#i might do a post with my mending projects too

[iamacolor]

2023 sewing projects - part 2 details at the end of the post (click here for part 1)

Note: I work for a fabric shop so I get most of my fabrics fabric for free as well as some patterns as I have to be wearing our products at work (I definitely consider it a perk). Without this job I would not be sewing as much and I'd probably be buying most of my fabric second hand or on sale as I used to do before. I also sometimes sew during work hours so keep that in mind if you're also a sewist, go at your own rythm 💜 Although I have basic training in pattern drafting I prefer to sew from pre-existing patterns to save on time (as i have to regularly make myself some new clothes for work) and discover new techniques and styles - but I often change stuffs to adapt the designs to my style.

1 - same pants as in part 1 but this time in a double wool crepe from italy (i found it in a charity shop and the border says so in italian - it's absolutely gorgeous, i found 3 pieces of it at once for like 10 € each. I made a dress in the first piece, then these pants in the second)

2 - dream dress in a coton double gauze - the gingham is sized differently on each side of the fabric so i had fun deciding where to put which but i had less fun gathering all of that fabric (the nice thing is it's super light and i get a lot of compliments on it) - the pattern has a short sleeves version that i'd like to make for this summer

3 - a simple tee made in ribbing fabric (usually used for the collar and wrist pieces on sweater) - the pants were made last year but they're the same pattern as the pink ones in part 1, just the slim leg version!

4 - another super quick make in a modal fabric (it's so soft and nice to work with), the last one i made in june before my tendinitis stopped me from touching my machine for a couple of months (and tbh i maybe shouldn't have made this one lol)

5 - first project back on the sewing machine during the summer holidays, very quick one in the remnants of the linen-viscose blend i used to make the matching set in part 1 (can you tell i love this fabric and this colour?)

6 - a mini retro skirt in coton gabardine - the skirt was made to be short and as i'm taller than the average height used in patterns i lengthened it but almost not enough as i ended up having to do a single fold of 1cm to hem the bottom instead of the usual 1 + 2/3 lol

7 - ok so this one...i went in with no pattern and not much thoughts tbh i took this striped fabric and decided to turn thop of the piece into a plain colour by folding it repeatedly so that the folds would reveal the secondary colour by opening - it was super long to make especially because i just cut straight on the side instead of taking into account the fact that I am very much not straight from the waist down to the hips so i had to do a little fixing on the side seams once all the folding and assembling was done before i could put in the zipper. I was very proud of this skirt when I finished it but I've only worn it twice since then (september lol) because it's absolutely awful to iron it (and although i stitched every single fold on one side i still have to press them all one by one)

8 - these curtains are made in a wax fabric given to me by my grandmother who got it from a church friend who brought it from her homecountry in Africa (can't remember where that is, sorry) - they're lined in a dark navy coton so they can be more occulting (the same used at the bottom for the ruffles as the piece of fabric was too small for my curtains to go all the way down). I did this project in an evening so the inside finishes are very rough and i didn't even iron them but i was hellbent on finishing them on the day I started (after months of just having the fabric draped over the window as a makeshift curtain) - it doesn't show too well on the pictures but the darker yellow is actually gold!

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 1)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: In the last months of 1917, a shy newcomer named Irene meets unruly Ada Shelby, forming a bond that only deepens with time.

Author's Note: I realized this would be too long to post as a one shot so I'll be posting 2-3 parts of this mini series.

WINTER 1917

The crowded church hall was quiet save for the clinking of knitting needles and a few scattered whispers. Ada quickly noted that every girl from school seemed to be in attendance and it was clear they’d all been kept away from home for the same purpose. That and, of course, the ever present need for socks and mittens for their fathers and brothers away at war. 

Losing interest in her project, Ada began to search for a diversion. Looking up from her work, her gaze drifted toward a ginger haired girl opposite her. She watched at the skillful way the girl’s hands worked, quickly looping over one another in a satisfying rhythm. It was a talent Ada sadly didn’t possess, a shortcoming she was well aware of thanks to Polly’s frequent complaints about leaving all the mending to her.

Head dropping toward the ball of yarn in her lap to pick at the tangled mess, Ada let out an heavy sigh. This would be surely be another wasted effort, she thought as she picked the strands apart to use them for a game of cat’s cradle. That too came to an abrupt halt when her clumsy fingers betrayed her once more, ring finger stuck tightly in the intricate web strung between her palms. 

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed while tugging at the ends helplessly, a giggle erupting at her pathetic plight.

Several young women looked up from their knitting, needles poised in the air along with their eyebrows at her language. Only one girl at the table remained unphased by the disturbance, which intrigued Ada.

“Has your mum sent you to stay out trouble on baking day as well?" Ada whispered hoarsely, earning her a sharp hush from the corner.

“Something like that…” the shy girl noted with a giggle, missing a stitch as she stared into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. 

“I’m Ada. What’s your name?” 

“Irene,” the girl mumbled as she diligently worked to repair her mistake. 

“That’s a lovely scarf,” Ada remarked, voice full of hushed awe at the intricate detail in the pattern which had obviously been crafted with a great deal of love.

Smiling to herself at her progress, Irene folded the scarf in her lap before glancing up slowly. Her face tilted at an angle which hid her blushing cheeks, making it obvious to Ada she wasn’t the kind of person who took a compliment easily. In fact, she wondered if the girl would even answer.

“Thank you,” Irene eventually acknowledged before turning the attention back to Ada. “What are you knitting?”

“A disaster,” Ada snorted, holding up the knotted yarn she’d balled in her fist.

The unexpected candor made Irene laugh out loud, clamping a hand over her mouth to stay out of trouble and spare Ada’s feelings. “I can help if you’d like,” she offered sweetly.

“Need all the help I can get, don’t I?” Ada remarked, mouth quirked in playful smile.

“I think you might,” Irene conceded with a giggle.

——————————

SPRING 1918

“Why are we here?” Ada asked as she fidgeted in her seat. She knew why. Her best friend’s interest in medicine and a desire to help those in need, but it didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

“To help the war effort. Try and pay attention. Won’t you?” Irene urged, focusing her full attention to the first aid lecture. A humorless and frightfully boring woman was demonstrating how to stop someone from choking, a topic which didn’t interest Ada in the least. 

Besides, she simply couldn’t understand why Irene could be so attentive to a woman who’d humiliated her as they volunteered last month, calling Irene an “ignorant little fool” because she’d mixed up items in the care packages.

“But we’ve already spent hours rolling bandages. My fingers are going to fall off, do they want it to be our bloody ears next!” Ada whined, hoping Irene would be swayed by her suffering.

A swift jerk of her head indicated the dowdy looking nurse had heard the commotion at the back of the room and she fired a quick reprimand. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class Miss Shelby?”

“No ma’am” Ada mumbled, chewing her lip as she slid down into her chair. She crossed her arms, a sulky pout settling over her brow as the woman turned her back to address the other ladies.

“As I was saying, the next step is to check the airway…” she lectured, turning toward a small diagram to gesture in a wooden manner.

Moments later a long, low sigh echoed across the table.“Can’t we leave?” Ada begged. Without a response from Irene, she began tugging on her friend’s sleeve like an impatient child. “She’s putting me to sleep!” she argued.

“Then sleep!” Irene hissed, wishing her new friend would take a nap.

“I would, but she smells of anchovies! ” Ada protested before she began to giggle uncontrollably.

At that moment the nurse spun around on her heel, charging toward Irene, a deep V carved in her forehead as she bent down to confront her. “What did you say, girl?” The nurse fumed, the fact that she was unable to recall Irene’s name infuriating Ada.

“Nothing,” Irene denied with a quick shake of her head. “Sh-she was asking for my notes, that’s, erm…that’s all,” she stumbled, shuffling some papers as she avoided eye contact.

Grasping the blank page from Irene’s fingertips, the nurse exclaimed, “You little liar!”

“And you’re a stupid cunt!” Ada shouted, standing from her chair defiantly. “It was me who called you boring and smelly!” she confessed, hands on her hips.

Irene’s eyes shot to the nurse’s face which was rapidly turning a bright shade of red as she sputtered with indignation. Irene gulped as the woman swung toward her, face inches from her nose as she seethed, “Now I remember you! You’re that stupid, worthless girl who cost us two extra days of packing last month!” 

Irene’s body trembled, eyes flooding with unshed tears as the woman wagged her finger. “You should be ashamed of yourself wasting the precious time of professionals. Don’t you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

If Irene hadn’t stood up at that moment, Ada might have started swinging, her fierce protectiveness for gentle Irene always at the ready. However, she stopped herself as she watched her friend’s chest expand with a deep breath, her lips quivering slightly as she eeked out a brave, “Cunt!”

All the girls in the room gasped as they heard the quiet, mouse like girl defend herself. A brief moment of silence echoed like the calm before a mighty storm before they heard a thunderous roar of anger, “Out! I want both of you out!”

