#lurker lurker... ive seen you before...

[stargazelasagna]

i lied on twitter i suddenly hate this LMAO ICANT BREATHE IHATE IT

[manicpixiefelix]

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

1/2: i'm gonna talk you through it [SMUT]

Summary: You're the daughter of one of Henrys, and known to be a snobby, entitled Princess of a woman; neither Venetia nor Felix seems to like you. Farleigh, however, claims that you and he have an ongoing arrangement. Felix says that arrangement is that you and Farleigh bitch together, then fuck like wild animals every time you hang out. Turns out you're even bitchier in person, and after a cruel joke played on Oliver by you and Farleigh at the Henrys dinner, he decides to take a bit of power back. Not that it goes as intended... nor that it goes completely wrong.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (F receiving), dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, demeaning talk, bondage & restraints, explicit discussions around safewords (it does happen a little bit into the action but before anything major), pet name used for the reader "princess"

A/N: 4730 words. okay turns out i can write pwp. i cut out like 1.5k of background and you get the gist of it in the summary. there will be a part 2 thats heavy on the smut, but this trio takes a while to set anything up because they can't stop arguing. hints of farleigh/oliver. this was a lot of fun but again i can't stress how long its been since ive written full, proper smut, so id really appreciate feedback. <3 unedited, i love you.

{ masterpost : 1/2 }

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Fucking Farleigh Start. Oliver feels the fury as it burns and bubbles inside of him, stalking quietly through the halls of Saltburn. There, at the end of the hall, Farleigh's bedroom door, quiet and unassuming, and right next to it, Oliver's target; your door. Farleigh isn't the only one in the house who can wrap people around his little finger; he isn't the only one in the house who can get the Princess to kneel.

Trying the handle, he finds it unlocked, and eases the old, wooden door open.

"Farleigh was right," upon hearing your voice, bright, amused, and very much awake in the dark, Oliver jumps, "you're an A-plus lurker, I didn't even hear you come in."

"Was a nasty thing you did to me tonight," Oliver tries to regain some of his composure, some of the ire he'd built up on the way here.

"So you've snuck into my room, I assume you assumed I was asleep, to- what, wake me up and berate me?" There's something smug and biting in your voice, something that fuels the fury coiling deep in his gut, "that doesn't sound like enough for someone like you, tricksie, little, pauper boy." When you start to move from where you've been sitting up in bed, crawling to the end to sit on your knees as the moonlight streaks through your window and finally paints you in sharp relief, he sees you're already nude.

But even your stunning body in the moonlight cannot compare to the look on your face, the sharp, hungry, mean amusement he's never seen a person wear so well.

"Go on then, shout," your eyes shine dangerously in the moonlight; "don't you want Farleigh to hear?" They might have been right. You might be the devil. Your smile gets wider, and Oliver can only watch, rather transfixed, as you start rolling your hips with purpose, "or do you want him to hear something else?" He hears, quietly at first, a soft tap, getting louder as you keep insistently thrusting against the air, against the mattress, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall behind it, the wall that you shared with Farleigh on the other side.

Then, all at once, you stopped. A loud, mean laugh is pulled from you as you pitch yourself back on the bed, kicking your legs out in front of you to hang off the edge, completely relaxed, completely exposed. You give a loud, amused sigh, looking up at the canopy of the four poster bed.

"God, you're such a little bitch, Oliver, Farleigh was so right," you snorted, "I was the one who actually saw you eating Venetia like your life depended on it, on the lawn of all places," you shook your head, "I don't know what you told Felix to get out of that one but I know what I saw," clicking your tongue, you raised your leg, pointing a foot at him, not even bothering to look at him, "now you won't even touch me in my own bedroom when I'm practically begging for it. I'm choosing to be offended about that; you've offended me, Oliver."

Slowly, your leg lowers, and you kick your heels idly against the end of the bed in the silence.

"Where do you get all your attitude from?" Oliver finally speaks, tone turning scornful as he approached you.

"The money," you fire back with ease, "which is why you always seem to have none." Then, in the furious silence that followed, you grinned sharply at the roof, still not bothering to look at him, "try harder."

When he touches your knee, his fingers gentle against your skin, you kick him hard in the thigh with your other foot -

"The fuck? Did you just kick me?"

"Yeah, and?" He can almost hear you rolling your eyes, "what did you think it was, the wind? Ghost of Grandma Catton?"

"Do you fuckin' want me or not?" He's still standing within kicking range, he learns too late. All the while you've never even looked at him, always looking at the ceiling, hands comfortably, casually behind your head. There's a smug grin on your lips now, something teasing and once more mean.

"Do you want me?" You respond, legs gliding open, an open invitation to your slick, moon-drenched cunt, "I thought you wanted to use me to get back at Farleigh," you said mockingly, finally looking up and meeting his deep, furious gaze. Propped up on your elbows, you give a grin that's all teeth, "wanted to show us who has the real power, that you can get us back for the stunt we pulled after dinner," you sat up further, intense, hungry amusement in your eyes that drew Oliver in to you, leaning in, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as you were almost nose to nose. Your voice lowers, gaze on his lips as your voice turns to almost a moan, "wanted to show Farleigh that you could take anything he thought was his; even me," and you start fake moaning, softly at first, but getting exponentially louder as you leaned back again, against the bed, arching and writhing from nothing, putting on a show that ended with you shouting - "Oliver's a fucking bitch!" At the top of your lungs, and cackling with glee.

Rage exploded within Oliver, and for a moment, overcome with a strange sense of betrayal at your demonstration, he smacks at your inner thigh with all the might he can muster. He can tell it stings, your laughter stops for just a moment, leg flinching up for just a second, but then you're laughing harder if possible.

"Your first mistake - of many - was letting her talk at all," Farleigh's voice from the door is frankly annoyed. You, however, gasp with delight, sitting directly up and looking at Farleigh with absolute glee.

"That's not his fault, I wasn't going to tell him," you pointed out, before looking down at your thighs, and Oliver's hands still on them, and the part of you that must have still stung from the slap, "why is your grip so soft?" You looked up at him with a derisive expression, and immediately Oliver's grip on you goes tight, nails digging into your skin; you're fucking laughing at him again, still, "awe, you're getting there -"

"Could you stop that already?" Oliver leans in, scowling at you. Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, you grinned with devilish intent.

"Stop what?"

"All that fuckin' talking you're doing."

"I don't know, can I -?" But then out of seemingly nowhere, Farleigh sits himself down at the end of the bed next to you, flush against your side. He's still in his crisp, white shirt, and black slacks, looking so put together next to your brash nudity. When his hand comes up to your jaw, barely two fingers beneath your chin to guide you, to have you looking him in the eyes, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Both he and Oliver can see how badly you want to laugh, to make any kind of sound, but you hold yourself back.

"Okay, your fucking highness," Farleigh's voice is low and dangerous, full of warning, and Oliver sees you take a sharp breath in, gaze fixed on Farleigh's, "you don't get shit from either of us if you can't keep your dirty mouth closed." Though you nod adamantly, you puff out your cheeks, amusement in your eyes as you're clearly desperate to say something; "what?" Farleigh frowns.

"I have really bad news for you about what I have to do to suck dick," you point out, trying to keep your composure. It's not working, giggles are escaping you at a rapid rate.

"You are testing nerves I didn't even know I had," Oliver admits, desperately trying to sink his nails into you as hard as he could. If he could draw blood, perhaps that would be enough penance for having to endure your infuriating company.

However, it's Farleigh who speaks, lip curling with frustration as he smacks Oliver's hand away from the thigh closest to him. With a solid grip on that thigh, he pulls you leg close to him, forcing your legs wider, exposing you further.

