#anyway it's just wild to me that anyone would think of posting fics to AO3 as “spamming” the site.

[nostalgia-tblr]

lukewarm take but i blame all those "every oneshot shoved into a single work, showing up in every search forever more" compliations on people who talk about fics being "just a oneshot" and similar statements that imply anything less than novel-length is a silly, pointless piece of nonsense that does not deserve its own post with its own tags and its own summary.

[scarrletmoon]

About Powder Blue

This is going to be long. There are going to be discussions of suicide and trauma. This is going to be a bit of a jumbled mess because I can't tell a linear story to save my life. Don't feel like you need to read this, now or ever.

If you're wondering what the issues with PB were, and looking for what's next, read the indented text and skip the rest if you want!

I've had a bit of a...tumultuous relationship with the OFMD fandom. I've made close friends and lost them, made even closer friends who've very patiently reminded me of my worth when I needed that. I'm at a point where I'm still struggling, but I'm getting better. I'm still working on not being afraid. It's a bit of an uphill battle, but I'm still pushing my little boulder. I'm not alone this time, which is nice.

I entered the fandom as a nobody. I had almost 50 fics on AO3 and two had mildly popped off while I wasn't looking, but I wasn't really known for anything. I was a fandom ghost, posting my little fanfics and sharing them with the world because I just enjoyed the characters so much. Like a lot of people, I dreamed of being known for something. I thought that'd be neat.

I'm still in a state of shock and confusion that I've written anything in the past 2 years that people remember and even love. It's weird to be in a place where I never imagined myself to be. I can't stress enough how much I did not write explicit fic before this fandom; in high school, I would've welcomed a porn ban. I was afraid of my own sexuality, convinced it was some sort of monster I had to control. Convinced I was dirty. To other people my age, I was a prude, naive and childish for not being comfortable with it. So I feel for people who lash out now, who insist that attraction is actually fetishization, that if we set enough rules, maybe if we resist temptation, we'll be saved. I see you, and I feel for you. I personally don't think that's a healthy way to live, but if you'd told me that 2 years ago, I would've cussed you out. It's really a realization you have to come to (or not) on your own terms.

Anyway.

I know it's tacky to talk about your own success but it doesn't feel real. I go back and forth, reading other people's work -- and my god, there's some unbelievable talent in this fandom -- and thinking "shit, why would anyone read anything I've written? My stories are kindergarten finger paintings next to museum masterpieces". I am learning, slowly -- very slowly -- that I can't bully myself into a shape I like better. I'll never abuse myself into the kind of writer I think I want to be.

The first chapter of Powder Blue was written on a random day of the week after work. I was in a server -- the first fandom server I'd properly joined and talked in, watching a convo about how funnyt it would be for Ed to be a middle aged sugar baby -- when I pulled out my laptop and wrote for an hour and then posted that chapter to the server. I hadn't written for five years before OFMD. I had never finished a multi chapter fic. I posted that chapter and went to make dinner, and assumed the Google Docs link would get lost in that channel after a few likes.

That's not what happened.

The next few months were...a lot. My 7 year old Twitter account blew up from about 200 followers to 1000 in a matter of months. I was misinterpreted half a dozen times. Suddenly, people knew who I was and had Opinions. Some of those Opinions were Not Nice. I was told to grow a thick skin and get over it. So I figured my extreme reactions -- physical shaking, intense fear, a spiking heart rate, like I was being chased -- were just me being weak. I thought if I just sucked it up and laughed it off, it'd stop affecting me.

Turns out RSD is real and not an excuse I was using to be a baby, and it literally didn't get better until I was medicated! Wild

(This -- "I'm just overreacting and everyone else is secretly handling it better" -- has been a pretty consistent pattern my entire life, so figuring out I'm actually AuDHD has been mindblowing. If you've been wondering why you're so weak your whole life, I've got some screening tests you might be interested in).

Anyway my point is, a few things happened over the course of 2023 that brought me to a level of emotional pain I've never experienced.

At the start of the year, I was taking a self imposed internet break, after being forced to apologize for a tweet thread about Izzy, where I'd made the mistake of suggesting that fans of his should consider thinking about why they enjoy his character, but to only do this if they wanted to and ignore me if they didn't. This was taken as me being a hypocrite, and accusing Izzy fans of being terrible people. I apologized, vowed to never mention him again, and left Twitter for a month. Around the same time, a few things in a very close friend group went very wrong. I assumed it was entirely my fault for misbehaving, picked myself up, and tried to punish myself into a shape that would be acceptable for other people.

It didn't work.

Since I was now marked as an anti-Izzy bully, I couldn't say anything -- either on Twitter or in private -- that wouldn't be interpreted as me trying to start fights, as me being passive aggressive, as me trying to send covert messages for others to decipher so they could come and grovel for my forgiveness. Some of this is my fault -- it took a long time to learn than my private locked Twitter account isn't a diary. it took even longer for me to learn that maybe the people I was hanging out with weren't my people.

During all of this, I was posting Powder Blue after months of tears, pain, heartbreak, frustration and stress. I still don't understand why people write books for work or FUN. It was the most horrific experience of my life. It was valuable and so rewarding but jesus christ did writing PB take a lot out of me.

So as I felt less connected to my friends, as I was trying to hide how I felt because I thought I didn't deserve to be upset about anything (everything is always my fault, you see, and if I just behaved better, these things wouldn't happen to me), someone came to me and said they'd noticed some issues with Powder Blue. I'll refer to this person as the reader.

I was more than happy to hear them out. And it's true that I made some mistakes. The environment that I published PB in was not the one that I wrote it in. I didn't read any other sugar daddy/sex work fics as I was working on PB. PB was never a reaction to those fics. But because of those stories, which had handled things is harmful ways, there was suddenly a responsibility I'd never expected to have. I've never done sex work, I've just spent a lot of time listening to sex workers and trying to understand the legislation and environment as much as I can as a lay person. And since I don't have a personal experience with sex work, I shared my finished but rough draft with the reader, who did.

The problem, ultimately, is not something I could ever have fixed to their satisfaction. The fic doesn't involve dubious consent on a level that I think warrants an archive warning tag -- I tried to make it explicitly clear that Ed never does anything he doesn't want to, and that he's never coerced. The issue is that the nature of Ed and Stede's relationship is inherently uneven -- Stede is rich, and although he gives Ed money that's his to keep, Ed still isn't as obscenely wealthy as Stede is. Ed is poor and has been for a while. He's good at whatever he chooses to do, but he's struggling. That's a very uncomfortable spot to put Ed in. I also put Ed through some things that I've personally been through, as a way to work through my feelings and to try and better understand myself. If I was acting like Ed in real life, the reader is right that it would be concerning. But, importantly, Ed's not real. Nothing in this story is happening to a real person. Nothing in this story is an endorsement of any of his behaviours or unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I still believe the reader had good intentions -- the amount of effort they put into coming to me would be utterly bizarre for someone who was just looking to be cruel for no reason. But that also doesn't change the fact that being told I was having a trauma response and needed to stop working on the fic immediately, pushed me into the most suicidal period I've ever experienced.

That's not their fault. I'm sure that wasn't their intention. I've chosen to not try and find out who they are, or try to contact them again to respect their privacy. Some of the things people said to me, publicly dismissing the reader's pain, were so harrowing to read that it made me feel worse for ever writing PB in the first place. They were right to stay anonymous.

I'm sure the reader never meant for me to have such a massive breakdown that I took down the entire fic and left Twitter (and a few friend groups). It's been difficult to understand that just because someone didn't mean to hurt me, doesn't change the fact that I was hurt.

One silver lining is that I did go and find a new therapist. She's great! And she also thinks that how the reader tried to bring things up to me was wrong. As the reader obviously saw, I have a lot of Trauma, so I'm still not entirely convinced that I didn't deserve what happened to me. I'm not angry at them. I appreciate their concern. I just can't do what they asked of me. In the end, Powder Blue was not a story that was right for them. And that's okay.

My point in detailing all of this, is that I stayed quiet for a long time because I didn't think I deserved to tell my part of the story. I was scared that when people said they respected my choice to take down the fic, that they agreed I'd some something impossibly harmful. People trusted my judgement but I didn't trust myself. But people didn't know that I didn't trust myself.

Additionally, reader can't speak on this without revealing themself in some way. I'm terrified that they might read this and say something anyway. My biggest fear is becoming the kind of writer who sees negative criticism and pushes on anyway, or even blocks people who disagree with me. I don't want to hurt anyone the way I've been hurt.

BUT I've been holding onto this for months. I cannot write a perfect fic that will never trigger anyone. I will never write a meaningful story that won't hurt someone, no matter my intentions. There IS a way to admit you fucked up, or a way to listen and disagree, without turning into a raging asshole. I'm struggling to find that line. I'm hoping I'm making the right choice here.

And honestly, I'm just soft. I am so fucking soft. I talk a big game but I am so soft that a single person poking at my trauma caused me to break down so severely that my partner was legitimately afraid for me. I am learning that this softness doesn't mean I should become a crueler person to cope. But it's hard. There are going to be people who see this post and think I'm being a whiny crybaby looking for attention and pity. And I just have to deal with that.

Anyway. All previous chapters of PB will be up soon. Read them or don't. I will do my best to add more detailed trigger warnings. And I would personally suggest that if you're worried about any of the content in the fic, to run these worries past a friend who's read the fic, because they'll know you better than I ever will. Please don't read Powder Blue if you think it'll harm you. I would rather have fewer readers than triggered ones.

If there's anything I've missed that you think I need to address, know that my inbox is open, that anon is on, and that I'm not in the business of retaliating against people who come to me with an issue, even if they're a dick to me while they're doing it. I'm not going to dismiss someone because they weren't nice to me while they were upset. I'm a bitch but I'm not that kind of bitch.

So. Thank you for waiting for this fic. Thank you for waiting for me. We've got something like 16 chapters to go, and I can't tell you when they'll be up, or if they'll be up soon. But thank you for loving this story. I can't tell you how much that means to me, especially now.

Love,

Scarr

[cacodaemonia]

I've seen a lot of people panicking, getting really angry, and sharing blatant misinformation about this upcoming lore.fm app, so I wanted to share this update I found from the creator.

I'm not defending it because I haven't seen exactly how it works yet, but from what I can tell, it's similar to a desktop program such as Calibre, which is what I (and many other people) often use for text-to-speech to read fics.

Calibre downloads the fic (just like ANYONE can download fics from AO3, mind you) into the computer from a URL provided by the user, and reads it from that file with the wonky robotic voice. I don't know if the lore.fm app even downloads the pages users provide for it to read, or if it just accesses them on a case-by-case basis, but I suspect it's the latter because otherwise, they would need to pay for a LOT of cloud storage.

Maybe the app is totally shady, but it could also be an attempt to make an accessibility tool for mobile screen reading that doesn't suck. The project definitely seems clumsily-executed, and they should really be providing more information beyond their TOS, privacy policy, and tiktok videos, but that doesn't automatically make them nefarious. It's also unclear to me if they are simply 'marketing' this as a better way to listen to fics that haven't been podficced, or if it can be used on any website, but I think it's the latter? I don't have a tiktok account and I don't feel like sifting through a bunch of videos, so. 🤷

Anyway, before you send them angry emails or messages on social media or share rumors, please consider looking into this on your own rather than relying on wild speculation.

Oh, and here's a reddit post from someone who emailed @ao3org and got a reply from them regarding the legality.

EDIT: looks like the app is shutting down. I'm still not sure what their goal was, exactly. Such a weird situation.

[monbons]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag @thewholelemon! I read your post and--are we the same person? I also was just moving things around from one document to the next in my Addie LaRue x Snowbaz fic feeling a little lost for most of the week. Since this is only my third fic, I don't really have a process for writing other than opening a doc, typing three or four bullet points, and then just diving in. Clearly that isn't going to work for this fic, especially since it is quickly becoming clear to me that this is going to be a MASSIVE undertaking.

Anyway, I finally decided I think better on paper, so I broke out my multicolored post-its and my notebook and plotted out the various timelines by hand. I think I finally figured it out, which means drafting should pick up a bit. Fingers crossed I have something to share for WIP Wednesday!

In the mean time, have my favorite bit of Knock Your Socks Off. Since you may not have read the final chapter yet, (it is now fully posted!) you can find it under the cut to avoid spoilers.

I am mourning my favourite pair of jeans, which I rarely wash to begin with, when Snow barges into the room. He must have pieced together this shirt, but either his magick wasn’t quite up for the job or the Sock Monster has a sick sense of humour, because it is also…incomplete. He is missing just two patches of shirt, perfectly framing each of his hard, hairless nipples.  “Look at this!” he yells. And I am. Oh Simon, I am. “Why would anyone do this?!” He collapses on his bed, face up. Crowley, why?

I've been informed tags are the wild west, so if I am doing this wrong, please interpret this mostly as incredible gratitude for reading my fics. I am so excited to be writing for this fandom and your comments on AO3 the last few days/weeks have given me life.

So thank you: @thewholelemon, @raenestee, @valeffelees, @bookish-bogwitch, @youarenevertooold, @cutestkilla, @whogaveyoupermission, @prettyaudvampyscones, @freclface, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @noblecorgi, @cattocavo, @hertragedyconnoisseur (I apologize if I missed you... or tagged the wrong person! But please know I am the little lovebird below!)

Enjoy your Sunday!

[achaotichuman]

Do you think you could write about dehlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

This has been sitting, marinating in my drafts. But it is finally complete. I am fully aware I fucked up the timeline here, but I'm not rewriting all of this, so we're gonna pretend that fancy Fae tests can reveal a pregnancy at four weeks instead of eight like the post said.

And disclaimer before anyone calls for my head, for this fic I am also rewriting Ianthe's character, because she is too interesting for me to just write off as a sex offender and never think about again. Also, it is very interesting to see her as a genuinely morally grey person with good intentions. So, in this fic, she never SAs Lucien, but she does get a cool plot twist so stay tuned for that.

Basically, I have turned this into a rewrite of Acomaf and Acowar. A lot of the events were written from pure memory, and asking Tumblr, so forgive me if some scenes from the OG series were left out or written significantly differently. We mostly got Feyre's version of events anyway, so I'm not too worried.

This will be split into several chapters. Three being for the Mist and Fury rewrite, and then two for the Wings and Ruin rewrite. And if I have time, I'll do an Acofas rewrite. I'll be uploading all three of the Mist and Fury chapters today, and linking them in this post. You can also find it on SquidgeWorld here, and Ao3 here.

Anyway, here is the long-awaited fic, anon. And @r-biter, thank you for the original post, I hope I do it justice. Also @praetorqueenreyna who reblogged the original post.

Also, did I turn this into a Tamcien fic? Yes, of course I did.

A Field of Dahlias

“Are you alright with this?” He asked, it may have been the hundredth time he asked, Feyre gave him the same exasperated eyes she had given him all night long. 

Everything pointed to her being more than alright with this. Him pressed into the sheets below her, their clothes forgotten on the floor, her eyes glazed with lust. The rush of new hormones in her head no doubt fuelled the arousal that was now pressed against his wet slit. She leaned down, teeth a touch sharper than normal. She kissed his neck, dragging her canines along his fluttering pulse like he would for her. 

She ran her now larger hands down his slightly smaller than normal frame. Hands finding his breasts and squeezing relentlessly, pinching his nipples, her rough fingers, calloused from years of work from before she had been turned fae. Tamlin bit down on his lip, not wanting the whimper that pressed against his vocal cords to be released. A part of him still didn’t understand the switch in the power dynamic and begged to flip her over, to shift them both back to normal and continue this the way he knew well. 

But he didn’t, he remained underneath Feyre. Her chest flatter, set a touch wider, her shoulders broader. Her hips, now more narrow, rocked forward ever so slightly, as if on their own accord, as if her body was begging to bury the length now resting between her legs into the tight warmth before her. 

“I’m fine, more than fine, like I’ve said a hundred times already.” She added an eye roll to the last part, Tamlin countered it with his own. 

“Fine, but if you want to stop at anytime-”

“Are you okay with this, Tam?” She asked, hands becoming more gentle, roaming his skin like she loved it, like she cared. 

It was still new, the loving and the caring, the likes of which Tamlin hadn’t felt in years. 

“I’m okay.” Tamlin said, forcing his voice to remain steady. He loosened a breath, then spread his thighs wider. 

“Well?” He asked, adding a grin to his words, “Lets see how sloppy your form is, wicked creature.”

Feyre gave him her own wild grin, eyes filled with that lust and love. Something caring and devoted in her face, she leaned down and put her face into the crook of his neck, licking at the skin in a careful, deliberate manner. 

“Let’s see how well you hold up, Faerie Lord.” 

***

Tamlin shuffled a few papers on his desk. Briefly glancing over all of them before sorting them into piles and picking up the one closest to his left. With nimble fingers he paged them apart and began to read each complaint. A sigh escaping his throat. 