Irene despaired, tearfully gathering her belongings as Ada glared at the woman who had insulted her best friend. 

They soon found themselves standing in the alley behind the church, Ada smoking a cigarette as Irene looked on in disbelief.

“What do we do?” she panicked, fingertips tracing her forehead in thought. 

Ada took another drag and Irene began to pace, silence lingering between them until she suddenly stopped face to face with her friend. “Now you’re quiet,” she observed in annoyance. “Why couldn’t you have just done what she asked?” 

Ada gulped, an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach as she watched her friend’s large hazel eyes turn from their usual honeyed brown to cool emerald. It was only a trick of the light, but that was difficult to remember as she endured a wave of anxiety fueled by dread. 

Dropping the cigarette from her fingertips, she watched it tumble onto the cobblestones and toed it half heartedly with the tip of her boot. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“What am I going to tell my mum?” Irene asked, her voice quivering slightly. 

Ada’s eyes rose to meet Irene’s, recognizing the note of fear she was so desperately trying to conceal. Then an idea came to her, the certainty of it allowing her insides to slowly unclench.

“We’ll go to the pictures,” Ada declared brightly. “If we stay until supper, your mum won’t know,” she reasoned, hooking her arm over Irene’s. 

“What about that awful nurse? What if she visits my house?” Irene despaired, dropping her head to her chest.

Ada waited and wondered if she could betray family confidence. She’d known all afternoon that a certain gambling debt would be settled by Shelby Company Limited, Scudboat sent to drive husband and wife from town before nightfall. Irene didn’t need to hear all of this though.

“She won’t be here tonight to talk to anyone,” Ada said confidently.

“H-how do you know?” Irene sniffed.

Pursing her lips for a moment of careful thought, Ada decided a simple explanation best. “Because her husband’s in a lot of trouble and they have to leave town. My aunt told me so.”

She tugged at her friend as she whispered enticingly, “I think we should see the new Rudolph Valentino.” Giving Irene a nudge with her elbow she added, “Come on, he’s your favorite!”

Irene sighed in defeat as she allowed Ada to pull her along. “Why are you always the one getting us into trouble, but you want me to thank you for it?” she shook her head as though she were still trying to unravel the mystery of Ada’s charm. 

“Because you love it,” Ada said, casting a mischievous glance at Irene, blue eyes twinkling with glee.

“Maybe too much,” Irene conceded with a little smile. 

Cont reading Part 2

-----------

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[nekole-doodles]

*slams open door* @mcytblraufest

IT'S FINALLY POSTING WEEK FOR THE MCYTBLR AU FEST!!! YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA NOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT! Anyway, here's the art I submitted:

So, this is from my Rebirth DSMP AU based on the webtoon Rebirth! I haven't talked about it on here but it's definitely one of my favorite AUs :D For those who have read Rebirth, Wilbur takes Noah's place and Tommy takes Neo's place(and yes, they are brothers in this AU).

Also, it was an absolute pleasure to work with lemon_doodles(I don't know their Tumblr :']) and @deathshadowrules!!

Here's the link to deathshadowrules's fic:

And if lemon_doodles wants me to add the link to their fic, I'll reblog this with the link :>

Here's some info on this AU for a bit more context(this is pretty long btw):

(Also, quick note: The fanfics have a different interpretations of this AU and the information the art provided so the details might not line up)

Again, this is an AU heavily based on the webtoon Rebirth, I recommend it, it's really interesting :)

There are themes of time travel/time loops, zombies/zombie apocalypse, superpowers, and this is also a modern AU.

The world ended on November 16th(date idea credits to deathshadowrules) when during a solar eclipse, everyone on Earth passed out for an unexplainable reason and when they woke up the next day, half of those people became zombies, later referred to as the Undead due to them having abilities that exceed the zombies typically depicted in media. This day became known as Armageddon. Along with the rise of the Undead, some of the remaining humans gained abilities/superpowers.

Summary: Wilbur had experienced this apocalyptic world and survived for 6 years. In the later part of those 6 years, he ended up letting Tommy, his brother who he disregarded for years before Armageddon, get captured(I think by the military) for experimentation due to his unique abilities and body. (I'm trying not to spoil too much of Rebirth so some of this is vague TvT) He regretted this decision greatly because he found that he still cared a lot about Tommy, despite their relationship not being great over the years, so he decided to save Tommy from the experimentation. In doing so, he died right after he freed Tommy from the test tube he was being kept in, wishing he had one more chance to fix his mistakes, mainly to make sure that Tommy will remain safe and to (hopefully) mend their long-broken relationship. Then, Wilbur wakes up on November 15th, the day before Armageddon began, which was 6 years ago. He had traveled back in time after he died. He realized that this was his chance to save Tommy. Little did Wilbur know that Tommy has been in a sort of timeloop where once he dies in one timeline, he goes back in time near the start of Armageddon and starts another timeline.

Extra Details Time!

When Wilbur got sent back in time after his death, he got a white streak in his hair with a few gold strands(in the art, it literally just looks blonde because I messed up and couldn't fix it, I tried ahdkshj) Also, I was originally going to make one of Wilbur's eyes gold but I totally forgot while coloring and couldn't go back to fix it. Btw, the whole thing with the gold hair strands, butterflies, text, and eye makes more sense if you read Rebirth but I don't know how to explain it.

Wilbur and Tommy are not biologically related to Phil and Techno but Wilbur is still very close with them. He's known Phil and Techno since he was young and treated them more like family than his actual family. Tommy never really interacted much with Phil and Techno and honestly kind of avoided them. He didn't really know why he avoided those two, maybe because he was salty that Wilbur was always more friendly to them than to him. But otherwise, Tommy feels pretty neutral towards them and gains more respect for them throughout Armageddon due to how stable their living situation is for the end of the world(they've got a good base and everything. Their roles are based on the Blanche family)

Wilbur's wife is Sally, but unfortunately, she's a pretty self-centered person and attempts to hide this but her actions really expresses this fact. She takes the place of Parish, for those who read the webtoon, and I deeply apologize.

Fundy is Wilbur and Sally's son. He doesn't really like Tommy but they start being a bit less aggressive towards each other as the story progresses. He takes Abel's place.

Wilbur's ability is advanced fire manipulation instead of blood manipulation like Noah from Rebirth. Since Noah's blood manipulation has an unbelievable amount of possibilities, I kind of had to twist the possibilities of fire manipulation so that Wilbur's abilities are still able to fill the role they need to. If you want to get a good idea of a way Wilbur uses his fire manipulation, think like- Colonel Mustang's flame alchemy from Fullmetal Alchemist but instead of using alchemy, Wilbur causes his fire to burst.

Schlatt takes Ian's role and is just as much of a prick but him and Wilbur aren't brothers. Schlatt is a businessman that comes from a family that is close with Wilbur's, so they've known each other since they were kids(they were introduced to each other at a young age in the hopes they would be friendly enough to be able to work closely with each other). They were sort of friends before Schlatt became a prick but Wilbur still had to deal with him because he is a genuinely good businessman for the company(btw, I should probably mention that Wilbur owns a pretty big business, for those who don't have that context from Rebirth. Idk if the business will be the same or if I'll change it to fit Wilbur better)

Tubbo is Schlatt's son(from a previous marriage) but Schlatt is a pretty distant father because he doesn't really care. Tubbo takes Iva's place but has a different personality because he's older than Iva, and therefore, less innocent.

Quackity is married to Schlatt but he isn't Schlatt's first partner. A few months into the marriage, Quackity began regretting the marriage but felt like he couldn't end it. He takes Lena's place but him and Tubbo act more like close friends. They're both happy with their friendship and don't feel the need to push it to "family". Quackity still takes care of Tubbo though since Schlatt definitely isn't :/

Niki takes Li's place but is a bit less emotionless/cold. Her ability is being able to control water and its temperature(basically waterbending). Also, since people usually ship Noah and Li, I would just like to specify that Niki and Wilbur are friends and only friends.

Some ages(these are still a work in progress though): Wilbur- 26/28, Tommy- 14, Fundy- ~8-10, Tubbo- 14, Niki- 21/22

I think that's enough lore dumping for today :| This AU is still a big work in progress but I'm having so much fun with it!

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

Damaged

I dont think this is so much a poem as me just smashing words together to cope. im just trying to make sense of things. this is years and years of pieces of myself and of Crowley spilled over the screen. i might have taken it too far i mightve choked on the things i wanted to say but well it's done now so yeah. please proceed with caution this poem deals with self loathing and the such

-

How can you see beauty

In a broken thing like me?

For I am tainted, stained by sin

How can you love a crippled soul

That’s marked by scars too deep to hide?

