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I want you guys to all start making a bigger stink about Tumblr's Age Verification Horseshit.

Like they tried to change Reblogs and people rightfully got up in arms, this is a LOT worse. In order to have access to any sort of thing dubbed mature, and We haveALL seen what they think is mature, Everything from a black and white photo of a black woman's arm, to posts about IUD recalls, to a nude painted by a 17th century artist, to anything involving the word Trans; you have to send your personal information to a third party site that WILL get hacked, and you will be doxxed. And they can say "Oh shit, well it wasn't us who sent your name address and gender identity to Moldovan teenagers, here's a couple extra minutes in the ball pit.

That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.

"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.

This is a breaking point and it's going to be very interesting to see how we proceed from here.

teh-nos

i get this now and it won't let me click through to any 'mature' blogs :(

hylianengineer

Where's the fucking. The form. The fucking form. Hang on, lemme find it.

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distant--shadow

Author’s notes for chapter 16 & 17

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 16 - Fulmen (lightning bolt)

Start off simple, we got Laudna getting her face covered in blood which was foreshadowed by her getting mud on her face when sewing the golem together in the previous chapter;

Imogen hears the clatter of embalming tools and other instruments various as Fearne turns to sieve through the contents left on the parallel sarcophagus table- as well as an unexpectedly organic recently-deceased sort of organ-spurting squelch from the golem puppet cadaver in front of them as one of the seams ruptures, causing wet mud to squirt from out of the apparently botched sewing job as if it were a fistula. “I think we need to gamble less on substitutes…we need more…” Laudna’s face is half covered in the wet compost. Fearne might have gotten a little over enthusiastic with padding out the monster tits.

To;

“Fearne – what are you doing here?” - she leans her staff against the stone slab table, taking stance on the opposite side of it to Laudna, a juicy fresh cadaver with some sort of metal contraption that she can’t remember the name of but supposedly should by now holding its chest cavity open and set out on its back between the two of them. A diagonal smattering of blood divides Laudna's face into perfect halves. Enough time has passed for it to be tacky and coagulated, just starting to crumble at certain edges - though still vivid in its shade of crimson. Fearne is a little insulted at the question, a bit bewildered as to why she was left out of such plans.

its been a lot of fun for me to invite the 3rd POV of Fearne into this fic. I like to write her in a manner where her words are a lot more of her thinking out loud, vs Imogen's and Laudna's (especially Imogen’s) who tend to have a lot of internal backing and forthing before landing at what they say (or saying something completely different). When I write Fearne’s POV I try to make it more present and matter of fact and short vs the other two’s. I think this dialogue also shows Fearne’s commitment to making her people happy, covering all bases, but also how she genuinely can see things from a lot of angles, how things are usually in the grey areas.

“I think she would have ran by now if a little misbehaving scared her. Besides, we don’t have to tell her about any of this if you don’t want to. It’s ultimately for good.” Fearne moves to lick the blood from Laudna’s new wound, but Laudna pulls her hand away - so maybe telling her that Imogen doesn’t have to know anything has just salted the other wound - that she hasn’t been in Laudna’s head, or that maybe Laudna can’t feel it like Fearne can - as Laudna takes a glass vial from out of one of her skirt pockets and screws the silver cap back on once she has filled it from its press to her skin.

“Stop that. You’re not the same. Just look at Sorcha, she’s growing into such a wonderful young woman-” “I killed the boy she is sweet on.” Fearne can only sigh and soften her eyes. “Oh Laudna. You had to; you were just seizing the opportunity. She will forgive you. She doesn’t have to know.” “I’m a monster.” Laudna almost barks like a dog self-muzzled.

Was also juicy 4 me here to put in a little reminder that, yeah, Imogen has slipped into Laudna's mind a handful of times now (first time at the lake seeing a flashback of below the surface in the first couple of chapters, saying one thing very briefly in her head about not wanting to be alone when sharing her bed, and then of course when Laudna was in her ptsd-induced form of dread) – but Laudna doesn’t feel her presence like Fearne does (sorry, this was a canon reference I had to make. Fearne being so affected by Imogen's powers is so so juicy 2 me and I like thinking of the possible ties that could draw in this AU).

