#~ d.m. threads ~

[deletreatualma]

another starter for @writingshae bc my girl misses her boy

Lips quirked into a smile as a quiet laugh left her lips, "as much as I hate that color, I'll admit you look..." Draco's gaze flicked down Neville's form then slowly raked back up until steely orbs settled on his chest and arms. She let out a soft breath of appreciation, "I'll just say I'm doing what I can to keep from climbing you here and now." She finished as her gaze met his, plush lower lip slightly reddened after her teeth released it.

[deletreatualma]

Draco was supposed to be gathering useful information for her father; information that they could use to attack Fernandez's top guys or, better yet, take their money. To say she'd gotten distracted was an understatement. She was preparing to ask a question when Ravena let the moan out. Draco exhaled slowly, fingers immediately pressing into the spot again and allowing her other hand to slowly trace along her side. "Wasn't planning on it," she said, voice equally breathy. And if she hovered over Ravena a little more than strictly necessary for the massage, who the fuck could blame her?

open to: m/f/nb 21+ (rules)

connection: any, probably not a previously established/current s.exual relationship but someone she does know (taboo encouraged, age gap welcome); (step)relative, (best) friend, friend or s/o of someone in her family, someone who works for her mob boss parent, ex or ex fwb

muse: ravena fernandez (21-23 / bisexual / submissive / mob boss' daughter ) alt fc: r*chel z*gler

the moan that she let out was unbidden and almost filthy. she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a massage and had been quite surprised when they had offered to give her one. "god that feels good. don't stop."

[jijournal]

CHARM ME UP | D.M

Summary: You’ve made it a habit to give small charms to those who need a reminder that they’re not alone. But there’s one person you keep finding reasons to give them to—one boy who always seems to need a charm.

Pair: whimsical!reader x draco malfoy

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It starts with a button.

Draco Malfoy is sorting through his school robes one morning before his Charms exam when he finds it—buried deep inside the lining. A small, copper button glints under the pale light of the Slytherin dorm. It’s not the sort of button that’s part of his uniform. He runs his fingers over the smooth surface, then turns it over, finding neat handwriting on the back:

“A charm for clarity. You’ve got more in you than you think.”

He stares at it, his brow furrowing as he wonders if it’s some joke. A prank. Who would leave something like this in his robes? He’s about to toss it aside when he feels a strange pull to keep it. For some reason, the button doesn’t feel like an intrusion. It feels like… like it’s supposed to be there.

Without much thought, he slips it into his pocket, and the moment passes. He heads to the exam, but as he stares at the test before him, something feels different. His mind, normally clouded with thoughts of his father’s disapproval or his next move, clears. The questions seem easier to answer. By the end of the exam, he’s finished ahead of schedule. He walks out with a sense of accomplishment, something he hasn’t felt in a while.

Later, he checks his grade: top of the class.

Draco doesn’t believe in luck. Not really. But as he stands there, staring at the paper, his fingers instinctively reach for the charm still nestled in his pocket. He doesn’t question it—he simply keeps it.

A few weeks later, the charm reappears again, this time at a Quidditch match.

Draco pulls on his gloves before stepping onto the pitch, and tucked inside his left glove, he finds something small and coiled. At first, it’s nothing but a slight vibration against his fingers, but when he pulls it out, he sees a miniature broom, made of green thread and silver accents.

He examines it briefly before noticing a tiny inscription hidden on the side.

“For steadiness. And aim.”

Draco rolls his eyes at the absurdity. It’s another charm, no doubt—one of those ridiculous little trinkets that had become a nuisance around Hogwarts, but there’s something almost soothing about the weight of it in his hand. He tucks it into his pocket with a sigh, deciding it can’t hurt to keep it for good measure.

The match itself feels different than usual. His focus sharpens. He plays with a fluidity he hasn’t felt in months, his broomstick gliding through the air as if it’s an extension of himself. The team wins, of course—victory after a clean sweep—but it’s the ease with which they’ve done it that lingers in Draco’s mind.

When he later pulls the charm from his pocket, it feels like more than a silly token. It feels like something that worked.