He tried to ease the worry sitting low in his belly but it wouldn’t relent, as the pile of complaints grew higher, the headache pounding behind his eyes tightened. 

After he was done reading the letters, he moved to open a drawer in his desk. Then the feeling of his stomach lurching overwhelmed his senses. Nausea made his legs shake, he retched, then quickly slapped his palm over his mouth before winnowing to the nearby bathroom. 

He had all of about three seconds before he was bent over the toilet, vomiting until he was shaking so badly he could barely stand on his knees. He dry heaved for a minute before finally his body relented and he slumped back, panting heavily, beats of sweat gathering on his forehead. 

“Gods dammit.” He cursed, forcing himself to his feet and quickly cleaning up. 

As he rinsed out his mouth, a pain shot up his spine and the sickness returned with a festering wrath. Tamlin groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat, he gripped the sides of the sink. 

***

It didn’t relent, the sickness came and went throughout the days. Tamlin thought he could handle it. Thought he could make it through the seemingly endless hours without anyone knowing something was amiss. 

“Two of you will head for the south border and I will send another group towards-” Tamlin was cut off by bile rising quickly in his throat, burning him from the inside out. He couldn’t get another word out before he sprinted back inside. Leaving five very confused sentries outside. 

He rushed past several servants, all of which stopped to stare in concern. Tamlin ignored all of them. 

It was Alis that didn’t stare. Rather broke into a sprint after him. The Summer Faery found Tamlin practically doubled over while he emptied the contents of his stomach. Alis snapped in a gasp, then quickly ran over to pull back his hair, sticking to his face from sweat. 

“Tam…” She murmured. 

Tamlin could barely see, the world tipping from one side to the other. 

“Why are you staring?” Alis shouted at somebody, or somebodies at the door. Tamlin had enough sense to look back over his shoulder. He saw several servants who were loitering at the door, wondering what exactly was happening. 

“Leave this instant, go back to your duties.” She shouted, then quickly slammed the door, everyone scattered as quickly as possible. 

Tamlin panted as he sat back on his heels, tilting his head to the ceiling, “Gods.”

“Tamlin, are you alright?” Alis asked, helping him onto his shaking feet. He wanted to shove away from her and insist he was fine, but he was still getting his bearings back and the world was too bright, and he had a headache. 

She led him to the sink and coaxed him into washing up. Tamlin splashed his face with ice water, and rinsed out his mouth. Then he looked up to see the mirror. 

Gods, he hadn’t realised how little sleep he had been getting until he saw the deep purple under his eyes. The gauntness in them, along with his too pale face, made him resemble something of a ghost. 

“I…” 

“Tam.” She murmured. Putting a hand to his forehead, the rough bark of her hands rubbing against the soft skin. She furrowed her eyebrows, “You don’t have a temperature. 

“I’m fine, Alis.” He said. 

She breathed in deeply, face carefully controlled, “You need to see a healer. I will call for one-”

She turned to leave, but Tamlin took hold of her wrist. The light shining from Faelights in the bathroom too bright, he was so tired. 

“I don’t need a healer, Alis. It’s nothing.” He told her. Ignoring the image of himself in the mirror, ignoring that fact he knew very well that he did not look fine.

Still Alis wouldn’t go against his orders. She sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, her eyes cast downwards, “Just… fine then. Just please see one if this gets worse.”

Tamlin bit down on the inside of his cheek, but nodded all the same. 

***

It got worse, and there wasn’t anything he could do to hide it from anybody too close. 

So he locked himself in his study or his room, and tried to focus on anything else. Anything other than the constant headache pounding behind his eyes. The never-ending wish to lay in his bed and sleep until his days ended, and the constant vomiting. 

It didn’t relent, instead it worsened. 

Alis found him again. In the bathroom in his room. When she spotted his hair, dirty and tangled, eye bags even darker and skin paler than ever. She narrowed her eyes, but quickly tied back his hair. Once he was done, she told him, “We’re getting a healer.”

Tamlin wanted to protest again, but he was so tired. So he said nothing, instead he slumped against the nearest wall and closed his eyes. 

Why was this happening? Now of all times, when he needed to be alert for his Court. For the people who were still recovering. 

“It’s just stress.” Tamlin told Alis as she put a dampened cloth to his forehead. 

“I would still like for you to see a healer.” 

‘I don’t believe a word you say’, is what that meant. Tamlin chuckled, but the sound was hollow. 

“Alis, I-”

“Hush now, child.” She murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face as she sat down beside him, “I’ll call a healer, we will figure out what is happening.”

It felt too familiar. Like the days spent in his childhood when he and Alis would sit on the ground in the gardens, whilst she sang him songs in a language he didn’t know at the time. A language she had taught him, so he could sing with her. 

It was too nostalgic. He didn’t deserve to feel that love again. That deep rooted, innocent love, it belonged to the child that hadn’t been stained by the world. 

It belonged to the kid that hadn’t been ruined in every sense of the word. 

Alis didn’t seem to care in the slightest. She took in her hands three strands of blond hair and began to weave a braid. 

“It’ll be okay.” She assured him. 

Tamlin scoffed, he felt her fingers pause in his hair, so he mumbled, “Nothing seems okay now.”

Alis tilted her head slightly, to see his eyes better. Her brown irises rose to meet his green ones. Alis reached out, her rough fingertips caressing the side of his face ever so softly. 

“It will.” She whispered, “It will get better, Tam.”

***

The healer that he saw was named Heilda, she was a short sweet-faced lesser Fae with fluttering mosaic wings and short near white curly hair. Her eyes were all black and her teeth were sharpened. Tamlin was sitting in her office, in a small cottage in the middle of one of the busiest villages, close to the Manor. One of his hands rubbed his temple while the other tapped his leg. 

Lucien had dropped him off at Heilda’s residence before leaving to inform Alis he had indeed gone to the healer and not run off. Tamlin had then insisted he didn’t need to, but the headache came back, and Tamlin was powerless to stop the determined redhead. 

“How long has the vomiting been happening?” Heilda asked. 

The High lord bit the inside of his cheek, quickly thinking back on the past few months since they left the Mountain, “Give or take a month and a half.”

She quickly jotted that down in a leatherback notebook in her hands, then asked, “I’ve also been told you’ve been experiencing severe headaches? How long has that been happening?”

Tamlin shrugged, “I’ve had them all my life, just recently they’re occurring more and more.”

Heilda nodded as she jot notes down in her leather book, before turning to a variety of medicinal herbs and bottles of strangely coloured liquids. 

She rifled through a few before taking a mortar and pestle and began to grind a mixture of dried plants and herbs, asking questions as she did. 

“Have there been any recent changes in diet?” 

“No,” Unless Alis was slowly poisoning him, but he didn’t think her the killer type. 

“Drinking water regularly?” 

“Yes.”

“Have you been sleeping properly?”

Tamlin almost answered yes, then he remembered the nightmares that riddled his sleep, “...No.”

“Alright, that could be one cause, but from the extent of your headaches I’m inclined to believe there could be something else.” She took the herbal mixture and went to a fireplace where a small cauldron bubbled incessantly, “I’d like to run a few tests, my Lord.”

“Whatever you need to do.” He said. 

She took a blood and urinary sample. Tamlin waited for what felt like hours as she put them through several tests, mostly mixing strange things together and watching what happened. Occasionally noting reactions. Tamlin was bored out of his wits, staring at the ceiling, Heilda had given him some strange purple tea, it eased the pressure in his head and the nausea in his stomach, thankfully. 

There was a light rapping on the door, followed by a very familiar voice, “Lady Heilda, I was sent by Alis.”

“Come in, Lord Lucien.” Was all Heilda said, not looking up from her work. 

Lucien opened the door, his eyes immediately drawn to Tamlin and the drink in his hand. He nodded to it, a silent question, Tamlin just shrugged and jutted his head in the direction of Heilda. 

Lucien sat down in a chair beside Tamlin, “How are you doing?”

“Better since drinking this thing.” He said, showing Lucien the painted mug. Lucien nodded. 

“What's happening now?” He asked. 

“Heilda’s running tests, hopefully we’ll know what’s causing the nausea, we can fix it, then be on our merry way.” Tamlin said, drinking the last of the strange tea.

That was when Heilda clicked her tongue, “I don’t believe this is a problem we can simply fix, my Lord.”

She spun around in her chair, “I believe this problem will be a bit bigger than originally considered.”

Lucien and Tamlin furrowed their brows, glancing at each other before eyeing the healer worriedly. It was Lucien who asked, “And what is the problem exactly?”

Heilda took in a breath, seemingly steeling herself, as if on instinct, Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Holding him tightly. 

“My Lord,” She said, addressing Tamlin, “Have you shapeshifted into a female form, sometime within the last five or six weeks?”

Tamlin was taken aback by the question, he blinked at her, hand tightening in Lucien’s, “I mean… yes, but I’ve done it before, I don’t know how it could cause any issues. Especially not…” He counted the weeks since that night with Feyre, “Six weeks later.”

Now Heilda snapped in a deep breath, “This may be an uncomfortable question, but did you have any penetrative intercourse whilst in female form?”

“You’re right, that is an uncomfortable question.” Tamlin said, blinking at the healer like she had grown a second head, “That shouldn’t have anything to do with my symptoms.”

“Just trust her, Tam.” Lucien said, squeezing his hand in an assuring manner. 

“I just need a yes or no answer.” Heilda said gently. 

Tamlin sighed deeply, eyes squeezing shut, “Yes. Feyre is a shapeshifter as well.”

Heilda nodded, then leaned back in her chair, “Did you use any contraceptives this night in question?”

Now Tamlin gritted his teeth, “What does this-”

“Tam.” Lucien said gently. Tamlin looked over at his friend and sighed. 

“No, we did not.”

Heilda nodded, then she rubbed her hands together. Wringing out her fingers and cracking the knuckles as she crossed one leg over the other, “Okay. What I’m about to say may be shocking.”

“Just spit it out.” Tamlin said, finally and fully fed up with these riddles and strange questions. 

“Alright,” Heilda looked between Lucien and Tamlin, Lucien tightened his grip on Tamlin’s hand. 

“Congratulations, Lord Tamlin Fairburn, you are pregnant.”

One heartbeat, then a dozen. Tamlin stared at Heilda like she had two heads and a tail. Lucien had gone completely white, the fire lord looked as though he was about to pass out. 

Heilda looked between the two, she smiled, then clapped her hands as she wheeled her chair away, “This is what happens when you don’t take contraceptives.”

Tamlin laughed, he laughed hard, nearly falling off his chair. He gripped Lucien’s hand so tightly he could feel his bones grinding under his fingers, Lucien didn’t pull away regardless. The Fox remained silent whilst Tamlin fell into hysterics. 

“No!” Tamlin said, pushing himself back into his chair, “No, no, no. I am not- I am not at all. That is wrong!”

Anger now pressed through the hysteria. Heilda sighed like she expected this reaction, turning around she looked over at Tamlin, “Listen, you were in a female form and you-”

“I am not now aren’t I?!” He shouted, standing up from his chair. His sudden motion snapped Lucien from his daze. He quickly stood up and wrapped an arm around Tamlin’s chest. He made to wrap his free arm around his stomach, but suddenly didn’t. When Tamlin looked at him the Fox was breathing deliberately slowly, staring at his abdomen with an unreadable expression. 

It only served to piss Tamlin off even more. Heilda, unlike the two before her, stayed calm, her voice soft and gentle when she replied, “No, but you can still retain a womb in this form if your magic allows it.”

“I shifted back the morning after!” Tamlin shouted, “This should’ve never happened! You are wrong!”

“I’m not, and I think you know I’m not. Spring thrives off of fertility magic, your magic protected the foetus growing in your womb.” Heilda replied. So casual as if this happened every other day. 

Tamlin stammered and stuttered, trying to figure out someway around this. Some loophole or information that would directly challenge this. Like if he wished hard enough he could prove her wrong. Like if he managed to get angry enough, he could make this go away. Tamlin eventually looked to the floor. Beginning to process the information for what it was. For exactly what it meant.  

“I recommend shifting back into the form of a female, it will make this more comfortable.” Heilda said, her voice still so gentle. It stopped making him angrier, and as the initial shock and denial wore off, the world began to tip from one side to the other. Lucien held him up. The red-head’s fingers intertwined with Tamlin’s. 

“Is there anything else, Heilda?” Lucien asked, his voice a soft murmur behind Tamlin, yet a dull vibration in the face of the ringing in his ears growing with each passing second. 

“Bring him back for some more tests once he’s processed this.” Was all Heilda said. Tamlin was caught between wanting to wake up from this as if it were a dream and wanting to rip her throat out for being so casual about this. 

Only Lucien murmured his thanks. Tamlin considered cursing out the healer, but his sudden lack of energy made that impossible. 

In the future he would thank Heilda for being so calm, for now, he hated her for it. 

Lucien and Tamlin were silent as they left the healer’s office. Lucien kept his hand on Tamlin’s, gently leading the way as Tamlin was still reeling. Barely thinking, he couldn’t hear much besides some of Lucien's gentle murmurs and promises that they would figure it out. 

But as Lucien made to winnow them he suddenly stopped, eyes wide, face pale, hands shaking. Tamlin furrowed his brow whispering, “What?”

“Can-Can I winnow you? That won’t hurt…” Lucien bit his lip as he made a quick gesture to Tamlin’s belly. 

Tamlin snarled, his fangs a flash of white. He ripped his hand away from Lucien’s and marched in the general direction of Rosehall.

“Tamlin!” Lucien called out, quick to follow him, “Tamlin you can’t just storm off!”

“Watch me!” Tamlin turned around and screamed at him. Lucien stopped dead in his tracks, his nose scrunched as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Don’t scream at me, I’m only trying to help!” Lucien told him.

“I don’t need your help, Lucien! I don’t need you!” It was a dirty lie, because Tamlin needed Lucien more than air. Especially now. He felt his legs shaking, he wanted to fall to the ground. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and rage and throw things. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to go back to this morning when this didn’t exist to him. 

Tamlin didn’t wait to see Lucien’s reaction to his venomous words, he turned around and continued to storm away. 

He didn’t get far. Lucien appeared behind him and picked him up. Holding him in bridal carry. Tamlin yelled and thrashed, spitting curses at him, some of which he had forgotten he even knew. 

“Put me down!” His voice was drawing attention from passersby, but Lucien didn’t put him down, just waited. 

“Lucien fucking Vanserra let go of me!”

“Stop being a dickhead and I will.”

“You-”

“Tamlin.” Lucien warned. The tiniest hint of a growl in his voice, something about the way he said it made Tamlin stop squirming. The glare of death in the High lord’s eyes never left but he gritted his teeth and stopped moving. 

“Good.” Lucien said, putting him back on the ground, but keeping two hands on his shoulders. 

“Tamlin, we need to deal with this.” Lucien said, his eyes hard, his face unforgiving. 

“I know-”

“No, you will try and ignore this until you are physically unable to any longer, and then we will be unprepared. You and I are going to talk about this, and form a game plan.”

Tamlin’s eye twitched, “Then can you wait until we get back to Rosehall?”

“We will walk back.” Lucien said as he let go of Tamlin and plucked a paper and pen from the space between realms. The red-head scribbled something down before sending it off. Tamlin knew it would be something to Alis to say they would be returning later than expected. 

Tamlin’s hands once again curled into fists. He took in a deep breath, “I have shapeshifted, a little magic will not hurt.”

Lucien’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, “We don’t know that Tam.”

Tamlin laughed quietly, at what he didn’t know. The world was going so fast, at the same time it came to a complete halt.  

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Tamlin asked quietly. 

Tamlin stared at nothing, vision slowing like a haze was settling over his bones, a dark mist that made everything seem so far away. 

“Hey.” Lucien murmured, taking the High lord’s hands in his, “We’ll figure it out.”

They walked. Over the rocky cobblestone paths and through the blooming gardens abounding through Spring, the smell of pollen wafted through the air, mixing with the scents of sweetened coffee and baked goods. The sun was speckled over the ground by the constant clouds passing overhead. Gentle breezes caressed the delicate petals of roses, lilacs and lilies. 

Tamlin resolutely stared at the ground ahead, each footstep deliberate and careful. He could feel whenever Lucien’s watchful eyes flicked to him. The High lord wrapped his arms around himself, releasing Lucien's hand, and made sure to not so much as flick his gaze to his emissary. 

Eventually it felt like Lucien got the message and looked ahead as well, the clicking of his eye never directed in Tamlin’s direction. Finally Tamlin looked at him, to see Lucien with his head held high and facing straight ahead. His red hair a banner behind him in the breeze. His stride never faltering. 

Tamlin felt like a newborn foal next to him, not so graceful and elegant, more clumsy and foolish. 

