#< is gonna be my 19th century tag now

[silusvesuius]

my accumulated 19th century drawings; posting them before i forget they existed or stop liking them

[stackyshenanigans]

Aren't Draluc's suits like, canonically custom-tailored? Why tf does he wear sleeve garters when he's not cooking?

Just for the drama???

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 4

ANOTHER CHAPTER IN LESS THAN A WEEK. BRING ON THE GRINDDDDDD. I will warn that my motiviation for each of my fics comes in waves, so you'll probably get chapters in random chunks ngl. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Mentions of murder. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

PART 1: Chapter 4

Unconditional Violence.

Bambsquabbled (Definition): A 19th Century American slang word essentially meaning stupefied or confounded. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 18th December, 1929.

You had expected the additional Tuesday Mr LeBlanc had given you off to prepare yourself for the radio company to consist of you sleeping in until 11am. But dreams are short lived when you have an aunt who insists the ass-crack of dawn is prime time for everything.

You guessed it was fun to climb onto the roof of your relative’s vast home to collect the crystals you had both put out under the full moon, before the energy given to them was whisked away by the rays of the early golden hour. But when nerves settle in like the green spirals of nausea the night before, sleep takes the hand of another, leaving you to lay there with your over-active mind as it drags you through every possibility and event that could end up with you looking like an idiot in front of your new colleagues, or worse. Can’t think of much worse. But the universe will find a way.

It always does.

When Wednesday finally rolled around, it was barely 6am and you already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Your cousins had found you curled up on the bench swing, having dragged your duvet outside as you balled yourself up like a worm, sipping on the iced tea Agnes had bought you the day before in an attempt to settle your nerves. It did. A little.

And now here you were, the first half of your new workday having gone as smoothly as your awkward self could do.

Ethel, who’s desk was closest to yours, had dubbed you the quiet one after spending an hour running her mouth at you with barely a break for you to chime in. You had also already created quite a commotion on the third floor, a few people intrigued by the new ‘foreigner’. Well – as foreign as you can get when you’re from another English-speaking country, in the biggest cultural melting pot of a city had ever seen in your rural life. But they found you interesting enough.

The oddest thing you had experienced that day, however, was a strange request from your new boss – Mr Durham himself.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pull off a local accent?” he had asked when showing you the phone on your desk.

All you could do was blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to the phone. “Since you’re my assistant, you’re gonna be filtering through the calls I get before passing them onto me. Now, there might be an issue if someone calls expecting to hear me, but instead find themselves speaking to a British girl on the other end. Some can be impatient and might end up putting the phone down before you explain.”

Memories of that one very unpleasant phone call flooded your mind. “Even if I answer: ‘Hello W.A.D Radio, this is Mr Durham’s assistant speaking’??” you replied monotonously.

“You’d be surprised.” He sighed. “But do you know how to anyway?”

Frowning, you recalled your time in the cities further in the North. “I guess..? A girl I rented a room from in New York insisted on teaching me for when we went into town, but I struggle to see how it’s important?”

The man put his hands together, pointing them at you in a prayer motion. “Just.. try it out? Talk like your colleagues when you see them, to see if you can get a hang of it – I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Please?”

You gave him a wavering look, but sighed, finally giving in. “Fine, but they can’t make fun of me.”

He beamed, patting you on the back in satisfaction. “I’m sure they won’t! I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

And with that, you sat in your new chair, trying to pointedly ignore the sign at the other end of the room that pointed you to the fifth floor, and began your attempt to settle in.

--

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 8th January, 1930.

There wasn’t much to celebrate when the new decade rolled around. Gone were the so-called ‘Roaring Twenties’, when you would join your parents at the parties and balls they were invited to – when it was acceptable, of course; those higher up in the class hierarchy still grasped to the dwindling standard that children should be seen, not heard. The year you turned eighteen ended up being quite interesting, when the older women who had turned snooty at the sight of your teenage self wandering around their stately homes, tried to attempt a 180°, as they congratulated you reaching adulthood with strained smiles. But you paid them no mind, too busy staring at the paintings or statues that lined their corridors – a stark contrast to the more barren and plain wallpaper that coated the walls you grew up in.

But now that was far behind you, the English garden parties in the spring and summer that you adored so much were now a mere echo in the distances of your mind. The noises of tiny forks clinking on fine china as the little birds twittered in the trees now replaced by the sputtering and groaning of automobiles as you gripped the pole of the tram, your arms tight against your chest as you tried your best to not let the swaying of the vehicle toss you about into the crowd of packed bodies around you.

Making sure the scarf was tucked safely around your neck, you grasped the small briefcase in your hand – mentally preparing yourself for you first day back at the radio station after the new year. Unfortunately for Mr Durham, a small hurricane had passed over during the holiday, and radio stations across the city were temporarily silenced as their mechanics desperately attempted to repair the damaged towers. And also unfortunately for you, only the hosts were offered a couple days off as things got back up and running, though some still showed to prepare for their shows; you, on the other hand, were still expected to show up like any other day.

So here you were, pushing open the (now familiar) double doors, giving a small wave to the receptionist, who’s name turned out to be Diana, and the woman barely raised her hand in response as she continued to tiredly shift through the concerningly large stack of papers on her desk.

You were just about to climb the wide staircase when you heard her call your name (something you were very surprised she knew, considering her tendency to ‘accidentally’ throw paperwork in the bin on the daily), and your wedge heels clacked against the tile flooring as you stumbled slightly, turning to face her as her nasally voice echoed around the large lobby.

“It’s best you stay in the shadows today.” She warned cryptically. “Trouble’s in, and the mechanic’s not happy about the damages – Durham’s getting the brunt of it, but you’ll end up in the crossfire unless you hide out during breaktimes.”

All you could do for a moment was stand and stare, a million thoughts running through your mind. Mostly about who ‘Trouble’ was, and why Diana thought you couldn’t handle the guy and the other mechanic. You did handle the radio man at the repair shop after all, and speaking of the radio, you were quite proud to say you had finished the it in time for Christmas, and had shipped it off with a very passive-aggressive note that hinted for the man to basically never return. Luckily, Mr Boudreaux hadn’t replied to any of your letters since you had begrudgingly accepted the object, but you had suspected he had called the shop once or twice, and you had left Mr LeBlanc to deal with it, mostly because he was quite terrified you would call another customer every name under the sun the second they tried to give you trouble.

Glancing back and forth between Diana and the stairs, you mumbled a slow “Oookay…” before nodding your head and turning on your heel to hurry up the steps. Reaching the third floor, you didn’t stop in your path as you neared your desk, instead dropping your briefcase onto the wooden surface as you dashed by, striding towards the door that had the golden plaque engraved with ‘Mr B. Durham’ onto it. Grasping the handle, you turned the knob, swinging the door open, only to stop in your tracks as you were met with a very empty office.

You frowned. It must be really bad if your boss was no where to be seen. Whipping around, you scanned the main room for him, but only saw a few of your colleagues, the rest still yet to arrive – you were normally expected to be in early to handle Durham’s work as soon as he began.

Throwing your coat and scarf on your chair, you strode back towards the stairs, readjusting the suspenders of your wide-legged trousers as you practically jogged up the steps, and ended up rolling the sleeves of your loose blouse to your elbows as you tried to catch your breath.

On the fourth floor, you spent a couple minutes checking all of your boss’s usual haunts or hiding places, even going as far as interrogating a couple of the workers there for his whereabouts. It wasn’t until some blonde guy that came wandering down the steps from the fifth floor that you got your answer, the man looking up to take in your slightly dishevelled and feral appearance with wide eyes as he stammered out that he was in one of the radio booths. To his further horror, you patted him on the cheek with a thanks as you rounded him, ready to take another flight of stairs to reach your – apparently – floundering boss.

Ignoring the embarrassed sputtering of the man behind you, you eye the sign nailed to the wall, the painted hand pointing upwards with a very bold ‘FIFTH FLOOR’ next to it.

“Don’t go up there until I say you’re ready, okay?” Mr Durham’s words echoed through your mind.

Buuuuut, he did say he wanted to discuss the stuff you brought in your briefcase ASAP.

Yea that’ll be your excuse. You can deal with his complaining later.

Reaching your heel-clad foot out, you took the first step, almost like you were expecting an axe to come swing down and impale your forehead. But when nothing happened, you shrugged, and simply continued up.

Recalling the path your boss had taken you on during the initial tour, you managed to find the dreaded corridor that supposedly housed your greatest nightmare.

Extroverted people.

Yeesh.

At that thought, you did consider turning around, but your urge to drag your boss’s arse back downstairs drowned that thought out, and you carried on.

Surprisingly, it was quiet, but at the same time not so much when you remembered that most of them were plating their somewhat wealthy behinds on their armchairs at home as the rest tried to fix the issues of the storm.

Reaching one of the lit rooms, you heard raised voices.

“–really expect me to know? –” “– supposed to be on in an hour! How is that –”

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to try and witness the potential fiasco. And what a fiasco it was.

Wires, cables, and any other random parts that were used for radio technology were strewn across desks, tables and even the floor. Amongst these were two men, and there was only one you recognised.

Just like you had seen him every day for the past month, Mr Durham was stood in his washed-out blue suit and concerningly shiny shoes, and at this point one hand was on his hip, whilst the other rubbed tiredly at his face as whom you assume was the mechanic, was blabbering the poor man’s ear off as he ranted on and on about random parts and problems and he gestured frantically at said random parts and problems. Wait – nevermind, you recognised one and a half.

The man from across the street was here, with his back to you. Again. For fuck’s sake.

This time he was back in the seat you first saw him in, this time with a few strands of dark-brown hair out of place, curling slightly as if to rebel against the intense styling he had put it through. Peeking your head out slightly further, you managed to get a good look at him.

Well for one, he was a triangle. Stupidly broad shoulders that narrowed into a stupidly small waist (triangle), with lanky legs long enough that you could probably chop them off and fashion them into skis. Despite his face not revealed, you could see the semi-light tan on his hands, that were busy turning knobs and dials as he listened in to whatever was coming through the headphones on his head. He was dressed to impress, to say the least, in smart, dark-grey trousers, who’s ironed out edges looked as if they could slice through skin. His high collared cream shirt was tucked away under a relatively tight looking reddish-tan waistcoat, and to top it all off, you could see the back of the black ribbon that was most likely tied in a stupidly even bow.

You didn’t want this guy to sense your staring, so you opted to look back at the other two men who were still chuntering on about god knows what. Stepping into the light that flooded through the glass, you wave slightly to try and get your boss’s attention. A couple seconds passed, and you watched as the mechanic kept glancing at you and Mr Durham, until eventually he nudged the other man on the shoulder, pointing you out.

