#tya writes

[vazaha-tya]

Chapter 6 of "no longer human is out". And as promised in the author's note, here're two snippets from the Voldemort PoV that didn't make it into the fic:

1/

Lord Voldemort remembers being eleven and told he is a wizard. He remembers the judgement of an elder, and being found wanting. He remembers fire, and the loss of his trophies. He remembers thinking he never wanted to feel small again.

"Sinful little beast. I hope you never come back," cursed the matron of the orphanage the night before he left.

Lord Voldemort knows the Riddles died by his wand. He knows because they were the first people he truly intended to kill. He knows there could not have been another son of Tom Riddle Sr. He knows it cannot be him either, for he has never felt the need to indulge.

“Merope was pregnant. I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t have left, if only for the child, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t! She... she raped me. She made me think I loved her and reshaped my mind to only think of her, bewitched me and touched me. I never wished... I cannot heal from this madness,” lamented the father who abandoned him in a memory Voldemort plucked from his mind.

Lord Voldemort thinks of all the ways his participation might not have been needed. He thinks of all the rituals and spells and potions one might have performed, cast or brewed to put him under a thrall, steal from him, violate him. He thinks of who might have done this, and why. He thinks of a boy with his face and hair, whose magic tastes like his and who might speak the language of their ancestors.

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic,” assured a great man to a wary child so used to fighting for every scrap he'd become a bestial little thing with a poorly-tacked on mask of cracked porcelain by the age of eleven.

Lord Voldemort believes the boy must have been drawn to him, or he wouldn't have sought out jumpy Quirrinus Quirrell on the first day of class.

A blood son could be his salvation. It could also be a trap.

"Who are you, child?" he hisses wonderingly in Parseltongue.

2/

"Mother committed a crime and stole from you. She is dead now, and cannot pay the price of her transgression, but the debt House Mulciber owes you for the slight is great. I am prepared to pay it on her behalf."

Voldemort's magic stutters like a breath caught in his throat. He hates it, this vulnerable state of his. His magic reflects the beat of his still living soul, stops and starts with his emotions and is only truly dormant when he himself is recuperating, or when he exhausts all his strength to hide from Dumbledore.

He has a son. An heir of his blood, born from Medea Mulciber, his Knight's daughter. Priam had sung her praises. She had raw talent, where her brother Hector's power was more subtle.

She was mad, however, and a mad tool was an unpredictable one. Voldemort had considered sending her to be taught by Bellatrix, so she could learn to curb her madness when the cause required it. He remembers, distantly, that she had talked to him at her father's funeral. She'd asked what he wanted. He'd replied dismissively, "Right now, I want Edgar Bones' head on a spike." The man had been an annoyance. Dumbledore's man through and through and a consummate liar to boot. He'd called the Greyback pack child predators, and swore they sought to infect all of Albion with lycanthropy. Fenrir had been livid.

The week after, Medea and Rosier Jr had conducted a raid, and brought him the heads of the Bones couple. Medea had apologised for letting Amelia Bones escape. He had found it very amusing. At Evan Rosier's funeral, he had needed to knock her out. The curse Lily Evans had thrown at her in grief had unbalanced her magic to the point she had almost caused an earthquake. When she had awoken, she had asked him again, "is there anything else that would please you, my lord?"

And he'd said, "Surprise me."

He never saw her again. She was ill, said her brother. He'd wondered if she'd defected, but somehow he doubted it. And so he'd assumed the curse had gotten worse. Then there was the prophecy, and he'd had other things in mind. He couldn't allow a newborn to pose him a threat.

"I told her to surprise me... I did not expect..."

[caramelcoffeeaddict]

Thank You, Alcohol [Klaine Fanfiction]

Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel Chapters: 1/1 [Complete] Word Count: 2,834 Rating: Teen&Up Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, College Age Klaine, Alcohol Summary: While visiting Lima for Winter Break, Kurt had gone to Scandals and had a little too much to drink, so he called Rachel to give him a ride home. Or so he thought. Instead, he had accidentally called his classmate, Blaine. Luckily, Blaine was nearby and drove over to the bar to pick him up. Original Post Date: June 2024

READ ON AO3

[cleelczipsybane]

WLC 4.3: Queen of Swords

"We'll be right outside," says Jevoi to Dalini, "If you need me, just speak up." She exits the room and scowls at Ling.

"Sorry, I don't have fancy pipes," mocks Ling, "Apocalypse is happening."

"It's not about the toilet, Mum," snaps Jevoi, "You're a wizard; you have magic."

"Always thinking magic'll solve everything." Ling shakes her head. "Never thinking about the consequences."

"You don't think it's terrible conditions you were raising her in?" asks Jevoi.

Ling walks over to the little table and stares at the mock tea set. "Better conditions that Nana Ning had... minus the eternal freezing night. At least I've done a better job than Nana Ting."

"Ting?" Jevoi's caught off-guard. "You've never told me anything about Ting."

"How could I?" laughs Ling, "I never met her."

Suddenly, the door from the hall opens and six-armed elf-esque woman with a serpentine lower body slithers into the room. She's wearing a green sweater and, for the brief moment that she was entering the room, a smile. But then, she saw Ling. Now, the smile is gone; replaced with rage.

