#the fic was while you were missing

[ghostofcorsetspast]

Started watching White Collar and drew Jason as Neal because strangely that has become a favorite trope. I read a Jayroy fic that was dcxwc and honestly it ruined me. Someday I will do proper fanart for it.

also I discovered the smudge tool on procreate and promptly abused it

[youchangedmedestiel]

Men will join team sports and win to touch, hug, stroke and kiss other men.

[eri-pl]

You know, what else would be hilarious?

You know, in AtLA the "Ember Island" episode? The one with theather? Imagine: After Doriath, the remaining Feanorians (M&M, A& maybe A depending on what you prefer) go spying among the refugees in one or another city (no, IDK how Maedhros is not recognizeable, elven illusions, ok? Maglor does it) and there is a theatre and it does a play about Feanor and his sons (mostly about the sons) and it has the budget of a Czech musical and historical accuracy of the Amazon series.

Most of the men are played by girls (because boys and adults are mostly dead or fighting), Maglor is the main character, portrayed as weeping all the time and talkieng about hope (see: Katara in the episode) and hating his brothers (also, a strong suggestion that he's actually Fingolfin's son). Maedhros is portrayed as an orc-like monster but also has a lot of evidently artifical muscles which he flexes all the time in a flirty way. Celegorm is shown eating people, beating his dog, and still somehow is a comic relief. Curufin is played by the same actor as Feanor, only wearing heels (yes, they do the "short Feanor" thing) and is basically the same character, only he screams less and speaks in whole sentences (yes, they somehow make Feanor dumb). Caranthir is somehow turned human to marry Haleth (who is an evil witch). Amrod and Amras are one character.

Oh, and the actor playing Maglor cannot sing well (for an Elf at least).

And they need to sit there unnoticed in order to gather information about the Silmaril later, or something.

[thedeadthree]

✧ — 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

-`. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @carrionsflower and @loriane-elmuerto tytyy sm lori and airika!!!!! 🥀💌🐦‍⬛

✧ — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓.

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

✧ — 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — bel canto.

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐎 — nostalghia.

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐊 — mannequin pussy.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 — chappell roan.

𝐃𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐋 — florence + the machine.

— 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠:

@sunsofdawn, @pavus, @happilyobsessing, @girliefailure, @alvsanne

@auricfog, @jamessunderlandgf, @weisshaupts, @grapecaseschoices, @risingsh0t

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @full---ofstarlight, @fenharel, @unholymilf

@aelyosos, @anoramactir, @roofgeese, @cloudofbutterflies92, @griffin-wood

@southernreaches, @chainsawsangel, @leviiackrman, @tethrras, @rosykims

@tommyarashikage, @carlosoliveiraa, @courtana, @lilywatt, @kroganloveinterest

@shadowsofrose, @celticwoman, @shadowsofrose, @dialdrunk, @kissingwookiees

@neonshrike, @confidentandgood, @lavampira, @adelaidedrubman, @imogenkol

@kanos, @deadrlngers, @elluvians and you!!!!!! 🥀💌<3

[someobscurereference]

ive been rereading your ffxv fic "im trying hard to take it back" for literally four years now. please end my suffering and tell me how gladio feels. please. PLEASE. (but only if u want ofc)

(fic) Short answer: Gladio feels insane guilt and spends a lot of his life trying to make this up to Prompto. In the process, they deepen their connection as friends and do begin a relationship probably around the one-year mark of endless darkness. <3

Longer answer: (implications of abuse/violence tw but no worse than in the fic itself; just what others assume to be true even if it's not in the context of this specific fic)

Gladio is a secret romantic at heart who has always envisioned meeting his soulmate, but he's also duty-bound and duty comes first. So even though he reads romance books (amongst other types of books too) and indulges in his head a bit as many people do, he's often put his duty to the crown first and foremost in his mind. He also didn't imagine his soulmate was anyone on this trip and thought perhaps the person he may have been fated to meet died in the assault of Insomnia. Even if they were a refugee, they can't be a priority to him at this moment. His priority has to be Noctis.

Prompto has obviously grown on him over the course of their road trip, but there are aspects of them that don't 100% mesh (as is true with every realistic relationship). That said, Gladio never in a hundred years would want this moment of (understandable but out of line) frustration and anger in the wake of Luna and Altissa to be a permanent mark on Prompto's face. He's genuinely horrified and disgusted with himself for a long time after this and spends most of his life trying to make it up. He feels like a dirtbag about it.