Turning his head, Mr Durham’s eyes met with yours, and you raised your hand with a questionable thumbs up to see if all was good, only to watch in slight confusion as his eyes widened, and he whipped his head rapidly between you and the faceless man sat at his desk, before marching over to the door and pulling it open a crack, sticking his head out.

“Hey uh,” he half-whispered, surprisingly nervous at your presence. “what’re you doing here?”

You lowered your voice to match his. “You said to come find you as soon as possible this morning, you know, to go over those statistics from that other station?”

Realisation dawned on the man’s face, and he reached up to drag his hand down the side of it. “Shit I forgot,” he cursed, and glanced over his shoulder before facing you again. “I’ll – uh… I’ll be down as soon as I get this sorted. Marty’s givin’ me a run for his money right now and the second Al takes his headphones off I’m gonna feel like I’m entering an early grave.”

Surprised, you eyed the man sat at the desk, who looked far too calm to be threatening anyone right now. “Ok… I guess it can wait. I’ll bring you some coffee up!” you chirped, and Durham went to call out that it wasn’t necessary, but faltered with a frown as he realised you were already halfway down the corridor.

--

Balancing the tray of cups and steaming jug the best you could, you reached the final step, retracing your route to the radio booth that your boss was probably getting murdered in. Walking up, you waited patiently until Mr Durham noticed you, and watched as he reluctantly trudged over to open the door.

Taking your first step in, you were hit with the very potent smell of strong black coffee, as if someone had some brewing every day, and you figured you had made the right call of fetching the same beverage as you placed the tray down on one of the tables.

The mechanic was still going off on one, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as you slowly began pouring the coffee into the cups, listening to the greasy-looking man speak.

“– there’s literally no reason that I can find that’s causing the local outage!” he spouted at your frowning boss. “The boys have already fixed the aerial, and David’s currently on-air and that’s working perfectly fine, so it has to be something in this room!”

During the man’s tirade, you noticed the rustling of papers, and looked over to see the faceless man again, still at his desk, but his hands were fiddling with no purpose, and his head was turned to the left slightly, showing his high cheekbone and the edge of his thin circular glasses.

Looked like someone else was listening in too.

Biting your smile down, you turned back towards the cups in your hand, only to have a glint of light pierce the corner of your eye, and you looked in the opposite direction to a large wooden box, with one of the panels removed, displaying the endless wires and springs that coiled and wound in every direction. But you weren’t looking at that, you were instead looking at the screwdriver that was very prominently glinting in the shine of the ceiling light. This must be the painstakingly obvious problem that the mechanic had painstakingly missed.

Giving a quick glance over at the men, you waited until they faced away, scrapping about the wire pile on the floor, and you reached for the wooden teaspoon on your tray, and inched towards the box. Knowing wood doesn’t normally conduct electricity, you raised your hand, testing it anyway against the hanging wires to see if they were live. Seemingly not, you stuck your hand further in, and began nudging at the tool, slowly loosening the wires around it as you dragged it along the bottom of the box.

When they had deemed your silence as suspicious, the mechanic and Durham turned round, only to see you elbow deep in some very expensive equipment.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” the mechanic cried as he rushed over. “The hell are you doin’??”

Instead of jerking your arm back out and apologising to the man who was slowly turning purple, you gave the screwdriver one last flick, and the three of you watched as it dropped over the edge and fell to the floor with a clatter. Moments of silence passed as you all stared at it, until you decided to explain.

“It was tangled in the wires, which would’ve prevented the electricity flow,” you said plainly. “Plus, if you had tried to power it all up, it could’ve set the place on fire.”

All the mechanic could do was stare down at the tool, but Mr Durham had decided to approach, and bent down to pick up the tool.

“Nice one.” He complimented, turning the object in his hands. Though the warm smile he had put on for you quickly vanished, as his eyes set upon the name engraved on the wooden handle. He pointed at it. “This has your name on it Marty.” He said lowly, his blue eyes turning dark as he regarded the paling man with a look of thunder.

Seeing the outcome, you gestured nervously to the beverages on the table. “Coffee’s there, Mr Durham, I’ll see you downstairs.”

Just as you walked around him, he called your name. “Take ten minutes to yourself and grab some tea, whilst I deal with Marty here.”

Nodding, you curtly took your leave, swinging the door open as you power-walked out, failing to see the sharp pair of eyes following you from where they were sat at the desk.

--

You found the break room housed several curiosities that you were yet to explore in America. Apart from the atrocious fact that the tea station lacked the Yorkshire brand, you found yourself poking at what they called a teabag. Yes, surprise, surprise, the Americans invented something tea related before England or even China did, but you had to admit it was rather useful in helping you not gag at the slimy tea leaves that sat at the bottom of most of your beloved brews.

With the table to your right, you leant your hip against it, your back against the door as you rather noisily mixed the spoon around your large mug, making sure the sugar was dissolved properly before you went to strain the teabag. Lifting it carefully out of the boiling water, you gingerly held your other hand out below it to catch any stray drips from hitting the floor, scanning the room in front of you for a bin that you could chuck it into.

What you foolishly had failed to do however, was hear the footsteps that grew in volume from behind, and you hadn’t realised anything until a very uncomfortable prickle hit the side of your neck, as a very unwanted presence loomed over you. Though, that didn’t last long, as the presence decided to deafen you instead.

“So YOU’RE the new assistant!”

A banshee screech raised from your throat, the teabag flying through the air and onto the floor by your feet as you basically jumped three feet up. Instinctively, however, you didn’t realise what was happening until one elbow flew upwards, slamming into the nose of the man behind you, the other flying round to collide with his ribs. Teaspoon armed in hand, you spun around to face your assailant, only to step on the soggy teabag that was still on the floor, and you cried out again as you slipped and slammed into a very firm chest. Eyes screwed shut, you felt the two of you fall, though quickly broken by the table behind you.

Relieved that you were no longer falling, you swiftly blinked your eyes open, your dark brown ones meeting a pair of equally matching brown. Moments passed as you took in the scene in front of you, and you realised you finally had a face to put to the lanky man from earlier.

Said man was groaning as he rubbed at his nose, his lips twisted into a grimace as he checked for blood. What you noticed however, was the several poignant glances the man took to your right, and you followed, only to see you hand raised, teaspoon in hand, pointing down at him as if you had a machete, ready to stab the lights out of him.

A small gasp left your throat at the realisation, and you quickly pushed yourself off, pointedly ignoring the grunt the man let out as you knocked at his ribs. Taking several steps back, you distanced yourself from him. He had gotten close before, he wasn’t about to do so again.

You watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, using the table as a support as he stood. To a disturbingly tall height might you add. Looks like you did just reach his nose after all.

“I’m uh,” you started as you eyed him, teaspoon machete still in hand, strangely, you instinctively used the southern accent you learnt – it was the one you used with strangers. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to sneak up on me like that.” Reaching over, you snatched up a napkin, offering it to him. “Y’haven’t got anything…?”

Dark eyes flitting between you and the outstretched napkin offering, you watched as something seemed to switch in his demeanour, and a natural smile fell across his tan face as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s quite alright.” He assured, and you blinked at his prominent transatlantic accent. “I figured that wasn’t the best way to say hello to a stranger!” he laughed as he smoothed down his crumpled waistcoat. Reaching his lanky arm out whilst tucking the other behind him, he offered his hand out in greeting. “The name’s Alastor, my dear. And who do I have the most entertaining pleasure to be speaking to?”

You stared at his hand, then flicked your eyes up to him, scanning his grinning face with vigour.

Where, oh where, had you heard that voice before?

Your silence seemed to confuse this Alastor guy, however, and his eyes darted around in confusion as you continued to stare. From what you could see, he had come to a very wrong conclusion about your silence, and leaned over at you slightly, bringing his face level with yours.

“Cat got your tongue, my darling?” His growing cheshire grin reminding you of two very similar people. “You clearly must find me that dashing if your this speechless, haha!” he chortled, the condescension rolling off him in waves.

Oh, you knew exactly where this guy was from.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinised him as you quietly muttered out a single word.

“Boudreaux.”

Alastor blinked, eyes darting around your face, before raising a hand to cup at his ear. “I hate to say but I didn’t quite catch that!” he exclaimed rather loudly.

You felt your brows begin to furrow, so you raise your voice slightly. “I said, Boudreaux.”

Oh you did it now. Sparkles seemed to glitter behind his chocolate eyes as he perked up with glee, straightening up to his full height. “So you do know me after all! I was starting to think you simply had nothing going on in that head of yours!”  he simpered as he tilted his head to look down at you.

Despite his clear mocking, you remained quiet for a moment longer, until you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“…You work in a radio station.” You stated flatly.

Alastor looked around, acting as if he had just realised as such. “Yes I am quite aware!” he affirmed in an obvious tone. “Did you want an award for that observation?”

You had to refrain from gaping at this man’s audacity. “… Couldn’t you have just fixed it yourself?”

The man blinked at you. “Fixed what now?”

Oh, this was it. Stepping forward, you didn’t stop until you face was a hand-lengths away from his, and you watched with satisfaction as he shifted at your invasion of his space – talk about a hypocrite as someone who clearly loved to invade the space of others. Staring at the man dead in the eye, you fully dropped the southern accent, your Yorkshire one coming back through full force.

“Your mum’s radio.” You stated simply, raising your brows to regard him with a condescending look that matched his.

You had expected him to brush it off, laughing when he realised who you were. What you hadn’t expected for his pupils to blow wide, his eyes darkening as they narrowed, scrutinising your gaze with his own, and you suddenly felt a little uneasy.

“Oh,” he said lowly. “It’s you.”

Keeping your gaze levelled, you gripped the spoon harder in your hands. That is, until your name was called.

The two of you straightened up, you leaning to look around Alastor as he spun on the spot, the both of you facing Mr Durham, who was looking between the two of you rather nervously. He called your name again.

“C’mon.” he said, refusing to take his eyes off Alastor. “Let’s go over those papers you brought.”

Without a second thought, you darted for your mug of tea, grabbing it along with an almost empty bottle of milk to put in it as you strode around Alastor, feeling the hand of your boss as he put his arm around your shoulder as he quickly led you away, and the back of your head prickled, definitely feeling the sharp eyes on your retreating back this time around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALASTOR'S HERE RAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Watch me disappear from the face of the earth for a week cuz of my executive dysfunction lmao (Blame my adhd not me she's a seperate entity at this point.)

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, see you soon for Chapter 5!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

< Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 >

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[allwaswell16]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

Thanks for tagging me @kingsofeverything !

