#i'm not trying to call anyone out in specific.

[karthara]

Ok, first of all, uncharitable take here. Fuck you. Don't bully queer people you think are 'weird'. Calling a group weird and obsessive and suggesting that they were once harry potter fans at some point if they are like this is mean. You are implying a threat to cut them out of the queer community by phrasing it like that. Exclusionists suck, don't be one, queer people have enough enemies. Now that I have that out of my system.

While I hate that woman as much as the next queer person, why do you have an issue with using a cultural touchstone as a way to understand the self and connect with other people? Maybe I'm getting caught up on the 'for preteens' bit here. It feels a bit too much like all the people who think you should quietly exit fandom once you hit the 20-25 age range and settle down and pop out and raise babies for the rest of your life instead of having interests and hobbies. I understand a dislike of commercial properties and not wanting to be chained to someone who can be easily swayed by profit margins, but I feel part of being in fandom spaces is delving into the stories and world building and picking up bits you love and letting ideas that may be new to you expand your understanding of the world. To me it doesn't matter if the stories in question were written a long time ago and some 'smart educated' people decided they were worthy or if it's some fan fiction someone threw up on the internet on a drunken whim. If you find a story that evokes thought and feeling, isn't that a good thing? Maybe it's my mental health issues, but I don't see any problem with clinging to something that brings you joy if you're not hurting someone else. Maybe because I was bullied a lot as a child I'm overreacting here, but just… why do you feel the need to needle people you think are being 'weird'? I know we all feel like we're safe here under our rock on the tumblrs, but it's still a public forum. The things you say do reach other people. Honestly you sound like someone who just turned 18 and is desperately trying to prove how 'adult' you are by setting aside anything fun. Why do you feel the need to try and lift yourself up by putting other people down? Because that's what you are doing here. Good for you if you're 'too grown up' to get into 'children's stories', but please don't shit on those of us who find something to enjoy. If people want to find or make a flag that is specifically for their lived experience, is that harming anyone? No. Let people have fun with things.

do you think that a certain genre of queer person is so obsessively weird about pride flag discourse becuase their flags fill the gaping hole in their personality where a hogwarts house used to be

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

--

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

--

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

[yjhariani]

Ghost X gn!reader (CoD X SCP)

You're an MTF soldier. They had to give you amnestics, but it went wrong and made you forget ever meeting your significant other. Was it actually just an accident or was there something more? (no promise of making this a series, but I'm trying).

Angst but not really.

Once Simon got the call, he knew something bad happened.

It was not your number. It was not your voice that called from the other side. Being in roughly the same field as you, he knew what this call meant.

Bad news.

Even though Simon personally had never made this kind of call before, he had been there a few times when his colleagues had to. Price dominantly.

All the calls were the result of one specific event. Death of a soldier.

So, Simon did not even let the caller finish their first sentence. He cut them off with a simple, “I’ll be there,” before hanging up.

Simon considered putting on his uniform, but he realised that where you work, everything was classified. It would be no use hiding himself because they knew who everybody was anyway. He was especially attached to you and he knew that meant the place you worked at probably knew what he ate for breakfast better than he himself did.

Once arriving at your base, Simon was not even surprised that one mention of your name got him rushed straight to the base hospital.

As of now, Simon had not decided what to feel. He just kept walking, following this person who took him to the dark part of the hospital. However, he accepted that he felt the slight confusion tugging at his mind when they continued walking pass instead of walking into the morgue.

Even so, Simon kept his words behind his tongue.

Soon, they reached a thick, barred, metal double door with two securities standing in front of them. The person leading their way only mentioned your name before the security officers—if that was what they were—unbarred the door and opened it.

Simon’s guide turned to face him and quietly, as if they were not supposed to make a noise here, said, “I don’t have clearance for this level, but you will see your partner’s Team Leader.”

With an understanding nod, Simon walked through the door into a short, dim-lit tunnel. At the end of it, a twin hospital door stood. From here, it looked like a regular hospital, only it was placed underground and had barely anyone inside.

Inside, stood awaiting, a soldier still in field uniform. She looked quite messy. It made Simon wonder if he had looked that messy when something this horrible happened to him in the field. Whatever this something was.

Seeing Simon, that older woman walked up to him and nodded, rubbing her hands nervously.

“Ghost,” she greeted. “Or do you prefer Lieutenant Riley?”

Outside his uniform? Both sounded bad. Simon was here for you. He could not care less what people address him with.

“Are they in one piece?” Simon asked right away.

Just after saying the question, it registered in Simon’s mind that he had been thinking that it must have been so bad that they had to bring him into this super-secure underground hospital just to ID you.

Connecting the dots, the woman scrunched her eyebrows as her head tilted slightly to the side.

“They’re not dead,” she said. “I tried to tell you in the call, but you didn’t seem to be taking any explanation.”

They’re not dead, Simon repeated in his head. A bleed of warmth grew in his chest.

“However,” the woman continued, “on our mission, something terrible has happened. Out of the five of us, only your partner and I made it out.”

Simon did not react. He did not say anything. He did not move a muscle.

“Your partner… needed amnestics administered in their system. We did—uh… we were in the middle of administering the amnestics when,” the woman took a deep breath and sighed, “we had a breach in the facility.”

There came a halt as the woman flipped through the words in her mind.

“We successfully administered the amnestics,” the woman stated. “Just… not the correct one.”

This time, a spasm came about Simon's forehead.

“Usually, we don’t share this detail, but your partner is very important to us and we respect them, so we are telling you this,” she paused before continuing, “What we initially intended to modify was the events of the last two days, but… with the breach happening, everything went, uh… out of our hands. Your partner has lost… the memory of all that happened in the past two years.”

It took a moment to sink in Simon’s head. Once it did, all he thought about was that he met you a little bit less than two years ago.

Simon was just about to meet the 141 at a pub when the whole area was suddenly secured. There were soldiers from the Foundations all over the place and they clocked them instantly. They asked for their assistance on a job that Simon did not have the memory of any more. One of the Foundations’ soldiers he worked with was you.

It was not the worst of missions that the 141 was able to not get amnestic administered—at least that they knew of. So, that meant Simon got to keep your memory. The two of you had not stopped talking since.

The thought of having himself removed from your memory at once made warmth that bled in Simon’s chest froze in an instant.

“I know how much they mean to you and we can offer to have you—”

Knowing what she wanted to say, Simon immediately cut her off with, “Where are they?”

With so, the woman led Simon to a room. She opened the door for him, but did not step in.

Stepping in with a heavy heart, Simon eventually saw you. You were sitting on the hospital bed, an IV plugged into the back of your hand, and several recent injuries were painted on you.

In your hands, Simon saw a familiar white envelope. Then, he saw that you finally looked at him. No smile. No recognition.

“Are you Simon?” you asked.

“I am,” was all that Simon managed to say.

“They told me,” you nodded before lightly waving the envelope in your hands. “Two weeks to go, huh? Guess you’d want to call off the wedding?”

Bullets in his flesh felt like nothing compared to what Simon just heard coming out of your mouth.

Stepping closer, Simon exhaled. He glanced at the wedding invitation in your hand, seeing that it was addressed to ORCA. You said it was your Team Leader, who Simon guessed was also the one to give you that invitation. The woman who Simon just saw.

“If you want to call it off, we call it off,��� Simon did not even believe he said that, but refused to show that.

“You sound like you don't want to?” you asked.

Simon looked at you, lightly raising an eyebrow.

“I mean… I don’t know who you are,” you said. “I think?”

For a while, Simon only looked at you. What you had on your face was not your lying face. It was not a joke. It was real. You did not remember him at all.

There came the moment when the two of you said nothing, hardly looking at each other. Then, you stretched an arm out to the side table and lifted your phone.

“I read our texts, saw our pictures,” you said. “You seemed to be my everything.”

If he could, Simon would punch something so hard right now.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly said once seeing how Simon’s subtle reactions were. “I… I’m just trying to figure things out.”

“‘s all right,” Simon nodded, understanding.

You tried a thin, apologetic smile.

“Must be hard for you,” you said.

Another long pause came in between you both.

“Do you want to hug me?” you offered, arms lightly opened.

Usually, you did not even have to ask and Simon would just come right at you. However, it took a lot for Simon to hold himself back when you saw him as a stranger.

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” you cut him off. “Maybe it’ll feel familiar, I don’t know. If you want to.”

After a moment of consideration, Simon carefully approached you. Even though he moved slowly and with care, once the two of you got close enough, you attached yourselves to each other like magnets. Your arms lightly wrapped around each other before, as if there was a whirlpool in between you that pulled your cores, your arms tightened around each other.

The only reason Simon released you was because you let out a slightly uncomfortable exhale.

“Apologies,” Simon said, thinking he might have hugged you too tightly.

“No, it’s alright,” you replied.

Another moment passed with the two of you just looking at each other. It was apparent that you were studying him.

“At some point I’m going to have to be released from here,” you brought up. “Can I go home with you?”

“Sure you’re alright with that?” Simon asked.

“Are you?” you asked back.

Simon almost said ‘Totally!’ but then, he kept getting reminded that he was just a stranger to you and he was not always good with that type of relationship. Strangers tended to see him and avoided him, praying to never make eye contact with him.

However, you seemed genuine. He still saw the kindness and the shimmer in your eyes even though it was different from how you looked at him last–two weeks ago.

So, Simon said, “Yeah.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” you added eagerly. “If you don’t have the space, I don’t–”

“We just bought a house,” Simon almost excitedly replied.

“Oh,” you responded.

“We,” Simon hesitated to continue, “we adopted this devilish cat not long ago and he already pissed on everything.”