"YOU!?" yells the raven-haired demon, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!? I"LL KILL YOU!" She conjures six swords and advances toward the wizard. "I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!"

Ling sighs in resignation. "Not expecting to be forgiven, demon."

Jevoi jumps in front of the swordswoman. "Calm down, Angustias, my queen."

"Why are you stopping me?" asks Angustias, her eyes still trained on the wizard, "Why did you bring her here?"

"You know why," says Jevoi, pushing the swords down, "I want her dead too, but do you want to explain to your daughter why Nana Ling had to die?" Jevoi grabs the bronzed amazon's face and forces their eyes to meet. "She doesn't even know you yet. Don't lose sight of what matters, my queen."

Angustias drops her weapons, which fade away, and picks up Jevoi in six-armed hug. "Of course, my empress." The demon's eye briefly twitches in pain and she makes a threatening gesture toward Ling with one hand.

"Mum!" yells Dalini from the bath, "What do I do now?"

Jevoi dismounts her wife and races to the door. She hops quickly in place, alternating legs. "Oh, I'm going to help my daughter get dressed for the first time!" she squeals before calmly walking the door.

"She's stoked about this mum s***e, isn't she?" asks Ling.

"Don't f*****g talk to me," says Angustias, trying to figure out how to pose her arms in loving, motherly way.

[b4rredteeth]

setting: nightingale, mindy + benny

[  NIGHT-INGALE  ]:     after being badly beaten, one muse shows up on the other muse’s doorstep, pleading for help. the other obliges, brings them in and gently cleans their wounds, bandaging them up, helping them as much as they can while quiet confessions and gentle pleas happen. basically, angst and emotion and hurt and comfort, and it’s DELICIOUS–

Benny opened the door carefully, not thinking he’d find Mindy at his doorstep, but instantly feeling his body react to the sight of them. “Fuck…” He took up their appearance in one quick gaze, already knowing what it meant, and grabbed their arms before they could fall into his apartment. “They did get you… I figured I drew them away,” he said, his voice stained with anger. 

He only sported a split lip and a cut above his eyebrow. Mindy was looking worse for wear from an altercation that shouldn’t have ended when he’d drawn them away. But alcohol brought out the worst in people, and Benny couldn’t have lost his wares because of drunk idiots. 

The last thing he wanted however, was to lose his friend. 

“I got a first aid kit,” he suggested, bringing them in, and placing them gently on his couch, before rummaging in his kitchen to collect all the bandages and items he could possibly need. He returned to Mindy having laid down, eyes slightly closed. Their face was bruised, cuts on their arms and hands suggested they’d fought whomever had hurt them. 

Benny bit the inside of his mouth as he cleaned the scratches. “I’m so sorry this happened,” he whispered. 

“Pretty sure you didn’t beat me up.” 

He scoffed. “Nah, but I also didn’t help enough… I figured the fuckers would follow me, why the fuck would they even stay to do this to you? Fuck. Minds.” He sucked in a breath. “I should’ve stuck around.” 

Mindy closed their eyes. “Yeah fuck you for not sticking around.” 

He shook his head as he bandaged their arms, then brought up an ice pack for their face, careful with the pressure. He brushed their hair out of their face looking for a hint of a coming bruise on their jaw. “Got any pain anywhere else?” he asked.

They touched their side, and Benny carefully lifted up their shirt to reveal the bruise there. 

“Ain’t got nothing for that, except rest and ibuprofen.” He gave them a bottle of water and some pills. “Drink up.” 

“Didn’t know you could be so… soft.” 

Benny scoffed. “Only for the right people.” 

“Cute.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He studied them as they took some gulps of water and the pills, then placed the bottle on the floor. 

“Alright, brace yourself, I’m moving you to the bed.” 

Mindy seemed to disagree with that, but could barely move now. “I should go home… Mei will worry about where I am.” 

“I’ll text her, you shouldn’t move around too much.” He put his arms under them and lifted them from the couch with very little difficulty, moving them from the living room to the bedroom. 

“I didn’t know you had Mei’s number.” 

Benny shrugged, gently pulling the blanket up to Mindy’s chin, and taking their shoes off. “Don’t worry about it, go to sleep, meds should kick in soon, I’ll come back a few times to check if you’re still breathing,” he added. 

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” Mindy said softly. 

He looked back at them. “You ain’t worried I’m gonna grope you in your sleep?” he asked with a smirk. 

The grin was tired, but it was still a grin. “Always, but I’d still prefer the company over sleeping here alone.” 

Benny nodded. “Alright, I’ll just text Mei and put a plaster on my wound.” He stood again. “I sleep naked, by the way.” 

“Of course you do.”

[cy-lindric]

bonjour cy-lindric, j'ai une petite question. when I was a young person, I read The Three Musketeers and then eagerly started to read Twenty Years After and was so upset at what had happened to my beloved young heroes that I put the book down and never picked it up. what do you think, should I try again?

Bonjour !