He still doesn’t believe in luck. But he starts to think that maybe there’s more to these charms than he’s letting on. And once again, he tucks it into his tin.

Over the following weeks, Draco notices the charms popping up more frequently. Each time, it’s something different, something subtle—an object that seems so small but always holds a significance that lands right when he needs it most. A paper crane, its wings unfolding and refolding in a rhythmic pattern whenever he’s about to get a question wrong in class. A smooth stone with etched runes of protection, just when his father sends another cold letter. A tiny moon made of thread, glowing faintly in his hands, during the rare moments he’s truly alone.

It’s like magic—real, tangible magic—that only appears for him, and only when he needs it most. He doesn’t know who’s behind it. Doesn’t know how they’re doing it. But as time goes on, he doesn’t question it.

Not really.

Instead, he starts paying attention.

He notices you one afternoon in the library, bent over a stack of parchment, fingers working methodically on a charm of your own. You’re quieter than most, a bit of a mystery even among the usual crowd of Hogwarts students. But Draco’s not the only one who notices that there’s something different about you. While most people bustle about, you’re always where you need to be, your hands always working, always helping.

You’re not flashy. In fact, you’re the opposite of attention-seeking. But when he sees you slipping something into Pansy’s cloak before her Defense class, and then sees Pansy humming softly to herself like her cold walls crashed down, Draco knows. He doesn’t need anyone to confirm it.

It’s you.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel like a surprise.

One morning, Draco wakes up to find another charm tucked under his pillow, folded neatly like a forgotten note. He hadn’t expected it—not after the intensity of his father’s letter the night before—but there it is, sitting like a small spark of hope. It’s a simple charm—just a tiny star, stitched in gold thread, but it feels warm in his hand as though it’s been waiting for him.

“For brightness on dim days.”

He doesn’t know how you knew. He doesn’t need to know. But for the first time in months, he sits with it, feels its warmth against his fingers, and lets himself believe that things might just be okay. That maybe he’s still allowed to be good.

That he’s still allowed to be more than just a Malfoy.

The charm stays with him longer than any of the others. He keeps it in his pocket for a week, letting the weight of it ground him. It becomes his little secret, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s light—somewhere, somehow.

By now, Draco knows where to look. He doesn’t have to search the hallways like he did before. He simply keeps an eye on you, watches as you slip in and out of classes, a quiet observer in the background, always stitching and folding and mending things that no one else notices.

One day, he catches you in the library, sitting by the window with a small bundle of thread in your hands, your eyes focused on your work. He knows better than to approach you immediately. He’s learned to wait, to observe, and so he watches you for a while, seeing the way you pause when someone asks for help, seeing how you always offer something when others least expect it.

He clears his throat when he’s close enough, making you jump slightly in surprise. Your eyes widen, but you don’t back away.

“Who are they for?” he asks, his voice steady but filled with curiosity.

You blink, surprised at the directness of his question. For a moment, you hesitate, then answer, “Depends who needs them.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And who decides that?”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes him wonder if he’s stumbled upon a secret. “I listen.”

Something inside him shifts at those words. It’s so simple, yet so profound. You don’t just make the charms. You feel them. You understand them.

Draco finds himself leaning against a table, unable to break his gaze. He doesn’t say anything more. But from that moment onward, he watches you even more closely, noting the way your hands move with such intention, how your eyes flicker with understanding when someone comes to you for something more than just a charm.

And, in a way, he starts to wonder if he might need something more, too.

The next Saturday is sunny and warm—a rare break from the usual dreariness of Hogwarts. Draco finds himself walking through the halls, his thoughts preoccupied with the latest charm he’d received, a small coin that had somehow found its way into his pocket before a particularly tense conversation with his father. His fingers close around it now, absentmindedly, as he walks toward the greenhouse, only to stop short when he sees you.

You’re kneeling in front of a row of plants, your hands buried in the dirt. He watches you for a moment before he speaks.

“Got a charm for me?”

You look up at him, startled. Then your lips curl into a smile, soft and hesitant.

“I thought maybe you were ready for something different.”