Then a sound filled his ears, one that made him stop dead in his tracks. Tamlin quickly snapped his gaze to his left, looking across a nearby field, filled with a plush blanket of white, purples, pinks and reds, there he saw a gaggle of children. Some lesser Fae, others High Fae. All blowing on dandelion fluff and laughing until they fell to the ground. Two boys with purple skin and big black eyes, chased each other with worms on sticks. A girl with delicate fluttering wings carefully placed a flower crown on a girl with pointed ears, freckles and ginger hair. 

Another two girls threw mud onto each other, ruining the delicate lace of their baby blue dresses. And one boy, much smaller than the rest, with wispy brown hair laughed until he fell onto his back. 

“Tam?” Tamlin didn’t look at Lucien as his eyes were captivated by the children of his Court playing without a care in the world. 

One hand scrunched in the fabric of his trousers, strands of blond hair were picked up by the wind, fluttering over and around his face. 

Lucien walked back to stand beside Tamlin as he saw what had halted him. The Fox of Prythian reached his hand out and wrapped Tamlin’s in it. 

“It’ll be okay Tam.” He whispered. 

“Dahlias.” Tamlin rasped, voice breathy and shaking. 

Lucien hummed in confusion and Tamlin pointed to the field, “The field its… the flowers are all dahlias.”

A heartbeat of silence passed them by, floating along like a butterfly on the wind, Lucien squeezed his hand ever so slightly, “A field of dahlias.”

***

The rest of the walk home was less exciting. Mostly Tamlin stayed caught in silence whilst Lucien broached the harder topics that would later need more discussion. The complications of having an Heir of not just Spring, but of the Cursebreaker, so quickly after Amarantha’s reign had come to a completion. Even Feyre was not completely settled into her new body as a High Fae, and certainly not settled into her new role at Court.

Tamlin wouldn’t dream of putting a singular extra duty on her shoulders that she didn’t need to have to stress about so soon after all had been said and done. But he had to admit they needed more publicity, something for the rest of Prythian to see that Feyre Archeron was the Lady of Spring, the saviour of the Mountain, and the Warrior who sent Amarantha to her grave. 

He didn’t want her to be a show pony, only to be paraded to see her achievements. She had said it herself on a number of times that she wanted a quiet life. But if a baby was now on the way-

No, not thinking about that. 

He didn’t want to think about ‘it’ , he wanted to think about how to get Feyre properly settled. Then how to stabilise the Court, and regain what had been stolen and lost to Amarantha. He needed to focus on the Court right now. 

The sight of Rosehall came into view and Tamlin felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders, he spoke to Lucien while his eyes examined every detail of his home. “Organise dinners, celebrations, prepare for the upcoming holidays. Pay special attention to the farmers, whatever they need, send it to them. The doors of Rosehall are completely open to the public and any that come in seeking refuge from other Courts. And Lucien.”

Tamlin stopped and Lucien halted as well, his brown eyes meeting green, “Make preparations for the tithe, we need to get it back up and running. We are barely holding on as it is, with everything Amarantha has done we cannot afford the losses that have hit us.”

Lucien nodded, Tamlin went on, “Most of the money and jewels from the treasury were stolen and until we send people back under the mountain to retrieve what they can we are on a tight budget. Every coin goes straight into the refugees, the farmers and the villages that have lost their homes.”

“Of course, but Tamlin-”

“The people are in low spirits and the magic will sense that. Spring thrives off of fertility and celebration from the Fae. I haven't even seen the wisps since before we went under the mountain. Until the native creatures of the land return we are in emergency mode. I want a list of everyone we lost to Amarantha, I need a spreadsheet of the damages and the costs necessary to return everything to its former glory, until we are back to normal we will not rest-”

“Tamlin Kali Fairburn!” Lucien eventually yelled.

Tamlin blinked, then he blinked again. Lucien gritted his teeth, the light hitting the emissary in just the right way that his skin seemed to glow with his frustration, “You are stressing yourself out for no reason.”

Tamlin gawked at that, “There is a reason, our Court is still half in ruins-”

The fire lord marched forward and put his hands on his shoulders, “And I will help you to restore it. But you cannot try and handle everything yourself.”

“I am not trying to do everything myself-”

“You are thinking of everything at once, when you need to calm down.” Lucien’s head fell, he took several deep breaths, “Listen, Tam. Like it or not we… you are now responsible for another life.”

Tamlin bristled at that, fangs starting to point through his teeth. Claws pressed against his skin, threatening to burst through. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said slowly, “I know you don’t want to think about this, but that doesn’t change the fact that Spring is…” Lucien took another steadying breath, like he was falling apart at the news himself, “Spring is having an Heir.”

There were the words that crushed Tamlin even more. This… it wouldn’t be just another baby, but an Heir of Spring, a possible successor. A potential future ruler of the Spring Court. 

They had no choice but to think about this. 

“We will take this one step at a time.” Lucien moved his hands down to clasp his friends, thumbs rubbing the backs of his palms. 

Tamlin stared down at the dark fingers massaging gentle circles into his skin. He closed his eyes, the headache pounding harder. He was so fucking tired. 

“This is awful.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them. 

“I know Tam.” Lucien murmured, his voice near drowned out by the sounds of laughter in the distance. 

He felt like he might collapse. A headache pushed into his temple. He noticed a flicker of movement, and then saw that it was in fact a butterfly, small and blue and clueless. Making laps around their heads. 

“It’ll be okay.” Lucien reassured him. It was false, they had no idea if it would be okay. 

***

It was not okay. 

It was absolutely not okay. 

He had a headache all the time and sleep became a luxury he apparently could not afford. All of a sudden complaints pushed from all sides as bandits began to infiltrate the Southern and Western borders. Seeing quick money and easy blood to draw. 

Many of the servants and sentries had left the grounds for other Courts in order to visit family after the Curse’s conclusion. With quickly hired, inexperienced staff, the grounds began to descend into chaos. 

Not to mention how everyone was coping. That being barely. 

Nowadays even into the dark hours of the morning, every hall was lit and not a single room didn’t have some form of a faelight and an open window. No one wished to be forced back into darkness, and everyone needed the reassurance of open, blowing air. 

The second Tamlin had stepped foot back into his office he was thrown back into work. Now, days didn’t end until he was near passing out from exhaustion and they started the second the ray of first light hit his face. 

He wasn’t the only one. Lucien he barely saw anymore, as much as the Fox of Prythian attempted to check on him, they both lost all sense of time. Unable to keep up with their workloads and desperately attempting to pull the Court back into order. 

With everything going on, Tamlin had yet to tell anyone about… it. 

Alis had tried to push for answers, but even with all her stubbornness, the female knew when she had to back off. The quick snappish answers and flare in temper were enough to tell her, it wasn’t time for her to ask what happened that day with the healer. But Tamlin could tell she was worried. 

With everything happening. Tamlin had forgotten the last time he even so much as laid eyes on Feyre.

He was sure he saw her during the nights at some point, but as everything merged into a dazed blur of work, work, work, he couldn’t be sure. 

That wasn’t even including the constant strain from symptoms. 

Vomiting, and headaches were just the start of it. At times he could barely keep his eyes open even after hours of sleep. If he stood too quickly, all blood rushed from his head and black spots filled his vision. Random outbursts became more prevalent, everything setting him on edge. 

"Dear Gods," He cursed, rubbing his temples. Elbows planted on his desk. Tamlin screwed his eyes shut as yet another wave of throbbing crashed over him. 

There was a light rapping at his door. Tamlin didn't need to look up as the door opened to know who it was. The scent of cinnamon spice was enough telling. 

"Tam." Lucien said tenderly. 

Without opening his eyes, Tamlin said, "Lucien Vanserra, if the next words out of your mouth aren't, here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate, I will toss you over the border and back into Autumn."

There was a heartbeat of silence. 

Tamlin wouldn't throw Lucien back into Autumn, Tamlin quite liked Lucien. 

He would very possibly steal and hide all of his left shoes. Lucien was fully aware of that. 

Lucien left the office, and when he returned, he opened the door saying, "Here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate."

Indeed, he was carrying a tray with a giant chocolate chip cookie and two mugs of steaming hot chocolate that made Tamlin's mouth water when he saw them.

Lucien is a smart man. Everyone should be like Lucien, Tamlin thought. 

Setting the tray on the dark wood coffee table by the empty fireplace. Lucien sat down on the green velvet lounge. 

Tamlin left his desk and joined him. Settling into the soft fabric and hands immediately reaching for said cookie. Lucien smiled softly as he took up his mug. 

"Heilda said it would be more comfortable to shift to female form." Lucien said as he absentmindedly toyed with the handle. His voice was soft as he broached the subject, not wishing to provoke anger. 

Tamlin bit into the cookie and nearly moaned. 

To shift into a female form. To stay like that. It would raise eyebrows and suspicions. And good Gods, when he started to show-

No, not thinking about that. 

"So?" Tamlin asked. He knew he had to listen, he had to take into account the possibility of having an Heir for the Court. 

Gods, an Heir so soon. They just came out from Under the Mountain. It was all still fresh, too fresh. He could still see her eyes above him. Pushing him down into the sheets-

No. 

Not thinking about it. 

"So..." Lucien traced the rim of his cup with his finger, "Perhaps you should think about listening to her."

Tamlin's eyes snapped to Lucien's to find the fiery male staring right back. He lifted a perfectly groomed red eyebrow and waited for a response. One leg crossed over the other and head held high. 

Lucien didn't back down for anyone, not Beron, not Amarantha, and certainly not Tamlin. 

"Or perhaps I won't." I am a grown male, and I will make my own decisions, did not need to be said for Lucien to get the gist of it. 

"She is the professional, Tam." He hummed. 

"Don't call me that." Not now. Don't be gentle with me. 

Lucien put the mug down on the table, it banged as his hands didn't bother to control his strength. 

"Alright, this has gone on long enough." Lucien said, "We need to do something about all of this."

"What do you want to do exactly?" Tamlin snapped, temper flaring. 

"Gods above." Lucien rubbed his temples and Tamlin wanted to throw something. 

"Come up with a goddamn game plan, Tamlin. I want to know what the next moves should be. I mean, have you even told Feyre?" Lucien bounced his knee up and down. Tamlin thought that at any moment he might get up and start pacing. 

"Well I- there isn't anything that can be done Lucien!" Tamlin shouted, finally beginning to snap. He hated this. He wanted to be done with it. 

And he hadn't told Feyre. He didn't want to. He didn't want to talk about it. 

Like if he refused to so much as think about it, it wouldn't exist. 

Lucien opened his mouth, eyes blazing and preparing to yell. Then he cut himself short and snapped his mouth shut. Face falling back into carefully crafted blankness and eyes losing any emotions at all. 

Tamlin's claws nearly shot through his hands. Fire blazing through him, not just because of the subject at hand, but because of how easily Lucien put his mask on. Hiding his true thoughts so well. 

Tamlin wished for the courtier mask, but no matter how hard he tried there was nothing he could do to hide himself. 

Fuck this all. 

"You need to tell Feyre," Lucien said, crossing his arms. Relaxing back into the lounge, as nonchalant as ever. Tamlin hated it. 

"I don't need to do anything." Tamlin hissed. 

Lucien chuckled and claws finally pierced to the surface. He dug them into pillow beneath them, slowly counting back from ten. 

"What is so funny?"

Lucien picked up his mug again as he shook his head, "Sure you don't need to do anything Tam."

"Get out!" Tamlin shouted. 

Lucien rolled his eyes, he put his mug down and slid off the lounge gracefully. A swagger in his step as he left the room, as he passed through the threshold his hand caught the door. He tossed a seething smile over his shoulder and said, "Figure it out on your own then, but figure it out, Tam."

Lucien slammed the door shut before Tamlin could yell at him. 

***

Feyre wasn't happy. She didn't know when she started feeling this way, when the total weight of how she felt finally settled into her bones. Like mist in the morning, it descended slowly until she was consumed by it. 

She couldn't look the Fae around her in the eyes anymore. Not without seeing the Faeries she had stabbed. The boy's screams filled her eyes at every ring of a bell or snap of a tree branch. 

And dear God, the girl who had prayed before she had ended her life. The words seemed carved into her skin, she heard them in the laughter and song of the Priestesses that came in groups for lunch after long days working in the Temple. Every time those swishing robes passed her by, she remembered that prayer. 

One of the Priestesses had taken a special interest in her. One of the twelve High Priestesses. Feyre knew little of how religion worked in the Fae Lands. The idea of Gods and such had never interested her. She had worked for too long back in the cabin to spend her time thinking of them. 

And if they did exist certainly the Mother was laughing at her.

As of now, Feyre stared out at the gardens. She was sitting by a small table on the porch, watching dahlias sway in the wind. The grounds were covered in them, they had been a flower Elain had grown back at the cabin and then at the new manor they resided in now. One of the only plants Feyre could pin-point. 

"I thought I might find you here." A voice said, breaking the silence. Feyre looked back over her shoulder and despite herself a small smile graced her lips. 

"Good morning Ianthe, shouldn't you be at a ceremony or such?" Feyre asked.

Ianthe chuckled, her voice and sweet face reminded Feyre a little of Elain. But her overall demeanor and strange stoniness reminded her of Nesta.  

"No, the girls are handling everything this morning. I have a break." 

Ianthe strolled over to where Feyre was sitting. She pointed to the chair opposite of her and asked, "May I?"

"Please." Feyre said. 

Ianthe gracefully slid into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. She did not wear her robes this morning. Her body still completely covered. However, the layers of her dark blue dress were lighter to account for the warmer weather this morning. A pale blue silk scarf covered her head so only a few curling blonde hairs fell around her face. 

"Did it hurt? The tattoo I mean." Feyre eventually asked. The tattoo of the phases of the moon, they interested Feyre. Whilst she now had a swirling tattoo along her arm, that one had been stained magically. 

Violet cruel eyes. Taunting hands and a laughing voice. 

No. Not thinking about him. 

Ianthe watched the swaying gardens as she answered. Her face was not cold, but it wasn't warm either. Like a stoic mother, Feyre thought. 

"Yes, but it was worth it to be given this honour." Ianthe answered. 

Feyre hummed, "Did you always want to be a High Priestess?"

Ianthe chuckled, finger tracing her knee, "My, my, many questions this morning."

The Archeron sister stiffened for a moment, "You don't need to answer if it makes uncom-"

Ianthe lifted a slender hand, she turned her full eyes back to Feyre and smiled, "I am teasing Feyre."

"Oh."

"As for your question, I always knew I wanted to be part of the Court. I worked well with the others. And I knew I could help this Court, the way the former High lord ruled he..."

Ianthe cut herself off as a darkness filled her eyes. Her mouth twisted into a straight line. Feyre furrowed her brow, concern beginning to creep in, "He...?"

Ianthe quickly shook her head and straightened, pulling herself from her thoughts, "He just... He wasn't a good male and I knew I could do something to help. As for becoming a High Priestess specifically I-"

Now a soft smile adorned her face as she lifted her eyes to the white sun's rays. 

"I have always had an affinity for the Mother and her creation." 

Feyre turned her own eyes back to the dahlia flowers. Blooming prettily as if not just months before the Spring Court had been ravaged and left in ruins. 

"The world is going back to normal." Feyre noted. 

Ianthe laughed suddenly, and Feyre snapped her eyes back to her. 

The High Priestess shook her head and murmured, "Nothing will ever be normal again."

"You weren't even here for the fifty years," Feyre pointed out, recalling what Lucien had told her before. How Ianthe's father had sent her and her sisters to the continent right as the curse was hitting. 

At her words Ianthe balled her dress up into her fists, "You don't know my story."

"Then tell me." I will listen, Feyre wanted to say. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Ianthe watched her. Blue eyes like sapphires in the light, "You won't understand."

"Try me."

A shake of her head and an amused smile, "Count the blessings you have flower, appreciate them. For at any moment, they can all be taken."

Feyre blinked. Then her face fell into deadpan. 

What was it with Fae and their riddles?

Ianthe threw her head back as she laughed at Feyre's confusion, "Flower just know not to take the word of Faeries at face value."

Ianthe leaned back into her chair and Feyre asked, "Can you guys just... tell me what you mean?"

A sly smile and glinted eyes, "Now where's the fun in that?"

***

She hated her reflection. She stood in front of the mirror as Ianthe carefully placed a crown of daisies and dahlias in her hair. 

"Why dahlias?" Feyre had asked.

Ianthe had shrugged, "You seemed to like them."

They had gone through enough dresses to last Feyre a lifetime. She had never liked dresses and today did not change that. She longed for something she could move in. Felt like restricted in. But she sucked it up. 

Ianthe had brought in a myriad of different dresses for her to try. To find one she liked best. 

"Do they all have to be so..." Feyre had gestured to large puffy sleeve and Ianthe had snickered. 

"For the record these were the former Lady of Spring's dresses."

Feyre had gone very, very still at that. Guilt shocking through her at how she hadn't liked the look of them. 

Ianthe had then rolled her eyes, "Do not fret, child, the Lady hadn't particularly adored them either. But it is tradition to wear the dresses of the former Lady. This were the Lady of Spring's before hers, and before hers. Now they will be yours."