That said, Prompto runs away from him in this moment and they need time to calm down, just as the fic shows. Noctis goes after Prompto, just like in canon. Prompto falls off the train and has his Despair Arc just like in the DLC, now with the added despair of "well, in addition to being a clone, my soulmate hates me. And in addition to the mark of inhumanity on my wrist (barcode), I have a giant hand print of him literally Shoving Me Away on my face. Forever."

Aranea: Well, do you want to die about it. Or do you want to live.

Prompto, eventually like in canon: Live, I guess. But it will be excruciating.

Aranea: That's what living is. We do it anyway. Your friends love you. Get off the floor.

He fights his way through his issues and gets rescued like in canon. Gladio probably tries to talk to him when they all catch up again, trying to apologize, and Prompto tells him to hold off on that for later.

Then, of course, Noctis is eaten by the crystal and "later" becomes much, much later as they evacuate and try to survive in eternal darkness. (Though they also can't Not think about it because it's a giant hand print. On Prompto's face. And every person they meet has Something To Say about it, for better or worse, whether they knew Prompto before or not. Prompto cannot escape it, and when Gladio is not doing Crown Duties he feels he must do in Noct's absence, he's with Prompto, so he also Cannot Escape It either. Even when the person speaking is unaware that Gladio left that mark. It's almost worse when they don't know, but when they see it's Gladio, who is such a big guy who seemingly hit Prompto and left that permanent mark there, some of them get nasty to him and some back off out of fear. Both are horrible. The guilt is eating him alive.)

Eventually, enough time passes as the dust settles that they do Talk About It. Gladio apologizes sincerely, for the 500th time. Prompto's like, "Well. It's not like you could have known that this would be The One Time it happened." And then cracks a joke about their soulmate mark being a Prompto's hand print on Gladio's ass from a butt slap in another life, which does help the tension somewhat. (The more Gladio tries to apologize, the more Prompto grows sick of hearing it, so they just have to move on and keep going, as he's learned to do.)

They grow closer over time, especially because there's not a lot of people who have survived to this point and even less later on. They do get together romantically, both because they do like the idea of soulmates (for different reasons) and also because they're living out of each others pockets for years, so there's an affection and dependency that develops there. Also, teenage Prompto always thought Gladio was really handsome and teen Gladio thought Prompto was cute and sincere for a pipsqueak.

When they are out together on dates in normal settings surrounded by strangers after the light returns, Gladio will receive dirty looks for the rest of his life from strangers who see the hand print on Prompto's face and immediately (correctly) assumes it was out of anger rather than a funny accident or something. (Edit: Some people will assume there is a funny story attached. Gladio will not know what to say to this. Prompto will play along.) He will learn to live with this. Prompto is really grateful Gladio is with him despite everything.

[belltrigger]

Submastober Day 24!

Inspiration: There's an older OC-tober prompt-list here that I am using.

Title: Something Feels Off Prompt: Forgotten Word count: 1032 Synopsis: Everything is soooo super normal for Emmet. Yup.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

One day, Emmet went to work. Everything that morning seemed normal. He had a small breakfast of peanut butter toast, a chocolate protein shake and banana; although he didn't like to eat first thing, he felt like he was letting someone down if he didn't try to eat something. It was raining but Emmet had an extra large umbrella, perfect for even two people to walk under, so he stayed perfectly dry during his trek. The schedule he had set for himself offered him enough time to stop at a local bakery, and the owner was always nice enough to give him a double order of whatever he bought. Although he loved sweets, it was absolutely too much for him to eat while still fresh, so he always offered half to the agents in the Subway.

Cloud made the strangest expression when Emmet brought it up, though. When Emmet said that the Agents could decide who got the spare today, Cloud's eyebrows creased and he paused before saying something like “Yeah, a spare today too, huh?” Emmet couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but it almost felt like Cloud thought something else before changing his mind. There was a hesitation that didn't feel natural, as though Cloud had an idea and then instantly forgot it.

Emmet decided that Cloud should have the spare, and gave him the box containing the fist sized cream puff. Cloud looked down at it, with the same confused but processing expression from before, and then finally nodded and thanked him.