After reading The Three Musketeers, I also wasn't sure I wanted to read Twenty Years After, and I took a break inbetween both to read something entirely different (The Locked Tomb, iirc). I think my reason for that was kind of the opposite of yours ; I enjoyed T3M a lot and loved the characters, flaws and all, but by the end they had somewhat crossed over the line into being Too Awful and the lack of retribution left me a bit frustrated. I didn't see it as a failing of the story - on the contrary, their strong character flaws and downfall in the conflict with Milady is one of the most emotionally intense and compelling parts imo - but I wasn't sure I felt like hanging out with these guys for a few hundred more pages at that point.

If your vision of the characters as a young reader was a very positive and perhaps idealized one, I can imagine why you might not have enjoyed entering into Twenty Years after. The illusion of glory has worn off ; the characters have separated, they live unremarkable lives, and their personalities have evolved drastically with the passing of time. It's almost a brutal return to reality.

For me though, it added layers of characterization to the point where now it's clear to me that this version of the Inseparables is by far the one I prefer.

I hope it's ok if I take the opportunity to talk at length about what I like about TYA below the cut. TL;DR : I love that Twenty Years After is a more realistic look at the big four's personalities and how they evolved while still keeping them thematically coherent, and that TYA makes them confront the reckless and cruel shit they did in their youth.

Spoilers ahead obviously.

We've often talked about how T3M is at its core a story about the end of knighthood. It's a tongue-in-cheek approach at chivalrous initiation, set at edge of the modern world, inbetween the time of ballads about knights in armor and that of adventures about journeying gunmen and soldiers. I think TYA embodies that particularly ; the story of people who have carried the last of these intense, dangerous chivalric ideals in their youths, and who have now grown into middle aged adults who need to find their place in the world.

For a good chunk of the book, the big four are separated into two teams ; that in of itself might discourage some, but imo it's genius. Instead of the natural two-by-pairings, Dumas goes for a d'Artagnan+ Porthos and Athos + Aramis split on opposite sides, which makes for good drama and develops lesser explored dynamics. D'Artagnan and Porthos form a scrappy team of opportunists with money on their minds, and Athos and Aramis a more idealistic duo fighting for a noble lost cause. I think it's a bold choice but also premium sequel writing.

I also love the way the young and wild characters we knew evolve into middle aged men ; at their core, they're still the same, but they've all changed and struggled against the sunset of the golden age in their own ways.

D'Artagnan, after knowing such adventures and subsequent rapid social ascension in his teenage years, has been met in his adult life with the harsh reality that he is, in fact, not a noble knight but a soldier on payroll. His modest origins give him little hope for any further career advancement, and he takes on a new mission in his early 40s for a man he has no devotion for and a cause he doesn't care about, simply because he is bored and broke. D'Artagnan still has his quick wits, his strategic talent, his fencing skills, but he has grown out of the excesses of pride of his teenage years. I loved meeting him again in TYA, and it made so much sense to me that his bouts of anger and aggressivity would be a youthful trait that he'd ended up taming. He also realizes now a lot of what seemed like funny adventures and necessary violence was actually kind of fucked up ; that was a shock to me, as their shenanigans are treated so lightly in T3M, and tbh it healed me a little. Grown up d'Artagnan is cunning, calculating, down to earth and realistic. My foxy little man. I love him.

Porthos, likewise, has been struck by the weight of reality. He has made the sensible choice and got married to the rich widow who sugar mommied him in the first book. Now she's passed, he is rich, but he still fails to earn the respect of the high society he evolves in because he's not high born enough. Like d'Artagnan, he's stagnating and bored and now that he goes back adventuring it has nothing to do with the queen or the kingdom or honour ; it's about getting his damn nobility title.

Athos, on the other hand, is the eternal knight : the only truly high born of the four, and still hopelessly holding on to a time gone by. It's no surprise imo that his storyline brings him into the english civil war, doomed to fail at saving a king who'll end up executed right in front of him. TYA acknowledges more clearly than ever that at 28 yo, Athos was a depressed alcoholic, and an embodiment of what an excess of aristocratic righteousness can do. In TYA, he is sober and moisturized and a DILF, and now he's running around frantically looking for absolution for his numerous crimes. It's delicious.

Aramis is maybe the hardest pill to swallow. TYA confirms the T3M hints that he isn't really the prim and proper romantic boy he acts like he is, and that he's possibly the most hypocritical and ruthless of the four. It might be a harsh one for Aramis fans who like him better as a cute bean, but I love the early onset of remorseless conniving bloodthirsty ambitious Aramis. Another harsh bit might be the evolution of Aramis and d'Artagnan not really liking each other ; they were always the least close combination, and imo it makes sense that their personalities would clash. I think it's clever and compelling conflict.

Now, obviously, if you've cared enough to read all this and if you know me a little, you know that a huge highlight of the book for me was its late-appearing antagonist, Mordaunt. Mordaunt is the son Milady had with her english husband. Because of the Musketeers' intervention, he's grown up in poverty and has been denied his father's inheritance. He's now a Roundhead working for Cromwell, and set on avenging his mother at all costs. Mordaunt, unlike his mother who was this beautiful and dangerous force of nature, is very uncool and pathetic. She was the primordial snake, he's the gutter rat. Obviously, I love that in and of itself, but it's also kind of striking image of the wretchedness of what they've done to her, a fucked up little goblin ghost come back to haunt them as they're trying to make their life worth living again. This time, their enemy is not a cunning political rival with a flamboyance of body and mind akin to their own ; it's a shitty little guy with bad skin who wants to kill the king and punish the murderers. Watch out babes, it's the modern world coming for you.