And Laudna is not only thankful for her years that have made her wise, but for Fearne’s that have made her softer; and how they meld to remind her that she must be kind to herself in order to be kind to others- To be of benefit.

Noooo honey you were so close- or maybe this is good? She is getting there. Laudna has so many years of abusive programming, of needing to prove herself useful in order to keep herself safe. I am yet to do a re-read of “What Doesn’t Break” but clearly a lot of it stuck with me;

…Sure, they love her now, but they only love her because she is of service. It’ll stop if she ever gives up on fixing their homes.” And Laudna thought she could live with that as long as she was loved.

Tyvm cass khaw, that’s been some real good food to chew on with this fic.

She’s not used to staying in someone else’s bed. Most of the time she spent in her Lady’s she was barely in her own consciousness, giddy and hazy dilly dallying in and out of Laudna in and out of laudanum-induced bliss touching she couldn’t touch couldn’t touch herself but she touched the threads that stitched her Lady’s cheek that after another sleep she caused to be under immense stress holding Laudna’s jaw together as it sags and wails in its want to dislocate and yet she had touched her lips her lips share the same tactile memory as a yet to be bloomed peony soft and swollen under the pad of Imogen’s thumb she nursed her Lady in her Lady’s bed and she was asked to be there, please’d, and like how Imogen swore she will remember how her lips shape the syllables of the old language she remembers the tales they softly spoke of a god who wished to make his fury known, the towers he split like trees, the craters he filled with his tears. She dreamt it as though Laudna had been whispering in her ear, and if Fearne is a creature of fire then maybe she would have applauded whatever the fuck just happened when Imogen wasn’t fully conscious. They wouldn’t- They would encourage it. Her flesh smells like ozone. Her fingertips crackle with static. And she feels powerful. Convenient, isn’t it? That it’s whenever she isn’t fully conscious - like something else is inside of her and can’t be patient much longer. It isn’t ‘like’ much. Her body is visibly being taken over. And that’s only what she can see from the outside- It’s no longer a fairytale - but a dream of history – The Red Cataclysm. She should laugh. If only her daddy knew what he called her when she was apparently bein’ a little brat would be so apt. Maybe he woulda treated her different. Maybe she would have learned a lot more about herself a lot sooner. It’s not the first time that Imogen entertains herself as being the sacrifice on the stone slab table, or separated into labelled specimens of human and alien organics dissected and pickled in glass jars for the Lady’s curio cabinet. It’s not the first time lately that she’s entertained herself with a lot of things. Maybe she can blame that on why she has been too distracted to stop and allow herself to take the time to realise how fuckin’ insane this all is. With barely any practice she has rendered an unfairly overpowered inherited affliction into some sort of party trick, a pathetic bid she offers around the two other women to prove she is worthy of their company; terrified of what could happen if she proved her competence, if she figured it out at all. Not even lately. She has chosen for years, for decades of her life to think differently, to exist differently – and that exertion of not existing in her head in the world around her the way that it wishes to - arguably cowering and submitting to exhaustion and frequent migraines and ultimately isolating herself – harmed herself – because maybe she is not meant to be here. She feels powerful. She chose being miserable because in all of those years she was too scared to confide in anyone. She always knew what to say and that was the problem- The dreams would still have come, right? The years may have been easier but she would still have to have figured it out - would she have figured it out? Has she? If the answer is the same as one she had come to years ago, If she isn’t meant to be here- If Laudna wants her rib she can have it. If she has managed what she has with not much more than butcher’s offcuts and hornwort then what could she do with what must - when laid out like rope - be metres of celestial scars? She feels powerful. Her potential is terrifying. Maybe Fearne and Laudna letting Imogen be witness to any of what has been going on has been encouragement. Maybe it’s a chance to absolve her body of its sins before it carries out any more.

Oh Imogen, it really must be so alienating and terrifying, all of this figuring things out to end up where knowing nothing had led her to feeling – like she shouldn’t be here. What’s the difference between suicidal and sacrificial? Perception and circumstance? I think it’s a fun parallel to have between her and Laudna's self-worth.