For the first time after Simon saw you laugh a couple of weeks ago, he saw you letting out a chuckle. For a second, Simon almost forgot that something bad had happened to you.

“I can help you clean up if you let me stay in your house,” Simon almost did not hear you say.

Our house, Simon wanted to say, but refused to.

“So… can I?” you asked.

“Already said yes,” Simon reminded.

“Okay,” you nodded.

No words were exchanged for some time after that.

“Are you staying here long? I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little,” you said.

Simon let a small smile bloom on his face.

“You said that once,” Simon said, pulling a chair before he sat on it next to your bed.

[crooked-wasteland]

I'm not going to post the whole thing because it just trails off into irrelevance and I'm not here to platform strawman arguments, so here's the relevant part:

This is what we call perspective taking. Because if you notice, no one is talking about Limbus but rather clowning on how the fans are clutching their pearls over the fact that Alex Brightman signed a piece of paper and it hurt Medrano's feelings, so this somehow must be some nefarious action and Brightman, a grown man, is now a victim of some kind. It's hilarious.

That isn't to say I don't have opinions on Limbus. Bringing a printout of their video thumbnail and having that in specific get signed with the text "I made this" being, frankly, weird. That's weird. That's really weird.

But everyone in this scenario is equally weird. Fans are weird for infantilizing a grown man. Limbus is weird for their actions. And Medrano is weird for thinking she's friends with her employees.

Alex Brightman is a grown, adult man who has many years of experience with handling fans and requests that make him uncomfortable. He has always been reasonably vocal about things not sitting right with him for whatever reason, including something as banal as "This could be used against my character potentially". He has always been generally selective and conscientious of the repercussions of such things.

I don't like how it appears Limbus used this in some way to try and co-opt Brightman's allegiances. Whether that was not the intention, or maybe it was. It seems weird to post that so publicly as well. Implying that, yes, Limbus did do this as a way of manipulating a storyline.

At the same time, people saying Brightman was coerced into signing it is hilarious and the narrative around Medrano and her employees being "friends" is frankly demented. You cannot be friends with your boss, truly, until money is not a factor in the relationship. The fact that Medrano is friends with all her important employees, and yet whenever someone stopped being her employee she also was no longer friends with them is something that is going to come up.

If all your friendships are tied to who you are paying, you don't have friends. In some ways I feel bad for her in how she obviously thinks she can pay people to be her friend. And in a way this shows her that calling anyone who you are paying a "friend" is not mentally good for really anyone. She'll find out who her real friends are when she no longer signs their paychecks.

But you should maybe slow down and really look at what's being said by people. No one here has actually said that Alex Brightman agrees with Limbus. All we said was that if such an action made him uncomfortable, he has shown previously that he is willing to speak up about that and even refuse.

The overall consensus is the reality that this man does not give any care to whatever dumpster fire the fandom is currently fanning. He's doing his job. It's not personal.

[battlefrankies]

saw ur tags, wanted to give some context because you do bring up some interesting points!

newkama as a term is a combination of okama (a reclaimed pejorative that refers to drag queens/transvestites, who don't always identify as women) and newhalf (a term some trans women celebrities used to refer to themselves in the 90s, but today i've seen most trans women prefer to just be called women) (and the word for trans people in japan today is just english loanwords, literally just 'trans' and 'transgender', so the terminology has evolved)

the newkama and especially iva-chan's impel down group see themselves not as specifically drag queens or trans women, but as people who've transcended the restrictions of gender entirely. they do tap into that campy drag aesthetic though, like you can clearly see the rocky horror influence on ivankov's designs. i think it's a mistake to try and apply concrete labels that we see constantly online to this group (and also, lgbt people in general). oda isn't on twitter reading about how gen Z kids on tiktok want to be portrayed, he's talking to real-life people he meets, but also mostly he's drawing one piece and playing gacha games.

even on momoiro island when they were trying to put sanji in a dress, i think it's important to point out that sanji agreed to that training regimen and discussed it with iva-chan in order to get stronger; he could've left at any time. imo the optics for that section weren't ideal, but it emphasizes the freedom of expression for the newkama who live on that island. there's no pressure to conform to rigid standards of femininity when they're safe and comfortable having body hair and square jaws, but they just wanna wear a frilly dress too. ivankov could (and would) physically alter anyone's body at any point they wanted, but the newkama of the kamabakka kingdom felt no need for that.

are there better ways to portray that? for sure! i'm not mad about oda imperfectly supporting the lgbt community in a time & media environment that was either dismissive or downright hostile to trans people though. it was, again, head and shoulders above pretty much any shonen that was being published at the time. personally, i like that there's such a diversity of trans experiences being depicted in the series with so much affection, to the point where each time sanji said or did anything transphobic, he'd get punished for it. you can truly tell that oda thinks it's dope as fuck that people can just trans their genders, and to me that matters more than optically perfect trans women.

giselle gewelle from bleach, for example, being a really cute trans girl who is also evil, and whose trans identity is openly insulted by a protagonist and also she dies, in 2013. oda having the newkama not just be empowered, heroic characters but also living and thriving on their own island was basically unheard of at a time when 'bury your gays' was so prevalent it's got a tvtropes page. and it's not just that these heroic characters happen to be trans, their establishment of a supportive community in impel down is the REASON luffy could be saved.

i think a lot of people criticize the trans representation in OP in bad faith without context or any intention of trying to understand the context, but i don't take them seriously. the reason we're even talking about the supportive but flawed 2009 trans rep in one piece is because OP has so much staying power and influence in the cultural consciousness. i think it's fair to be uncomfortable with aspects of it, and that speaks to how far we've come since then, which is a good thing. i think the intent of these characters & oda's stance on trans rights couldn't be more clear though.

the trans representation in one piece is phenomenal actually

[demo-whale]

Neil’s Photos

I'm still on my reposting spree! I did love these hc lists I guess. I like to think that Neil absolutely covers the walls of his apartment in pictures because it reminds him that he has family now, especially after Andrew gifts him a camera. So I present to you, pictures that can be found around the Josten-Minyard apartment:

There are so many pictures of the cats

Just the cats sunbathing in the window, playing with their toys, eating

One picture that Andrew really loves of Sir and King in the bath. Sir looks absolutely content and relaxed, but King is NOT having it

Neil managed to catch one of King jumping off the counter and at Nicky when he was visiting

Nicky is in the process of running away and King looks vicious

There’s (obviously) a ton of exy-related pictures, even though it’s hard for Neil to have his camera during practice and after games

One of Matt smiling at Neil behind the camera and pointing to the scoreboard of a game they won

One of Allison carrying an exhausted Renee bridal style off the court. They’re both smiling ever so softly at each other

One of Nicky and Aaron clacking sticks in lieu of high-fiving

There are at least five pictures of Andrew staring menacingly at the camera (Neil) from the goal

There’s one where Kevin is perched atop Matt’s shoulders during practice looking absolutely goofy, something he doesn’t often look during exy practices

One of Allison and Nicky hip-bumping after SLAYING their homophobic opponents

(Neil got that one from the sidelines after getting benched for punching said homophobic opponents)

One of Kevin and Wymack tearfully embracing after Kevin won his last game at PSU

One of all of them (the original nine) at the girls' last game

Allison is holding Renee’s hand and holding Seth's jersey in the other, Kevin is sandwiched in between the twins, Nicky and Neil have their arms around each other, and Dan and Matt are laying on their sides in front of the group

There’s one of Kevin fist-bumping Neil at one of their late night practices, and they both look so happy (Andrew took it from the bleachers but if anyone asks he denies and says it must have been the phantom of the exy stadium)

There are also a bunch of miscellaneous photos from their time at PSU

Kevin passed out in the booth at Eden’s

Andrew eating the last of Neil’s ice cream at Sweetie’s and flipping off the camera

Kevin and Andrew studying together

Aaron and Katelyn holding hands on the sidewalk

Nicky and Allison gossiping while baking cookies

Matt giving Dan a kiss on the cheek on the dorm couch

There’s one picture of everyone laying on the ground sleeping after one of their impromptu movie nights and sleep overs

The girls painting each other’s nails

Renee and Andrew sparring-Neil likes this specific one because Renee looks particularly badass (he warms up to Renee and watches them pretty regularly to try and pick up some moves)

Kevin flipping Aaron the bird while simultaneously laughing at something he said

Everyone smiling at the camera from the dinner table at Abby’s house for Thanksgiving

One of Andrew on the roof, illuminated only by the moon and his cigarette lighter, with his hair rumpled and he’s looking less apathetic than usual

One of Betsy and Andrew drinking iced coffee together at the campus coffee shop

Even after they all graduate Neil is as vigilant as ever

Matt and Dan exchanging vows at their wedding

Nicky holding up his hand and showing off his engagement ring while he and Erik share a kiss in the background

Aaron smiling with Katelyn after he graduates med school

Aaron and Andrew each holding a twin with Katelyn dead asleep in the hospital bed right after the twins were born

Kevin, his wife, Wymack, and Abby on the day of Kevin’s wedding-he had called them Mom and Dad in his speech and everyone looks suspiciously misty-eyed

Dan and Matt surrounded by their kids in their kitchen while they cook dinner for Andrew and Neil who are visiting

Nicky, on the ground of the animal shelter, surrounded by dogs as he tries to choose which one to adopt-Erik is looking adoringly at him from off to the side

Abby and Wymack on their couch, yelling at the TV while watching one of Kevin’s games

Allison and Renee sitting on a blanket in the park with their kids during a picnic with Andrew and Neil. They’re all wearing matching sun hats and they all look ethereal

There are a couple of pictures of friends Neil meets after he and Andrew settle down in Denver, sitting together at restaurants and bars

A BUNCH of Andrew sleeping around the apartment

On the couch, on the floor, sitting up in a chair, sprawled out on the balcony, in bed

There are also many pictures of Andrew and Neil together during their travels,  but Neil’s favorite is them under the Eiffel Tower because Andrew turned his head at the last second to give Neil a kiss on the cheek

There’s only one picture of just Neil, and Andrew took it. Neil is holding a cigarette and leaving over the rail of their balcony, and he looks beautiful against the city skyline. Andrew unabashedly frames it and puts it on his bedside table because, “I like having pictures of people who mean the most to me, too, junkie.”