You reach into your bag and pull out a small note. It’s folded neatly, no charm this time, just a scrap of paper with delicate handwriting.

Draco unfolds it carefully and reads the words:

“For when you’re ready to ask me to Hogsmeade.”

He looks up at you, his heart thumping in his chest, and for once, he doesn’t hide his smile. Not from you.

He holds out his hand, offering the same quiet invitation he’s kept hidden in his heart for so long.

“You free next weekend?”

And the smile you give him in return is all the answer he needs.

“Yes.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[theodorenmyth]

♡︎ Winter break comfort (T.N & L.B)

♡︎ Simp and protect (T.N & D.M) ♡︎ The snake tamers privilege (RIDDLE BROTHERS) ♡︎ eyes of the serpent (T.N & M.R) ᡣ𐭩 Blinded by love (T.N & M.R) ♡︎ Echoes of silence (M.R & T.N) ♡︎Misheard magic (RIDDLE BROTHERS) ♡︎Slytherin spoils (RIDDLE BROTHERS) ♡︎Short of sleeves (M.R & T.N) ♡︎Ties of friendship (M.R & T.N) ♡︎Dreams and reality (M.R & L.B) ᡣ𐭩 Protectors embrace (M.R & T.N) ♡︎Shared words (D.M & T.N) ♡︎ Night of frights (D.M & T.N)

𐙚 People you know (M.R & T.N)

𐙚 People you know II (M.R & T.N)

ᡣ𐭩 People you know AE (M.R & T.N)

♡︎ Three threads of Love (T.N & M.R)

[mayabooowrites]

Do I know you?||D.M

It was a crisp autumn day. The air was tinged with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the faint aroma of wood smoke from nearby chimneys.

The trees, dressed in hues of fiery red, burnt orange, and golden yellow, whispered softly in the breeze as their leaves danced gracefully to the ground, creating a colourful carpet beneath my feet. 

I stood concealed next to a towering oak tree, its rough bark cool against my back.

My heart felt heavy, burdened by guilt and an overwhelming sense of indecision that gnawed at me relentlessly. Across the narrow street, a quaint little bookshop between two bustling cafés caught my eye. The soft, warm glow of the shop’s interior beckoned, and I could see her through the window, illuminated by the welcoming light.

Y/n, my pregnant fiancée, browsed thoughtfully among the shelves, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books as if seeking the comfort of their stories. I could see the gentle curve of her belly beneath her cozy sweater, a silent testament to the new life we had created together.

Each breath she took seemed to radiate a serene beauty, yet I felt a pang of anguish twisting in my gut. I wanted to approach her, to wrap my arms around her and whisper assurances, but the weight of my secret held me back like a heavy fog that distorted my thoughts and clouded my resolve.

She flipped through the pages of a book with a gentle smile, her hair catching the sunlight in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. I had watched her from afar for months, unable to tear my gaze away. She was beautiful, radiant, and oblivious to who I was.

And that was my doing.

I had used a spell to erase all memories of me—of us—entirely from her mind. I made this decision in a moment of desperate clarity, knowing that the chaos surrounding us could potentially ensnare her in a danger far greater than she could imagine. 

She deserved a life free of the burdens and horrors that accompanied my existence. I couldn't bear to think of her caught in the crossfire of the dark forces at play, particularly with our child on the way. I remembered how radiant she looked, how full of hope and dreams she was, and I realized that the world I inhabited would only tarnish that light.

The stakes were higher than anyone could fathom. If anyone discovered that I was engaged to a muggle and had fathered a child with her, the consequences would be disastrous. My parents would undoubtedly react with horror and outrage, dragging both her and our child into a whirlwind of scandal and danger, perhaps even subjecting them to threats I couldn't bear to contemplate.

So, with a heavy heart, I cast the spell, watching as the memories of our shared laughter, our stolen moments, and the love we nurtured vanished into thin air. It felt like cutting a vital thread in the tapestry of my life, yet deep down, I believed I was doing the right thing. I hoped that somewhere in her mind, she would find peace, free from the weight of my legacy.