"Then do something about it," he practically orders, and something about the tone sparks a kind of indignation in his chest, "you need me to talk you through it?" He snaps. This, however, quickly turns smug and mean as Farleigh leans in, nose to nose with Oliver and his building frustration with them both; "you know how to eat pussy, right?"

"You should both be very careful what you wish for," Oliver's eyes flash with a dangerous confidence as he sank down on his knees between your legs. You, thrilled and delighted by how the situation was no unfolding, lay yourself back on the bed with contented laughter, hands coming to rest confidently behind your head once more.

Farleigh watches Oliver with intense scrutiny, and for reasons he's not quite sure of, Oliver meets his gaze, refuses to break eye contact. His hand moves first, no longer holding your left thigh, he digs his elbow into your soft inner thigh, bracing his arm against you, forcing your leg further open and keeping it that way, letting him comfortably rest his hand with his thumb on your clit.

"Smart boy," you hum appreciatively, shifting your hips back and forth a little as his thumb is rubbing circles against your clit, "knows where the start button is." He takes his thumb off of you, much to your confusion. His gaze is still locked with Farleigh's. "Fucking hell, are you tired already -?" You sat up on your elbows, scowling at him, but Oliver looks sharply to you.

"Weren't you listening to Farleigh, princess?" Oliver asks, and there's something so deliciously satisfying about the look of flustered surprise on your face in this moment. Beside you, Farleigh huffs a laugh to himself and stands, pulling off his tie. Oliver's full attention, however, is still trained on your. Slowly, as he speaks, he again begins to rub circles against your clit, teasing, never enough proper pressure to be satisfying.

"I -" you started, but he immediately stopped again; out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver sees Farleigh's approving nod. Something about this all has his blood rushing in his fucking ears. You press your lips together, giving him a now expectant look, as if here, I've done what you've asked.

You're so wet, so wanting, ready and waiting, right thigh inching closer, leg curling around him, heel pressing insistently into his back. God you look so fucking good, he wants nothing more than to eat you like a man starving, tasting every inch of you -

"Give me your belt," Farleigh interrupts, and Oliver pauses, mouth literally an inch from your cunt, looking up at Farleigh like he can't quite believe him right now.

"Farleigh!" You exclaim with utter frustration, right leg lashing out to kick him, but he grabs your ankle and holds it tightly. With his free hand he makes an expectant, grabby hand at Oliver.

"Belt, now please." He practically orders.

"Use your own belt, Farleigh," Oliver nods to the belt Farleigh had just tossed to the side of the room, and Farleigh gives him a thin, unamused smile.

"Mine's nicer, and I don't want your cum on it," he explained with a mean, humourless smile. Oliver sat back for a long, furious moment, undoing his belt. The minute his hands were off of you, you tried to whine, but Farleigh, now just in his boxers, sat further up the bed beside you.

"This is overkill, I'll be good," you pouted, twisting to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him with as pleading eyes as you could manage.

"You're not even being good right now," he pointed out; "both your thighs are over Oliver's fucking shoulders, and you haven't gone thirty seconds without saying something," but clearly you're pleased and flustered at being called out. Farleigh says your name more insistently, and you try and play innocent before he practically orders, "get your fucking legs off of him!" Like he can't quite believe you're still trying these tricks, even though you both seem comfortable in this dynamic.

"Oliver~" Farleigh then practically sings like a warning, gaze turning much colder as it falls back on Oliver himself, "where are we with that belt?"

"What's it for anyways?" Oliver finally pulls his belt free, awkwardly half throwing it to Farleigh, who does actually thank him, before his attention is back on you, bare and warm and wet and - "princess," he says suddenly before Farleigh can even answer his initial question, looking up, and you make a noise of acknowledgement, "you want me to touch you like I mean it, then keep your legs spread like you actually fucking want it," voice going low and sharp, immediately you widen your legs as best you can.

"Oh, he's good," Farleigh says, surprisingly appreciatively, watching as Oliver makes a meal of you.

Finally, finally, Oliver's mouth is on you, tongue gliding playfully along your slit, his nose continually bumping his thumb as it continues to work your clit, firmer this time. You hips wriggle and roll with him, desperate for more, growing frustrated with his teasing lightness.

"The belt can be for several things," Farleigh began, matter-of-factly as he began to loop the belt through itself, focusing on his task at hand, "if she insists on closing her legs, I'm not above using both belts to make sure she keeps them open - this bedframe's especially good for that -" a hot spike of desire passes through Oliver all at once, picturing you bound and open and begging -

"Oh, don't joke about that Farleigh, come on, you know I love that -" you actually whimpered, but Oliver, still keeping in mind the earlier warning, once more stops entirely. You gasp, as if betrayed, before remembering for yourself, actually whining, "you guys fucking suck," you whimper petulantly. For a moment, Oliver wonders if he really aught to be here, if this strange, psychosexual encounter was really worth it.

"You're fucking loving this," Farleigh countered without a moment of hesitation, saying it with such confidence that it almost surprised Oliver, "you just hate that you can't shut the fuck up for any amount of time, and that Oliver isn't actually as much of a little bitch as you thought," clearing his throat, Farleigh cast an evaluative look, before trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, "as either of us thought, I guess."

A moment of quiet stillness passes, and Oliver looks to you, face scrunched up with embarrassment, as all of Farleigh's words apparently rang true.

"Are you hourly, Oliver?" Farleigh then scowls, much to Oliver's confusion. Farleigh looks at him like he's a downright idiot, "the princess is actually being quiet, which means..." he trailed off pointedly. Oliver sat back on his heels, frowning at Farleigh for a long moment, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You, yet again growing incredibly unsatisfied, groaned into your hands.

"Not if you're gonna talk to me like that," Oliver takes a deep breath, sitting tall, gaze unflinching as he meets Farleigh's sneering gaze.

"Then fuck off, Little Orphan Ollie, we don't need you," he spits, "you should really feel lucky that you even got this far -"

"You're all talk, Farleigh," Oliver, with a newfound confidence, and his hands on you, rubbing small, gentle circles against your inner thighs with his thumbs. Farleigh's eyes narrow, but Oliver's smile turns knowing, "I know you can throw her around, and tie her up, and give her orders, clearly," he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, gaze slipping to you, to where you've still got your face covered by your hands, "but we both know no-one can speak for her, but her."

The faint, frustrated whimpering that had been escaping you this entire time goes dead silent. Oliver feels the way you go very still. Farleigh, realising what Oliver meant, also turned to look at you properly.

"'s your bedroom, princess," Oliver leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh, murmuring softly against your skin, "what do you think?"

"I think you're edging each other with psychosexual, power-play, bullshit-banter that's doing fucking nothing for me," you snap behind your hands, "and I'm gonna start kicking people again very soon," you warned. Farleigh rolled his eyes.

"Sit up," he sighed.

"No."

"Make a choice," Oliver told you, tone firmer this time.

"Also no." Your voice was sounding particularly petulant, and you even brought your knees together, closing yourself off in front of Oliver. After a long, vaguely irate silence, Farleigh takes a deep breath.

"Is something wrong? Are we at a yellow light? Red light?" He asks, tone far gentler, he leans over, fingers gentle against your hairline by your fingertips.

"Light... colours?" Oliver asks with genuine confusion. Farleigh is far less patient when he turns on Oliver, like he's frustrated to even be explaining this.

"Like a traffic light; instead of a safety word like pineapple, we have green - go, yellow - slow down, red - stop," said like he wanted to include duh, obviously on the end, but refrained, turning back to you.

"And... they're for her?" Intrigued and surprisingly endeared by the concept, Oliver leans forward with a little smile, resting his chin on one of your knees, looking between yourself and Farleigh. He watches you sigh, even with your hands over your face.