An odd interaction, but Emmet let it be. Cloud was probably tired! He'd been working earlier in the morning than normal, taking care of the maintenance of some infrequently used tunnels in the subway system. It was an awful big job for just one of the Agents, but Emmet had to stay on the normal shift in order to engage all the challengers that met him on his Double Battle Line. Cloud also didn't drink coffee all that often, so he must have needed a pick-me-up by this time of the morning. Emmet decided he would check on him again later, just to make sure he was okay to go home at the end of his shift.

The highlight of the day was when White visited with her twin Black. It wasn't often that both of them came to visit at the same time, and the Agents made a big deal about visiting twins. Emmet thought it was interesting, yes, but he was more excited about how both of them would challenge him to a double battle. Each of them offered up one pokémon at a time to deal with his two pokémon team. For them, he carried six pokémon instead of his normal four; the pokémon that made up his team varied, depending on how much of a challenge he felt like being. After all, they came all the way to the Subway to challenge him, he should make it worth their while.

When they arrived, they both had the same strange reaction to him that Cloud had. They greeted him warmly and enthusiastically, but both hesitated oddly as if there were more to what they were going to say. They exchanged a look, though Emmet couldn't discern the meaning, but they shrugged off whatever it was and continued their conversation with him otherwise normally.

It was an exciting battle with them to be sure. However, watching them strategize together, Emmet felt a little jealous? Or homesick? It was a strange feeling in his stomach, almost a yearning, but it made no sense. What could he possibly be yearning for? He was battling just as he always loved to! He got to synchronize his pokémon, another thing he loved. His challengers were having a fun time against him, smiling so brightly.

There was supposed to be more to the battle.

But in the end, he won against them. White called (yelled) across the battlefield to him, giving him a play by play of all the things she thinks she should have done. Black simply snapped his fingers with a 'dang!' Emmet felt a simultaneous need to tease White and encourage her at the same time. Emmet split the difference, encouraging her first and then telling her that maybe she should have faced twenty battles before he let her face him. While White huffed and puffed, Black closed the distance between them and thanked Emmet for letting them come despite all things.

Emmet tilted his head, hands clasped behind his back. What did Black mean? He asked as much, and Black sort of stared blankly at him for a moment, looking very much like he'd walked into a room and forgot why he went there in the first place. White jogged over to join them, putting her hands on her hips. She couldn't explain his comment either, defaulting to a shrug and a casual reference to Emmet having a busy challenge schedule.

That seemed fair, and verrrrry thoughtful of them. When Emmet said so, White asked if they could get some BP for being thoughtful. Black chastised her but also seemed excited at the prospect of getting BP. They both groaned when Emmet chirped that they would have to battle him with more enthusiasm if they wanted free BP like that. Although they made a big deal of groaning, White promised that she would definitely be back soon and earn SO much BP. Emmet would run out of BP, she said!

As they left, they turned to each other, energetically discussing the battle they just had. Black clenched his hands into eager fists, and White waved her arms every which way, clearly emulating moves that had happened in the battle. Emmet watched them leave, waving as they did so, and felt the ache in his stomach spread up into his chest. Something about it just felt really familiar. He wanted to do that too. It felt like he should be doing it. But unlike White and Black, he didn't have someone to immediately turn to. It really, really felt like he should have someone, though.

But that wasn't something you just forgot, right?

[sugarsnappeases]

Hi

hello!!!! you did not ask but i’ve been getting emotional recently about hogwarts…. jen said ‘heart of wizarding britain’ and yeah oh my god it makes me fucking crazy. like. imagine you’ve just been through a year of all-out war. everyone you know is fighting for their lives or in hiding or dead and you don’t know who’s alive and you haven’t spoken to anyone bc you don’t know who you can trust but you get word that the final battle is happening. and not only that but it’s happening at hogwarts. and hogwarts is a place that was always safe and holds so many happy memories and is HOME for so many people and now it’s under attack and so you go, maybe not even necessarily bc you particularly support either side but bc it’s HOGWARTS and hogwarts is HOME and so much love and the crux of so many people’s lives and you just have to go and help where you can. the thought of people piling through that tunnel from the hog’s head makes me fucking insane. like the amount of love in that room. the reunions. the people you thought you’d never see again. and you’re all there joined together to defend the place where you met, where you grew up together, where you became the people that you are today. and maybe you’ll die but hogwarts is home. you couldn’t possibly let it go down without a fight.