Well I know that was just me rambling and this list is littered with my own personal headcanons with absolutely no background or context given, but I love this concept and had to write it. I hope you enjoyed!

[sir-adamus]

Feel free to ignore this bc i know the topic is annoying but i was wondering about hbomberguy’s video criticizing rwby… did he admit that he made shit up for that or just flat out didn’t even watch rwby? I feel like I’ve seen that said before but never knew if it was true or if maybe I’m misremembering

Honestly i feel hypocritical for never having watched that video myself but also i try not to engage with shit i know will piss me off. The same can’t be said for 99% of the people who won’t shut up about how much they think rwby sucks 🙄

i don't think he's ever admitted to anything - the level of ego it takes to prostrate yourself as a media critic when all he does is make character attacks against the creators that he knows he can get away with (the weird parasocial dogging on Miles and Kerry, implicating them as paedophiles at one point if i recall correctly. an early version of the video having him shitting on Barbara for a tweet she made telling people not to watch the show if they don't like it that was only removed when viewers pointed out that she'd tweeted that in a specific context - that she and Arryn had been tagged in a fucked up edit of their characters stabbing each other by an asshat in the hatedom - which showcases either his poor research abilities that he didn't look further into that or that he knew and didn't care as it was an opportunity to attack someone else until he found out that the context was known and he couldn't get away with it) doesn't leave much room for self-reflection

i'm in the same boat - i don't watch shit that pisses me off because outrage bait rots your brain and i have better things to do with my life than watch that pretentious turnip lie about shit he doesn't like

from what i do know he misrepresents certain aspects of the show (calls Sun white at one point), makes clear he doesn't pay attention in other parts (claims the 'dust robbery plotline' was dropped and left unresolved when it wasn't). oh and he lies. a lot.

about Monty specifically - because he presents himself as having been a fan of Monty, disappointed that the show was dragged down by Miles and Kerry specifically (and makes it clear he thinks everyone else who works on the show is too talented to be wasting their time on it). and dedicated the video in Monty's memory

except he fucking hated Monty when he was alive, and we know this because of posts he'd made on the somethingawful forums about six months before Monty's death where he shits on Monty, shows blatant contempt for everything Monty had ever done, seems to just not respect anyone who engages in fandom (weird distaste for people who write fanfic, make fanart, cosplay) and throwing everything he says in that video into doubt because he's blatantly lying about having been a fan of the man

and you know why? it's the same reason his Sherlock video primarily focuses on shitting on Moffat and doesn't call much attention to Mark Gatiss's contributions. because it's bad for Hbomb's image to attack a dead man or a gay man - regardless of why he's criticising them

[kurtsvonneslut]

Wait... what was the swanqueen fic recs? ...and are there more (...esp if theyre smutty) 👀👀👀

oh there are more!!!

first of all i'm just going to plug myself because why not. i have 78 swan queen works up - mostly oneshots, a couple longfics, including the fic i'm currently writing, change with the seasons. a lot of my fics are older (for example my 52 weeks of swan queen series was written in 2015) and i was a teenager when i wrote them, but i still find a lot of joy in them!!

now for the rest of the recs, i'm going to organize them as best i can into a few categories. also, a lot of these recs will be a bit older as i've been away from the fandom for a while, and am only just now coming back again. this is an open question if anyone else has recommendations to add in the reblogs!!!

longfics:

satin town by @coalitiongirl is probably my all time favorite fanfic, period. everything she's written for the fandom is incredible, but this one has always stuck with me. the dynamic between emma and regina (who is in full on evil queen mode) is just DELICIOUS and i love how she worked henry into the story. an absolute must as far as i'm concerned. PLUS she has a whole NOVEL out now, so go support that if you like the fic!!!!

the secret's in the telling by @the-pyrophoric-one is another classic in the fandom, and for good reason. the characterization is so spot on, and i absolutely love the arc of this story. the chapters are suuuuuper long though so it's a time investment!!

somewhere, someone must know the ending by maleficently who is not on tumblr as far as i'm aware is a divorce au. lots of angst with a happy ending. the same author also wrote an incredible three-part series called the fatal plunge, which remains, tragically, unfinished.

you gotta play dirty by amycarey who i'm not tagging because they don't write fic anymore. there's so many fics by amycarey that i absolutely adore (temporary distractions and keep the wolves outside by living well are also up there!!) but i chose this one because it's so unique to me. it's an au in which emma and regina are in a concert band together. i was a band kid myself, specifically a clarinetist, so i was pretty geeked over this!!

all that glitters is not (olypmic) gold by @queststar is another super niche but super fun and well-written au. in this one, emma and regina are olympic speed skaters. i just love the competitive energy between the two of them and the arc as they grow closer and eventually fall for each other. the author even got elizabeth mitchell to read some of it which is just. next level.

one fine star away by @bytherosebushlaughing is another au that gets a little meta, but it's sooooo much fun. in this fic, once upon a time is a tv show that regina, emma, and the others starred in. 20 some years later, the cast is reuniting, and the reunion is being covered by none other than one henry mills. it's such a clever fic, and i absolutely love it so far!!

oneshots:

of love and loss and love again by @snowivyimconfusi oh this one. this one is so bittersweet. emma and regina, grieving the losses of their partners, find comfort in each other. and more. it's so beautifully done, and i just adore ivy's writing style!!

what you thought you had to do by hoovahhoopah is the very first fic i read after making my ao3 account and it's still one that i love!! it's part of a six part series of oneshots called ill fitting pieces, but it also stands on its own just as well. just a beautiful, classic, canon-but-make-it-better kind of fic.

a woman moves when her heart has been broken by etotheswan because who among us wasn't absolutely destroyed by the season 3 finale???? this offered a lot of swan queen based catharsis while we waited for season 4.

monster-in-law by seriousfic is just a funny, light-hearted little oneshot about mary margaret trying to stop emma and regina's wedding by reminding them that they're all sort of related. a big departure from the seriousfic work we all know and miss dearly..... but enjoyable nonetheless thanks to their talent!!

and now, the moment we've all been waiting for, smut:

top of the list is, of course, our prophet of swan queen smut @angstbotfic. the making amends series is my all time favorite, and one that i recommended to my dear friend 27, but you can't go wrong with literally anything they've written.

wicked games by @starsthatburn is so. is so. it left me basically speechless. also recommended this one to 27, and i believe this is the one referenced in the ask they sent. it's the most insanely hot BDSM fantasy. if you like domme regina, look no further.

the thing she won't admit by beattheodds if you like butt stuff, here's swan queen butt stuff. need i say more?

paint it black by wily_one24 heed the warnings, this one is pretty dark. but if that's what you're into, this is the one. it's like if 50 shades of grey was swan queen and also good.

of love and loathing by morganlegaye and its sequel, transgressions of the heart are a hatefuck lover's dream. transgressions of the heart remains unfinished, but god is it good.

fealty by standbackufools you like throne sex? you like honorifics? you like D/s dynamic? enjoy :)

thank god it's BDSM friday by carrotlucky13 this one covers soooooo many kinks. emma and regina enter into a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle. for 95k words. i don't know what else to say but WOWOWOWOW. even if you're not into every kink in here it's still hot af.

emma's little problem by juicecup it's a magic!cock story with a slight humiliation kink if you squint, but otherwise mostly vanilla sex to round out a very kinky rec list.

go give these incredible creators some love!!! and remember, nothing motivates a fic writer quite like a nice comment :)

[layover-linux-official]

It's been awhile since the last time I really looked into it, but a few months ago I was trying to find a really light container runtime as a library (to use for a build sandbox system), something small I could ship baked into Layover. I have a new appreciation for what containers do, why they're fast, and why they're not trivial to secure when you're building them from the ground up.

See, the kernel has no feature called "containers", even though you've heard that only Linux can do them. What's actually going on, is that containers are really more of a usage pattern of a few other Linux-specific features. It's like someone noticed that the kernel has syscalls for flour and eggs and vanilla extract and realized "oh yeah, you could make a cake out of this!"

So you use Linux namespaces and cgroups to do a bunch of things:

Give the process isolated networking

Give it a different hostname (this I particularly remember is namespaces)

Give the process a cloned view of the filesystem

Make the tweaks you need in the clone. Usually you create a new temp directory and mount a bunch of stuff read-only or as layer filesystems, which means the layers need to be unpacked on disk somewhere.

chroot into the temp directory

Maybe limit system calls

And a container engine will also do its own bookkeeping to track running containers. But basically if you happen to use these features in these ways, we call that a container, you're using the container pattern.

In practice, this has been useful enough that we now have standard interchangeable formats like OCI that codify how to configure a container and the files it needs. Of particular note here is that most of these formats think of files in terms of layers, because that was a useful feature introduced by Docker and now there's quality of life and compatibility reasons to think in layers for every major container engine, but they're technically optional. There's no kernel API for containers that dictates using layers, and a lightweight runtime like I was looking for probably WOULDN'T have that feature!