"How do you not know how safe words work? What kind of sex have you been having?" Farleigh's judgemental tone hits Oliver square in the chest, but before he can even answer, you finally sit up, expression wide and overwhelmed with frustration.

"Farleigh look at him; he's like if they made repression a person! He's been having the most boring, vanilla sex known to man - if any - and getting off in his spare time to things that would make God cry. Look him in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong -" Farleigh's gaze flicked to Oliver, who suddenly felt himself begin to flush scarlet, and had to sit back again, frowning at his hands. There was something about the shame at being so concisely called out that was... thrilling. Something about how clearly you could see through him, through his persona to the raw want at his very core, it was freeing. You sat up further, with purpose, grabbing Oliver's chin so roughly it shocked him, forcing him to look in your eyes for a long moment.

"You came in here with purpose thinking I was asleep; creepy, hot, deranged; I'm into it," you told him sternly, "I literally could not care less about you otherwise, you're nothing to me the rest of the time. You came here to put me in my place, I don't want you here if you can't do that." Fucking hell, Oliver can feel his heartbeat racing as you shove his face away, your expression almost bordering on disgust.

"So you're..." Farleigh, as if frustrated by this little tirade you saw fit to go on, was unimpressed as he once more checked in.

"Green light, obviously," you threw your hands into the air in exasperation, "it's like you've never met me before -" but before you can slump back against the bed like you so clearly wanted to, Farleigh catches you, shifts behind you to prop you up.

"You're a brat," Oliver says, finally finding the words for the dynamic, and rather charmed by it all. Still, Farleigh has to get a word in edgewise.

"How long 'd it take you to figure that out?" He muttered sarcastically, doing something behind your back while you made a show of struggling and wiggling, refusing to keep your left arm with whatever he was doing.

"So," Oliver clarified, testing out the code, "green light?" You grinned at him, giving a pleased nod. Farleigh, finally having caught your left hand seemingly for good, reiterates the statement distractedly. Then, with a sense of triumph and relief, he pulls the belt, and his makeshift handcuffs, tight.

"Why are you still dressed?" You ask Oliver sharply. You may have had a point, but the game was back on. With your hands secured, Farleigh sat back behind you on the bed, pulling you flush to him, arms secured and pressed between the two of you that was just edging on uncomfortable.

"Why are you still talking?" He mutters into your ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand coming to wrap over your mouth, while his other curled around your middle, pulling your legs apart, wasting no time in dipping two long, elegant fingers into you. Your eyes light up, gasping against his hand as the two of you watch with lust in your eyes as Oliver begins to undress.

"The belt," Farleigh's voice has that lazy kind of smugness that Oliver usually hated, but now kind of makes his head fuzzy and kind of like he wants to sink his teeth into him, "is to keep the princess in her place, because someone," he says pointedly, not that you seem to notice; your eyes are closed, and Farleigh's thumb is on your clit while the fingers he has inside of you curl lovingly into your sweet spot, "manages to escape every pair of padded handcuffs either of us have ever bought," he explains, turning his attention back to Oliver, "and she complains about metal handcuffs, and zip ties, has undone every rope knot I've ever tied, and ruined every single tie I've ever tried to tie her up with."

"I bought you new ones," your voice is faint, half a moan muffled behind Farleigh's hand, and Oliver, still unsure of how to respond to any of that, finally turns back to the two of you on the bed. There's something desperate about the way you're arching against Farleigh's firm hold on you, legs having fallen open as your hips rolled in time with his fingers, lewd and needy. But Farleigh's eyes are only on Oliver, watching him with hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze roaming over Oliver's physique.

At the sound of your voice, Farleigh's gaze meets Oliver's his smile widening just a touch before he stops entirely. A desperate keening is pulled from you, hips shifting for friction, for anything, as Farleigh rests his hand on your thigh, fingers slick, practically dripping with you.

"No, I'll be good," you whimper, eyes fluttering, half closed, "I'll be -" you were already breathing heavy, "so so good."

"Hear that?" Farleigh murmurs with a vindictive little smile, hand uncovering your mouth, moving to hold your chin, your mouth falling open in a moan as his nails scratch up your thighs. Oliver advances on you both, entranced by the sight of you both, desperate to have a taste, to play along.

"Think she even knows how to be good?" Oliver teases, once more between your thighs. Still, instead of giving you the same kind of proper relief that Farleigh had been offering, he starts out gentle once more.

"Oliver, you're so cruel," you whimper. Farleigh's hand moves from your jaw to wrap around your middle, holding you secure, while the hand that had sat on your thigh moves to your open mouth, Oliver watches, rapt, as he slides both slick digits past your lips, but it shuts you up well enough, lips closing on his fingers as you diligently lap up your own taste from him.

"See, can't trust a word she says," Farleigh purrs. You bite gently on his fingers as you moan, Oliver finally deciding to do more than just tease you. Oliver's fingers are shorter than Farleigh's, but damn if they can't still hit the same high notes. Curling and pressing in a steady rhythm, he alternates dipping his tongue in as much as he can, and circling your clit. Farleigh's hand has moved from your mouth, spit slicked fingers pinching at your nipples, lightly dragging his nails across your skin, while he's started rolling his hips against your back, cock unbearably hard and still confined to his boxers, pressed against you.

You're whimpering and moaning in his ear, straining against your handcuffs, arching, writhing, but Oliver's holding your thighs still and secure and Farleigh is captivated by how enthusiastically he's going down on you, how its shining on his cheeks, his nose - he reaches out, cards his fingers through Oliver's hair. Oliver looks up through his lashes, a fucking gorgeous sight that you're too lost to appreciate. Just for Farleigh.

God he could say something snide, something about sloppy seconds or something about this being the most expensive meal he'll ever have, but he doesn't. He gives a sly, approving smile, and his grip on Oliver's hair tightens.

"Teeth and tongue," he tells Oliver quietly. Oliver doesn't seem to get it at first, but you choke out a whine, arching further into Farleigh, tipping your head against his.

"That's cheating," you gasped, but Farleigh kept running his fingers through Oliver's hair, whose mouth had never left your cunt, nor his eyes Farleigh's face, "you're helping him cheat; you want me to cum this early?"

"You know what's cheating?" Farleigh once more grabbed your chin, angling your head so you could watch Oliver working hard to get you off, "look at him," Farleigh murmurs in your ear, "eyes open, on his," the commanding tone was hard to refuse, and your eyes fluttered open; the fucking sight of him, a mess between your legs, Farleigh's hand in his hair, was almost enough to send you over the edge, "tell him what I mean."

"Gentle- uh, gentle teeth on me- on my-" you desperately tried to string two words together as Oliver began to get more of an idea. Farleigh's hand on his head becoming more insistent, firmer, nose pressed firm against your skin when he finally took the hint, focusing on your clit, sucking and lapping at it, teeth gently teasing as you completely lost the ability to speak. The rhythm of his fingers was consistent and firm throughout it all, pressing just right -

"Keep your fucking eyes on him," Farleigh ordered, almost snarling it into your ear, "I want you to watch Oliver Quick make you cum." But Oliver had eyes only for him, feeling you clench around his fingers, thighs pressing desperately against his shoulder and the hand that had kept them apart, he could feel Farleigh's nails on his scalp and see the heady, smug pride in his eyes.

As you start to come down, breathing hard and heavy and leaning all your weight against Farleigh, you giggle with out of breath contentment.

"Princess's got not manners," Oliver shook his head with an air of disappointment, and Farleigh smirked, brushing some hair from Oliver's forehead before he reached up and tapped your cheek gently.

