#hope this is enough info for now

[fivedollarfred]

I saw the ask post with all your wips and two of them had me curious; Tornado Warning and Psychosis!

(Tbh, all of them intrigue me, but I don't want to ask too many questions lol)

Thanks for the ask! I would have answered it yesterday but it was sent right when I had to go to bed.

First, I'll say that the ones you asked about are tf2 fanfic WIPs, so bear that in mind. But I'm glad someone asked about them, since I like talking about the ideas I have! Tornado Warning is the WIP I'm currently working on and is the direct sequel to my first published fanfic It Came With The Rain that takes places a few months after the first story, and could be seen as this fic/AU's version of MvM(Mann Vs. Machine). Don't know if I should go into spoilers because I'd have to spoil ICWTR's main plot points and reveals, but if you want me to go in depth of TW's plot and how it relates to ICWTR, I'd be more than happy to. It's definitely more of a drama than the first story, as the first is a mix between a thriller mystery and drama with a lot of horror elements(which were really fun to write)

Here's a paragraph from the chapter I'm currently working on:

"The second Scout silently stepped through the door frame, a sharp, chilling feeling shot through his system like a blaring siren. The feeling that he shouldn’t be here. That whatever he’d been planning on doing could wait another day. That he had stumbled into no man’s land; a minefield where one wrong move would set things in motion the runner couldn’t hope to alleviate. 

He took another step."

As for Psychosis, that is a placeholder name for what would be a crossover between Silent Hill and tf2 if I ever get the time to write it. I got inspired by an already existing crossover fic about tf2 and Silent Hill, and while I liked it well enough, it was more based around the first Silent Hill's lore and not the second's, and the second is the one with all the symbolism and psychology in play. So I spent around a week or two thinking about what each merc's own SH experience, and their own "Pyramid Head", would be. I can't go over all my notes and thoughts and ideas, otherwise I would be here typing for hours, so I'll just mention who has a clear environment and personal monster and who doesn't, and if you're interested in the details, I can talk more in depth when I get the time. Scout: has both a clear monster and environment to deal with. Soldier: has a clear environment, not so much a clear monster, but I have some ideas. Pyro: clear environment and monster, but I think they could be more fine tuned. Demo: clear monster, but no environment yet. Heavy: clear monster, had environment that needs fine tuning. Engie: very clear environment, can very much picture where he'd be located, but monster not so much. Medic: neither but that's more intentional as he'll experience things different than the others. Sniper: Very clear environment, and the clearest monster. Couldn't imagine him dealing with anything else. Spy: clear environment, monster is slightly foggy and needs more thought. That's about all I can say for now. Like I said, if you want more details I'd be happy to give them, I just don't have a lot of time to get them all out right now. And don't worry about asking too many questions; I like getting them and answering!

[little-pondhead]

[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

[herebecritters]

Updated the trio references! Plus bonus god powers~

[planetformer-central]

I WISH TO KNOW MORE ABT THE PRETENDER AU. PLS TELL US ABOUT THE PRETENDER AU. IT LOOKS RLLY COOL AND INTERESTING AND IM ALL HERE FOR ELDRICH ABOMINATION OPTIMUS!

I got you buddy. I've been wanting to go nuts with an explanation FOREVER. Of course I won't be giving EVERYTHING away. Just some bits and bobs :)

Let's begin shall we?

Overview

The Pretenders were the result of an experiment. They are not naturally created beings, nor are they the spawn of Unicron. Born in a lab, Optimus was the first of his kind and instilled with the mission that all Pretenders now adhere to without fail. It is hardwired into their genetic code, so much so that they are physically unable to avoid their mission. But with that said, they are not inherently malicious.

Made for a specific purpose, they are beings that wish to fulfill their function. If left alone, they will kill a few to gain a foothold to increase their numbers and then proceed to reproduce without any need for bloodshed. However with the war raging and due to the specifics of their biology, increasing their numbers en masse is impossible. Their lack of safety in numbers combined with the threat to their mission warring around them has forced this normally rather passive species into action.

Meant to be a race of sleeper agents, the Pretenders are only so active and aggressive due to their mission being threatened. Without the fear of annihilation hanging over them, they would largely remain dormant. But as that is not the case, they currently operate under instincts designed to serve them in times of strife. Hence their shortage of empathy and overall lack of care for the lives around them. In short, they will only act if acted upon. Without an external threat to their mission, they act as any other member of the population, excluding their smaller oddities. Bumblebee is an excellent example of what a dormant Pretender may look like, and even he is more active than a dormant one normally would be.

As of the present time in the AU, the Pretenders have made the decision to flee Cybertron to hopefully find a world where they can increase their numbers safely, and in doing so, finally have the numbers to blend into the background and complete their mission without Megatron exterminating them all.

Pretender Development

Optimus was born in a lab, and as such his origins are not going to be discussed. However in normal cases, the development of a Pretender follows this order:

Pretenders capable of spawning, those known as Firstborn, will begin to produce larva no bigger than a digit once they are mature enough and have sufficient resources. These larva develop in a safe location, either in a nest, or in the case of Optimus's young aside from Bumblebee, directly underneath his outer plating where they can feed from his fuel lines directly.

All larva can be genetically altered to a degree when they are young through offerings of CNA from either the dead or energon samples from the living. They do not need to be inserted into a host, however those that are put into a host in their early larval stages develop differently than those who adjust without one.

Larva that grow without a host will lose their more insectoid appearance over the course of a few stellar cycles while under the dutiful care of the resident Firstborn. These larva are better at blending in than their counterparts due to the lack of information fed directly into their processors and slower development. They mimic normal sparklings in their growth, even developing a personality not tied to their CNA donor. The attention from their Sire also inspires a more docile nature in them, ensuring that they are less likely to act on their own. Their more odd Pretender aspects are not nearly as powerful since they were given ample time to grow and receive information without interference. Not having to play a role, have a personality forced on them, or otherwise being shoved into a frame that is not made for them ensures that the normal larva grow up to blend in better than their counterparts ever could.

These unaugmented Pretenders generally do not exhibit many signs of their nature, lacking brute strength even without their disguises. Their organs and structure match the average Cybertronian almost perfectly so long as their coding is dormant, and even then, it is hard to pick them out. The only true giveaway of what they are is their EM field and the slight difference in optical structure, and to notice the first trait requires increadible skill. Megatron has begun to take notice of this fact and has trained many of his agents to sniff out a Pretender without issue. The DJD are his greatest assets in this regard, that with them all being survivors of larva implants.

Their true forms are not nearly as monstrous as their counterparts and they can easily be mistaken for an Insecticon or a Predacon depending on the circumstances, only adding to their disguise. Often they do not allow their shells to fall away and they remain mostly docile save for the odd fits of hyper vigilance when a potential threat is around. They are not natural born leaders or specialized in any field, instead opting for greater adaptability and disguise over outright strength. Once fully mature and in the event that they are not threatened, these Pretenders largely forget what they are. Their coding falls dormant and they live without any serious differences when compared to natural Cybertronians.

The only time these Pretenders become active while allowed to live normally is when a Firstborn appears. In such a scenario, the Pretenders as a whole will begin to wake. Let it be known that there can only be one Firstborn at a time. However to make up for this weakness, every Pretender also possesses the ability to wake and become a Firstborn, which will in turn lead to conflict resulting in the deaths of all potential heirs until only one remains. For this reason, Optimus made the decision to prematurely select an heir to avoid this outcome.

Now with that said, larva inserted into hosts are a whole other issue. They are all specially chosen for their host beforehand. Their Sire gives them the CNA of the one they are to bond to, and then once they are ready, they are inserted into the host usually through the optics. The larva will then bury into the host's processors and proceed to slowly devour memory and knowledge over the course of a few stellar cycles all while it grows.