When the war finally drew to a close, leaving a haunting silence that echoed in my mind, my heart raced as I contemplated the weight of my choices. Should I return the memories of us to her? The thought of revealing myself filled me with dread, for it threatened to shatter the fragile peace she had managed to cultivate in my absence.

Yet, despite the overwhelming uncertainty, I could not shake my magnetic pull toward her. Each day, I gravitated toward Y/n, unable to resist the deep longing in my heart. It was like an invisible thread connected us that could not be severed by time or absence. She wore her laughter like a shimmering cloak, her gentle smile lighting up even the darkest corners of my soul, while her innate kindness remained a warm balm for the wounds I carried.

These memories, though bittersweet, were etched into my mind, serving as poignant reminders of what I had willingly surrendered when I erased her past. I had stripped her of memories that defined her, and in doing so, I had stolen pieces of myself as well. I questioned whether I even had the right to seek redemption. Did I deserve to be a father when my own actions had robbed her of a life that was rightfully hers?

In this moment of deep introspection, the stakes felt impossibly high. The future loomed uncertain, a vast canvas waiting for me to decide how to paint it. Would I reveal the truth, risking everything for honesty and reconnection? Or would I quietly fade into the shadows, allowing her to continue in the peaceful oblivion I had created? The thought tormented me, and in that turmoil, I felt the weight of my failures pressing heavily on my chest.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice her stepping out of the bookshop until she bumped into me, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice soft and melodic. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

I smiled, a bittersweet feeling spreading through me. "It's quite alright. I should have been more careful as well."

She studied me momentarily, a flicker of recognition passing through her eyes before it was gone, replaced by curiosity. "Have we met before? You seem familiar."

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. Should I tell y/n the truth? Should I give her back what I had taken all those months ago?

But then I looked into her eyes, full of innocence and unspoken trust, and knew what to do.

"No, we haven't met before," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just passing through."

She smiled a little sadly. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

Y/n. The name echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of what I had lost. What I had chosen to sacrifice for her sake.

"It's nice to meet you too, Y/n. I'm Draco," I replied, forcing a smile onto my face. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her standing on the sidewalk with a puzzled expression. I didn't look back; I couldn't bear the confusion and hurt in her eyes.

I silently vowed to myself as I entered Diagon Alley: I would leave her be, let her live without the burden of the past weighing her down, and carry the memory of her, of us, locked away in my heart forever.

I don't deserve her or my child. They are better off without me, without someone like me, someone tainted by Voldemort's mark, someone who wasn't troubled and didn't even know who they were anymore.

She deserved the best, and that wasn't me, and she needs to find that

Because sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go.

"Goodbye, Y/n."

[foyle-writes-things]

So hi! The name is Foyle! Or you can call me D.M. or Dez if you prefer, doesn't really matter to me lol.

As far as writing goes- I've been doing this for a hot minute (sent my first query letter at 15 f'in years old what pluck i had as a child lol), and among my works I can include:

A high fantasy novel

An Urban Fantasy YA Novel Based on Them Thar Greek Gods

And a few other Urban Fantasy Style Novels (because they are fun sue me)

However, more recently I've stepped into a space where sci-fi, hacking, technology, and crime/psychological-thriller all intersect.

Shoot me a note if you want to be on my tag list 🫡

You can follow me elsewhere:

Also here:

And feel free to check out mywebsite:

-Tags-

TangledWires (for snippets)

foylefumbles (for my commentary and more)

tangledwires/Tanged Wires (for book update news and general TW ramblings)

WIPS UNDER THE CUT....

Tangled Wires Book 1 (STATUS UPDATE: POOblished-- Date 1/11/25!!!!!!!)

Raz knows two things, computers - and that people can't be trusted. However on the run, and with the head of the Russian mob seeking to put her back in a cage Raz must quickly decide if Emet Shultz of the FBI can be trusted, and if he can help her unlock the treacherous secrets of her past. As the past reveals itself, one thing becomes clear- nothing is as it seems, and sometimes lies are easier to stomach than the truth.

