#moved from my AO3

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner. 

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly. 

What are the chances… 

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either. 

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’ 

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone. 

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

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To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

Link to Masterlist

[loxare]

Taking a moment to appreciate the AO3 volunteers who, if they were being paid would still not be getting paid enough to deal with this crap

[rosesradio]

You're the only person i follow who posts about thomas sanders

And i only watch him for sanders sides, i'm not really in the fsndom online, so i guess you are the best person to ask this

Why does thomas take so long to upload new sander sides?

ten questions scientists still can't answer, anon

[thekingofspin]

I just had a full 15 minute argument with my brother about whether bucky barnes is gay and defending stucky (stucky isn't even my favourite ship) and I told him about the 66,000+ stucky fanfics on ao3 and he still dosent beleive me.

his main argument was "rewatch the first captain America movie bucky is notoriously straight" and my argument was "rewatch the first captain America movie, bucky is not notoriously straight"

[svartalfhild]

Anybody else get any formal requests for collaboration from a supposed concept artist on their old FF.net account recently?

I just got one from someone named Gloria Jenkins, and a quick google tells me that there is a Gloria Jenkins who's been a storyboard artist for many children's cartoons starting in the 90's, and there's a Gloria Jenkins with an Artstation account, who may or may not be the same person, but the art in that account is much more consistent with the "concept artist and fan of high fantasy literature" the person from this message claims to be. (I also can't imagine a veteran children's cartoon artist wanting to collab with me, considering the kinds of stuff I write, unless they have a more diverse portfolio that it would seem lol.)

Anyway, I've been on the internet far too long to not be suspicious of something like this. This Gloria person is messaging from an empty account made a couple of days ago, and there's a few possible innocent explanations for that, but the scam possibility is also high.

[recycledraccoon]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Dimension 20 (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adaine Abernant/Oisin Hakinvar, Adaine Abernant & Oisin Hakinvar Characters: Adaine Abernant, Oisin Hakinvar, Lucy Frostblade, The Bad Kids (Dimension 20), The Rat Grinders (Dimension 20) Additional Tags: most of these are mentions - Freeform, no beta's we die like lucy frostblade, Pre-Relationship, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, POV Second Person, Colored Text Summary:

Imagine you're a skinny little dragonborn wizard, in a class with a cute elven girl. You don't talk to her, but one of your adventuring party members is pissed thinking that party is getting preferential treatment, so you KNOW about her. You watch from the corner of your eye or from a spot on the back of the class whenever she's actually there.

[phoenixcatch7]

Unrelated to the last post but MAN I wish I could make a list of characters view the canon fics that do it so well across fandoms but I really don't want to risk opening them up to deletion. It's only recently that these sorts of stories have been allowed to stay up, as only a few years ago they were considered 'too close to canon' and could - would - get forcibly taken down from just about every site.

I've lost too many amazing cvtc fics to staff deciding they were bending the rules too much to just post a list of links but... I wish they were more popular because there's some absolute gems.

Here, I'll talk about a few things they did:

Killed the protagonist and everyone had to rewatch his memories to bring him back. This was very controversial in universe and it made it work so well.

The protagonist was oblivious to the reading, not part of it. This meant everyone could theorise and debate between themselves and actually REALLY solved the pacing and dramatisation issues common to these fics.

The protagonist actually replaced a villain in canon; the reading was done pre canon and the villain believed he had gone insane was the one acting like that. It was mortifying but seeing his body make friends and get a happy ending when he believed he was beyond hope and vicious about it was heart wrenching.

The young protagonist accidentally wished to be understood and a villain took advantage of it. It switched between the reading and reactions and the protag desperately trying to defeat the villain and make plans to run away to prevent his revealed secret getting him killed by the government.

The very large cast was split into groups, but could contact each other via texting. This enabled each group to have wildly varying reactions and theories without having to constantly argue and fight. It made it more fast paced, and added tension as the villains plotted unsupervised.

A very small cast were on a road trip and found the protags audio diaries of his adventures in the glove compartment. This was a Percy Jackson one, and it built off the books' first person format brilliantly.

The protags purposely wrote down their adventures in books and sold them on the market to fix their reputation and earn some money doing so. It involved people frantically trying to verify the books and evolved into a pr nightmare.