It will devour the host as much as it can, resulting in thinness. Then it will begin to expand, spreading out roots like a plant and leading its waste to be execrated as a green fluid from the host's vents. As its roots spread, it forces the host to deteriorate to make way for its developing form. By the time the larva has consumed the host in all but spark, it forces its host to walk toward energon deposits and then forces the host to purge any remaining internals the host may have so that the larva may continue to grow. Once the host is dead, the larva finishes its gestation by consuming energon and turning the external armor of its host into a disguise all while it finishes developing internally. During this state the larva is very susceptible to adaptation and depending on where it finishes it gestation, develops the unique traits that sets every Pretender apart. No two Pretenders are the same after all.

Optimus finished his development underground and he had to crush energon crystals underground, so his jaw is capable of splitting to allow that. Ratchet was given energon crystals whole during his development, so he adapted to have unusual numbers of mandibles in order to facilitate this.

Pretenders who had a host take on many of the traits of their host and are the only ones who always remain active. They do not forget what they are and they are unable to fully adapt. Their empathy is lessened and their focus is on logic over emotion. They are the few who push the mission onward alongside their Hierarch. It is instinctual for a Firstborn to bring a few to his or her side through inserting larva into hosts. It is the most efficient way to obtain information and social status. Perhaps not the most subtle, but indeed effective.

Extra

Generally a larva cannot be removed from a host upon insertion, however a few lucky mecha with unusual processors or frames are able to have the parasite removed before it is too late. They come out scarred and broken more often than not, but due to the partial changes the larva started in them, they are the most brutal of Pretender hunters. No Pretender can hide from them, not when they can find them almost as instinctually as a normal Pretender could.

[cherry-blossom-qf]

"Mortal, blinded by darkness, with a will strong as steel... Let me be your guiding light from here on..."

AU Info: HERE

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss renrennnnnnnnnn

[chromaticroses]

you probably won’t, but if you see someone trying to accuse us of being dismissive of their experiences with racism, not only are they lying about what we said, they’re a white person claiming to have the experience of being lakota/black by virtue of having system members who are.

[safyresky]

You read that meme right, folks!

I made the mistake of rereading Meet The Frosts the other day, realized HOW OUT OF DATE THE PROLOGUE LORE WAS, and promptly rewrote it.

You can check THAT out on ao3 HERE

(NOT on ff dot net yet bc ya girl hasn't edited it to match lol)

OR below the cut, IN FULL! THAT'S RIGHT! I'M POSTING IT HERE, IN FULL!!! FOR EASY, QUICK REF.

ENJOY!

🌹👑✨🌺

It wasn't every day Mother Nature felt stressed beyond belief.

Sure, what she did was stressful. She was, after all, the matriarch of all nature, and keeping the balance of all of nature wasn't the easiest thing to do. That in itself was a lot more complex than it sounded.

Thankfully, she didn't have to do it all by herself! She had help: her four lovely daughters, the Season Sisters.

They managed themselves quite well, inter-seasonal squabbles aside. They were the seasons, after all. Their help meant the world to Mother Nature; they meant the world to her. And they loved what they did, which made Mother Nature's own workload a lot easier (and a lot of fun, to boot).

She still chipped in, of course. After all, she was Mother Nature. She loved field work!

Unfortunately for her, there were other balance-related issues she took care of as well. And with the seasons taking care of themselves, this left her with a lot more time to take care of the multitude of said issues that arose throughout the world. Issues which seemed to be growing exponentially as the years passed by.

She did what she could, of course (though a lot of the work was long term and not as instantaneous as she'd like). She'd set things in motion, monitor them, and intervene when she could, and hope for the best as she worked what she often jokingly referred to as her second job: advisor to the entirety of the magical land of Crystal Springs.

Hidden away from the prying eyes of mortals and those who would mean harm to the magical beings that inhabited it, Crystal Springs was a bastion to all magical folk from all wakes of life. Named for the healing springs at the centre of the continent, it was located out in the Arctic Sea, just west-ish of the North Pole. A good majority of your average magical folk chose to make their home there, Mother Nature included. Here they lived peacefully, hidden from mortals and looked over by Mother Nature herself.

There was a governing body, of course; made up of five governors and eight lieutenants. And they looked after their designated locales well enough. But upon their founding they'd given Mother Nature a seat on what they called the Assembly, and more often than not turned to her for reassurance, final decisions, and so on and so forth. She had power of veto and the power to appoint the governors themselves. Being omnipotent did that to a gal, she supposed. And given the duty passed on to her by her predecessor, who was given her duty by the Goddess herself, well.

Mother Nature considered all of the magibeans her people, and made sure to look after them all, on top of all her other responsibilities.

And she did it damn well.

She had a system; she had balance. Nothing was ever out of place and when it was, she and the Seasons made sure to right them as swiftly as possible.

What nobody had expected when Mother Nature's system came into being was the mischief one Jack Frost tended to cause.

A lot more frequently than anyone would expect.

Mother Nature shook her head as she left the warmth of the North Pole's kitchen. She wondered if the Council as a whole had done the right thing after Jack's latest schemes. Him staying at the North Pole for community service was definitely concerning. He was…incredibly jealous of Santa, and that was putting it mildly.

But since it was Santa that Jack had tried to upstage two-hundred and seventy three times, it was Santa's final decision, whatever action the Council chose to take against Council Member Jack Frost.

And he had chosen community service of all things.

And they had agreed to it!

And NOW she had to put all of her regular duties aside to gather two-hundred and seventy cardboard cutouts, unfreeze a volcano, send geese back to Mexico (after she warmed it up a bit first, of course), AND deal with a SNOWSTORM in the AMAZON of all places. All while her worry about Jack's sentence sizzled on the back burner!

Needless to say, it was fairly easy for her to understand how Santa was feeling this year.

"Seems you have your work cut out for you today, Mother Nature."

"Tell me about it. A tropical snowstorm! Who on Earth would ever imagine a tropical snowstorm?!"

"Evidently, Jack." Father Time cocked his head. "He's always been quite the imaginative one."

Mother Nature tried to smile. But she found it very hard to do so when the weight of the entire mess she had to clean up hit her.

Her face twitched. She didn't know where, exactly, but there was a twitch. She could feel it.

"A wise woman once told me that even Legendary Figures need to ask for help once and a while," Father Time said, tapping the side of his nose. "Perhaps now is a good time for her to take her own advice?"

"Oh, she is already thinking that exact thing. Some help would most definitely be in order."

She could ask Summer to give her a hand warming things up. Spring could talk to the geese, and Winter could move the snowstorm…of course, considering whose fault this entire mess was, perhaps it was better if she left the two warmer seasons out of this mess. Or maybe kept the coldest season in the dark? Autumn could take care of the frosty problems and Mother Nature could move the snowstorm herself...

No, no. Spring would tell her eventually if she didn't find out on her own. Or already knew, even. 

Mother Nature sighed as she realized her only option.

"I'll have to go visit the Frosts."

Father Time smiled. "I assume Winter is in a talkative mood. Your visit will be about two hours and forty-four minutes. Would you like the seconds?"

"Oh, no need. I know you're always on the ball, Father Time."

The old man chuckled. "All the luck," he said with a wink, eyes twinkling as he faded into the folds of time, vanishing on the spot as silently as he had appeared by her side moments before.

"Thanks. I'm going to need it."

It wasn't long after that that she reached the outside of the Workshop. Glancing around to make sure there weren't too many elves in her area of effect, she disappeared in a flash of bright light. The snowy grounds and cheery far-off elves faded away, the tiny, colourful buildings blurring together and shifting into a gorgeous, low lit forest.