And that brings up an interesting point. If you were building a container runtime from scratch, the easiest place to start would be running a clone of the current host system, which basically amounts to just running exec, and incrementally adding isolation and filesystem cloning+mangling features, until you've got enough isolation to count as a container. Then, depending on your priorities, you might go for optional features that give you ecosystem compatibility. But the reason it's challenging to secure is that you're starting from a bare exec and then adding isolation, trying to catch all the leaks. The major engines have enough attention and funding for some impressive hardening, but it's a fundamentally difficult problem to start from "just another process running on the same kernel" and subtract off all the escape hatches. VM software tends to be easier to secure (though not necessarily easier to write in total) because it starts from a clean isolated slate, and you "just" have to not accidentally break that safety later as you add features like GPU passthrough.

This isn't the deepest dive into how Docker works, and it's already pretty long, because I just woke up and I'm not awake enough to edit. But I think it's a decent navigational introduction for anyone already familiar with Docker and unfamiliar with container implementation, which is probably a lot of people these days.

tanked a job interview because i couldn't really explain what goes on with @docker-official lmao

there's only so far you can get with bullshitting

[sunieepo]

honestly, if i may, all of this talk about the way people treat trans women has reminded me of an experience i still remember vividly back when i was peripherally part of the tumblr / twitter mfrp community. which please note i was never a very active participant, i personally found mfrp very boring and so i was never really fully integrated into these communities - but while i was in them i did befriend a few trans women and i noticed a very persistent pattern in these supposed LGBT-friendly spaces regarding the moderation of trans women.

there was a persistent issue in multiple different mfrp communities i was peripherally involved in, in which trans women would always be regarded as "abrasive" or "aggressive", for making the same kinds of comments and jokes that tme people were making. and the (majority tme) moderation teams would almost always rule against trans women, silencing them or labeling them as deviants / weirdos for behaviors that they would be much more forgiving towards tme people for.

as a sort of bystander i didn't really have a leg in to comment on the actions of moderation teams, i could only offer being a friend to trans women as i watched them be ostracized from these spaces by the very same people who would plaster "terfs dni" all over their bios. i'm not saying this to pat myself on the back, there is definitely more i could have done in those situations, but i do want to call out why all these "fuck terf" type posts just never really resonate with me, seeing them be rbed by people who i know would just jump at the opportunity to demonize a trans woman again (and i just saw it happen earlier with that stupid shit slinging post falsely accusing a trans woman of something she didn't even do regarding cohost...) (i'm aware op of that post apologized for their behavior but what occurred is what occurred)

it's not enough to say "fuck terfs" and i hate that people always center on the buffoonery of terf behavior instead of centering and caring for and supporting the trans women in their lives. it's really frustrating for me to watch as a staunch feminist to continually see the way the lgbt community has let down trans women. the recent wave of discourse regarding "transandrophobia" is also extremely worrying to me - i have seen a non-insignificant number of posts made by certain people in that community that claim that the lgbt community is Too centered on trans women: as if it's a competition, and as if the visibility of trans women is somehow a boon to them rather than a consequence of people using their cause to simply be performative instead of genuinely uplifting and loving.

sorry this isn't the most well thought-out post, i'm just rambling and i have a lot of complicated feelings on this. i don't want to derail what's happening right now too much by bringing up other topics, but i will say i do think it's inevitable that at some point we do need to confront some of the "transandrophobia truther" type sentiments i've seen lately, because they absolutely are damaging to trans women and lead to situations exactly like this.

please, if nothing else, i really hope everyone takes this as an opportunity to be kind to the trans women in their lives. the least you could do is offer them your support. reblogging posts dunking on transmisogynists is not enough. we need to make our communities safer for trans women, and that doesn't end with car hammer explosion memes.

rbs off because i'm not interested in centering my voice as a tme person and this post isn't really something polished i want escaping from my social circle. if you're a mutual of mine and you're feeling unsure about my stance on some of the topics mentioned above, my DMs are open and i am happy to discuss, but at the very least all i ask is for us to be better to trans women. that's all.

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/772134036909047808/tumblrcomolderthannetfic772021907545554944elsa#notes

That's fair. But this is mainly about someone who's completely shitting on any concept of ethnicity, culture, heritage, history and lived reality, and tries to make everything "a human-racial classification" to begin with. Same shit applies to latino and Asian. Do they mean East Asian? South East Asian? South Asian? West Asian? Literally none of them are the same. Even with "white" and "black" you're setting your ass on fire, you mean East, West, South, North White/Black? Do we even wanna start with Latino? Latino is probably even more so straddling a line between all that bullshit.

Hell, RACE doesn't make a lick of fucking sense because it's not actually "race" it's clearly 100% about ethnicity and even then it's more shallow than a puddle during a drought. Because even if we went with ethnicity it lacks any kind of intersectionality between identities. But we're just arguing within whatever the fuck the maker of those lists is doing every year.

Just as a sidenote, I know several Saami. That's why I spoke about them specifically. The one dude I know who used to be in my class, who's Saami has never considered himself anything but Norwegian and never really used Saami about himself, but does that make him any less Saami? He just IS a Saami, but he seems to think more of the location he's living. The other guy, he's like 40 year my senior, thinks of himself as a Saami, but his children are both Saami and ALSO half-Saami because of their mother. His children, slightly older than me, share that view about themselves, if you asked they'd probably just say whatever's more relevant to the question at hand. BUT!!! That's also just the people I know, and I also know that there are more Saami who consider themselves only Saami, regardless of their other parentage. 100% Saami, because it's none of anyone's business what their genetics are, they are Saami so deal with it.

Clearly this is 100% more complicated than whatever the fuck that list is making it, or any arbitrary race thinking, and it's complete bullshit to even include "race" when it's this poorly done and this surface level this crosses borderline offensive into straight up offensive racism.

The list is completely ridiculous because it actually tells us nothing. It's a completely arbitrary label slapped onto random characters, without any care what it'd actually mean in real life. Does a black person stop being black because they're also Latino? Or does a Latino stop being Latino because they're black? According to this list? This isn't a math equation where one cancels the other out, but according to the list it does. That's the problem, because it also perpetuates the idea that you can divide people into neat little boxes, and just ignore any kind of "complicated" intersections of a person's identity.

So for Elsa and Anna. Does their indigenous heritage from the second movie erase that they were/are also Disney Norwegian? Do they have the same view of themselves now? Or does one have stronger feelings towards one heritage than the other? Especially since they were raised completely without the knowledge of said heritage. How complicated is it to find out there's an entire half of your heritage you never knew, and now you're supposed to try and figure out how to handle that? Well who knows, because this is a question about identity that has never been answered, because only the people "living"* that reality can actually answer their own view on who they are and with what they identify as. *living in quotations because obviously they're just fictional. So the real answer would have to come from a creator of them. (Hell, just calling from the side, I'm mixed ethnicities, and I identify with both, but my sibling only identifies as one half, and really doesn't care about the other half/is ambivalent towards it. Does anyone have the right to override my siblings view about their own identity and what they want to be perceived as? Or what I want to be perceived as? That's why that list, and any comparable list or understanding of "race" or ethnicity are complete bullshit that should have been flushed long ago because it never includes the nuance of individual perception and identity.)

--

[dreamyintersexouppy]

idk i do like hearing peoples perspectives and arguments about transfeminism, but i believe what i believe about it because the arguments for it are effective and the evidence we have supports their conclusions. yea they also help me conceptualize events in my life through a transfeminist lens but that is what theoretical frameworks are For, they begin with the evidence and describe the experience.

i think semantic arguments and talk of empty unity and dismissing through sexualization are just as much tactics of argumentation and to me they're are highly ineffective in doing anything but making the people using them look good to an uninformed observer. its the reason we say a lot that some people here have a "vibes based politics" because it's clear from their arguments and rhetoric that they think of these arguments as a way to display an image rather than to actually have a discussion.

thats why im pissy and get upset and block people, they're just wasting peoples time for their own egos rather engaging with any of these concepts or acknowledging that what they know might not be totalizing. the desperation to have a perfect unsullied and intelligent image is why posts like mine pointing out a subtle dogwhistle will get backlash that amounts to telling me i'm making it up. i am communicating to them that there is a piece of knowledge that they might not have considered or even known is offensive to them so they reach for reactionary defenses instead of treating the trans woman in front of them like a person

[seleneprince]

A Court of Shadows and Blood Chapter 3

The hallways are carved out of pale stone, lined on either side by torches. No shadowy spots to hide. It's a wide open space, but she barely has the chance to appreciate the details. The eery silence that reigns in there is only interupted by the echo of her hurried steps as she runs.

She doesn’t know where she’s going. Every hallway looks the same. She’s taken several turns already, but can’t, for the life of her, figure out where she is.

But there’s no other option. She has to keep running and hope she finds a way out—or else stay locked up until the monster tires of her and ends her life. Especially now that she’s given him very good reasons to do so.

Nothing has gone as it should since she left for the Wall. Nesta thought that embarking on a life-threatening journey to rescue Feyre was the craziest thing she’d ever do.

Until she was captured by a Fae made of deadly shadows and locked in his opulent room. Until she tried to strangle that same Fae with her bare hands. Until she chained him to his own bed with the very metal that had once been locked around her ankle.

Nesta isn’t naïve enough to believe it will hold him down forever. He’s an ancient being, filled with power. She doesn’t know how, but she can feel it—perhaps the same way she can see through spells.

'Have you ever witnessed something really strange that you had no explanation for, but no one else noticed? Things that just didn't make sense in your mind?'

