, and this time his arm came up to drape over the back of the couch. You tried your best not to think about how you could feel warmth radiating from it, how if you tilted your head back, you might brush against it. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll send you back,” he said, a polite smile set on his lips. “You should really get some rest.”

And for the first time since you’d first discovered the journal, you fell asleep feeling a little bit afraid of Tom Riddle.

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Good Omens, staying skeptical, and the mystery and the lie at the heart of Gravity Falls

-Neil Gaiman, 29 June 2023

I recently came across this post by @apathetic-revenant, which goes into extensive detail about a whole secret meta lie generated by Alex Hirsch, creator and head writer of Gravity Falls, midway through the show.

It went like this: the show was very focused on mysteries, codes, ciphers, etc, and early on a character discovered a mysterious journal with an unknown author, and this drove the plot. There were clues placed in the show so that people could solve the journal author's identity, or more probably so that it would all make sense in hindsight after the big reveal. However, the show ended up with a larger-than-expected fandom who started organizing online in a way the creators hadn't expected or planned for, and they were worried everyone would collectively solve the mystery too easily, too soon, and the suspense and appeal of the story gradually unfolding would be lost.

So they took a fake BTS photo that appeared to reveal the journal's author and "leaked" it online. To give it credibility, the show's creator posted "Fuming right now" and then deleted the post soon after, once they were certain it had been seen and screenshots taken. The Gravity Falls fandom then stopped trying to solve the mystery, as they believed the answer had already been revealed. It was a solution "targeted toward delaying that group problem-solving, without actually affecting the experience of any individual person watching the show."

Ok, Good Omens fandom. Are we Gravity Falls all over again? Are we also experiencing meta lies?

Is it possible that Amazon's marketing department has just released a new promotional video about Aziraphale & Crowley's "timeline of interconnectedness" (discussions here and here ) where they honestly:

got several of those timeline dates wrong, including labeling the entirety of seasons 1 and 2 as belonging to the same year?

mixed all the season 1 and 2 clips together so they're completely interconnected and out of the order they were presented to us so far?

didn't consult with Neil Gaiman for even a moment to be sure they had their facts straight? (Or literally anyone else who's spent years working on it? Or even someone who has just watched it once while paying attention?)

didn't understand the way most series tell a story by moving through time in a realistic linear fashion?

When Neil said today that "time is fine" in response to questions about the timeline of interconnectedness video, was he trying to misdirect the fandom away from the mystery that's clearly hidden throughout both seasons (and especially season 2)?

The Good Place seems suddenly more relevant than I'd imagined:

Neil has told us that his Tumblr posts aren't canon. He's also said:

"Never trust the storyteller. Only trust the story."

"Writers are liars, my dear, surely you know that by now? And yet, things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot." -Both quotes are from The Sandman [link]

So here's my plea to whichever part of the fandom might read this: Stay Skeptical. It's wonderful to talk to Neil about his characters, the worlds he's created, his writing process, his views on world events, his sense of humor, his kindness, his compassion and empathy, and his good advice & encouragement for the entire range of the human experience. I respect him very much, and I'm thrilled he's here on social media talking to all of us. (Except he doesn't have social media, obviously. He's like Schrödinger's Social Media Neil-cat.)

I'm looking forward to all the surprises I'm certain are in store for us (and Aziraphale and Crowley) in Good Omens season 3. I trust Neil (and Terry!) to deliver our beloved characters to a very satisfying ending. But I don't trust Neil to honestly answer all of our questions on social media - and neither should you.

Especially not when he's already blamed obvious season 2 changes to the Bentley on the "lighting" (as just one example).

With lots of thanks to the members of the @ineffable-detective-agency - including @bbbitchvibbbez, @kimberleyjean, @maufungi, @noneorother, @theastrophysicistnextdoor, and @thebluestgreen for all their excellent fact-checking, ideas, and discussions!

Interested in diving further into all the Good Omens mysteries? I have more posts plus Clues and metas from all over the fandom, here.

[king-midas-fortnite]

Journal Entry: 02

Relevant Reblog Threads: https://www.tumblr.com/kado-fortnite/757815879423639552/an-invitation-to-watch-bloodsport-from-a-king-it?source=share AND https://www.tumblr.com/king-midas-fortnite/758022626128035840/it-was-a-nice-night-decent-company-for-certain?source=share

I mentioned in my last entry that I was thinking of ways to make things even with Kado for stopping me from doing something I'd regret in hurting Valeria, without making it known I felt the need to in the first place. 

Well, fortunate for me, he posted about being bored the other night while I had been enjoying an older bottle from my cellar. In a move I don't think I'd have chosen entirely sober, I invited him to the Nitrodome for entertainment he might find more suitable than reality TV. 

Surprisingly, and unlike many decisions made under the influence, I don't regret it. 

I had a fine time. I hesitate to say "good". It was Kado after all. But at the very least, he can make decent conversation when we aren't at each other's throats. Not to mention, Valeria puts on a good show when she's under the dome. 

I'd brought a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Pauillac. 1986, hardly the most vintage in my collection, but one I was looking forward to trying regardless, and met him outside. 

As I said in my invite to him, the plan was to climb the overhanging rafters for a better and more private view. I don't care for sitting amongst crowds. Especially not the kind who go to Nitrodome events. Anyway, the speed at which he climbed those rafters while I carefully made my way up was impressive if not entirely irritating. We were supposed to be discreet, and there he went swinging from pole to pole like some chimpanzee. 

At one point he'd asked if I needed a "hand." I could have killed him then. Feigned reaching for his hand and let the Touch do the rest, but oh well. Chances chances. 

Then he asked if I wanted to hang on his back while he went. The offer seemed genuine, but I will die before I risk anyone seeing me in some Vampire Romance Movie situation with Him. No, I could make it.

I did take some satisfaction in that when I finally did get to the top, he was hung upside down, looking a little...disheveled, from all his showing off. I asked if he was ready to take a bat nap. He didn't appreciate the joke, said he'd simply been having fun watching me. 

The show had begun after that. I realized I had forgot glasses once the bottle was opened, so we simply passed it back and forth. 

I've already mentioned Velaria putting on a good show, but I will reiterate, it was quite fun to watch. 

Between rounds of whatever the goal is down there (I don't pay much attention to rules, just the violence and expensive destruction), we chatted. Found common ground on some things; wine, art, theater. Found differing opinions on others; music, film, food.

One part I can not seem to let go of (and what I am having to have my third drink to even write down), was when he asked to see my hand. My fake one, that is. The one made to replace the one he stole. 

I didn't think he'd try anything at a place so public, so I held it out to him. He held it for a while, turning it over in his hands, tracing fingers over every weld and joint. It felt more intimate than I'd care to think about. 

He said it was beautiful. I thanked him, but couldn't help myself from asking if he was planning on taking that one too. 

He then got this smirk on his face and said, "I'd rather take the man attached to it." 

I'd snatched my hand back then, and decided I hadn't had nearly enough to drink for that sort of comment. I can only hope I didn't appear as surprised by it as I felt, but the Touch betrayed me as it often does and the damn bottle had changed to gold while I drank more from it. 

He'd laughed at me, of course. What I'm struggling with now is how I didn't hate the sound. I'm blaming it on the wine drank at the time and now. Moving on.

By the time we were heading back down, I was thoroughly drunk. He kept offering me help, staying irritatingly close as I went. I was in the middle of telling him I didn't need a "hand", and insulting him when I did lose my footing. 

He shouldn't have risked the exposure, but Kado had let his wings snap out for enough speed to catch me by the arm. For a man who's supposed to be keeping a secret, this was an extremely reckless action. I let him know as much after I regained my balance (queue the most sarcastic "you're welcome" I have ever heard). I have no idea if anyone saw, I suppose time will tell. 

We made it back down without further incident and accompanied each other further until our paths home split ways. Before we parted, I said something I wish I hadn't. Again, decisions made under the influence that I'd think better of otherwise. I thanked him. I thanked him for stopping me with Val, divulged to him how tired I am of hurting the people I care about... Stupid thing to do. I don't relish the idea of him knowing anything genuine about me, but I can't very well go back in time to correct that mistake. It was his time machine that blew up, after all. 

If anyone ever reads these, I think I'd kill them. Reminder: these are not "public" to other Tumblrverse characters. Okay to reblog, but please do not roleplay on journal entries!

[scorpiongrassfield]

A Quiet Afternoon In

Start | Prev

Once you’ve finished eating your late lunch, you join Pat. 

They’ve finished sorting and are now jotting down phrases on the post-its. 

“Here,” they say, handing you a pen and the sketchbook. “Try drawing or writing down anything that you think might be relevant to the case.” 

“I know how to draw?” 

Pat laughs softly. “I don’t think amnesia would make you forget that. Give it a try,” they say. 

You shrug. It can’t hurt to try. 

You try drawing the cabin. You scribble it out after you make a mistake and start over. Scribble out the next one, too. 

The third try comes out a little better, but it still doesn’t look right. 

“Do we have any pencils?” you ask. It’d be easier if you could erase things. 

“There should be some in my purse. It’s over by the door,” Pat says. 

Then, as an afterthought: “I’ve got some candy in there, too. Grab one for me and one for you?”

You agree and head over to their purse to look through it. 

You have to check through a few different pockets to find a pencil, but the candies are easy enough to find. 

They have green and purple wrappers. 

“Are these gin flavored?” you ask, wrinkling your nose as you read the label. You’re not eating that, even if you can’t taste anything. It’s the principle of the thing. 

“Nah, they’re caramels,” Pat says, not looking up from what they’re writing down. 

“Why are they called that, then?” you mutter as you hand Pat their piece. 

Pat shrugs. “Why do they name candies anything?” They ask rhetorically. They unwrap their candy and pop it in their mouth. 

They seem to be watching you closely as you eat your own. It’s chewy. 

“Good, right?” they ask. 

You feel like something is a little off, but then again Pat’s always been weird about making you eat. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you say. 

Pat just keeps looking at you for a long moment, then turns back to their task. 

You do the same. 

Drawing is easier with a pencil, but you’re still not too happy with it. Your drawing abilities aren’t horrible, but you still think it could be better. 

“You know…” Pat starts, but trails off. 

You hum in question, wondering what they want. 

They don’t say anything more for a while. 

You give up on drawing the cabin, or rather accept your imperfect 9th draft as good enough for now. 

Instead, you switch to drawing a portrait. 

You’re kind of envious of Theo’s skills, artistically. His style is very pretty. 

That said, you like your own style too. It’s fun and kind of cartoony. 

“Hey, Sylv?” Pat starts again. 

“Yes?” you say, looking up at them. 

They’re looking right back at you, their expression heavy with… something. An emotion you can’t quite read. 

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” they say. 

Before you can even answer them, they speak again. They’re smiling like they’re trying to make light of it, but the expression is strained, hanging on their face unnaturally. 

“Like, even if you are a vampire or… or something else like that. I’ve always got your back. No matter what,” they say. 

You furrow your brow. You aren’t sure what brought this on… 

“Yeah, I know,” you say. 

You haven’t known Pat for as long as they’ve known you, but you can tell they care a lot about you. 