1. List of works published this year:

Netflix Original

A Deal

Do You See What I See 

Bitter Ends Turn Sweet (series)

All This Time

On That Note

Ace of Hearts

Crush

Daydream

One

Heart Beat 

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Probably Bitter Ends Turn Sweet. First of all, just knowing there was a song called Chicago on FITF had me shook. Then, the first time I heard it, it was just such a fanfic that the whole story was just right there in my head as soon as the song was over. And I was like...nah. I'm not gonna write a long kid fic, right? RIGHT?? I've written angst before, but writing about a child made me emotional in a way I've never felt while writing in part because I was writing a disabled child. And for that matter I wrote a trans character into this fic as well. But I wanted to write this in a way that made it clear how deeply loved and celebrated these characters were to their families and the people around them. Maybe I made their characters have it unrealistically easy, but it's what I wanted for them just as I want that for my disabled and trans family and friends in real life.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I wouldn't say I'm not proud of any of them, but the time stamps I wrote for Bitter Ends are just things that didn't fit into the main story. And I feel like there's a reason they didn't, if that makes sense. But I thought it might be fun for anyone who liked the fic to read those bits of it, which is why I published them at all.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

oof I can never find anything. Here's something from Bitter Ends:

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. Gem said it was okay to make mistakes like dancing with the wrong guys.”

Louis nodded, considering. “How about dancing with the right guy?”

Harry’s heart pounded harder, and he wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the dancing. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about that.”

He’d now lost Liam amidst the dancers, but it was hard to concentrate on that with Louis this close. Louis’ hand splayed out across his back, keeping him close as the beat slowed. 

They’d both dressed in black. And although Harry’s shirt was filmy with a bit of lace and Louis’ a t-shirt sheer enough to see his tattoos through, they were near enough to one another that Harry couldn’t tell where one fabric ended and another began.

Perhaps he could blame muscle memory on why he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Louis’ shoulders, close enough now to feel Louis’ breath at his neck, cooling his heated skin just there as desire zipped down his spine. 

The bit of scruff still on Louis’ cheeks slid against the bare skin of Harry’s shoulder peeking through where his shirt had slipped down, and Harry was thankful for the volume of the bar blocking out the sound of his moan. The whirl of lights danced across his vision, caught up in this moment with Louis.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

There's this one for Bitter Ends: What a gift!!! What a wonderful, sweet, tear inducing gift of fabulous writing! Every word, every sentence of story building was exquisite. I could do nothing else but read this from start to finish and will reread it again and again. Max was an inspired character, so real and so loved. Thank you for this.

And this one for Ace of Hearts: I had no idea I loved early 19th century pirate stories as much as I do now. I couldn’t leave a comment until I finished reading all the parts. I don’t remember when I started but I did forgot to eat for awhile. I haven’t read a story with so many twists and well written.

And basically every single one for Do You See What I See because they're all the same thing...people yelling at me when they find out the twist hahahaha

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

No one come for me, but I wouldn't say there's ever a time where it's really hard to do. BUT sometimes it's really hard for me to make time for it.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I spent YEARS trying to come up with a plot for a Louis/Cillian Murphy fic. Nothing felt right. And then it somehow occurred to me that what I really wanted to write was Louis/Tommy Shelby and once I figured that out the story immediately came to me.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I always like to try my hand at new things, so this year I wrote girl direction for the first time, some new rare pairs, I wrote an advent fic, both my longer fics are kid fics, which is wild to me lol.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

Whoops. Had to come back and add this in. I just hope to find more time to write and keep finding more challenges for myself.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

If you looked through my author's notes this year, you'd definitely notice how often I thanked @nouies I couldn't have done half of what I did this year without Lou. Her encouragement and making fic posts and reading things over for me helped me enormously. To have someone supporting and keeping me going was just everything. And always @louandhazaf for betaing my fics and always being excited to read whatever new thing I've come up with to write! Thank you x a million, Nic!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

lol yes. hmmm where to start...Bitter Ends has a lot of my son and the things my family likes to do in Chicago in it. Do You See What I See is based on a FB ad I saw that I found hysterically funny and also based on the animals that run around in the wooded ravine behind my house. Daydream takes place in a coffee shop that I like to go to. And Heart Beat takes place in a fictional version of my hometown, has a fictional version of my cat in it, and has a plot inspired by me spending a lot of time in a converted cathedral listening to my son play the drums.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

I think I say the same thing every year...READ!!! It's important of course to make time for the actual writing. And writing as much as possible if your goal is to become better at it, but analyzing other people's writing is how a lot of people grow as a writer. What is it about your favorite novels/fics that you love? Read or reread them with a critical eye at what exactly the writer is doing so you can try it out in your own writing.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I (think??? lol) I'm only signed up to write for @1dalphalouisfest but I'll probably sign up for @1domegaverseficfest too. And obviously I'll write for my own fest @louisrarepairfest I have this soulmates fic that I've been simmering in my brain for a while and I just recently started to figure a few things out for it. So it may or may not fit into one of those fests.

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)

@jacaranda-bloom @nouies @lululawrence and anyone else who wants to do this just say I tagged you!

*All answers should be about works published in 2023

Past years: 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020 , 2021 , 2022

[cinnamonspicewritingroom]

More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description:

A hardcore Bridgerton fan, Davika bit the dust in 2021 during a wild protest against Thailand's king on the way home. But instead of the pearly gates, she woke up in the 19th century, suddenly the offspring of Siam's 2nd king and some British lady of mystery descent. Armed with her modern know-how, her main goal is to stack up that cash and upgrade Siam for some chill vibes to avoid being sold off in some arranged marriage mess. But who knew she'd find herself smack in the middle of her beloved Bridgerton drama series? Talk about a plot twist! How's she gonna handle this? Amelia better watch out not to change the story—or is it too late?

Meanwhile, the Brits are buzzing about their new royal guest just in time for the 1813 debutante ball. Princess Amelia of Siam has rolled in as the fresh Ambassador of Siam. With Daphne and Prince Friedrich's courtship hitting the skids, nobody expected him to stick around London, but Friedrich's not one to skedaddle with his tail between his legs. Homeboy's on a mission to snag a wifey and he's not backing down. Friedrich's never been one to back down, but when it comes to Amelia, he's all cold feet. Folks say Amelia's a brainiac, but love? That's a whole different ball game. Those butterflies in her stomach? Yeah, she ain’t got a clue what to do with 'em.

Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 2. Princes and a Princess

Calm down, Davika—No, Apsara. Davika is dead; now she is Somdet Chao Fa Apsara Chaiya Kanika, and she fought for her title. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. You learned this in your overpriced yoga class before you bit the dust and got transported into the middle of the fucking Bridgerton series. 

Focus on the present—right now she is having tea with Golda Rosheuvel—Queen Charlotte, the lineup of princes who are yet to marry, and the current Prince Regent, Prince George IV.

“Lady Amelia, I heard that you are a driving force in the Siamese court,” Prince George IV looked at the Siamese Ambassador. He did not know what he expected, but not a petite-looking teenager; she is not even a woman yet. To believe that she has been advising the Crown Prince and King in the Siamese court was truthfully hard.

“Surely you jest, your highness. I am not much of a driving force as you implied. My achievements are minuscule compared to the King and Crown Prince. I merely stated my opinions on several topics. They are generous enough to listen to my chatter,” Amelia politely responded.

“Starting very young, at the age of 13 years old, I heard you had helped the Crown Prince, Prince Rama III, to establish education for girls by creating a law in which every citizen, man or woman alike, had the fundamental rights to education.” Several of the princes chatted with one another; one of them stated how women's education is useless and how their position is to stay at home with the children. Girl—wait till you hear about the 21st century; women can vote and work.

“And pray tell, why did you think education for women is useless, Prince Frederick?” This put the spotlight on Prince Frederick, who was talking to Prince Augustus. The Queen eyed him sharply; Frederick knew he had to thread this carefully, especially since he was in the presence of the Ambassador of Siam; they could potentially pull all rights for trading and business in their land. They cannot afford that right now, not while they are still at war with Napoleon.

“I think women are gentle creatures who need to be loved. Rather than dealing with harsh politics and boring numbers, they should be surrounded by beautiful things. Music, poetry, paintings. Do you not agree, Lady Amelia?” He looked so proud of his words; Amelia wanted to gag at his face, but instead she chuckled and slightly shook her head.

“May I ask you a question?” Still glowing in pride, he only answered with a gesture, which probably meant ‘go ahead.’ “When you were still a child, which parent did you see more? Your father or your mother?” Several of the princes glanced at their mother, including Prince Frederick. The Queen gestured to him to answer Amelia’s question.

“As my father was busy with work, naturally I saw my mother more than him.” Amelia nodded. “And which parent oversees your education? The one who consulted with the governor, asked you about your progress?” Prince Frederick paused before answering, “My mother, of course. Is it not natural that children will spend more time with their mother? After all, fathers are usually busy and away often.” Amelia smiled subtly.

“Absolutely, mothers are the ones who spend more time with their children compared to their father—” “And as they are at home, why would women burden themselves with education? They should focus on raising the children and make sure they are raised properly.” Amelia stared at the prince for several seconds before she picked up her tea to take a sip.

“Queen Charlotte,” Amelia changed her tactics and turned towards the Queen, who was staring at her with interest. “I heard you were originally from Germany?” The Queen blinked and frowned a bit; she was a bit disappointed that the Siamese Ambassador backed down from the debate against her son. Maybe she is not as brilliant as rumoured.

“Why, yes, I came from the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, located in Northern Germany. You should come visit; it is a very beautiful place.” Smiling, The Queen had a look of longing and pride for her country. Amelia nodded. “I will inform the King; maybe he will consider visiting Northern Germany for his annual honeymoon destination.” The Queen nodded with a smile and proceeded to pick up her tea. She was quite pleased with that answer. 

“Your Majesty, I am quite curious about the subject of education for European noblewomen. If education is limited to males, what subjects are allowed for noblewomen to learn?” So Lady Amelia did not back down; the Queen smiled behind her cup.

“Noblewomen are taught how to read and write; they learn about cultures, music, art, and literature. However, as the Queen of England, I need to understand the history of the country and calculations.” How will the Ambassador answer her son after she gives her ammunition?

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does your education experience help you manoeuvre your children’s education? Such as, have you ever consulted subjects you deemed more necessary for the princesses and princes with their governor and governess?” Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia eyed Prince Frederick. He was still looking as smug as ever with his lukewarm answer.

“Lady Amelia, my children are the future of the country. My job is to make sure they receive the best education possible, so of course I would need to consult with the governor. God knows how many times I consulted them, and even more often for me to help them learn and understand what they were learning about.” The whole time Amelia was looking at Prince Frederick. “And you raised them beautifully, Your Majesty. They could not be like this without you.” Amelia sweetly smiled at the Queen before fully turning around to face Prince Frederick.