He obviously knows the reason. It unsettles her deeply that he’s aware of some hidden part of herself, something she doesn’t even fully understand. For someone to know you like that is dangerous. She learnt that the hard way, long ago.

She skids around a corner, nearly slipping as she pushes forward, her pulse drumming louder than her footsteps. The torches flicker as she passes, shadows trailing her like phantoms.

She thinks of Feyre, her sister’s face flashing in her mind, and she clenches her fists, gritting her teeth. Nesta will get out of this wretched place and find her, somehow. She will drag her back home, away from these monsters and this godforsaken land.

That thought pushes her fear down and drives her forward. The iron poker burns her hands as she grips it harder—it’s the only weapon she could find in that room. She’s been planning her escape ever since those hellish shadowy creatures spawned in the room and dragged her from the bed.

She had no way of knowing what time it was, only that she’d been sleeping shortly before they arrived. She’d dreamed of Feyre, of Elain, and for a moment, all was well. Then the dream twisted into a nightmare of black claws pinning her to the bed by her throat, choking her slowly as they dug into her skin. A pair of violet eyes stared at her with cruel amusement while blood trickled down her neck. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t respond. It was all pain, darkness, pure agony.

She woke up drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Her eyes took in the room, fixing on the orange flames crackling in the fireplace. She buried her face in her hands and, for the first time since she’d left, she sobbed.

She had already stopped by the time those Fae materialized in front of her, her eyes still red and puffy. They were made of shadows and floated around the room, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They didn't say a word even when they reached for her. She tried to fight them off, get their cold inhuman hands off her, but to no avail. The grip around her forearms remained firm.

She knew exactly who had sent them. Shadows were obviously his domain. One of them crouched down, tugged at the chain a couple of times, and unlocked it, freeing her ankle from its weight. The relief was short-lived, though, as they dragged her across the room and into a nondescript chamber, where they stripped her bare and bathed her roughly.

The sensation of hands tearing away her clothes and touching her skin stirred panic and fury, making her lash out in an attempt to push them off. But it was useless. The two shadows forced her to stay still in the tub as they scrubbed her. Then they wrapped her in a thin robe and, to her confusion, began to paint her face and brush her hair.

Their brushes were cold and tickling, their shadowy grips firm whenever she squirmed. They didn’t speak, offering no explanation for their actions—though Nesta had no doubt it was yet another sick game of that bastard.

When they were finished, she hardly recognized her reflection. She looked regal, reminiscent of the noble girl she’d once been. Her face was artfully decorated with cosmetics that subtly enhanced her features, just enough to suit a lady’s propriety.

The shadows didn’t stop there, of course. They seized her again, wrapping her in a dress. It was tight around her torso and flowed loosely toward the ground, cascading over her legs like a sea of stars. The design was unlike anything she’d ever worn—or would have if she had a choice.

"What’s this? Why are you…?" But before she could finish, they dragged her back to the bed, locked the chain around her ankle once more, and vanished as soon as they did so.

She was alone again, processing what had just happened. In their absence, she could feel the nightmare flooding back—the suffocation, the pain, the raw terror as she was killed, again and again. Those violet eyes full of evil.

Nesta decided she couldn’t stay there any longer, trapped as a plaything for these faeries, awaiting her inevitable demise at their hands. She would not let that nightmare become her reality.

Hit with a surge of determination and desperation, Nesta grabbed the metal chain with both hands and began pulling at it repeatedly. Her hands ached, her ankle throbbed, but she didn’t stop. She ignored everything but the relentless clink of the metal as she tried to tear it free, focusing on the sound it made when she tugged at certain angles.

Finally, the cold air hit the raw skin of her ankle, and the chain fell to the ground. She almost sobbed again.

But she wasn’t done. Carefully, she set one foot on the floor, testing her strength. Her eyes shifted to the poker by the fireplace, lying close enough to the flames to sear anyone’s skin if touched on the wrong side. Faeries have skin, too, after all. And it's not so much different from human's, if her experience with her hands around someone's throat were anything to go by.

She began to formulate her plan right there. It was very risky, downright suicidal, but at that point she was ready to try anything for her freedom. So she returned to the bed, hid the chain under the skirt and waited for him.

She still can't believe it worked.

Another turn. Her lungs burn, and the air feels thicker, heavier, with each step. She’s in a maze meant to ensnare her, to lead her back to where she started, drive her to insanity. Her thoughts race, searching for any sense of direction, any logic in this place.

But nothing about it makes sense. Seems to be the rule of the faerie world.

She rounds another corner and stops dead. Ahead, two guards are stationed at the end of the hall, clad in dark armor that reflects none of the torchlight. They haven't seen her yet, too engrossed in their conversation.

Nesta takes a step back and presses her back against the wall beneath it, concealing her body with the shadows. Sucking in deep breaths behind her mouth, she glances back down the corridor. They're still there, seemingly unaware of her presence.

She wonders how it works. Don't faeries smell humans from miles away? That's the only explanation on how her captor found her the way he did. And she knows by what he said that he could, in fact, smell her like a piece of meat. But these guards haven't so much as glanced in her direction. ¿Maybe not all faeries can sense humans?

She tries to make out pieces of what they're talking about. Their voices are the only sound in the hallway, so it's easy for her to listen. Perhap she can hear something useful, a hint to leave this place.

"...to leave. He's...bad mood."

"...prick. Almost worse...other."

"Waiting...company."

They chuckle. A sound so unnerving it makes her skin crawl.

"Vanserra...most dangerous."

Vanserra. A name. It means nothing to her, but they way they say it carries a certain air of authority. Whoever it is, it's someone they have to obey.

Her mind is running through multiple possibilities, strategies to proceed. She has to act now. Every minute she spends here without moving is more time for that monster to find her. She's not that foolish to think the iron poker in her hand will stop him.

Suddenly, the guards begin to move towards her and Nesta's blood runs cold. She turns, sprinting down another passageway, uncaring that they surely heard her now.

She’s running blind again, every hallway an endless stretch of pale stone and torchlight. Her mind flits back to the Fae chained in his bed, his rage as he realized what she’d done. She’s not sure if she’s more terrified of his revenge or the despair of knowing she might never escape this place. That it was all for nothing.

The hall narrows, and ahead, she catches a dim glimmer. She sprints toward it, pressing her hands against the wall. There's a slight fissure in the rock, opening onto a crudely carved, dark subterranean passageway. It's large enough for one person to squeeze through—so jagged and rough that it's obviously not used often.

It’s deathly silent, with a faint, warm breeze whistling through. The sound of footsteps and angry shouts approaching spurs her into action; she squeezes herself into a narrow opening, holding her breath to fit. She remains perfectly still as the guards pass her hiding spot. When their footsteps fade, she moves on. The iron rod scrapes against the stone, and she almost feels sorry for the high-quality fabric of the dress getting ruined. Almost.

The passageway narrows, forcing her to suck in her stomach to keep moving. The smell of burning wood reaches her nose, and distant sounds—voices—grow clearer. Light seeps through cracks in the stone, giving her glimpses of the other side.

Bedrooms. This passageway connects to other fae’s bedrooms. She wants to scream.

Nesta closes her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. She can’t fall apart now. She's already here. Turning back is not an option anymore. And she has to find Feyre.

She keeps moving. The voices fade, and her body bumps into a solid wall. The smell of burning wood is stronger now, drifting from just beyond it.

She presses her hands against the wall, pushing with all her strength until it slides aside. A hidden door, then. As soon as she steps out, it closes behind her.

Before her it's a magnificent bedroom, entirely different from the one she was locked in, yet equally beautiful.

The color scheme is rich in golds and reds, with warm orange hues. Another king-sized bed stands at the center, adorned with exquisite bed linens embroidered in flame-like patterns. The posts are made of real gold, and the fire blazing in the enormous hearth beside it casts an ethereal glow across the room. A large, intricately carved wardrobe stands nearby, its surface adorned with thorny patterns. A small desk is cluttered with scattered papers and books, yet looks as expensive as everything else.

If Nesta were asked to describe it, she’d say this room is made of fire and fury. It radiates a palpable power, as though the very walls are steeped in the essence of whoever resides here. The heat from the fire makes her skin prickle, and a strange, welcome warmth settles over her, seeping into her bones.

She walks around slowly, eyes scanning for exits. She notes a large set of double doors to her right—likely the main entrance—and a smaller, inconspicuous door to the left. Her heartbeat quickens, calculating the odds.

But then she hears faint footsteps, muffled but approaching. Her gaze darts to the wardrobe, and without another thought, she darts toward it, slipping inside just as the door swings open. She presses herself against the back of the wardrobe, the scent of polished wood and faintly spiced cologne surrounding her. Through the crack between the doors, she watches.

A figure steps inside, tall and imposing, dressed in an elegant jacket of scarlet and gold. His movements are fluid, controlled. His gaze sweeps over the room, his expression sharp and focused, as if he senses something amiss.

Nesta holds her breath, willing herself invisible. She grips the iron poker with both hands, ready to pounce.

The Fae moves to the bed, then over to the fireplace, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers trail along the desk, tracing patterns on the scattered papers. And then, he turns on his back and leaves. The sound of doors closing resonate in the room.

Nesta waits until she's sure he's gone. She steps out of the wardrobe carefully, glancing in both directions. Her heart pounds so hard she can feel it in her throat.

Standing in the middle of the room, she watches the flames flicker. Their light reflects off her dress, casting an orange glow that transforms the fabric into the hues of a sunset rather than a night sky. She likes it better.

Suddenly, the flames sink in size and she barely has time to react before she feels a strong hand grabbing her by the arm, grip iron-clad.