i’ve also been thinking about the death eaters who are there ATTACKING the castle. and maybe some of them called it home as well…. like even tom called it home at one point in time and although he’s way too far gone by that point and his memories were probs kinda soured anyway by dumbledore etc there must be some of his death eaters for whom hogwarts was always safety when they were students but now they’re THREATENING that safety. tainting those memories. like do you guys think they felt remorse??? guilt??? horror??? idk it’s just so interesting to me. the fact that the war proper starts (w dumbledore’s death) and ends at hogwarts. it’s really the centre of everything. even without taking the war into consideration it’s the centre of everything. it makes me CRAAAZY

[malkaleh]

Tell us about where the inspo for the "CJ was kidnapped not Zoey" AU came from!

I think it did mainly come about because I really really wanted a Two Cathedrals esq moment for CJ - I wanted her to be able to hear that she was a Bartlet (daughter) explicitly, to have that affirmation of protectiveness etc that Josh (and Sam) and Charlie got - especially because there was a long time where I think she did feel less than. Also that image of Bartlet in the Cathedral 2.0 came to me in a flash of an image tbh - I also think I was interested in the gender of it/the public image of it - how do you deal with the daughter being kidnapped that the world doesn’t acknowledge as? The maybe gossip?

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[floralcrematorium]

sometimes i hear a song that was used in a 2010-2015 hetalia youtube video and i feel anguish, a sense of contented nostalgia, and longing for the simplicity of being 14

basically if you show me most 2012-2015 pop i will feel this way

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the Ladies say their farewells. But--

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,750. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 44: Not Over Yet

Despite their late night, the Ladies were duty-bound to wake early. Lady Samient was to leave before the sun rose. They all had to be there to see her off.

They gathered in the courtyard, the first rays of light creeping over the mountains. It would be that light which would guide her retinue—no more than a dozen troops, for small was discreet—to the Free Marches.

“Do you think Vichy will be glad to see me, looking like this?” Samient asked, of the Inquisition armour she wore—identical to that of the soldiers who lingered nearby.

“I think it shan’t matter what you wear,” said Trevelyan, “he will simply be happy it’s you.”

“And at least you shall be matching,” Lady Erridge teased.

Samient laughed, the joke causing her to settle somewhat. Trevelyan had never seen her Ladyship quite so nervous as this. It was a shame she would miss the reunion, for she so wished to know what Samient was like in the presence of her lover. What a happy, silly mess she might be!

“Do not worry about your father,” the Baroness reassured her. “Lady Montilyet and I shall deal with all that. You focus upon the journey home.”

Samient nodded. “Thank you.”

A Captain shouted out orders, drawing attention to the retinue as it shifted into formation. The time was nigh. Samient brought her hair up, and tied it into a bun atop her head. Her ears exposed, she ran a finger over the very tips—pointed and proud.

“Shame they’ll have to go straight back under a helm,” she muttered.

“Though not for much longer,” Trevelyand reminded her.

Samient smiled. “And never again after that.”

Such preparations did not go unnoticed, for her Dalish liaison—a young Elven man called Loranil—took the opportunity to hurry up, and report in. “Your Ladyship,” he said, “we’re ready to march.”

“I suppose I should make my way, then,” Samient mumbled. She sighed, and stared at the Ladies. “I, um… I don’t know what to say...”

“Oh, come here!” Lady Erridge cried. She threw her arms around Samient, smothering her with a hug. “Come on, you two!”

Trevelyan and the Baroness joined her, for Lady Erridge had the right of it. No words were necessary. Their embrace said it all. It was a promise of unflinching devotion, no matter how far apart.

“We love you,” whispered Erridge.

“I know.” Samient sniffled back tears. “I love you too.”

“Have a safe journey,” Trevelyan said.

“And write as soon as you can,” the Baroness added. “Tell us everything of your Clan.”

Samient parted. “I will. I will.” Taking a deep breath, she managed to say it. That inevitable word. “Farewell, all of you. I love you. Be happy. Please.”

Though they longed to keep her, and though she longed to stay, forever was impossible. But, in an attempt to delay its end, the Ladies remained, and would wait until Lady Samient was truly gone.

No, Giles. She wished to be remembered as Giles.

Giles found her place within the regiment. A few words were spoken between her and the soldiers, which caused her to smile. She placed her helm upon her head—it concealed the tears—and, with one final look back, she marched out of Skyhold.

May Ghila’nain guide her home.