“You see, Prince Frederick. We have established that mothers spend more time with their children, more than their father. Mothers are the ones who oversee their children’s education, but more than that, they are also their first educators.” She needed that. The pettiness to emphasise that word.

“If the mother has no solid education, then it is easy for the children’s education to go astray. It was fortunate that you were born royal with a mother who had received proper education in her early years. Your mother was able not only to consult with the governor and governess but also helped with your learning process. Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough.” Amelia knows she has won the argument with these facts; she just… wanted him to burn a bit more.

“Prince George.” The said Prince perked up. “From what I remembered during the introduction, you are the Prince Regent, correct?” “Yes, you are right.” He confirmed as Amelia gave him a strained smile.

“I must confess, I am never one to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t know how you run your country, but I know the Siam I envision it to be.” Amelia sighed, her thumb tracing the edge of the saucer.

“We want to establish peace in the country, and we want equality for everyone. That is impossible without having the citizens educated. Women included because women count.” Her light brown eyes met Prince George’s dark ones. He can see it now; this is Lady Amelia, who rose in the Siamese court in a mere three years before starting her role as an Ambassador.

“Because women are a part of our people. The law is not only to give them a chance to do what they want but also to protect the women from getting blamed for their children’s education.” Amelia may sound cocky about this matter. She was aware that this could potentially insult the Queen and the Princes, but since they laid the stage themselves, might as well show them why Siam is not a country to be messed with, why they are a progressive country.

“We need to educate the children and citizens; therefore, they have the ability to process and filter liable information in order to create a strong and united Siam. That is my opinion about why it is necessary to establish the law of education.” As she concluded her discussion, Amelia could see the sour faces of the princes.

Queen Charlotte should be angry at the Ambassador for embarrassing her sons, but Lady Amelia was correct. It was an impressive debate; instead of debating Frederick on what-ifs, Lady Amelia used her, his mother, as an example.

“Now that it’s done, come with me, Lady Amelia. I would love to show you my peacock collection.” Queen Charlotte stood up, followed by Amelia as they exited the room. The princes who were left in the room stared at the two retreating figures before the footman closed the doors.

“What a petty woman. She strung mother along in order to win the argument,” Prince Frederick huffed in distaste as he stared at the closed doors.

“Please, Frederick, you are just angry you lost,” Edward chuckled as he picked up a scone. “I think she is interesting,” he continued while spreading jam before taking a bite of the scone.

“She’s far too young for you, Edward. If you try anything, it will cause a strain in our relationship with Siam,” George said as he picked up two sugar cubes, dropping them into his tea.

***

For almost an hour, Queen Charlotte showed Amelia her colourful peacock collection, which is truly fascinating, as Amelia even got the chance to hand-feed one of the birds under the keeper’s watch, despite Queen Charlotte’s hesitation. Queen Charlotte and Amelia discussed many things: their differences in art and cultures, sports played in each country, fashion, even education. The Queen was so fascinated by Amelia’s decree to make it mandatory for girls to also get education that she questioned the education system in Siam. Amelia really likes talking to Queen Charlotte; she is curious and genuinely interested in her opinions and beliefs, which became her drive to make Siam a better country for the people. Yes, the Queen might be a strict person, but she is someone who is.

“Before I leave, can I ask you something, Your Majesty?” Amelia asked as they ventured into the garden. The Queen glanced at the young lady next to her. “Why of course, ask away, my dear.” Amelia braced herself to spit out the question. “Could you please tell me where the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh live currently?” Out of all the questions the Ambassador could have asked, Charlotte never thought it would be that one. “The— Why?” Compared to debating with one of the princes, the Ambassador looked way more scared asking that question.

“I have a letter I need to deliver. It was a personal request from the King.” Queen Charlotte raised a brow. Her brother-in-law and his wife, Abigail of Gloucester nee. Bridgerton, received a letter from the Siamese Royal family? Amelia caught her expression and quickly explained.

“His Majesty, the King… I heard that he was one of the students of the Siam’s Ambassador to London at the time…” Amelia explained slowly. “Perhaps His Majesty has made some sort of relationship with the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh during his time here…” The Queen nodded, acknowledging the possibility.

“Alright, I will make sure the letter will reach the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. Do you have the letter with you?” Amelia's eyes met the Queen in surprise and nodded her head. “I have it with Lynn, my secretary.” Amelia turned towards Lynn and signalled her to come to her.

“Your Majesty, Milady—” Lynn greeted before continuing with her question. “Anything I could possibly help you with?” Amelia nodded. “Do you bring the letter from His Majesty the King to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh?” Lynn nodded and reached for the handbag she was carrying and took out a leather pouch embossed with the emblem of the Rattanakosin Kingdom.

Amelia grabbed it, and passed it to Queen Charlotte, but was received by her secretary- Brimsley. “Brimsley, quickly send it to Prince William.” Brimsley silently bowed, and exited the room. 

“Your Majesty, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for your generosity to help me.” Amelia sincerely bowed to the Queen for the help she provided. The Queen merely smiles her way, being sincerely appreciated for her generosity is quite rare these days. The last person who often appreciates her, willing to spend lots of time with her, and someone she genuinely enjoys spending her time with, was her nephew, Princess Felicia of Gloucester, only child and daughter to Prince William Henry and Lady Abigail Bridgerton. Sadly she ran away 23 years ago. The Queen sighed, and focused on the present once more. 

“It is alright, dear. However, if you really want to thank me, maybe you can come visit me for tea sometimes.” Amelia gave her a huge smile and nodded. Queen Charlotte was always one of her favourite characters in the Bridgerton series, and despite being a devoted wife and mother, she has quite a tragic background due to the pressure of being a wife, a Queen and a mother.

“Your Majesty, I must thank you for the tour and the delightful afternoon tea. It was refreshingly different from what we have in Siam.” Amelia paused, wondering if she’s allowed to say this. “Queen Charlotte, I must say that I admire you. Not only as a Queen, but also as a mother who is able to raise not only one, but 15 children. I hope your children share the same sentiments.” Amelia gave her a sincere smile and curtsy before walking out.

Words: 2293 words

Edited: 02/04/2024

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

[raayllum]

not really appreciating or understanding still the whole purity culture accusation for pointing out that people are well in their right to find a unhealthy power dynamic ship between Aaravos and a 19 yr old more uncomfortable than Aaravos and a middle aged guy well into adulthood - this isn't purity culture, this is, like, a really normal perspective and perfectly fine for the fanbase of primarily young people (if not children) to have, I don't understand what's worth getting upset about, is this just rehashed proship discourse or what

and I don't think you're really in the mindset to be having this discussion, considering I've said your main point of contention - that it is understandable and ofc absolutely allowed for the age gap to be what people find off putting about Claudia and Aaravos - over and over again:

like to be clear whatever makes you uncomfortable makes you uncomfortable, nothing wrong with that, block tags/people and curate your experience all you want

and I'm gonna be honest with you, on tumblr? TDP is an extremely adult heavy fandom. To the point that when I first joined the fandom back in 2018, I was one of the youngest, and still am, even in my early 20s now. And tumblr is a 17+ age site anyway, so young children shouldn't even be on here (and if they are, they had to sign a button saying they were older, and it's on them and their parents to figure out how to curate their online experience, soo).

So let me reiterate:

People are allowed to be squicked out by Claudia and Aaravos' age gap. But to act like there's a moral slant to it - Viren/Aaravos being better/fine/less morally problematic - is a facet of purity culture and culturally Christian attitudes towards sex. The issue isn't the discomfort, that's something that's often very personal and subjective, the issue is the moralization of that discomfort. Which, as a queer person, is very very similar to how discomfort and morality are utilized and weaponized against queer people and 'taboo' literature in general. Which again, as someone with a degree in English who also teaches the humanities for a living, is something I'm acutely familiar with.

"We have to be careful about what we portray in art because impressionable people may get confused between art and reality" is not a new take. It's the backbone of Plato's The Republic. It's what essays were written in opposition of in the 1600s. It's what 19th century British grammarians were concerned with when codifying 'proper' English down into the first real dictionaries. It's the same mindset curbing portrayals of LGBTQ+ people in media today, because when you moralize certain things, you put up emotional barriers than get in the way of actually dismantling the thing you're talking about in the first place. It's all the same shit. It's all the same moralized thought crime. And to say you should never question WHY something is uncomfortable is a surefire way to never question any bias you may or may not have - because biases aren't always bad, but they should absolutely always be examined so you can see where it's coming from. Yours and others personal discomfort is not a Standard, the same way what I'm personally comfortable with or discomforted by is not a Standard, but I'm not acting like mine is, and you are

'Rehashed proship discourse' is what helped cultivate the environment that led to a massive wave of harassment of the aro and ace communities online from 2013ish to 2017ish (which I saw first hand). It's also what led to me, a 16 year old, being harassed by grown adults and called a pedophile somewhat regularly for what cartoon characters I wanted to kiss, because I had the same opinions on not moralizing what people do in fandom as I did at thirteen, and as I do now.

If you look at any ship or dynamic with a large age gap and write it off solely because of the age gap, you're not engaging in critical thinking. It's a "you don't need to know why this thing is bad, you just need to know it has a label of Bad". It's as simple as that, and that's precisely the problem.

If you want to do more reading and to expand your horizons on the subjects I'm talking about (literary analysis, societal purity culture, upacking biases, etc.) I suggest this tag on my main blog, and feel free to come back and discuss. If not, have a good day, but I don't feel like continuing this conversation any further, simply because unsurprisingly, it seems that critical thinking is something you are struggling to apply, and I don't think we're going to get very far without it.

[cee-grice]

Hello! I'm getting caught up on all your amazing asks here... But here's my pre-emptive Ask for Storytelling Saturday for next week:

Describe your WIP in bullet points so my ADHD brain gets it quickly!

hey hey Belle!! oh man, I also have to clean out my inbox, it's getting a bit embarrassing haha... I know you said this is a pre-emptive STS ask, but!.. I saw it and got excited lol, so you're getting it answered Now

so! my current WIP, When White Crows Cry, described in bullet points:

(this is gonna be long)

it's a science fantasy?? only instead of robots and space we have chemistry and pathology lol

also dark academia vibes

set in a secondary world reminiscent of 19th century-esque europe, only with modern advancements in science

the magic system is science-based - essentially, if you wanna manipulate the fabric of reality, you gotta. understand said fabric of reality

so, to cast a believable illusion you need to perfectly understand color and light and depth and all that (so you gotta be a kickass realism artist lol)

or, to change a glass ball into a gold one, you gotta understand the molecular composition of each material and know how to manipulate it so it would change forms

there's one tiny teensy issue with magic, though - it is a limited resource ahaha

ANYWAY that's the gist of it

main character - Quil, an exceptional transmutation mage who got exiled some years ago for performing human transmutation (very bad very taboo)

(he, of course, continues doing human transmutation)

(despite the Trauma)

the second most important character - Endra, who has this nasty magical parasite slowly eating away at his body and mind, and his only hope at a cure is... human transmutation

you can see where this is going

anyway so that's the Past timeline - Quil trying to figure out what's going on with Endra's body and finding a way to fix it

(this is also the Romance timeline lol)

we also have the Present timeline

and that starts with Quil getting revived a year after his death in the country he'd gotten exiled from

:0!