“Good,” they say. “If you forget everything again, try to remember that? If not… I guess I’ll still be here for you,” they say, looking away again. 

You aren’t sure what to say to that, at first. 

Pat busies themself with reordering all the papers they have around them. 

After a while you find the words. 

“Thanks, Pat,” you say sincerely. 

Pat shrugs it off. “That’s what family is for, kid.” 

You think that’s the first time they’ve directly acknowledged what you are to them. Not an assistant, or a stray they took in, but family. 

Something must be wrong. 

But Pat just keeps working. Flipping through their journal for details they forgot, combining post it notes into one, doing some sketching of their own. 

The two of you work in parallel like that for a few hours. 

You manage to draw Pat, Theo, and the shadow. 

You do not manage to draw Concrete. Your attempts to draw the cat go catastrophically wrong and you conclude that you do not know how to draw cats at all. 

Eventually Pat straightens up from where they’ve been leaning over their notes, stretching, then shaking out the stretch. 

“Right, that’s enough of that,” they say. 

They tap their phone to see what time it is. 

“Hm… I know it’s been longer since I ate than it has been for you, but what do you think about dinner? We could try that Greek place we passed the other day,” they say. 

You sigh, closing the sketchbook. “That’s fine,” you say. 

“Sweet,” they say. They tidy up the mess of notes around them, then stand up. 

“Did you want to come with me, or stay here?” they ask. 

“I’ll stay here,” you say. 

“Okay. What do you want?” Pat asks, hand on their hip. 

You shrug. “You can pick.” 

“Okay,” they say. They pick up their purse on their way out the door. “Be good, don’t steal any blood while I’m gone,” they call. 

You roll your eyes, but don’t get a word in edgewise before the door is closed. 

Where would you even get blood from? The only person you’re capable of interacting with when Pat isn’t around is Theo. And he doesn’t exactly have blood to spare. 

Taking a break from drawing, you decide to look up the eight of swords. 

You check the same sites as before and find that you were sort of right about what the card means. It’s supposed to be about feeling trapped, but not necessarily being trapped. The blindfold is supposed to symbolize that a person is unable to see the way out of their problems, but that a way out does indeed exist.

But the shadow wasn’t blindfolded… 

As you try to find out more you notice something. 

If you focus hard enough, you realize there are results missing from your search. 

Not in a “the search engine took this result down” way, either. 

It’s like the menu at the diner. 

How did you not notice this before…? 

You try to focus harder on it, but it just gives you a headache. 

Oh well. 

You’ll have to look something else up instead. 

You look up ‘scorpion grass’ and ‘forget me nots’. 

There are some viewable results, which is nice. 

Forget-me-not is the most common name, apparently. Scorpion grass sounds cooler though, you think. It’d make a cool band name, maybe. 

The scientific name is… 

Myosotis sylvatica. 

Now your head really hurts. 

You fish the paper out of your pocket and look at it. 

The way it’s burned on either side of the word ‘sylv’... 

It could have been part of that phrase. 

And Pat said you were called My before you picked your new name. 

Did you name yourself after these flowers twice? 

You type in the full name to search. 

There’s a lot of information about the plants, which is interesting, but not helpful to you. 

You turn the paper over. “Was never found”, it says. 

You try typing that in. 

Nothing helpful comes up. 

You try that phrase along with ‘Myosotis sylvatica’. Nothing. 

You try again, this time with the phrase and ‘forget me nots’. 

Oh. 

There’s something. 

You can hear your blood pounding in your ears.

“Forget-Me-Not—The Girl Dressed In Blood” is the title. 

It seems to be the telling of some sort of urban legend. 

Pat seemed pretty firm on not messing with these things. 

But… 

It might not hurt to read it. 

Just to see what it’s about. 

What will you do?

Next

[castlebyersafterdark]

Was searching for something unrelated in my old journals, and found this entry from July 2022 before I joined fandom and was processing watching Stranger Things again for the first time in many years. Thought I would share in celebration!

I'm still processing Stranger Things. I said I wouldn't put a time stamp on it, but here I am [still obsessed] a month and a half later. End of May or early June, when my Will Byers playlist became relevant again after 6 long years. And Finn Wolfhard was always the real Will Byers, right? 2 more years. It can't last. But I guess I'm not ready to give it up yet. All the lovely shapes and feelings - the Cali Crew, teal and aquamarine, desert yellow checks, purple palm tree delight. Then the return (fingers crossed!) to hoods, sheepskin, cord, jackets, plaid, life preservers next season. 'These your new hick friends?' But the cosiness of s1 still has it. Lights flickering in a night-lit garage, kids on bikes warm from an evening filled with fun, freedom to make their own way home, grey joggers and navy sweater, maybe milk before bed, then something terrible happens and BOOM! We've got a mission. Then of course, the end of Holly Jolly and the power of the whole finale. I was so glad it was this relationship set up between Mike and Will - Mike didn't look like your typical leader, which is what made it so interesting, and I was glad he wasn't taken. Then the second cutest kid (or tied!) went missing, and that loss was made up for by the satisfaction of seeing Mike search for him. The flashbacks made Will so real - his relationship with his brother, his artistry, his little fort. When we saw him in season 2, it was like a treat, and he was SO good, and then Mike was insane in how protective he was. I couldn't figure it all out. So I'm thrilled with how it's going.

Isn't that so funny? I loved Will enough to have made a playlist named after him when s2 dropped, then sort of forgot about it all... and yet here it seems like I always had a soft spot for Mike! They were always tied in my heart I think, even though I didn't express that in the way I do now in fandom. They always intrigued me and I was so sure of their romance as I watched s4. Hooray for the return to cosy autumn vibes for the final season! and LOL at me thinking my ST phase would be done within a month hahahahahha

Anon, thank you so much for sharing this! How fun to have captured a feeling and a mindset, and evaluate what it all meant then and means now. How perspectives shift but what remains theJournaling, atmospheric descriptions were lovely too. As someone who does pretty extensive journaling, I really loved this. Thank you 😊🫂

[thegeminisage]

BROKEN ROAD MASTERPOST

BROKEN ROAD ON AO3

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Fix-It, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Dean Winchester-centric, Past Child Abuse, Apocalypseverse Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Ma'lak Box (Supernatural), Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Former Prostitute Dean Winchester, Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Healing, Dean Winchester’s 40th Birthday, dumb fucking car metaphors because dean’s a driving gay

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean’s head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It’s been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they’re living with angels. John doesn’t know angels are real, he doesn’t know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn’t know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean’s plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can’t answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

CHAPTERS ON TUMBLR: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

TUMBLR LINKS:

#brcu - “broken road cinematic universe,” for fanworks & inspo posts

#br meta - for posts talking about the fic/subjects related to the fic

#br memes - for shitposts.

#broken road - general story tags that contains all of the above and then some, including excerpts/rough drafts, general liveblogging, & asks.

FANWORK/”INSPIRED BY” LINKS:

i do have the inspo tag, but the fact that i have fanworks is so cool i wanted to make a special section for them. if you said publicly or privately that your thing was inspired by my thing, i am adding you here to give you publicity and TUMBLR FAME, but if you don’t want your link here, just hit me up and no hard feelings! if you make a thing inspired by my thing, or if i forgot to add your thing (or, much more likely, if i didn’t want to be utterly presumptuous by assuming it was for me 👉👈), you can also send me a message about that. i’m happy to have as many links here as possible!

broken road: a john & dean playlist (this one’s mine, there’s a version on both 8tracks & spotify)

john & dean graphic to submersed’s “hollow” (also mine)

graphic about the winchesters cleaning up messes (mine again)

fic cover art by @bibophilophile

chapter 1 graphic of the john/mary reunion by @thrivenotsurvive  

fanart/graphic set of the dean/cas moments from chapters 2 & 3 by @bibophilophile

tragedynatural edits by @brownbicon - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7  

improved table initials from chapter 4 by @theprincessandthepie

chapter 4 dean/cas fanart by @bibophilophile

chapter 6 fanart by @your-local-granny

post-chapter 6 dean & cas hug by @skepticalfrog

post-chapter 6 dean & everyone hugs by @skepticalfrog

don’t be him, a fanvid about breaking the cycle of abuse by @theprincessandthepie

i love you to the exclusion/inclusion of all others: john/mary and dean/cas graphics by @alittlescaredoflife

john & dean graphic to sinéad morrissey's “forgive us our trespasses” by @tiarnanafainne

graphic to wye oak’s “mary is mary” by @renegademp3

STUNNING visual art of the dean/cas chapter 3 sex scene by ultimate destiel stan @maulthots​ 

an absolutely breathtaking PHYSICAL COPY of broken road by @runawaymarbles

META LINKS:

yes, i have a meta tag, i just thought these were of particular relevance: 

family dinner from hell seating arrangements

john’s journal, especially flagstaff, and also john abusing dean into unwittingly perpetuating sam’s abuse

mission statement of broken road

john abused both dean AND sam, just differently + related post by @alittlescaredoflife

who had to grow up faster, sam or dean?

the tragedy of john is that he ISN’T 100% evil, and he USED to be a good person (related post 1, related post 2, related post 3)

john & dean & “why does he do that?” by lundy bancroft

how john gave dean his voice back

who really owns the impala and why dean can’t drive it when john’s around

even after everything, sam was still prepared to be kind to his father (feat. @maulthots​)

sam hasn’t actually forgiven john, he’s “gray rock”ing

mary as john’s impulse control / the subtle way john unknowingly shifts blame to mary / john’s love for mary makes him into both the best and the worst version of himself

john & cas parallels  / john & cas have the exact same opinion of one another (part 1, part 2)

how sexually violent language ties into john’s abuse

“warts and all”

the number nine

broken road’s creation process, start to finish

what happens after the end

...and that’s all she wrote! it’s been a real trip - thank you all so, so much for riding shotgun with me <3

[spn masterpost]

[tyrorexdmzapp]

Lost recut plans part 2

Here, I’ll go over some story and character details regarding Recut 3. As an aside I forgot to mention, I’m looking over an old document I wrote, so apologies if things aren’t TOO crystal clear.

One thing I future proofed for was the main villain situation. More specifically, I prepared scenarios for if Bowser was main villain again, as well as if a new villain were used but underwhelming (like Antasma). If Bowser were main villain again, I’d retcon it so someone else was pulling the strings. In addition, Bowser’s forces would be against another past villain’s forces, hence the return of the mark system. To that end, if he were final boss again, I’d move the fight to earlier, and let him take on his stronger form for the first time since StSt Recut…with the trade-off of a nerf depending on where he was placed. There’d also be changes in the battle to account for an incomplete McGuffin inventory, or even a twist where maybe someone else weakens Bowser with that same method, casting a suspicious aura over the reworked fight. By that same token, if Bowser’s Castle were the final stage again, it’d be moved to earlier and cut in length, with an explanation how the heroes access it earlier despite not having all McGuffins. In reaction to this change, a new final level would have the other half of the obstacles.

Meanwhile, if Bowser weren’t the final boss or main villain, the new villains would simply have any unintentional flaws fixed, and themselves fleshed out for Recut 3. They’d also work for the behind-the-scenes villain, or coaxed into it at a certain point. The official new villain’s shallow personality would turn out to have been faked, with hints of their real, more bombastic persona before the reveal. Last, the official new villain would double-cross the behind-the-scenes one and take mantle of final boss.