-WIPS-

Tangled Wires: Book 2 (Currently in Progress, 20k words)

*cackling*

Ethereal Mischief: Book one of the EM Trilogy (complete)

Summary: Okay, really. Who expects to be murdered on their birthday? Definitely not Althea; and especially not by a god straight out of mythology. Hades however, is real and hell bent on using Althea as a tool to fulfill his own desires. From her own identity to her mother’s death, Hades reveals that her entire life has been a carefully constructed lie. In a world where a broken promise can lead to a lifetime of debt, Althea must fight against those who seek to control her.

Divine Intervention: Book two of the EM Trilogy (also complete but first draft)

Summary: Dealing with the reality that mythology is NOT in fact myth was one thing. Dealing with the fact that her dead mother was NOT in fact dead- but a goddess, and very much alive was another. Now Althea has new problem. As real as the Greek God of pantheons has become, she is suddenly dragged into a deep feud between the Greek and Norse pantheon, when twin girls show up on her doorstep half dead and desperate to get home. Will Althea be able to help them? Or will helping them only push her further down the path to madness? 

Angels of Requiem (in progress, just a bby WIP)

;)

A World Apart (in progress) 

Summary: Ya Fantasy novel split between the lives of two young women in parallel dimensions (urban fantasy YA).

Legends of Taelaec (completed)

Summary: High fantasy story about young girls discovering who they truly are after the tragic and sudden death of their mother (high fantasy).

[threadfall]

Another fanzine from the collection!

Dragonfall (Fanlore article here), a collaborative fanzine published/distributed by Fort Weyr, written by Karen Rose Cencone, Julia Ecklar, Melissa Gelhaus Erin Kelly, D.M. Kosak, Wendy Kosok, and Diana Stein in 1990, with interior illustrations by Jennifer Crosby and cover illustration by Robin Wood.

During a foggy threadfall, the weyr suffers massive casualties which cause even more confusion and damage as falling dragons force the fighting formations to break apart. Thread falls unchecked, and dragons die.

As someone who got into the fandom around 2005, and forum fandom at that, I loved this fanzine because it really hammers home that current fandom is not reinventing the wheel with some things – lady brown riders (Brown rider T'leya of Brown Keeth), gold rider mistakes, and a focus on the crafters of the weyr abounds! The version of Pern I started learning from was almost a step back from this.

I've included a big chunk of illustrations under the cut, including the first page which has a very cute scene with two characters trying to figure out how to get a baby to nurse.

[deletreatualma]

Draco's steely orbs flicked from where they'd been scanning the horizon and landed on her. She felt the immediate urge to fall into defensiveness at the comment but stamped it down. She scanned Zoe's expression then matched it with little to no effort as she reached out to put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, "hey, I do want to be with you.." she said, voice softer than usual. Hand slid up to cup Zoe's face in an action that was all too familiar -- they've done this dance once or twice. "How can I fix this?" She was perhaps too well versed in deceit -- she can thank her father for that -- and there was apparent concern and sadness in her tone as she leaned closer to Zoe, thumb lightly sliding along the other's cheek.

CLOSED STARTER FOR @deletreatualma FT. ZOE & UTP!!

zoe stood in front of the other, feeling completely defeated about the direction in which their relationship was going. "i can't keep doing this," she breathed out, her hands coming up to rub over her face, "i mean, i just feel like i've spent our entire relationship begging for your attention. if you don't want to be with me, then just say that."

[deletreatualma]

Draco sighed, "how did you manage to forget a second suit?"

[lovingthebadguys]

11.11

Pins, needles, and busy fingers

A detailed thread work without a symbol

All my life I’ve spent spooling, winding

This red string tied to my pinky finger.

But what’s left is nothing but gathered lacework.

-d.m.