Ianthe had then reassured Feyre, "Just for today at least, then they'll go back into a bag and into the closet to sit for the next several centuries."

Feyre had laughed suddenly at that, and the knot of anxiety welling in her stomach had begun to ease. 

Feyre had then rifled through the atrocious amount of fabrics. And eventually her hands landed on one particular dress. It was the biggest of them all, with an atrocious amount of tulle, lace and puffs. It was beautiful, Feyre could admit as much as that. But it was... so much. 

Feyre had bit down on her lip, trying not to laugh. Then she had looked at Ianthe whose eye was twitching as she pursed her lips, desperately keeping her own laughter down. 

They met each other's sights and were helpless but to fall into hysterics. 

The dress had been laid on the bed, but Feyre had decided on a far simpler one. Long, green silk simple sleeves, and a high neckline that opened just above her cleavage. The corseted part of the dress was embroidered with gold designs and tightly hugged her waist. Her far too small waist. As Ianthe had tied the back her eyes flicked up to Feyre in the mirror, hands still on the strings. 

Feyre had looked down, Ianthe continued and neither spoke of just how frail she had become. The High Priestess occasionally opened her mouth to say something, just to snap it closed. Ianthe didn't appear to know how to comfort, how to reassure. So, she didn't try. 

Now the look was complete. Feyre watched herself in the mirror. The long green skirts of her dress swirled as she moved. 

"There." Ianthe said. Feyre met her eyes in the mirror. 

"Are you ready?" She asked. 

Feyre didn't answer. She thought back on that day in the field when Tamlin had proposed to her, how happy she had been. How in so long the memories of Under the Mountain hadn't haunted her. 

Yet after all was said and done, it all came back. All had asked to show them the ring and expected her to gush about the future wedding and her engagement. Yet all enthusiasm had drained from her. Like the second Tamlin was not directly in front of her she no longer felt that passion any longer. 

It was just nerves. Nothing else. Once this day was said and done it would no longer bother her. 

"Yes."

Ianthe nodded, her eyes firm and set on Feyre through the mirror. A heartbeat passed and Feyre said, "We best be going then."

As she moved to leave. Ianthe put her hands on Feyre's shoulders, "One moment, my Lady."

The Cursebreaker furrowed her brow but remained still. Ianthe didn't break eye contact as she swiftly pulled a necklace out from underneath her robes. It swung from her neck, a beautiful green emerald that shone in the light. It was small and hung from a golden chain. 

Feyre blinked, opening her mouth to ask what was happening. But Ianthe answered her question, as she unclasped the necklace and swiftly placed it around Feyre's throat. 

"Ianthe-" Feyre started. 

"Take it, Cursebreaker." As she let it hang from Feyre's neck she murmured, "You may need it."

"Need it?" Feyre whispered. 

Ianthe just smiled, "Trust me."

"You said yourself not to take the words of Fae at face value." Feyre countered. 

"I did." She stated. 

Before Feyre could once again point out the blatant hypocrisy, Ianthe said, "Try to see past the person, Feyre. Try and see what may lay underneath."

***

He hated his reflection. Standing in front of the mirror whilst Alis fixed his hair and jacket burned a flaming rage deep in his core, but there was little he could do. Other than stand still and allow the Summer Faery to do her work. 

"You look very handsome." Alis smiled up at him as she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. 

Tamlin tried to give her a smile back, but he could only manage a weak nod as he stared at himself. 

Shell of a person. Eyes sunken from lack of sleep, skin unnervingly pale, gaunt, hollow. 

At least the suit was well made, tailored, green with whites and golds. Alis had braided flowers through his hair and dusted his face with just the slightest of makeup, she told him it was for the look to come together perfectly. But he knew it was to coverup the deadness in his face. 

The lesser faery opened and closed her mouth. Eyebrows furrowing. Tamlin nearly groaned. 

"What is it, Alis?" 

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, brushing away a speck of lint from his shoulder. Tamlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

"I am sure." He said, finally turning away from that godforsaken mirror. He faced the door of his bedroom. Lucien stood there. Dressed to the nines in green. Far more understated than Tamlin but just as gorgeous. 

"Ready?" Lucien asked. 

Tamlin shifted under his piercing gaze. The Fox scrutinized every inch of him, he was on display, wholly and completely. 

"I'm fine." Tamlin settled to say. He wouldn't admit how he felt sick to his stomach and the fluttering of anxiety was threatening to send running to bathroom to throw up once again. 

He held strong. He wouldn't be made weak. No matter how weak he truly felt. 

Lucien didn't believe that for a second. But he said nothing as he moved from the doorway and said, "Well then, the wedding is on in less than five minutes."

Feyre hesitated from her place at the end of the aisle. 

Her eyes agitated, hands shaking. Tamlin held his breath. She looked beautiful, but Feyre was always beautiful. A ring of flowers adorned her head, her eyes held the wedding venue before her. 

Ianthe was the one she watched; Tamlin risked a glance at the Priestess who watched Feyre closely. Slowly she raised a hand, and with a soft voice beckoned, "Come, Lady of Spring."

Feyre loosened a breath, her chest rising and falling with measured, calculated breaths. She took a step forward and Tamlin's chest constricted. He sucked in a breath, and she took another step forward. The knot pulled tighter and tighter. 

He remembered when she had been dragged in by Attor. Tossed to Amarantha's feet. 

Panic had filled him. He had nearly fainted. Surely, she wasn't there, because he had sent her back. She was back in the human lands there was no possible way for her to have come Under the Mountain. 

Yet there she had been.

The image faded in and out. Shifting from Feyre's perfect, unmarked face to the bruised snarling face she had worn that day so many months ago. 

She took a step forward. 

He was going to throw up. 

Then she took a step back. 

For a second, for a fleeting moment, the knot in his chest loosened and he felt like he could breathe again. 

Then she took another step back. The knot tightened once more. 

Eyes widened, and whispers erupted in the crowd of Fae. 

Fuck. 

No. 

Like a rope pulled him forward, Tamlin took a step towards Feyre. The world slowed to one moment in time. She stumbled further back, shaking her head. And Tamlin stepped further into the aisle. 

Something snapped in her gaze. She turned on her heel and sprinted. 

There was a gasp, and hot white rage flew through the High lord. Filling his veins, breaking something that had been pulled taut for too long now. 

He nearly launched into a run after her. 

"Tamlin." Lucien hissed, as he lept forward and pulled Tamlin back. 

Tamlin turned around to snarl at him, but in a second they were gone. Winnowed. 

Tamlin shouted into the darkness that enveloped them. And by the time they landed he was screaming curses at the red head. Lucien didn't seem to care. 

They were in his study. The window were open and sunshine was pouring in. Yet the house was empty as the grounds descended into chaos as the groom and bride had each disappeared. 

"Why did you-" Tamlin shouted, but Lucien snapped. 

"She was running away, what were you going to do?! Grab her and force her to marry you!" Lucien shouted, whilst pointing a finger into Tamlin's chest. 

"You-"

"Don't start with me Tamlin! We will find her, but for now calm the fuck down!" 

Tamlin blinked, initial rage simmering into something else entirely. 

What just happened. 

In the span of a few seconds, he had gone from jittering at the altar, watching his bride, then watching her run from him as he attempted to go after her.

He must have looked as shocked as he felt, because Lucien put a hand on each of his shoulders and guided him to the lounge. 

"Sit." Lucien ordered, Tamlin obeyed. Staring into nothing, mind horribly blank. 

Eventually one smaller thought came to mind, "I thought I wasn't allowed to winnow."

"You can in short distances, I spoke to Heilda. But she recommended it be someone else doing to actually winnowing."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Lucien sat down on the arm of the lounge. 

"What do I do now?"

Lucien stared at him and for the first time said, "I have no idea."

***

"Feyre!" 

Feyre didn't respond to the call. She crossed her arms and pressed further back into the trunk of the tree she was sitting in. Her knees bent, keeping her curled into the branch and just out of sight. 

"Feyre oh sh- Mother lead me." Ianthe hissed as she caught herself from cursing, "Where is that girl?"

Feyre craned her neck to look down. She saw Ianthe holding up her pale blue robes in one hand and her shoes in the other as she trod through grass and mud. 

"Feyre! I know you're out here somewhere!" 

Somewhere indeed, currently right above her. 

Ianthe screwed eyes shut and sighed deeply, "Couldn't have run somewhere inside, no we had to go out into the forest."

Despite the guilt and shame, the anxiety and hurt knotting and writhing in her stomach, threatening to make her lose her breakfast. Feyre chuckled. 

Bad decision, as Ianthe straightened, her fae senses alerting her to the sound. 

Ianthe whirled her head back and forth, "Feyre?"

Feyre had the muffle her laughter with the palm of her hand. But it wasn't enough to escape the hearing of the High Priestess. 

Finally, Ianthe furrowed her brow and looked right up. Her confusion fell into deadpan as she saw the Cursebreaker nestled in a branch. 

Mouth pursing, Ianthe gripped her robes a little tighter then asked, "Flower why are you in a tree?"

It hit her again. 

As she had walked down the aisle. Seen the people, the faces staring and waiting. Seen Tamlin watching her. Then had seen Ianthe. 

Permanant. Permanently stuck here. Permanently with the memories. Seeing everyone watching, like they had watched Under the Mountain. 

That prayer had rushed through her head again. And she saw their faces when she stabbed them. 

"Feyre?" 

Feyre looked back down to Ianthe, but gritted her teeth and did not answer. 

"Feyre." Ianthe said, deadpan, "Do not make me climb a tree."

Still Feyre remained silent whilst she brooded on her branch. 

Ianthe's eye twitched. And finally she sighed heavily, mumbling something about the Mother punishing her. 

"Fine! Fine." She said, dropping her shoes and letting her robes down from her hand. 

Then Feyre watched as the pristine, tidy, and uptight High Priestess of Spring, grabbed onto a branch and planted her foot into the trunk. Climbing the tree. 

She nearly slipped and fell, a curse nearly falling from her lips before she caught herself. 

Her robes got caught on a sharp piece of bark and there was a ripping sound. Ianthe made a disgusted sound, before she climbed up higher and higher. 

Finally, after clumsily forcing her way onto a branch right beside Feyre, she sat down. Panting heavily. Then she checked the small hole made in the hem of her robes. 

She gritted her teeth but ultimately let it fall away as she faced why she came out here. 

"Feyre, lovely spot you have here." Ianthe said, sarcasm lacing her voice. 

"Thanks, picked it out myself." Feyre snapped. 

The High Priestess sighed, "Feyre, you have to come down."

"Yes, I have to go down. And I have to go back to the wedding, don't I?" She snapped. 

Ianthe observed her for a moment, before shifting uncomfortably. Stoic face seemingly trying to figure out what the best course of action was. Thinking logically, no doubt just wondering what the quickest way to get Feyre back to the wedding was. 

It struck her that Ianthe didn't actually care what Feyre was feeling. She was doing as she was told, no other reason. It made Feyre feel all the more alone. 

Back in that dungeon, with nothing to keep her company but her will and a bargain. 

"Do you... Do you not wish to marry him?" She asked. 

Feyre gritted her teeth, she screwed her eyes shut. Darkness pressed in and she remembered the Attor dragging her into the throne room. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to forget anything that ever happened. She wanted to go somewhere none of it ever touched her again. 

"Feyre-"

"Just go away Ianthe I don't want to speak to you!" She shouted. 

Ianthe bristled, "I am just trying to help-"

"Well you aren't!" 

Now, her face iced over. Stone cold and fed up, "We have to go back, now either we can go willingly together, or I will get the sentries and they will drag you back."

A tremor ran up her spine at the threat, "I don't want to go back, Ianthe."

Ianthe loosened a tight breath, "Feyre, let's go home now."

"No."

"Archeron-" Her tone was warning. 

"I don't- I don't want to go back." Feyre insisted. 

Ianthe scrunched her nose slightly, eyebrows furrowing. Then her face evened out and her voice sweetened, "Feyre, we must go back."

The sudden change in tone, in face, a lure. An attempt at false comfort. The Priestess held out her hand. 

Feyre looked at the pale hand before her. 

Then at the ground. 

Back to the pale hand. 

Feyre reached out and Ianthe smiled. 

The Cursebreaker batted her hand away with enough force that Ianthe shouted but nearly fell off balance. Giving Feyre enough to time to jump to the forest floor and bolt. 

"Feyre Archeron!" Ianthe clung to the branch as she watched Feyre's form disappear further into the dark forest. 

Slowly she took inhaled, before releasing her breath. She closed her eyes and asked the sky, "Why, why, why, why, why?"

Feyre ran and ran and ran. She lost a shoe but she didn't care. The feeling of dirt underfoot somehow comforting. Reminding her she was still there and breathing. In the wind, in the open space. Not in that cave, not Under the Mountain. 

Yet still there. Always there like it followed her. A ghost of those months looming over her head. 

She reached a clearing of grass and wildflowers. She fell to her knees. Legs unable to hold her any longer. 

She shook, trembling hands and arms. She should've been able to run faster and far further than that. 

But looking at her arms, they were spindly. Her legs which were sticks compared to what they had once been. She felt her cheeks, her face which was hollowed out. 

Her fingers to skinny, her organs pressed against the skin of her torso. 

When was the last time she had eaten? Had felt the urge to eat anything?

She licked her lips, her throat dry. The air was suffocating. Pollen that was sickeningly sweet. Air open, without any end. 

A part of her wondered whether she had ever come out from Under the Mountain, feared, dreaded that at any moment she would awaken. 

She heaved a sob, cries racking through her too fragile bones. Like she was made of glass she trembled. 

Feyre felt like she was made of glass. Like at a single touch she might crack and fall into a thousand pieces and never be able to be put back together again. 

'Make it stop.' She cried in her mind, sniffling, 'Someone make it all stop.'

'Take me away.' She pleaded with nothing. 

There was the sound of stick cracking underfoot and Feyre's head snapped up. 

But instead of Ianthe or sentries, violet eyes shone down upon her. 

"Hello Feyre Darling."

"You!" Someone shouted, Rhysand and Feyre looked up to see Ianthe panting as she pointed to Rhysand. 

Feyre had never seen her quite so dishevelled. But rage lined her features. 

Rhysand however, simply smirked, before grabbing Feyre's arm as she screamed. The Night Lord lifted her tattooed hand and pointed to it. 

"Don't mind me, pretty Priestess, I am simply collecting."

And just like that. 

Rhysand winnowed them away. 

***

"What do you mean she's gone?" Tamlin asked, voice near breathless. 

Ianthe's eye was twitching relentlessly. She looked as though she had been dragged through a thorn bush. Then again if she had run after Feyre she may have been. Stick and leaves were stuck in her hair, some parts of her robes were torn. And dirt smudged her cheek. 

"I mean she was whisked away by the Night Court." Ianthe said, "Our worst fears came true, and Rhysand made good on his word."

"Bastard son of a bitch." Lucien cursed from behind Tamlin. 

Tamlin said nothing, unable to move. His eyes turned to Alis by the door who looked between the Priestess and the High lord with sympathetic eyes.

Slowly it lapped at his core. Rage that made his eyes start to black out. His hands trembling by his sides. 

Chest rising and falling quicker. 

Ianthe looked him up and down, then said to Lucien, "I'll leave you two to deal with this. I am going to have a six-hour long bath."

In a second the Priestess was gone. Alis following after her.

"Lucien, get out." Was the only warning Tamlin gave him. 

Lucien's eyes went wide, and he sprinted out the door, slamming it closed. 

And Tamlin's magic exploded in a second. 

The High lord screamed as his magic ripped through him. flooding his veins with uncontrollable, overwhelming power. He screamed and fell to his knees. A ringing filled his ears, his vision went white. 

When it resided, a sob wracked his body as shaking overtook him. His skin heated, getting hotter and hotter until his clothes were soaked with sweat. Trembling, Tamlin tried to pull himself to stand, but he suddenly doubled over and threw up. 

The door flung open and Lucien shouted something he couldn't hear. The world was a swirling, dizzy haze of nothing. 

Someone gasped and Tamlin looked up to see Alis sprinting for him. The female cupped his face, and Tamlin blacked out.

Link to chapter 2 is here! Link to chapter 3 is here!

[domini-porter]

“today’s words brought to you, as always, by the notes app”

As always?? AS ALWAYS?? I don’t know why I can’t get over this. This is the second time I’ve seen you mention the Notes app and I continue to be mystified. Like I write on my phone sometimes, but only by necessity and always in Google docs. But the Notes app?? Does it have secret functionality I’m not aware of? Can you make comments or notations? Can you backtrack several sentences with an undo command? Is there an intermediary stage where you edit on a computer or does it go straight from the notes app to “Add Chapter”? This must be what Salieri felt like (minus the murderous part).

Anyway.

Uh.

Keep up the good work. In the Notes app. Where you do all your writing.