Regarding what TOK proper did and if these plans would have worked…it already kind of did the former Bowser thing. The actual game indeed doesn’t have Bowser as main villain, with him against Olly (albeit due to the vast majority of his forces getting brainwashed and cursed into origami form). In fact, he’s only in the prologue and doesn’t return until the Chapter 5 boss. Speaking of, Chapter 5 (of 6) is where Bowser’s Castle is visited in TOK, so that wouldn’t need any tweaking for Recut 3 or TOK Retold. With the new villain thing, meanwhile, Olly does have a few problems I don’t believe the writers intended. He barely shows up (in his own titled game!), and his presence/whole motive seems to be a potshot at classic fans, which would never make it into any recut. So fixing Olly in whatever ways plagued him would work for any recut, and indeed, that is the plan for TOK Retold. That said, his personality would indeed be his real one- there’d just be more to it. As for the villain hierarchy thing…hard to say.

On continuity notes, the classic Ryota Kawade era would once more get callbacks up the wazoo where possible or appropriate. Meanwhile, as payback for how much CS skimmed over the classic era, Recut 3 would return the favor and ignore the official versions of the modern Kensuke Tanabe era as much as possible. To that end, unlike how CS Recut tried to be vague on whether the original or recut versions of StSt and Paper Jam happened, Recut 3 would only stick with recut and DMZ canon. To that end, there’d be a seemingly generic Toad character who’s a journalist, with his journal being the sole mention of the original eighth-gen games. In a twist, it would turn out this Toad is not only from the original timeline- he was actually female, unique, and not a Toad the whole time, with her transfigured into a generic Toad and sent across universes to prevent Black Bowser from learning certain (no longer planned) Fruit Shake-relevant info she knew.

While the actual TOK includes a small handful of classic era references, it still mostly fawns on and overglorifies the modern era, to a…rather disturbing fault. I can say that the Toad journalist plot, while possible for Recut 3, isn’t making it into TOK Retold proper.

Regarding NPCs, of course the generic Toads en masse wouldn’t be a thing. In fact, besides the above fake-out, only one new unique Toad would be in Recut 3. Instead, due to the guess that the story would be space or data related, the 8 NPC species chosen were all ones that could plausibly fit with the space or data theme. Gearmos, Lumas and Bob-omb Buddies were picked from the main series, while Beepboxers and a fully realized version of the Huey bottle prototypes would be picked from the Paper Mario side, bringing us to 5. As for original species of my making, 3 were planned, bringing us to a total of 8. Since I might have plans for a…silver parachute just in case I decide to “branch out” in the future, I’ll keep the full deets on them a secret. All I’ll say is two things. One- there’d be a setting appropriate replacement for the Toads. Two- similar to how the Vellbex were based on the memetic Goat Thing, there was a species planned based on the memetic Piggy Bank Thing, fully realizing something odd about it. This species actually had draft designs created (but not finalized). Again, though, due to the silver parachute thing, they’ll remain private for now.

With TOK out, it’s apparent Lumas wouldn’t make it in regardless of anything. I’ll also say the third new species would be the only one with a shot. Regardless, due to a different mindset with TOK, combined with a need to listen to CS Recut’s feedback, the seven NPC species chosen for TOK Retold are completely different from the mentioned ones, with the new Fetyflyes being the only new one and only one that’s not an audience member. That said, one element of the Piggy Bank Thing is getting worked into TOK Recut’s version of the Vellumentals- more specifically, their flesh forms.

Like with CS Recut, I was planning to have a vote on mainliners to include in Recut 3’s plot, with purely the top 3 making it in (no ties this time). The only rule- since they won last time, Waluigi, Daisy, Wart and Mottley couldn’t be picked again. As for Wario and Rosalina, they would’ve had a spot in Recut 3’s plot as well, so there’d be no need to vote for them.

Next time, I’ll talk more about the cast.

[harrysmaison]

someday snippet

since no one ever tags me and I'm in a weird (good weird) mood today, here's a little snippet from one of my too many wips:

***

“Will you please lend me your pencil?”

It was 11 o’ clock on a Sunday morning and Louis had this very important assignment for his History of Drama class that he had to submit the very next day and the gears inside Louis’ brains felt like those of a machine that hasn’t been lubricated for a long while. It’s funny because Louis spent most of his sleepless nights reading boring stuff like that.

And Mr. Harry Styles, his unwanted roommate, wasn’t making it any better for him to get those gears to start fucking moving already.

“No.”

Harry pouted. He literally pouted. Honestly, Louis had started to doubt this kid was even the age to attend uni. With the way he was sprawled out on the bed in nothing but a white crop top and Winnie the Pooh themed, red shorts, holding up what seemed like a small glittery pink journal with small squibbles and stickers on the front cover, made it nearly impossible for anyone to think he was a mature, independent adult.

Watching Harry gulp a large can of beer down as he casually talked about sex to whoever was on the phone was what it took to convince Louis he actually was one. (It wasn’t phone sex, Louis understood as much, Harry didn’t have to give an unnecessary list of excuses to convince him, considering the fact that Louis gave all of zero fucks about Harry’s sexual preferances.)

But the way he usually behaved, the pouting, the giggling, his irritating antics, his cartoon themed stuff, his nonsensical jokes and most importantly, his naive opinions, was what made Louis think that if not a legitimate child, then Harry had definitely had to be some excessively pampered and royally spoilt brat. Because he always acted so.

“But I said please!” He whined, widening his eyes in a hopeless belief that Louis would fall for a thing as foolish as that.

“And I said no. Now stop talking to me.”

He’d vowed to himself. He’d given his restless spirit a word that he wouldn’t engage himself with Harry. And he’d really hoped that once Harry got the idea that Louis wanted nothing to do with him, he’d stop sticking his hell of a long nose into Louis’ business. Of course, he forgot Harry wasn’t the usual, normal kind.

Harry groaned, resting his head against the wall. “But I’m borrrreeeed. And I wanted to not disturb you, let you do your work. So I decided maybe I’ll doodle something in my nice little sprakly notebook but I realised I lost my pencil in one of my classes so I asked you for it. But if you aren’t gonna give it to me I can’t doodle anymore so I can’t entertain myself and I gotta do something-”

“Harry, do you have the internet on your phone?”

“Yeah. Why?” Excitement lit up his eyes. “Do you want my help with whatever it is that you’re doing? If that’s so-”

“Why don’t you google ‘How to stop talking’ and follow step number one?” Harry snapped his mouth shut in surprise, and then within a second, amusement replaced his previous excitement. It frustrated Louis to find no flicker of anger or even mild annoyance past his face. Honestly, how did this boy never take anything Louis said to heart? Why was Harry Styles so different from everyone?

“You know,” he spoke up with an amused tone in his deep voice, “I love it when you make a snarky remark like that. Kinda reminds me of Tony Stark.”

Wait, what? Tony Stark- How was that relevant in this conversation?

He must have noticed the confusion in Louis’ face and mistook it as Louis’ lack of knowledge because he immediately went on about Marvel and Iron Man and before Louis could interrupt or stop him, he was gushing about how cool the new avengers movie was and how him and his friends had so much fun watching it and reminiscing over all the idiotic stuff they did. Without even realising it, Louis found himself actually listening to his stories.

***

alkfsdhf that was long but yep, there you go

its an enemies to lovers/ uni roommates fic and no matter how unoriginal it sounds, you guys have no idea the twists i've plnned out for it

[bookwyrminspiration]

hello! just curious, how do you plot out your stories? (for example, what have you done to plan out the wings au? do you have it all in your head? do you plan it out on paper or in a doc specifically for it? do you just go with the flow? sorry if this is a lot of questions lol i'm just trying to convey my point-)

hello, synonym!! lovely to see you again! I'd love to share my process!

as I explain my personal methods (again, personal, just how I do things!), I'll use the wings au as an example because i know you've read it and it'll just be easier over all. but essentially, yes to all of the above, just with different parts of the story!

my progression is: chaotic doc, background (as needed), basic written plot, expansion on the plot, any other details needed, and then just write things! but don't worry, I'll provide more detail, i say as if i'm capable of being concise

(putting below a readmore for simplicity)

chaotic doc: so, the very first thing I do when i have a story is open up a doc, and write down everything i know about it in little bullet points and rambling sentences, just basic information with no organization. the organizing can come later, right now I just want to get as much of what's in my head onto the paper as possible.

I type out the basic premise of the story or the few things I know about how I want it to go, the things I know I want to remember later, things I'd need to think about to set it up, etc. for the wings au, this was details like everyone's wings (things to remember later), how they got those wings and a sentence or two about what the world was like now (things I needed to think about to set it up), a little blurb about where the story would start. this is less writing details about the story, and more noting down the details I want to figure out later in the expansion. i find it works best to type this out because i'm a much faster typer than I am at physical writing, which allows me to follow the flow of my thoughts a lot better and go back and change things.

background: background prepares me for the next step, but the amount of effort I put into this section depends on how complex my story is. it basically means write down (we've moved to pencil and paper now, but this could be digital too if you prefer) anything you need to know in order to set up the rest of your story. what do you need to know in order to tell the story you need to and to get you where you want to be? for the wings au, the background was that the world had been overrun with monsters and everyone was living underground now. the neverseen had been defeated, or so they thought, coming back later. all these things that essentially prepared me to get to the plot. it told me where the story was happening and the emotional/physical environment everything else would happen under. if you have a more worldbuilding heavy world, this step might be a little more complex, or if there's something very specific with the characters you need as context beforehand.

sometimes the readers will be aware of pieces of the background, and it's even necessary for them to know--for example, you all knowing the elven world is in the middle of a monster apocalypse and living underground; if you didn't know, the rest of the story wouldn't make any sense. but there may be things you write down that are just for you to know, personal notes. for example, I have notes written about how the monsters came to be, more specifically, that you all haven't been made aware of and may never be. planning this out is for you, so if there's something you want to remind yourself to keep in mind while writing, this could be a good place. but now that we know the world we're writing in, we can move on

basic plot: for me, I struggle to figure out where to take a story, and if I don't have the basic concept laid out before I start writing, I ended up with really weird stories that completely deviate from what i wanted (I say this from experience). so I break it down into the bare essentials. literally as basic as I can be. there are five crucial parts of a plot: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. just those five. for each of those, i write--writing, because it takes more time (allows me to think) and feels more organized to me, but you can do it differently--just the general idea I have for each section. just as few words as possible. detail comes later. for the wings au I literally wrote "they get wings" for rising action. having read the wings au, you know just how simplified that is.

one things that might help is consider how you would explain this idea to someone in one or two sentences. you just want to make sure you have a beginning, middle, end, and the transition between them. from there you've got the skeleton of your story, and everything else can fit itself into this idea.

expansion: now that you have the skeleton, it's time to fill in some of the more essential anatomy. this is where you add the specifics. for me, i write this physically in bullet points in a journal of some kind. I take the first section, and write down how the story is going to start. where am I going to begin this journey. for the wings au I wrote "beginning: sneaking into breeding facility to destroy monsters. problem: caught/monster breaks loose." if you remember this is essentially the events of the first chapter but in two sentences. I'm giving enough detail that I know what I'm going to write, but not so much it's going to be stifling to follow my exact notes when I actually get to writing. this will be different for different people, so you may want more or less detail than I provided, I'm just giving an example of how I did it.