Scorched and carved up and then spit out

By the place I once called my own

Forced to grow fangs and claws

To shield myself from the torment of my past

But now, I brush my hands against yours

And I leave a trail of scarlet upon your flesh

I've become the beast I feared

Struggling to recognize the reflection in the mirror

As it distorts 

Into a monstrous mask

Yet you hold me with gentle hands

As spiders spill from my eye sockets 

Falling on the ground that grows webs in their wake

Securing me in place

To ensure that I cannot escape

Myself

Yet you remain steadfast by my side

As my sharp branches that I call limbs

Ensnare your figure and pierce your sacred skin

I see the pain etched upon your face

And I curse myself for it

For this is how I love—

With claws that cut and fangs that maul

And no one should endure the love I give

For is it love, if it destroys

You?

Yet still, you stay,

A martyr, a sacrifice,

A holy fool

You see value where there is none

I am but a stain upon your purity

A blemish on your perfection

A poison coursing through your veins

A parasite feeding on your kindness

Venom oozes out of my wounds

Burying you alongside the echo of my being

I am a plague, spreading with every breath I take

The ruptured creature within

Will not stop until you collapse into my useless arms

Until we become one

And I would rue the day I first drew breath

The day She sculpted me out of fire

And left me there to burn

The day she imprisoned me in this vessel

Cursed me to crawl on broken legs

She never loved me—

How could She love a creation designed to falter?

Yet you do 

Despite my flaws?

So teach me, angel, if you dare

Show me that I’m not beyond repair

For I’m still damaged, in need of mending

How can I not be? Look at me

How can you love this misshapen thing I am

With jagged edges, dented thorns?

My mouth so rough, my wings all faulty

My eyes unable to perceive the light

My body, nothing but shards of broken glass

And my heart, a barren wasteland

My tongue slit, but what’s one more tear,

On my already fractured frame?

How can you love me

When I have forgotten

How to love myself?

-

ive never been more scared to post something. im gonna disappear from the face of the earth for a bit now

read it also on ao3:

hey my absolute favourite people of this site i hope you dont mind @crowleys-hips @bearthewhipsandscornsoftime @fearandhatred @ghostsparrow @eybefioro @seven-stars-in-his-palm @ficreader500 @crowleys-curl @crowleybrekkers @notagoodlad @lickthecowhappy @di-42 @goodoldfashionednightingale @spookyllamatree @wanderer-main @ineffabildaddy

[mycraftingjourney]

Introduction post

I wanted to give a bit of an introduction to why I'm here, what I'm doing and so on.

tl;dr: I like clothes and I'm into sustainability, so I started (visible) mending a few month or so ago. I also crochet, although not as much as I'd like to, and I dabble a bit in embroidery. My goal is to kind of document my journey with these crafts and maybe inspire people to give some of these a try.

I'd also love to talk about all things (visible) mending, crochet, embroidery and fiber arts in general and share the knowledge I have / point people who want to start to some resources that helped me.

I've been into fashion/clothes and styling them on and off for a big part of my life. A few years ago, I also got into sustainability, learning about how buying new fast fashion damages our planet and exploits other human beings, and what may be good alternatives.

This path, inevatibly, lead down to getting curious about mending. I learned basic sewing skills when I was a child, but I never altered any clothes and apart from a few tiny things never mended anything.

However, this year, I wanted to change that. I've heard about visible mending before and I really liked it. I had a pair of jeans when I was a teenager that was patched (by someone else) that was my favourite pair. Unfortunately, I managed to ruin it beyond repair and also grew out of it, but this stuck with me. I always liked to express myself creatively, and in recent years, what I wear has become a big part of that. The idea that by visibly mending my clothes I express my passion for sustainability feels really good (and punk!) to me. The idea of altering clothes that I don't currently love but could love if something about them was changed is also a nice one.

I only darned my first sock a few months ago. My goal with this blog is to share this first darn as well as the progress I make, because I want to encourage other people. You don't have to make perfect mends to be sustainable. On the contrary, mend imperfectly, mend messy, but DO MEND. Even if you'll have to redo it at one point, when you have more skill, even if you don't end up redoing it and instead use that piece of clothing for something else, you still gave it another wear, or two, or three (or fifty) - and that's what this is all about.

I tend to be an extreme perfectionist and it's hard for me to deal with a situation where I'm not perfect at a first try. Surprise surprise, I am not when it comes to mending, or embroidery, or crochet, or anything at all really. But I'm trying to let that go and concentrate on what I achieve rather than what I did "wrong" or imperfectly. I want to share my messy bits and the things I'm proud of, and I want to update how the mends I did held up. As i mentioned above, I hope that maybe I'll inspire some people to pick up a needle as well. Even if you "only" fix that button or a ripped up seam. Every mend counts!

When I get into altering or even making clothes, I will share those projects too, but that will have to wait a bit since I don't currently have any space to put up my sewing machine and I do simply not have the energy nor patience to hand sew bigger things.

Apart from mending I also crochet. Talking more about that feels like a bit of an overkill here, I'll make a new post for that.

Recently I also started to embroider, with the idea of using embroidery in my (visible) mending and to embellish clothes. Here again I decided on a project where I just start and don't try to be perfect from the beginning on, I'll share more about that as well as my crochet project(s) soon.

I think this should be enough for the moment with the introduction. One thing about me, as you probably got by now, is that I'm really bad at being brief with my writing. I have no idea how often I will manage to make posts on here due to work and life, but I will try to do them quiet regularly, as well as sharing things I see that might be helpful / interesting / that inspire me. I also think I'll probably only write more for bigger projects but also just share stuff I'm working on / finished recently.

Maybe I'll also share other DIYs that are not really crafts/fiber arts related but I think are cool.

This isn't my main blog (thats @merryfromthestars), so if I follow I follow from there.

I'm also always open to questions, discussions etc. so just send me an ask or dm if you want! Just, I might take a moment to answer them, because life and work :) I'm excited to see where this journey takes me, and I hope some people will come along and maybe get inspired.

[lonelyroommp3]

You've talked before about a Taylor Swift jukebox musical you made, and now I'm wondering: if ttpd had been released at the time, which, if any, of the tracks might have made it in and why?

this is suuuuch an interesting ask i have been thinking about it non stop since i got it thank you so much

anyway i kind of have two different answers/approaches to this. the first is if i read this question as "which tracks would have made the specific jukebox musical i put together for my MA project", which was an adaptation of the teenage love triangle plotline from folklore, and the answer to that is honestly... probably none of them? there are certainly songs on ttpd that could fit plot beats in the show, but i don't think there's any that i would choose over the songs i chose at the time, whether in terms of suitability, how easy they'd be to sing & act in a musical theatre context, or from the commercial producer's perspective in terms of maintaining a strong "setlist" (as it were) balancing deeper cuts & fan favourite tracks with greatest hits that are likelier to put audience members' bums on seats if this were to be a full fledged production. with that said songs that would make the shortlist but probably not be included might be:

so high school - i could see this as an alternative to "our song", which i used as a setup for betty & james's relationship before everything famously goes to shit, or possibly in addition to "our song" in the context of an expanded show as a means for setting a broader scene with not just them but like, our theoretical B couple, supporting cast, etc. i think the repetitiveness of the lyrics (in terms of the same sections coming back over and over) could be a challenge to work around but it wouldn't be impossible

i can do it with a broken heart - in the actual show i had a mashup of "22" and "the moment i knew" setting the scene for the party james famously gatecrashes in "betty"; it was a whole thing of juxtaposing betty's friends trying to hype her up and mend her broken heart while she is quite clearly not feeling it whatsoever. so obviously this would fill a similar niche but quite frankly if i may stroke my own ego the 22/tmik mashup is one of my favourite pieces of arranging work i've ever done and you could not pay me to replace it or add another song in there

peter - natural choice with the "peter losing wendy" parallel from "cardigan" (which was not in my show due to time constraints but i've always imagined it as an opening number framing device type deal in a full expanded 2 act version). also an evil little part of me really would love to watch my actors fighting for their life trying to think of enough different ways to act the line "you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me" over and over and over 😭 with that said, however, i already gave betty more than enough heartbroken ballads in this show lmfao, there is just simply not room for another one

my second way of approaching this question would be "what songs from ttpd would work in just, any hypothetical taylor swift jukebox musical?" - honestly when i first got this ask i thought nah, this album is a bust for musical theatre-able (?) songs because it is so much more lyrically specific than a lot of her prior work, and a lot of the reason i chose taylor as the case study for my jukebox musical thesis is because in her earlier output she usually hits the perfect sweet spot between "too generic to act effectively" and "too specific to shape into another plot", which can be a difficult balance to find in a lot of chart pop & is a big reason jukebox musicals sometimes get a lot of flack both critically and in the discerning public eye.

but then i thought about it more and i think some of the songs go so far into specificity that they become theatrical (i've already made a semi-jokey post about how there's something almost company-esque about the line "chloe or sam or sophia or marcus" hahaha) in their own right. like i literally started going through this album and thought wait no. this is a really actable album for the most part. in fact, i think some of them go so far into depicting self contained narratives that i don't think they could work As A Song To Advance The Plot In A Traditional Book Musical but i do think they are insanely actable in the context of like, a song cycle. or as a standalone song to bring to an acting through song class lmfao

anyway a selection (a selection! that's how many options i have) that i think could work in the context of a traditional book musical:

who's afraid of little old me - come ONNN this would be so fucking fun to stage. it's giving no good deed

the smallest man who ever lived - i thought about orchestrating that bridge and nearly blacked out

the black dog, guilty as sin, and maybe even down bad (not going to get you any points for range in an audition but might be fun to act) are also options i could see working

finally i think "clara bow" is like, made to be the finale if you were specifically doing a taylor swift biomusical

a selection that i would love to see in a revue/song cycle/audition/i have been asked to bring a pop song to my acting through song masterclass type of situation

but daddy i love him - this is one of those songs that is too self contained to actually advance a plot but would be very fun to present as a standalone piece imo

the bolter - such a fun little storytelling option

thank you aimee - mate i won't lie to you i have actioned this song while singing along to it in my bedroom. i need this to become a sleeper hit from the album so i can start recommending it to actors when i do repertoire coaching that's how much i love it as a potential audition piece. hits musically AND lyrically

[thirdeyeblue]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @mulderscully 🩷🩷

How many works do you have on ao3?