"Say thank you, Oliver."

"Thank you, Oliver," you grinned, tone surprisingly sincere, as Oliver crawled up onto the bed beside you both. But there's something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watched you both; reaching out, he presses the fingers against Farleigh's lips, your cum coating them like syrup. Farleigh is more than happy to lick them clean, tongue dancing lewdly around Oliver's digits, all kinds of inuendo and promise in his eyes.

Then, Oliver's attention turns on you something dark, hungry, almost deranged in his eyes. He takes your face in hand.

"And you, princess," he says derisively, not even respecting you enough to look you in the eyes in this moment, "this is not your place that I am putting you in," god it almost sounds like a threat, but you're already squirming with want and anticipation, "but we'll get there," he squeezes your cheeks and your mouth opens on command, tongue as pink and wet and desperate as your cunt had been. He spits in your mouth, sudden sneer curling his lip, blue eyes ice cold and demeaning; "and it's thank you, Oliver Quick."

You feel fucking filthy, can taste yourself in his spit.

You want him to do it again.

"Thank you, Oliver Quick."

{ part two here }

[paperclipps7]

What kind of ichor creatures are their? You mentioned their are bug types, but what else is there? And while on the subject, is their an ichor creature that's so powerful ( and possibly huge ) that not even shrimpo would dare go near its territory.

Ive narrowed the count down to 4 types.

Infected Wildlife: Technichally not ichor monsters, but native wildlife infected by the ichor from ichor monsters. They are just like the normal animal but much more aggressive and volatile. When killed the ichor melts into the ground leaving a rotting corpse.

Swarmers: Little blobs of ichor that work as a sort of hivemind. As the name suggests, they move in packs and swarm toons with little care for how many they lose, as long as they get a meal they can replicate. Melts into the ground upon death leaving nothing behind.

Trudgers: Larger, more volatile ichor beasts that are slower, bulkier, and hurt more. Generally amorpheous forms of ichor, but can form into claws or other appendages based on the situation. Usually solitary but sometimes group up during major attacks on camps. Melts into the ground upon death leaving nothing behind.

Lurkers: Exclusive to The Ruins, Lurkers are much more humanoid, standing on two legs and limping around the old buildings. They are far more intelligent and often take their time hunting, stalking toons from the shadows before attacking swiftly and silently. None have been killed. Shelly swears she's seen bones sticking out of one of them.

[becriticizeslight]

hello ! im a lurker anon with a lot of thoughts of whats happened in the past like. less than a day that ive been aching to dump and youre the first person i saw in the tag so ragh! wave incoming!

im pretty neutral on the two sides the anticares are seemingly split into now, cuz i feel like both sides have been reacting very strongly due to not understanding each other, and generally the infighting is unnecessary. i wanna mention first that a lot of people are being crazy harsh about chaosblast like IMMEDIATELY after they (? i dont see prns on their tumblr so i hope this is correct to use) said a single thing. i think there are valid reasons to be upset, but to preach about harassment while The Horde jumped them for a single post is. uhm. i hope the hypocrisy in that can be easily seen. please just block, we dont have to go nuts

Its being left out a lot that Chaosblast... did not say pegglesai wasnt harassed, nor condoned pegglesai being harassed. They specifically said that the post that showed evidence of harassment didnt load for them when they first made a post. It was not an issue of not looking at the full story before posting, tumblr just doesnt load shit sometimes. And they directly apologized for getting that bit wrong too (which is deleted now, along with all the posts they made during that time, as mentioned due to them still actively being stalked, but I myself saw when they posted that). If they answered a question once, 5 more people dont need to send the exact same thing. If you are going to be upset at someone for repeating incomplete information, do not repeatedly send the same thing that has already been answered

now, i wanna go ahead and say: i wholeheartedly believe ventblogs were not at risk of being doxxed. But i understand why they were scared of this! I think fearmongering of this did happen to an extent, but not intentionally. I think a lot of people online fear doxxing, so its kind of a magical threatening word one can use to send people into freaking out-- because not a lot of normal people will know how doxxing works! theyre not gonna actively try doing that themself, so why should they? so, for the record, i will say: Doxxing is not someone can just easily do in the blink of an eye, even if theyve doxxed someone before. In the case of the recent doxxer, they themself claim to be a victim of Woofles. That itself implies they were close to Woofles at some point, and when youre close to someone, that information is much more likely to be shared or found through proximity, and possibly trust in sharing more personal/sensitive info. Besides that, people are often doxxed through sharing/showing sensitive information that can be connected to their irl identity, or through having clicked/downloaded something malicious that can grab information. Getting scared of a doxxer threatening you is understandable! But for future reference, if something like this should ever come up again, ask yourself a few things; Have you clicked on or downloaded anything suspicious from someone/somewhere you dont know? If no, someone is not likely to immediately have all of your information. And also I think its just generally common knowledge not to do that. Otherwise, have you posted sensitive information of yourself online, that could be found by a complete stranger? If yes, that could be a potential issue, but normally for that kind of digging, itll take more than a few things to narrow it down. Stuff like your age/birthday and your country wont endanger you 99.99% of the time. Hell, even sharing your state/city wont always be dangerous, but you regardless should not share anything further than state. Its info like images of your face, images of where you live, what your job is/who you work for, etc that can really be dangerous to share. That, or easy access to accounts you use for irl purposes. I say none of this to seem as though im talking down to anyone, but just to accentuate that doxxing is something done through criteria being met, not something people just Find on a whim and post. If that were the case, the entire anticare space would probably be doxxed at this point. Theres not something like Whitepages easily accessible to the public that allows people to see your account and know everything about you. I say this all to hopefully quell fears a bit, and also so people can understand to not do/share these things about themselves, and that its also unlikely youll randomly be doxxed by someone who was close to a predator and targetting a predator. Excluding cases of clicking/downloading of malicious things, doxxing is often going to be something done by people closer to you, people you know rather than strangers.

However, despite all of this, I understand the fear. In concept, doxxing is a scary thing, and not many people are going to think in depth about how at risk they are if they are actively being threatened/harassed. And because of this, i think anyone who WAS actively mad at pegglesai, or whoever else, for being freaked out from harassment was absolutely in the wrong and should learn empathy.

I do understand where the people upset by the ventblog reactions are coming from, though. To my understanding, those are people much more learned/familiar with doxxing and harassment, and I think when thats something youve endured frequently, its easy to become desensitized to it, and also think others dumb for not realizing how unlikely some things like doxxing are for them.

its a case where I think both sides should really take a second to calm down. I think people in the know of how doxxing works should have been a bit more patient with ventblogs, understanding that many are children or not fully mature yet, and are thus much more susceptible to being scared by things like this. And not to be 'hurrdurr chronically online people' or whatever, but its even more the case for people who HAVE been on social media a lot, particularly as teens. I was pretty much the same up until i was 16, and it was then that I ended up taking a really long break from social media, and I came back to it with much more understanding of how I should act on it. As for the ventblog side, I think they should be more open to criticism. I will say, i can see how what was said was harsh/taken harshly, as it seems people were either actively being harsh, or being blunt. But we shouldnt be acting like The Horde in someones askbox because they said something that pissed us off! The sparklecrit community was built to have a free space where people could speak their mind, even if it differed from public opinion. It was made specifically to avoid the whiteknight culture sparklecare had accumulated. Lets please try to avoid recreating that, no matter the circumstance