I continue this for the rest of the plot, but that doesn't mean every single little detail that will ever happen is planned out. I'm not patient enough to be super thorough with every little thing, so I go long enough until I have a solid understanding of what I'm going to start with when I'm writing, or just until I'm bored and can't deal with planning anymore. for me, that meant I was more detailed when planning from the mission in the facility to them getting to the abandoned gnomish village, as those would be some of the first things I would be writing about. after that, I got more vague and just touched on some of the key part of each of those five sections. I take those two/three words and turn them into two/three bullet points. I also didn't want to be too specific with the later details, because I knew i'd be influenced by things as I wrote and would be inspired to fill that out.

any other details: this is kind of any afterthoughts you might have or details you need to keep i mind that aren't necessarily plot. you may have a lot of these, or you may have none. for me, this was where I wrote down what kinds of wings and other animalistic traits each of the characters had (yes, I wrote them down again). it's not strictly plot, but it does affect the rest of the story. this is also where I write anything I forgot to when going through the first time, and then i can draw a little arrow pointing towards where it fits in to the rest of the story or is relevant (which is part of why I like the writing aspect, but this is entirely achievable on a doc). another example from the au is me writing "domestic" to the side and pointing it back to my notes about the gnomish village, because while it wasn't essential to moving the plot forward, i wanted to touch on some aspects of domestic live with the ten of them while they were there.

just write things: now that you have all this planning done (good job, you!) you can get into the writing aspect. you've already decided your beginning and know where you want to go, so this is the part where you just starting putting words on the page. it can be pretty daunting to just look at a blank page, so if you'd like, start a paragraph in. skip the first paragraph and just start in the middle of something else--you can add back what's missing later. I personally note things that I want to come back to inside [brackets like this], and that can be words, sentences, entire paragraphs. i use the square ones specifically because I don't use them in my writing unlike (these parentheses), and then I can search the document for them all at once and see all the places I need to go back.

this is also where the "just in my head" and "make it up as I go" part comes into place. you have a pretty good idea of what you're doing, but you're going to have ideas as you write, so sometimes you just follow the flow of your brain and write things you could've never even planned for. and if you're interacting with others as you're going (like I'm talking about theories with you all while writing future chapters) then you may be inspired by them to add things to the story. originally, I wasn't going to even have any messages from Bronte or Oralie, but now because I saw what some of the people reading it were picking up on, I realized the potential there and added them in on a whim

and sometimes when you get stuck, the best way to get yourself out of that is to just add something random, which can spiral off and affect the rest of the story. I've said it before, but the dragons were not planned. I'd actually seen a piece of writing advice months ago that if you're stuck, change the weather. so I was stuck and made a sudden rainstorm, but then I needed an explanation as to how things got so wet so fast because I'd mentioned clear skies earlier. so in my attempt to explain it, dragons came to exist. writing is a process, so don't limit yourself to everything you've written. you'll be inspired along the way, so try to take it in stride.

one final note: as much as you plan, this is not going to be a definite map for how the story will go. maybe something makes sense as you're planning it out, but when you get to actually writing it makes no sense as all and you need to change things. that's fine! this kind of a plan is just to get you prepared and keep you afloat amongst this ocean of words trapped in your head that you want to transcribe. if something isn't working, change it! in my original written plan for the wings au they weren't going to run away for a few weeks, instead sneaking out for an hour or two at a time over those few weeks because they couldn't stand being underground anymore, until Linh was actually the first one to make contact with a creature and realize it didn't immediately want to kill her. but because she's not the narrator of this story, I couldn't write it the way i wanted, so I gave that to sophie in the tree.

this is just my approach to my more complicated stories! for some of the really quick ones, I just open a doc and start going. this kind of thinking keeps me organized so that I'm doing the idea the most justice. but just because it works for me doesn't mean it'll work for everyone. if it does work for you, great! but if there are parts you need to modify for yourself, you are more than encouraged to do so. personally, if I could only chose one part of this process to rely on, it would be the basic plot. that's the key to everything for me, but for others it might be something different.

I hope this helps with whatever it is you're writing!! I wish you luck and look forward to seeing whatever it is (should you chose to share it, no pressure)!! if you'd like more of my process on how I write it consistently and update on a schedule, I'd be more than happy to talk about that too!

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 21/?

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Note: Y/N - Your name

Hello! I'm back! Time for drama!

Idk if this is coming out at the right time, I deadass forgot what day it is and ughughughyh

Warnings: Swearing, Discussion of Mental Illness (undiagnosed), Injury Description, Taunting, Attempted Gaslighting, Attempted Manipulation, Kidnapping, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd (I've missed saying that<3)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20) (Part 21)

Jason was stumbling over his words after telling Y/N that days were blurring together. When a decently loud crash was heard from the lower level of the Wayne Manor. Jason perked up, getting up and trying to stop Y/N from following him down the stairs.

Which was too late. When they turned to go down the hallway, they were both whacked off the back of their heads. Knocking the two of them out almost instantly. Y/N took a few seconds to catch up to Jason in being out, catching a glimpse of the fight going on down the hall. She thought it was Stephanie trying her best to fight off her attacker. But soon enough her vision blurred and blacked.

She fumbled herself awake in the room. She couldn't even take away anything from the room, it was just sawing and turning colours in front of her. She didn't notice anything in the room, the lights were blinding, she didn't even know if it was lighting.

"You're awake," she said.

And then it clicked. That was Aria's voice.

----------------------------------------

Days before the kidnapping of the Waynes.

Aria sat in her office. Clutching the book her twin gave her for Christmas. It was a journal, with details talking about the schedules of the Waynes. If only Y/N had known that the journal she lovingly gave her sister would end up the way it would.

She had doodles, floor plans, schedules. Everything. She wrote it all down from extensive stalking of the Waynes. She was not going to fail at kidnapping the Waynes. She was going to do it, get the ransom from Bruce, and possibly meet heroes. She was going to fight everyone to death who tried to rescue them.

She knew the morning after a Wayne Gala that the entire family would be off-guard. She knew they owned weapons from the fact of the attacks from September. So she had to catch them fully off-guard to pull off their plan.

She looked at her mask. She knew her sister had seen the mask, the cloak. She was still considering off-handedly that she should revamp it all, make it so her sister couldn't call her out. Maybe add a voice changer? She really didn't know.

If it came down to it, if she had the time, she would do it. If not, she would just hope that her sister didn't recognise anything. Crazy? Yes, she was. The brightest lightbulb in the box? Not a chance.

She went over her plans again, adding them to the massive board she already had of the Waynes. The red lines linking all of them, the paparazzi photos. She didn't realise she was that crazy. She didn't realise that she was that much of a cliche.

She thought this was normal. She thought this obsession was okay. She looked at the photos on the wall and the red lines thinking that this was perfect.

She didn't think her sister would even be bad at her for this. She thought her sister would understand, she would get it. She would forgive her and move on. She would understand her need to get close and with the vigilantes and the heroes. She would understand the need to befriend the villains and crooks.

She would. Aria swore she would.

She heard of the Wayne Gala occurring in a few days. She would prepare her weapons when she found out. Shine her scythe. Polish her guns. Polish her daggers. Clean her cloak. Only touch her mask with gloves on. Hour barely appeared in the sight of the vigilantes. They knew she was planning something.

She hoped that fact would make them come for her further.

"Ma'am?" one of her goblins asked.

"Yes. What do you want."

"Lexcorp is hiring," they shook.

"And? Relevance."

"Alter ego, ma'am."

"Noted."

"Ma'am?"

"Get... out!" she screeched.

"Yes ma'am," they said as they hurriedly closed her door.

Yelling was normal for the army she led. She would yell at them at any moment. For no reason.

She thought this was normal, too. She didn't realise people didn't yell at each other for no reason. She was raised to be yelled at. Y/N and Aria were always yelled at.

Y/N used the yelling to turn herself for the better. She thought of it as good parenting that she wouldn't replicate, ever, but she understood it.

Aria had a god complex. She only felt like she was worth it for 30 minutes of the day. And those 30 minutes were thrown into her work as Hour. She refused to work unless she was feeling her best, but if she was planning on kidnapping the Waynes, she'd have to learn to fake it.

Fake it all, fake nothing, fake everything. She was going to do what she wanted, maybe she'd extend those few and fatal 30 minutes of power into hours, into days. She didn't want to feel like this anymore.

She thought about how she was going to kidnap her own sister, her own flesh and blood, and possibly hurt her.

She pushed those thoughts away.

She refused to acknowledge the pain she was going to cause. She hoped there was none.

Y/N would understand, right?

---------------------------------------------

Aria groaned, getting up in her childhood room, the one she shared with Y/N. She blinked and tried to cling to her sleep, but to no avail. She was visiting their parents.

She looked over to Y/N's side. Her favourite colour painted the walls she had, all the woods matched. It looked far less messy than Aria's side. She figured it was because she was mentally ill, but not Y/N. But then she thought she wasn't mentally ill, and that Y/N was. Aria couldn't be mentally ill, she was doing the right thing.

The thought still pained her. In a few days, she'd be putting out a ransom for her sister in the news. She'd be threatening her life. She'd be putting her under stress and their parents under stress. If she was caught-

No, she thought. No chance.

----------------------------------------

Present-day.

"Aria?" Y/N questioned, basically in disbelief.

"Shut up!" Aria boomed back at her, "You," she said, lifting up Y/N's head with her long claws. "You are my prized possession."

"Prized," she echoed back.

"Don't worry, love," she said. Y/N winced, she knew her sister called her that. She didn't want to think this was her sister. "You will be just fine. If your parents pay up, that is."

"My parents don't-"

"Did I say you could speak?!"

She shut up. Fuck, she thought. Fuck this. Fuck you. I know that's you, Aria. If you can hear me, I hope you rot.

She didn't even know if that was how she felt. Her brain was spinning, like someone put her on a merry-go-round and left her there, to pick up the pieces. She didn't know how to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. She didn't want this to be her sister, her flesh and blood, the person she shared a womb, a room, parents, cousins, aunts, uncles- she didn't want it to be true!

"Maybe you want to know why I'm doing this," Aria asked the air while pulling Y/N's head up again. "Well, love.

"This is what happens when you date a rich man.

"This is what happens when you flip off the press.

"This is what happens when you find yourself wrapped up in the mess known as the Justice League Association, do you know who they are?

"Of course you don't. They're Batman, The Flash, Green Arrow, Superman, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, Black Canary, Aquaman and more.

"And their proteges, oh my God! Their proteges! You have Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, Spoiler, Orphan.

"And then Kid Flash and Impulse.

"Arrowette and Speedy.

"Superboy, Supergirl.

"Miss Martian.

"Wondergirl and Artemis.

"Aqualad.

"These people, my dear. These people are my nemeses. And I want them gone!" she maniacally laughed, "Dead! All of them!"