The trees around her were dense. Sunlight streamed through the branches, the ground dappled with little pinpricks of light. The trees in front of her shrouded a glowing lilac portal, the light from it casting them in a purple glow. 

The entrance to the large physics-defying garden she called home in Crystal Springs.

She needed a moment.

Rubbing her temples, she stepped through the portal and into a sunny clearing. Several stone paths spiralled out around her, foliage of all sorts bordering each one. Folding her hands gently in front of her, she surveyed the paths.

Between the work to be done and what had been done and the past that was threatening to have her dwelling for the next hour, she could feel a tension headache fast approaching.

A walk around the garden was just what she needed.

A moment to ground herself; to get her thoughts in order, let the dwelling happen (if it must), and prepare her before she brought Jack's mother, and perhaps the rest of the family as well, into the mess he had made.

🌹👑✨🌺

Mother Nature was not a procrastinator.

It wasn't in her nature. And it wasn't that she didn't enjoy seeing Winter and her family; quite the contrary. Visiting Frost Manor was always a delight.

It wasn't the Frosts themselves that caused Mother Nature to go for a stroll in her numerous gardens. Or nearly follow the stroll with a thoughtful soak in the river that ran through her garden. That wasn't the reason she was putting off her visit.

It was the dwelling.

It had started.

And Mother Nature found herself going down the age old rabbit hole she found herself constantly going down every time she went to go visit Winter to talk about whatever it was Jack had done this time.

Sighing, she turned away from the sparkling river and headed to her greenhouse kitchen, deep in thought.

The greenhouse was large and spacious. Sunlight streamed through the windows, plants growing amongst her counters and cabinets. Spanish moss hung from the cold box, the warmth hugging her as she put on a cup of tea. She wandered outside with her cup, sitting down at her favourite bistro table on the patio alongside the greenhouse.

She loved visiting Winter. She loved seeing the life she had built for herself. She loved visiting her grandkids, and loved seeing her son-in-law outside of the workplace. It was always a treat. The Frosts were a vibrant, eccentric bunch, always on the go with something or other and more than happy to chat at length about it—the youngest two, especially.

And she hated hated hated having to visit to deliver bad news. It always made her think of the messy history that led to the season’s estrangement with her eldest child and how it just wasn’t fair. Everything that had happened wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t even her fault!

But Fate was rarely fair.

And unlike the other Fates, their Fate loved to intervene.

See, Mother Nature’s dwelling usually went like so:

She would think about how awful it was that she had to deliver this type of news to the Frosts. Then she would think about the day Jack had left. The events leading up to it. And somehow she’d find herself drifting even farther back, thinking of the events that had led to Winter and Blaise finally being free to settle down and start a family together.

She’d think of the War of Succession. The Call. The Fae War. She’d find herself going so far as to think of a time before even herself! Way back when Mother Gaia roamed the Earth, well before she had created Mother Nature!

It was said that way back then, millennia ago, there was a time when magic roamed wild throughout the world. The era of Wild Magic. Ancient history to the magibeans.

And it was where Mother Nature’s dwelling often began.

It had been peaceful, the Wild Magic Era. Until the ordinary beings (non-magical folk) started taking advantage of the magical folk. Coveting the magic they used. Trying to steal it, wield it, deal it, even. It got violent. Magibeans were getting hurt. Killed.

Until Gaia stepped in.

She had been sent by the mythical creator of the mythical beings: the Goddess herself. The Goddess had a place for them, Gaia said. A place where they’d be safe from the magic hunters, free to live; to thrive. And she intended to bring everyone to the Springs.

A large undertaking, for sure. But to her surprise, she had help.

Two bright young summer sprites, one a master of his season, the other a brilliant warlock, both well known to magibeings and ordibeings alike, had already begun gathering their fellow magibeans and bringing them to safety throughout the world.

When Gaia reached the magibeans with news of the Springs, the two of them had stepped up to bat before the bat was even invented and took charge. They helped lead hundreds of magibeans to Crystal Springs, under Gaia’s watchful eye and careful guidance. And thanks to their efforts, everyone was brought safely and securely to the Springs, magibeans completely non-existent now in the outer world.

They established their settlements. The bright young summer sprites, Canicus and Serafina, continued leading, helping everyone settle where best suited, and giving those that had helped them help everyone small groups of their own to look after, establishing various hamlets, towns, and outposts throughout the new lands. So when the time came to figure out who would lead them all as a unit (Gaia had declined the position herself before it was even brought up), it was a no brainer: Canicus and Serafina would be ideal. They’d already been doing it for a good few decades, right? May as well make it official.

The pair of sprites themselves quite agreed. So much so that they married, securing their position with one another and choosing a name for themselves as one: Frost.

And so, King and Queen Frost began their official rule over Crystal Springs. A rule that did not let up for thousands upon thousands of years. The people looked to them, and they took care of the people. They kept everyone safe, by any means necessary, and Gaia was more than happy (and quite relieved) to slow down and live her life.

She’d created a protégé, you see: Tara, a sprite like herself who, thousands of years later sat in their Garden, sipping tea, thinking all the way back to those very beginnings and how Mother Gaia had laughed at the irony of the name choice.

It suits them, though, she had told a very young Mother Nature. It’s versatile, you know. Frost is beautiful…but it’s cold. And it can be deadly.

She said many funny little things. Wise things, too. Gaia had taught Tara everything she knew and once the sprite had achieved mastery of all nature, it was time for the second part of her education: diplomacy.

Why, it was on the occasion of her first official test that Gaia had turned to her and said, it’s best we don’t dawdle, Tara dear. Procrastination isn’t in our nature, you know.

And yet here she sat, doing just that.

But on that day, they’d been summoned urgently by the monarchs because something had happened. Something severe enough to warrant an out of breath messenger to tumble through the garden and topple in front of the stone dining table, catching their breath and holding a note out to the pair of them in the middle of their dinner.

The Queen, expecting, had delivered twins.

That had been a surprise for them all.

Queen Serafina was a brilliant warlock. She was well versed in all the magical ways: new, old, lost. She could go toe to toe with the best of the best—witches, wizards, sorcerers, and fellow warlocks alike would know nothing compared to the wealth of knowledge she possessed. She was put together, and strong, and regal, and everything a queen ought to be, or so everyone said.

But when Gaia and Tara arrived that night, she was distraught. She was angry. She was a mess (childbirth and all). Canicus didn’t even get to finish his greeting when Serafina looked up at them and told them with the utmost certainty and conviction and an undercurrent of fury that she knew exactly what had happened to make her boys be just that. Her boys, plural.

Upon her marriage to Canicus, Serafina had happily left behind a jilted paramour: Fate himself.

He had been young, at the time. The youngest of all the Fates. And when Serafina had spurned him, he watched and waited and planned the perfect revenge: split the heir apparent into the heirs apparent, amongst much confusion so as to ensure that the heir apparent wouldn’t be apparent at all.

Unfortunately for Fate, King Canicus was just as bright as his Queen.

Upon seeing two boys amongst the confused medical staff he’d immediately sent for Mother Gaia, who had brought Tara along as well.

Her first official task: help the King and Queen figure out which Prince would be next in line.

No pressure for a first challenge, right?

Mother Nature took a sip of her tea, taking a moment to cradle the hot cup close to her face, letting the steam waft, tickling her pores. Just ride it out, Tara, she thought to herself. Get through the past and back to the present and then we can figure everything out.

The twins were passed over to Tara and Gaia. Sure enough, they were similar in almost every single way.

Almost.