NOTES APP GANG

I’ve written almost exclusively in the Notes app since there was a Notes app to write in! Something about having to sit at a computer changes writing from Fun to Work. I think it’s my academic history plus the misery of the random desk jobs I’ve had? But with good ol’ Notey I can sit on my back porch drinking iced americanos for hours while I daydream about my OTP. Bliss!

And nope, no extra functionality (if anything, I wish it had both a little more and a little less, like, I’d love to be able to add words to the dictionary, and why is there a table function in a text app? and why does my thumb hit it all the time?). I’m a pretty undisciplined writer in that I just brain-dump a chapter in one go, usually without outlining or anything; one of my favorite things about writing big stories is typing an unexpected sentence that means there’s suddenly a B-plot or twist I wasn’t anticipating. It’s not necessarily wise, or good writing practice, but it’s sure exhilarating! (I do think constantly about the story, though, and do a lot of mental composition, so often it’s more like transcription than creation when I sit down to write.)

The only sort of outline or broad story note I keep is a list of all the character names, since there are so many, and I either need to avoid repetition or remember what minor characters might continually reappear (all the rich families, for example).

In general I have maybe a line of dialogue or a mental image I build stuff around, and a loose idea of how I want the plot to move forward. I usually don’t know specifics until I’m reading the thing I just wrote, which lets me know what happens next. Very wild magic-esque, which is again fun to do, but also pretty risky, because what if I decide something in Chaper 4 that I have to remember in Chapter 18? Or someone says something in Chapter 9 that recontextualizes something from Chapter 5? What about the overall pacing? I don’t even have a sense of how long they’ll be (other than “long”). Fortunately, I re-read things to a neurotic degree, and have the great good luck of living with a person who loves to talk endlessly about the process with me, which keeps it all fresh.

Which is also where the Notes app comes back in! There’s a strong appeal about it being so immediate—the words are constrained on a smaller screen, and I type them one-thumbèdly, which is way slower than with all the fingers, so it’s easier for me to stay locked into one scene or beat. And all the previous stuff is just a back-tap away, when I need to reference it! I also read fic exclusively on my phone, so seeing it the same format while I’m writing forces my brain into that context more easily.

I do use a computer to post new stuff! I’ll copy the chapter into Word (I am an Old), but just to see the word count, and to save it in a master document. I do chapter posting on a computer too, because of the stupid paragraph-break formatting in the AO3 text editor. I mostly edit as I write, though when the whole story is done I’ve taken to going back and editing it like one would a traditional manuscript (indents instead of line breaks, being mean to myself about my love of adverbs, etc)(this also means I have the stories in novel form, if anyone wants to have a copy).

Basically, I’m a lawless brain-dumper who does no due diligence! I have a lot of admiration for writers who have discipline; I constitutionally do not. For example, I love reading about your process! It’s so different from mine, but it gets results, and it’s fascinating to see how other writers approach their work!

[memberment]

Good evening

Guys I just got home from work and proofread everything I needed to including this next Dandelion chapter and I'm trying so hard not to just fucking SOB over it.

I hate it here I want out LMFAOOOOOOO THIS IS SO SAD WHY DID I WRITE THIS FR

10:59 update......

I'm thinking about an absolutely diabolical twist for the Trin series(it doesn't actually change the story in any way, if anything it actually makes it make so much more sense). Like, I've been ruminating on it since last night but idk if it's gonna throw people off. But at the same time like part twos and threes never do as good anyways so do I really even care?? Like, I'm just out here telling stories in fanfic font bc I would rather throw myself in the street than make OCs and not share my fun little stories.

I think I may commit to it.

I don't wanna say it on here though bc it's one of those plot twists you get will not forget even though part three is like FOREVER out.

The more I think about it the more I wanna do it. Someone tell me I should do it.

Oh my god I am shutting up and finishing reading Dandelion, y'all will hear my virtual screams in approximately one and a half business hours.

(11:43) I'm actually fucking sobbing and I didn't even start the last few chapters. Like, I'm actually crying over this. It's not funny.

(12:00) Never by mag lo coming on while I'm finishing up reading this is not funny. I'm devastated. I hope you all hate me after this oh my god I feel like I just ruined my own life. WHY IS IT SO MUCH WORSE AFTER BEING DONE WITH THIS FIC FOR ALMOST TWO MONTHS. Jesus Christ. Yeah. No more angst from me for a long while. I'm banned.

(12:20) Me skimming through tags on fics debating if I want to pick up something new. Everything being totally normal. Suh happy. Trying not to stew in my own misery. And then I see such a vile tag my stomach twists and now I'm just like okay I'll go fuck myself I guess I'll go write or do my homework. I'm sorry, I adore ao3 and I'm never gonna be a hater, BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE WILD. LIKE I AM TALKING SO BAD I'M ACTUALLY CONSIDERING DOING MY HOMEWORK OVER THAT. LIKE I ACTUALLY JUST WIPED THE TEARS OFF MY FACE AND GOT OVER HOW SAD I WAS BECAUSE OF HOW GENUINELY SHOCKED I WAS. Like wow oh wow.

Anyways. Updates here if there's gonna be any. Also Dandelions up if anyones reading this LMAO

It's 1:40 in the morning and the beginning of Morning Glory is making me fucking unwell. I was not joking when I made that joke about like ten dreaded weeks of angst, Jesus Christ.

(2:12) This is my second time posting this exact part. Like I know I've posted this exact part. But I seriously love Christophe and all of his dialogue with my whole heart.

(4:31) I do not recall making Dova this tragic and I'm literally about to sob over him. LIKE WHY???? WHY DID I DO THAT??? WHY ARE HIS LITTLE SUBTLE BITS OF STORYLINE SO ACTUALLY PAINFUL AS THE STORY GOES ON????? (I am allergic to happiness I am my own canon event at this point)

(4:48) THE ABSOLUTE DEVASTATION THAT COMES WITH WANTING MORE STORY BUT IT SIMPLY NOT EXISTING BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO WRITE IT IS DEVASTATING.

(5:02) Welp. I'm ruined and am now compelled by god to start working on Morning Glory again. We're at 73k rn. And only two chapters that aren't the prologue are under 4k. That's fucking terrifying. Like I have 17 minus the prologue rn. WE ARE LITERALLY THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE FOURTH OF JULY. THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ANOTHER 16/17 OF SUMMER ALONE. AND THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE AT LEAST ANOTHER 14 AFTER THAT. LIKE THE 14 ARE THE PLANNED SPECIFIC EVENT CHAPTERS. BRUH. WHY DID I DO THIS????

regret.

regret is all I feel.

but I will push through.

(7:38) before I go to bed I will just say I am at 75.3k. I had no idea how I would even get close to 4k on a birthday chapter where the group effectively decided to just stay home and hang out. But now there is like 1.5k of them playing muffin time. It's wild. I love it. GOOD NIGHT.

[elcieford]

Tennessee Firewhiskey

a Dramione text/socmed fic - this posts on Mondays to my insta/elcieford stories, and resides in the highlights - you can also catch it on AO3

Chapter 1 - Raincheck

Of all the whiskey joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.

10 years had gone by since he’d seen her. He remembered watching her testify at his trial as if it were yesterday, giving her account of what happened in the manor, that he hadn’t identified Potter to his aunt, and she felt his magic shielding her body from the poison in his aunt's blade, keeping her alive. After the trial, as he was leaving, she simply nodded at him, and gave a small smile. 

It wasn’t much, but that smile had made him feel warmer inside than he had in years; it gave him hope, although he had no idea what he should be hoping for. From her? Nothing. He deserved absolutely nothing from her, and as far as he was concerned he still didn’t. 

He didn’t deserve her kindness, let alone even a minute of her company, and yet here she was. Hermione Granger was sitting at the bar, HIS bar, Blackfire Distillery & Lounge, in the middle of Leipers Fork, Tennessee, sipping a beer his establishment serves from one of the local breweries. 

When he first landed here 10 years ago, Draco thought for sure that he’d never see anyone he knew from his Hogwarts days ever again. That was part of the appeal, after all. When he first arrived in America and registered with MACUSA, his surname only raised 2 sets of eyebrows. No one else seemed to know anything of his name, his past, or who he was. There were no stares or whispers. No judgement in their looks, no sneers. Sure, he’d had to move and start a new life on a different continent, but he finally felt like he actually knew what freedom was, he knew peace. 

He watched her from the far back corner of the room, wondering if his bubble of peace he’d so carefully cultivated was about the pop. He still couldn’t believe he was actually looking at her. Well, the back of her, anyway. 

Apparently, neither could Theo. “Gryffindor’s swotty princess is really here? This is wild, mate. I knew it was her when she walked in the door, but I still can’t believe it’s her. Why do you think she’s here?”

Theo was staring at the back of her head just as hard as Draco was. A view, Draco had to admit, that was still just as breathtaking as he remembered. “No idea. I suppose she could be attracted to a faint, magical trace, but the distillery is so far back on the property I highly doubt that. Maybe she knows someone in the area and is meeting them here.”

Theo snorted, “8 years we’ve been living in this town and’ve never run into her, or any other witch or wizard from here to Nashville. Aside from my wife. If Granger knew someone in the area, wouldn’t you think we’d have known about it? This town is tiny, and people love to talk. Plus, you and I are the only ones with accents. Another Brit in the area would have opened up the gossip lines. No, this is her first time here. But, why?”

Draco looked over at his best friend, meeting the same wide-eyed look of undiluted curiosity he surely carried on his face as well, “I guess I’ll have to figure that out.”

“As much as I’d love to see that, or even join the two of you, I promised Laura I’d be home early tonight. After we tuck the kids in, we’re taking the brooms out into the back pastures to enjoy some flying under the full moon.” Theo’s eyes sparkled, his grin wide as he clapped Draco on the shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. “If it’s not too late, text me about what happens. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, mate.”

“Goodnight,” and at that, Draco watched as Theo walked into their office, knowing he’d be leaving out the back door that was only for the two of them, likely trying not to tip off the only witch in the bar that a couple of her old schoolmates were in the same building. 

He watched as she sipped her beer, absently looking up at the telly screen that was showing tonight’s hockey game; Nashville Predators were hosting the Detroit Red Wings. His place was often busy during hockey season, and almost always packed when it was a home game. He wasn’t surprised the only open seat when she arrived was at the bar. Despite the crowd, there seemed to remain an open seat next to her, and he wondered if she’d wandlessly charmed it with Repello to keep any of the muggles from sitting next to her. 

Whatever the reason, he decided to take it as his queue to occupy the seat.

As he approached the seat, which was to her right, she leaned to the left, resting her head on her hand, and took a sip from her beer. From the angle of her tip, it was almost empty. 

“Hey, James! Firewhiskey, please. Neat. And another beer for my friend, here.” He glanced over at her, feigning nonchalance, borderline disinterest, wondering if she’d recognize his voice after all these years. 

Hermione’s chin moved in his direction, but her eyes still hadn’t strayed over for a look. “I wondered if you were ever going to come over and sit down.”

It was all Draco could do to maintain the calm mask he was wearing, but certainly not feeling. “How did you know?”

“Malfoy, I spent over 2 hours…well, and your magic was on me the entire time. It was a lifeline and I clung to it as such. I’ll never forget how that felt, what your magic feels like, no matter how faint of a trace. There was a slight signature when I walked through the door. I almost missed it, but it was enough to tell me you were here somewhere.” 

Her answer had caught him off guard, the mask now gone. He looked at her fully, “and, why are you here?” 

Taking a pull from the fresh bottle of beer set in front of her, she seemed to be contemplating her answer, or mulling over the question. Draco wasn’t sure which, but either one, or both, seemed to have the gears of her mind in overdrive. He couldn’t help but feel the wisps of nostalgia slide up his spine, causing gooseflesh to rise in its wake. He could easily see a girl from 16 or 17 years ago, brow furrowed, as she furiously studied a text nearly half her size in the old school library. He was glad to see that look hadn’t changed, and realised he missed it. 

Since when did I start missing aspects of Hermione Granger?

Before he could go too far down that path of thought, he caught the slightest twitch of her head, and found she was looking at him, the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy.”

The clever witch was deflecting. But why? Wasn’t she the chatty one? No, come to think of it, her chattiness had always been at its height when sharing knowledge, talking about classwork, reciting a passage she’d read, or how to properly cast a certain charm or spell. Now that he was thinking back on it, even just briefly, the only thing he could ever recall her talking about that might be considered a more personal level usually had to do with Potter, the weasel, or a fictional novel she’d read. He knew she was fiercely loyal to her friends, achieved the highest marks of anyone in his class, and was a muggle-born witch. But to actually know anything about Hermione Granger, who she truly was, he couldn’t claim he did, and this only served to open the box of all the childhood curiosities he’d had of her, but would never allow himself to admit.

So stupid.

Although, 10 years had passed. If he did know anything of his former schoolmate, would any of that be the same now?

“Touche, Granger. You certainly could. Care to take a walk?” Draco emptied the last of his glass, slid it across the bar, and held out his hand to Hermione. The movement was so natural, as though this was something they’d always done, it hadn’t even occurred to him that this was odd for the pair until she actually took his hand. 

Could she feel his surprise register from his hand to hers? Would she also realise how out of place this gesture was for the pair and let go? Before he could find out the answer to that, he gave her hand a little squeeze, pulled her along behind him, and out of the bar. 

They walked in silence for what had to be about 15 minutes, Hermione suspected. No words, and wherever they were going he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get them there. A couple of times she’d looked down at their hands, still surprised he’d reached out to her, and was still holding her hand, as if they’d done it all their lives. More than that, she was surprised at how good it felt to be holding Draco’s hand. 

After a few more minutes they reached what she assumed was the back end of the property, a full line of trees marking its boundary. However, instead of stopping or turning around, Draco flicked his wrist and a path in the trees opened up. Again she couldn’t help but marvel at how comfortable she felt with him, her old childhood bully, when she didn’t hesitate to allow him to lead her through the trees, and to a gazebo about 20 metres in.

When they sat down, candles lit all around them, illuminating the little cove in the trees. It felt whimsical, and entirely intimate. The glow highlighted his face, and she couldn’t help but openly study the man sitting in front of her. Gone of the angular, sneering schoolboy of her youth. Gone was the young man who looked haunted and tired at his trial. Malfoy’s body seemed to have grown into his height. His back, shoulders, and chest were broad, arms muscular and filling out his oxford, and the kind of bum that would give a satisfying smack if she…

Gods almighty why on earth am I thinking about his bum!!!

Taking a deep inhale, finally breaking the silence, Draco asks, “so, who goes first? You walked into my bar, so I can’t help but think maybe it should be you.”

She could see a bit of mirth in his eyes, as well as genuine curiosity, and she found she wasn’t afraid of telling him the truth. “Mostly, I’m here on holiday. I’ve taken a leave to explore new options in life, and, to make a long, and probably dull story short, I’ve landed here. Currently. Your story, however, I doubt is dull. How did,” Hermione raises her arms to gesture all around her, “all of this happen?”

He cocked his head slightly to the right, seeming to consider his answer, then launched into an explanation she certainly didn’t see coming. “Even though mother and I had been acquitted, the Malfoy name, now directly involved in two wizarding wars, had been tarnished beyond repair. Or, at least beyond the amount of work I was willing to put into repairing the name. Shortly after the trials I learned I had been betrothed to Astoria Greengrass. She approached me, asking if I planned on fulfilling the contract, or if I’d consider nullifying it. As much as she appreciated our friendship, she didn’t want to be attached to the Malfoy name, but was also very much in love with someone else. I was more than happy to honour her request to nullify the contract, but it also gave me pause to consider my life up until that point, and what I wanted my life to look like moving forward. Mother and I decided that neither of us were interested in putting in the work likely required in repairing the Malfoy name, deciding it was best to move on and try to move forward in places that could possibly allow us a clean slate. 

“Already owning her own villa in France, my mother moved there. She’s always loved it there, and has lived a peaceful life since making it her home.

“Not that we needed the money, but Theo and I decided to sell our estates; both of us the sole heirs of our fathers’ properties, both of us wanting nothing to do with them. We decided to come to America, where we hoped no one would know our names or recognize us. Two years we toured around the country before landing here. 

“We were in Kentucky when we came across a bourbon distillery. I’ll be honest, the stuff was nasty. Neither of us could believe that people actually drank it, but it also sparked an interest. We started touring all the distilleries we could, sampling spirits made from all over the south. It didn’t take long until we came to this area in Tennessee, and sorta fell in love with the area. Mostly, it was Theo who fell in love with an American witch he met in Nashville, but this area in particular helped make the decision for us to settle down. 

“It was easy to blend in here, so we decided to buy land and open a distillery of our own. It doesn’t look quite the same as old wizarding money looks like, but there’s a lot of money around this area. We bought 200 acres of land, building both of our houses on it, hidden by the trees, the distillery, and the bar.