"You're... You're Insane!"

"So be it!" she yelled back, striking Y/N's face with her claws. The blood running down her cheek along with her tears. "If I'm insane, then at least I get paid!"

She laughed and left the room.

And there Y/N was, alone in a room where she couldn't even make out details, with blood running down her face. While she was aware that her attacker may even be her little sister. She was terrified. Petrified. Scared.

She wondered where the Waynes were, maybe they were all together? So that she could use them for ransom, maybe she couldn't use Y/N for ransom, so she was left alone in the room.

She wanted to know if they were all safe. Jason and she had only been dating for 6 months, but she did care- love- every member of the Wayne family so much. And she knew that most of the kids struggled with mental illnesses.

She knew them being alone would be detrimental to their mental health.

She also knew that she had no way, no way, of getting to any of them.

[dahniwitchoflight]

So as long as im going on for changes to KH that I think make sense

Let's actually make Re:Coded do something important and relevant, shall we?

So post KH2:

Disney gang parts ways with Destiny gang and heads back to Disney Castle. As they discuss their journeys, Jiminy notices strange new entries in the journal that he didnt write, and they digitize it into a data world to explore it, summoning data sora as usual.

However, instead of retreading kh1 disney worlds stories for the bajillionth useless time, the strange new additions to the journal are about exploring pieces and perspectives or memories that Sora didnt have at the time or that he forgot, OR even spicier, didnt belong to Sora in the first place.

Instead the major focus is on the memories and stories and memories that Namine and Riku went through together between CoM, Days and KH2.

They didnt go to Disney worlds really so its shorter compact story, kh stuff only, despite covering 3 games ish. New story content basically coming from what the novels said Riku and Namine were up to during those times which are basically mostly canon already, with a sprinkling of attempts at Xion reconnection, not enough to fully fix that, but to at least become aware that theres a Xion shaped hole in everyones hearts, to be aware that theres someone still missing from the bigger picture, to feel that loss.

But the purpose of Mickey and Data Sora exploring the new data and working through the bugs is basically the same as it was. 

For Sora to Remember the hidden hurts of the Lost, Namine, Roxas and Xion and accept that hurt. Remembering their stories, accepting their pain, AND: seeing new perspectives on DiZ/Ansem the Wise/Discovering that DiZ hid research deep inside of Sora that can be used to help them all revive one day.

With a projection of Namine being the initiator of the story, the one who managed to create an access point between hers and Riku's memories and the journal, bonus of being a better explanation for why the Journal which should be Sora's memories was changed to look like Riku instead. Because Namine put Riku's memories into the journal.

The bugs in the data represent the disconnects between those chains of memories that Namine needed help reconciling together, the incompatibilities between Soras memories of CoM and Namine and Rikus. And everyone's dissonant memories of Roxas and Xion. In a data form in a data world the incompatible memories could be better programmed together by literally defeating the inconsistencies as Bug Blox and be the key to making what Namine thought couldn't work, actually work. Everyone just, getting to keep all of the memories they made in CoM and Days.

It would serve the plot purpose of going through the timeline and stories of the background characters in a smoother consistent way, instead of leaving thing with too loose interpretations. 2 be part of the fix for Sora forgetting CoM and Namine and be a launching point for reattaching Xions memories, even if theyre not fully fixed like CoMs would be, people can start to be more aware of her in preparation that theres more to be done, its unfinished and 3 start to lay the foundations for accessing Ansems hidden research inside of Sora, the key to truly reviving all of the Lost.

Otherwise the stuff that happens with Mickey and Maleficent and all the disney characters in recoded can all stay the same as it was, and the story ends with Mickey writing the letter to the destiny trio that says we've uncovered a lot of new information about those who've been lost, they need all of your help to be whole again, but especially Sora

and then Destiny trio heads off, meets at Disney castle, and the credits can roll over silent scenes of Destiny trio reacting to the full story and Data Sora making the connection to real Sora and unlocking and readjusting the memories for him for real using the data world thats been all fixed up as the base, ending with him fully remembering Namine and having a new perspective on Namine, Riku and Roxas, with a determination to reach out to Xion fully as well. 

Then DDD can happen and stuff goes on from there.

But yeah the gist of it being, Namine couldnt fix the connections that were inside of peoples heart without doing too much damage to them to try and force all the pieces to fit, so she thought to use the medium of data in the journal as a way to work out the bugs instead, letting it become a more perfect template of what she couldnt achieve on just her own power by letting data sora run around inside and smash the bug blocks snd data together until they worked

[castlesbyrs]

What are your theories for Otis and Maeve in s3?

OH GOD this is so difficult, I don't have any anon, HOWEVER I have been devouring every single freaking review that has been released, all of them, and I have a few ideas about their overall plot. HEADS UP for (potential) spoilers - tho I don't think they are bc I know next to nothing about this-:

-Either something AMAZING or something absolutely TERRIBLE will happen between them. There is no in-between. Critics have been so freaking hermetic about this it's bordering on suspicious.

-We all know already about the whole Isaac and Ruby thing so I won't dwelve in there, but decisions will have to be made at some point...

-It will have a very open ending. Just like the two previous seasons

-Now up to the interesting part: some critics have said that Otis and Maeve will get more scenes together after the season 2 draught so that's a very good thing

-Their plots will somehow be connected. As you know from s2, unlike s1, they were just minding their own business and sharing like (1) scène together. If this was the case then all the scenes they gave us in the trailer would be the total of scenes they would have throughout the season!! So it looks like they will team up, whether they want to or not, in order to achieve something, once again. FINALLY!!!

-Also the rain scene. Yeah. We have that. And YET the powers that be certainly don't choose the most important scenes of the season in the trailers. Remember how the second trailer for s2 had that big moment after Otis gave Maeve the journal and she called after him and we all freaked out thinking FCK THIS IS IT and then nothing happened in that scene? Yeah I think the rain scene will not even be the most significant and yet I know it will be amazing and I want to be dead.

-I FORGOT TO ADD: THE VOICEMAIL WILL BE ADDRESSED SOMEHOW AND WILL BE SOMEHOW RELEVANT????? IM DYING?

tl;dr: the silence from the critics abt them is telling us more than what it is hiding: something HUGE will come for Otis and Maeve and that's all that matters. Oh, and the voicemail, yeah, it will be acknowledged in one way or another.

Thank you for asking dear anon, and sorry for the long ass reply!!!!!

Talk Sex Education to me! 💕💕

[coweggomelet]

volume 6 lads

from what i remember this one is similar to 4 in that it gives us a bit of an emotional break

don’t get me wrong i know there’s some stuff but i think overall it’s a little less intense

- ahhhh they’re all fighting together againnn it feels so right

- hey. hey yang and blake. i’m gonna need you to stop. cause my little heart can’t take it

- this dude really was challenged once and had a full blown murder tantrum. that’s fragility my guy

- ruby is SO CUTE look at her little happy face

- oh yeah. take a train. you guys have a great track record with trains

- i also keep getting like three versions of the same ad about getting vaccinated and it’s got all these workers from tv & movie sets and it’s so awkward this one guy looks so annoyed during his whole part

- it’s not just the turrets y’all oz is withholding shit once again

- don’t fuckin shove my boy!!

- i love that qrow immediately steps back when ruby comes forward. like he 100% respects not only her authority as a team leader but also her ability to solve situations and talk to people. he knows man. he knows his niece is something else

- MARIAAAAA MY GIRLL YES

- uh oh the train crashed. who could’ve seen that coming

- cinder really is just too angry and spite filled to die isn’t she

- hehe maria you’re funny

- it’s so funny that oz is still refusing to tell them everything knowing that everything is revealed in the next episode

- oh oz. i know he was your friend. but all these kids saw was the insane amount of harm and death he caused. trying to defend him to them is not gonna go well

- oscaarrr i love you!! you’re so good!!

- oooo chills

- uuugghh i love jinn she’s so cool

- oz. my dude. the ship has sailed. you can’t stop this anymore

- this, my friends, is what we call a lore episode

- this whole sequence gives me chills it’s so gooood

- eurgh i hate how the god of darkness moves like i get it it’s part of the aesthetic but you really don’t need to do that it’s creepy

- salem was so smart to use a super powerful sibling rivalry to get what she wanted

- she really didn’t deserve to watch the love of her live just get revived and killed over and over again

- jeez the gods are assholes. they’re all oooohh maintain balance and then they torture a woman who just wanted her husband back by making her live forever. for what??? for daring to be smart?? ugh

- c’mon gods you gotta respect the hustle

- you think that making someone immortal will make them realize the importance of life and death?? idiots

- god her face

- she’s so smart what the FUCK

- “the hearts of men are easily swayed” really reminds me of galadriel’s “the hearts of men are easily corrupted” in lotr

- a couple hundred humans attack them and the god of darkness decides “you know what? i’m gonna eliminate all of humanity. that feels like the right choice. yeah. i feel good about this.”

- the fact that salem wasn’t even like… a real villain until she tried to kill herself in order to escape her torture and suffering and the grimm juice made her Big Mad

- like it wasn’t even her, it was the grimm juice. i really do believe that without that she wouldn’t have become salem the Villain

- i’m sorry i don’t know a ‘deathly hallows’ i only know the relics

- ohhh fuck i forgot about this!!! oh rwby’s totally gonna end with the gods judging humanity when the relics are brought together. maybe not end end but it’s definitely gonna be close to the end and it’ll be a Big Thing where they strategize about how to convince the gods that humanity is good

- obviously the first maidens weren’t their kids but boy is there a theme going on here. and maybe even something plot relevant cause their kids could do magic

- all the main characters being able to witness this and us seeing their reactions is such a good touch like god, the impact of this reality is so much heavier because we get to see the characters actually affected by it react to watching it unfold before them

- ohhh my boy. you didn’t deserve this burden before but now that you know fully what it means you really don’t deserve it. i mean look at him!!!

- oh qrow!!! you are doing good! i mean i get it, your whole world’s been shattered and the man you gave your life to lied to you about a lot of important shit but you are doing good i promise!!

- fuck yeah maria use your sassy wise old lady authority

- oh god emerald you poor thing you’re just a babey— oh god i felt salem’s hand on emerald’s shoulder fuck dude this show is so effective

- truly, this is a master class in manipulation

- uh oh salem your ex is back

- UH OH ITS THE FARM RUN YALL

- i like that weiss is wearing what looks like very thin tights, a strapless dress, a lil jacket thing, and the animators said “here she’s got a scarf she’s warm now”

- ruby didn’t kill torchwood y’all, he got chomped. like a lil bitch

- oh god this episode

- yaaaayyy

- before this episode my friend went “you ready for some horror?” and was grinning

- oh yeeeaaah the corpses. lovely

- god as soon as they opened the door to where the cellar entrance is it immediately started affecting weiss

- oh the DOOR nope no thank you get the fuck OUT

- watching this show with my friend was also the origin of me being sad cause this shit is sad and her going “oh i’m having a great time” and this episode in particular she was enjoying herself WAY TOO MUCH if you ask me

- little jump scares kept getting me and she LAUGHED and said “that got you?!?” YES it DID i’m a WUSS

- oh the journals!!! the way they incorporated that was so interesting and added SUCH good creepiness and suspense without giving it all away or ramping it up too fast

- ruby’s so good i love her!!