And so early in chapter 17 we have a bit of resolution to that;

As she watches Fearne cauterise incisions with the flame at her fingertips and Laudna tableting bones with runes as if decorating them in scrimshaw she becomes aware that she is obviously delaying the inevitable; that in denying her strength she has instead decided to learn, and that by learning she will become stronger, and that in living she will have more dreams. It is the company that changes it all – the experience, the desires, the outcome.

Hippy-ass introspective shit.

Chapter 17 - Tangere (touch)

When she stands her costume becomes more obvious; an extravagantly embroidered pair of butterfly-like wings that trail along the floor behind her like a veil, even when unfurled. Threads of gold and ruby and turquoise sew patterns of stars and planets and other celestial bodies in a pleasing pattern as if viewed through a kaleidoscope, attached to an only-black but certainly not plain corset that compliments the shade and textures of black in lace and satin and silk that form the rest of her ‘costume’ – a more familiar mourning black dress, surely arguable to Laudna to only be accurate to a butterflies thorax.

Sooo Laudna’s costume is inspired by both Fearne and Imogen (and her own lore), I won’t go into the details yet as that hasn’t been said much in the story (at least for Laudna past a mention or two about a comet). The butterfly is a homage to her friendship with Fearne and that spell they created together, and how that in turn invites Imogen into their circle (and all of the themes of watching eachother etc.) I also had these Victorian and later stage costumes stuck in my head that I’d seen a few years ago, I don’t see Laudna's looking exactly like these but it was definitely inspired by them;

Imogen is not accustomed to drinking wine - or drinking much other than water, really - not forgetting the sweet teas of her childhood. She could handle a few pints of mead or beer when needs were necessary, but from how the warmth of the one glass was already spreading throughout her body she was feeling quite aware in how wine is a different beast; how its rich taste causes her lips to pucker and its velvet-like viscosity coats over her tongue and teeth lavishly, pairing the interior of the room they're in How it eases out laughter from each of them - that must be the intoxication, what’s intoxicating - their unguarded company, along with the tingles throughout her body, like waking up from a dream- “Yeah, please.” Imogen smiles, feels how giddy her lips are to move upwards, her cheeks as red as the wine when Fearne's focus intentionally moves from Imogen's eyes down to her mouth.

Oh my god YAY I love writing POV’s whilst the person is intoxicated, I can excuse my short and distractible writing style as just being genuine to their current state-

Nah I will use drugs as a plot device. Imogen needs to be seeing in Laudna's head without worrying about getting in there sdm.

And that is the other notable development, the difference in wine versus a pint or two of beer. She can’t help but relax; and to relax means to let herself be the way that she naturally wishes to, and that means being this – Omnipotent or somethin’, always aware like an entitled entity. As the alcohol began to fuse with her blood she had been trying to remind herself that her company is aware of who she is - whatever that is – as if being in her presence was handed over with its own release forms and consent As the alcohol made her warmer she found she cared less, despite it being the alcohol that brings on her own lapses in judgement. So what was there left to do but enjoy it? And how it makes the time dance and jump-

Yay :)

When she removes her gloves Imogen can see a new clean cut that almost splits the webbing between her thumb and first finger, carrying on towards her wrist. “You’re hurt.” Imogen says, mood suddenly sobered setting her recently re-filled glass on the floor besides her feet and standing up to move towards the bench Laudna has sat at. “Nothing to worry about; there’s plenty of sharp edges involved with practically all of my hobbies – it was well worth the sacrifice.”

Oh how the roles have reversed-

Laudna's fingers span a notable distance between the ebony and ivory of the harpsichord keys; promising some form of familiarity should and when they decide to allow for hammer to hit string, for the note to be born only to immediately decay as soon as it has been rung – impermanent, as everything should be.

This is incredibly wanky, but also very personal; I was at a gig the other week where it was a local pianist and violinist playing some pretty out-there stuff, and the only real chat they gave between the songs was to stop and talk about a recent big fire in the city centre that had not only taken down a building that had survived bombing during the 1st and 2nd world war but was also currently home to a lot of creatives. She said the next song was about impermanence and how that is the very nature of what she does as a pianist. I know at least a dozen folk who had residencies in that building that burnt down and lost a lot. So this is a little easter egg for myself, that's also tasty given Imogen's suicidal/sacrificial wishes(and of course a reference to laudna being undead in canon).