And a final thing, a personal critique on ventblogs that I hope can be taken calmly, as I mean no harm with it-- but I think some should be much more careful with the information they post. If its something youre not going to directly inform the public about, you do not need to vague about it publicly. This only creates public interest, that can devolve into distress and chaos. And if its an allegation with proof, please, PLEASE, do not take it at face value. Even if 'well this person has a history of weird behavior' is your reasoning, we should avoid taking things as face value. Just because someone has done a wrong thing, does not mean they have done all wrong things ever, and taking every claim at face value without proof only muddies up what is true and what is false, which harms the people trying to spread that these people are bad in the first place. You are not helping the cause in the way you think you are if you actively spread allegations without proof, or at the very least without mentioning "this is a currently unproven allegation, please take with a grain of salt". When we're in such a community where many bad actors do exist and lurk, we have to be incredibly careful what is shared and spread. It is understandable to want the public to be aware of things sometimes, but some of you, especially adults, should try to have much more mindfulness when it comes to appropriately sharing what absolutely should and deserves to be shared

Anyways, holy yappathon over. I hope what ive said can be taken in a, at the very least, neutral way, as i truly mean no harm, but I can personally see where both sides are coming from. Its a clusterfuck of a situation, exacerbated by two sides not understanding each other, and reacting harshly in return. I hope any/all who have been harassed can find calm now, and feel safer however they chose to step away. If theres anything i missed, I do apologize for that. Im saying all of this with information I have from lurking in the community a lot since the kittycorn doc dropped, and having been on the side of sparklecrit privately pretty much since the sparklecrit community first started/became known as a separate part of the fandom. My memory is poor, so nothing potentially left out is left out with ill intent. I doubt this will really be seen, but watching people fight over this has been... something, and if I can get through to at least one person, then thats enough for me. Fuck shittycorn, fuck shitmera, fuck doxxers, fuck harassers, and good day to all the normal folk out there!

^ posting it so people can give their opinion if they have something to add, or reply to!!

[fieldsofred]

hey i hope u know how much fun im having reading itaot... any time theres an update, or when you post a snippet, or when im just feeling like it and casually reread the whole thing, im like rolling around in bed (or kicking my feet, if at the office) having the time of my life. i visited my family for the holidays and forced my mom to listen to a whole ass retelling lmao. my boss thinks ive started seeing someone because shes been seeing me giggle secretively at my phone more than usual. all in all, 100/10, having the time of my life here.

also out of curiosity, can you share with us the inspiration behind the title? or is it something of a future plot spoiler?

Hey i hope you know that im giggling and kicking my feet and screaming

It took me forever to answer this because I have no words (which is rare for me, i usually have too many words).

I also have a secret relationship (the comments on itaot) that has me hiding my phone screen and smiling uncontrollably at work

1000/10. i adore you. i hope your mom liked your retelling <3

But genuinely, thank you for telling me this. I cannot explain how much light this brings to my day. This made my entire week. This makes me want to keep writing for the rest for the rest of my life. You have no idea the power you hold over me.

I hope you keep enjoying it as much as I am <3333

The title! I cannot explain how much i've been dreading that question. lol. okay,

short answer: its a lyric from harder to breathe by maroon 5. no deep meaning. no connection to the story.

long answer: Is There Anyone Out There? was never supposed to matter to me.

I've been writing fanfic and original stuff for an audience of one (me) for about a decade (im 23). I've never had the courage to post anything before but Ive always had the desire.

I started reading dc fanfic about six months ago and really fell in love with the fandom and the characters. I was a lurker. And then I read a jaytim fanfic with the most atrocious characterizations I have ever seen (in my personal opinion). I said 'jesus christ, i can do better than that' and started writing my own in like, idk, december i think. and then it started to occupy a little more brain space and writing time.

I remember genuinely thinking 'fuck it' when i decided to post the first several chapters at once. I didn't proof read them the way I should have and i didn't have a good solid story outline in place. I was just like, whatever. i'll give it a shot. I didn't think anyone was going to like it. Honestly, I didn't think anyone was going to even see it. I genuinely put itaot on the internet with the expectation of literally nothing happening.

ao3 said: your work must have a title.

I have a whole playlist called mom rock that was the music my mom would play in the car on the way to school or what have you. she loved maroon 5, specifically the songs about jane album. I don't love maroon 5, but I was listening to my mom rock playlist. and Harder To Breathe was playing.

Is there anyone out there,

Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe

The rest of the song makes no sense and I hold no love for it. It means literally nothing to me. Just a song off of a cd my mom used to play in the truck.

But Tim, you might have noticed, feels his anxiety in his chest. Those feelings are my feelings. That sudden tightness, the weight, the suffocating in the middle of a hallway for no reason? That's all me babe

I was like, yeah, sure, that'll do. And named it is there anyone out there?

With hindsight, I might have named it something different. If I knew how much I would grow to love the story, how much it would matter to me, maybe I would have thought about the title a little bit longer.

I have miles and miles of google docs full of stories that matter to me. I have an original work that ive been working on since like 2018 that is my heart and soul in written form.

itaot wasn't supposed to matter. It was a chance to dip my toes into posting without any consequences because, who cares?

Me. I care. I care so deeply. I cannot emphasis the value that this fic holds in my life. The people that it's allowed me to interact with have been a blessing. The community that i've stumbled into is an honor to be apart of. Specifically, this ask is going to live with me for the rest of my life.

There's a phrase thats used in Ted Lasso: It's the hope that kills you

I have dreamt of being a real author my entire life. The whole time, its been a tiny thought in the back of my head, always paired with silly girl, that'll never happen!

And then I put a little fanfic that I wasn't emotionally attached to on the internet. And then I got emotionally attached to it. and then you said i'm having the time of my life and I know what that feels like to read something that makes me giggle and smile and roll around like that. that makes me feel

So now I have to live with the knowledge that the thing I accidently got so, so deeply attached to is named after a fucking maroon 5 song. and also has the power to kill me.

And now you get to know, too <3

[swarmishstrangers]

hello hello! im a lurker thats been absolutely DESTROYING your folly stuff for some time now,, im afraid i have nothing specific to ask/request at the moment BUT THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING FOLLY'S FOLLY DEEPER THAN SURFACE LEVEL,, I KNEW SHE HAD PROBLEMS AND YOU PORTRAY THEM SO WELL THANK YOU,, PEOPLE DONT REALIZE SHES A FUCKED UP LITTLE MESS!!! THEY JUST SEE THE BEAST SHE'D BEEN FORCED TO BECOME!! BORN FROM BETRAYAL AND DECIET AND AHGRHAGR yes i KNOW shes a Not Good Person since then im not SAYING she isnt!! but she is also a Very Traumatized Individual who had absolutely no outlet to rely on when The Incident happened. the one thing she knew the ONE ENTITY (the tree) she was connected to,, betrays her,, because of jealousy? like hear me out when i say this. the first genuinely negative emotion she likely ever felt, was jealousy. from her CREATOR. i rambled on once before about this i am Not Normal about her. i can go on any time i just dont wanna clog your inbox,, (also apologies if this looks similar to another ask!! its the second ive typed out my whole page glitched and reloaded so i have no clue if the first went in or not,, eh i rambled more on this one /pos /silly)

No worries! Yeah I received the other one but its no biggie. I don't mind rambling in my askbox! I promise it doesn't clog it and I love reading people's thoughts on Folly or talking about my writing for her/hcs!

THANK YOU SM!!! I'm so happy to hear that you enjoy how I write her! ^^

Folly is my favorite character in Regretevator and one of the things I try my hardest to stick to to show my love and care for characters that are my favorite is trying to write them as close to canon as possible. I'm glad people that either comment or put in the tags that they like how I write her!