***

No sooner than the remaining Ladies had recovered from this, than it was Lady Erridge’s turn.

Her carriage had arrived. They all had gathered. Her things were packed. Orroat’s horse was hitched. It was time.

Naturally, Lady Erridge was inconsolable. Whimpering, tear-stained, and red, she threw herself into Orroat’s arms, and begged: “Can’t we stay just one week more?”

But Lady Orroat shook her head. “I would agree to your every request, my love, but I am afraid if I say yes, you shall never leave.” She tapped Erridge lovingly upon the nose. “And I do not know how the Bann will continue to survive without you. Your poor mother had to sew a dozen more handkerchiefs for him, last time I visited.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t worry”—Orroat dabbed her dear Lady’s eyes, ineffective as it was—“we always managed to see each other as children, so this will be done as well—and we’ll pass through here plenty, I imagine!” She turned to Trevelyan and Touledy. “And you are always welcome in Coldon, of course!”

“I would be glad to visit,” said the Baroness.

“As would I,” Trevelyan agreed.

Lady Erridge whirled, and grabbed hold of their hands. “Oh, please do! I do not wish this to be our last meeting!”

Trevelyan feigned shock. “Why, are we uninvited from your wedding!?”

“Oh, no, no! Of course you are invited. What a wonderful day that shall be. No—a week! It shall be an entire week of festivities! I promise you.” She looked at Orroat. “Don’t you think?”

“If you so wish, my love.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Their outrageously saccharine nature was the only thing, at that moment, keeping Trevelyan from crying, for she could not help but smile to see it.

“I’m afraid the carriage is ready, Tam,” said Orroat, solemnly. “We’ll need to clear the mountain range before sundown, so we’ll have to be gone soon.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Erridge.

Petrified by the weight of the knowledge that her next moments with the Ladies would be her last, she almost hesitated. But such moments as these were not to be squandered! Lady Erridge surged forward, bundling both Trevelyan and Touledy into her arms. The loveliest, warmest, kindest hug yet.

“You know,” murmured Erridge, “were it not for you, I would have never known myself in love with dear Hul. It was only in befriending you that I realised my feelings for her were different.” She snuggled in closer. “Though just as precious.”

“We love you,” whispered Trevelyan.

“We do,” said Touledy.

“I love you both,” Erridge replied.

It was this sentiment that seemed to provide her the strength to step away, for nothing could be so enduring. But even as her fingers slipped from Trevelyan’s arm, she whispered to her:

“I’ll miss you terribly, Wicky.”

Trevelyan smiled, a tear in her eye. “And I you.”

But missing her would have to do—the carriage was loaded, the drivers seated. Lady Orroat opened the door.

“Are you ready, my love?”

“I think so,” Erridge replied.

She offered her hand. Lady Orroat took it, and kissed it, and guided Lady Erridge into the carriage—but did not follow. Not yet. Instead, she looked to the Ladies.

“Thank you for caring for my dear Tam so well,” she told them. “I cannot express how much it means, to know she is loved. I hope to make her even half as happy as you have.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Good. For if you break her heart, we shall kill you.”

“Painfully,” the Baroness added.

Lady Orroat grinned. “I would expect no more and deserve no less.”

She clambered into the carriage, settling in beside her dear Lady. Trevelyan watched, quite satisfied that their message had been heard, and that Lady Erridge was in good hands.

And those good hands kept her stable, as Erridge fumbled over Orroat’s lap, to poke her head out of the window. “Farewell!” she called. “We shall meet again! I love you!”

The signal was given, the reins taken up. The carriage began to trundle away.

“We shall meet again!” Erridge repeated, as it slipped into the gatehouse. Her voice echoed off the stone. “Farewell!”

“Farewell!” the Ladies cried. “Safe journey! Farewell!”

She vanished, the carriage rumbling over the old stone bridge. Trevelyan imagined that, within it, at that very moment, Lady Orroat had taken Lady Erridge’s hand, and held it tight. It was not so hard to believe.

Good. The sooner they were married, the sooner they would all see each other again. For now, though, sadness remained a most stalwart companion.

Trevelyan pulled her napkin from a pocket—the poor little cloth only just having dried from its use earlier in the morning—and dabbed at her eyes. It was a wonder she had any tears left! The Baroness dried her own, and looked to Lady Trevelyan. Wordlessly, they linked their arms together. Two Ladies left.