What Tara and Gaia both picked up on after a few careful moments of scrutinization was the hair: one boy had slightly darker hair than the other one.

Relieved, the Queen named the dark-haired boy Pyros and the light-haired boy Blaise and immediately began to discuss with Canicus what would be done in terms of succession, requesting the Matriarchs of Nature stay put for the proceedings. Tara had stood dutifully beside Gaia, watching as the medical staff cleaned Serafina up, the woman nursing her boys with ease while talking business with her partner.

(It had honestly been a little impressive. The woman had just given birth to TWO babies and was already right back at her royal duties).

Many ideas were floated back and forth. Some tame, some intense. Finally, the King and Queen turned to the Matriarchs and looked at them expectantly. Well? Serafina had demanded. What do you make of it all?

And Tara had no idea why she said what she said. She didn’t think; she simply opened her mouth and the words came out, unbidden, Gaia lighting up.

Let nature take its course.

That’s my girl, Gaia had said in her head as Canicus straightened and said The bloody hell do you mean by THAT!?

Let nature take its course, she had repeated. Raise them alongside one another; don’t pick one over the other just yet. Let them grow. See who they become. One will want to rule, and the other won’t. Watch them grow and learn and become the people they were meant to be and let their nature guide you.

The King and Queen had shared a look. Canicus raised an eyebrow; Serafina nodded.

Very well.

As you wish.

And so nothing silly happened. The boys grew up together as the Twin Princes, getting along just fine and seemingly both eager to learn and grow. And as they grew and learnt and became the people they were, it was apparent that what Tara had said was just about right.

Blaise, the light haired twin, didn’t seem keen on taking the crown. And Pyros, the dark-haired twin, did. And that was all fine and good except for one tiny itty bitty problem.

See, Blaise had all the makings of a ruler. Charismatic, caring, thoughtful, if a little bit troublesome at times. Pyros, meanwhile, was the exact opposite. Thoughtful of himself and those closest to him only; keen on power, seeing how far he could go, and eschewing any and all possibilities of interacting with their people, preferring to do his duties as independently as possible. Charismatic as well, but more often than not using it for his own gain amongst fellow castors and those he took a fancy too.

So although the nature of what they wanted differed from their personal nature, Mother Nature had been right. The boys came of age, and the time came for the decision to be made.

And the King and Queen did no such thing.

They put it off, and off, and off. They tried all sorts of things to test the pair of them, seeing who would be the best fit, and never agreeing on which boy it would be. One day Serafina would say Pyros; Canicus would say Blaise. The next, Canicus would say Pyros, and Serafina would say Blaise. On and on it went, the two boys never doing well enough in both the eyes of the King and Queen. The desires of the monarchs to keep the power blinded them to any obvious solutions.

Time passed. The thirst both boys had, one for freedom, and one for power grew and grew until finally, enough was enough. It was time someone put their foot down and made a decision.

And that's just what Pyros did.

He wanted the crown. Demanded it, even. Felt he was more deserving with all the time he’d devoted to learning everything there was to learn about power. He hadn’t quit his studies. Blaise had. Who was more deserving than he, Pyros? Obviously, he was meant to rule; not Blaise, the quitter, the twin that (suddenly in his eyes) should not have been. His conquest began that first night, when he sieged and seized the castle. The King and Queen disappeared to Rosehaven; whether or not they had done it themselves, or Pyros had made them, nobody knew. Not even Blaise, who somehow managed to escape mostly unscathed with as many as the castle staff and tenants as he could that hadn’t been swayed by the likes of Pyros.

And so the War of Succession began.

The trigger moment, if you will, and in her dwelling Mother Nature most certainly would. It was very much where it all began.

Forces were amassed; fortifications made, Blaise directing armies to keep the people safe while he tried desperately to reason with the brother he was oh-so-fond of.

But it didn’t work. Nothing did. Blaise was forced to fight as Pyros made moves to take the entire continent by force, refusing peace talks of any sort, and so he did what he needed to do. The fighting raged on, Blaise gaining ground until Pyros decided to outsource, if you will, culminating in them once again being revealed to the world.

Mortals joined the ranks of Pyros’s armies, wanting power, a taste of magic for themselves. And Pyros promised them that. So his armies grew, and people—both magibeans and ordibeings alike—were taken prisoner.

But magihumans didn’t like that very much, and they joined Blaise’s ranks, and everything came to a stalemate until Pyros did the unthinkable in a last ditch effort to turn the tides fully his way and win.

He took prisoners. Prisoners near and dear to those who opposed him.

Including Mother Nature’s very own children.

She had been furious.

She still was. Just thinking about it made her tea boil all over again! Refreshing her cup with a huff, she took a moment to ground herself. To feel angry about it all once again. To remember how she’d enlisted the help of the Grand Witches, the Head Warlock, the Sorcerers—every high ranking castor who was willing to help.

But Pyros was powerful enough to rival the Head Castors just by himself.

Each time they infiltrated, they were able to grab one season. Each time they came back, it got harder and harder to extract them.

Finally, when they went back the fourth time, they were defeated. Though Mother Nature had saved Spring, Summer, and Autumn, Winter was trapped.

Her sisters were beside themselves. They explained how every time Mother Nature and her forces had arrived, Winter made them go before her. And when the Head Castors finally had a gameplan, they learnt it would take days for them to overcome the magics in place and rescue Winter (and hopefully the other hostages, as well).

And that’s when Blaise had arrived in the Garden.

She felt the anger ebb away, finally leaving her. Taking a steadying breath, she sat back down, holding the warm cup tightly in her hands, watching as her reflection in the tea smiled softly.

Blaise had come to them with a plan.

He had infiltrated his brother's fortress, and had been planting his own men inside of the stronghold for the longest time now. He would be able to bring Winter back easily, no magic necessary.

And he had.

All her Seasons home with her, Mother Nature was able to fully give Blaise her attention and support. And it was a good thing, too, because Blaise had a secret weapon: The Kringle Elves.

All the elves had kept to themselves right up until the Seasons were kidnapped. That's when they had had enough. Wanting to rule was one thing, but wanting to upset the balance and rule over nature itself? To stop the seasons from doing their thing? That’s where they had drawn the line. They’d made an alliance amongst themselves, sending their forces out into the world to keep balance as best as they can while the Kringle Elves stayed put. They reached out to Blaise. An alliance was made, and the united forces put together plans for a large attack. It was ready to go. All they needed was the support of the castors, Mother Nature, and her Seasons.

All of which who readily agreed.

The final piece in place, they were ready. Blaise worked with the leader of the Kringles to figure out the best approach for the final attack, and Winter had come up with the perfect idea to put a stop to Pyros once and for all.

They both had, actually! Accidentally. During a botched escape.

Of course, Mother Nature had thought, as the pair of them looked up at her, war torn and jaded and yet, still sheepish and so very, very young.

But it would work! They assured. The botched escape had paid off.

Then let's put an end to this nonsense, Mother Nature had said.

With Blaise's forces on the inside and outside of Pyros' base, they took the victory easily. With help from the Seasons, Pyros was cornered; Winter herself froze him in his tracks and Blaise solidified it, the Mad Prince sealed away and peace once again coming to the land.

Crystal Springs was cloaked once more. Ordibeings were fixed up and sent home. Magihumans were integrated and welcomed to the Springs. Pyros was sealed away by a group of the finest castors in all the lands, and the issue of succession was finally put to rest.

The crown would go to Blaise.

Blaise took it graciously and decided that his first and only act as King would be to abolish the monarchy, full stop.