(that's literally the first chapter so it's not a spoiler lol)

anyway he gets offered a Deal - help his ex-mentor with her project that could potentially save magic, and in exchange he'd get amnesty

the issue? he really, really hates his ex-mentor

and he would have really, really preferred to stay dead

this whole magic dying thing is Not his problem, either lol

counter issue? the project concerns the same magic parasite that Endra had (has?), so it could put him in danger, and Quil quite literally would die again before he let that happen, so.

he agrees

(so that he could sabotage it lol)

but also! Quil doesn't know what happened with Endra post his death, so that's something he works on figuring out as well

(he gets far more questions than answers. where IS this guy)

anywayyy that's the gist of the story

now for the lightning round

this would be for you if any of this intrigues you:

highly questionable academic and medical ethics

characters forsaking morality to get what they want and losing sight of what truly matters

So Much Interpersonal Drama

no physical fights - a Lot of verbal fights

dealing with the horrors of resurrection

dealing with the horrors of facing your loved ones after they'd mourned you for a year

a cast of eccentric scientists

an obsessive, codependent queer romance between people who don't know how the other looks like

a lot of fucked up queer characters in general

an incredibly spiteful trans protagonist who just wants to be left the fuck alone but everyone insists on dragging him into their shit, so instead he's gonna Make them leave him alone

everyone wanting you to live apart from You

magic biology! magic chemistry! magic science! nerd shit!

anyway oof idk if this helps but omggg is it hard to explain a fantasy story quickly ahaha....

(this is the general tag for this wip so u can check out more stuff about it that's explained in a more cohesive manner lol)

[astralari]

continued from here.

i know i’m not the one tagged but i wanted to throw my two cents into the ring, bc the fallen london hyperfixation train has left the station and will Not Stop, so buckle up @iamthepulta @irrigos

this is gonna be very, uh. guesswork-y. since the games use very ambiguous units.

First, units. A Parabola-Linen Scrap costs 62.50 Echoes. Who knows what a "scrap" is. A "bale" of parabola linen is sold for 120 E at Wolfstack Exchange in Sunless Sea. Cloth isn't usually sold in bales, as far as I know (except for cotton). Bolts are equally ambiguous, since a bolt of fabric isn't actually a consistent measurement, and the yardage of a bolt depends on the type of fabric. This is a unit nightmare. But, okay. We can make this work.

Okay. Spider silk. In Sunless Sea, "bolts" of Spider-Silk (how many bolts? Who knows!) can be bought for 100 E at Wolfstack. Then, Fallen London. In Spite, you sell 100 Silk Scraps for 10 Surface-Silk Scraps (which makes sense, as 1 Surface-Silk Scrap (0.10 E) is 10 times more expensive than a Silk Scrap (0.01 E)). The description for the Silk Scrap indicates that it's Spider Silk, which is further supported by Spite's action description of "Swap spiders-silk for surface-silk". Okay. So that's 10,000 Silk Scraps in "bolts" of Spider-Silk. Now, the description for selling at Spite says, "Sell off a few yards of silk." Let's call it 5 yards. So, 100 Scraps in 5 Yards, or 20 Scraps to a Yard. I found a source saying that a bolt of silk is 40 yards. So, 800 Scraps to a Bolt. That makes about 12.5 Bolts in the ambiguous "bolts" of Spider-Silk in Sunless Sea. And I'm pretty comfortable with that number. It makes sense.

Okay. 800 Scraps to a 40 Yard Bolt. Works for the spider silk. It's not gonna work for the Parabola-Linen, as I will now demonstrate.

Now, Bolts of linen, as far as I can find, are 20 Yards. So, 400 Scraps to a Bolt of linen. A Scrap of Parabola-Linen costs 62.50, so a Bolt should cost 1250 E.

Problem. That is 10 times the cost of a Bale of Parabola-Linen (120 E). Even assuming a discount on the Bale for buying in bulk, that's absolutely insane. We're gonna have to go a different direction to figure out how much fabric is in a Scrap of Parabola-Linen.

The Parabola-Linen Frock in Fallen London costs 470 E. I found a source for historical costuming. According to this source, a full dress, similar to the Parabola-Linen Frock, would take 8-11.5 yards of cloth (for the bodice, short puffed sleeves, and skirt, since the appearance of the frock doesn't seem to have the full mutton sleeves). We'll call it an average of 9.75 yards, or 10 yards, just to make the math a little easier on ourselves. So, it takes half a bolt of Parabola-Linen to make one Parabola-Linen Frock. I'm going to ignore the labor cost and price markup of a finished product, because jesus christ, please, I have been working on this for over an hour already and my brain hurts. So we'll just assume that the price of the Parabola-Linen Frock is the same as the price for the materials, or 470 E. A full Bolt of Parabola-Linen is therefore in the range of 940 E. If a Scrap costs 62.50, and a Bolt costs 940 E, then there are about 15 Scraps in a Bolt of Parabola-Linen. This also means that a Scrap of Parabola-Linen is slightly larger than a Yard.

Hooray. Now it's time to compare to historical costs. According to this source, 1 yard of silk cost about $1 in 19th century money (ignore the site's conversion of $1 in the 19th century being $13 in modern money, it's WAY off). From what I can find, in the 19th Century, it was about $5 to £1. And £1 in Victorian England was worth something like £95 in today's currency, which with today's currency value is about $116.85 in modern money.

Also, a full coat of women's clothing cost anywhere between $120-$200 in 19th century dollars. That's £11,300-£18,800 in modern pounds sterling, and $13,900-$23,124 in modern dollars.

Okay. Math time. 20 Scraps of Spider-Silk to 1 Yard. A Scrap of Spider Silk is 0.01E, so a Yard of it is 0.20E. A Yard of Silk in not-Neathy currency is also £0.20, since 1 19th century dollar converts to about 1/5 of a 19th century pounds sterling, and a 19th century dollar can buy you a yard of silk. That makes our conversion rate from echoes to pounds sterling really easy -- they're 1:1.

Chart time! I broke out Excel for y'all. This better make it onto the Failbetter official tumblr, or I s2g--

So. Spider-Silks are common. Makes sense. There are a lot of spiders in the Neath. Surface-Silks are more expensive. Also makes sense. Gotta import that shit. Parabola-Linen is 100% only for the obscenely wealthy. A dress made of it is worth more than some cars. Makes sense why getting one makes you considered a Person of Some Importance: A Legendary Charisma.

So, yeah. That's the analysis. Took about three hours. Sorry if it got rambly.

[cogcltrcorn]

I was tagged by @flippy-floppy , and I have maybe taken this a bit too seriously.

hmmm. this is actually very hard bc I am very bad at remembering things. also I very frequently obsess over books that are like, objectively Bad (like have I spent a solid 2 months thinking about it by stephen king and only about it by stephen king? yes. is it good? no. did I like it? no. did I still analyze it thoroughly? yes. next question). so. yeah. anyway

I will for sure wake up tomorrow like "OH MY GOD HOW COULD I FORGET [BLANK]" but I am at peace with that fact

in no particular order:

Fathers and sons, Ivan Turgenev - well. it's a book about russian nihilism, it's a book about the political schism between the generations in 19th century russia, and it's a book about idolizing reason and then being forced to contend with the fact that you are still a human being that is both capable of love and craves it deeply. also it is lowkey about being a college student homoerotically enraptured with your very smart and charismatic friend who is an absolute dick. and what happens if you bring this guy to stay with you and your family during the break.

chronicles of amber by roger zelazny - I am gonna be honest with you I do not remember half of that series. including this might be cheating bc it's like. 10 books. whatever. rules are made up. it's good. it's very fucking good. just writing about it right now makes me want to reread it. anyway it's fantasy and there's reality shifting and there is complex lore and yeah no I think this book has radically altered my brain chemistry when I read it.

twenty thousand leagues under the seas by jules verne - look. 9 yo cog fucking Loved boring descriptions of marine wildlife. I was fucking Entranced by this book. this book started my years long obsession with jules verne novels. I may or may not be autistic. like really I can put like. 5 jules verne books on this list. are they incredibly dated and filled to the brim with trademarked 19th century classist and racist bullshit? yes. are they boring as fuck if you do not care about like, the mechanics of building a kiln on a deserted island? yes. but I did. I did care about building a kiln. I wanted to know how traveling to the center of the earth would go. and I wanted to know if the gentleman could get around the world in 80 days. whatever. the important things is that I loved those books and I still love them and they are, at their core, about how fucking cool humans are and how we are capable of great achievements if we apply ourselves and how incredible the world around us is.

do androids dream of electric sheep? by philip k dick - once again there could be like. 4 books on this list. I fucking love his stuff actually. the man has spent his entire life doing coke, getting scared as a result, and then writing kick ass novels about what scared him. he got really into gnosticism by the end of his life. he thought that god talked to him through a spot of light. I fucking love his books. anyway. this specific one is about the way human spirit sirvives in a future that is rendered nearly uninhabitable by capitalistic greed. the world of do androids dream of electric sheep is artificial, obsessed with its own artificiality, and obsessed with proving itself to be Not artificial, ironically, inventing increasingly artificial ways to prove it. plot twist! the only real thing in the world built for profit is the human connections you build! anyway. I have beef with blade runner the movie bc it is NOT A GOOD ADAPTATION OF THE BOOK and has NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I AM SICK AND TIRED.

actually I lied. here is another philip k dick novel

a scanner darkly - well. how do I explain. ok so basically this is a deeply biographical novel about the loss of identity and connection to reality as a result of drug usage. I fucking love it. reading it makes me go fucking insane. I highly recommend this to all of you, my darling succession mutuals

interview with the vampire, anne rice - made me insane. a theological and philosophical discussion with the guy with the weirdest moral code you have ever seen, with the added bonus of him complaining about his stupid greedy whore of an ex-husband

obligatory mention of 1984 by george orwell - well sorry. he did spit some facts here. also i need to re-read this bc I last read it like 6 years ago and I miss it. I feel kinda unoriginal by saying I love it but like. it Is good. I want to kill the protagonist with hammers, but it IS good... I think of her (1984 by george orwell) often....

red dragon, thomas harris - ok well you see I don't actually have to explain anything to you, do I? I just love it. don't know why. will graham is like a bug to me.

the count of monte cristo, alexander dumas - YET AGAIN!! GOD IS THIS BOOK ENCHANTING IF YOU ARE A CHILD NERD. it has everything: prison escape, complex revenge plot, brooding hero, a long ass side story that seems to have no connection to the main plot but eventually connects back to it, 19th century orientalism. man.

seeing the things other people have posted for this thingy made me realize I need to diversify my reading habits. mayhaps a man should not exclusively read postmodernist sci-fi and 19th century adventure novels. oh well.

anyway. if you wanna do it you can and you should. also go read philip k dick he is underrated as fuck

[seedling-lotus]

okay, I saw map things and it reminded me of my own mapping project that i've poured waaaaaay too much time into so now you get to see me rant about it...

or not because imma hide it under a read more... But i'm still gonna tag it!