Of course, they're the Four Musketeers, and they did what they had to do, so they get together again and swear friendship and keep going their way. But they're also old guys with difficult personalities in a world that's never going to be the same. I think it's a cool book.

[strang3lov3]

Do you have Roman requests you are going to write?

Certainly do, and I’m always open to hearing more. I have in no particular order…

Roman gets you drunk at an office event and locks you in an office. Very noncon vibes.

Stepdaddy!Roman (ok I lied he’s at the top of my list)

Pervy Roman taking inappropriate pics of his assistant.

Fedra!Roman + Joel

Neighbor!Roman + Dad!Joel

Gyno!Roman - yess I see you 🔮 anon I know you’re hurtin for it baby

Icky older brother!Roman. Wedgie kink and Nintendo Wii smut.

DADROMANDADROMANDADROMAN - direct quote from anon.

More TYA Roman - piss kink and hateful, violent sex lol

Roman x Joel x Reader in the succession universe

Priest!Roman

Shiv x Rome x Reader

Gun fuck

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #25: Endless

Prompt: perpetuity || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: *takes hints from canon**speculates on it a lot**settles on a headcanon*

Spoilers for the second half of Dawntrail.

---

PRESERVATION: MESO TERMINAL CENTRAL REPOSITORY [PROD] control panel now online.

Please enter login credentials.

>>…

Welcome, Director Komor Kor! ARTEMICION DIGITAL ASSISTANT (ADA) ready for command inputs.

>>…

Accessing regulatory files [MEMORY | PERSONALITY | CORE] for ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV…

>>//endless00%CoreRoot%

Now loading [CORE: ROOT].

9% complete…

27% complete…

45% complete…

72% complete…

90% complete…

100% complete!

ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV [CORE: ROOT] awaiting input.

>>//runUPDATE(ArcheTerminalDEV)

Accessing PRESERVATION: ARCHE TERMINAL TESTING REPOSITORY [DEV]…

Connection to PRESERVATION: ARCHE TERMINAL TESTING REPOSITORY [DEV] established.

Accessing revised files [CORE: ROOT] for ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV…

Copying revised files [CORE: ROOT] for ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV to PRESERVATION: MESO TERMINAL CENTRAL REPOSITORY [PROD]…

Copy complete.

New additions to regulatory files [CORE: ROOT]:

PRIMARY LAW: Preserve the Kingdom of Alexandria and its citizens.

PRIMARY LAW: Preserve the Endless and residents of Living Memory.

PRIMARY LAW: “Ensure the happiness of the people of Alexandria.”

DURATION: Indefinite.

ALERT: UPDATE PAUSED. [CORE: ROOT] FUNCTIONALITY MAY BE IMPACTED TO ENDLESS PRIME. VERBAL AND AETHERIC CONFIRMATION of [PRESERVATION: SENIOR DIRECTORATE] REQUIRED FOR UPDATE TO PROCEED.

VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION: DIRECTOR KOMOR KOR: CONFIRMED VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION: DOCTOR AMETHYST RADON: CONFIRMED VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION: DOCTOR GABBRO TRAPE: CONFIRMED VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION: DOCTOR TYATA TYA: CONFIRMED VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION: DOCTOR SCORIA VARDEN: CONFIRMED

VERBAL-AETHERIC CONFIRMATION OF [PRESERVATION: SENIOR DIRECTORATE] PROCESSED. PROCEEDING WITH UPDATE.

[CORE: ROOT] for ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV update complete! AUTOSAVE activated.

Regulatory files [MEMORY | PERSONALITY | CORE] for ENDLESS PRIME: SPHENE TIL ALEXANDROS XIV saved to PRESERVATION: MESO TERMINAL CENTRAL REPOSITORY [PROD].

Disconnecting from PRESERVATION: ARCHE TERMINAL TESTING REPOSITORY [DEV].

ARTEMICION DIGITAL ASSISTANT (ADA) ready for command inputs.

>>…

PRESERVATION: MESO TERMINAL CENTRAL REPOSITORY [PROD] control panel closed.

Logging off.