The orphan protag somehow time travelled back to when his family was in hiding with his books. His parents and uncles read the books and got to know their currently infant kid in the process. (This was a Harry Potter one, and both the series and author got permanently banned from ffn years ago and it had gotten all the way to deathly hallows 😭. It had been in progress for over a decade and was immaculately written, I miss it so much. Author if you're out there ily.)

Midway through canon a group of the protags friends combined all of their memories in a crystal ball and shipped it to a conference where just about every important figure was in attendance. They did not tell each other of the memories they included. They did not tell the exiled protag what they'd done. Many unexpected revelations and betrayals happened during the viewing. It also made it so the only scenes that appeared were ones where other people were there, which was so creative and well done.

The protag was a powerful psychic brought in for questioning and made it everyone else's problem. It was hilarious.

For a video game canon a handful of trusted allies (and villains before they went insane) were secretly delivered the games by THE TIME TRAVELLING GHOST OF THE PROTAGONIST IN DISGUISE and played them. The main focus was the main villain finding out a) how to even play video games (there was an ongoing joke about ridiculous video game logic) and b) the reasons he went insane, in excruciating detail, c) his victim's perspective including his own history that future him died not knowing about. One of his friends got a spinoff video game about how all his other friends died tragically. Many people saw their own traumatic deaths on screen with about twenty pixels.

A group of next gen kids accidentally fell into their parent's memories (of a war they'd been lied to about).

The protag was the 'child' of an omnipotent being who got sick of them being a self fulfilling prophecy (which ended horribly in canon) and locked them all in a fourth dimensional cave. In the same fic, the protag was using illusions to maintain the appearance of on-screen canon while fleshing out canon scenes and implications. Really well written and the character relationships were 👌.

The characters parents got the books, and had to reverse engineer the events that led up to canon and also which character was whose unborn kid.

A villain made a wish to publicly expose the main group's 'lies', accidentally exposed them as telling the truth and themselves as the corrupt liars. Whoops!

Traumatised side character time travelled back to pre canon from an apocalypse (that wasn't in canon), demanding the canon be viewed to understand and prevent the events that led to the apocalypse.

Characters broke after the events of canon publish their stories as fantasy books to the unknowing civilian public. The fantasy people accidentally get hold of it and everything goes to pot. I swear this is a totally different fandom to the other one.

Dead villain ghost secretly witnesses a viewing, time travels back to adopt the protagonist and change history to his image.

Crossover where one character was revealed to be a character from the other fandom in hiding with a fake identity.

Protag lost his memories and everyone uses a magical device/ritual to restore it, becoming witnesses themselves in the process.

Characters were forced to watch amvs of each other and had to try and extrapolate the order of events and the symbolism of the song. No one walked away with the full picture, but they got the main problems sorted.

Someone made an uncannily accurate play and the characters had to track the creator down to sue them (and figure out how they'd done it) without revealing that the portrayal was accurate.

A travelling seer took severe umbrage to the body stealing protag and exposed him with receipts. He spent basically the entire fic curled in a ball of mortification.

The protag on trial for many crimes got the magic viewing device used on him in front of everyone in the courtroom.

One fic was pretty normal but every time someone on screen got hurt or sick, so did their 'irl' counterpart. It sped up the fic a lot as no one wanted to linger on the worst bits. Also the author used canon implications, that the protag was oblivious to, to low key scare everyone who noticed them.

Crossover where the adults of one fandom fought over adoption rights of the other fandom's teen protag.

The author only used cherry picked moments of canon to massively streamline the fic, which worked! All the high moments you want a fic to cover - epic fights, dramatic reveals, important conversations, silly moments, developing relationships. And absolutely NOTHING else, there was very little context. Made for some excellent moments of people frantically trying to explain themselves lol.

Character stared too long into the void, broke the fourth wall to watch their own media. They spent most of the fic about to cry.

Protags patron deities hosted a viewing to try and get him a gf/bf from their other avatars. He wasn't looking for romance but did eventually end up in a poly relationship.

Prophet reluctantly revealed his own version of events with the help of his sentient house. This was about a movie so it was pretty fitting thematically lmao.