“Distilling isn’t really that much different than brewing potions, though no magic is required. The only spirit we use magic in is our own brand of Firewhiskey, which allows us to bring a little wizarding flare to muggles without them actually knowing it. The magic is only in the brewing and distilling process, so it has zero effect on muggles.

“Theo and I have a peaceful life here. He and I run the distillery and manage the bar. His wife runs all the books. He has two little ones now that his wife homeschools, and I get to be the worlds best uncle. Pansy and Neville usually come to stay with us over the holidays, as does my mother. The Notts and I usually go visit her in the Spring. All in all, especially when looking back at what my life used to look like, it probably looks like I lead a mundane life now, but I’m happy.

“Now, can your story really get much more dull than that? How about it, Granger. What have you been up to for the past 10 years, and what really brings you out this way?”

He watched as several emotions seemed to flicker across her face, her eyes no longer meeting his. What happened? She used to be so full of life, so animated. Now she just looked… tired. And maybe that’s all it was, just a day where she didn’t have much energy left, but something told him it was more than that. 

He doesn’t think she’s going to answer him, the pause long, and starting to make him feel foolish for approaching her when, “You ever just want to get away from it all? Seemed as good a place as any.”

“I’m sorry, but is the brave Gryffindor Princess running away from her problems?” He was sure she could hear the smirk in his voice, but wasn’t sure she’d take the bait. Luckily, she did.

“Don’t start that shite, Malfoy. I’m no Princess, and no I’m not running away from my problems. More like avoiding the aftermath of them.” Hermione let out a deep sigh, the kind that said she was exhausted, but not from a day or two’s worth of activities or stress. No, she was deeply exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that came from years of frustration, unhappiness, and mental anguish. He remembered a time when he had felt that exhausted, and empathised with her. 

“Ah. Need an ear?” If she turned and laughed at him, he wouldn’t be surprised. Nor blame her.

“That depends, are you still a prat?” There was the tiniest hint of a smirk there, but he saw it nonetheless accompanying her raised eyebrows. 

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but gone are the days of my strong affinity for being a most loathsome little cockroach.” Gone were not the days, he quickly realised, of the boy, now man, who had a crush on the only girl who, aside from Pansy, wasn’t afraid to put him in his place.

At the mention of the endearing moniker she’d given him long ago, a full smile took over her face, and completely stole his breath away. Gods, this witch was even more beautiful than he recalled. “You know what, Malfoy? I appreciate it, and would probably take you up on it, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. Raincheck?”

“Do you live in the United States now? Because I don’t frequent England any longer. Not sure when I’ll be able to cash in on this raincheck.”

“No, just here touring around. I’m staying at a bed & breakfast down the road. I needed a quiet moment, to sorta get out of my own head, and decided to go for a walk. I ended up here.” She reaches in to dig around in her purse while she rambles, and he can tell it’s a new one, but with all the same undetected and extendable charms she had on her old purple handbag. Pulling out a small card and pen, she writes down… “Here’s my number. Assuming you have a cell? Text me, and we’ll catch up.”

When she hands him the card, their fingers brush, and he feels like every cell in his hand, up to his elbow, starts tingling. By the light blush creeping up her neck, he was glad he wasn’t the only one affected by the contact. 

“Raincheck it is then. You can apparate directly to the B&B from here if you like.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. And the drink. It’s good to see you again, Malfoy.”

The look in her eyes as she said it was sincere, but he still couldn’t help but ask, “Is it?”

Eyes still sincere, but now crinkling with a smile and a soft laugh, “yeah. It is.” 

He couldn’t help but note that her apparition was as equally soft as his mothers.

[cerealmonster15]

ok if you have too many feel free to ignore this one.

20 for Terrow but because I think sparrow and Terry already have a big height difference maybe sparrow using the stairs so it’s easier to give Terry a small kiss.

(Might be due to me being asexual and me hc them as acespec4acespec but I find smaller kisses more affectionate than longer ones)

plot twist i did this one FIRST bc i got an idea IMMEDIATELY!!! but also apologies in advance- this is in fact the first dndads fic ive written and finished so fjkdsffl i am still. Figuring Things Out w/character voices 🧍‍♂️ but i did my best so I hope it's okay! thank u for the prompt! I kinda switched around the stairs thing and it's not even a stairwell but jkfldjfs ANYWAY!!!

Prompt 20: Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Summary: Terry Jr. goes to check on Sparrow after accidentally kicking a soccer ball into his face during the game.

[Also posted on Ao3!]

Terry Jr. knew that he had a powerful kick when it came to soccer. He also knew those kicks didn’t exactly have the best control when it came to aiming. Even after he no longer found himself full of the same angsty and rebellious rage towards his stepfather that previously powered such kicks, he already had those wild habits solidified into his technique. Still, it was pretty helpful during games, as long as he was standing near the goal. 

It was less helpful, however, when such monstrous kicks did NOT send the ball into the goal, but instead straight into the face of a beloved teammate. 

That’s how Sparrow Oak ended up - against his will, he would say to anyone who asked - benched on the sidelines for the rest of the game. Whoops. 

To make matters worse, the team ended up losing the match. Perhaps this was due to being down such an energetic player, or because Terry was too distracted with feelings of guilt to really focus for the rest of the game. 

Either way, the game was over, and as the rest of the team stood around packing up and talking about the outcome, Terry found himself wandering away from the rest of the team and off towards the bleachers. 

Sparrow had since migrated from the bench at the edge of the field over to the very top of the bleachers. He was leaning against the rails and looking down towards the field and teammates with something of a solemn, yet frustrated pout on his bruised face.

“...Hey, Sparrow,” Terry called from where he stood at the bottom of the bleachers.

Sparrow picked up his head when he heard a voice calling out to him. He looked around, eyebrows knit in confusion for a moment as he searched around, and then smiled upon seeing Terry. “Oh, hello down there, Terry!” Sparrow called out with a wave.

Terry sighed, and started slowly walking up the bleachers step by step. At least Sparrow didn’t seem angry…

“Sorry about your face…” he mumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket as he walked. “How’s it feeling?”

Sparrow’s back straightened as he went back into a grumpy pout. “Fear not - my face is an indestructible force that could withstand many a blow! Were it not for Coach’s insistence, I surely could have remained strong on the battlefield and aided our attempt for victory.” He spoke confidently, but winced slightly from the facial movements it took to speak.

Terry paused a few steps below and raised an eyebrow at Sparrow. “...So… Still sore?”

Sparrow’s look of pride shifted into a more sheepish smile this time. “...Yeah, still sore. But, don’t worry,” he added, brightening right back up again. “I stand by my point that a measly little ball will not be enough to take down Sparrow Oak-Garcia long term!”

“Glad to hear that.” Terry couldn’t help but smile at his teammate’s bubbly optimism. He resumed walking up a few more steps on the bleachers until he stood on the one just below where Sparrow sat. “...I still feel pretty guilty, though. Looks pretty painful up close.”

The two looked at each other at near eye-level, and Sparrow offered Terry a more gentle smile. 

“Y’know Terry, I don’t usually get to look you in the eye like this, what with how you tower over the rest of us like the giant that you are.” Sparrow said with a playful glint in his eyes. He leaned forward and propped his arms on his knees as he looked at Terry. “Perhaps… There is one thing you could do to make up for your soccer crimes. Are you up for the challenge that calls to you?”

Terry laughed, but tilted his head to the side in slight confusion. “Uh- yeah? Alright, sure. What’cha got?”

“Father says that step one to treating an injury such as this is to apply ice to it for 15-20 minutes at a time!” Sparrow said, nodding to the half-melted ice pack laying beside him on the bleachers.

“Oh, uh, okay?” Terry said, leaning over to reach for the ice pack. “D’you want me to like, get you another one? I think there's some in the cooler we could-”

“The second step,” Sparrow continued, gently grabbing Terry’s wrist before he could make contact with the ice pack, “is the most important step to apply to the injury! The process of healing cannot be completed without both steps!”

Terry glanced down as Sparrow moved his grip from Terry’s wrist to Terry’s hand, gently threading their fingers together. “...What’s step two?”

“A kiss,” Sparrow whispered in response. “To balance out the pain in the world with acts of love and affection!”

Terry’s eyes widened as he looked back up into Sparrow’s gaze, feeling his face grow warm. “Um. Uhh…” Terry shuffled awkwardly for a few seconds, fidgeting with Sparrow’s fingers in his grasp and feeling his own face heat up. “...Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

Sparrow beamed, and Terry leaned in, only having to bend down a fraction of the distance he would normally if the two were standing on even ground.

He pressed a gentle, soft kiss to the tip of Sparrow’s nose, and then another to his bruised cheek.

Sparrow giggled slightly, but then winced back a little when Terry pulled away. “...Ow,” he said. “Hm. Still hurts, actually!”

“Oh! Uh, sorry…” Terry mumbled. “I guess that wasn’t really the most effective plan-”

“Shhh, Terry, Terry, Terry,” Sparrow hushed him gently, putting a finger to Terry’s lips. “You know what that means, right?”

Terry knit his brows together. “...That you need more ice?”

“No!” Sparrow protested. “...Well, yes. I do, actually. But, it also means we’ll just have to try the ritual again and again until we hit the proper ice to kiss ratio, right?”

Terry blinked slowly a few times as he peered at Sparrow, whose expression was somehow the perfect blend of both sincerity and mischief. “...Yeah,” he smiled. “Guess we will.”

Sparrow smiled, and leaned forward again to kiss Terry on the cheek. “This is a much more convenient distance for me. Perhaps you should launch soccer ball bullets into my face more often, hmm?”

“Absolutely not,” Terry said with an eye roll and a fond smile as he ruffled Sparrow’s hair with one hand and picked up the ice pack in the other. “Just… ask me to bend down next time.”

“I most certainly will!” Sparrow said as he watched Terry hop down the bleachers step by step on his quest to retrieve fresh ice. 

[chilly-out-here]

an attempt

let's see if this works! hopefully by not tagging this it doesn't get recommended to anyone since. I feel like it reads as fucking insane without context (honestly even with context). but just in case if you're not reading the fic and somehow still ended up here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52369693/chapters/132478987

and before I say anything I’d like to first shout out this tumblr post for letting me link this in the chapter notes in the first place bc I Would Not Have figured it out myself:  https://www.tumblr.com/gentrychild/653404474056081408/ao3-how-to-insert-imageslinks-into-the-notes-of# 

so!! Milgram The Musical!! there’s a couple key parts to how I imagine the tech for this thing to work. I don’t know all the details for the format of the show (frankly it doesn’t matter a ton lol), but I’m imagining it to be like. for each prisoner, there’s interrogation (basically like their VDs, except on stage), then blackout for quick scene transition, and then they sing their song. then blackout and they move on to the next prisoner and rinse and repeat. except for 010 who Causes Problems, which would be the climax of the musical and leads into the theoretical resolution.

so yea! I figure there’s probably 12 songs? one for each prisoner, plus two group numbers at the beginning and end (Undercover ft. the prisoners singing their parts, plus an unspecified ending song lol). there’s only one trial bc that would be PLENTY enough content for a musical already, so the songs are probably some fusion of the t1 and t2 (and t3 when that comes out?) songs. idk the specifics of that don’t really matter. also just, note, none of the prisoners have names in the show bc even I have my limits lmao. so if I’m talking about the characters in the musical I refer to them by their number, if I’m talking about the characters in the fic they get their names.

but anyway the important thing is! I think the main tech objective for the show is to make sure the visuals and sound of every prisoner’s song feels distinct, both from the other songs and from the interrogation scenes. the secondary objective is that the songs should feel kinda surreal; they take place in the prisoner’s minds, so they should be very separate from “reality” (in quotes bc what even is Milgram). so most of my planning was done with that in mind :)

DECK:

okay. so! most of the show’s tech is probably lighting/projection-based to accomplish all the different tones and aesthetic shifts, but there are some fun little things with the deck too, not least of which being the y’know!! rotating disc!! à la Les Mis or Hamilton. I think it’d at least be super cool for Undercover and 010’s song (which has some Deep Cover stuff fs), and definitely in other places too because the songs are all kinda wild lol. I found this tutorial and, in my humble opinion, Kazui and Hinako are indeed insane enough as directors to want this, and Kotoko and Kazui are indeed insane enough to build this: http://theaterdad.blogspot.com/2011/06/how-to-make-revolving-stage.html?m=1 

in terms of physical set pieces, there’s of course the interrogation table and chairs, which comes on for every interrogation and comes off after every “sing your sins.” there’s also the Warden’s chair (whatever the fuck Es is sitting on at the beginning of Undercover), and maybe some bonus pieces for the prisoners’ songs? like possibly school desks for 004, hospital bed for 005, round table for 010, that sort of stuff.

SOUND:

I don’t know a whole ton about sound, but I imagine Yuno’s trying to set it up so that the interrogation scenes feel like you’re watching two characters from the outside, and the songs feel like you’re immersed inside the character’s head (since yknow,,, that’s kinda the central conceit of the show lol). I’m envisioning that she’s gonna have the interrogation dialogue sound like it’s mostly coming from the stage (so like, the closer to the stage a speaker is, the louder it is), and the music sound like it’s kinda coming from everywhere at once (so all the speakers are similar volume). so that’s why she’s doing a ton of repatching to get the individual speaker control she wants to create that illusion. overall I think she’s just trying to have fun with the whole thing which. as she should!!

PROJECTION:

so!! like I said earlier a big goal for the tech of this show is to make everything feel distinct, and the projection would be a GIANT part of that. I’ve only worked one show with projection in it but there’s so many frickin possibilities you can do with it so,, here we go!

first of all—the INTERROGATIONS. most theaters have stage monitors (basically just security cameras pointed at the stage from the house, which can be viewed in dressing rooms so actors know where they are in the show and can keep track of their  entrances). and I think it’d be really cool to also project that in the background in real-time as the interrogation scenes are happening (probably in black and white). partly to just make those scenes a bit more visually interesting, and partly bc I think it would severely fit the aesthetic?? plus that way, except during the blackouts, the projection won’t disappear and reappear as much, which I think would look cleaner and more cohesive.

BUT still very distinct!! bc in contrast to the camera vibes in the interrogations, the songs have their own cool colorful background art and visuals and fuckinnn stock footage projected!! whatever fits the vibe lmao. I think Haruka basically Goes Off—like the designer roles were decided for the show before they went on break, so he’s been working on this for months. each song’s visuals have their own style and color palette (yknow,, like how Milgram MVs work lol).

I’m gonna go on a whole separate rant about lighting but projection-wise:

001’s visuals mostly resemble the Weakness MV—so very colorful and very much drawn with nice smooth water/bubble animations, but also plus some of the edgy writing and glitchy stuff in All Knowing and All Agony. I think Haruka does project (haha,, pun) a little bit onto 001 (wow I can’t imagine why), so the art for that song hITS. 

002’s aesthetic is probably closest to Umbilical with like. pink void, balloons, the DNA staircases (possibly Haruka’s first venture into 3D modeling? which he uses later for Undercover and stuff), and the photographs (provided by the actress), but I really like the water ripples from Tear Drop so there’s some of that in there too. 

003 is most like Bring It On with all the video game aesthetic glitchy stuff going on, except add in a bit of spray paint imagery bc I think that’s really cool. 

004 is probably mostly It’s Not My Fault? I mean BUGS,, and honey and stuff. some classroom things like in After Pain (specifically the chalkboard has some stuff on it?) and a few real-life shots, but a lot of weird bug things yknow. 

005 is mainly Throw Down for all the flower symbolism (this is where flower stock footage comes in lmao), plus elements from Triage like the hospital bed, heart monitor, and of course the many many surgery receipts. 

006 is based mostly on This Is How To Be In Love With You (magazine vibes, again photos provided by the actress), but with a bit of the angsty stuff in I Love You (the fucked up carousel is good shit). 

007. is. interesting. since half and Cat are so different it’s a little hard to picture how the combined version would work (current idea is it starts slow and ballad-y for like. a couple lines, and then launches into jazzy vibes—perhaps something a bit like Theater by natori (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3rDLizb4sI)). but I’m imagining that 007 is a PERFORMER during his song. by that I mean when it gets jazzy he straight up walks down from the stage into the audience and has a whole Moment prancing around in the house with spotlights (aren’t we glad Fuuta set up the movers??). so my idea for the projection is that it’s mostly abstract and collage-y kinda like the instrumental break in Cat, and it does reflect the instruments (like the dancing saxophone lol), but it’s also got things like the apple, the glass, cigarettes, all the magic trick stuff, and the ring, and occasional cut-ins of irl stock photos of things like the bar. just little hints up there that are easy to miss if you’re focusing on all the Extremely Distracting actor in the audience and crazy dancing collage happening. also, color palette is probably warmer/red-er just to lean into the whole theater thing a bit more.

008!! I love the feltboard look at the end of Magic and I think that’s the main aesthetic the visuals would have, but with occasional cuts to irl photos of disturbing stuff like the taser. kinda like how Purge March does it? I almost feel like it’d be a bit like one of those analog horror things based on kids’ content, where the scary parts are 1) mostly just implied and 2) don’t last long but the juxtaposition is really jarring.