[rajakaen]

Reflection Rtuesday

Help, last week I got tagged by @jukkaricity to participate at @thedissonantverses' share the shit you're holding back Reflection Ruesday

Yeah, I've got way too much stuff lying around or never post finished work 'cause I get super anxious about negative feedback or getting none at all >.> That's why I don’t stress about how long things take, whether I finish them or scrap hours of work if the result fails my expectations. Same with turning drafts into actual stories—I know how they should look and feel and what they're about, but… yeah. A Bad habit? Probably some low-key social anxiety I've picked up over the years. Uploading anything regarding my own thought processes (including OC's) just stresses me TF out ^^; ──────────────────────────────

Anyway… I've been poking at this one drawing of Tahr’rys for over a year now, but I can't bring myself to finish it 'cause I suck at rendering in general; especially faces… ──────────────────────────────

Then there's the ref sheet of Relah—his, uh… she's a good friend of his. Don't ask them about it. They're way beyond complicated lol. I'll finish the sheet one day. There's still so much work to do... (Yes, she's loosely based on Ashara Zavros) ────────────────────────────── Also, tossing in a text prompt I'll probably never write out, but I like it. It's kinda key to Tahr'rys and Relah's dynamic and how their story unfolds. The draft is heavy and moody, as most related to this character. It's a private scene in T's quarter aboard Neo's Freighter, en route from the Outer Rim to the Unknown Regions. Taking place around 32826 TYA / 26 ATC. 3627 Doomsday Calendar

Content Warning: themes related to trauma & mental health

Tahr’rys lived with Neongard for nearly a decade after being captured by the Dar’Manda bounty hunter—three years after his Jōhatsu from the Sith, in the wake of Zakuul’s conquest of the known galaxy's major powers. Over time, their relationship shifted from captor and captive to a working partnership, though not an entirely friendly one. The men spent a considerable amount of time in the cramped confines of Neo’s freighter, the Prancing Anvil, travelling through the galaxy, always on the lookout for a rewarding job. Eventually, the former Sith began helping Neo with his contracts, having nowhere else to go and no idea how to move on—or where to begin.

As fate would have it, Tahr’rys and Relah crossed paths during one of those missions—long after their fallout during their days with the Sith. This time, circumstances between them are different and they have managed to reconnect over the past few months. His years with Neo and everything T has endured since have changed him. Not exactly for the better, but she recognizes that he is less hostile, less agitated. Relah, by contrast, had escaped the Sith and returned to the Jedi, while T was burying himself in the Sphere’s demands. Last time she’d seen him, he had lashed out without warning, how one wrong word had set him off. Still unsure whether this new version of T is truly different, R somehow managed to get him to open up for the first time. 

The two are seated on his L-shaped couch, separated by a small table but maintaining a noticeable distance. The quarter is cool, austere—sparsely furnished and seemingly barely lived in. Nothing lies around; only Tahr’rys’ leather jacket hangs loosely over a chair, while a few scattered items and his saberstaff rest on the desk. On the bed across the room lies a closed holobook. The overall lighting is subdued, with T’s vivarium on the wall casting a soft glow across their faces and the space around them. The air carries the scent of plants and damp earth, laced with a metallic tang and the faint smell of ageing machinery. It is quiet, aside from the occasional creak of the ship’s frame as it travels through hyperspace. Neo is in the cockpit. T sits with his back to us, only part of his profile visible. Opposite him sits Relah, hands folded on her legs, listening intently to his words. Her posture isn’t entirely relaxed and betrays a touch of nervousness. Expressions shift across R’s face—concern, disbelief, sorrow and, occasionally, a faint smile. Her green eyes remain fixed on him. Throughout the scene, T sits motionless, talking with a low, even voice; neither gesturing nor shifting. His posture is stooped, head slightly lowered with his eyes fixed on the ground as if he’s directing his monologue to the floor beneath R, tho his words are undoubtedly meant for her. He speaks about his past, what happened to him, what he participated and what led him here. We can’t hear their conversation. They remain like this for a long while; the former Sith talking and the Jedi listening. Then something he says causes an abrupt change. Relah’s face stills. The colour drains slightly as she blinks once, then again, trying to process what she’s heard. Without a word, she rises, prompting the first visible reaction from T. He lifts his head, eyes catching the light with an uncanny reflectiveness—an orange hue, like dull embers in a dying fire. R says nothing, but the following silence is louder than anything she could’ve said. As she turns away and steps aside, T shifts to follow her with his gaze. Raising a hand in a weak, imploring gesture, but letting it fall almost immediately. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move as she walks past him, leaving the room. Once he’s alone, the man lowers his gaze and folds in on himself, burying his face in his hands and closing his eyes. He doesn’t cry; he simply sits there, silent and unmoving. Whatever he had been processing comes to a halt, his conscious self shutting down entirely. Still, time moves on, and the old freighter hums steadily around him. Metal beams creak and a faint vibration runs through the floor as the Prancing Anvil shifts in hyperspace. The lights dim noticeably as the vivarium adjusts to a new cycle. Somewhere, a system resets with a soft mechanical chime—but Tahr’rys remains unaffected by it all, present only in form. Some time passes before the bulkhead to T’s quarters slides open. Relah enters, carrying two cups of steaming tea. She sets them down on the table in front of him, speaking briefly but not looking at him directly. Then she pauses—something seems off. Her gaze shifts to the man on the couch and her lips form his name. No response. Her brows furrow. She repeats, but still, he doesn’t react. After a moment of hesitation, she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. Nothing. She’s never seen anyone—least of all this impossible person—in a state like this. For a few seconds, she just stands there, uncertain. Then she begins pacing the confined space, gesturing as she moves, before finally settling beside him. Even then, he doesn’t react.