- uuugghh it’s getting them already how haven’t they noticed???

- the eyes got me good the first time

- their weird fuckin attitudes were the creepiest part of this episode

- ruby said not my friends you bitches

- mariaaaa i love you you’re so smart

- god when they’re reading from the journal at the very end…

- neo’s so tiny!!

- talk about some girlbosses 

- MARIAAAAA YOURE SUCH A BADASS i love her backstory

- love her outfit too

- OOOO THE FUCKIN CROCODILE CLOCK LADY ooooo this is so cooooool

- the ticking!!!!

- oh maria you poor thing. but also you’re so smart like that was such a good move

- aww haha qrow’s a fan. awww he based his weapon off hers!! we love a fanboy

- “i wanted to be as good as the grimm reaper.” “well, im nothing but a disappointment, so you’re well on your way” DAMN MARIA SAVAGE

- oh nice they made to argus! NOW SHOW ME THE BABY

- “CUTE BOY OZ” me too nora

- THE BAAAABBYYYY

- and jaune’s sister and her wife!! I LOVE THEIR GAY LIL FAMILY

- yang is good with kids. marry me

- YOURE GODDAMN RIGHT THATS A BABY AND I LOVE HIM

- HUN!! god i love saph and terra

- “shut up there’s food!” heh me too ruby

- aahhh cordo

- she and maria are totally exes who had a bad breakup and now they hate each other. a tenzin/lin situation if you will

- jaune… my boy… i know you’re angry but oscar is really trying his best

- “i don’t know anything” me neither ruby

- wait cinder didn’t have her grimm arm yet so how did ruby’s ability trigger?

- uh oh my boy’s missing

- remember when you were having fun being the bad guy emerald. remember that. it’s almost like… it was only fun for you cause cinder was there

- it makes me so sad that not only did emerald actually believe that cinder cared about her, but she actually considered cinder family and her emotional health was so connected to cinder being there

- “all you ever learned was pain and violence and now you’re too afraid to leave it” tyrian excuse me i’m the one with the commentary and analysis that’s rude stay in your lane

- oh god oh fuck. the pyrrha statue is comin up isn’t it

- AH FUCK THE LEAF

- oh there she is. my love

- i still wanna know who this lady is. like she’s even the same voice actor as pyrrha. and she’s got red hair. i don’t think pyrrha ever talked about family members, but my money’s on her mom

- this moment fuckin got me dude. i was doing the full tearing up, lil sniffles, choked up thing. uuuuggghh

- god they love each other so much

- i am NOT gonna cry again

- oh qrow. you poor thing

- THE BABYYYY HI ADRIAN DO YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU

- young man!! you scared us half to death! do you know what time it is??

- his lil outfit i i looovveee hiiimm

- oscarrr!! you’re so sweet!!

- THE CASSEROLE

- FUCK YEAH RUBY TELL HIM

- qrow’s like… damn. ruby’s right

- here we goooo infiltration time

- oh FUCK yeah they kill adam soon

- adrian what a smart babyyyy i love youu

- hehehehehe maria is luggage

- honestly this is such a good plan it just goes to shit cause these kids can’t catch a fuckin break

- y’all need. to stop. looking. at each other. like that.

- qrow stop being emo

- mariaaaa i love youuuu you’re such a great old lady

- uh ohhhh problems with blake

- i would love it if they used qrow’s semblance strategically. like in some sort of heist/infiltration situation, sending him behind enemy lines to fuck up their luck

- ruby’s so good at speeches

- depressed? feeling bad about yourself? feeling emo and riddled with guilt? just get a Ruby Speech(TM) and you'll be cured!

- qrow’s face

- oh yeaaaahhh big metal guy

- cordo

- hey cordo

- are you uh

- maybe takin it a lil too far

- why are so many atlas military people so fuckin intense with maintaining order and big shows of power and controlling other people???

- ADAM YOU BITCH YOURE GONNA DIE

- yeah you’re a source of trauma for her but GUESS WHAT SHE HAS A SUPPORT SYSTEM

- at this point dude it’s real pathetic how obsessed with blake you are

- thank god for auras or falling damage would be a much bigger problem

- cordo can you maybe chill

- weiss earthbended!!

- jaune you’re so smart

- ren said things may be complicated but boy oh boy do i care about that strong lightning lady

- “rightfully in charge??” shut up cordo and go be gay with maria

- noooo her fun coat!!

- oooo Dramatic waterfalls

- YES BITCH IM SO PROUD OF YOU YOUVE LEARNED SO MUCH

- adam i’ll kill you

- YEEEAHHHH WHAT AN ENTRANCE YANG MARRY MEEEE

- aaaaggghh the music holy shit

- i love how the fight scenes progress through the volumes it’s so cool

- the parallels between yang and adam are also really interesting. like their semblances, their tendency to lead with strong emotions. interesting

- ooooo he doesn’t like when they look at each other hehehehehe SHE HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOW BITCH HAHA

- HOLDING HAANDSSS THEYRE SO GAY

- he’s so basic too. like he looks like a frat boy.

- y’all do your jobs. there’s a big water boy coming but you don’t know cause you’re too busy being goddamn bootlickers

- oscar is so smart and ruby is so brave i love themmm

- uh oh cordo it’s a ruby speech watch out

- ya she is nuts

- THEYRE GONNA WIN CAUSE THEYRE IN LOVE

- ya but you’re a bitch adam and yang is fuckin amazing

- I LOVE THIS FIGHTTTT

- yeet the blake

- FUCK YEAH YANG GET HIM

- i fucking love that they killl him with the pieces of blake’s weapon. like there’s something to that. they kill him with the pieces of a thing he destroyed

- if he wasn’t dead enough he got crunched too

- I LOVE THEM

- hahahahaaaaa cordo they got you

- yeah cordo!!! argus is danger cause you were more worried about fucking “proving the might of atlas” or whatever against some teenagers you fool

- ohhhh shiiiittt cinder’s atlas outfit!! they’re going to a super cold snowy place and cinder said you know what i should wear short shorts and a sleeveless top with super tall boots and a lil cape. that’ll work. and she’s right. it does. have i mentioned i love cinder?

- uh oh big boy swims watch out

- cordo shut up this your own fuckin hubris

- god cordo’s desperation is so heartbreaking

- when are people gonna learn to trust ruby and her friends man

- their willingness to keep fighting and risk their lives and also a Ruby Speech(TM) made cordo believe in them which i love

- i love jinn she likes lil ruby and her friends

- hi summerrrr

- cordoooo i’m so proud of you. she gave up part of this insane symbol of atlas’s power to help ruby and her friends. like she put aside her own ego and i’m so proud of her

- fuck yeah!!!

- awww such a good uncle

- damnnn atlas is gorgeous

- even mercury is terrified by salem’s weird grimm shit

- the fuckin wicked witch with her flying gorillas

[hacash]

Too Much Information

"I always imagined Big Folk’d be rather prudish about sex,” Pippin said. “After all, I imagined none of you do it very often, taking into account your obvious shortcomings.”

The Fellowship share. Rather too much. In which Gandalf is cagey, Merry and Pippin are shameless, and Boromir finds out more about the Fellowship's personal lives than he wanted to know.

[also available on Archive of our Own]

(based on this post; probably not to be taken too seriously)

-

“Posey Greenfields does not count.”

“Does so.”

“Does not.”

“How, may I ask, does she not count?”

“I saw you at that party, Pip, and you were soused off your face. Utterly crocked. I should say she took advantage of you, more than anything.”

“Took advantage? I was giving her the advantage, and very willingly too!”

Boromir eyed the bickering cousins with more trepidation than he might an orc’s nest. Trust me, Elrond had advised the day he’d arrived in Imlradris, you might hear them talking and think you wish to know the conversation. In these moments it is best to turn around and walk the other way.

Delicately he coughed, meeting Legolas’ eye. “Do I want to know?”

The elf grimaced. Owing to his renowned elvish hearing it seemed he had caught every word: but going by Legolas’ disturbed expression Boromir suspected this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “No. No you don’t.”

Recklessly Boromir plunged on, approaching where Merry and Pippin were setting up their bedding for the night. “Gentlemen?”

Two twin beady gazes turned on him.

“Context, please?”

Ignoring Legolas’ muffled groan and face-palm Merry turned about cheerfully, eager for a new participant – or, as Boromir was beginning to suspect, victim. “Ah, yes! You see, to kill time Pippin and I were discussing some of our more pleasant encounters back home when life was simpler and remembering some of our most enjoyable companions – ”

“Sex stories,” Boromir repeated with dawning understanding, unable to keep the horror from his voice. “You were swapping sex stories.”

“Exactly! Only Pippin insisted on counting one time with Posey Greenfields when he’d gotten into his father’s best sherry – Michel Delving’s finest, it’ll turn you cross-eyed – and I was telling him that didn’t count because he was in no fit state to make a decent showing.”

Pippin was looking so proud of himself, it was almost indecent.

“But…I thought you were a child?” Boromir demanded.

“Excuse me? I’m a tweenager.”

“You’re a deviant is what you are, Pippin,” Merry said.

“I’m an unfettered adventurous soul, lacking in fear.”

“Lacking something is certainly the way Mrs Goodchild described you when she caught you and her Iris at it in the barn that time. Your breeches, for a start.”

“You’re not of age, is what I meant,” Boromir interrupted, before his brain started producing images his stomach couldn’t handle.

“Hobbits often start courting far before they’re of age, sir.” Taking pity on the unfortunate Man, Sam approached with cups of stewed nettle tea. “It’s common enough to start when you’re about sixteen, seventeen years old. Of course, it’s less common to wed before we’re of age – ”

“Thirty-three!” Boromir exclaimed proudly.

“Yes, sir, very well done,” Sam said in a soothing tone. “Which gives any courting couple a nice long while to get to know one another proper. Of course, there’s those as might not wish to wait that long – ” Merry did the universal sign for a swollen belly behind Sam’s back, “but to have your son or daughter wed afore they’ve passed twenty five – well, it’s considered a bit tacky, if you get my drift? Not allowing them a proper chance at life afore they settle down.”

“And by ‘proper chance of life’ we mean…”

“Studying a trade, spending time with friends, practicing how to keep house – ”

“Or in Merry’s case: learning how to do it in a rowboat without capsizing,” Pippin interjected.

“Ah, discussing Salvia Chubb, I believe? As I recall you told your mother you’d caught a fish so large it had pulled you clean from the boat, and that was why you were soaked through and Salvia’s shimmy all tangled up in duckweed.”

Boromir nearly inhaled a mouthful of his wine at Frodo’s sudden appearance. He might have imagined that the last thing the two younger hobbits would want when discussing their depravity was the audience of their elder cousin, but Frodo just regarded the conversation with exasperated amusement.

“You shouldn’t listen to these two, Boromir,” the Ringbearer advised. “They’ll blister your ears off and then some with their sordid tales. My uncle Saradoc would have been at his wits’ end with Merry, save that half his tricks Merry likely learned from him.”