There is so much potential!! There's so many ways to do it, branch out, give these sorts of fics a try! Don't get stuck in the rut of the same methods as everyone else, even in this genre there's all sorts you can do with it! Use some of these examples if you want! Get creative and don't forget you're writing a story!!

Of course, if you recognise or are reminded of these please don't link or name them*, but you're more than welcome to guess which fandom each belongs to XD!

*Except that Harry Potter one, please I need closure, it's been a decade-

[serenescribe]

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

[babychosen]

i've been denying how i feel (you've been denying what you want)

the line between a work trip and a girls trip quickly blurs as amanda and courtney spend a weekend away word count: 1985

thank you @sage-lights for always believing in me

The few days of Buffer Festival felt like a lifetime to Courtney and Amanda. In the mornings they explored the city and its quaint cafes and picturesque parks, and then in the afternoon and evenings they got to dress up and hit the stage. It was a vacation, even if it wasn’t. Their work trip was becoming a girls trip as time passed and neither of them wanted to admit it.

The magnetic connection between the pair grew stronger as time passed. After they went out on stage during the screening on the first day of the festival, Amanda felt something shift. Courtney’s staring became almost too much to handle and Amanda began to worry the audience would catch onto the invisible tether that had the two of them roped together all night.

After the show and the meet and greet the first night, Amanda was filled with awe, and unexpectedly: passion. At first it felt friendly, like admiration, but it morphed into something Amanda knew she shouldn’t feel. She wanted to feel close to Courtney—needed to, even.

The car radio hummed lowly in the background of their late-night drive through downtown Toronto. Amanda’s eyes were closed for the most part, trying to block out the blinding street lights. With Courtney’s head resting on her shoulder, she was sure she could fall asleep if she let herself doze off.

Amanda came back to consciousness a little when she heard the volume of the radio turn up. She opened her eyes to peer at Kiana in the front seat reaching forward to turn the volume knob, saying something about how much she likes the song. Amanda immediately recognized it as ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ by the Arctic Monkeys. She was familiar with it, but not too familiar. She shut her eyes again, blocking out the lights and listening in.

I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week

She felt Courtney shift closer into her side—if getting closer was even possible. Amanda convinced herself it was just a pothole in the road that jostled them around.

Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?

Courtney placed a hand on top of Amanda’s knee, and Amanda knew there was no pothole that could make a person do that. She wished she had worn anything but a dress and pantyhose, because there was basically no barrier between the warmth of Courtney’s hand and the skin of Amanda’s knee. 

Amanda wasn’t one to pay attention to lyrics, but Courtney’s actions felt in sync with the words. Amanda tuned out the song once again, trying to focus her attention anywhere but on the hand on her leg and Courtney’s uncanny timing.

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you

There was no room for doubting herself when Amanda felt Courtney move their hand inward on her thigh and squeeze lightly. Amanda inhaled shakingly, hoping the ride would come to an end soon for the sake of her sanity.

She tried not to dwell too much on their car ride, because it would only lead her to making assumptions that she shouldn’t (like letting herself believe Courtney reciprocated her desire for affection).

When they parted ways at their hotel Amanda could still feel the pull between them. She longed to be closer to Courtney and the temptation to walk down the hall and knock on Courtney’s door kept Amanda up all night. She convinced herself to stay put but still replayed the possibilities in her head over and over again until she fell asleep that night.

The second night went a little differently. It was tame…

“Why are you still carrying around one Timbit, Amanda? It’s probably cold and hard by now,” Courtney playfully prodded her.

“It’s a souvenir! Don’t judge me.” Amanda let out a firm huff and crossed her arms over her chest, the lone pastry rattling around in the box in her hand. “Besides, how else will I show people that I won the Great Debate?”

Courtney stared at the glaring sash across Amanda’s chest. “I don’t know, Master Debater… you tell me.” They reached across the elevator and ran a finger along the silky fabric of the sash. Their fingers brushed over Amanda’s stomach lightly and it sent a chill throughout her body. 

Amanda’s knee-jerk reaction was to pull away because she knew it was wrong, but the elevator door opened before her mind even had the time to process the touch.