Relah exhaled, frustrated, her eyes drifting toward the cooling tea on the table. After a while, she straightens to reach for one and takes a sip, then shifts slightly, sliding a little away from T to get a clearer look at him. He remains hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands—his body slack but not fully collapsed, still holding enough tension to keep from completely sinking in on himself. Her gaze lingers, lips tightening slightly as a realization takes shape. This had happened after she walked out. That much is clear. But whatever line she crossed, she couldn’t quite grasp it. There’s no way to reach him and nothing within her abilities might bring him back. Setting the cup back on the table, she leans in again—this time, resting her head against his shoulder, waiting for him to return.

[coolbeesbro]

Thank you @baambastic for tagging me in WIP Wednesday! Maybe this will finally hold myself accountable to finish this chapter.

The rules: Post an excerpt from your most recent WIP and then tag a bunch of people.

Here's a snippet from my Stardew Valley Fic "Distant Shore"

Nitya had been standing in the hallway of his parent’s home, nervously clutching a letter of acceptance in his hands, trying to figure out how to break the news to his parents that he didn’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer or any other profession they deemed “real jobs”. They’d spent so much time preparing him for the SATs and writing college application essays, and taking AP courses–

They were gonna be mad when he broke the news that the college he would be attending in Zuzu City wouldn’t be Bayside Law or Gully Harbor Technical Institute; but instead Greenwood College of Art & Design. 

From here, he could see into his mom and dad’s shared office space where his mom was sorting through papers or something on her desk, typing away on her laptop as she did so. He could only see the back of her head from here, watching as it shifted side to side as she looked between her notes and the laptop screen. 

His dad wouldn’t be home till later that night, which made now the best opportunity to bring this up. His mom was always more sympathetic, if not only a little bit more than his father. That and he also didn’t think he could handle them both head on at once. Not again after the coming out disaster.  

Granted, in the end it worked itself out; only making for a tension filled week as his parents did what they did best when they didn’t know or understand something. They sat down and researched.

He could only hope that things would work out that well for him again this time. But the logistics of grandkids and their son’s love life was one thing; his career choice and future was something completely different. His parents didn’t pay thousands upon thousands of dollars in the hopes of having a straight son. They did, however, spend that much for college prep courses, tests, tutors and so much more in the hopes that he’d take after one of them and go to a big name university and get a high paying job. 

“Mom?” Nitya’s voice was shaky and nervous as he stood in the hallway, debating whether to just back track and ask about how work went today, or just pretend he didn’t say anything and walk to his room. It wasn’t too late–

“Yes?” She said as she sat up and turned to see her son, and immediately she picked up that something was wrong, “Tya, sweetie, what’s wrong?” 

“I want to go to Greenwood.” The words tumbled from his lips faster than he could think of a different way to say it.

Her brows knit together, “I’m sorry, Greenwood?” She sounded confused as she stood up, “That art college we toured because you thought it would be fun to see the area?”

He nodded his head, clutching the acceptance letter in his hands in a vice grip, “Is… Is that ok?” his voice was just barely above a whisper, his heart thudding in his chest so fast that he felt like it’d either stop any second or he would get sick.

“Oh sweetheart,” His mother walked over and pulled him into a hug, “Do you think going there will make you happy?” She asked as she buried her face in his mess of curly hair.

“Yeah.” He choked out, not realizing he was shaking till this moment.

“You’ll be ok, Tya. If you’ll be happy there, I will support you.” She said as she squeezed him tightly in her arms.

“I’ll support you too.” He heard his father say behind him. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder give him a squeeze, “Whatever makes you happy, son.”

Except… That’s not how this happened. His parents faded away, leaving him to stand there trying to remember. 

No.

The correct scene flickered in front of him.

His mother was in tears, crying, pleading with him to not ruin everything he’d worked for, how it means so much for him and how he worked so hard and– 

His dad said nothing for a while. Quietly thinking to himself how much of a disappointment his only child had been, ‘An artist?’ his father would mutter to himself in disbelief, ‘A lazy man’s career. I can’t believe I raised such a lazy boy.’ 

Yeah, that was how it happened. It got better though. Why could he only see the parts of this milestone that made him so hurt and bitter? He missed them so much, what he wouldn’t give to just relive a pleasant memory with them? Like the paint class they took that summer, because when his parents didn’t understand, they did what they did best. They sat down and researched. 

They met him half way for the first time. Yet here he was standing here like a small creature, watching one of the hardest decisions, and the biggest argument he’d ever had with his parents play out. 

‘You think you’re an adult, ready to make a big decision like this on your own.’ his mother had said, ‘Well you’re not. Your brain hasn’t even fully developed, and you’re ready to throw your life away to go play with paints–

Nitya’s eyes snapped open and he shot up from his bed, almost knocking Dipper off in the process. His heart was racing so fast in his chest and he felt as though he might get sick. He needed to take deep breaths –inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale– he looked over to his phone to check the time.

3:08am

Nitya fell back into bed and tears began to well up in his eyes as a single thought stayed in his brain. Out of that whole dream, the unpleasant fight with his parents, the anxiety attack–none of that paled in comparison when he realized he no longer remembered what his parents sounded like. 