“Hey now!” cried Merry. “I won’t have such slander repeated before friends. There was a time when Frodo Baggins was considered quite the rascal of Buckland, Boromir, and don’t you forget it. If I have ever engaged in pranks, scandal, inebriation or debauchery, chances are I learned it from him!”

“Debauchery!”

“Downright,” Merry repeated, “debauchery.”

Frodo drew himself up to his full height and glared at his unrepentant cousin through narrowed eyes. “I admit to overindulging on Uncle Sara’s port or filching a basket of mushrooms on occasion, Meriadoc, but I object to the implication that I have ever debauched in my life.”

Sam and Pippin’s gazes flickered back and forth between the other two as if watching a game of chequers; Boromir’s cooling nettle tea was abandoned at his feet. Even Legolas was listening intently. Merry merely snorted, leaning back on his haunches as if to prepare for the master stroke. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Cousin, you remember when you left for Bag End I got your old room?”

“I do,” Frodo said stiffly, “and I fail to see the relevance.”

“Well, what you may not recall is you left plenty of odds and ends behind – mathoms mostly, old clothing and books and whathaveyou, and I found some rather interesting articles under your bed from your last years in Buckland. Some rather interesting journals, as it turns out.”

Seated beside Frodo, Legolas was lucky enough to get a good look at the Ringbearer’s face as the significance of this news dawned upon him. It was quite a spectacle, he had to admit. He’d never actually seen someone turn white before.

“You didn’t.”

Merry smirked. “It ended up proving quite an education when I was a tween, I must say.”

“…journals?” Boromir asked weakly.

“I forgot to mention: Melilot Brandybuck asked me to pass on her fondest and immense well wishes,” Merry continued wickedly, “for a couple of descriptive passages found in a particular entry – Wedmath, 1388, I believe? She was most appreciative, and I told her that the credit truly lay with you.”

Frodo’s face had bypassed white and was rapidly approaching green. “You didn’t.”

“Journals?” Pippin demanded. “What journals? Why haven’t I heard of any journals? You were courting Melilot at least ten years ago, why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Brandybuck?” Boromir asked. “But I thought Merry was – ”

“Third cousins,” Sam said wearily. “And if you let yourself get distracted by such matters, sir, you’ll never catch up.”

“And what descriptive passages could have Melilot Brandybuck still expressing her gratitude after ten years?”

“Oh, and Rory Goldworthy. Though I had to adapt some of the passages for Rory.”

“So what you’re saying is, half of Buckland knows Master Merry’s more – uh – adventurous activities can be put down to my master’s influence?” Sam said with a growing grin.

“And when were you planning on showing me these journals?”

“Meriadoc,” Frodo said slowly, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you.”

“You should all know, our cousin Frodo is a most meticulous and,” Merry smirked, “inventive writer in all respects. I only hope he provides the additions to Bilbo’s book with the same attention to detail!”

Frodo’s reaction was not a happy one. With an uncharacteristically warlike yell he hurled himself at his cousin, fists flying. Although Merry was by far the sturdier of the two, Frodo’s height and indignation found the two evenly matched, and the pair were soon scuffling haplessly in Merry’s bedding. Sam rolled his eyes, and Pippin cheered.

“Well then, lads.” Gimli’s voice was gruff as he approached. He had been discussing their route south along the Misty Mountains with Gandalf and Aragorn, and now the three of them eyed the ensuing chaos with amusement. “What are we discussing?”

“Sex,” Pippin piped up cheerfully.

Legolas was pinching the bridge of his nose: the mumbled comments of ‘raspberry jam and the garden swing’ made Sam fairly certain he had picked up most of Merry and Pippin’s early conversation, and also fairly certain that he didn’t want to know more. Gimli gave a low chuckle, Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and Gandalf shook his head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘smut-minded hole-dwellers’.

“You started this?” Gimli asked Boromir.

“I asked for context.”

“Well, it’s your own damn fault then.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” Boromir said. “I may never be able to look Merry and Pippin in the eye ever again.”

“He’s embarrassed,” Sam supplied helpfully.

Boromir raised an eyebrow. He was not embarrassed by sex – he was forty years old, thank you very much, and a soldier to boot: quite accustomed to bawdy humour. He knew all the words to ‘The Istari and the Ninety-Nine Virgins’ and had laughed himself sick over every variation of the one about the widow’s lodging house on many occasions. But the thought of these hobbits, small as children, and the Ringbearer by all accounts…

“That’s rather rude,” Merry grumbled when he told them this. “You don’t see us saying ‘urgh, imagine those Men going at it when they’re so freakishly big and ancient looking’, do you?”

“Thank you very much,” Aragorn remarked dryly.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “After spending many days in the company of soldiers from Dale I rather thought all Men to be rather fixated on the subject.”

“Really? I always imagined Big Folk’d be rather prudish about sex,” Pippin said. “After all, I imagined none of you do it very often, taking into account your obvious shortcomings.”

There came from Aragorn the sounds of spluttering and rapid smoke inhalation; it appeared he’d lit his pipe at an inopportune moment. “I…I beg your pardon?!”

“Well, look at the size of you. I can imagine you might not be – well, no offence, but not wholly up to scratch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Frodo steepled his fingers thoughtfully and fixed both Aragorn and Boromir with a calculating gaze that seemed to them a bit too intrigued to be decent. “Well, be fair Pippin. I can imagine size might be beneficial.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“A bit?” chorused the two Men. Gimli snorted.

“But, well, you’re all so big and clumsy,” Pippin, oblivious in the face of rapidly approaching death, continued blithely. “No dexterity. No lightness of touch. No imagination. And just like in everything else, if you think only size matters you’re not going to put too much thought into it, are you?”

Aragorn had gone a distinctly red shade. From across the fire Sam was could see Gandalf’s shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Is Aragorn alright?” Merry asked.

“Ignore him,” Gimli said, “he’s just reconsidering certain aspects of his romantic life for the past seventy years.”

“Bugger off.”

“Well, we’re not prudish,” Boromir said hastily – Gondor might have needed no king, but abandoning Aragorn to this particular line of questioning seemed like a step too far. “We just don’t feel the need to talk about it all the time.”

“We don’t all the time,” Pippin said. “Just in general conversation.”

“Do the women in your homeland not consider such conversation uncouth?” Legolas asked in bewilderment.

Sam snorted. “You want uncouth, sir, you should see young Myrtle Twofoot when she’s got into the summer punch. Three glasses and she’s inviting any lad in sight to untie her bloomer lacings with her teeth, and that’s a fact.”

“Good heavens,” said Boromir, looking rather pale.

“Oh, she always has the lad clean their teeth first, so as to keep everything hygienic sir. Very conscientious is young Myrtle.”

“So, unlike the rest of civilised society,” Legolas concluded, “hobbits would think nothing of taking their afternoon tea, or whatever you strange creatures call it, while listening to Merry regale them all with tales of – ”

“Being snowed in at Bag End with the Goodbody twins, a sturdy settee and the last of Mister Bilbo’s Old Winyards,” Sam supplied helpfully. “I remember your mother raising hell for that one when word got out, Mister Merry.”

Merry somehow managed to smirk and blush at the same time.

“Oh, honestly.” Aragorn looked particularly unsettled. “We don’t all need to hear about Merry’s…proclivities.”

“Well, you’re just a prude,” Merry sniffed.

“No, I’m just not interested in hearing about it.”

“Merry, leave him alone,” Frodo said. “I was in the room next to yours on that particular night, you may remember, and I took as little joy from hearing it then as Aragorn is now.”

Merry pulled a face.

“And to answer your question, Legolas: Merry is, as usual, grossly misrepresenting the Shire in his smut and yes you may well blush, Meriadoc – it’s hardly the sort of thing we discuss over tea and cakes on every occasion. However, I wouldn’t exactly call the subject taboo.”

“Hobbits,” Gandalf chuckled, “as in all respects, enjoy the comforts of life most openly. Why, I could tell tales of Bullroarer Took that might make your hair turn on end!”

“Any tips to pass on?” Pippin asked.

“None for your ears, young hobbit.”

“I’m surprised you’re so bashful, Aragorn,” Merry said. “I’d have thought you very experienced in that regard.”

“What? Why would I be?” Aragorn asked, genuinely baffled.

“Have you seen you?”

“I suppose I had offers – a few – ” Behind his back Legolas snorted and then hastily turned it into a cough, “but there was only ever Arwen.”

“So you’re only interested in girls,” Pippin said.

“No, I’m only interested in Arwen.”

“But what if a really beautiful woman offered – ”

“She did. Her name was Arwen.”

“I think it’s romantic,” said Sam.

“I think it’s idiotic,” Merry argued. “All of that,” he gestured to the ranger, who began blushing from the appraising stares coming from the rest of the Fellowship, “going to waste on just one lass. It’s not natural.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo barked suddenly. “Apologise, young hobbit. You’re being very disrespectful of other folks’ habits. We can’t all manage to be such tramps as you.”

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Gandalf said dryly. “This has all been gone into quite enough.”

“Like Melilot Brandybuck, apparently,” Pippin remarked.

“Peregrin!”

“And,” Boromir continued, suicidally avoiding the glare being levelled at him by Gandalf, “lads going with lads: that is not uncommon, in your home?”

“Why not?” Pippin asked, genuinely surprised. “I wouldn’t have known how to so much as kiss if it weren’t for good old Folco Boffin.”

“What of Gondor, Boromir?” Legolas asked.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is not considered shameful. But neither is it wholly approved of, in the higher houses of Gondor, for one man to make a life pledge with another. The noble families consider their heritage to be of great worth, and to forgo the chance of heirs and carrying on the line simply for the sake of affection is not always smiled upon.”

“Giving up your chance of love with some nice lad just to carry on some family name?” Sam said sadly. “Well, that’s right sad, that is.”

“I suppose,” said Boromir. Having understood that he was expected to carry on the line of Stewards since he was a child, he had never thought about it until now. “Of course, in a family with many sons or male cousins, it is less of a scandal. And out in the country or in the garrisons, of course, no-one pays it much mind.”

“Much the same as in the North,” Aragorn, who had now recovered, added. “Though within the Rangers, of course, men with men is more common. Less women, you see.”

“Well, it’s common enough in the Shire,” Merry said carelessly. “Pippin had quite the crush on Aragorn when we first met him in Bree.”

“Hoy!”

“Seeing you and Arwen together must have been like hitting puberty all over again,” Merry said with a snort.

This time it was Pippin who launched himself at Merry; while Aragorn mutely examined himself with the very real concern that he was giving off some sort of wrong signal.

“Don’t worry, Aragorn,” Frodo said soothingly. “After you made us march ten miles in the pouring rain, I suspect Pippin’s ardour wore off some.”

Pippin resurfaced long enough to flash Aragorn a cheeky grin that did not particularly set his mind at ease. “Indeed. And unlike Merry, I don’t feel the need to be bossed around by any of my romantic partners – oof!”

“Well, there’s a revelation I did not particularly need to hear,” Gimli muttered as the two cousins began wrestling again.

“Goes all red whenever Estella Bolger shoots him a sharp word, he does – argh!”

“I still can’t believe how open hobbits are,” Boromir muttered.