Courtney pulled their hand away from Amanda and walked out into the hotel hallway as if they hadn’t just caused Amanda’s heart rate to quicken.

“You know, maybe you should keep that Timbit. Take it home, Angela might want it,” Courtney wondered, turning around to face Amanda as they walked backwards towards their hotel rooms. Amanda gave Courtney a toothy grin, because she knew damn well they were right.

Amanda stopped when she reached her room door, and Courtney walked a few steps further to their own.

They exchanged quiet goodnights and Amanda slid her keycard into the door, swiftly turning the handle to open it. Before she could fully step into her room, a voice stopped her: “Hey, we don’t have to check out until later in the morning tomorrow. Wanna watch a movie?”

She took a step back into the hallway and smiled at Courtney. “I thought you would never ask.” 

Courtney slipped their key card into the door, opened it, and then tossed the card at Amanda.

Amanda excused herself to her room to change into something more comfortable for the evening. She slipped into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a hoodie after removing her makeup, and exited her own room. She walked down the hall to Courtney’s, using the keycard they had given her to use to get in without having to knock. Just walking in felt… wrong, but they were close friends—just friends. Amanda pushed the door open to see Courtney already tucked under a blanket on the bed with their own hoodie on.

“Amandaaa,” Courtney drawled, reaching out her arms towards Amanda. “It’s cold. Get under the covers and never get up again.”

Amanda tiptoed to the bed, lifting up the blankets and sliding underneath them. It was already warm and cozy, and Amanda loved it 

“I didn’t realize there was such a tiny list of movies for us to pick from… so, it looks like we can either watch an old western, or a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie. Pick your poison,” Courtney laughed.

“At that point I’d almost rather watch something on one of our phones… I guess a Hallmark movie works. I mean, they can’t all be bad, right?” Amanda asked, wishing for the best.

… until it wasn’t. 

The second night was giving in to temptation. It was throwing caution to the wind because they were in a romantic city and the circumstances felt just right.

Amanda spent the entire movie realizing that her suspicions of Courtney sharing similar feelings towards her were not founded on nothing. 

It started with Courtney cuddling into Amanda’s side, keeping her arms and legs to herself. 

And then they draped a leg over Amanda’s body after a fit of laughter. 

And then an arm, which led to a hand snaking underneath Amanda’s hoodie. (Courtney claimed they were cold, as if the covers over top of them weren’t enough warmth. Amanda didn’t complain.)

Courtney roamed her hand all over Amanda’s torso to places it probably shouldn’t go, but Amanda couldn’t stop her when the heat at her core was ripping her resolve to shreds.

The movie ended and a silence fell over them. Amanda’s hand was on Courtney’s back, gripping lightly at their tank top as the pads of Courtney’s fingers traced the skin below Amanda’s breasts.

The air in the room was heady and suffocating. Amanda couldn’t tell if she was the only one breathing so heavily, but she didn’t care. She knew Courtney could feel the light buck of Amanda’s hips and the squirming under their touch that she just couldn’t quell—the complete, unrestrained desire that she had been feeling all night.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure, Amanda. You feel this, too, don’t you?” Courtney rasped, gesturing between them.

Amanda answered by sucking in her bottom lip and nodding. 

Hearing Courtney say she felt it too was transcendent.

The following morning didn’t feel right. It was a feeling Amanda couldn’t quite put her finger on.

They went for breakfast in the morning, took their coffees to-go and walked around a park for a couple of hours. They marvelled at the leaves changing colours and basked in the cool weather. The pair soaked up every last bit of the city that they could before they had to make their way to the airport and board a flight back to LA.

But the previous night was never brought up. Not at breakfast or at the park. Not in the airport or on the flight home. Not even back at the office, a week after returning.

So now, in the middle of their first shoot week back, Amanda’s beginning to crack under the pressure. She didn’t consider the fact that she would reach her limit—that telling herself to forget it ever happened would become too burdensome to handle.

They’re professionals, so Amanda assumed hiding the tension from their fellow cast members would be a breeze, but people caught on, and soon enough the chatter reached Amanda’s ears one lunch hour. Courtney was well within earshot too, so she knew that they heard it too. Amanda heard something along the lines of ‘Did something happen on their trip?’, though she knew it was with good intentions. She knew this cast was better than stooping low enough to gossip.