“Come,” she said, “my carriage will not be ready for another hour, so let us pass the time. May I see your new quarters, before I go?”

A good distraction. Trevelyan nodded.

Together, they wandered back towards the keep, and into the Great Hall. It was much calmer today than yesterday. Only the ordinary sort of rumpus and ruckus.

In search of Trevelyan’s new quarters, the Ladies headed not for the rotunda door and the guest suites above, but for the door to Montilyet’s parlour. Tucked within, they knew well enough, was the landing that preceded her lounge. And off this landing, there were two sets of stairs.

They took the ascending route, to where a different set of suites awaited. Stretching out above the parlour, snaking into the Inquisitor’s tower, this corridor housed the rooms of the Inquisition’s innermost circle.

“I couldn’t quite believe it, when she told me where it was,” Trevelyan admitted.

“It is a privilege to be amongst them,” mused Touledy.

They turned into the tower, ascended a little ways up… and soon enough, came across a door.

“This is it,” Trevelyan said, turning the key. “Though I warn you—it’s not mightily impressive.”

She opened it, and shuffled in. The Baroness followed, and put on a good show of admiration—but Trevelyan knew it was merely politeness.

This room she’d been given was a touch smaller than her guest room. Understandable, really. Guests were to be impressed with comfort; residents simply needed somewhere to sleep. The furnishings were more basic, too—but better than the ones she’d had in the Circle, by far.

The bed, though not four-poster, was of a sufficient size. “Though you’ll not test this one,” she teased the Baroness.

“Oh, I believe that is someone else’s duty.”

Trevelyan laughed. “And here is my desk!” she quickly continued, proudly showing off the little bureau. “I’m so pleased to have this. I’ll be able to work here, should the Undercroft be too busy. Oh, and look!”

She pointed to the window just above it, that permitted morning light to filter into the room. The Baroness peered out, and gasped at what she saw.

“Oh! Are these not the same mountains we saw from your stargazing spot?”

Trevelyan nodded emphatically. “Yes! I can sit here, on a night, and look out—without having to get so cold!”

Touledy smirked. “But how then will you secretly rendezvous with the Commander, hm?”

“I believe you’ve already suggested a method!”

They laughed, and Touledy regarded the room once more. There was little else of note—a trunk and drawers, for storage, and a pair of chairs—but she nodded approvingly nevertheless.

“It may not be much, but I think it is lovely.”

Trevelyan grinned. “I know. So do I. And—”

There was a rapid knock at the door. Trevelyan perked. The Baroness’ carriage could not have been ready so soon? She hurried over, and opened the door. A scout stood on the other side.

“Morning, your Ladyship. This just arrived for you—urgent.”

They handed over a small scrap of vellum. She could tell by the scrawled writing that it was a bird-message, transcribed.

“Thank you,” she said, letting them hurry on their way. She shut the door, and returned to Touledy.

“Who is it from?” her Ladyship asked.

Trevelyan steeled herself. There was no seal to warn her, but the timing itself was enough. “I think I know.

Though her soul screamed not to, her eyes began to scan the words:

Daughter,

If there is no engagment, there is no reason for you to stay. We shall be travelling to Val Royeaux. Meet us there, or we shall have you fetched.

Bann Trevelyan

Trevelyan’s lungs stopped. The paper fell from her hand, spinning to the ground. They couldn’t—she gasped—they couldn’t just come for her? They couldn’t take her away. No, no—

Touledy, leaning hard on her cane, managed to collect the message from the floor, and read it for herself. Her eyes widened.

“Stay calm, Lady Trevelyan. Everything will be all right.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “But they—but they… I didn’t think they would come get me! I thought they would just leave me be. Why won’t they leave me be?”

Shaking, she found the arm of a chair. The Baroness guided her into it.

“Shh, stay calm. It is all right. You are of the Inquisition now. You have protection. They cannot simply pluck you from Skyhold. We should tell Lady Montilyet of this. She still owes you a debt.”

The Baroness rose, and hurried to the door, sticking her head out. Grunting, she rushed back.

“The scout is gone,” she explained, “so I shall find Montilyet myself. You remain here. Stay calm, all right? Breathe. All right? Breathe.”

Trevelyan did as instructed, taking breaths in, and pushing them forcefully back out.