Folly is a character that I think can be seen as both easy to write but also difficult. It's easy to see she's a cruel/mean character who picks fights with a lot of people, people know she is traumatized, and they know she's evil. The difficult part (to me and how I see it), is that she's also difficult to write if all you're looking at *is* just her surface level. For instance, people acknowledge she's traumatized, but many don't read into it further than that to uncover more layers *to* that trauma. Not targeted btw!! Folly is a character that is easy to mess up writing for, she's a complicated character that we also don't know absolutely everything about yet.

I enjoy writing and talking about her tho, and it makes me giddy and happy that people enjoy the way I write her <3

[fratellis-pizzeria]

I was gonna make a different post about this but I'm gonna start over with it to keep it more on topic because its been bothering me to no end, if you'd like to hear the musings of a long time fandom lurker then here goes:

I have seen many a fanbase rise and crumble over my time online but I don't think I've ever seen one as horrendous as Sparklecare's from front to back and I say that with my whole chest, don't get me wrong, I know there were good people here and I'm sure plenty of the stragglers have good intentions, I know no fandom is ever 100% awful... but 95% is still a fucking lot.

As a "professional lurker" I have seen some of you passively around for Years now and have always been honestly just insufferable- sure, back then it was just takes that I thought were stupid and infighting that didnt involve me which is whatever who cares I just kept scrolling, but now its gotten so much worse than that to the point that its astonishing, and don't even get me started on you pussies who go out to start shit under the mask of a tumblr anon, regardless of community you guys are always just the worst by default. To give credit where credit is due at least the majority of the blogs I've been used to seeing and loathing have already jumped ship by now, but jesus christ dude a mark was left nonetheless.

I don't say this lightly, I genuinely don't think there's any salvaging this fandom anymore, it's going to eat itself from the inside out until all thats left is chimerashits and all the other incestbros enabling kc's self destructive behaviors and begging kit for more slop, and then like 3 crit accounts yelling into the void with nobody around to listen anymore, this has never been a normal or healthy fandom and I think it completely lost the chance of ever being one a very long time ago. I've seen this a hundred times and I'll see it a hundred more, but nothing will ever hold a candle to the bullshit ive witnessed here day in and day out, truly.

I'm done directly posting about this comic, you're gonna get whatevers left in my drafts or inbox and then thats it, I'm going back into my cave with my ocs and watching this fire burn it all down from across the street in a lawnchair with a beer in hand knowing I can't do fuck all about it besides bear witness

I genuinely hope everyone negatively affected by getting caught up in this shitshow, long before march and however long things continue after, can know peace one day. Fuck kc and fuck all of this dude, I'm just continuing what I've been doing and making something better out of the ashes of the slop comic and I'm just gonna go back to keeping it to my corner as I always have.

Farewell chucklefucks, its been awful, please take care of yourselves.

[feralfluidfox]

Hello, what does the ☉∇ in your name stand for? Ive never seen those symbols together before /genq (feel free to dm me with the definition if you'd prefer)

to be honest, I've been a little timid to post my symbol/flag proposal here, since tumblr is a space I've only ever engaged in from a distance as a lurker, and never a place where I've ever participated in the communities or discourse surrounding alterhumanity!!

but, it doesn't make sense not to post it at all based on this, so, I went ahead and published the draft I've been sitting on.

the symbols are meant to be a way to represent holotheric identity! I made a post explaining my justification for the symbology here, if you feel like reading about it!

[bills5lut]

Oh my, It’s genuinely been such a long time since I’ve had a good read, especially nowadays— but god, was ‘fragile’ such a beautiful piece of fiction. As someone who’s been in and out of hospitals, I’ve never seen something written so beautifully and perfectly I can’t describe it enough. Despite this literally being a fan fiction, the way you described how someone would react to their partner lying about an illness is so raw and real. Generally it’s the same ‘I forgive you troupe’ or ‘just forget about it’ type beat, but your decision to actually make it such a realistic reaction is just so endearing. I’ve never seen your fics before, but ‘fragile’ has definitely got me as one of your new loyal followers.

Please continue writing, as a lurker who’s never sent anon messages, I’ve just got to express my heart towards you and your craft.

that is so sweet thank u so much angel.

ive had similar experiences so just tried to pour that into it rather than being like cliche whatever.

[themetalvirus]

"fountain pen ink company just re released dark lilac color but its different and fountain pen people are going insane about that" just hit my feed on another app and as literally the only fountain pen guy that i know of im really curious if you have any feelings about dark lilac

i havent been keeping up with the FP community for a couple months or so because i'm trying to avoid spending a bajillion dollars on pens. so seeing that this story somehow hit the NEW YORK TIMES is SO funny because ive never even seen dark lilac being discussed before this point, tho i am a simple fountain pen subreddit lurker that only goes occasionally so

but apparently the red dye that's part of the old dark lilac color isn't available anymore, so lamy tried their best to make a dupe with the new ink. from what i can glean, the original was so popular and sought after because no other ink could dupe the deep purple tones properly. now even lamy can't dupe it properly it seems. which is fucking WILD

[cheeseblind]

Hello! Hope you're doing well and thanks for keeping us all posted!

Because sharing is caring - just wanted to muse that its nice to see a part of a fanbase actually dealing with this rather well? I've kind of removed myself from fandoms on the whole as spaces I've thought were progressive have turned on female survivors on a dime just for quietly posting about harassment. I dunno - guess I'm kind of scared now of liking anything to the point that instead of giving it up I'd choose to be sus of accusations just because I like a persona. But at least from what I can see as a lurker, you guys have all been really cool about it, despite how difficult it is to deal with once you've invested in making content and a community. Even as someone who has only been into NRB for a couple of months, the last few days have really sucked but this lil slice of tumblr has helped. So yay <3 faith: restored!

I think for me now my main concern is why Carley thought it was maybe being swept under the rug, and if they did infact, deal with the situation as soon as they were made aware. Certainly, the statement is promising, even if its impossible to know if we would have got one if it all hadn't blown up like it did.

I wonder as well, if Adam does sadly need to be let go, if it's not better for them just to keep the accusations vague for the sake of privacy and not opening it up for debate like last time where everyone comes out of the woodwork to defend abusive behaviour. But then again, maybe that just gets the cast harassed for further info, who knows. Not sure how they'd handle it if he does remain with NRB.

But ive rambled in your inbox enough! Hopefully 4 player communipoly will get me excited for NRB again even with these caveats, because right now I'm being productive instead of watching BOTC all day and ugh, gross.

Enjoy D20!

i agree! while i have seen a couple of gross comments by and large this fanbase has been a kind and supportive place since we found out, which is definitely very nice to see (also my recent big fanbases before (and alongside) this were all sports, imagine the hell that is) so comparatively yeah. not awful. its been nice bc it hasnt felt like an argument at any point which sometimes it can in worse fanbases.

and yeah, idk, i def dont like it at all that nothing was said before it became a big thing but also i understand that from a legal + pr pov ig? and yeah ig im just hoping their statement is completely honest + they werent gna fully ignore it if it never came up but we will never know that now ig

and honestly personally i would prefer we get details bc of who i am as a person, but idk what theyre gna decide and idrk how im gna react to anything anyway icl

<3 hope youre well

[bottlezap]

notable player interactions ive had in fallout 76 as a lurker who never talks to anybody

(note im using "guy" as a neutral term i have no clue what genders anyone here was)

- mothman cultist lookin guy who came into my house, gave me a sick mothman ritual cloak thing ive never seen before, did a spooky dance for like 30 seconds and then disappeared

- someone who built an elaborate camp around a tree in a swamp and lined the entire perimeter with frog jars

- guy who bought all my rocketships and left (i have a toy museum and sell toy items. my guess is they wanted the aluminum but who am i to question your passions)

- guy who ran at me at full speed out of nowhere while i was working on my camp, punched me, and ran away never to be seen again