They’re each tone deaf in their own way. In all honesty Laudna is the closest to being able to hold a tune; and it’s honestly impressive with how melodious her usual talk is that she then seems to be unable to follow a melody written by someone else - tending to form songs that almost sound familiar but the key is off, flat, sharp, minor - haunting where it should be jovial, unsettling when it should be celebrational. Fearne is - well, a lot, and all over the place – she keeps insisting that it is music and it is called ‘improv’ and it’s a large form of ‘jazz’ which – conveniently - is a type of music only found in the Fey Realm. and her performance is cut short when a murder of crows caws and raps their beaks at the windows and Prosciutto claws and wails from behind one of the doors. She huffs, scouring at the crows as if scolding them. “You have to have experienced it to get it.”

Sorry eff your money making Christmas album (valid 4 funding purposes) 2 me canon says that none of them are that great at singing (see; their trip to the fey realm where there are flowers that enjoy music). And of course had to have it so that jazz is a fey-realm genre – if I’m sorta sticking to vaguely regency/Victorian timelines then I’m gonna argue that stravinsky’s The Rite Of Spring (one of the most important pieces of music of all time 2 me) hadn’t come out yet and the chaos of that orchestra piece caused people to riot, so there definitely hasn’t been any jazz about in the AU world yet-

Travelling scat singer Fearne au inbound-

I jest, unless-

Anyway, this was some more fun. It felt a much needed break with how heavy this fic can be (although I am sure make certain that is broken up with the horny). I think I’d a drink or three a couple months ago and was vibing with my little discord server about what a drunk witch party in a manor could be like and this scene is pretty much that.

“You know what I can’t understand, Imogen? If you love animals so much - then why don’t you eat them?” Fearne slightly slurs after Imogen refuses to eat what she had been led to believe was caviar on a dare. Laudna had assured her that not a single thing on the table was made of animal parts, and the accused caviar on top of the cucumber slices is in fact diced black olives. So Imogen ate one willingly, enjoying how the salty briny taste reminds her of the oyster she tried by the ocean, how Laudna looked tipping her head back and eating the flesh inside the shell, juices and all, carnally And then she was of course questioning what Laudna's definition of an ‘animal product' is anyhow, maybe she still should now.

Calling back to Laudna and Imogen's little trip to the seaside of course, eating oysters together in a totally heterosexual no innuendo way – not like Laudna made a comment about Imogen being a pearl diver early on or anything.

Idk how far science would be at this point (its my world, I get to say) and I think Laudna's access to magic makes her a bit more in the know then a lot of people – whether Imogen sees oysters and muscles as being meat or not is up to her ultimately – I don’t eat them myself but I think at this point its more of the fear of having a crazy allergic reaction rather than the argument that they’re about as sentient as a mushroom.

It’s also all about the cannibal imagery, which, yeah…..

And dammit if Fearne ain’t doin’ a good job of showin’ off how much better she is at handling her alcohol; addressing Imogen's arrival each time she inadvertently finds herself in the faun’s mind with a flick of her hair or a visible lick of one of her incisors and a ‘hey there, friend’ or a ‘back so soon? Lucky me.’ Until one time when Imogen finds herself trapped in an unfamiliarly terrifying current of dread and denial that moment their minds merge and just as swiftly it is masked. And Imogen is more than tipsy, so she is easily deterred.

Idk how much exploration of everyone I’m gonna get to in this story – maybe this is just me tryna safeguard and be like FEARNE HAS FACETS TOO I SWEAR – firstly cause yeah, she does, my beloved- I don’t want her to become some sorta plot device just there to push Imogen and Laudna together, but I also think that’s what she really wants and Fearne gets what she wants (in my world). Anyway. All to say that Fearne is running from some shit too. she just doesn’t let it catch up to her in the same ways that we see things doing as such with Laudna and Imogen. she's damn good at masking for the sake of others.