And so he did. And with Mother Nature’s help, plans were put into motion to free the magibeans. They could come and go as they please; they would always be welcome back at home, but not forced to stay there for their own safety. Every single royal law would be read through and adjusted, fixed, or withdrawn as needed. New lines were drawn and each area was given a leading body of their own, with a governor to oversee everything and bring it back to the rest of what became known as the Assembly.

Work started almost right after the final battle. In a year, a plan had been made for the next hundred years, after which they’d refresh the Assembly and keep on keeping on.

But at home, it took all of them a lot longer to recover.

After the battle, Winter had not been herself. It took Mother Nature a few days before it clicked. The experience of the War and becoming a prisoner had done a number to the sprite. She had frozen her heart. She was still pleasant as always, kind and caring…but in an aloof, sad kind of way. She would not open her heart to anyone.

Except for Blaise.

She had thawed his heart; and in turn, he worked to thaw hers.

They were smitten with one another. Always had been. They made one another happy, and though it came up as she dwelled, Mother Nature would never say that this part of the story wasn’t fair. It was perhaps the fairest part of all. Both Blaise and Winter had been through so much, they deserved to find love with one another and be with one another and that’s exactly what happened. The night Blaise proposed, Winter thawed for the second time in her life, and they got married that very evening. Mother Nature had officiated! And it wasn’t very long after that that they had their first child: Jack.

And that's when everything went downhill.

🌹👑✨🌺

Well, not exactly.

Mother Nature rubbed her temples, refreshing her tea for the umpteenth time.

Her stomach was in knots. The dwelling persisted. Rain pounded on the glass of the greenhouse, thunder rolling somewhere in the garden. The plants swayed in the wind, the trees around her bending and creaking as she grabbed a cookie from the half-empty plate on the counter (a handwritten note on the plate reading xoxo Autumn and stained with grease). The snickerdoodle was still soft in the middle, fresh as they had been when they were made yesterday.

You would think, that after EVERYTHING they had been through, Blaise and Winter would’ve been able to just live their happily ever after with their brand new addition. You’d THINK. But NO. Of COURSE not. It should BE so easy.

When he had finally passed through babyhood and managed to stabilize his little form, Jack was a very bright child. He was very quick to learn and eager to expand his horizons.

But there was something…off.

It had been there since the moment he was born, and it didn’t take Mother Nature long to realize just what it was. Like his mother before him, Jack was frozen. Born as such, it seemed.

But that’s not usually how that happened. Ever.

Sprites weren’t born OR formed with hardened hearts. It was something they actively chose to do as they came into being. The reasons varied from sprite to sprite, of course. But one thing was certain: when sprites were born they were as uninhibited as the elements that powered them and that they, in turn, wielded.

Except for Jack.

He had honest to Goddess been born as frozen as could be, and to a far greater extent than Mother Nature had ever seen.

Nothing was ever enough for him. He always wanted more, and more, and more, and that more never seemed to have a limit. A goal. A stop. And end. It was constant avarice, all the time, and it was exhausting.

He was studious; learned as much as he could. So much so that when he had mastered his season, it was said that he’d broken right into the afterlife to continue to learn from the long gone magibeans residing there. As he grew into his thousands, a consistent streak of trouble was never far behind him. It seemed he was simply incapable of not causing trouble wherever he went, always trying to do more, be more, and having it immediately backfire on him. Disagreements became more and more frequent between him and his parents; between them as well, Mother Nature noted on occasion.

Sighing, she leaned on the counter, watching the rain through the windows of the greenhouse kitchen. It was like there was some kind of unbeknownst evil driving him. A strong word to use, but apt. He’d shift the scales of balance quite frequently misusing his seasonal prowess, usually on purpose. He established himself throughout the continent, then throughout the world, earning himself a mythic status and a seat on the Council of Legendary Figures.

But it still wasn’t enough.

And then shortly after he got his seat, a new guy came to town: Santa Claus.

Jack had only been in his seat for a few centuries when Kris Kringle made his deal with Saint Nicholas, and the role of Santa Claus was created to spread wonder throughout the world. It was enough to give him a seat on the Council, too, and Jack Did Not Like That and made it known. Outspoken at meetings. Trouble increasing tenfold. He seemed to be getting worse and worse, and it wasn’t until Blaise and Winter had a second child that Jack's misbehaviour came to a rolling stop.

He had just reached his two-thousands. He had the world at his feet, a Legendary Title, renown in the outside world, and did not expect to have a sibling, ever, at all.

But a sibling he got. A cute little baby sister who looked as wintry as him. She, too, was a winter sprite, much to Winter’s delight (Blaise’s too—he’d had a grand old century making the same terrible jokes about being the only summer sprite in the family so far, but was pleased as punch anyway). A fan of matching sets, Winter named her Jacqueline (Jack having a grand old century making the same well obviously you named her after moi jokes), and once she was done with babyhood and had stabilized her little form, she was never very far from her older brother.

She had been a delightful little child, and the pair were practically attached at the hip. As the years went by, somehow he’d managed to be put in charge of her spritely education. Surprisingly enough, he took to it with ease, teaching her everything he knew and then some.

In fact, Mother Nature was quite convinced that had it not been for what happened with the darkness, Jack and Jacqueline would’ve continued on this way and his frosty heart would, perhaps, have thawed eventually. How could it not with such a relentless force of joy constantly at his side? That would’ve been fair and well deserved. Jack deserved to feel the full effects of his hard work, instead of constantly wanting more. Jacqueline would’ve gotten all of the older brother she so adored.

But of course, that’s not what happened.

The rain slowed to a gentle pitter patter. It thickened; it floated softly to the ground now, shifting into snow.

The…incident with the darkness had the Council create the role of Legate within their ranks. Someone to take over their titles and continue to protect the magic each one of them was in charge of should something happen to the original. It only made sense that when this Legate Law was passed, Jack picked his then four-hundred-year-old sister to take his title should something happen to him.

Every single one of them had a Legate, with the exception of Santa. The pact between Kris and Nicholas meant that Santa’s role already had a successor ensured, excluding him from the Legate proceedings.

This only served to remind Jack of all the things he’d disliked about Santa before his sister was born. It didn't matter that Jack had a season to himself, or that he was one of the most powerful Legendaries on the Council.

It wasn't enough.

That Santa Claus had chosen Jack's season, Jack's time to shine, for his holiday and had all but erased the reputation Jack had once known. Now when it snowed, it was Santa who everyone thought of first, Christmas over winter…and Jack never liked that. He liked it even less now, knowing that he was once again getting special treatment for being Santa Claus.

His little streak of trouble came back, and now, he had a target: Santa.

Outside, the snow fell faster. The pitter patter returned, small chunks of ice hitting the glass with little tinks. Things went from bad to worse and one night after a particularly nasty incident, Blaise confronted Jack.

Needless to say, it…didn’t go well.

Jack did not hold back. He let it all out. Elements were thrown. He hurt his father, and his mother, and nearly killed his little sister, and then left, never to see his parents or sister again.

Mother Nature couldn’t even begin to imagine how they must’ve all felt.

At least they had survived. Even Jacqueline. And given the extent of her wounds…it must’ve been dicey, in the week it took for the storm to dissipate enough for Winter to break through it and rush the little girl to the Springs.

The three of them had recovered. But it had been…hard.

And they weren't quite the same after it all.

Blaise was a little more tired. Looked a little more weighed down than he used to. Jacqueline was not as exuberant as she’d been before; she was always subduing herself, Mother Nature noticed. Trying to seem smaller and not as big of a presence as she used to be. And Winter…well.

The storm outside slowed. The snow shifted, back to a gentle, melancholy flurry.

Winter had frozen her heart again.