At the end of the day, she was determined to talk to Courtney and smooth things over. Apologize if she had to, but hopefully just settle the tension.

After a Smosh Mouth shoot, Amanda pulled her phone out of her back pocket to send a text to Courtney, but was greeted instead by a text from them.

Court 🌻 hey. meet me in the art dept? everyone’s left for the day already

It was short, but Amanda didn’t sense any hostility in the message. She wasn’t surprised to hear from Courtney first, considering how prompt both of them can be.

She made her way to the art department and found the doors almost fully shuttered, but the lights still on. Amanda easily pushed open the door and saw Courtney leaning over the workshop table, nervously fiddling with their thumbs.

“Hi,” Amanda said timidly. She pulled the sliding doors closed and paused in the doorway. “I-”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Courtney interrupted, turning around to face her. “I’ve been ignoring you and it’s unfair. I should have told you that I was processing things. Instead I pushed it away and I dealt with it on my own.”

Amanda nodded sympathetically, knowing all too well where they’re coming from. “You could have talked to me—I also could have talked to you,” she admitted.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately we’re both a little dumb.”

“Hey! No, we’re just… navigating uncharted territory. Shit’s hard, Court,” Amanda reasoned.

Courtney nodded with a frown still tugging at the corners of lips. Amanda noticed and opened her arms to welcome them into a hug. Courtney didn’t hesitate to practically fall into Amanda’s embrace.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything-”

“Well, what if I want it to mean something?” Courtney asked, her voice muffled by Amanda’s hair.

Amanda struggled not to let her giddiness show. “Then I-I guess it can mean something.”

Courtney pulled back from the hug. She looked up at Amanda and kept her arms wrapped around her waist. “What do we do about the rumours going around?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Amanda smirked, eagerly pulling Courtney in for a kiss.

[crimmsonflower]

shoutout to the writer of my favourite lawlight fic to ever exist

killing my self because I forgot to save it and they deleted the fic

[crimeronan]

kind of a tragedy that ao3 didn't exist in the 70s and 80s. i know people say it would be a horror story to find your parent's ao3 but honestly as long as you avoid anything E-rated until you're like the same age they were when they wrote it you'd be fine. my mom has an old yellowed manuscript of the extremely generic high fantasy novel she painstakingly wrote on a typewriter at age 15 and i've read it twice. her self insert was a side character tough warrior catgirl named "catchild" who had a sword and always rode on horseback and could talk to feral cats in the main character's village. are you telling me you guys would find ABSOLUTELY NO DELIGHTS in the OP deviantart OCs that your disco 'rents came up with.......

[casperth3ghost]

guys how do you explain to your friends who have suffered for months hearing u yap about one specific character that youre losing intrest in said character

[littlerit]

AO3 readers, I’m curious

Add in the tags/comments whether you have ever done a spring clean on your subscription list…

[spiritsong]

day twenty-four: blood magic

#Veilguard30 by @pavus · writing prompt

wordcount: 4.3k lavellan and solas agree to try blood magic just the once.

The sound of the village — the music slipping out from the Singing Maiden, the clanging and clashing of swords and shields, the simple chatter of daily life — began to fade as they walked deeper into the wilderness of Haven.

When all that was left was the sound of their muffled footsteps and their breathing, coupled with the cracking of branches falling from the weight of snow and the scurrying of small creatures, they continued further still. 

They needed privacy. Sylathe could imagine little worse than being happened upon by the villagers, or by Inquisition soldiers, or worst of all, Cassandra Pentaghast.

Privately, she wondered at Solas’s willingness to go along with this at all. From what little she knew of him, he seemed a level-headed and cautious man — someone who carefully weighed the consequences of all possibilities. 

When one of those possibilities was the Seeker chancing upon the Elvhen apostates secretly practicing blood magic in the woods… well. 

continue on ao3.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hey, I was just wondering - do you have an AO3? I see you referencing some fics/aus but I don't see a link or anything on your page lol. Love the art btw!! I'm living for the fantasy au rn.

Yes! but its all DC at the moment </3

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

(from this video)