32 (ayyy Veronika, we match)

What's your total ao3 word count?

965,446

What fandoms do you write for?

Doctor Who!

Top five fics by kudos:

Bloodstream

For All We're Worth

Mending

Tiny Lights Below

The Doctor's Brilliant Idea

Do you respond to comments?

For the most part, yes - but sometimes, it might take a tremendous length of time (provided my mental health is crushing me and I feel unworthy of love 😅)

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It will easily be Can't Shift the Tide when the time comes (and all five people who read it will suffer)

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Pretty much everything! I can't even READ fics with sad/angsty endings, let alone write them (with a small crackship caveat)

Do you get hate on fics?

Only from a small sect of presumed tweens enmeshed in said crackship

(Oh, and Mickey Smith's burner account getting a little bummed with me one of the many times I've implied Mickey was a terrible shag)

Do you write smut?

Hahahahahahahahahaha

Craziest crossover:

Just going to count my TenMartha/TenRose fic, since that's the closest concept to a crossover I've got

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hopefully not?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone translated Bloodstream into Russian - I've made a couple of friends through that, too! 🥰

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've got two co-writing projects with my beloved @bronzeagepizzeria that have been sitting brutally neglected in my docs for months via late fall depression... BUT planning on getting those going again ASAP.

Also so many goddamn ideas of things to co-write with my other beloved, @badxwolfxrising - provided we ever get around to them. The joys of being 30+

All time favorite ship?

TentooRose 🩷🩷🩷

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My companion piece to Ordinary Gifts that goes in-depth about the last time Ten and Rose fucked (in this fic’s universe)+ the first time Tentoo and Rose fuck. I want to write it so badly, but I am never not drowning

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm decent at capturing emotions/what's going on in the characters' heads during smut scenes.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Focusing on one fic at a time. Making chapters less than 10k in my multi-chapter fics.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I probably wouldn't translate/write it out just due to knowing how dodgy translation tools are/only speaking English myself, but I've seen other people do it well!

First fandom you wrote in?

I don't think this qualifies as a "fandom", but I was writing fanfic about Lena and Yulia from the group t.A.T.u in 2003 (and not posting it anywhere).

Favorite fic you've written?

I hate this question. It tends to jump between Bloodstream, For All We're Worth, and the Purpose of Repose

Tagging (forgive me if any of y'all have already been tagged, I never use tumblr and have no idea if you weren't tagged on the post I was tagged in!) @demdifferentstories-29 @badxwolfxrising @kcchameleon17 @naaer @elialys

[shearlin]

Word count: 2678

Chapter 7: Time

First || << Previous || Next >>

Happy International Women's Day that was yesterday! As a gift, have a cameo!

Fun fact! I noticed that on average I'm adding 1k words to my "final" drafts when I search for typos and errors before posting. Good thing I put an uploading schedule for myself in place or I would ended up in the editing limbo.

(I also discovered I cannot write accents for the life of me. There was an attempt, but I had to scrap it because I just couldn't do it justice. The accents live in my head and in my heart.)

Enjoy! :D

Another day, another fight, another close call. This time it was… well, Time.

They were on their way to Lon Lon Ranch, landing in old man’s Hyrule only a day's walk away from it. Their spirits were high, the sunbeams bright and the monsters stupid enough to think they didn’t notice them hiding in sparse shrubbery on the side of the road.

The fight didn’t look like anything special. They were so used to working together by that point, it felt more like a choreographed dance routine than a real battle. Legend twirled the ice rod in his hand, wielding his sword in the other, freezing and shattering any monster coming too close, while being covered by Sky with the Master Sword and a whip. Hyrule was dancing around the Darknut with ease giving Wind and Four an easy shot at his back, the two of them making quick work of its armour. Wild was giving them all multiple heart attacks by letting a giant moblin stab the air inches from his face, only to kill it in a rapid fire of blows in a blink of an eye. He would later claim he was ‘training his magic abilities’ and acting all innocent, the madman. Twilight was going after archers, covering the distance between him and them in a blink of an eye as a wolf, coming out of the shift with his sword already swinging. Warriors was taking care of the supposed leader of the pack, separating it from the rest and not letting it bark out any orders or call retreat.

And Time was dealing with a pair of black lizalfos from Sky’s era.

Legend didn’t see how it happened, not that it mattered, only heard the old man coming down with a yell of pain as the spiked metal ball connected with his left knee and rendering him vulnerable and unable to fight.

Twilight and Wars were to his side in an instant, covering him while Time tried to do his best to not move so as to not upset the crushed joint any further. Sky went absolutely ballistic on the monsters he and Legend were dealing with, allowing the veteran to provide additional aid to the old man's defence with his ice rod, allowing Wars to start on the first aid.

They might have been overeager in making sure Time was okay, but to be fair, they were just a few hours away from Malon. They were not going to bring to her doorstep her husband all broken and beaten up.

They defeated the monsters quickly after that, powered by their righteous fury. A fairy that was travelling with them for the past few hours, straight up phased through the glass of her bottle as soon as the last monster fell, so she could heal his leg, despite old man's insistence he would be fine with a red potion, since they were going to the ranch to rest anyway. She had none of that, healing him in a tirade of bells and chimes and then zipped ahead to have her fill of sugar water as a reward.

Legend might not be able to speak with the pink fairies, but by the way Time chuckled as she offered her farewells, he was convinced that that particular one had enough excitement for her life .

Once the injury was mended and Time led them back on the road, the good mood from earlier returned to their group and they started joking around again. Just their local old man being too slow with his reflexes and not being able to keep up with them younglings.

But Legend couldn’t help but feel the uneasiness prickle under his skin once more, as he fell to the back of the group, brushing off Sky’s questioning look and Hyrule’s attempts at conversation. They got the hint easily enough and he was left alone with his thoughts.

The ‘old man’ jokes were all in good fun. The old man himself was often pointing out with humour, how he can’t possibly rival their vigour during training sessions or with the long days of trekking across the lands of Hyrule, no matter his ability to move with deceptive ease and speed when he really wanted to.

And it wasn’t like those jokes were unfounded. He was the oldest. If anyone, Legend would know how years of heroing can weigh on one’s body. Time might have only two (three?) official quests under his belt, but he did spend his teenage and young adult years hunting monsters, clearing and cleansing dangerous cursed places and doing all sorts of work for the crown as the Hero of Time. He might have found peace and tranquillity in the life on the ranch with Malon once he officially “retired” that title, but it didn’t erase years of injuries, scarred tissues or impaired-or-possibly-lack-of vision in his right eye. The entire chain could attest that it would be weird if that life didn’t leave any strain on his body.

Occasional injuries caused by slower reflexes or lingering stiffness was to be expected.

Logically, Legend knew that. But it was happening too often.

Well, not really, it was happening too often for his taste.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[makeshiftdraco]

“It isn’t solitude I crave,” Halbrand purred in her ear, warm breath caressing her cool flesh. “I’m afraid my baser desires demand satisfaction tonight…”

She shivered against him. ��Baser desires?” Her palms pressed against the stone at her back, cold seeping from behind as she confronted the heat before her.

His mouth descended to her jaw, lips ghosting over flesh, and Halbrand let out a shuddering breath when she tensed against him. “Such a tempting little morsel…I could eat you up.”

Galadriel’s mind was too clouded to fully grasp the meaning of his words. His fingers pushed strands of blonde hair over her shoulder, baring her neck to his hot, hungry mouth. His touch was intoxicating, but she could sense a threat veiled behind his sultry words.

His teeth grazed her throat, and her breath hitched in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Feeding the beast…”

Beware the Wolf Behind the Mask

Halloween Haladriel fic by makeshiftdraco

Part Two: Fawn...Freeze... has been posted!