[botanyone]

The warmer your home the better you will germinate at higher temperatures

The warmer your home, the better you will germinate at higher temperatures https://ift.tt/6MuPg79 To understand the effects of climate change on plants, it is essential to know how they respond to environmental conditions that are different from today. An essential part of this process is to study the response of different populations of the same species, and thus assess what might make some more resilient. In a recent study, Laccetti and collaborators investigated the effect of different temperature regimes on the germination of different populations of Brassica incana, a typical species from Mediterranean cliffs. The researchers collected nearly 6,000 seeds from 14 populations across southern Italy and Sicily, each with different environmental conditions. They tested how well these seeds germinated at various temperatures, including warmer conditions than what they typically experience in nature. The team found that populations from warmer regions of Italy performed better at both very cold and very hot temperatures than those from cooler areas. This result suggests that plants currently experiencing higher temperatures may be better equipped to cope with future temperature extremes. This result shows that, even within the same species, there is significant variation in responses to temperature changes. Increased knowledge of such differences will help us better understand the effects of environmental changes on given plant species and how they will respond to future climate conditions. Laccetti, L., Cruz-Tejada, D.M., Mo, A., Carta, A., & Scopece, G. (2024). Among- and within-population variation in germination response shapes ecological resilience in the Mediterranean cliff species Brassica incana. Annals of Botany, mcae172. https://doi.org/10.1093/aob/mcae172 ($) Cross-posted to Bluesky, Mastodon & Threads. The post The warmer your home, the better you will germinate at higher temperatures appeared first on Botany One. via Botany One https://botany.one/ October 31, 2024 at 12:30PM

[timeandart]

A stitch in time

Artwork | David Medalla | Berlin | 1960s/2013

Medalla, D. (2013) A stitch in time [Participatory Art]. Available at: https://www.anothervacantspace.com/David-Medalla-A-Stitch-in-Time (Accessed: 8 October 2024).

Filipino artist David Medalla created his cosmic propulsion entitled 'A Stich in Time' in London, in 1968, during the 'Summer of Love'. He gave two of his ex-lovers a handkerchief each, a packet of needles and several spools of cotton thread when he met them at Heathrow airport. He told them they could stich anything they like - poems, names, messages, drawings, etc. - on the handkerchiefs. Many years later, at another airport, Schiphol in Amsterdam, David met a handsome young backpacker who carried on his back a totem-like pole of pieces of multi-coloured clothes stitched together, into which were attached various objects like old chinese coins, keys, empty cigarette packets, and dried flower leaves, barks and roots of tropical trees. When David asked the backpacker where he got the cloth totem-pole the latter replied someone gave it to him in Bali. The backpacker handed the cloth totem-pole to David to examine. When David lifted the cloth totem-pole he saw to his amazement that the bottom piece of cloth was one of the original handkerchiefs he gave to one of his lovers. David handed back the cloth totem-pole to the backpacker without telling him the fact that the handkerchief which David gave one of his lovers was the start of the cosmic propulsion and participatory artwork entitled 'A Stich in Time'. D.M Berlin April 2013

During the late 1960's and early 1970's Medalla made a series of 'participation works' where the audience was encouraged to be involved in the production of playful and experiential pieces which challenged the notions of creative heirarchy. 'A Stitch in Time' is about travel, time and chance, but it's also about production. Medalla described the piece as "participation-production-propulsion". It involves the audience sewing small objects of significance onto a large cloth in a public space, which requires a creative concentration and an engagement with the artwork. The pieces now exist as large, beautifully textured cloths but they are also a testament to all those who contributed to them, as well as the collaborative process through which they were created.

Temporal pedagogy

The artwork is created through participatory events and the objects are "propelled" forward as moments in time that have continuity.

An example of temporal suspension where the participant is brought back to the present moment, the indivudual creation and concentration of sewing and the object they have chosen that has significance to them. A slowing down, a practice of meditation in smallness whilst co-producing a large collaborative work.

"At the heart of all this was a belief that artworks had a duty to evolve slowly, in as many mediums and places as possible." (https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2021/jan/08/david-medalla-obituary)

In this sense, it also works to connect to others, other objects, at other times... past, present, future; relational co-presence of multiple times. As well as the interconnectedness of things, people, places.