“Some of us’ve got a bit more class than the young masters,” Sam said, “begging their pardons.”

“Some of us’re just too shy for their own good.” Pippin, panting, had resurfaced. “When we return to the Shire I’m going to lock you and the lovely Rosie into the cellars of Crickhollow and not let you out until the windows shatter.”

“Master Pippin!”

“Sam, please tell me you don’t go around debauching with all and sundry like the rest of these rakes,” Legolas said.

“Oh, Sam plays his cards close to the chest,” said Merry with an admiring smirk. “He might still be a virgin or might have serviced every lass in the greater Westfarthing area; we’d never know.”

“I have not serviced every lass in the Westfarthing, Mister Merry.”

“Every lad then.”

“Now why would I be doing that, Mr Merry? I don’t know every lad in the Westfarthing!”

“That’s something you take into consideration?”

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed. Merry just looked bemused.

“If Sam is more selective than you, Merry, that’s hardly something to mock,” Frodo said disapprovingly.

“Who said I was mocking? I admire you, Sam, but honestly you were too bloody blind by half to realise what it was like back home. Scores of tweenagers hanging around Bag End garden just waiting for the weather to warm so you’d so much as roll up your sleeves.”

While Pippin fell about laughing and the rest of the Fellowship chuckled, Sam turned a horrified shade of red. “That…that never happened!”

“Why do you think Frodo had so many cousins from Buckland and Tookborough come to stay? Not for his sparkling conversation, surely; there’s only so long you can feign an interest in elvish poetry.”

“Sam,” Frodo said patiently, “one summer we had half the Shire stopping in at Bag End asking you for gardening tips. Did you honestly think Milo Chubb was that interested in keeping the greenfly off his begonias?”

“You knew about this, sir?”

“Knew? I was considering selling tickets.”

Sam’s head fell into his hands.

“Your courtship rituals are certainly…unlike anything I have experienced,” Gimli chuckled drolly. “Whatever happened to a finely-wrought ring or a poem in honour of your loved one?”

“I’ve had good luck with a bottle of sherry and a broom cupboard,” Merry said.

“Typically affection is expressed in our culture with flowers, dancing, and fine manners,” Frodo smirked, “though Merry and Pippin have always seen fit to buck with tradition. Naughty limericks and drunk come-ons are not acceptable.”

“They’re not?” This was news to Merry.

“They were considered terrible flirts back home.”

“Ah yes,” Pippin reminisced dreamily, “I remember the day Diamond North-Took called me a depraved, unconscionable back-alley scoundrel without the morals of a tom-cat.”

“I know, because you do have the morals of a tom-cat.”

“And I told her that, but do you think she’d listen?”

“Folk are expected to calm down as they leave their tweens behind, but as long as no lass gets into trouble or no-one’s tumbling with someone thought to be courting someone else…” Frodo gave a nimble shrug, lips twitching with the fond memories of days long since past. The rest of the Fellowship almost felt like they were intruding. “I myself used to…but then, I don’t know, my interest rather waned over the years…”

“Lost your puff, more like,” Merry scoffed. Without looking up Frodo kicked him in the kneecaps.

“The desire faded,” he said firmly. “Lovely memories and a fine time in my life – but I don’t see anything lacking now it’s over, either.”

Boromir was fascinated. He’d never imagined that one could talk so frankly about desire – or, for that matter, shrug off the lack of it as nothing more than the disappearance of a well-loved but outgrown coat. “I never saw the appeal,” he remarked, “on any account. Good luck to you all if you so choose to take your pleasures in such a fashion, but – honestly, it seems quite the overblown fuss to me. I can think of half a dozen things I’d prefer doing to sex, just off the top of my head.”

“No tales of debauchery from you then?” Merry asked sadly.

“Unlike our esteemed Ringbearer,” Boromir bowed to the blushing Frodo, “I have never debauched. I’m not sure I’d know where to begin.”

The hobbits shrugged carelessly. “Oh, there’s plenty in our homeland who are much the same,” Pippin said. “Cousin Bilbo’s a hundred and twenty-nine if he’s a day, and I don’t think he’s thought on sex once in all that time.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh, come off it. I’d have heard if Bilbo had some lost lady-love in the Shire, mark my words.”

“I said nothing about romance. I just said your assumptions that Bilbo was never interested in sex are inaccurate,” Frodo said, a rather haunted look on his face.

“What, and he told you that, did he?”

“I didn’t need to be told, Peregrin; the arrangements he had with the Widow Moley rather spoke for themselves.”

For a moment there was a distinct choking sound. Sam was very carefully examining the ground beneath his feet while Merry had stuffed his fist into his mouth, shaking with barely contained glee. The rest of the Fellowship exchanged glances. Pippin’s mouth had slowly fallen open: as Frodo continued to look pointedly at him he began to feel much the same way as one might when one bites into an apple and sees half a grub wriggling merrily away at him.

“Bilbo had companionship in his golden years?” Aragorn said in a somewhat strained voice. “That’s…that’s nice.”

“Every Sunday after tea,” Frodo said with the hollow tones more suited to an old soldier recounting the horrors of battles long since past, “and every Trewsday before luncheon; round to Bag End she’d come, regular as clockwork for nearly ten years. Why do you think I asked your mother for earmuffs every Yule?”

“But,” Boromir said, “I thought you told me you were only adopted by Bilbo when he was in his eighties?”

“That I did.”

Pippin finally made a sound, and that sound was: “Eeuargh…..”

“Well now, here we see again the difference in the races. For an elf to be in such a steady relationship at a mere eighty years of age would be considered rash indeed,” Legolas snickered, with the air of one stirring the pot with gleeful abandon.

“Cousin Bilbo is not an elf.”

“Quite,” Frodo said tartly. “Elves are beauteous creatures to behold, and walking in on him and the Widow Moley was not, repeat not, beauteous.”

Pippin made another strangled sound.

“Gimli,” Aragorn said hastily: the thought of old Bilbo, who he had long regarded as akin to a kindly old uncle, getting up to things was not sitting well, “care to add to the conversation?”

Gimli chuckled. “Alas, we are not quite as rambunctious as hobbits.” He leant back and puffed on his pipe. “In truth, romance is rare in my culture – admired well enough, but not prized highly, and many of my people never marry at all. Many do not desire it, being so engrossed in their crafts. There are dwarven songs of great loves and terrible loss that could put even an elvish lay to shame,” Legolas twitched, “but it is beauteous rare. What is romance compared to the joy of your work, the stonecraft and metalwork that outlasts the ages, the artistry of one’s hands?”

Pippin opened his mouth to say something about drilling, tunnelling and chisels, but was stopped when Sam, without any apparent change in his expression, took hold of his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Though Bilbo told me you were considered quite the catch in Erebor?” Frodo prompted.

Gimli shrugged off the complement modestly. “Dwarves who are so inclined towards affairs of the heart – and body – are rare, and so seen as something of a prize. And I flatter myself that I am no poor craftsman; no dwarf or dwarrowdam would scorn one who knows how to wield a hammer.”

“Pippin, shut up,” Boromir said hastily.

“So, you mean – women with women and men with – ”

“Dwarves with dwarves,” Gimli said firmly. He shrugged, and then gave a great booming laugh, smacking his hands down upon his knees. “Though we are a people of great enthusiasms in all respects. Those dwarves who do wed tend to have very successful – and very enjoyable – marriages. Dwarves may not have much interest in affairs of the bed, but when we do it we do it right.”

“Remind me to take a trip to the Blue Mountains when all this is over,” Merry muttered to Pippin with a lecherous grin.

“I don’t think you could handle it.”

“I could.”

“The size difference could be a problem.”

“I could cope with that.”

“The beards would itch.”

Merry paused, then nodded. “Fair point.”

Meanwhile Gimli was eyeing Legolas with wry amusement. “And I suppose your lot have their minds on higher things?”

Legolas scoffed. “Where do you think our children came from?”

“Be fair, sir,” said Sam. “After hearing all those great tales, you start to think elves are a little too dignified for matters such as that.”

“Thingol and Melian,” Frodo chipped in, “Beren and Luthien, Earendil and Elwing. Sam’s right, it’s difficult to imagine them all shagging.”

“Do you mind?” Aragorn asked, turning queasy. Most of these were his potential in-laws.

“Elves are always attracted to beauty,” Legolas’ brow raised, “of any and all kinds. But I can’t deny, compared to us mortals are more – ”

“Randy?” Pippin said.

“Horny?” Merry added.

“Lecherous goats?” Sam asked with a grin.

“Those weren’t quite the synonyms I was grasping for, but essentially yes.”

“Though to be fair,” Aragorn chipped in, “when you say beauty of any and all kinds, be careful not to misrepresent, Legolas. I recall you told me that your father had much to say when as a fauntling your admiration of the Lord Elrond grew a little too obvious to be overlooked.”

“Because he was a fellow?” Merry asked sympathetically.

“Because he is half-elven!” Legolas exclaimed. “Sweet Elbereth, I thought my father would never let it go.”

“Nice to know even elves have their hang-ups,” Sam said.

“But we remain more higher-minded about such things than mortals,” Legolas said.

“Not judging by some of those books of elven art in Lord Elrond’s library.”

“Books?” Merry perked up noticeably.

“Oh,” Gimli snorted, “if it’s art it doesn’t count.”

“I don’t care how many plinths and urns they include, I still use the term art advisedly.”

“What books? Why weren’t they shared?”

“Maybe Frodo’s journals would find a place there,” Legolas said with a smirk. Frodo groaned again.

“Well, this has been most informative,” Aragorn said. “If we get attacked by a marauding band of orcs in the middle of the night it’s pleasant to think we’ll at least have Frodo and Boromir to defend us, for it seems half this Fellowship will be too randy to even think of our defence. I think that clears up every culture represented here, does it not?”

They paused, mulling it over. Then Frodo said, in a particularly thoughtful tone: “Well, not quite every culture…”

As one – warily, and as if drawn by unspeakable horror – the Fellowship turned to look at Gandalf, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this debate. He puffed contentedly on his pipe and simply looked back at them with eyebrow raised, daring them to ask.

Pippin opened his mouth eagerly, and then without preamble was punched right in the stomach by Merry.

Later, when they were all asleep and Legolas had taken the first watch, Pippin rolled onto his back and sighed thoughtfully. “I wish we hadn’t gone into all that now, you know? I feel hellishly homesick.”

His cousin patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll be home soon, Pip.”

“I hope so – I want to be back in the Shire. It’s a terrible thing to think of, never going back. Why, I might never have Diamond cast aspersions on my honour ever again!”

“I shouldn’t worry about it. I have no doubt she’ll be denying the very existence of your honour the minute we get back.”

Pippin perked up. “You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.” Merry tucked an arm behind his head. “Funny to think of, isn’t it, old Gandalf? Though I suppose he doesn’t go in much for romance - wizards probably have too much to think about, what with their great works and all.”

“And their staffs.”

“Yes Pip.”

“It must take a lot of maintaining, a mighty staff such as that.”

“Good night, Pippin.”

“And another thing – ”

“Pip?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t help but think you’re working your way up to a dirty joke about a wizard’s staff. I’d rather you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”