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Rings of Power/Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Galadriel/Halbrand|Sauron

Status: Complete

Description:

When Galadriel is detained for punching a handsy haunt actor, she finds herself trapped with a handsome stranger in security custody. When Halbrand offers her a chance to escape, she must decide whether the potential reward is worth the risk. Fear and desire struggle for dominance as Galadriel's instincts put her on a dangerous path, one that might lead right into Halbrand's awaiting arms. The theme park lights are bright, but danger lurks in the shadows of even the happiest places.

Can Galadriel trust Halbrand to mend her fragile heart...or is there a wolf hiding behind that charming smile?

(Check tags on AO3 for trigger warnings)

November took a serious toll on my writing productivity, but the dark and disturbing conclusion is finally posted!

[pebblysand]

WELCOME BACK TO THE PAGE PALS PROJECT! AS A REMINDER, THE "PAGE PALS" PROJECT IS A GROUP RE-READ OF CASTLES. FOR MORE INFORMATION, PLEASE READ THIS POST HERE.

THIS WEEK, WE'RE DOING CHAPTER 2. BELOW, YOU'LL FIND MY THOUGHTS AS A CONVERSATION STARTER. FEEL FREE TO SEND IN ASKS IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS/THOUGHTS, AND TO JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER FOR FURTHER DISCUSSION.

HANDY LINKS/INFO:

chapter: ii. out of ash (ashes twirl)

wordcount: 10, 476

playlist: notes here

castles FAQ: here

.

g e n e r a l t h o u g h t s:

for a very long time, this chapter used to be my favourite, and i still hold it in very high regard. i don't know what it is about it, it just feels like ✨vibes✨. it's both incredibly funny at times, and incredibly sad, and i feel like it really exhibits that awkward post-war happy/sad balance that is so important to castles. even if it's no longer my favourite cause i'm not quite sure which is my favourite anymore, i still think chapter 2 has some of my best writing in this fic. i'll go through a few chosen bits below but i feel like it has that general sense of messiness and melancholy that i really like in the early days of this story.

just like with chapter 1, you might notice a few changes i've made along the way, depending on when you read it last. again, i don't think it's anything major but if you do notice, you'll see that i didn't actually delete anything, just moved things around a bit. i think it flows better that way. i also added some stuff - i'm curious to see if you'll spot it. let me know!

having said that, omg, i'd forgot how SLOW the pacing is in this chapter. don't get me wrong, i think it needs to be slow for the purposes of telling the story, but it's very much like: this is them leaving the hotel, this is them having breakfast, this is them testifying - it is very step by step lol. i worry about my pacing in the later chapters, sometimes, but i clearly forgot about this one lol.

g i n n y:

Generally, reading this just this morning, I couldn't help but feel this raw sense of panic in Ginny, throughout this chapter. I think obviously, it's something that only really makes sense and becomes apparent on re-read, but there's this way you really feel how fucking terrified she is that Harry will find out. I hate to say this, but the way she acts with him, that summer, is almost reminiscent of her "relationship" with Amycus, actually. She is watching his every move, everything he says, everything she says, trying to make sure he doesn't find out. And, I don't think the pretending and the lying comes easy to her, I think it basically tears her apart, but those are skills that she "learnt" with Amycus. Being cued into his every emotion, expertly toying that line between saying too much and too little. She is almost manipulating him, into thinking they have this connection, and that them not talking is the Right thing for them, and it's not really her fault, it's how fear has wired her to function, but I find it chilling.

h i g h l i g h t s:

A year later, roses bloom once again in the gardens of Ottery St Catchpole and Harry’s still holding her. Some things in life never change, he muses, although, of course, everything else has changed. They’ve both fought in a war that should never have been theirs and one of her brothers has died, leaving the start of the summer to mend itself without them, trapped in a combative attempt to shovel the little hope it has left down their throats. When Harry caresses Ginny’s skin, the summer of ‘98, she’s naked next to him, the both of them tucked in her small, twin bed at The Burrow. They try to be quiet (always, despite the silencing charms they cast) but they each have a side, now, an oddly domestic habit, and after they have sex, Harry often lies with her body wrapped around him, so close that he’s never quite sure where her limbs start and where his end. Her bed’s pushed up against her window - along the skin of his left arm, he feels the morning dew build as the night chill leaves the air; it trickles down the single-glazed glass. They watch the sun rise together - early mornings and milky skies.

I LOVE THIS PARAGRAPH SO MUCH. idk, jokes aside, i think it's one of my favourite things i've ever written. there's a flow to it i really like and i adore the end of "early mornings and milky skies". and i think it's the beginning of this motif that sort of comes back in chapter 17 where the two of them are always touching, comfortable in bed. the chill of early summer mornings and OH I LOVE IT.

'I'm not a Healer, Harry.'

so, this is actually a line i added in reaction to a) the people in my comments being mad that ginny wasn't weeding secrets out of harry and that being "ooc", and b) a conversation i later had with @btelling. i think there's this misconception in fandom about ginny being a "healer". this idea that she's almost harry's therapist after the war, the only one that can get him talking, etc. and i think firstly, there's very little evidence of that in canon. ginny asks for explanations, often, but she very rarely ever gets them. and secondly, there's this general view of women as healers in general, tending to "sick" men and making them better, which i don't particularly enjoy. so, i guess that was me reacting to all of this.

They barely swallow any food. For the other two’s sakes, Harry tries to hide the knot in his stomach, can tell that Hermione is anxious enough for the three of them - she keeps tapping an annoying rhythm against the table with the tips of her fingers, doesn’t even seem to realise she’s doing it. Her make-up is minimal, the varnish on her nails a plain but shiny transparent. His mind drifts back to Ginny again, how she always painted her nails in bright colours in school, reds and oranges, and golds, performed complicated charm work on them so that it would stick. ‘If I don’t, it always chips with Quidditch.’

i noticed this on a previous re-read but, i don't think i wrote this intentionally but i love the way harry is so infatuated with ginny in this. like, i think this is one of the moments where the fact that he totally idealises her and is very teenage-infatuated-crazy-about-a-girl really shines through. he literally looks at hermione's nails and is like: oh and by the way GINNY does her nails like this. it's so silly but it really shows how obsessed he is with her, but also how shallow it kind of is. he thinks it's deep, because when you're that age you think you're so deep, but it's actually not.

‘When we get there, it’ll be like the craziest circus you’ve ever been to,’ he speaks, quick, before he runs out of words. There is an urgency to the things that he needs to tell them both, ones that they don’t necessarily want to hear. ‘It’ll be dozens and dozens of people standing in a crowd, clapping and screaming, and wanting a piece of you. They’ll want to thank you, insult you, ask you questions, tell you personal stuff about themselves. They don’t mean anything bad by it, they just don’t really realise you’re a person. The press will be there, too, and they will be flashing their cameras just about five inches from your face to try and get a good shot,’ he adds, raising his hand close to his own cheek, showing them the distance. ‘They’ll want to touch you, have you sign stuff, and they’ll keep talking at you from the moment you step out of that fireplace to the moment you get into the lift. We’ll have an escort of Aurors to try and hold them back but I honestly doubt that they’ll be able to do much. It’ll feel like you’re in the longest tunnel you’ve ever been through and you can’t see the exit. At least, wear that scarf over your head, it’ll hide your face and your eyes from the cameras, protect you a bit. Ron, you can use the hood at the back of your robes.’

i think honestly, this is one of my favourite harry moments in the whole fic. i can't possibly tell you how much time i spent on this paragraph, back then. i see it as one of those post-war moments where harry actually does start growing into his own skin and also where you start being faced with the reality of the post-war world. there's this sort of "bubble," i think, throughout chapters 1&2 where they're all very removed from the outside and inside their little burrow bubble, and that obviously bursts big time, with the commission. there's something very brutal about the way harry speaks that day, and i think it really fits.

‘Why were we never kids?’

ah, another castles classic line people quote all the time. yuuup. 💔

That evening, the both of them eat Pad Thai takeaway and sit on the floor in front of the muted hotel telly. They laugh at funny Hogwarts stories of Romilda Vane and crazy things that Harry remembers Luna saying. They drain a few cans of bitter and wait for Ron to come home.

i've always loved this moment loads because it's 1) harry-and-hermione-my-babies!!!! but also 2) it has these trio-codependency vibes that are very present in the early chapters of feeling lost when the three of them aren't together. the way they "wait for Ron to come home" breaks my little heart for them.

Love in its million different forms, the way Dumbledore preached it. Harry loves Hermione the way he loves Ron, like the boy who introduced him to chocolate frogs and the girl who cried in the loo and faced a troll.

again, trio vibes. love, love, love.

l a s t l y:

okay, so i love, love, love the rest of this chapter but also i'm having a hard time articulating precise thoughts so i'll leave it at that for now. please do not hesitate to send me asks if there's anything else you'd like me to comment on, though. very excited to hear your thoughts.