Mother Nature sighed. Placing her empty cup down gently in the sink, she stepped back outside. She lifted a hand, swirling it around her in the air. The snowflakes came towards her, fast as could be, the clouds following until a miniature little cloud of snow hovered over her palm, snowflakes drifting down and dusting her hand in a light layer of snow.

“Off you go, now. Go find a nice little suburb and do your thing.”

The mini snowstorm wrapped itself up into a tiny, little snowball as Mother Nature launched it. It soared away, already drawn to several suburbs that could use a good flurry. Mother Nature watched it go, tilting her face up and closing her eyes as the sun came back, the temperature warming up.

Things were different for the Frosts after everything went down.

They’d gotten back to their usual selves, of course. Nothing like a rambunctious teenager and two new summer sprites to get you back in the game. But there had always been something a little different and it simply wasn’t fair and THAT’S why she tried to avoid the business visits as MUCH as she could. She HATED visiting for Jack-related reasons. She’d much rather today be a regular run of the mill visit. A little catch-up, like yesterday’s coffee date with Autumn and tomorrow’s lunch date with Spring.

It simply wasn’t fair.

But then again, Fate never really was fair, was he?

“You got that right, Momma Nat.”

“Oh, for the love of—could you not do that? In my own home?”

Humourless laughter floated in on the breeze, the winds changing and getting colder. The laughter grew louder as a cloaked figure appeared on the seat across from the one she had vacated, the smoke surrounding him making it seem as though he flickered in and out of existence.

"Hey earth lady. You’re the one broadcasting your thoughts all over the place. I’m just doing my job.”

Mother Nature opened her eyes. “Which is what, remind me again? To annoy me? Mess with my family on purpose?”

He opened his hands in a sort of half shrug. “I unwind as I will, Nat. Have a seat! More tea? Fourth cup’s a charm!”

Mother Nature frowned, carelessly waving her hand. A stronger than necessary wind blew, the hood falling back to reveal milky grey eyes and tied back dark hair.

"What are you doing here? I have a lot to do."

“Really now? Huh.” He sat back in his chair, feigning surprise. “I never would’ve guessed. I thought it was tea time.”

Twirling his hand, Fate conjured a cup for himself. Throwing one leg over the other, he sipped it, smacking his lips and making a very big show of the whole thing.

“Mm. Delicious.”

Mother Nature could feel her face twitching again. She huffed, marching to the bistro table and sitting down directly across from him as strictly and regally as she could muster while trying her best to not show her very obvious annoyance. She glared, hard enough to freeze the table. Fate was one of the only immortals who really got on Mother Nature's nerves. He was so hard to be around!

“You are so easy to rile up, did you know that?” chuckling, he settled back into his chair, waving away the cup. “Taunting and teasing aside, I am here for a reason, you know.”

“Other than to bother me?”

“Believe it or not, yes! You go through this every time Frost does something, did you know that? The same train of thought each. And. Every. Time."

“I am aware. That’s very state-the-obvious of you. Where are the riddles? The rhymes?”

“Ah, I'm over them. Direct is best, or at least, that's my modus operandi these days. The other fates aren’t fans, either.”

“I wonder why. Something, something, directly interfering instead of watching and weaving and sniping and such?”

“What can I say? I’m hands in, not hands on. Besides, I’m not one single path. Fate is multiple paths, they can go anywhere and everywhere and what happens is up to you. Or at least, it should be. Miss me with that threads shit.”

“And I suppose, given the past, you’re an exception to that rule.”

“Yes.”

“Mm. That’s what I thought.”

“Snippy today, aren’t we? Pre El Niño?”

Mother Nature made a low sound in her throat.

“Right, crossed a line; bad joke. I get it! My bad.” He held up both hands in front of him, in a tiny show of surrender. “I'll get to it then."

"Please do."

"I am here today to tell you that you…are right.”

Mother Nature hummed happily.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while you can, Earth Lady. Look, here’s the thing. Every time Frost does something that causes you to visit the family, you are fated to have the same train of thought and redirect it all to me. And unfortunately, you are right, Tara.” He shifted forward in his seat. “See, we all make mistakes in our youth and not all of us recognize that and come to terms with it. But some do.”

“Oh, and this suddenly includes you?”

“Yes.”

For once, Fate sounded earnest. He recrossed his legs, cloak drifting around them as he looked up and off into the distance.

“Hmm. Good to know.”

“You sound unconvinced.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Nah.”

Mother Nature was pleasantly surprised. She blinked, her posture relaxing as she watched the fate closely. He uncrossed his legs, waving his hand. The tea cup came back, steam still wafting off the top.

“Hmm. Good to know.”

“Things will be changing this year though, Earth Lady, and that's why I'm here." He leaned forward across the table, almost touching noses with Mother Nature. "In order to rectify everything, you need to go visit the Frosts. Yet you sit here dallying. I’d say, you know, tit, tit, Momma G would not approve, but! Given her “rush” over to the palace the night the Princes were born…well, I think we both know that’s not quite correct.”

“Their messenger interrupted our dinner, Fate. Gaia wasn’t about to go on the clock on an empty stomach, and nor would she want me to do the same.”

“No, I’m not complaining! I appreciated it! The two of ‘em were so annoyed.”

“Mostly at you.”

“Well, when you learn someone never actually loved you, you can do crazy things.” He let go of the teacup. It floated beside him in mid-air. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here right now! I did a…fair amount of crazy things. BUT. The threads have all lined up and led us here.” He tapped the table top with his index fingers, leaning forward. “See, I did the whole Fate-thread-watching-thing and I have great news.” He grinned, wiggling in his seat. “All the threads are leading up to have this whole thing wrapped up with a neat little bow, but it all rides on you going to visit your Frosts."

He leaned back again, the floating teacup making its way back to his outstretched hand as he took a big, undignified slurp.

“Well, lucky for you, I'm afraid tea time has been significantly ruined for me.” Mother Nature stood up, glaring at Fate. “I'll be more than happy to take my leave now. Don’t be here when I get back.”

Not waiting for a reply, Mother Nature popped off in a brighter than usual golden glow, ignoring Fate’s cackling as she faded away. He settled in, sipping his tea and enjoying the sights of the garden.

The singular thread he had followed here split.

He smiled, content. Good. Things were back on track now. Multiple possibilities, all making their way towards the same end goal: fixing the mess he had made thousands upon thousands of years before. The players in place. Their choices theirs. And all he'd had to do was antagonize Tara.

Easy-peasy.

He could only hope the rest of the pieces would fall into place as easily as this one had.

That's all any of them could do, really.

Finishing off his tea, Fate disappeared from his spot, the garden left in peace once more.

[nomohmoss]

navia🤝furina

having the worst time ever in the aq

[procyo9]

- CLASSIFIED INFORMATION - Commander Eyes Only -

Whew, I'm finally done! I was so excited for her to finally take a form and not just be an idea in my head ;u;

Meet Halcyon, the judge of replikas whose work she reviews and decides if an unit should be replaced; she also studies behavior of all replikas/gestalts she encounters and keeps a handy database on them.

She's still a wip (idk if I'll keep all those letters in her acronym for example, same with her type) but I already love her lots <3

Version w/o the classified prototype thingies under the cut!

[hakusins]

Hi! You can call me Dean or Haku (she/her) (20+), both are just fine!

Sometimes I write or draw stuff, thanks for coming by my blog! ♡

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[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)

[feline-evil]

I can't think of anything that could kill a generative ai system faster than letting it pull from blogs on here, its going to be fed so many erroneous callouts and pointless discourse posts that its gonna generate a way to speedrun offing itself

[sparky-is-spiders]

Title!

there was teeth in their kiss

Okay so I won't lie, this one really got away from me. I had like three different ideas and I was like "I'll just write a really short scene for all of them!!" only for the "really short scenes" to get... progressively longer. Oops?