Those voices in the dream, it wasn’t theirs. It was missing his father’s accent, and his mother’s voice was completely different. He couldn’t remember it, he just knew that they were wrong. The thought that he might be forgetting his parents in any way was too much for him to deal with at 3:08am. His thoughts traveled to his old busted up phone that sat in the drawer of his nightstand, which once had old voicemails from them in it. Were they even there anymore? Was the device really busted beyond repair?

I'm not super sure who to tag for this, but @thereosheep and @the-artist-grimm since you guys have some cool COTL Au's going on?

[caramelcoffeeaddict]

thank you for tagging me @forabeatofadrum!

I was actually in the middle of posting Chapter 2 of Breaking Stereotypes to AO3 when I got the notification that I'd been tagged. but because I've posted a lot of snippets of this story in other SSS and WIP Wednesday posts, I figured I'd share something different today.

I just posted a brand-new one-shot yesterday, called Thank You, Alcohol (2,834 words/rated Teen&Up). so since this is technically a Six Sentence Sunday post, and the new one-shot was posted on a Sunday, here are the first six sentences of Thank You, Alcohol...

-

Kurt got off the barstool and staggered for a second, grabbing hold of the bar to steady him. “Guess I had more to drink than I realized,” he said, chuckling to himself. “No way am I gonna be able to drive back to my dad’s house tonight.” He sat back down on the stool, then pulled out his phone to call his friend, Rachel, for a ride home, squinting to make sense of the blurry screen. He selected what he thought was Rachel’s name, then brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?” a male voice answered.

-

[cafffeineconnoisseur]

Writing poems abt him👀

Girlsksksksk I'm going INSANE

Basically mala ha mulga clg chya day 1 pasun avdaycha and sjskksks he looks so good, the way he talks, the way he walks, Tyacha dressing sense. HIS EYES. HIS EYES. HE HAS SLIGHTLY LIGHT BROWN EYES OMG AND THEY ARE SO PRETTY.

So me and my roommate were velle asf so Aamhi ek fake acc create kela ani tya var na mi tyachashi bolli and we sent each other voice notes and stuff and I like him sm more now 😭

I was in maths class today and mala khub bore hot hota so I was writing a poem (ashi general wali cuz mi usually lihite) and mala legit 2 lines nantar suchat navta and I started thinking about him and hehehehe 😭

Yaar mi ashi vedi jhali aahe Kay suru aahe, he's way out of my league and his friend group is also the "cool kids" wala group. Mi clg madhe legit invisible aste but it still can't help being delululu

[ask-jay-gatsby]

Dear Mr Gatsby,

long time no talk! I certainly hope you've been well.

I heard there're cats visiting you every so often! Good for you! Though I do hope they're not peeing on your walls to mark it as part of their territorry or eating the food you left out to cool. But I trust that you have no such issues.

Do you call them by any names yet? If I may be so bold, may I suggest some traditional Czech names? The most popular name for male cats is Macek (M-ah-ts-eh-k) or Macik (M-ah-ts-eek),

which roughly translates to fat or chonky. If it's a tabby, we call it Mourek (M-oh-r-eh-k), which literally means Tabby. Ginger cats are Zrzek (zrz-eh-k), whic means ginger (the female version would be Zzka. The previous two names don't really have suitable female equivalents).

For female cats, the go-to name is Míca (M-ee-ts-ah) or Micka (mi-ts-k-ah). A gender neutral pet name would be Tapka, which means paw, but the pronunciation would probably be too complicated for you to use on a daily basis (tya-p-k-ah). It's a nice name though, I know many dogs and cats - and, in fact, a guinea pig, as well- of this name, including my own cat, who unfortunately passed away a few years ago.

I hope all this talk of pets didn't bore you, and I'm looking forward to hearing from you!

All the best,

Hana

POST: LONG ISLAND, NY. AUG 1922

Dear Hana,

Rest assured, old sport, I might never tire of talking about pets. I've only ever had a bird before and I didn't pay it nearly as much attention as I should have, so having this cat in my house is a fresh and wonderful thing.

He's so lazy. Incredibly lazy! It's a testament to feline willpower to watch him roll bit by bit across my carpet to remain perfectly within a ray of sunlight. I simply would not have the patience with myself or the sun to remain there on the floor.

I haven't named him yet, but I'll certainly keep those in mind! Nick tried to suggest 'Tom'—as in tom-cat—but I would never saddle such an innocent creature with such a despicable name. It even took Nick a moment to reckon with the root of my disgust at such a hideous suggestion.

Perhaps once I can convince the ginger's tabby friend to come inside, and I see the two of them interact, I'll be able to come up with names for them both based off of how they interact with each other. The trouble is that the tabby is so unbelievably standoffish—not mean, either, but as soon as I put my hand out to pet him, after sitting for several minutes while he sniffs at my knuckles, he darts away as though I intended to strike him! It's heartbreaking! I can hardly stand it.

I leave him extra cream now. I hope he understands what I mean by it.

If you're interested, write back and I'll update you on my progress.