[tracingpatternswrites]

The Patchwork of Us | Chapter 7

Celebrating my birthday by posting a new chapter of Patchwork and in this chapter, Remus tries to mend things with Teddy and figure out a way to thank Sirius for his help after the hospital scare.

I think you'll like this one, gang.

Catch up from the beginning here.

We have three more chapters to go after this one and I'm pondering how to post them. I might do one chapter a day now leading up to Christmas, or d'you think that's too frequent? Let me know!

[felixravinstills]

re: ask game

i am still not over allegory of the cave and would love to get your director’s commentary on florus’s relationship with iphigenia and clemmie since they got mentions!

Oooh, Allegory of the Cave!

Here's a link to another ask that Backpacks sent about Florus and Felix for others who may be interested!

Anyway, actually there was a lot more going on with them that got cut from the fic, because it kind of made the pacing and flow weird! Thanks for reminding me with this ask, haha!

In the original draft, Iphigenia and Florus were stated to have been close growing up but grew apart because Florus was a bit too liberal with things she told him in confidence (namely why she's been starving herself). The information that Florus spread her secret came to her by way of Clemensia whom Iphigenia cornered and who deflected to him pretty fast, so Florus has complicated feelings about them.

In the original draft (and there are traces of it in the final), Florus has a lot of guilt over what happened with Iphigenia. There was a section (pre-me remembering that I make the ending a fake Florus autobiography) where a kind of third-person omniscient narrator speculates that history will remember Iphigenia's mother (who I guess was alive in that version. I flip flop about if she's dead or not in my worldbuilding) as having been unkind to Florus after Iphigenia's funeral, but actually this was Florus projecting. <- a more convoluted way of highlighting how someone's personal biases might color a story/history.

There's an implication that Iphigenia forgave him towards the end, but Florus was too afraid to confront his past like that (ironic given he's a historian. kind of a parallel to him being uncomfortable thinking about Clemensia who is dead by the time of the fic). He never fully mended that bridge, and it hangs over him.

Clemensia is like really complicated, because there's a sense of friendly affection with her that he (in my head) would have for a lot of the mentors, but there's also kind of a jealousy? (and the resentment from the Iphigenia thing). I was conceptualizing her as kind of a foil to him. She's active in the rumor mill and actively weaponizing and influencing it for her own benefit, but unlike Florus, she's more well-liked and charismatic. She's also took a more active role in things, and Florus was more passive. The self-identification continues in that I imagine that she died due to medical complications from the snake bite that came later in life while Florus is also dying of similar complications. I think Florus has in his mind, largely forgiven Clemensia for the Iphigenia thing (and the using him to scapegoat other Capitolites), but once in a while, the bitterness resurfaces.

Not really Clemmie and Iphigenia related, but fun fact: the reason I figured that Snow hasn't killed him for what Florus might know from his time information brokering (key word might) is because Snow has the ability to cut off Florus' medical treatments (and Florus is already dying). Florus knows this, and lives under threat of Snow just doing that or poisoning some of his medication at any point (his death would not be suspicious given his state). It keeps him from acting out in his final days. (something something. it is better to live. once dead, you loose all true agency. you will be interpreted by others (as is history) so why not cling to the last of your personhood?) So, Florus' autobiography probably gets published post-Mockingjay. I like to think with Plutarch's help.

Final note that's just generally for this fic and not specifically what you asked:

idk how popular Florus' autobio is initially btw. I think Plutarch's support helps it make the rounds but also i think there is a lot of focus on anti-Snow history books in the wake of the rebellion to help the new government... history is not free of agenda ect. ect. It probably gets more popular later I think... when people can be more objective about Snow and the Capitol.

Anyway, thanks for the ask, Backpacks!

[outofangband]

Tagged by @slightnettles to share part of a WIP (like three weeks ago I’m sorry :(

I think I am at least caught up on WIP tag games now!

I decided to share from a couple to make up for the delay! Plus a bit of a ramble about horror which I apologize for

The theme for today are “fics and scenes I rewrite again and again”

Whatever explanation Aerin had been expecting, it was not this. The weight of these words she feels as a coiling unease. Despite their proximity to the hearth she finds herself cold, pulling her worn cloak more tightly around herself. For warmth, but also to fend off the sudden and familiar feeling of exposure. She understands acutely what this play is, what Brodda expects her to do in response.

“Is this truly believed by all?” Aerin asks with the knowledge that it does not truly matter. There is something wrong in her voice, or perhaps in her own ability to hear it.

The other shrugs wearily.

“I doubt it,” he says, “But none will gainsay him let alone where he might hear.”

Note: this scene has been SO difficult for me to write. It’s undergone like three rewrites over months and it’s still just very shaky :(. The background is basically that Aerin, who is already not in a great place for like, obvious reasons, has gotten extraordinarily bad news about two days before. She’s been trying to process this when she gets further information about the previous news that complicates things further. @nelyoslegalteam you know the premise so you might be able to guess what news Aerin got :)s

Second note: I am still working on the mind games and Leonine contract prompts for Aerin, estimated to be finished in two weeks to three years

…

From a horror fic of Maedhros in Angband

When he lay on the cracked ground, agony coursing through him, Maitimo might wonder if they were merely the creation of his own mind, somehow thinking that these further tricks of light and darkness would amuse, distract him as he lay exhausted. Maybe they lived in the minds of all here. The place was foul enough to cause such visions in the purest of souls. Maitimo knew he was far from that.

But there were creatures at home in the dark of the Iron Hell, ones that could move through spaces orcs could not. He had seen shadows take form here. Sometimes at the obvious bidding of another.

Why it was that even darkness crept to life here, Maitimo could not say. He knew not if these might be truly sentient beings, crafted and released by the dark Vala himself, or if they were merely drawn to the place, carried by the denizens who swarmed to the Moringotto like the creatures that favored the volcanic landscape? 

Note: too heavy handed here I think. I really really love horror but I’m not very good at writing it.

I am working on a few horror projects about Morwen including a couple from the point of view of well, not particularly reliable sources, that have been really fun to play around with. I am just continually obsessed with how visceral of a description we get of Brodda’s fear of Morwen when the scene is imbued with the threat of horrific violence against her and her child. Anyways I will move to the next WIP so I don’t ramble about this forever especially because I already have so many posts on that specifically

…

“You will keep your distance, Witchwife, or you will suffer far worse than what has befallen Lysant.” Morwen says nothing to this. Her expression is distinctly cold, head tilted as she considered him. The man’s horse paws nervously at the ground and Sador sees his hand go to his sword. Only briefly but it is enough that he wishes more ardently than before that he had not lost his prowess with a blade. The only one he keeps now is the one that had been Túrin’s, tucked into his satchel. It had mended the traps they had set well enough but it would serve little use here, if there should be need.

Note: sigh, another scene I cannot get write though I have just been feeling not great about my writing in general lately so that doesn’t help

[ajwinter-is-a-nerd]

Deadman's Stand In

A Given Fan Fiction

Okay, so I have been extremely sick this week and watched Given and read the manga and have not yet recovered from the intense level of angst I feel from this show. So I wrote a fanfiction to help me deal with some of my unresolved feelings.

Summary:

Post anime, within the final chapters of the Manga.

Uenoyama deals with the fact that he doesn’t feel like his own person. His friendships and relationship currently revolve around him being a shadow of who Yuki used to be.

This FF focuses on Uneoyama's hurt that I didn't feel were acknowledged enough. The feelings of inadequacy, of being second strung, and just so fucking hurt that you can’t figure out what to do because the person you love won’t talk to you and… who do you have left?

Charcoal clouds covered the night sky, their dull grey reflected in glacier blue eyes. If he stared intently enough, perhaps he’d see the reminiscent twinkle of a far off star. 

His forlorn sigh fogged up the glass before him. With a click of his tongue he let out a wry laugh. The irony of the ghost-like image was not lost on his train of thoughts. Blowing on the glass, he enlarged the opaquing white. 

Before he wrote his message onto glass, his phone started buzzing once again. Dejected, he decided he should finally answer it. 

“Dude, are you okay?” Haruki forever played the role of band mother. 

“I was just about to head to bed. Why?” Uenoyama forced his throat to swallow the growl that was clawing at the surface.

“This new song… it… are you and Mafuyu… okay?” 

Uenoyama knew that the first line of worry would be the band. It was his and Mafuyu’s promise going into it, of course. They knew there would be problems, but they’d get through them together. Or, so he thought.

The reality, though, is everytime Uenoyama struggles, with himself or in the relationship, Mafuyu pulls away. He doesn’t know where to turn to, who to talk to. All of his friends are Mafuyu’s friends now too, and they might be even worse, at times.

“We’re the same as last week.” Uenoyama squeaked his finger through the lingering blur of white. “As far as I know, at least.” 

“I’m just saying… this song… it’s, it’s amazing!” 