I have two Lizardverse fics and one TMA (JE) fic. Because I don't want my Lizardverse stuff showing up in the JE tag and it's also The Longest One, so you can check the notes of this post to read it.

Also gonna be real I wrote these at ass-o-clock at night and Did Not Edit them, so.......

Oh shoot wait warnings! They only apply to the second one (you can stop reading at (Amaldyne)).

Body horror/mouth horror (mild?)

Non-consensual touching (non-sexual/non-romantic, but I figured I should still warn for it just in case)

(Send me a fic title!)

(Important Lizardverse Context (TM): The Overseer is a creature called a Grotle (think ankylosaurus but bigger, spikier, and omnivorous). He's also a very dangerous necromancer. His real name is Mihzarch (pronounced Miz-ark), and these are used somewhat interchangeably. Leoshgon wields a sword called the Godslayer sword. It's a very deadly semi-sentient sword that's bonded to his soul. He's also a Noctar (a much smaller, fuzzier mammal species.))

(Leoshgon) The Overseer liked to put his teeth to Leoshgon's throat. It happened in the night, mostly, when Leo was curled against Mihzarch's heavily plated body, throat bared in offering for the Overseer to do as he would. He was always very gentle, of course, and very careful. As if Leo was a priceless, fragile heirloom, not the most dangerous weapon in the world. But there was a pressure there, and Leo could feel the shape of the teeth even through his mane: the wide, shearing ones in the back; the broad conical incisors in the front, wet with saliva and dreadfully cold. The puff of chilled breath sent shivers down Leo's spine. Leo wasn't sure he liked the sensation, really. It was uncomfortably damp, for one, and also sort of boring to be held in place for so long (aside from that brief spike of fear, which really wasn't fair to Mihzarch at all, because the Godslayer Sword was the real danger here, but- that wasn't the point anyway). But he always bared his neck willingly. And when those massive jaws closed so sweetly around his throat, he leaned into it. And then Mihzarch would let out a happy rumble that sang through Leoshgon's entire body, and all would be well.

(Important Lizardverse Context (TM): Amaldyne is currently a (semi) unwilling servant of the ever-starving god of hunger. Eityr is weirdo freak bestie who want her to become as powerful as possible. Their relationship is. Uh. Weird. Amaldyne is a dragon becoming something More, Eityr is a Noctar)

(Amaldyne) "Show me." Amaldyne didn't look up when Eityr entered the room, nor did she turn to face her. In fact, she did not acknowledge Eityr's presence in any way at all. No matter. Eityr would not be so easily dissauded. Amaldyne's desk was strewn about with massive tomes and piles of documents and about a dozen bits of charcoal. It was as if some great beast of parchment had been savaged and slain atop it, and Amaldyne was trying to read the future in its bones. With a flick of her wrist and a stretch of her power, Eityr relocated them all to the floor, then hopped up onto the now-cleared metal. Amaldyne slowly raised her head to look at her with exhausted irritation written plainly all over her snout. "I want to see," Eityr said, "so show me." "Show you what?" the words were accompanied by a hiss of displeasure, but Amaldyne's wings remained loose and relaxed by her side. Unhappy, but willing to indulge. Were it anyone else, Eityr would find that infuriating. "Something happened, didn't it? There's something-" 'wrong' wasn't the right word. Whatever it was, it must surely be the opposite of 'wrong,' but Eityr struggled to think of an alternate descriptor. "Something happened to you, and I want to see it. Show me." Amaldyne nudged her down off the desk. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Eityr, and I don't have time to engage your every childish whim either, so please-" Sick of waiting and on a whim, Eityr grabbed at Amaldyne's lower jaw and yanked downwards. It split right down the middle, and the insides were coated with teeth that had not been there only a moment ago. Amaldyne let out a proper snarl then, shock intermingled with an animalistic rage. Her tail was poised to strike, stinger gleaming in the low light. But the tell-tale glow of dragonsflame never touched her throat, and so Eityr felt comfortable in running a paw along the seam where Amaldyne's mouth had split. No venomous fangs sank into her fur and no bite crushed the strength from her writs. Of course not. Amaldyne had always been content to let Eityr do as she would, why should this be any different? After a moment, Amaldyne pulled away. Her jaw clicked back together, and she watched Eityr through slitted, appraising eyes. "Satisfied?" She asked? Eityr saw no reason to lie. "No."

[anotherfandomtrash]

Commissions are open!

I’m new to this whole thing but I’m also really excited. If you have some questions I will try to answer them.

You can contact me here on Tumblr or by email (Afterevery47@gmail.com)

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Sorry if you noticed big grammar mistakes. I’m trying my best!

[tomwambsmilk]

What are some of the characteristics of these white middle class men you speak of or how do you know someone is middle class? and why would prestige tv cater to only this dempgrpahic?

This is honestly a great question, and one that's surprisingly difficult to answer in a concise way. I've done my best, but in case you don't want to read, the TL;DR is: HBO (a cable frontrunner who defined the strategy for other competitors who emerged later) intentionally catered to men in its early (pre-prestige) days because they knew the networks were intentionally catering to women. This meant that when it shifted into prestige TV in the late 90s, the existing subscriber base was middle-class white men. It's first big flagship "prestige TV" drama, The Sopranos, appealed heavily to that demo and was wildly commercially successful. The Wire, while airing at the same time with equal critical acclaim, did not appeal to that demo and actively critiqued societal structures which benefitted that demo, and flopped both commercially and in the awards circuit. These two shows came very early in the "Prestige TV era", and execs took note of their respective receptions; consequently, much of the prestige TV which came after was selected with that middle-class white male demo in mind.

Longer explanation below the cut:

I should first clarify that when I say "Prestige TV" I'm using it more in the academic sense, of referring to a specific type of television which emerged in the "Prestige TV era", also called the "Second Golden Age" (around 1999-2020, although the precise end date depends on who you ask). A large range of shows fall into that category, but the common characteristics include heavy serialization (ie an emphasis on long-form storytelling, rather than standalone episodes), morally ambiguous characters, complex plots, diverse perspectives, and "R-rated" content. It's pretty widely agreed that this era was "kicked off" by The Sopranos; if I had to list other key Prestige TV/Second Golden Age shows, I'd probably default to the other eleven Alan Sepinwall analyzes in The Revolution Was Televised, his book about how television changed during the Prestige TV era (those eleven are: Oz, The Wire, Deadwood, The Shield, Lost, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 24, Battlestar Galactica, Friday Night Lights, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad. Not all of those are commonly thought of as Prestige TV, because that label is now so removed from its source that it's only applied to a very narrow subsection of shows, but they are Prestige TV in the proper academic sense because of the impact they had on the era).

Not all of those shows were targeted at middle-class white men, and it wasn't my intention to suggest that every individual Prestige TV show is. But generally speaking, with only a few exceptions, the shows that defined the Prestige TV era and had the most commercial success while airing were the ones which appealed to that white, male, middle-class demo. And that's not a demo HBO picked up accidentally. It was explicitly built into their early strategies to go after that demographic, and so that was the demographic that had access to Prestige TV before people thought of it as Prestige TV, which means their opinions did a lot to influence how it developed.