-guy in power armor using a stealth boy hiding from a room full of feral ghouls. i was about level 10 at the time and had an axe. i just walked in and killed them myself

-unknown medic fairy who left like 100 super stimpaks and a ton of radaway in a loot bag at my camp while i was down in my shelter

- guy in a mothman mask who watched me fighting for my life running across the whitespring lawn with like 7 angry mirelurks chasing after me and then when i managed to kill them all, gave me a 👍 (note they may have been intending to come over to help me but the comedic timing was impeccable)

- guy in power armor relentlessly following me around the nuka carnival going absolutely ballistic on me with a thirst zapper. i didnt have a zapper and didnt know how to emote at the time so i didnt know what to do. eventually they very insistently led me to a bag full of water. i took it and they left. thank you water bandit

-joined a summoning mothman event with like 15 people and when wise mothman appeared everyone gathered around him dancing and doing ❤️ emotes and then suddenly started shooting him (wise mothman was non hostile so i have no idea why they were beating him up)

[thegirlgraves]

i saw that my version of the swapgraves hit the reddit too! hello little lurkers!! o//

i browsed through the comments, and while i was familiar with the concept not being Unique (ive seen old watasi fanart of a hypothetical graveswap au), but i got to see other peoples ideas and even more art of OTHER peoples ideas for it. it's so cool to see how everyone does it, especially how we all kinda hit this concept of "andy has a facade and is almost yandere-like, while ashley is apathetic and insecure but also doesn't care much for facades.". super cool stuff :D

on another note, i have been jotting down little dialogue tidbits in my notes, but i don't want to mass-spam my blog with them. i wanna wait until i've made proper talksprites before i share them. :3 i don't wanna sound desperate but haha if any of you guys have questions or ideas, shoot them into my askbox. i love answering asks and i love getting other peoples input on it :D especially different ideas.

i have so many ideas for swapgraves that i'm tempted to make a chapter 1 mod of them. i don't even know how to mod stuff but i really want to!!! it wouldn't be too difficult, asides from tweaking the talksprites and character graphics. (and obviously the story and dialogue haha) but i wouldn't have to map out whole new rooms, so at least there's that.

[olderthannetfic]

[Is the end nigh anon]

I never actually got around to trying discord until recently, mostly because i had a feeling it wouldnt work for me. But then i saw that post of yours about the emergence of ao3 and went to #8(/#9 im sorry)’s blog and found all these guides to set up your own site, encouraging you to learn html and lean into the small web. And ive started trying to learn, but in the meantime i figured id give discord a try as well, since that seems pretty similar to the closed groups of LJ and ye ol internet even before.

And boy oh boy is it not for me. Maybe i just stumbled upon the wrong places but… theres always this “in” feel to them, which of course there would be, theyre basically huge whatsapp groupchats, but with people i dont know. I barely have the energy to be active on groupchats with friends i know and love and know irl and have a history with, i definitely cant be active enough to remain “in the know” in a discord server. This duscussion thread format requires so much energy, and im more of a lurker. I send asks and add onto my reblogs sometimes and stuff like that, but definitely am not in any circles where fandom is conducted privately and nor would i have the energy to be.

Having to use that kind of format as main fandom-format would take it out of me so badly… i understand that with users being the products and the constant exposure, it does seem natural to seek out more closed private places. But i honestly feel discord is not the place for it, at least to me. Everything moves way too fast and the cliques are the last nail for me. If i was interested in social hierarchy i wouldve stayed on instagram. The fact that tumblr is as anonymous as you want it to be and has no follower/likes chasing is the main reason why i love it (besides the familiarity and everything). I understand this is not everyone’s experience, but my dash is curated to death, i never see any bullshit, so to me this space does feel intimate and cozy as well (i guess without chatrooms, but i dont really feel that loss) and im a strong beliver in blocking.

I feel like discord is too careless and borne of modern understanding of internet social spaces, if that makes sense. I feel like closed, more private formats of interacting with fandom would also require more “care”? For example, having your own site, maintaining it, modifing it, lovingly adding to the content, the layout, eveything, theres this “tending to” vibe, which i feel encourages bringing in this vibe into fandom interactions themselves, as opposed to the fast, impossible to catch up with, catty or careless vibe of discord. Yea, the internet goes at breakneck speed and were just along for the ride, but at least in a public space like tumblr that feels manageable.

I do think that to thrive fandom requires being able to take a break without having to suffer the cost of being left behind. And sure, i guess that would work if your server is with people youre friends with, but how often does that happen and how lucky would you have to be.

Feel free to take any and all of my run on sentances as questions, this ended up being ranty.

--

I don't think it's entirely luck, but yes, making discord not be like what you describe does require a very particular kind of group and management.

The biggest thing I've seen, historically, in platform changes is that the people who make spaces or who are the sparkly, obvious people other people trail behind are fine. They go make a new place.

But the rest of the population may or may not be able to follow. It's not always exclusion from a private discord or anything. Often, it's more like the LJ-->Tumblr move. A lot of people were left behind because it's simply too visual here.

Different formats appeal to different types. I've come to enjoy tumblr, but it was quite unpleasant at first.

One reality of fandom is that there is always social hierarchy. People have asked me "Why do you reblog so-and-so so much???" and the answer is generally two things: 1. that person literally sends me their posts (which requires a certain level of bravery or chutzpah) and/or 2. I know them (from cons, from LJ in 2005, from them sending me private chat messages a lot, from them being highly visibly active like I am over a long period of time, etc.). The times we think there isn't social hierarchy are when either we are the one in the clique or those invisible ties between other users are not perceptible.

But scratch the surface--by having to move platforms, for example--and all kinds of social connections and fault lines will show.

[annavysoul]

it makes me laugh when people say all this drama and you posting in the tarot tag has sucked all the fun out of bts tarot readings, because I wonder has it ever been fun/lighthearted/drama free/ JUST for entertainment purposes?? since the moment I've been looking on the tag, more than a year ago, there was drama. Before when there were 2 or 3 people posting and Mrs. Jeon bullshit didn't exist on YouTube yet I can get it was more truthful, but those people have been inactive for a long time and their readings were much more realistic, BUT still even at that time there were people pretending to be the chosen one, anons mostly, and sending hate or prodding readers trying to get validation. then when the tag became more popular I KNOW those same anons and lurkers started to become tarot readers and started this charade.

OMG U JUST SAID A THEORY THAT I HAD DHBHCBHCHCB tbh i was wondering how many readers in here were actually anons of others readers that became readers just to do bts readings in here (a lot of read words lmaoo)

but same!! tbh i never look into the more recent post of the tag because of the drama lmao, i always tend to scroll down the popular post until the unknown lol, that was a reason why i didnt even know the new readers (i still dont know much about them) but what people been telling me and for the little ive seen, they seem to be people who only wants to do bts readings for the trend(? idk, i need to look more to give a better opinion uwu

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I NEED MORE HRH 😩 and Loss, obviously

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech

Claire woke from a dream within a dream.

In the first, she was suspended in a dreamless trance against Fraser’s chest. It was warm. Too warm for Scotland. Perhaps there had been some noise (a crash or faraway disturbance) that roused them both at the same time. Silently, Claire traced a single gray hair in a sea of unruly auburn lightly breaking against the centerline shore of his chest. Cool air filtering through the window lifted curtains she had never seen before. Perhaps it was a honeymoon – a gauzy, bikini-clad getaway ensconced in the carefully-controlled bubble of one of the British Protectorates. The Maldives maybe? She had seen a postcard once (pressed into the pages of a scrapbook maintained by her sister, a memory of a beautiful holiday to trot out to make a younger royal grow emerald with jealousy), but she had never made it there before.