Anyway, so!

because the fic I was reading for a completely different fandom just wasn't providing the dopamine, my lovely brain decided that I needed to go find all of the locations for everything in DGM, or as closely as I possibly could, because Hoshino-sensei exists to drive me insane... And so does the fandom wiki...

So yeah. So trying to locate things. Some places were easier than others. Some places I still have to add. 😭

New Order HQ? Took me a while, but I fuckin' found it... Or, well, found an island that looks like it could match.

of course, the Wiki says both that it's in "Southern Europe" and also somewhere mentions that it's in Britain, which is just... Nope, that island in particular is part of France. Close though. Of course, I don't have access to the source material that the wiki seems to be referencing, so what do I know...

The wiki also says that old HQ is in generic "Northern Europe" and also "Unknown location in Scandinavia" which, again, the source appears to be the fanbook that I do not have and cannot reference for myself. Not going to lie, old HQ is virtually impossible to place. There is not a single place on this planet that I could find within Northern Europe or more specifically Scandinavia that would be a good geographic fit. I mean, I know there are rock formations sort of similar, but nothing or that size. I gave up finding a perfect match after two days of beating my head against it and just went for somewhere most likely to have that kind of geographic feature. After my few successes with finding "exact" locations for some of the places in DGM, it really really bothers me that I can't place that one definitively.

and then there's freaking Barcelona. Barcelona bothers me. It bothers me a lot. I cannot find anywhere in the Manga that actually mentions what city they were in at the time. But I remember that it was Barcelona. (Was it in the anime??? I cannot remember) The problem with Barcelona being... the map doesn't match... We've got at least one clear overhead shot of the city in the manga, and it doesn't really look like Barcelona. It does, however, look a lot like Prague. (and the fact that I knew that off the top of my head before confirming it makes me question my life choices more than a little.)

So this is from Chapter 43.

(I am weeping, I had so much typed and I just accidentally "undo"ed it and now I can't get it back... gods damn it)

ANYWAYS

So what I had said was that we can see that the image of Barcelona is a lot more gridlike of a city structure and more organized and yes I acknowledge that DGM is a "Fictional end to the 19th century" and city structure can change over time, It usually doesn't change that much. Below is a screenshot of the map of Prague from Google maps for comparison.

My second point of evidence is this Cathedral-like structure from the page prior:

The only cathedral I can find in Barcelona has 4 spires where the drawing only has 2. "But simplifying for ease of drawing" Yeah, no, I get that, but look at them and tell me that the cathedral in Prague doesn't look more like the drawing?

But my biggest issue with Barcelona? The river. Yes, there's a river in Barcelona. It's tiny though, and none of the bridges spanning it are more than two spans across.

and here's Barcelona's river vs Prague's river:

Barcelona:

(also, if Barcelona ever had pretty old bridges like the one drawn, they all appear to have been replaced by ugly modern ones)

And here's Prague:

(and yes, I know, the Prague bridge doesn't match either, but it matches better)

So yeah, Barcelona bothers me. It's not impossible that it's Barcelona, but it bothers me.

The American Branch though? That one I'm proud of.

So, again, it's not 100% perfectly correct, but I think that the American branch might be one of the closest to a spot on location that I actually managed. (The literal only way I could get a more accurate location would be to actually drive my ass to Arizona, and that's just not in the cards.)

Also, may I just say that this particular line, which I have confirmed is the way this place is described in the Manga... This exists to infuriate the British and the Scottish...

That was pulled from the wiki. THIS is pulled from chapter 230 of the manga:

Now I know someone in the fandom and on tumblr has already pointed this one out, but

Edinstown does not exist. In England or otherwise.

THIS particular landmark is in Scotland. EdinBURG Scotland.

And before someone yells at me, Eddingston isn't right either. Eddington (without the S) is a place in England, but it does not have that landmark.

The landmark in question being the Dugald Stewart Monmuent on Calton Hill in Edinburg, Scotland.

So that one caused a dew LOLs once I went back and found the post I reblogged with that information. source

Oh! so yeah, so Guangzhou... Guangzhou also bothers me a smidge...

So according to the Wiki (which seems to get most of it's info from the Fanbook that I don't have)... You know what, I might have it, but it's in Japanese, and I can only speak and read English so really, that's on me... Anyway...

So Guangzhou. China. The port city that theoretically is where they set sail from. And is also where Anita's brothel is.

And once again acknowledging that landscapes have been changed over time by humans. I get that. HOWEVER.

So Timcampy gives us a lovely view of the city and the harbor in question.

And 1 chapter later we get this view of them leaving:

Now I know, I KNOW, this is set in, at the very latest, 1899. I know that the harbor will have changed since then and Google maps is only going to show me the most modern version.

However...

This is Modern Guangzhou:

Note how it's set a little more inland? How they'd be able to see land across the harbor? and it's more in a river delta, flatter.

However, there is a port city relatively close to Guangzhou that does look a lot more like the port drawn in the manga:

And yes, yes, I know "but there's no land masses in the Manga and that's why you said Guangzhou was out." True, but most of these landmasses are over 3 miles away, and the horizon is only 3 miles away due to the curvature of the earth, so it does make a little more sense.

Now I know that the Manga doesn't show an Island and yeah, it's not exactly the same, but it's definitely way closer visually. (Also, Hoshino-sensei, I love you dearly, but please... Guangzhou is not the largest/main port city in China....)

Am I doing everything Wildly out of order? Absolutely. I'd say sue me but please don't. I am so broke.

Next up! The Izu Peninsula! (and another iteration of Hoshino-sensei making me want to cry... For map making purposes. Plot related purposes don't count. That's her job)

So in chapter 76, Chomesuke says this:

And then, in Chapter 77 we see this:

And ignoring all plot related crying from this point of the story, the Izu Peninsula was a difficult one to place. Not finding it on the map, but finding torii gates that are set up like this...

And you may be going "But it's Japan, how hard can it be to find torii gates set up like that?"

HARD

Gods damn it all. You wanna know why? because the fuckload of torii gates going straight up a damn mountain is something that exists. Famous enough that even I know what it looks like and I'm a stupid little white girl from America who has never left the western hemisphere. The problem with that particular set of torii gates that this panel and all related panels are based off of? yeah, that particular land mark is in the middle of Tokyo and nowhere near water...

And they are definitely still in the boat and still in water here...

here's my evidence for the Torii gates in Tokyo:

yes I am going to make you go google that yourselves if you really want to fact check me because this post is already a monster and I am too lazy to put in a hyperlink.

Anyways

So the only even remotely similar feature on the Izu peninsula that I could find is on an even smaller peninsula

1

and they look a little more like this in real life:

2

But hey, creative license and all that jazz. And while the Izu peninsula is close to Tokyo (which would have been called Edo back in the time period of canon), it's not that close, so it's probably a good day's walk if not longer for them to get there... which i think we may have skipped due to the magic of "anime physics" but you know what, fuck it. at this point I've stopped asking questions

(this is absolutely a lie, but shhhhhh)

And I have gone over my picture limit so I'll include the pictures on a reblog (if it lets me... I think it will... I'll get back to you on that... ish, maybe)

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

You mentioned yesterday that the most Hamiltonian 19th century presidents were the ones who got killed, firstly, do you think the British were behind those assassinations, or something else? And secondly, why do you think the three were Hamiltonian? Lincoln yes, but as far as I'm aware Garfield was a free trader and McKinley was opposed to a national bank, neither of which are Hamiltonian policies

yeah i was speaking pretty loosely with that post. i posted it in between a bunch of longwinded responses to other anons about other stuff. i saw that quote and just kinda screenshotted it and threw it out there with the half-baked comment in the tags and didn't think about it again until now.

so let me clarify.

do i think they were all assassinated by the british? lincoln i'm pretty confident about the british being at least indirectly responsible. as for the other two? i'm not really sure. i'm honestly not typically a very conspiracy-minded person (this is a lie: i am and i just try hard to fight it) so i tend to err on the side of the simplest explanation; garfield was just killed by a madman and mckinley was killed by a radical. so when i made that post i was half-joking but also half-musing to myself. because i had never really investigated the assassinations or the contexts of the latter two. and when i saw that passage it got me thinking. because i /do/ know that garfield was concerned about the presence of the british in the new world (i'll get to that in a minute). so remembering that and reading that passage just made some constellations connect in my mind. but again, i was half-joking and not making a serious implication.

but yeah about the hamiltonian thing. yeah i use the term "hamiltonian" pretty loosely. because it's rare to find people that /exactly/ match hamilton's vision. but i just use it to refer to people that are hamiltonian-esque. /generally/ approximating something like hamilton envisioned, even if it's not a 1:1 comparison. but i would say that lincoln, garfield, and mckinley come pretty close to this ideal. to varying degrees obviously. and just to be clear by hamiltonian i am referring to the american system/school: protectionism, nationalism, federalism (strong central government), internal improvements and subsidies, regulations, supporting scientific research and development, education, etc. things along those lines. i would even include fiat currency in that list even though hamilton didn't advocate for it. but that's part of my point. gonna be rare to find people that perfectly match my vision; not even hamilton. but some are approximately closer than others.

so garfield. yeah. i'm not sure where you're getting the idea that he was a free trader? i would have to find my notes but i have seen quotes from him being pretty clear about how he thinks tariffs are a good thing. i think you're maybe referring to him wanting to lower /some/ tariffs? specifically here in latin america. i don't think that's really contrary to hamiltonianism. hamiltonianism isn't about high tariffs in principle. it's about strategically placed tariffs. a hamiltonian can support lowering tariffs on certain goods and still be a hamiltonian. like there's no point in us placing super high tariffs on coffee beans. ain't no major coffee industry gonna pop up in america.

but going back to my earlier point about garfield. he wanted to lower tariffs with american countries to drive british trade out of the new world and replace it with american trade. this is valid i think. it's strategic. i'd have to look up what specific goods he wanted to lower tariffs for (or precisely by how much and whether they were export or import tariffs or both?) but i've not seen any info about it being anything concerning. america's tariffs at the time were generally pretty high anyway so he could probably afford to lower them a bit. and, depending, it might even be good. but yeah if the british needed a motive to kill him that could have been one. again, not saying that /seriously/. just something interesting to note.

as for mckinley, is that true? i don't think i've ever heard his opinion on banks. where can i find it? but even if it is true, like i said earlier, he may not have been perfectly hamiltonian (by my definition) but he is approximately close. enough that i would have voted for him, even if i don't agree with his /every/ policy (*cough* gold standard *cough*).