“Good,” cooed Touledy, stroking her arm, “very good. I will be a moment. Just a moment. We will have this sorted, I promise you.”

Touledy gathered herself, and left the room. Her cane tapped away at a heightened rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

But when it quieted at last, Trevelyan was left with only the sound of her own breathing. She clasped her hands together, until her knuckles turned pale, and held them against her chest. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

A knock at the door. Touledy was sooner than promised.

“Come in!” she cried.

“Arcanist?” came the reply.

Trevelyan turned. The Commander stood in her door. She lost her breath again.

“Are you all right?” he said, abandoning what he carried upon her dresser, and pulling a chair up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to say it without crying. “My parents…”

No use. She passed him the message, instead. He read it. His face fell. His head shook.

“No,” he said. “They cannot take you from Skyhold.”

“They’ll try.”

“Then what if…” He tried to catch her eye. “What if you simply told them we were engaged? Would that settle them? If that is, if that’s what they want?”

“No!” Trevelyan stood, tears falling anew. “I don’t want to do what they want! I want to do what I want! I wanted to be done with them! I just…” She bowed her head, and wept. “I wanted to be free.”

She felt her body buckle—but no sooner than it had, than it was held upright. The Commander enveloped her in his arms, and held her tight against his chest. She clung to him in turn, buried her head within the fur of his mantle. It was all him, keeping her together.

“No one can take you from Skyhold without your consent,” he murmured. “I promised, you are safe within these walls. They could send an army. They will not take you from m—here.”

Trevelyan nodded. Her breathing slowed. She believed him. She believed him.

Footsteps—hurried, heeled footsteps—neared.

“Lady Trevelyan!” came Montilyet’s voice, as she rounded into the room. “The Baroness has just told me! Are you well?”

Trevelyan shook her head. The Commander, slowly, gently released her into Lady Montilyet’s arms.

“It’s all right, Lady Trevelyan,” she told her. “I will go to Val Royeaux myself if I have to! You are an Arcanist of the Inquisition, and you belong here.”

Trevelyan muttered, “I want to stay.”

“I know. You will.”

Further footsteps. Trevelyan glanced toward the door, and saw the Baroness had arrived as well. But—the Commander was gone.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He slipped away,” the Baroness said. She wandered over to the dresser, and admired the bouquet of flowers that had appeared upon it. “But it seems he left you a gift. I shall find someone to fetch a vase of water.”

The Baroness withdrew. Lady Montilyet sat Trevelyan down, and brought the flowers to her. Trevelyan accepted the arrangement, gladly. Such a beautiful little bouquet. Poppies and spinwort, crystal grace and daisies. Put together by one with no knowledge of floristry. Ever more beautiful for it.

“Trust me,” said Lady Montilyet, sitting beside her. “I can deal with the Bann and Lady Trevelyan. In my sleep.”

But Trevelyan shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want to deal with them myself.”

[quaranmine]

Missing 411 guy?

David Paulides, the guy who is the creator of "Missing 411" which is basically a conspiracy about suspicious clusters of people going missing in National Parks in the United States. He is also the bane of my existence for the past year as someone who is researching a story about someone who goes missing in a National Forest.

To start with, if you've ever been even on the fringes of "irl spooky stuff" videos on YouTube, you might have encountered this. There are a lot of youtubers and podcasters who cover this guy's content without understanding What and Who they are giving platform to. Sometimes, people don't even mention him but will relate the cases that he covers in his books or use the same conspiracy points as him. I would not be suprised if you watched a Buzzfeed Unsolved/Watcher video (which are fine btw) and then got recommended something related to Missing 411 in the sidebar since it's a similar genre. It's super popular to the point where its outgrown its creator. I can't stress enough that many of you have probably encountered this content, at least in passing, without knowing what it was.

So to recap, Missing 411 documents cases of real-life people who have disappeared or been found dead in national parks, national forests, etc and claims that these cases are unusual and mysterious. It frequently talks about missing person "clusters" and things like that. There is often an overt, if not outrightly stated, implication that something supernatural, crpytid, or UFO/alien related was involved. For starters, David Paulides has written a ton of books trying to prove the existence of bigfoot. Now, I have no issues with people believing in bigfoot, or cryptids, or aliens, but I do have an issue with people co-opting real life tragedies and twisting information to push this as conspiracy. I simply do not think it is helpful or respectful to talk about missing and dead people (and children!) like this. Also, with the high prices of his books ($100-200) he just reeks of grifter to me.