Sincerely and emphatically,

Jay Gatsby

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: OC Interview (Round... 3?)

...I'm too tired to go and find the other two but I think I've done it twice before and I'm not double-checking.

Thanks to @thewritingautisticat for the tag!

The Wheel has chosen Korfel Domin, from Trials of the Six! Questions are in bold, responses are unbolded, my own questions/thoughts are in blue.

Are you named after anyone?

Some random ancestor of my father's. I don't remember what he did for my parents to name me after him. It probably wasn't that important.

It's actually a fairly common name in his bloodline. The first Korfel was a renowned king.

Yeah. Not that important.

When was the last time you cried?

*long sigh* ...not since I was a kid. No, that's a lie. It was right after I met Jarsali. But not since then. And I can see the look on your face, but I'm not telling you why. That's final.

In the immortal words of Brandon Sanderson, RAFO.

Do you have kids?

Nah.

Not biologically, anyway. Emotionally, though....

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Sarcasm? Me? Never.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

How they carry themselves. It usually tells me how a person fights, or their attitude or personality before we even exchange words.

What’s your eye color?

Dark brown. Nothing too special.

They're pretty close to black, actually. Doesn't make much difference.

Any special talents?

'Suppose I gotta be honest. I'm a pretty good Earth Mage, and that lends itself to a lot of things. Especially tracking. And fighting. I'm good at that.

You're selling yourself short, you're good at improvising.

Yeah, because my planned-out-plans are shit.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Hmm... don't really have a preference either way. I suppose if I had to pick it would be scary movies.

I think he'd like M. Night Shyamalan films, where details are everywhere and the twist is foreshadowed. Like the Sixth Sense!

Uhh... yeah. I'll take your word for it.

Where were you born?

Tya. Obviously. At my family's homestead. Haven't been back there in over a decade.

The reasons for that are also a RAFO.

...why do you keep saying RAFO?

hehe

Do you have any pets?

Nah. Animals don't seem to like me that much, and that's just another thing I gotta worry about.

How tall are you?

Tall enough to have to duck through most doorways to avoid hitting the top of my head.

What was your favorite subject in school?

Ugh. I hated school. Not the subjects themselves, most of the teachers just didn't know how to teach them properly. That being said, learning how to use a sword was the highlight of my day. Could work all the frustrations out on a wooden practice dummy.

What is your dream job?

In a perfect world, I'd be teaching young Earth Mages how to harness their abilities so they wouldn't hurt themselves or others. Or something similar.

Ah, but you don't live in a perfect world! Where's the plot in that?

...

Gently tagging @phoenixradiant @faytelumos @diabolical-blue @catwings-writes-things @thethistlegirlwrites

@pluppsauthor @pluttskutt @gamerkats @overdecorated-furniture and open tag! :D

(blank version under the cut)

Are you named after anyone?

When was the last time you cried?

Do you have kids?

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What is the first thing you notice about people?

What’s your eye color?

Any special talents?

Scary movies or happy endings?

Where were you born?

Do you have any pets?

How tall are you?

What was your favorite subject in school?

What is your dream job?

[babstheyaga]

what if i just...

started the next fmod book tonight... and like... teehee... ya know like... heh.... ya know! like... ya know...

okay but ferreal i'm writing a foursome scene in TYA

[incorrect-musketeers]

The first time I read The Three Musketeers, I was intent on writing a paper on it. I was already familiar with the Disney version (Sheen!Aramis still remains one of my favourites), but because the book was so long, and I was having to skip sections just to keep up with the deadlines, large parts of it probably sailed over my head. I ended up having precious little memory of it in the years after.

I finally watched BBC Musketeers earlier this year, and like everyone else, fell for Mr. Cabrera's Aramis -- he's so gentle and kind, and I love the way they wrote his faith as well. The brotherhood between the musketeers is so strong in the BBC version, too.

So, when I recently re-read the original book, it was jarring how different the characters were -- the way everyone called Porthos a 'ninny' and treated him as being stupid, d'Artagnan being awful, Aramis being so... snooty? Especially going on to Twenty Years After, and finding that Aramis had become such an awful person. (I'll admit I eventually gave up because I just couldn't be having with TYA.) That in particular was jarring -- because while I'm aware of how things end in Vicomte of Bragelonne, I had always sort of expected Aramis to retain a sort of sense of, 'all for the greater good', a gentleness and mercy that I was so familiar with from the other adaptations. Just kind of bothered me. xD;

I personally don’t consider the sequels canon for my own peace of mind lol.

And yeah, reading older literature can definitely be jarring, especially if you’re used to modern adaptations of the same text. I totally understand that the original Musketeers isn’t for everyone (and Dumas was paid by the word and it shows, god it’s a dense book) , which is why I really adore the BBC adaptation, because I believe they did an excellent job of modernizing the story and adapting the more troubling aspects (for the most part, the thing with Grimaud was WILD) especially when it comes to how the female characters are treated

If you’re ever interested in an adaptation that’s closer to the book though, the 1970’s two-part adaptation starring Micheal York as D’Artagnan is absolutely delightful (except for their Constance, who is awful, in every way, unfortunately)