She curled closer to him, felt the burr of speech rumbling in his chest like an oncoming storm, realized she couldn’t hear him. Jerking up, she pressed a hand to the center of his chest, felt her facial features contort. His mouth was moving, curled into a lazy, slow smile. His hand was on her naked hip, urging her closer, but she had the sensation that she was being pulled backwards. It was as though she was being tugged by a lead threaded into her spine.

Then it was pitch black (like blindness itself, an endless blank slate of darkness upon darkness forever and ever).

In the second dream, Fraser was stripped bare to the waist and in a courtroom. Scars criss-crossed his back like the map of a chaotic, unplanned city center. Lined, bloody wrists were secured in fetters and chained behind his back. Scar tissue (his past) and fresh wounds (their future). Claire shouted for him (for her Fraser, for him to pay attention god dammit, that she would fix this), voice raw. He turned, calling to her and shaking his head. His mouth was frantic, needy. There was no trace of a smile. She tried to move, but she was bound to the spot (hip-deep in cement, locked in place). The courtroom lengthened, the lights dimmed. It was a corridor then, and he was getting further and further from her.

“Stop!” she attempted to scream, but no sound emerged. She scraped at the cement until her fingertips were bloodied; she touched her mouth. Only the narrowest indentation remained where her lips (appendages designed to kiss him, taste him, tell him the darkest parts of herself and hope she had for a future drenched in light with him) had been sealed together.

“Claire!” he bellowed, the single syllable bellowing from the deepest part of his belly.

Her fingers clawed at the indentation, her toes curling uselessly inside shoes entombed in cement.

He continued, “I’m doing this for you.”

She tried to call out, shook her head furiously, and refused to blink. She couldn’t bear the thought of tears falling as her lipless mouth screamed, “No. No. No.”

She woke, gasping and kicking through layers and layers of covers until her legs were free of the obstruction. The soles of her feet found solid ground.

Edinburgh. She was still in Edinburgh.

Her nightgown clung to the sweaty parts of her (lower back, breasts, armpits, lower stomach, thighs), made her feel like a thousand colonies of insects had taken residence under her flesh.

She launched herself from the mattress, tearing at her nightgown, ripping it off and over her head, leaving it in a puddle on the rug.

“Fraser,” she whispered, taking her robe from its resting place over the settee next to the window. “You bloody stubborn Scottish martyr.”

It had been nine hours since she had left him in that jail. Nine hours since he had declared himself a martyr, announced that he would take the fall without seeking her input. Nine hours from the moment she turned her back on him, left him alone with his mouth full of lies and his daft self-sacrificing nature.

It had been six hours since she had made clear her intentions to her staff. Three hours since she gathered three of her most trusted advisors and explained what she would do to head him off at the pass, to put an end to this (the media spectacle threatened by her ring, the hushed speculations about how it got there and why). She knew that her plan would start something else entirely (a cannibalistic feeding frenzy for information, which she would publicly respond to with a regal dismissiveness appropriate to her position), but she did not know what else to do.

And perhaps, most importantly, she had ceased to care.

She swallowed hard and went to the window. Crossing her arms across her waist, she squinted down at the stables (they were dark, lifeless, her stock transported to Balmoral ahead of her). Quietly, she shook her head and let her fingertips sink into her hips, an attempt to replicate Fraser’s touch. Her efforts failed miserably.

Then she said it aloud – the thought that had dwelled unspoken in her mind since she’d left him, since he’d vowed to take the fall for them both. “I hate you right now.”

She heard footsteps outside her door and turned, watched shadow interrupt the creamy sliver of dim light beneath the door.

“Come in,” she called, turning her attention back towards the stables before the corridor’s lurker could enter.

Mrs. Fitz.

Claire could tell. She knew the cadence of the woman’s step (the soft shuffle, the clank of a tea service on a tray), the gentle way she closed the door and flipped the lock into place.

Swallowing back the bitter taste of a fitful sleep in her mouth, she summoned the question that had roused her, replaced a dream within a dream. “Is Fraser still in the jail?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Mrs. Fitz confirmed quietly.

Without meaning to move from her vantage point at the window, Claire felt herself being pulled as if by gravity itself towards the table where Mrs. Fitz was pouring two cups of what smelled like perfectly-steeped Earl Grey.

How properly English, Claire mused. Fix it with tea.

Claire would have given anything for a taste of the cabin (jewels that were not hers to give, a title that only felt precious when she thought of giving it away). To have the gritty, smoky flavor of Fraser’s too-strong coffee in lieu of her usual morning tea (the concentration in his brow as he poured hers, dropped a single sugar cube into its depths, stirred it into a sparkling whirl before handing it to her with the smallest of smiles, a hand on a bare hip). To taste tinned peaches (to pluck the wiggling, gelatinous, too-sweet preserved stone fruit from the tines of a fork held by Jamie; to squeal as the juice dribbled onto a sheet wrapped around her breast; to let her noises magnify as she feigned a fight against his efforts to take the sheet from her.) To bite into a crumbly icebox biscuit (his fingers dusting the flakes of icing from her lower lip, kissing them from his finger, promising to teach her how to drive his motorcycle) or stovetop-charred sausages (his laugh as he promised her with sparkling, fibbing eyes that he actually preferred them cooked to charred, unrecognizable logs). To lick yogurt from the side of her thumb beneath the sheets (the warmth of their joining evaporating with the leisurely lack of urgency that seemed to define all things on a cool Scottish summer morning, and their tongues meeting to mingle clover honey and berries).

She blinked hard, turned, and offered what she could of a smile.

“How much longer?”

“The broadcast will be at 8 o’clock. Fraser will be escorted from the jail to his sister’s home three hours earlier… they are probably waking him right now.”

Claire nodded, her mind suddenly fixated on the sound of his name from her lips.

Fraser.

It was just a last name to Mrs. Fitz. To her it was something more, intimate syllables that tumbled from her mouth to represent someone to her that had defined love and sacrifice and lust and passion and hate (just a little). She focused her attention outside, feeling her cheeks redden at the thought of him believing he was doing her a favor by declaring himself a common thief.

She dried her palms on her robe, inhaled, let loose a cosmic question to which she did not have an answer. “Do you think that he will hate me for this?”

The cadence of Mrs. Fitz’s familiar plunk-shuffle-plunk step neared, and Claire closed her eyes as the woman’s hand closed around her shoulder. “I ken the man loves ye. I ken that solely from the look in his eyes when I slipped him a wee note, the way his shoulders squared when ye had to postpone a visit or two. The way a lad becomes a man, he looks when he’s longing for someone, not out of lust, ye ken. It’s no’ his cock–”

“Mrs. Fitz,” Claire gasped, tears burning along her lower lash line as she chuckled.

“Ye ken just fine that ye’re no’ some innocent doe-eyed girl. Ye’re a woman, and he loves ye. You’re ban-druidh. Ye conjure things for him, ye ken? He’s given himself over to ye, to yer spell, ma’am, just the way of ye enchants him. So no, he’s no’ thinkin’ wi’ the parts that make him a man, but from spiritual need.”

A dribble of tears tickled Claire’s chin and throat. She uselessly attempted to mop at them with the back of her hand.

“And what he needs now is for you to be strong. Stronger than he is.”

Claire nodded, her chin tilting up as she snuffled back a second round of tears.

“Strong enough to show him that he doesna need to take a fall for ye, that ye’re the bloody Queen. That ye’ll do this for that rare love that ye kent ye needed, that led ye into his arms in the first place. Now, wipe yer face and find yer smartest dress, and give the speech of yer life, ma’am.”

Claire intended to do just that.