“Don’t tease her Fearne – if she doesn’t want to eat meat then that is her choice.” “I’m only playing.” “I hope y’don’t play with your food then.” “Only if it asks nicely.” Laudna knocks her glass over, shattering it as it hits the floor and collapses into a crimson puddle.

Laudna’s getting pushed, not only by the glass breaking and forcing her into a flashback-

She deposits the pieces of broken glass into the soil in one of the plant pots. She’s sure it’s at least maybe good for deterring slugs or somethin’.

Imogen’s little useful consideration here is intended as a callback to when Laudna had her emptying the chamber pot of her period blood onto the flowers, and Imogen also maybe following a pattern of thought Laudna would thanks to being in and out of her mind.

Hand stuff! Yay! I’ve never been immune to these two and their hands, and of course I turned the dial up on how Imogen's look and feel for this au so it can be all the more delicious. A fun excuse to do a bunch of callbacks to things that have happened in the fic, assumedly seeing them from Laudna's point of view and her awe of Imogen and her hands, trying to kiss away some of the scars that have calloused over the years – despite having denied Fearne of kissing her own hand injury better at the beginning of chapter 16 – Laudna's acknowledgements of who Fearne is and what she and Fearne need from others answering why she had denied such a kiss and maybe why Laudna now feels emboldened to give it to imogen.

She raises Imogen’s hand to her face slowly. So, so slowly; as if trying to stare into the depths of the shadows between her scars cast by the low lamplight. She holds Imogen's palm open to her face and Imogen believes it to be a shame that her palm is empty, that it holds nothing to give to her other than what it is made of –

(and Laudna had refused to take that.)

Imogen questioning her self worth with an empty hand, also referencing when she first properly met pate;

She walks over to it, slowly, hands by her sides until she reaches one out, calm, palm open, glove off, empty, and the crow clicks its beak quietly, tapping its feet before bobbing its head up and down.

...

“I’m sorry I don’t know where she keeps your peanuts.”

Anddd to keep it horny caus I aint no romantic sap; we got to find out the cause for one of Laudna's smells! Damn rich aristocrat had been using olive oil as lube of course, and of course she had embroidered some gloves to feel like Imogen's hands. Freak (affectionate). I hope Imogen gives herself some time to think on that vs Imogen fucking Laudna's tooled saddle. Theyre meant 2 be.

Anyway. So much of an orgasm is mental, so yeah, makes sense 2 me that Imogen would cum from that. tbd if Laudna has any idea that she did.

“Sorry, that was obnoxious of me. You have an awful amount on your plate and I-” “Don’t say it - not now Laudna. We need to talk - just - not now, ok?” “I think that is easier for you than it is for me.” “This ain’t easy for me.” “Then stay.” Imogen's legs feel like they wanna give out, her heart hammering in her chest, her desire to walk Laudna back to her bed and remove every item of costume and clothing that comes between their skin roiling - What if she says what should be saved for a sober mouth? What if Laudna realises what Imogen's been learning without her permission? What if she has another nightmare- “I – what if I hurt you.” “Only if you say no. Please, Imogen.” And Imogen gently closes the bedroom door behind them.

Liiiiiiiiiiiike ok. Yeah. Sure. Here’s a callback to Laudna insisting she stays in her bed before;

“Look at me, I'm utterly useless-” Laudna gestures her hand over the length of her body. Imogen shakes her head incredulous and insistently. The tincture is a little bitter, acrid, honey-sweet and earthy cinnamon and aniseed “You're doin’ plenty! You've done so much- and if I'm honest; if it were up to me I wouldn't leave bed durin’ these times either.” “Then don't.” Laudna states it so matter-of-factly, maybe it's her positioning that helps; physically and otherwise, like the guise of choice she often provides. The heat Imogen's cheeks take on feels furious against the cold sweat from the pains. She doesn't know what to say.

let's say that's that for now :) thanks 4 reading my fic and thanks 4 reading this if anyone is still out there (I want to believe)

#u can ignore me I'm sifting and sorting blogs #authors notes can go here caus of all the handstuff

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