009 my beloved,, I really like the filming/camera vibes from MeMe, so the visuals probably involve a lot of that, and also the trains and glitch effects like in Double. ALSO. the MANNEQUINS. I have a mental image of Haruka sitting there debating what to do for 009, and then he looks up from his desk and sees his little pose reference mannequin and he’s like. Oh Yeah. so he takes pictures of it and photoshops it over/into some stuff, basically just turning it into like a whole mixed media art project thing (like this sort of vibe—Tatsuya Kitani MVs are frickin insane /pos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymtNhd_3CB8). and THEN. TAROT CARDS. after their pokémon battle Yuno lets Haruka borrow them, so he takes photos and uses them too (and uses the mannequins with them). the complicated disjointed mildly unsettling mixed media video collage aesthetic is *chef’s kiss* and I think it’d fit well with 009 and the film look.

010!! home stretch!! I don’t have much to say other than I think it mainly follows the Deep Cover vibes (bc seriously that MV is GORGEOUS), so plenty of chess piece imagery to go around. but also,,, wolves,,, more stock footage lmao. 

and fINALLY!! UNDERCOVER!! very geometric and following the general Milgram aesthetic. definitely the projection design closest to the MV it’s based on. not to spoil anything but there might be a bit more detail on it next chapter? didn’t hear that from me tho ;)

and now!! hilariously short thing to finish this section off. after each prisoner’s song, there’s a blackout for them to exit and for the deck crew to set the interrogation table up for the next scene. during that transition I think it’d be fun if there was a pre-recorded video of them answering some of their interrogation questions as a little sendoff yknow? plus that helps not completely kill the momentum after each song.

LIGHTS:

oh my god. hi. me. HI. this is my SHIT. okay. so. LIGHTS. starting with a fun little aside about LEDs and incandescents—imo incandescent stage lights are the prettiest and most natural looking, buut they’re also less versatile than LEDs (for example, you need physical gels to change the color of incandescents, but a lot of LED light fixtures can have colors changed from the lightboard). there’s pros and cons to both and there’s pros and cons to having a mixed lights grid (currently working in a place with both—I actually like it personally but it is hard to match the colors/tones a lot of the time). most of the theater world is moving towards LEDs in general (partly for convenience, partly as regulations are shifting away from incandescents) but Kazui is a stubborn mf who’s held onto an incandescent grid for THIS long and he’s gonna keep it as long he possibly can lmao. Fuuta convinced him to let him overhaul the whole thing and mix in some LEDs over the summer (mostly a bunch of moving lights), so he’s got a bit of both to work with.

for the Milgram aesthetic, unnatural white LEDs is lowkey the vibe?? I think just a couple white spotlights on the interrogation table would kinda be all they need. Fuuta is definitely getting a shit ton of use out of his movers for that since they can be pointed in good angles as needed. and for UNDERCOVER,,, oh boy he has some FUN with that one. if you program them right white movers make really good searchlight lookin things let me tell you!! I did them for a show recently and they looked AWESOME but I didn’t get to keep them in the final version (“it’s not a light show” which. fair but ok) so I’m vicariously living my mover searchlight dreams through Fuuta <3 and also, the Undercover MV has a ton of cool white spotlight type things going on?? like spotlights pointed through bars which casts cool dramatic shadows. definitely he gets to play around a lot with that :D

and then on the flip side~!! for the prisoner songs!! I think the general lighting for those is mostly done with differently-gelled incandescents, since they just look much prettier and smoother in general. I think the more natural look would also help to make the songs more immersive, especially in comparison to the interrogations—Fuuta’s definitely the type of guy to take something like a hybrid grid and really use it to his advantage to emphasize that contrast in overall feel.

each prisoner song definitely has its own lighting scheme too, which are all set up to look cohesive in conjunction with the projections in each song, so now all those are getting balanced for color and intensity so it looks like it all flows together with the visuals.

001’s general wash color is like a bluish white? so like R#051 (Surprise Pink (it looks mostly white in practice)) plus a bit of blue. not a ton of color bc the projections here are so colorful.

002’s lights are actually probably cooler tones for the most part to contrast with the pink projection. largely based on Tear Drop since the lighting there is super blue and it’s so PRETTY.

003…R#003 Dark Bastard Amber my beloved <3 (nah but fr DBA looks so good on red hair, it’s also kinda golden-ish which I think would look good with the saturated video game color tones on the projection).

for 004 like. literally all of After Pain is so Surprise Pink it’s ridiculous (plus a bit of Dark Bastard Amber for like,, yknow the murder at sunset). I like Surprise Pink for the color contrast with the green honey, might also want to test some purple?

005! I’m thinking of this one gel color that’s a really nice soft light blue, I believe it’s R#60 No Color Blue? again not too much color for the lights here since the projection will have a lot of flowers.

006 is very much a pink wash. probably Surprise Pink mixed and contrasted with a darker purple? I haven’t worked with a ton of purple but it’s a pretty versatile color and I think it could be good for the angsty I Love You type projections.

007 would start in a special light, and then when he goes into the audience that’s all a person with a followspot lol. at that point there’d only be enough light on stage to keep the projection looking natural (very low DBA wash perhaps).

008 is another Surprise Pink-based lights wash without too much color since the visuals would be pretty vibrant on their own, but much darker and bluer for the grimmer projections. I feel like purple would be nice as an undertone for her for some reason?

009 is. interesting. I could see Fuuta having to rack his brain a little for this one (since I’m racking my brain over here lol), but. if I remember correctly No Color Blue plus a tiny tiny bit of Surprise Pink can kinda make a semi-convincing white white? I think that, plus some bright RGB Color Moments in the visuals, could hopefully do the job okay.

010 HI OKAY LET ME LIGHT THIS SONG PLEASE. fuckin BACKLIGHTS DUDE the SATURATED COLORS the PINK?!? THAT is R#039 SKELTON EXOTIC SANGRIA if I’ve EVER fuckin seen it (bro just trust me, the color itself looks hella dark but when there’s light shining through it it’s so VIVID and PRETTY okay I just. yes). that mixed with some kind of really saturated indigo (part of me is even wondering about black lights??) would be so good.

COSTUMES:

okay costumes!! so!! as we have seen Mikoto’s been very busy lol. he’s not the main costume designer but he’s like. assistant costume designer and the guy in charge of Making Stuff (lead craftsperson I think it’s technically called?), which in this case are the prisoner harnesses and the Warden costumes.

costume breakdown! each prisoner has their actual clothes, plus “jumpsuit” (whichever white jacket thing they have), and a harness. everything except the harnesses seems like it could probably just be bought/sourced from somewhere (which is still, I can say from experience, A Lot Of Work lmao,, so the rest of the costume team has been similarly busy). I’ve gone back and forth about whether they should change costumes for their songs, but I think everything’s smoother if they just keep the jumpsuit. 

the exception is 010, who gets to do a quick change in the blackout before her song bc the Deep Cover drip is too good?? her harness and jumpsuit are probably attached somehow to be easy to remove at once. I’m imagining the way it works is that right at the blackout, the actress takes off the jumpsuit/harness setup, Mikoto goes on with deck crew for the scene transition with the coat, hat, and gloves (not enough time for a pants change so let’s just say she’s already wearing black pants and combat boots). he helps her get those on (let me tell you gloves are hARD in quick changes) and then he walks off with the jumpsuit/harness.

and finally the Warden! so Mikoto’s in charge of making the cape and the hat, and everything else can probably be sourced and modified as needed. someone’s probably having a lot of fun making the key necklace/props though!

well that was fun!! aren’t we glad I didn’t try to put all this in the notes?? I sure am lmao. the inherent slapdash-ness of the whole thing was kinda freeing actually and I had a blast just Saying Stuff, bc tech for Milgram The Musical has been living in my head rent-free for MONTHS and I’m glad I got to just put it all in words!! maybe I’ll do another one of these in the future if I need it lol. but anyway if you actually read to the end of this then 1) kudos <3 and 2) I hope it was at least moderately interesting, or at least enjoyable!

I don’t really know how to end this so. hope you have a nice day :D

[meanlesbean]

Chapter commentary

are people interested in seeing my chapter commentary for Cadence of a Legacy? idk. I'm posting it anyway. voila.

Chapter 1 notes are longer than the others because I included more detail about the planning of the fic. Anyway, here there be: musings on family and brotherhood and how it shows up in linked universe fanworks, Hyrule as an arsonist, Wild's economy, and more info about card games than anyone else probably cares about. minor totk spoilers about one sidequest but nothing plot related (if you need, skip the bullet that starts "pre-totk release".) Here we go:

Chapter 1 - The Woods Between

I am not joking about having a phone note that says “making peace with your inner child when your inner child has physically manifested and wants to cause problems on purpose”. I would include a screenshot of said note, but then you would all see how long I have been toying with this idea and that’s too embarrassing

IMO, there is an astounding lack of fic focusing on the relationship between Time and Twilight even though they are the only ones who interact in game canon. And I’ve read every good Time-centric fic probably a dozen times. So unfortunately that meant I had to go write my own. Unfortunately the plot that I came up with doesn’t work with Time (or Mask) as the POV character, so it evolved into a Twilight-centric fic as well. 

The bones of this chapter were mostly written in a notebook last year at my terrible job when I had a desk in the corner and nothing to do 85% of the time. Large parts of the set up of the chapter remain the same from this draft, with even a select few of the lines staying the same word for word. But the handwritten version, which covered all of Chapter 1 and parts of Chapter 2, was only about 7 pages front and back (rip to the 11k monster it became)

Literally I never would have posted this fic if I hadn’t read the the FMA fic series demon alchemist and realized that the reason I hated my draft so much was because the narrative voice was too impersonal

So I started working on this fic again last fall with a lot more attention paid to establishing a clear voice, and I finally started making solid progress, to the point where I made it a goal to share it on AO3, which I have not done in a long long time

Hyrule’s missing fingers are a reference to the demon alchemist series btw. I do imagine he lost them from an enemy’s throwing ax or mace. Twilight complaining about the number of enemies with throwing weapons is also me complaining about how hard Zelda II is. fucking Dairas. 

Other fic inspiration includes: Call Them Brothers, for getting me thinking about situations in which Warriors doesn’t know that Time is the kid he fought with in the war, and more generally, Sinnatious’ LU and LOZ fics for inspiration on Time’s voice. 

I cannot tell you how much time I spent rewriting and reworking the first half of the chapter. Honestly writing that first part was just like. Agonizing. Nothing was working for so long. Every time I tried fixing a problem, I created two more. I was very close to cutting out the scene of Twilight scouting and the camp shenanigans and skipping to Twilight meeting Mask, but then it felt like everything went way too quick. I was very relieved when people liked the wrestling scenes because that whole section had me tearing my hair out. The things that kept me going were spite and also how desperate I’ve been to get back into writing. Literally that one defunctland tweet. 

In contrast, the second half of the chapter (everything from the Epona grooming scene on) came so easy. All of the latter stuff was written and edited within like 2 weeks. My favorite scene from this chapter actually ended up being that part with Twilight and Time taking care of Epona. 

More specific notes:

My take on Twilight’s aversion/distrust of magic is that he has a really strong sense for it, but he doesn’t have much of a knowledge base of how magic works. So this results in Twilight frequently getting a lot of information that he can’t make sense of, and it really fucking freaks him out. 

I know fandom likes to characterize Wild as the group arsonist, but I think Hyrule would be just as big if not a bigger arsonist, which was why I had him be the one to suggest using fire. If you want to uncover all the hidden items/heart pieces in the OG Zelda without a guide or walkthrough, you have to burn so many trees. Like, if you are ever stuck in that game and don’t know where to go next, 70% of the time your solution is either bombs or fire. 

I played ten thousand rounds of “should their titles (ie. rancher, captain, etc) be lowercase or capitalized?” while writing this. I know people usually have them call each other their fandom names, but tbh that always throws me off just a little, even though I 100% get why people do it because good lord it would be easier.

I feel like a lot of LU works (speaking generally about the fandom output as a whole, not about any particular fic) leans heavily into the emotional support and comradery aspect of the chain as family, and does not include nearly enough of like. annoying each other on purpose and play violence and rubbing each others’ faces in the dirt. which is a big reason for why I kept the wrestling scene.

Maybe it’s because me and my family members were little demons but like. I have brothers and mostly boy cousins, and a solid 60% of our time as kids/teens was spent playing some variation of King of the Rock. I appreciate the found family softness, and there will definitely be a lot of that in this fic, but my experience with siblinghood includes a lot of chasing each other around with wiffle ball bats and trying to strangle each other. The Links are brothers! and sometimes that means that you will try to ruin your brother’s whole day just because you are mildly bored. 

Warriors and the teens are playing Rummy. I imagine that the group plays a lot of card games, and since I grew up playing tons of cards, I have put way too much thought into all of this. Other popular games among the group (depending on how many people they have) probably include Texas (Ordon?) hold em, whist, knockout, BS, gin rummy, and hearts. Hearts can get contentious with them though because you can engage in coordinated sabotage. Four and Legend are not allowed to be partners in Whist because they’re the only ones who can count all the cards in play. There is a near-unanimous group ban on Spoons because it got too violent.  

Legend having heterochromia is inspired by an Oracles manga panel redraw someone posted on here years ago that I cannot for the life of me find again

I have this headcanon that Wild, in comparison to the rest of the gang, is absurdly rich but does not really realize it because he just does not have a ton of shit to actually spend money on. This is based on the ridiculous amount of rupees/gems I have on my 100% botw file and also my own musings on the state of Hyrule’s economy post-calamity. Mostly I think that post-calamity Hyrule does not have super discrete classes like most other Hyrules do, and that a luxury economy does not really exist. 

Pre-totk release I actually thought: okay, Wild has a lot of money, but his luxury purchases are limited to like fancy armor, which is directly related to doing his job as the hero. It’s not like most other eras where you can go build wealth by buying up a ton of land. And then totk came around and let you go buy a sizable swatch of land. I still think my original idea mostly holds true, if only because the monster-free areas of Hyrule where someone could safely make a land claim still seem to be pretty limited (even the totk house has monster camps right across the road from it). 

Mask is not dressed in the green tunic for two main reasons, one of which I’ll keep to myself because it felt way too spoilery when I wrote it down. Most importantly, it shows that time has passed since Majora’s Mask. In fact, in chapter 3 we'll learn that it's been just about a year since then. The Kokiri tunic is no more because he grew out of it :( 

I didn’t find this reference until after publishing, but I imagine he’s dressed more or less like this. Except he has his green cap and a leather belt, baldric, and boots.

[animmortalist]

Fic Update!

Hello, lovelies!! I hope you're all doing well. I wanted to provide this update for anyone who's still reading my fic (aka animmortalist ao3 user), and waiting (so patiently!) for an update on one of my wips.

This is probably gonna be too-long and give more detail than is necessary, so if you just want the cliff notes, feel free to skip to the tl;dr, and that will be followed by a quick hits of this post and what fic updates will look like on ao3 for me in the future.

I want to start by first thanking anyone who has ever read, sent me their thoughts, commented on ao3 or elsewhere, left kudos, shared, etc. re: my fic. I can't express how grateful I am and how I continue to be surprised (in the best way) by it all. You're all the mvps and made the past 3+ years of my life so much better. Each of you helped make me a better writer, and I hope I provided some fun stories (even amongst the angst lol) in return.

If I could, I would write fic all the time and push out updates daily that are well-crafted and that I am proud of. Unfortunately, that's not possible for me, probably ever (but if you're living that life go off we love that for you!!!). I don't know if I'll ever have a truly consistent update schedule, just as a warning. It's not ideal, but I'm learning to accept it, and hope those of you who still want to read my stuff do, too.

I've been dealing with a lot of life stuff the past two years. Like...A wild amount haha. But essentially, I've gotten to a good place with my job, mental health and original writing. All of which were a lot and sometimes a mess for much of 2019-2022. I kind of lost my marbles for a while there, but I want to express how much I appreciate that people are still reading and enjoying my fic. I never thought it would get to where it is now. I am always grateful and so amazed every time I see a new kudos or comment, whether it's a one new or older story.

All of this is to say, I do plan on continuing my work on fic. I can't promise updates all the time, nor can I give a concrete estimate on when they'll be finished. However, I feel committed to my works and want you all to know I'm still writing and thinking about them.

You can find a masterlist of wips here in order of priority. There are certain fics I'm going to prioritize writing over others. This is due to a whole bunch of factors, and while not every wip I've posted is listed, that doesn't mean I won't ever touch it again. But for now, it's not one that I'll be focusing on.

I will probably sprinkle in a oneshot here or there for other fandoms, but that masterlist is my goal to complete. I can't promise it'll be done by the end of year, or really give any concrete date/timeline. I wanted to share it regardless though, just to give an idea for where I'm at with writing. I'll update it as needed—whether that includes the completion of a fic, change in priority, etc.