To me, Missing 411 "criteria" is a stretch at best. You will see cases "mysteriously" connected because both of these people wore red when they went missing. Both these people's bodies were found near water (as if many National Park do not have water features.) Both these people's bodies were found near granite rocks (like, the most common rock type in mountains lol.) All these cases involve the weather turning bad! (um, yeah, that's a big reason why people get in trouble?) He frequently claims that bodies being undressed is highly unusual, without ever acknowledging paradoxical undressing. Or he claims laughably weak connections between people like "these two women who went missing in different years are connected because they both had three letter names that started with A." I haven't personally listened to this talk but there is a data scientist mentioned in his Wikipedia page who examined the case data and found nothing out of the ordinary in them. If you don't want to watch a video (I don't either right now) then he also wrote this article. From a different person, this article from a podcast is also good.

David Paulides does not present Missing 411 cases with accuracy. He has been known to cherry-pick data and purposefully omit data to make them seem more unusual. Many cases he covers are either already solved, or have extensive information available. He does not retract information or admit when he is wrong. Even if he does present a particular case accurately, he has such a bad track record with reliable research that he cannot be trusted as a source. There used to be someone on reddit who would deconstruct cases he covered. In this post they found several instances of cases of Paulides missing sources and coming to incorrect conclusions.

Note there's a few differences in the sources I just linked. The data scientist and podcast skeptic both said they found the data to be accurate, while the redditors have found evidence to the contrary. The data scientist also says he found Paulides' presentation of information respectful, but I personally find all of this highly disrespectful. But despite these differences I think we can all agree....the claims of Missing 411 are pretty ridiculous.

Also, let's talk about David Paulides himself. Before becoming a writer, he was a cop in California. He was a cop who was fired for corruption (well that's hard to do), because he was caught soliciting donations for a fake charity he set up. That's straight from his Wikipedia page. He continues to use his past as a "dectective" to attempt to make his claims sound more reliable. There was also a redditor who pulled up some other career highlights from when he was a cop in the 80s, by looking at court transcripts and news articles. His job used to be entrap gay men by pretending to be gay, getting them to invite him home with them, and then arresting then. He and his unit were also accused of police brutality many times in the 80s, with Paulides testifying in defense of his unit. And he has not changed btw, he's a Qanon stolen election covid denier type of nut right now on his YouTube channel (according to reddit. I am not watching this man's videos.) So yeah, I think his character speaks for itself.

Anyway, I'm tired of hearing about this guy and seeing 411 related content pop up around YouTube, Reddit, Tiktok, etc. Pay attention if you watch things related to "creepy and unexplained real life disappearnaces." I do not think he is a good person, I do not think he can be trusted, and I do not think that his work actually benefits the families of the missing persons in question. These are real people. He turns them into spectacles to push ~unusual~ circumstances and paranormal activity.

[micamicster]

Entertaining myself by fucking around putting all my fics into that Penguin Classics cover generator today! Link to my ao3 <3

[calamitoustide]

curious about your fic there's a crack in everything (that's how the light gets in)?👀

wip tag game

okay! so this is a little companion fic to my fic i might like you less now that you know me so well

I did this with one of my other fics (Dear Reader/Dear Helios) and had such a fun little time on it so I've spent like a week thinking about nothing but it and now I have to write it.

With Dear Helios, it was pretty much all in the future but with this one it's gonna be mainly in the past. There are a few scenes that have been brought up a lot but I never actually explored them because of how the fic was structured.

The first chapter, for example, is gonna be Reg falling in love with James for the first time since that happened when they were kids and obviously way before the fic began. So it'll be a scene spoken about at length during the fic. Reg ran away from home for a few hours because Walburga tried to make him wear a dress even when he protested, and he found himself crying at this little playground when James came out and sat with him. And then I'm toying with another idea that's gonna be the second half of the chapter but it's not at all concrete so I'm gonna leave it at that.

[thevaudevillescene]

Kirby is sooooo…her process to figure out the last question? Hello? Kevin Williamson said, “I’m going to create a character that’s SO neurodivergent.”

Sidney taking a more active role in this scene compared to how it played out in the movie is super interesting because she’s said more than once that she doesn’t watch scary movies, but she immediately calls out the trick questions.

And Charlie? Die.

[aelinox]

reverse psychology can and does work on me