[alexandrasimblr]

AlexandraSave 1.0 :: The Boarders

Anyone remember the asylum challenge for Sims 4?

It's gone (fortunately) out of fashion to use the term "ins*ne" (now it's Erratic), and the idea of breaking out of the asylum as part of the challenge is quite 19th century. "I'm the one sane person here!" smacks of single-hero plotlines, which personally I've had enough of.

HOWEVER, the idea of eight Erratic Boarders in a home Without Enough Beds still compels me, and the game requires sims with the Erratic trait for park sleepers (stereotype but also true that the mentally ill and those with untreated personality disorders often wind up homeless), so I'm including a household in my save file. They live in my not-yet-haunted-because-it's-just-base-game abandoned mansion in Newcrest.

I love this household, not gonna lie. I used the randomizer extensively for skintones, names, favorite colors and traits, and then tried to dress each one appropriately for their attributes. I love how diverse they turned out, and honestly how realistic. I included Blair as a nonbinary AMAB sim. They're perfectly content being who they are, and wear a mix of masc/fem clothing. Ryder is transfemme, and despite how the game tends to frames, when someone transitions their frame actually changes and shrinks, so Ryder has a feminine frame but still uses the toilet standing up, and she can't get pregnant.

(I would much prefer if The Sims had more detailed personality disorders with more nuanced behaviors, but they can't get regular behaviors properly nuanced so idk why I would set my sights that high, lol.)

Because this post would get ridiculously long if I put all of them in here with their backstories, they'll be in separate posts. If I remember, I'll link those posts here. Check the tag #erratic boarders if you want to find them! Base Game only, no cc.

Tessa: Neat / Music Lover / Erratic Rudy: Geek / Hates Children / Erratic Brooklyn: Romantic / Creative / Erratic Samson: Neat / Mean / Erratic Chanel: Good / Materialistic / Erratic Blair: Goofball / Good / Erratic Ryder: Active / Slob / Erratic Rick: Bro / Kleptomaniac / Erratic

Available on the Gallery under username alexandramuses. I haven't yet tweaked their relationships, as I'm making my save file without cheats just yet. I imagine that Brooklyn is with Tessa, perhaps, and Chanel is the one with the best credit score so she got the loan for the house and the others all help out with the mortgage. I'm open to ideas!

[qqueenofhades]

Chatting with @extasiswings earlier and we were having Thoughts about homophobia in period-piece fiction, especially period-piece queer romances... which I'm still thinking about so I may scribble some of them down. Shh. 😂

Basically, we decided that society has evolved past the need for homophobia (I mean, it did a while ago, but y'know) and while it's not wrong to refer to/acknowledge historical manifestations of prejudice in your period piece, I feel like we (meaning queer writers writing for queer readers) need to normalise just... not making the Oppression the whole point of the story. We have all read queer tragedy for ages and ages and it is why I had to go make my "20 actually fun books for pride month!" list in place of the one that was all about pain and suffering and identity politics. This applies whether in original or fan fiction, since I for one have definitely cast a slight side eye at "Period Typical Homophobia" tags and similar on AO3. Not that writers who incorporate it are wrong or bad or anything, but when you're writing a transformative fantasy piece provided, at least presumably, for the pleasure and escapism of your readers, you don't actually need to include it! I feel like a lot of people are worried about getting setting details right, which I totally understand, but as a real live historian, I am telling you now that historical accuracy is a) deeply subjective, b) only applied in certain hot-button social topics anyway, and c) for fiction at least, not even strictly necessary. Because if your idea of "history" looks like a white conservative's wet dream re women, people of color, and queer people, it's probably not even accurate anyway.

Yes, homophobia existed in some ways in the past, sometimes damagingly so, and I'm not saying that shouldn't be written about. But it also didn't exist in the same way it does today (this is also my Queer Historian hat speaking). Queer people existed and had lives that were not uniformly marked by suffering, and people don't feel a need to constantly include a critique of Society's Unenlightened Prejudices in modern romances, even when a lot of those same criticisms could be made today. (I mean /waves hand at the world/ have you SEEN this place lately?) If your only justification for including "Period Typical Homophobia" in your work is that you feel it would be inaccurate without it, that is... not even true either.

Sure, there are narrative tropes and conventions, and tension and excitement that can result from a forbidden romance, but I am also gonna point out that these romances were neither all that forbidden or as unusual as your average histrom writer/reader thinks. You can actually write a largely or entirely "accurate" historical romance (and again, it's fiction, you're not even beholden to Accuracy Standards TM anyway) without homophobia playing a significant role.

For example, my current m/m fic is set in the 1980s Soviet Union, not exactly a gay mecca, but while there are references to how the characters deal with that and what they think about it and what their past lives have been like because of this, I don't need to include, idk, a random gay bashing to make it more accurate. And that is even in a post-Stonewall time period. If you're going back before the 20th century, I feel like people have a point they want to make about How Things Were Different Then, and it is just... not even really the case. And even if it was, it's still FICTION, and that which is being produced for a queer audience. (Don't get me started on the This Character Is Queer It Is Shocking histfic written by straights, looking at you, The Miniaturist).

Anyway, lol. The point is: "Historically Accurate Homophobia" isn't even really a thing, since as the constructionists like to point out, if you don't have "homosexuality" before it was invented as an analytical term in the 19th century, you can't have explicit and widespread homophobia either. And if as a queer writer you don't really want to include it, but feel like you have to, this is me saying: nah, son. Throw it directly out the window. You good. Go forth and live your best gay life.

[stormtide-leviathan]

8, 16, and 24! :)

aaaa thank you for asking!!! :)

8. What vibe would you like to put out as an author?

I've never been great at describing vibes, but kind of. Defiance the face of a shitty world. Edgy, but positive and hopeful. Stories about people growing and making the world around them a little better.

16. What are your favorite characters you’ve written?

I don't do much writing like I liked too cause I struggle to find the time, so actually writing these characters might change my answer. But as of right now, I really like Zashi. She's an older goblin woman who is just. So full of love. She's the type of person who becomes a mother to all the kids she meets (often figuratively, sometimes literally. She and her partner have several children, all adopted). She works as a factory-worker and, after several of her coworkers get injured and are going to be replaced, organizes a strike to demand for better.

24. How many books/issues/etc. are you writing?

(With the caveat that I haven't actually written much of anything yet and this has just been running around in my head for a while) I have two main worlds that I'd like to write for.

One story is set in our universe, in the far future. It takes place in a self-sustaining mars colony which, after magic became introduced to our universe, became isolated from the earth and developed into a full-on civilization, and its origins eventually became forgotten to its inhabitants. The first book would be a very traditional fantasy-esque quest storyline, with the sci-fi elements mostly hidden in the background for the majority of the book until closer to the end. I haven't quite worked out a lot of how the plot is gonna be structured but the very general premise is that an oracle receives a vision of a gift from the gods coming to the realm in one month's time. The main plot is gonna follow a small band of rag-tag adventurers sent by the City of Metal to set out to receive the gift, as they struggle to reach it before other forces who would try to take this gift for themselves. There would probably be a secondary plot following events within that city, but I'm not entirely sure what yet.