"In this paranoid year of border restrictions and global distrust, Medalla’s utopian vision is a welcome homage to serendipity and interconnectedness." (https://www.wallpaper.com/art/a-stitch-in-time-david-medalla-embroiders-a-history-of-chance-encounters)

Justice

Not explicit, but an implicit sense of justice in terms of rights of production. Bringing production back into the hands of the many and in a collaborative non-hierarchical sense.

Further reading:

Artist:

Filipino artist David Medalla.

[linkwood]

Project 1: GodSpit - An Overview of Where We're At Now

GodSpit is the first and oldest idea I'm working on the plot for this NaNo. It's the only project I've already done substantial writing for, but I'm pretty unhappy with the direction the plot was taking, and wanting to rework it was kinda the impetus for this whole NaNo plotting work thing. It's also the project I'm the most casual about: it's 100% writing practice, verging on fanfic, and I don't expect to publish it. It's for fun. Like most of my creative ideas, GodSpit is stupidly derivative. It began with a sick thread on /tg/ (and then /qst/) called Totemist Quest, which began in 2011, authored by Diarca. The Totemist Quest world and magic system were extremely fun, but Diarca's posting was inconsistent and eventually stopped in 2019. Participating in those threads was a ton of fun (literally the only fun I ever had on 4chan), and I still check back every now and then to see if Diarca has posted again. If you're interested, you can read through all the old TQ threads here. GodSpit was my response to wanting more Totemist Quest. I loved the primary magic system, which involved "capturing" the spirits of monsters and adding them to weapons and armor to create wild effects, kind of like a fusion of Pokemon and Monster Hunter. I also loved the creative action, the diverse character cast, and Diarca's willingness to take things a little slow and explore both character and setting. I had other influences, too. D.M. Cornish's Monster Blood Tattoo books, Garth Nix's Seventh Tower, and the Monster Hunter video games being the biggest. There's bits and pieces of some Final Fantasys, some How To Train Your Dragon, a few Magic: The Gathering planes (mostly Kamigawa), and lightly seasoned with a touch of good old Naruto fanfic. One small note: I intentionally use some amalgams of real-world terms, languages, and religious symbols in this story mostly to translate style and intent. I never wish to cause offence or harm, so if that happens I want to know about it and change it. When I began writing GodSpit in 2019, it was with the idea of releasing it serially on Royal Road. So I researched what people said was succeeding on RR, and found a Reddit post of one author's advice. Their core message: don't take your foot off the gas. Break your story's neck. Go really fucking fast. So I tried to do that, I pantsed 9 chapters, ~12k words, looked back at it, and saw a jumbled mess. And now we're here. I even drafted up a ttrpg system for the setting and got a cover commissioned (the one at the top of this post, by the very cool and talented @lucyg_art on Instagram). I'll cover the current world and story of GodSpit in my next post, and then at some point soon I'll actually start re-plotting the whole fuckin thing out 😵‍💫

[inexorcble]

open to all

“Aliens? Of course I believe. I was an astronaut, remember?”

[p-redux]

I’m am very new to this whole blogging thing. Yours is the only one I am following, and I’ve made a few comments…Is there a way I can see the date/time you entered something ? Also why does it come up twice in a row in the thread

Hi and welcome! As for seeing the date, I think if you scroll up or down, the date is shown at the top or bottom. But it depends on what platform you're using to view my blog. If a post is coming up more than once, it's usually because I've reblogged it and added a comment or more information. You can see at the top of the post it will have the double moving arrow type sign, which means it's a reblog and p-redux to the right of it.

You sent me this to Ask Me anything, which is the way people send me questions for me to post publicly. If you want to send me a private message, you can do so via D.M. I'll send you a D.M. aka Direct Message, that way you know where to go for those.

I don't take any of this fandom stuff seriously, I try to have fun, stay positive as much as possible, and I don't tolerate any negativity toward Sam, Caitriona or their significant others. If you're cool with that, then this is the place for you.

Again, welcome aboard!

[deletreatualma]

open to all

Draco halted her step as their comment registered. She could feel her pulse quickening even before she fully turned around to face them. She tilted her head, expression remaining neutral, "say that again," she asked though the anger in her voice made it sound more like a challenge.