Please feel to reach out to me with anything on your mind concerning this! I adore you all and sending all the good thoughts your way ♥️

TL;DR:

Fic updates are in the works!

You can find my masterlist of fics (ranked by priority) I'm working on here

I love anyone who's read, commented, left kudos, just told me in anyway that they enjoyed it, etc. re: my fic. You're truly the best and I will forever be thankful for you.

Please lmk if there are any questions (asks here and dms on twitter are always open)

[rollercoasterwords]

algorithms are destroying the world make your own gd decisions about shit

if you hate freedom so much go read a google ads round robin fanfic on ff.n (I think Michelin and Bridgeport are doing the enemies to lovers back and forth rn) or go 😳 at whatever happened to lj

or change all the names and sell your erotica to bellsaplus; just know that the writing is better, and the porn is more diverse on ao3

🥂

(I say porn but JEEZ guys even if you’re reading nothing but gen-fic the writing is still usually trying to say something unlike the useless pap that capitalist “content creators” churn out — to generate clicks in order to generate data on what people do everyday sitting and watching or better—-shopping. that data is then sold to other bidders. please protect the plentiful, the beautiful, the ao3. god knows what anyone would say if they say my ao3 history)

wow ok coming in hot! i'm assuming this message is meant to be like...ranting at me the way u would to a friend on facetime and that the "you" you're yelling at isn't actually me? and i am also going to take a wild guess and say that this is a response to the tiktokification essay i wrote that has escaped its enclosure and is now running wild across tumblr. so.

yes i agree we need to protect ao3 and yes i agree anything made for the sole purpose of getting as many people to click on it as possible is probably going to be pretty soulless but i feel like this rant is maybe getting slightly away from what the original intent of my post so i'm just gonna use this as an opportunity to address a few things i've seen across people's responses that have made me like :/ (warning this gets long lmao)

the tiktokification essay was not intended to be an all-encompassing analysis of the way things are across every fandom space connected to ao3. like. i am pretty secluded over in my little corner of marauders-fandom tumblr and i generally post my little essays expecting maybe like...10-20 people to interact with the post? like, when i post stuff on this blog, it's just because when i start thinking about something i can't really relax until i sit down and write my thoughts out and organize them. so when i'm posting those thoughts on tumblr it usually feels to me like the equivalent of facetiming a friend and rambling at them, except the friend is my little handful of beloved tumblr mutuals <3 anyway, i know the post is called "the tiktokification of ao3" which is a very broad statement, but that's just because i like pithy titles. if i had known it was going to run amok across tumblr i probably would have been a little more intentional with my phrasing, but oh well! what i did do is specify in the post that i was only talking about the marauders fandom, because that's literally the only fandom space that i am a part of. it's interesting to see how widespread the stuff i was talking about seems to be across different fandoms, but for anyone who has interacted with the post to essentially just be like - "ok but this isn't true everywhere/in every case"....cool! that's because i was talking about a phenomenon i have observed specifically within the marauders fandom.

it was also not intended to be me shaking my fist and cursing the youth, nor was i trying to invite like...an "us vs. them" mindset between older and younger members of fandom spaces. this is where i've seen some stuff that's made me a little like...hm. because, ok. i am one of those people who's sort of in-between the like...older versus younger sects of fandom spaces. and so i see the ageism that gets aimed towards older people by a lot of younger teens, and i understand why a lot of older adults are fed up with young fans and feel defensive, and i get that teens can be annoying on the internet. on the other hand, i still very clearly remember when i was an Annoying Teen on the Internet, and it was because i was still just...learning, y'know? like. i was just coming into contact with complex ideas about emotion and morality and relationships and everything, and that is just part of being on the internet together. there will always be shitty people, yes, but there will also always be people learning, and especially when those people are young teens, i personally tend to try and start out by giving them the benefit of the doubt. like, i tried to be clear in the post and also included in the tags (though those do get lost when the post gets spread around) that i wasn't trying to condemn anyone for engaging in the behavior i was talking about, because i do genuinely think that a lot of it is simply coming from a place of not knowing any better. so, while y'all can vent however you want on your own blogs and i do understand the frustration, i just want to make it clear that my own intention was to say - hey! younger marauders fans! here are some things to think about moving forward in how you interact with fic, since you have maybe grown up with only one model of social media, unlike those of us who grew up with the internet (i was literally born the same year google was invented) and have seen various examples of social media and observed how it's changed over the years. and it was also intended to say - hey! older marauders fans! if you're scratching your head and wondering wtf is going on with younger fans, consider that they maybe genuinely do not know better and this might help explain some of the roadblocks when it comes to trying to communicate with each other about our fandom spaces.

i did not intend to imply that there is anything wrong with wanting people to read your fanfiction. this is another thing that like. i might have spent some more time clarifying had i known how many people were going to be reading the post. but i did state very clearly that "those sharing their work online might be seeking community, but that is fundamentally different from seeking an audience." it is completely natural and understandable to want people to read your writing!! i actually made a separate post about this after the tiktokification essay but obviously they're not going around as a pair lol. however, i stand by the statement that writing fanfiction with a goal of going "viral" or just getting as much interaction as possible is not sustainable and will not bring you deep or lasting joy. idk i'm not gonna go on about this here if u want to know my thoughts on social media culture rot u can scroll through my blog i've talked abt it in a few different posts.

i was not trying to say that negativity is a new phenomenon in fandom spaces. a few people have interacted with the essay and said something along the lines of "i disagree with this"/"this isn't accurate" because there always have been and always will be people in fandom spaces who are entitled and rude and criticize fic. which like...cool! i'm sure that's true. i do think you missed the point of the post a little bit. it was specifically about a phenomenon in the marauders fandom involving the way that changes in social media over recent years have fundamentally altered the way we view online interaction, and the way i have observed that bleeding over into the marauders fandom. it wasn't just about general negativity in terms of things like comments and messages so much as it was about how expectations relating to influencer culture and virality have led to things like...people making tiktoks about "jegulus fics i hate" or fics going viral on tiktok and people then interacting with the writers as though they are the ones who made those tiktoks. and granted, i have only really been involved in this fandom for a single year, so maybe i'm just wrong about how new this is! but the tiktok stuff at least can't be older than like...2020. so. i do actually do think it's valid to talk about how changes in social media culture might be affecting the ways people interact with ao3 and fic, and i do think there's more to it than just "people will always be negative and entitled sometimes!"

i was not trying to say that we have a right to treat influencers/people posting shit on other social media sites as though they are products. this is another thing that a few people have felt the need to add on, which...okay. nothing wrong with wanting to clarify that. again, if i'd known the post was going to get so much attention, i might have spent some more time talking about it. but i'll just clarify here - my observations about the way capitalism gives rise to an influencer culture that essentially leads to viewing people as products are just that. they are observations. they are not normative statements. just because i understand why we interact with influencers like that does not mean that i think we should interact with influencers like that. however, there is a difference in an influencer whose job is content creation on social media versus an ao3 writer, and the purpose of my essay was to talk about that. saying "we shouldn't treat ao3 writers this way" does not mean "but we SHOULD treat all influencers this way."

anyway, as i warned at the beginning, this got very long -- and honestly, each of these points could probably be its own separate essay, but....i'm tired rn lol. i know that most of the people reblogging the tiktokification essay probably will not come all the way to my blog and run across this post, but i'm just leaving it here because i get grumpy easily and it's annoying to see people misinterpreting or missing the point, so i want to have all the little things i've thought about addressing in one place.

and anon - the main reason i say you may have been getting slightly away from the original point is just

1 - it had nothing to do specifically with porn, and that seems to be mostly what you're talking about? which like. real. but also just wasn't really part of the original post lmao

2 - you seem pretty angry, which again is valid, but i'm just...not. like i feel like u came into my inbox wanting to rant back and forth, and the thing is that i wasn't really intending to rant in that essay! like i said, i'm not necessarily angry at the people i've seen asking for algorithms, because i think a lot of them genuinely don't know better because they have only ever used social media that is algorithm-based, and to me that's mostly just sad and something i wanted to pick apart and piece back together like a puzzle, so. apologies for hijacking your rant to as an excuse to write a whole 'nother essay lmao i appreciate ur energy tho <3

[scoracletrashlives]

The Backstory

Hello all!

I am ScoracleTrash. Have been ScoracleTrash since 2015. You may also call me Pidge. My main blog is neil-panenby. Because I am a pan enby. She/her and they/them both work. Many things about me are very different than they were when I created the original Scoracle Trash blog. One thing that is the same? Scoracle is my OTP.

I am a psychiatric hospital liaison in my early 30s and once upon a time, back in 2015, while playing the then-new video game Arkham Knight, I had a weird fucking idea.

See, I have been a Scarecrow groupie since Batman Begins came out when I was but a teenager, and I had long been trying to figure out a Scarecrow ship that spoke to me. I tried an OC on DeviantArt ages ago and that fizzled out fast. Hattercrow never held my interest. Becky never clicked.

So I’m playing this game as a mid-20something and it hits me.

Scarecrow and Oracle. Jonathan and Barbara. They’re both navigating traumatic backstories, wicked smart, fond of the odd bit of theatrics, and they’ve just been thrown together by this narrative like never before. Why not?

So I threw together an AU fic and slapped it up on ao3 and something super wild happened.

It spoke to people.

Somehow, I made it work. I made it believable enough to click with 107 people in the last 8 years. Which is MINISCULE compared to many ships but HUGE to me. Because I was, as far as I can tell, the namer of this ship and the first person to write about it and put it on ao3. The first person to draw parallels between the experiences of the two characters and put forth that maybe, just maybe, they might understand each other.

Now, do I take a bunch of liberties with my writing to make my vision work? Of course I do. But so does every fanfiction author. And Rocksteady did as well when they made their games. Honestly, every new team that takes the helm of an established comic book title does, for that matter.

Do I think that ANYONE should be in a relationship with a fear-obsessed serial killer in real life? No. Don’t be daft.

Do I owe anyone these disclaimers? No, but I’m stating them anyway.

Scoracle is my fantasy. It is escapism. Like all escapism, it owes no one believability nor is anything about it required to translate into the real world as healthy or admirable. If it squicks you out, that’s valid. If it turns you on, that’s valid. If you don’t care either way, that’s valid. I never meant it for anyone but myself. The fact that posting about it years ago generated any interest at all surprised me.

The fact that upwards of 100 people also see something of merit in this fantasy is wild to me. Even if you never see this, I hope you feel my love and gratitude wherever you are.

Scoracle is healing to me. It’s two people with decades of trauma and brilliant minds seeing each other, really seeing each other, and accepting the differences in each other that would make people less dedicated to one another irreconcilable. It’s two people leading each other out of the shadows of what’s been done to them and the people that did it to them.

And on a more shallow note…It’s dark aesthetics and late nights and sarcasm and intellectual conversation and passion and just enough danger.

Over the last 8 years, my writing has matured and improved VASTLY and I fully intend to go back and create rewritten versions of the first two fics in the series, Pet Bat and Her Long Halloween. The originals will not be deleted.

For now, Heart of Darkness has finally begun.

Not sure who all is on tumblr, but if you manage to make your way here, welcome to the clubhouse. Pour yourself a beverage of choice, sink into the leather sofa, choose your music, and let’s talk Scoracle!

-Pidge DePeche

[rp-repliforce]

A little update on Bladeless's story

I still don't think I'll be officially returning to writing my muses on here anytime soon, since I've recently started trying to make the outline for Bladeless's story. I'm still not entirely sure if I should go with text or comic format, but I've been thinking about maybe just doing text with occasional illustrations.

I know that due to my poor attention span, every project I start inevitably gets left unfinished, but... this one is actually showing some promise so far. There's just something about Bladeless that makes him bounce off of other characters REALLY well, and his story keeps on growing.

I get the feeling that it's going to get pretty long though, because I had decided to start from the VERY beginning of his life (in the prologue), where he and his siblings hatch from their eggs and grow up over time.

Currently I'm at the part of his life where he's wandering around in the wilderness, trying to figure out how to survive with all his broken blades. I won't spoil what I've been writing (in case I do finish this), but I feel like it kinda showcases how unforgiving life in the wild can be for pokemon (which is a reflection of what I know about real-life animals). Bladeless has to start thinking outside of the box in order to get by, and he ends up using a rock as a weapon in order to compensate for his poor offense. He would sometimes use it to knock down berries from high branches, but would also hurl it at low-level bird pokemon to hunt them. He would still be struggling though, because it's not guaranteed that he'll even find anything to eat every day. Sometimes there's just... nothing.

Anyways, this'll probably be my last post about Bladeless on this blog. I've been thinking that I really should start a new sideblog on my personal account where I can post my other art and talk about my non-Repliforce OCs. I also need a place to upload my fic about Bladeless, but AO3 grosses me out and Fanfic.net isn't as poplar as it used to be. So... I might just post my fanfic on the sideblog too. I've never done anything like this before though, so that's why I'm hesitating a bit.

If anyone has any tips for starting an art blog, I'd be happy to hear them. ^^

[electricbluebutterflies]

Chris/Melissa + collecting fir branches for decoration

Yes I did write Christmas fic in January, this is my life somehow. I've never made wreaths before but if my brother's future ex-wife can do it, how hard could that be? Just a few months post-6B, PG-ish, and also on ao3.

This has got to be one of the weirder things he’s been talked into.

Chris is trying to approach the mundane outsider world with as much open-mindedness as he’s capable of, but half a lifetime of cultural separation makes for a lot of bizarrely petty complications sometimes. Take holidays, for instance. All of those are new – there are certain yearly rituals he practiced within hunter culture, yes, but nothing remotely comparable to mainstream consumer-oriented enthusiasm. But he is not in that world anymore, and he is trying not to be difficult for anyone else but there are definitely elements he doesn’t get, and-

The entire month of December, apparently, is a parade of things that might’ve made sense to someone at some point in time but don’t now, and for some reason he’s getting dragged into all of them.

It does not help that this silent confusion coincides with an effort to be a good… he’s not even sure what the right word is, if there’s an adequate term for the recent change in dynamic. There is something between himself and Melissa, something involving quite a bit of kissing and holding her but not formal enough that the kids have said anything about it yet. The recent memory of avoiding her for the entire summer because he hadn’t realized she had feelings about him still hangs heavy over them, and a few months after that got resolved, he’s trying to do better. Trying to indirectly figure out what she wants out of a partner and be more than she’s ever had – he’s known for years how low that bar is, and for the most part his little efforts have been well within what he’d want to do anyways. Trying…

If she wants help gathering decorations in the wild, as strange of an idea as that sounds to him, it’s not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Easy enough to combine with the monthly-ish sensor check – not that that’s the only reason he’s agreed to this, she hasn’t outright accused him but he’s starting to learn her reactions and how she shows disappointment in particular – and try to convince himself, for an hour or two, that he can actually do this normal-people thing.

“Remind me, why exactly are we doing this?” he asks at some point that feels midway through the outing. Gathering specific branches from the woods is at least more cost-effective than blow-up snowmen, he supposes, but sometimes he doesn’t even know where to start with what he knows are stupid questions and-

“I’m going to make wreaths,” Melissa replies as she leans down to inspect another fallen branch. “I haven’t had a good reason to do that in years, and I figure… I don’t think there’s any species that has a specific aversion to pine, is there?”

He has to think for a moment, and he hates that he has to think about it. “Not that we currently deal with?” He knows that much offhand, he’ll have to look that up later, it’s definitely a ward against something but he’s pretty sure not anything one would be likely to encounter on this part of the continent and-

“Let me know if you remember otherwise,” she says with the sort of curious patience that made him wonder about her a year ago when she first realized he was willing to help her. There had been a healing process in it, taking everything he knows about the wildness of the world and learning alongside her how to use it to protect instead of harm. This is what they are building themselves out of, and-

“Will you need help with…”

Melissa laughs and it’s one of the prettiest things he’s ever heard, light and solid at the same time. “You are actually asking me if I want help with a craft project,” she processes, shaking her head and curls flying everywhere. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

There’s such a sweetness in how she says things like that, how clear she makes it that she appreciates his presence. That too should feel like more of an adjustment than it is, but compared to everything else…

“The boys did mention power tools would be involved…”

“Not necessarily. Do I need to elaborate on why I decided on a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy regarding chainsaws?”

Chris can only imagine what kind of disaster she’s alluding to, and if he ever needs to know that story he’ll probably hear a different version of it at a less than ideal time. He gets a sense that certain core dynamics have been waiting a long time for someone to fit the places he does, and that’s not always comforting, and-

“So how do you… do this, then?”

“Zip ties and superglue. I know you know how to use at least one of those, so…” With that, Melissa finds another acceptable-looking branch and adds it to the pile in his arms. “We only need a few more, okay? Like I said, it’s been a bit, and I’m not sure how many I’m even making, but…”

“Lead the way.”