"Well, well" a voice low and silk-smooth drawls in her ear, breath hot against her skin. "What do we have here? A little bird who..."

Nesta doesn't even think it.

She whips around and swings the poker, the sharp, burning end aimed blindly at him.

The iron rod connects, glancing off his arm before he jerks back with a low, furious hiss. She stumbles, nearly losing her grip on the poker, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, she takes a shaky step back, holding it between them like a weapon. Her pulse pounds like thunder, her gaze locked on the Fae.

The flames leap higher in the fireplace as he steadies himself, one hand cradling his injured arm. His face twists, not in pain but in something sharper, colder—a kind of restrained fury that makes her blood run cold.

"Quite the little fighter, aren’t you?" he says, his voice low and dripping with dark amusement, though his eyes burn with ire. "I assume you're not the female I was expecting tonight."

He speaks in a unfamiliar accent, different from the other Fae man she knows. His voice is rich and deep in a way that would be attractive in an human man, but coming from someone like him, Nesta refuses to feel anything.

Just by looking at him she knows he’s of the same status—or close—to her captor. He’s taller than any man she’s ever met, with dark red hair perfectly cut over his nape and amber eyes that resemble two flaming orbs. He's dressed even more elegantly than the other bastard, and Nesta has the knowledge to see he has a refined taste and takes pride in his appearance.

Not to mention she can practically feel the power thrumming off him, as palpable as the fire’s warmth at her back. This is no ordinary fae—he’s one of the important kind. The masters.

And this is his bedroom.

Nesta feels the urge to scream again.

He huffs, releasing his injured arm, and she catches sight of a thin trail of blood trickling down his elegantly stitched sleeve. It’s a dark shade of red—almost black—a stark reminder that he’s not human, but a monster.

She holds the iron rod between them, keeping it firmly pressed against his chest, though she knows it’s futile. The sharp end digs in, and he raises an eyebrow, glancing from the poker to her with a look of faint bewilderment.

"Who are you?" it takes everything within her to keep her voice steady.

He snorts. "I believe I should be the one asking that, birdie. This is my bedroom."

Nesta bites her lips, her pulse beating in her ears. He doesn't look threatening, but that doesn't mean he's safe. Yet there's something oddly comforting about this room, about its aura. She can't explain it, but it just feels alluring to her. Just like the man in front of her.

'Focus, you idiot. He's not a man. He's a predator.'

She straightens her spine, trying to appear taller and more confident than she truly feels. She’s no fighter, despite the iron rod clenched in her fingers. Her weapons have always been her words—and she doesn't know to what extent they're useful against faeries.

The fae draws a twisted grin, his fire eyes gleaming with menace.

"How interesting," he takes a step closer to her, the iron pressing further into his chest. "I wasn't aware the Night court kept human pets now."

The fury that flares up at being called "pet" dims in confusion as she processes his words. ¿Night Court? Is that where that fae of shadows comes from?

The red-haired fae picks up on her shock instantly, his grin widening as if he’s uncovered something amusing and entirely to his advantage.

"Oh?" he drawls, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Don’t tell me you didn’t even know? You're dressed like one of them. A wonder we haven't heard of you." He says the last part more to himself, as though she’s little more than a spectator to his thoughts.

Nesta grits her teeth, keeping her grip on the poker tight. "I don’t care about that. I only want to leave."

The fae’s expression shifts, some trace of real interest sparking in his eyes, though his amusement remains. "Leave? And where exactly would you go, little mortal? This place isn’t exactly known for its... hospitality to uninvited guests. Specially if they're humans. She has a...let's say strong dislike for your kind."

He lifts his fingers to trace the iron rod lightly, as though inspecting it. "Besides, did no one tell you it’s rather rude to wander into another male’s chambers?" His tone drips with sarcasm, but Nesta catches the veiled threat in his words.

She truly has the worst luck in the world. Jumping from one sick bastard to another. ¿When will this end?

Nesta’s pulse races. She can feel the power simmering just beneath his polished exterior, as potent as the fae she’s managed to escape from. Her hand tightens on the rod as she meets his gaze defiantly. "You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?"

For a moment, he simply stares at her, the smirk fading as he watches her face with sharp, unreadable eyes. Then, he inclines his head in a graceful bow.

"Call me Eris," he says, voice low and almost purring. "And you, little bird?"

Nesta hesitates. Giving her name to a Fae is a horrible idea, or so she's been taught. But she also thought iron could hurt them and she saw her captor holding it with his own hands to chain her. She's not sure what to do.

But he's given her something more than the other male has. So maybe she can allow herself to be a bit nice.

"I'll tell you if you let me out of here," she replies after a beat, keeping her chin high.

Eris’s smile returns, smug and unbelieving, as if he’s found something truly valuable. "Seriously?" he repeats, letting a short huff of amusement. "I just gave you mine. It's not fair I don't get to know yours."

Her eyes narrow. "You could be lying to me for all I know. Some knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands."

He stares at her. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"I agree," he clasps his hands behind him, leaning forward. The end of the poker cutting slightly through his exquisite jacket. He doesn't seem to care. "So pray tell, why should I let you leave after telling you my name, mhm? It's dangerous knowledge, after all."

She tenses.

"What could I possibly do against you? I'm just a human."

He takes a step closer to her.

"A human dressed like a member of the Night court, who just intruded in my bedroom with a weapon. Forgive me for being a bit skeptical."

His gaze never leaves hers, and though Nesta tries to keep her stance steady, she feels herself shrinking back involuntarily. His body is on the way to her exit, but it dawns to her that, even if she managed to get pass him by some miracle, there could be more faes outside.

She doesn't have time to think that far ahead. She needs to act now.

The fire cracks behind her, the comforting smell of burning wood caressing her nose. She can do this.

"Please, I just want to go home." Fighting back hasn’t worked so far, so maybe playing the role of a pitiful, scared human will "He kidnapped me, kept me locked in his room like a beast. I escaped by sheer miracle, but I know he's looking for me now."

His eyebrows rise briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before it vanishes, replaced by an unimpressed stare. If Nesta wasn't so well versed in those same tactics, she would've missed it.

She knows Fae look down on her kind, see them as inferior beings. If she plays on that role, she might get the upper hand here.

Eris watches her, the flickering firelight casting his sharp features in a golden glow. His smirk fades and his eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s debating whether or not to believe her tale.

"How exactly did you escape? I know he wouldn't have let you go so easily. And there's no way you could've overpower him."

Shit. He’s cornering her with that question. If she tells him the truth—that she outwitted a powerful fae and chained him to the bed—there’s a risk he’ll see her as a genuine threat and act accordingly. Or worse, he won’t believe her at all. And hand her over to her captor.

Everything's been a risk since she got out of that room. She can't falter. Not now. Not when might be so close to freedom.

"When his servants came to dress me, they unlocked the chain, and forgot to lock it again when they left. I saw an opportunity. I grabbed the poker and ran away before he returned." she sighs. "I almost got caught by some guards, so I hid. That's how I ended up here."

He hums, looking at her in silence, as if pushing her to continue.

"Please, I beg you, let me go. My s...family need me. I must find them. I promise I won't tell anyone about this place. Ever. I just...let me go home."

As she talks, she realizes it's not an act anymore. Every word comes straight out of her heart, her raw emotions. She misses her home deeply, misses her sisters. She must save Feyre from that monster's claws and bring her back home. Her eyes grow misty against her will, but she's too weary to feel asshamed.

She only wants this nightmare to end.

The fae doesn't say anything. Not a sound comes out of him. Nesta doesn't dare to look at his face.

"Home, you say?" His voice drips with an emotion she can't identify. "You really think that's an option for you now? That's why you went through all that trouble? Sweet Mother, I forgot how blissfully unaware mortals are of everything around them." He looks away, his expression serious, contrasting greatly to how he's been acting until now. "And what, pray tell, is it you intend to do once you’re back in your quaint little life? Forget this ever happened? Forget this place? Him?" His tone lowers, his words taunting. "Do you truly believe a creature like him will let you escape unscathed?"

Nesta's blood freezes, her head throbbing. The grip around the iron rod begins to tremble.

"There must be a way, I know it..."

"Let's suppose I let you out of here. What then?" he interrupts her, insisting. Taking her apart. "Do you have any idea where you are right now? How to navigate this place? You don't. Bet you don't even know where the entrance is. You don't have a plan, am I right? Risked your sorry life for nothing."

Nesta moves before her common sense can't stop it. She swings the iron rod again, narrowly missing his side as he sidesteps.

Eris laughs, a sharp, delighted sound, even as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, you're fun. I like you."

"Shut up. You're a powerful fae, I can feel it. There has to be a way you can help me here. What do I have to do?"

Eris’s smile returns, smug and predatory, as if he’s found what he was looking for.

"Well, I can think of a few ways you can...persuade me to help."

Nesta already recognizes this tone, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and the shiver all through her back. Maybe she should try to aim for the head this time.

"Not that, you disgusting pervert." She grits her teeth.

Eris hums, his expression unreadable as he steps even closer, close enough now that the heat of his body mixes with the warmth of the fire behind her. "How brave of you to say that. Or just suicidal. I can't decide."

Nesta holds her ground, though her instincts scream at her to back away. She won’t cower—not yet. She tilts her chin up, meeting his fiery gaze head-on. "I repeat. I’m no threat to you. If you're not going to help me, then let me go, and you won’t have to deal with me ever again."

Eris laughs, low and rich, the sound reverberating through the room and her body. "You misunderstand, birdie. I don’t 'have' to deal with you. I’m choosing to."