The second world is much more broad, much more kitchen-sink-esque fantasy. It's where I fit all kinds of assorted ideas, and as such I have plans for all kinds of various short stories that might take place within it. However, I do have plans for one main book (series?) that takes place within this world. The story takes place in a city in a time roughly equivalent to the 19th or 20th century (but you know, fantasy), ruled by zealous priests and exploitative robber barons. I intend it to be written almost reminiscent of dystopia, but with clear fantasy elements. It follows three main storylines. The first is about a cop who recently got out of jail, having gone in for going against her superiors in order to help someone they don't think she should have (I don't quite know what she did but something along those lines), and now that she's out is becoming disillusioned with the whole system and the harm it does to people. The second follows a factory worker (Zashi, who I talked about in answer to #16) who begins organizing a strike to demand better working conditions, and the various challenges she faces doing that. The third follows a notiorious criminal who is planning a heist on one of the aforementioned robber-barons. Some of the short stories I'd like to write in this world include a horroresque story about a town who's population is slowly dwindling as they're taken by strange monsters, a woman who finds out she's pregnant while dealing with the death of the father (in a society where a person's social role is delineated by whether or not they have children) and has to decide how she wants to go forward, and orc pirates who go on a quest to find an ancient artifact to summon the ghosts of their ancestors to help fight sea monsters.

~~~

Writing Asks

[askaceattorney]

Dear Anonymous,

Co-Mod: Not that I’m aware of.  She just left along with Mods Vera and Paups a while back.  See this post for the details, but be prepared for some politics.

Mod Edgeworth: For those of you that weren’t here when this all went down, I ask you to not ask any more questions regarding that incident. They will be deleted. It’s still kinda sore for some of us and we’d like to put that all behind us. We also ask you to not go sending any hate towards the former mods that left. Thank you.

(Songs in Letter -- Spoilers for Kirby’s Return to Dreamland)

Dear Gumshoe “Letty” Fan,

Co-Mod: The first song is originally from Fire Emblem if I’m not mistaken, but I agree that it has some Ace Attorney vibes to it.  In fact, it sounds incredibly similar to my second favorite Pursuit theme, Pursuit ~ Lying Coldly.

I can also imagine the Kirby tune being played during a tense moment between Ryunosuke and van Zieks.  It’s not exactly oriental-sounding, but the fast string melodies create a very similar atmosphere to what we hear in The Great Ace Attorney.

Come to think of it, why aren’t there any Ace Attorney songs in Super Smash Bros. Ultimate?  I can understand if Nintendo didn’t feel like trying to cram in another fighter or stage, but come on, these songs are timeless!!

Dear dawsongfg,

Mod Edgeworth: Probably when the Judge dies.

Dear springtime562,

Mod Justice:

Finished. Gone. Erased. Done.

AND I WON’T. LET HIM. RETURN.

(If that demonic FREAK of a costume somehow returns, I’m gonna go “Great Ape” on everything in my line of sight. SCREW. HIM.)

Co-Mod: Indeed.  M. E. and I owe Mod Justice a gratitude of thanks for his heroic efforts.  Mind if we keep you on speed dial just in case, though?

(Previous Post)

(Previous Letter)

Dear sweetlaive3,

Co-Mod: Unfortunately, we weren’t able to fix the letter (although I guess we technically could if you really want us to), but I went ahead and changed the tag for you.

(Video in Letter)

(Links in Letter)

(Channel in Letter)

(Video 1) (ACE Video 1)

(Video 2) (ACE Video 2)

(Video 3) (ACE Video 3)

Dear Gumshoe “Letty” Fan,

Co-Mod: And just for you...

I especially loved Jake Marshall in the first one.  Add a “pardner” at the end, and that sounds exactly like him.

I think I shared my MBTI type once before, but I don’t remember what it was.  According to the test I did just now, I’m also INFP-T.  Who’d have thunk it?

Mod Justice:

I don’t know what to say about the videos, other than that you put a lot of effort into making them. Impressive!

As for my personality type, I am a “Turbulent Mediator” - or “INFP-T.”

Huh... seems we’ve got something in common, Letty!

Co-Mod: Whoa!  How about that?  I guess it’s a small world, even on the internet.  Either that, or the test is rigged somehow.

(Picture in Letter)

Dear Anonymous,

Co-Mod: Your picture didn’t load, so I replaced it with a new one.

I want to say thanks for the nostalgia, but...when did I become so old that that game is nostalgic for me!?

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: We mods do have to explain ourselves to those of the 19th century about who we are, why we are dressed oddly, certain holidays that do not exist in their timeline and even what some of your words mean. 

Let me tell ya, it’s a bit troubling having to explain what a television, smartphone and other devices are, especially when you send them videos and memes to respond to.

Co-Mod: The tip-off was my fault, in case anyone’s wondering.  I couldn’t resist, but in retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to share that information with a child...

Dear Starry,

Mod Edgeworth: I don’t recall seeing your name in any letter I’ve deleted, so it’s likely in the inbox somewhere. We’re just now at the 23rd of July.

(Previous Post)

Dear dawsongfg,

Co-Mod: Yeah, I had to do some serious searching for that video -- thank goodness for modern search engine technology.  (Sorry, old vacuums!)

I’m unfamiliar with the Big 5 outside of this video, but I’d say they’re decent voice actors, at least.

(Previous Post)

Dear Anonymous,

Co-Mod: So I’m not the only one who willingly listens to that song?  I mean, sure, it might be from the 80′s, but it’s still a catchy tune, meme or no meme.

Mod Justice: Amen to that.

However, when it comes to “80s songs that became memes,” this gem comes to mind...

Dear Anonymous,

Co-Mod: Nope, it’s still in the inbox waiting to be answered very soon!  Thanks for asking!  : )  

-The Mods

[reincarnated70sbaby]

maritime madness

led zeppelin x reader

warnings: swearing, drug use

an: so I was sailing yesterday and I was thinking about this the entire time I might have nearly capsized the boat

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“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this” I spoke, staring out at the large blue yacht that rested on the waters of Normandy. It all started the day before, when we were all throwing around tripped out ideas in our hotel room.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. I sat by his side, my head resting on his bony shoulder. My dose of LSD had just kicked it, and as it was my first time it probably hit me quicker than the others. I tried to speak, but it felt like every time I moved my mouth, it felt like I would stretch my mouth out of shape, like putty.

“Let’s go explore that cathedral, the big massive one, y’know? The one with the hunchback. Maybe we could bump into him or something”

As soon as the words left Robert’s lips, our entire entourage burst out in giggles. I myself, was having hard time controlling my breathing. I had to rest my head in Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy being doubled down over me clutching his stomach.

“Percy, you dumb fucker, y-you know that’s not a real story” Jonesy informed, all his words all broken up by loud chuckles.

Roberts jaw immediately dropped open in shock, along with his eyes widening and brown trashing in confusion.

“Nah, yeah it was, the uh, the hunchman did the um, bells. Yeah, the bells”

“No he didn’t, because he never existed you nonce. It’s a fairytale from the 19th century” Jimmy piped in, adding his extensive knowledge of mythology and folklore into the conversation.

“But me ma said he existed, you’re gonna say my mum lied to me all those years?”

“Well obviously Perce, it’s just a bedtime story” Jonesy added, still chuckling to himself at Robert’s gullible nature.

“Fine then, someone else give an idea since all of mine always get ridiculed” Robert stated, crossing his arms and craning his head back against the footboard of the bed and staring at the ceiling in a huff.

“How about Père Lachaise?”

“What the actual fuck is pear la chair Pagey?” Bonzo asked, pronouncing the words all wrong in his thick Englishman accent.

“It’s Père Lachaise” Jimmy corrected in a perfect French accent, “and it’s a graveyard in Paris, loads of famous people are buried there - Oscar Wilde, Frederic Chopin, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf”

“Jimmy you must be as mad as Morrison to think we would waste our day off in a fucking dead person museum. Jesus Christ how did we pick you up” Bonzo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, what about Mont Saint-Michel? It’s this cool island off of the coast. There’s a bridge but once the tide comes in you can’t get in or out. Wouldn’t that be good craic eh?” Jonesy suggested

“No” Bonzo, Jimmy and Robert all said at the same time.

“Ah! You’ve been outnumbered Mr Jones haha. Maybe you and I could go out another time Jonny boy, we could go exploring and see the spirits trapped on the island” I said with a chuckle, the psychedelic in my system making this whole situation very funny.

“Jesus Christ what the fuck did she even say. That her first time on acid?” Robert asked to Jimmy.

“Must’ve been, it hit her pretty quickly” Jimmy replied, staring into my largely dilated pupils. He swore he could’ve seen something dancing in my pupils, but maybe that was just the drug in him.

We all sat in silence for a couple minutes, all of us enjoying our high.

“Innnnnnnnnnnnnnn fourteen hundred ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blueeee” I sang, the lyrics being the only words of a song I could think of to fill the silence. A beat of silence passed and I wondered if everybody suddenly passed out, either into sleep or another dimension.

As I started the next line, everyone else joined in with me. We eventually finished the entire song, even an encore requested by the boys. I sung the encore in a horrendous, deep operatic voice while prancing round the hotel room. A round of applause sounded, and I took my theatrical bows in front of my supportive crowd.

“That’s It! I know what we can do tomorrow. God that is a good idea!” Bonzo declared, jumping up to his feet, not before nearly tumbling backwards.

“Go on then Bonz, don’t leave us guessing mate” Jonesy suggested, breaking the dramatic silence that had ensued.

“Rent a yacht! We can go out early in the morning and stay overnight since our flight back home is in the evening anyway! All we need to do is hire a skipper or something”

We all were stoked at idea of having a private boat to ourselves. Sure, none of the boys were experienced sailors, but that’s what a professional skipper was for, driving rich people around in yachts right?

“Do we really have to do this” I said, making our way through the marina to our yacht.

“The skipper will probably dive off the boat when we get started tonight” Jonesy commented, sharing my lack of enthusiasm for the maritime adventure. “We should have ditched them and gone to Mont Saint-Michel”. I only hummed in response, dragging my overnight suitcase over the gaps in the planks of wood on the dock.

“Um yeah, about that skipper. We couldn’t exactly book one on such short notice” Cole confessed.

“What the actual fuck Cole? Are we just supposed to sail ourselves and drown? I can’t tie a knot to save my bloody life” Robert shrieked. We all stopped in our tracks and turned to the tour manager, glaring at him through our sunglasses.

“Of course not Percy, why would we do that to our cash cows hm? And this is a motorboat, no ropes involved. It’s basically like driving a car. In water. In fact, all you need to drive it is a drivers license, which I’m positive you all have judging by your expansive car choices. Forgot to mention that myself and Peter have opted out” With that note, Cole dropped the yacht keys into Bonzo’s hand and scuttled away.

We all stood there, bags in hand, confusion over our faces as we watched Cole’s figure disappear behind the hundred of other boats.

“Well shit” Jonesy said, the sourness in his voice barely hidden.

“Let’s just go check it out, we don’t even have to leave the marina if we can drive it, we’ll just park out all night” Bonzo affirmed, being unusually optimistic.

We all found the boat and as the boys started embarking aboard, I thought out loud.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Cmon darling, let’s just see what it’s like. If you hate it we’ll do something else” Jimmy compromised, outstretching his hand to me.

The boat bobbed a bit on the water as I stepped on.

“It’s not hating it I’m worried about, I was practically raised on a boat Jim, I’m just not sure 4 rockstars and a boat is a great combination”

“It’s okay we won’t go too hard, at least one of us won’t, I guess. Anyway, you were raised on a boat? Like a houseboat or something?”

“No, my dad was a skipper. Whenever he was home from trips, he would teach my and my siblings to sail. Y’know the whole nine yards, all the different knots, pulling in the ropes, steering, navigating charts. It’s just been a while since I’ve been on one and I hope I can remember everything”

“Gosh you are fabulous, my dear, I learn something new about you everyday” Jimmy said, pulling me in for a kiss. There was a loud bang of the engine, which we both jumped apart at.

“What the fuck are they at now, Christ” Jimmy sighed.

“Here, go set down our stuff in the biggest room, I’ll go see what they’re messing with”

We both parted, Jimmy heading downstairs, myself climbing onto the helm.

“Oi, Bonz, Percy, step away from the wheel until I get us out of this parking lot” I commanded. Both Robert and Bonzo looked at me funny, before slowly raising their arms and stepping away.

“And you know better?” Bonzo asked, still not sure where my bossiness came from.

“I think I do, unless you have your skipper license on hand?”

“Wait, you have a sailing license?” Robert interjected.

“I actually don’t, but I know everything you need to not drown. My father was a sailor and he taught me how to run a boat. Thank god we have a motorboat, as we might’ve been a little trouble if we have a proper sailing yacht. If we were, it wouldn’t have been as relaxing as simply steering a wheel” I answered, switching the engine on.

We warmed up the engine for a couple minutes, then casted off and finally escaped the madness of the marina. Soon were out on the French coastline. We continued sailing perpendicular to the coast, not wanting to stray too far. All the boys took turns steering, with Jonesy being the best skipper in-training out of all of them. Only once had we had anchored the boat again was the real party going to start.

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if only sailing was this easy in reality 😒

anyway I’m gonna do a spicier part 2 riiight now😎

leave any comments/ideas down below!!!!

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