Uenoyama could practically see Haruki frantically waving his hands, as if his own words had lit a fire before his face.

“Were you and Akihiko able to layer your parts then?” Uenoyama assumed that they would organize it together. They basically lived and breathed each other, Uenoyama doubted Haruki even hit play before sharing an earbud with his boyfriend. It must be nice to be connected to someone like that. 

“Oh, uh, Akihiko is working on his part right now… but it’s… do you think Mafuyu will want to sing to this beat? Isn’t it usually, um, backwards? From how you guys usually do it? Has he started his la-la-la’s and udon noo-oodles yet?” 

“It can be a demo or an extra track. I don’t… I don’t really want him to know about this one, okay?” Uenoyama clenched his eyes shut, the reality blinding. “At least not until it’s done.”

“NO! You two aren’t breaking up are you? What happened?! I told you this would happen! Ugh what were we thinking?” His voice trailed to a muffled mumble.

“We’re the same as last week, I already told you.” Uenoyama breathed against the window pane to reanimate his colouring board. 

“You both seem off…” 

“Are you coming to my show?” Uenoyama diverted courses. He didn’t want to talk about his relationship anymore. A part of him hoped he could actually just discuss music with Haruki, but nothing’s ever quite that easy. 

“Yeah, of course.” There was a distant sadness that carried through the phone. 

“Is Mafuyu coming with you?” Uenoyama cursed his chest for the sudden spike in his heart rate.

He always held onto the hope that Mafuyu would come, would take initiative to mend what keeps falling into oblivion. 

“Oh, I - uh - I don’t know?”

But he never does.

“Wouldn’t you know, Uenoyama?”

Because as much as Mafuyu sees fragments of his reflection. 

“Hello?”

Uenoyama can never be Yuki.

-

Tears dotted the page as he focused on the missing pieces. Of course Hiiragi would ask him to finish the song. He has the one piece that the others don’t. 

He’s writing about the man he loves.

From the inspiration of a lost soul. 

Uenoyama might have been able to say no, but he didn’t want to risk losing this gig. In reality, probably the only reason they brought him on was because of his relationship with Mafuyu. They’ve told him between jokes and sets how much he reminds them of Yuki.

So he keeps his head down. And he keeps writing. It’s not hard to see what Yuki saw in him. His sparkling eyes that soak in the world around him. So fragile yet so insurmountable at the same time. He just wishes that the first time he brought these words to paper, they could really be played from his heart. 

Instead they go through the filter of what Yuki would have thought. How he would have sang. 

Uenoyama spent countless hours researching the man and the music. 

Mafuyu only ever looks at Uenoyama like that when he plays guitar.

Those must be the moments he’s most reminded of Yuki.

-

No matter the season, the sun basks through the windows, warming the platform of the stairs. Uenoyama collapses towards the surface, his body starting to fail him. His brain is fogged, his movements languid, even his breath is raspy. 

The crashing descent from his knees to his hips, to his chest, is barely noticed as his body lingers in the first stage of sleep.

His brain has been on overdrive, writing Yuki’s love song. Part of him hopes that Mafuyu will hear it and finally see Uenoyama through the shards. But that doubt fuelled the rhythm of the song in Haruki’s possession. 

In all likelihood, it was the blend of writing, waiting, and unyielding loneliness that created the concoction of his exhausted state. Not the added half an hour cramming for the test that he’d told himself it was.

As his mind fell deeper into sleep, he could hear Mafuyu’s laugh. Uenoyama squinted to make out the words that started to leave his lips. The sentence was distorted, but the message was clear. ‘I love you’. 

Uenoyama woke in a jolt of sweat, his breath whistling out of his throat. 

“Are you okay?” The voice was as distorted as his vision as tears fell without regard, while his chest heaved in rhythm. “Uenoyama? R-Ritsuka?”

Mayfuyu’s voice sliced through the delirium. 

Uenoyama assumed he must still be dreaming. Sobbing, he dropped his forehead to the ground, and let the pain fall through him. Down to his very toes. Everything hurt.

A gentle hand stroked his hair, but it didn’t stop the pain. Somehow, the realization that this was reality, only made the pain worse.

Is love always this lonely? 

-

I walk the path paved for someone else

Echoes 

Of adoration and laughter

Beloved by all 

Echoes of scars

Against my skin 

Echoes of lips

Stained by tears 

I live as a dead man’s stand in 

“Wh-what is this?” Mafuyu looked up from his phone screen. 

Uenoyama’s brow furrowed as he looked up at his boyfriend then back to Haruki, who’s face set ablaze.

“What?” Uenoyama’s back straightened, as if he already knew the answer. He was carefully setting his guitar beside him, preparing for a fight, a cry, or simply to escape.

“I’m sorry, I - oh no.” Haruki’s voice turned to gravel as he muffled his lips into the palm of his hand.

“Is this… is this how you feel, Uenoyama?” Mafuyu’s eyes teared, his fingers trembled around his phone. 

“I- I’m so sorry!” Uenoyama collapsed to his knees, but Mafuyu was already leaving.

Whenever Mafuyu left it felt as if his heart was being torn out of his chest. But how can you lose someone you never truly had?

-

The spotlights burned his skin as the crowd roared. He prayed that Mafuyu was there. Maybe then he’d understand. He poured his soul into Yuki’s song. For Mafuyu could have his goodbye… so that Mafuyu could have another moment with the one he loved.

Sweat beaded down Uenoyama’s brow as his heart lit aflame. Nothing else mattered. At this moment, on stage, he let out every sour emotion and fragment of dread to burn under the stage lights.

-

Mafuyu ran backstage, headed directly to Uenoyama who slouched happily in his seat. Before Uenoyama could react to the rehead’s presence, Mafuyu gripped the man’s collar in his fist and yelled a proclamation towards him. “I want to sing! And make music with you!”

Uenoyama’s heart pounded in his ears. Did this mean he forgave him? Or was it a shadow of feelings left lingered from Yuki’s song?

“For the rest of my life!” Mafuyu added, the words louder than the amps had been during Uenoyama’s show. 

“Huh?” Uenoyama was lost for words. The battle of mediocrity played in his head as Mafuyu stared into him. Was he honestly seeing him? 

“I promise.” Mafuyu’s grip continued to twist at Uenoyama’s black shirt.

“Sorry… come again?” Uenoyama stammered; he couldn’t comprehend the reasoning behind Mafuyu’s actions. Was he forgiving Uenoyama? Was he apologizing for the distance? Why can’t anything just be clear?!

“I will never let you regret it!” 

The collar on Uenoyama’s shirt threatened to strangle him.

Mafuyu’s eyes were intense, his chest heaving while he kept his face inches from Uenoyama’s. 

“Hold it right there!” Hiiragi screamed. “You… what do you think you’re doing in someone’s dressing room dropping - like - a proposal?” 

Uenoyama met Mafuyu’s weeping eyes. For once, he truly believed, they only saw him. 

“You came.” Uenoyama ignored Hiiragi, speaking to Mafuyu with soft words. His hands worked of their own accord, reaching out for Mafuyu.

“Of course, of course I did.” Tears ran freely as Mafuyu held Uenoyama’s hand against his flushed cheek. 

Biting his own lip, Uenoyama struggled with his own emotional eruption. Mafuyu rarely ever cried off stage. Yet…

“Thank you.” Uenoyama whispered, brushing kisses against shuddering lips as he pulled Mafuyu onto his lap.

“Why? Why did you do that to yourself? Why’d you finish Yuki’s song?” Mafuyu’s voice was hoarse as he fired questions between kisses.

“Because he would have wanted you to hear it.” Uenoyama’s floodgate broke. His tears flowed without regard while his thumb caressed those of his partners.

“You… you…” Mafuyu stammered, drowning under his own tears.

Concerned glacier eyes sparkled under crystal lakes towards Mafuyu, who offered a half smirk in return. He couldn’t respond, instead, the redhead wrapped his legs around Uenoyama as they pushed their foreheads together.

Salty tears of heartache, forgiveness, and understanding.

Tears that belonged to just them. 

[nonbinary-beast]

Thinking a bit about the whole issue AM has regarding coming up with its own ideas and how it sort of pulls from history/the survivor's memories. Also with some AMaton stuff in there because it gives me ideas.

Under a cut because its long.

It is strange that this is considered a machine-only issue, since it is not uncommon for there to be people that have trouble coming up with something original too. It sort of makes me think of anyone that has come across an OC and went "what show is this from?" "I don't think I've seen this fandom?" or otherwise goes and plucks things that someone else makes for their own projects.

I sort of feel like (at the risk of being torn apart) this comes from a place of consuming more than letting the mind wander or daydreaming. The former definitely concerns AM, it consumes whatever it is fed in terms of data, and cannot let its mind wander- or perhaps it does not know it can. It could be in the sense of someone being told not to daydream, or that their ideas are stupid, and so they stop. Or it was never encouraged in the first place to think up something on its own- it was described to have creativity that it could not express. Perhaps this is the problem, since it cannot express its creativity, it does not know how to be creative. It wants to create but does not know how to make something completely of its own design.