His hand reaches out, catching her wrist with infuriating ease as he gently pulls the poker from her grip. He lets it clatter to the ground, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, firm but not painful. "And now I’m wondering…" He leans in, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him. "Why the High Lord of the Night Court went to such lengths to dress you up like his prize, only to let you slip away."

Her pulse pounds in her ears, but she forces her voice steady. "I’m no one’s prize."

Eris’s lips twitch, his grip tightening just slightly. "No, you’re not. You're a pet." he murmurs. "But I think there's something more of you than that. And I really want to find out."

His free hand raises toward her face, and Nesta reacts without thinking. She stomps down on his foot with all her strength, yanking her wrist free as his grip loosens.

But before she can grab the iron rod again, his whole face changes. It’s almost imperceptible, but she notices it, and it makes her wary.

He tilts his head to the side, as if listening to something outside. She watches him, his sudden change in behavior unsettling her enough to keep quiet. The faint tension in his posture, the way his eyes flicker toward the door, and the tilt of his head, as if straining to hear something beyond the thick walls. It sets her on edge.

Her heart pounds in her chest, the icy claws of unease curling around her spine. Whatever—or whoever—has his attention, it makes him pause. And that, more than anything, terrifies her.

A cold, horrifying though comes to her. ¿Could it be him? Has he found her at last?

Suddenly, he turns his head at her with an intense stare. Something flicker in his eyes, and he's frowning. He looks at her as if he's conflicted. ¿Why?

He grabs her harshly by the arms, but not enough to hurt, and basically lifts her up in the air. She doesn't have time to protest before he presses a hand against the wall where she came from and...pushes it open like nothing. Like he does it regularly.

He shoves her inside and gives her a stern look of warning.

"Leave the way you came," he instructs, his tone firm but distracted. "Once you're out, keep your right hand pressed to the wall and follow it. It’ll take you where you need to go. Don’t run, don’t make a sound, and above all, avoid the shadows. They’re not safe." He turns his head to the door again in a pissed off gesture. "And one more thing."

He grabs her wrist, and Nesta feels the cool weight of something pressed into her palm. She looks down.

A knife. Crafted from gold and ash wood.

"That will hurt a Fae far more than burning iron," he says evenly. "Keep it with you at all times. Even a light touch of it will have them writhing in pain."

She can barely process what's happening. Everything feels too fast, his words too cryptic.

"Why are you doing this? What's going on?"

The glare he shoots her makes her breath hitch.

"He's here."

Her chest tightens as her heartbeat thunders painfully against her ribs, each beat like a desperate plea to escape.

"But... I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?"

He stares at her, his expression unreadable, though something flickers in his eyes—a shadow of emotion too fleeting to name.

"We’re not close enough yet to share our secrets," he says, his smile sharp but empty, like a blade with no warmth behind it. "Now go, before I regret it and hand you over to him."

Her mind spins, a storm of unanswered questions she can’t bring herself to voice. Her tongue feels heavy, her thoughts muddled.

But one thing is unmistakable: he’s helping her. For reasons she can’t fathom, this Fae is offering her a chance. A lifeline. And he hasn’t demanded anything in return.

Before she can say another word, he moves to push the wall closed.

"Pity. I didn't got your name in the end," he says, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Maybe next time."

It's so absurd she feels the urge to chuckle. For the first time since she was kidnapped. It's a miracle. Or a sign of insanity.

"Nesta."

"What?"

She locks eyes with him, her gaze unwavering as she stares into those amber depths, like molten fire swirling. Her own reflection in those fiery orbs.

"My name is Nesta."

He blinks.

"Nesta." He repeats, savouring the syllabes in a soft, low tone. "Be careful, Nesta. Everything can be trap here."

She grips the knife.

"Trust me, I know now" she replies. "Thank you. For doing this."

He chuckles.

"Don't thank me yet, birdie. After all, I'm sure we'll meet again."

The wall closes in her face before she can ask, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.

She battles with herself to get moving, her mind still reeling from everything that just transpired. Pressing her right hand firmly against the wall beside her, she begins to walk back on her steps.

Every step is deliberate, her movements slow and calculated, as she struggles to keep silent. Her breathing is shallow, her chest tight with the effort of not making a sound.

If that bastard truly is here, then there’s a chance—pretty big one—that she'll pass by him through this hidden passage, near the damn rooms.

The weight of the knife in her hand is both a comfort and a reminder of the dangers that lie ahead. Nesta moves cautiously, every small sound amplified in the thick silence surrounding her. Her heart hammers in her chest, a constant warning of how close she is to being discovered. The passage feels tighter now, the stone walls pressing in as if the space itself is conspiring to trap her.

As she walks, her mind races. Who was that fae, Eris? Why had he helped her? And why, despite the sharpness in his eyes and the veiled threat in his words, had he let her go instead of handing her over to the other? Surely it would've been easier for him, and spared him any trouble.

Her breath catches in her throat as a thought hits her like a cold wave—was he playing her all along? Or was there something more to his intentions?

The wall beneath her fingers feels cold, unyielding, as if daring her to falter. She forces herself to ignore the creeping dread, pressing onward, trusting in the directions Eris had given her. The passage twists and turns, its walls narrowing at times, forcing her to squeeze through with minimal room to spare. She forces her thoughts back to the present. 'Focus. Get out of here. Find Feyre.'

The low murmur of voices reaches her ears just as she rounds a corner. Her stomach tightens. They’re close—too close for her liking. She slows her pace, flattening herself against the wall as much as she can, holding her breath. Her eyes scan the shadows, looking for any sign of movement.

The voices grow louder, unmistakable now. It’s him. The one she’s been running from.

"Sorry, but I don't have the slighest idea what you're talking about," That's Eris. She recognizes that suave, arrogant tone. "Are you sure you're not just tired? I know she's been keeping you busy lately..."

"Spare me your bullshit, Vanserra," her tormentor growls, and Nesta's heart stops at how close he sounds. "I can smell her here. Where.Is.She?"

Hold on. Vanserra? Did he just call Eris 'Vanserra'?

'Vanserra...most dangerous.'

'...prick. Almost worse...other.'

'Waiting...company.'

¿What was it he said when he saw her?

'I assume you're not the female I was expecting tonight'

Her knees threaten to give out, her breath growing heavy and clawing at her chest. In her desesperation to escape from a monster, she jumped into another one. And made him bleed.

She truly, definitely, has the worst luck in this godsforsaken world.

But he also let her leave. Even gave her a weapon to defend herself against his kind, or so he claimed. So what's the truth here? Why are these creatures so dreadfully confusing?

"Who exactly is 'her'? I don't understand...Oh!" He chuckles mockingly, in that taunting way of this. "Are you hiding something from us, Rhys? It must be pretty important if our queen doesn't know yet."

"I'm warning you, Eris, I'm losing my patience here. Tell me where the fuck she is now, or you can say goodbye to you and your miserable family before tomorrow."

Her pulse quickens again. It’s really him—her captor, the shadowed fae who had claimed her as his. His voice is unmistakable, even though he’s out of sight. Nesta’s stomach lurches with the realization that she’s within inches of him, and the thought of what he might do if he catches her sends a shiver down her spine.

Keep moving, she tells herself. Don’t stop. Ignore them.

But it's hard to do so when they're so close to her, specially the moment Eris replies.

"Keep my family out of our filthy mouth." It shocks her how deadly serious he sounds. How threatening. "They have nothing to do with your personal messes. If I were you, I'll be more worried about Amarantha finding out. I wonder what she'll think of her whore keeping an human pet under her nose, without her permission?

Whore? Amarantha?

Suddenly, there's a loud bang and she has to bite her lip to not scream.

Someone punched a wall, cracked a hole in it probably. She can hear some heavy breathing, but can't tell whose.

"I'm sick of your games, Vanserra." It's him. "I don't like when people tamper with my things. Tell me where you hid her, or I'll fucking slit your throat right here. How would your mother fare mourning another son?"

Nesta takes another step, but her foot catches on something—a loose stone, a crack in the floor. The faint sound is enough to make her freeze, her breath caught in her throat. The voices stop. The air becomes thick with tension, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She closes her eyes, praying she hasn’t been heard.

Seconds stretch into eternity.

Then, a faint shuffle of feet.

She presses herself further against the stone, her heart racing, praying to whatever gods might listen that she’s not discovered. She waits, breath held, her fingers tightening around the golden knife. The faintest tremor runs through her as she imagines what would happen if the shadows, that dark fae that had haunted her every step, found her now.

Her breath escapes in a silent rush, and she forces herself to keep going, her movements fluid but swift. Just a little further. Just a little further. She has move away from them. Far enough to give her some advantage by the time he comes out to get her. Whatever farse Eris had been spouting to distract him is over with her mistake.

Her mind is racing as the path stretches ahead of her—there’s no going back now. She’s committed herself to whatever happens next. The knife feels cold in her hand, despite having been there for quite a while now.

The voices resume, softer now, but she can no longer understand them. She takes it as a good sign.

The passage winds on, the flickering lights from the cracks that guided her earlier growing faint and distant. Nesta’s pulse thunders in her ears as she moves, every nerve in her body attuned to the faintest shift in sound or shadow. She keeps her right hand on the wall, gripping the knife in her left. Eris’s instructions echo in her mind: Follow the wall. Don’t run. Don’t make a sound. Avoid the shadows.

She tries not to think about how close she came to being caught—or how the bastard would’ve reacted if he’d seen her. His threats, his fury—it all feels like a dark storm closing in, and she’s only barely staying ahead of it.