HBO's primary strategy for survival in its early years, especially before other cable networks emerged, was differentiation. The problem they faced was there was lots of television that people could watch for free on network TV, and there wasn't the same distaste for advertising we have now which might have pushed people to pay for a subscription. Their solution was to try and target the people who a) had disposable income, and b) were dissatisfied with what was on the networks. Studio execs knew that the primary target market network execs had in mind when they were buying shows was middle-class white women, because that's the demo that their advertisers wanted to hit. Obviously, the definition of middle-class is contentious now, but I'm using it to mean people with disposable income, which is what made them attractive; white, because the middle class was disproportionately white, and also because network TV was trying to target a generic default 'American' audience, which to their minds was white; and women because advertisers believed women made most of the household purchasing decisions. HBO also needed people with disposable income, so it also targeted middle-class whites by default. However, the main place it decided to differentiate was by going after men, in an extremely intentional programming strategy developed by HBO CEO Michael Fuchs. Sheila Nevins, who was in charge of documentary programming, developed several documentary series, called, respectively, Real Sex, G-String Divas, Cathouse, and Sex Bytes, intentionally to try and cater to men - and it worked! Subscriber numbers increased in droves. And sure, we don't definitively know most of those subscribers were men. But... anecdotally, and in terms of the extremely limited market data we do have, the evidence for those subscribers and viewers being mostly men is quite strong.

White middle-class men weren't by any means the only group they targeted; another part of HBO's strategy was to create a wide variety of content catered to many different groups of people. But those white middle-class men became the most reliable paying subscribers, so HBO's content strategy leaned heavily on catering to their tastes to bring in funding they could use for "brand projects" - weightier, more artistic projects that improved HBO's brand image. When competitors like Showtime emerged, they developed their own spins on HBO's strategy; they targeted their markets in different ways, but ultimately everyone was trying to appeal to the groups who were unsatisfied with network TV, and everyone wanted the white middle-class male subscriber's dollar because it was considered the most "reliable". That demo essentially became to cable TV what advertisers were to network TV.

To trace cable TV's history from the 70s to The Sopranos would take a while and also involve spending more time talking about boxing and Mike Tyson than you would expect. HBO continued to stick to this strategy of differentiation and slowly achieved more market dominance. Ultimately, that brought HBO a combination of funding and creative respect that allowed them to gamble on The Sopranos, a show that several networks passed on before it was pitched to HBO, who ordered the pilot, only to have it perform extremely poorly in the test screening. So poorly that no sane executive would have ordered more episodes.

Except.

The head of HBO at the time, Chris Albrecht (considered by many to be the 'godfather of prestige tv'), heavily related to Tony Soprano, and he felt that his (very male) social networks also would. He's quoted as repeatedly saying, "The only difference between Tony Soprano and every guy I know is that he's the don of New Jersey." Which might sound like hyperbole, but.... In that history of HBO we skipped over there is also a long and unsettling history of misogyny and violence (including sexual violence) sanctioned and covered up by the network which, even by our desensitized modern standards, I actually found pretty shocking. It's bad, y'all. Chris Albrecht (and his fellow execs) didn't relate to Tony despite the violence of the show and his anger issues - they related to him because of it. The most famous incident concerning Albrecht specifically involves him strangling a female subordinate during a disagreement in her office, an allegation which led to HBO paying her a $400,000 settlement. And that's unfortunately not an outlier. (By the way, Albrecht objected to one of Sopranos most famous season 1 episodes, "College", because he felt Tony strangling another character to death would make him 'too unlikable', and viewers wouldn't be able to 'see his humour and charm').

Of course, The Sopranos turned out to be a massive hit, and deservedly so. But I think it's notable that its first season was only ordered because a small group of male executives steeped in violence, misogyny, and toxic masculinity personally related to Tony. And it's also worth noting that at the time, Tony Soprano was often compared to Mike Tyson, who many consider to be HBO's "first antihero". HBO was very involved in his career largely because the controversy around him brought in that middle-class male demo; Tony Soprano was considered to be a continuation of that strategy.

(To be clear, not all men who liked The Sopranos liked it for those reasons. But if we want to get in the weeds about it, HBO catered not just to men in general, but in a very particular way, to the subsection of men who did).

Another thing to note is that part of the success of The Sopranos was the way it catered to the anxieties of the now-shrinking middle class. When the series aired, the stock market was booming, but a spree of mega-mergers and consolidations resulted in record layoffs. CEO pay was skyrocketing while median family income was dropping, and the "middle class" that HBO had always catered to (bc of the disposable income) was disappearing. At its core, The Sopranos was very much about the anxiety which surrounds a way of life disappearing; consequently, the middle-class demo HBO had worked so hard to cultivate was immediately hooked. And yeah, a lot of them were no longer middle-class, strictly speaking. But HBO was still very much trying to cater to, for example, white-collar workers who recently fell out of that income bracket, rather than blue-collar workers or lower income brackets.

Let's also look at The Wire, a show essentially pitched as an audience bait-and-switch. Creator David Simon wanted it to look like a standard-issue broadcast police procedural, like pretty much every TV network had. But what would make it different is that, as the show developed, it would become increasingly subversive - instead of wondering "whether the bad guys would get caught", he wanted the audience to wonder "who the real bad guys are, and whether catching them means anything at all". In his pitch to HBO, he wrote: "You will not be stealing market share from the networks by only venturing into worlds where they can't; you will be stealing it by taking their worlds and transforming them with honesty and wit and a darker, cynical, and more piercing viewpoint than they would undertake."

While The Wire is textbook Prestige TV, it actually didn't hit that middle-class white male demo. David Simon wasn't concerned with hitting demos or relatability; he wanted to create a far-ranging critique of the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism. These were topics that simply didn't resonate with the demographic HBO had built up in its subscriber base, many of whom were quite happy with the police system, neo-liberalism, and capitalism, since they were benefitting pretty heavily from it. The only subscriber demo it did consistently hit was critics, academics, and journalists. And even then - despite its massive critical acclaim, The Wire was heavily snubbed in the awards circuit. The awards snubs are especially telling, given how much the critics claimed to love the show, calling it "Dickensian" - a lot of these people were the same ones voting in the Emmys, so what gives? A lot of people have spent a lot of time trying to figure it out, and what they keep coming back to time and time again is that the majority of the cast of The Wire was black. (It's also worth noting that the original plans for season 1 involved killing off the character of Kima Greggs, a black lesbian, until executive Carolyn Strauss pushed - hard - to reverse the decision, on the grounds that HBO's programming was already too white, male, and heterosexual. Greggs eventually went on to become a particular favourite of the show's extremely small fanbase, which I think is indicative of the kind of demographic the show picked up.) The response was so disappointing that it was nearly cancelled several times; in the first near-cancellation, Albrecht joked that he'd heard from "all 250 of the viewers".

These are just two shows, obviously. But they're two shows that came very early in the era, and so heavily influenced what came after. The Sopranos especially redefined what TV could be; it proved that morally complex, serialized stories with antihero protagonists had a market - and the limitations on network television meant that market could only be reached by cable networks like HBO, which had built up a specific sort of subscriber base. We have to make a distinction between what David Chase wanted to communicate with The Sopranos and why it succeeded the way that it did. Chase didn't set out to create a show that would resonate with white middle-class men, but he did, and it was wildly successful. David Simon's show, while equally critically acclaimed and airing in largely the same time period, did not resonate with white middle-class men, and it never achieved the sort of viewer ratings during its run that other shows of comparable quality did. Studio execs inside and outside of HBO saw that and took note.

Again, the decisions that go into the creation of TV shows are extremely complex, and to say "all Prestige TV is targeted at white middle-class men" is a huge oversimplification. There's a lot more to the history of HBO than just Sopranos and The Wire. But a reliance on that demo, and an active desire to cater to their interests, has heavily defined the kinds of shows which are considered to be Prestige TV, as well as the kinds of shows that cable TV studios are willing to put money into developing. If you want to really examine the context that the "Second Golden Age" is rooted in, you have to be willing to grapple with that history.