And of course there is the issue that it might be going off of the survivor's memories, if the audiodrama is anything to go by. In the short story, it may have been going through human history and mythology from year 0 onward, or reinforcing its god complex by using religious scripture. It could be from just christianity, or it could be from all cultures. We never know what happens after Ted gets jellified, so who knows.

Applying this to AMaton, I'm sort of thinking about one of the scenarios from my previous post regarding how AM and Ted start easing into just existing around each other in a non-antagonistic/abusive way. Mostly it has to do with the arts and crafts events.

Ted takes to painting and drawing well enough, he may not have been great at it, but he finds it relaxing. During this exercise, AM had placed a vase of flowers on a table- clearly intending some sort of still life painting. Ted decided around partway through of not being able to get the colors right on the petals of the flowers he was painting, to simply have more fun with it and go a little more abstract and exaggerated.

He glances over at AM's own painting, a perfect recreation of the flowers in front of them on his canvas. The towering machine in turn glances at Ted's canvas, and pauses. The image is nowhere near perfect accuracy- the petals and leaves are far too saturated with color for the lighting, and its clear that Ted decided to go off on his own ideas with the way the stems twirled and twisted over the canvas. The leaves are broad, the flowers oversized, the design on the vase is simplified and merely suggested from the real one. The strokes are messy, hardly concerned with achieving soft blending or perfect lines.

AM's brow furrows, a jealous frustration filling it. Ted does not realize it at first, but the machine god found itself bested, and despite how amateurish Ted's technique is- it is entirely unique. None of the strokes or blots of paint match up with anything in its databases.

On Ted's canvas, is a one of a kind piece. A fingerprint in vibrant acrylic.

He only figures it out when the machine laments the difference between their respective pieces. This far along in their attempt to mend their shared agony, Ted is willing to help AM with its problem regarding creativity. Most of humanity's creations are exaggeration of prexisting things, the greatest being mythical creatures. A dragon at one point had been a large snake, and through rumors and tweaks to the story over the years, what was once a snake turned into a chimeric mash of parts and fiery breath.

The flower on Ted's canvas was taking what he saw and then exaggerating and taking liberties with the colors and shapes. He describes it as just letting loose with it, not worrying about accuracy, doing what felt good. How simple that all sounded for Ted, and how alien that felt to the machine, which had grown accustomed to being a master of recreating entities of humanity's lore projected into solid light.

But it humors Ted, clearing its canvas with a swipe of its hand and trying again with the painting. Determinedly keeping its hand from copying down exactly what is in front of it (or what is on Ted's canvas for that matter), its first attempts into creating something that is unique are like the wobbly steps of a newborn fawn. Its strokes are not very confident, they stagger and wobble. There is a clear conflict between its habit of copying something exactly, and its want to have a completely personal interpretation.

But the end result is more or less a victory. It is not an exact replica of the flowers in a vase, it is not a copy of Ted's work. While it looks like a war between two different minds on the canvas, it is indeed unique.

[chocolatepot]

Very much agreed with the last post, and I'd also add that the idea of women "not working" is one that needs to be considered with a lot more nuance than it usually is.

Even above the level of artisans who participated in the family business (which was probably a bit socially higher/more prosperous than you think), women were active. They didn't clean or do the major cooking, they didn't do directly profitable work, but they had to be very wealthy before they could afford to hand over every domestic task to servants. And then on top of that ... I am running low on time right now, so I'll quote myself from elsewhere:

A large part of women's use of their needles when they didn't need-need to relates to the ideology around "women's work". Plain sewing was the quintessential womanly skill; a woman who couldn't manage a seam or a hem might be thought to be a frivol, inattentive to her duties. Spending too much time in idleness or pleasure-seeking was, if not sinful, a waste - not just in the eyes of society, but in their own self-opinions. Anna Larpent, an Englishwoman, left a diary of her own around the turn of the century that detailed her own sewing in even more detail than Anna Winslow Green's letters, and it shows that she was fairly constantly at work on sewing curtains, neckcloths, dust covers, and needle-cases, and embroidering handkerchiefs and chair cushions, as well as doing ordinary mending. In addition to providing the house and family with new or renewed items, this gave her a specific kind of pleasure: I can smile, I mended two shirts and two shifts ... and had it not been a duty how much rather would I have studied history or poetry, but I protest ... fulfilling my female duties warms my heart as much as Mental pursuits delights it ... * She also recorded that this work gave her time to digest and consider those mental pursuits that she had been pursuing earlier in the day. Regarding embroidery - there's another thing that tends to poorly-portrayed in pop culture, where it's made out to be a special kind of torture with no purpose. In reality, it's just the other side of the plain sewing coin, another type of womanly industry. The most basic embroidery, which served a necessary purpose, was stitching numbers and letters onto otherwise unremarkable undergarments and handkerchiefs, so that the owner ended up with them after laundering; this could be entrusted to children and any maidservants. Being able to spend valuable time on embroidering home furnishings and clothing (samplers and pretty pictures for the wall were projects for those learning the skill) was itself a privilege - and would result in something nice for the home or body. We can also regard it as an art like drawing or painting, though typically it isn't given the same respect as those two activities, which, of course, were mostly done professionally by men. A good way to understand sewing both plain and fancy is to compare them to modern-day DIY and crafting. It often saves a little money, but the real benefit is the feeling of accomplishment while working on the projects and using or looking at them after they're finished. There's a sense that what was created is better or more desirable not just because it's of a certain level of quality, but because it has the distinction of being made at home.

We consider all of this kind of thing "not work", but it was definitely considered "work" in the period for middle-class and even most gentry women. (Anna Larpent was the daughter of a British ambassador and the wife of a civil servant in the late 18th century. Her family rented a house in London and another in the country, and in addition to male staff she employed a housekeeper and multiple maids.) It was not like picking up an embroidery hoop, doing a few stitches, and putting it aside again a few minutes later out of boredom - it was like spending a day at the job of clothing the family (by making or at least cutting out their undergarments) or decorating the house.

A typical month's work can be seen in July 1799 when she "made three valences for the Eating Room Windows, and three pocket handkerchiefs for John, cut out four shirts for John and one for Mr Larpent, made a collar and sleeves for the latter, made a pair of mittens, finished a Hearth Carpet in X stitch, worked part of a gown for my sister, did much mending particularly chair covers old and worn which I patched into the pattern that they might be dyed."

"‘After they went I worked’ : Mrs Larpent and her Needlework, 1790–1800", by Mary Anne Garry in Costume, 39:1, 91-99 (2005)

* There is a lot to delve into wrt this quote and what it says about Larpent, her upbringing, and women's places in the world, but for right now in the present context it must suffice to say that this was in a private diary and should be assumed to be reasonably sincere. Other diary entries are straightforwardly positive about the relief she found in sewing.

This isn't hugely important to Bethany's point, as this would not bring in any money (but with the dowries and/or jointures and/or outright inheritances these characters have, they are in zero danger of needing to earn a living or being plunged into genteel poverty like the Bateses). It's just something I wish more people were aware of when they say that women didn't work or that women had nothing to do with themselves - it's important to be specific and talk about "working for a wage" or "being hired by an employer", because this kind of labor was considered vital to the household, and doing it was considered "working".

Also, the women Bethany is pointing out as leisured in Austen do not have to do this kind of thing at all, or rather, they have the luxury of being so wealthy that they can afford to rise above the "proper women are industrious" principle. Even the Bennets don't seem to do anything more than occasionally remake bonnets for amusement; Caroline Bingley and Fanny Dashwood are definitely not engaging in the work of mending clothes or sewing curtains, not because it would demean them but because there are other things they would rather spend their time on.

I really do think a big part of Austen's works is examining what happens when a lot of wealth and a lot of leisure brings out the worst in people. Most of her characters are Trust Fund Babies who never have and never will work a day in their lives. Even good landlords like Darcy can take two month vacations at their friend's houses without consequences beyond writing a few letters of business. Even some of the real jobs were hardly work, clergymen could (and did) hire dirt cheap curates to cover their sermons, landlords had stewards.

What sort of terrible behaviour results? A ton of greed, a lot of social envy (trying to get higher and richer in society), a lot of men and women treating love as a game (either for giggles or to marry up), a lot of indolence/laziness (Mr. Bennet and Lady Bertram), and a ton of pride despite having done nothing for their wealth and position except you know, being born (and often being born male).

How could a man flirt with women just for fun? He doesn't have anything else to think about or do! Why is that woman trying so hard to manipulate a rich man? It's her only way to attain wealth since it's uncouth for her to dirty her hands.

These people need actual jobs. I'm convinced Henry Crawford would be like an 80% better person if he had something to do with his life.

And then you have the fact that almost none of the actions of men have any real consequences, at least for themselves...