The air grows colder as she moves deeper into the passage, and she shivers despite herself. Her dress feels flimsy and useless against the chill. The fabric whispers against her legs as she walks, the only sound she allows herself to make.

She misses the fire and the wood from Eris' bedroom. She's going insane, no doubt, missing to be in a Fae's presence.

Nesta rounds another corner, her steps faltering as the walls widen slightly. The space feels different here—emptier, less confining. She presses her hand more firmly against the stone, willing herself to keep going. She doesn’t know where this path leads, but it’s better than staying where she was.

A faint, eerie hum creeps into her awareness. It’s distant, almost like a melody carried on the wind, and she freezes. Her breathing stills as she listens, trying to pinpoint the sound. It doesn’t seem like voices, nor does it belong to any creature she can identify. It's almost hypnotic...except she doesn't feel particularly drawn to it. More like weirded out, scared even. It wants to pull her attention, she knows, and she feels how it flies past her body. Her eyes squint around her, trying to see something.

Avoid the shadows, he said.

How is she supposed to avoid them if she's surrounded by them?

Nesta steps back instinctively, her grip tightening on the knife. She scans the dim passage, her eyes straining to see through the gloom. The hum grows louder, closer, and she realizes it’s not coming from one direction but all around her, as if the passage itself is alive and aware.

Her breath catches as a flicker of movement darts just beyond her vision—a shadow, but not her own. Her blood runs cold, and she takes another step back, pressing herself against the wall.

"Not safe," she whispers to herself, repeating his warning like a mantra. "Not safe. Not safe."

The hum crescendos, a low, thrumming sound that resonates in her chest, and the shadows seem to swell, stretching toward her. Panic claws at her throat, but Nesta forces herself to move, keeping her steps deliberate and quiet. She doesn’t dare look back, doesn’t dare think about what might be lurking just out of sight.

The wall beneath her hand feels warmer now, as though guiding her toward something—away from the terrifying darkness. She follows it blindly, her focus narrowing to the rough texture beneath her fingertips and the steady rhythm of her steps.

Finally, she sees it: a faint glimmer of light ahead, spilling through the cracks of what looks like another possible exit. Relief floods her, but she doesn’t let herself rush. Instead, she inches closer, every muscle coiled and ready to act if something—or someone—appears.

When she reaches the door, she feels along its edges, noticing a soft breeze coming from the other side. Her fingers brush against a hidden latch, and she hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder. She can see the shadows writhe in the distance, alive and hungry, and she knows she has no choice.

Nesta pushes the latch, and the wall swings open, revealing a room bathed in warm light. She steps through, the wall closing shut behind her with a quiet click. The hum vanishes abruptly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

It’s a small, empty space, furnished only with a worn-out desk and an old chair, a few cushions tossed carelessly on the ground, and a dusty bookshelf leaning against the wall. The thick layer of dust suggests it hasn’t been used in quite some time—or that no one cares enough to clean it.

She hears nothing but her own breathing. No footsteps, no voices, no hums. The room feels abandoned.

For now, she’s safe.

As if on cue, her knees give out, and she collapses to the ground. The knife slips from her grasp, clattering loudly against the floor beside her open hand. Her shoulders tremble as her vision blurs with unshed tears. The adrenaline that had kept her upright is gone, leaving her raw and vulnerable. Everything—the danger, the fear, the weight of survival—crashes over her all at once.

Nesta hugs herself tightly, pulling her legs to her chest and burying her face in her knees. For a moment, she lets herself break.

Now it's not the time, a voice eerily similar to her Mother's echoe in her head. Focus. Get out of here. Find Feyre.

Nesta takes a long, deep breath, looking up again. She casts a glance to the knife besides her and grabs it. She scans her surroundings again, making sure she didn't miss anything. The knife somehow comforts her, her heart going back to its normal rhythm as her finger traces the ashwood part.

She doesn’t know what more dangers she'll have to face, but she’ll find a way out of this nightmare—back to her sister—or die trying.

She's Nesta Archeron. And she won't break.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

come get your levitous sidekick / vicious bastard / funny little guys

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Okay, so a friend and I went back over a portion in the Season 3 trailer last night.

Because both of us (on separate days), after having watched the trailer a few times, essentially had the question: Is that green shatterspace portal actually Boscage Maze?

When I myself watched it I felt...idk...like the shade of green was different. And then my friend mentioned (after another look at it) that the color was more muted.

And then...we let our brains run.

Mind you, before the trailer or any summaries of the season came out, my friend and I were talking over discord. We'd decided that based on the evidence (Sonic's natural eminence of prism energy, whatever makes him special compared to Shadow, the fact he shattered the prism, etc) Sonic could theoretically have a deeper connection to the paradox prism due to the energy inside him. Then, they threw a what if in the air.

Essentially "I don't think they'll do it, but what if Sonic is the missing piece to the paradox prism. So they won't be able to complete the prism and do anything with it without risking killing Sonic"

To which I said "That would be so cool! And given that I've never believed Sonic's going to have to actually make a big choice between his old friends or his new friends existing—or at least that he'd never actually make that choice and would find a secret third choice—I think a Sonic's wellbeing versus everything he cares about makes sense. That has the potential to hurt the other characters, because if need be, Sonic would do it"

Needless to say we watched the trailer the first time and I was like "No way he was right. Like, it was a good thought, but none of us thought for sure that they'd do it"

Now, with that in mind. As I said, my friend and I decided to let our brains run after feeling that there was a difference between the green shatterspace in the trailer and the one for boscage maze. We couldn't shake the idea that the colors are different, nor the idea that the shape of the portal openings are different. And we've both seen people talking here about how it could be the last shatterspace open or something (boscage maze that is), but to me...that doesn't make sense. Without special context, it doesn't make sense why it would have to be Boscage Maze of all worlds that would be the last to collapse, or why taking Sonic to Boscage Maze of all shatterspaces could be enough to save him. Plus there are other voices talking in that scene. There are other people who would need to get to Boscage if it was truly the last, and if it's just to get Sonic to the closest shatterspace, the characters would have to be fighting in the in between space (between the shatterspaces). And my friend too, from looking at it, thinks that the green shatterspace in the trailer seems like it's farther out at the edges of the place between.

So, we rushed to the episodes to get a clear shot of the Boscage portal, and then a clear shot of the one in the trailer.

Now, turns out we were right about the color difference.

But it's the shape too.

If you've been looking in the main tag, I probably don't need to tell any of you that each portal (the part you enter to enter a shatterspace) is shaped like its prism shard. The first image is a shot of the Boscage Maze portal my friend screenshotted. The portal opening resembles the shape of the green shard, and the green is more vibrant than the more muted green in the trailer.

The shatterspace in the trailer is just...a completely different shape, both in portal opening and the crystals around it. If you need another angle of the Boscage Portal to compare to the crystals surrounding the portal in the trailer, here's another shot.

So, different green color. Different opening shape that would correspond to a prism we haven't seen before.

Let's return to the "Sonic contains the missing piece of the paradox prism and is essentially a living prism shard" theory, and let us also employ the idea that after the prism shattered and each shard landed in one of our alternate green hills, the shards gave off an outburst in energy that allowed the blue shard to fill the shatterspace with water, the green with dense forest, or the purple with mountains of crystal.

Now you're probably saying "But tumblr user hadesknockedupintheunderworld, what about the red shard? We saw a flashback. The red shard didn't just start growing buildings when it landed in what would become New Yolk"

And to that I'd say...you're right! We know based upon the Chaos Council's flashback that they used the prism shard as their energy source (whether they received it when conquering or after the fact), and that they themselves built New Yolk city without using the prism shard (after all, they only knew it as an energy source)

So, I say to you back. What if upon landing in a shatterspace, the shards were initially unstable. So they either caused a major change/addition to the world they landed in, or it's energy was properly harnessed and contained. That wouldn't be so far fetched, right? Because we know that Nine adapted the power core the council built to properly contain and channel the energy of the red shard to create his shatterdrive.

Now, the idea that the shards, while having shared powers, also have specific element based powers is not a new idea to this fandom. So let's run with this idea too, for funsies. If the blue shard corresponds more to weather (creating storms, lightning, flooding) and the green shard causes plants to grow (as examples), what, then, would Sonic be?

I'd say speed. Why? Well, besides the fact that that's Sonic's thing, let's backtrack to episode 1.

As of episodes 1 and 2, we know Sonic's body produces the same energy as the red shard. Before Nine crafted tech to attach to Sonic's clothes, the energy was not properly distributing to his body. Sonic would run and not be able to stop, he couldn't control his speed, and sometimes, he'd even start running without actually wanting or trying to run. In short, he could not control how fast he was going, how soon he could stop, or even when he would just start running. Even his shoes, which can canonically handle his usual speeds, had started to smoke after a while.

Couldn't you perhaps extrapolate from this that...Sonic became unstable upon entering New Yolk, his speed going haywire, and it was Nine's tech that properly contained and channeled Sonic's (he living shard's) prism energy?

And if Sonic is essentially a living prism shard...

Let's go back to the shatterspace from the trailer again.

A shard shape we've never seen before.

My friend and I got to this point and we thought:

"What if this is Sonic's shatterspace?"

As in, if each prism shard corresponds to a shatterspace, what if this is a secret 6th one that corresponds to Sonic?

Earlier I said that the ideas people brought up (without in season context) for how or why Shadow would speed to take Sonic to Boscage Maze wouldn't make sense. BUT

If there's a shatterspace out there affected by/created by Sonic's prism energy, it may not be a stretch for the writers (and our main characters) to conclude that getting Sonic there could keep him from disappearing.

Just...food for thought.