#mm writes

[themadmorrigan]

Updated map of Autumn...

Made by me, @themadmorrigan, in Wonderdraft. WIP still; also, the House of Spirits area is supposed to be blue but Wonderdraft said no.

[murderbot-moodboard]

I think one of the most "Murderbot" things I've ever done is the time I used my understanding of human emotions to "manipulate" my clients into not directing unnecessary emotions at me...

A few years ago, I was working a front desk job on the weekends. One of my responsibilities was cleaning and restocking the minibar in the lobby, which included (among other things) a Keurig coffee machine and an assortment of Keurig coffee pods and tea bags. The Keurig got a lot of use from both our clients and whoever was working the front desk—I used it throughout my shift to boil water for cups of tea in order to offset my perpetually sleep-deprived state at the time (insomnia is a cruel bedfellow). So on this particular day, I was the first one to discover that the Keurig was broken. And my attempts to research what was wrong online led me to believe it might not be fixable without getting a replacement part. So I submitted a work order for the maintenance guy and called my boss (who would not be in until the afternoon) to let her know. All I had left to do was to write a little sign saying the Keurig was out of order.

The problem was, I knew how our clients would react. They were used to having the Keurig available, and I just knew when they discovered it was broken, some of them would be annoyed about it, and they'd come over to the front desk to ask me for details I didn't have on when it would be fixed (possibly repeatedly), and generally just want to air their grievance about not getting their free coffee (when most of them could in fact easily get coffee elsewhere). And that day, I was extra sleep deprived, so I was groggy, exhausted, and focusing all my available energy on getting through my 7-hour shift awake, with my tasks completed and no major fuckups. I knew I didn't have enough energy left to listen patiently as people complained to me about something they could easily rectify and I could not. My "performance capacity" was far too low for that. And listening to people patiently when they asked me for help was, unfortunately, a big part of my job. (It may not surprise you to learn this job cemented for me that customer service is Not My Thing.)

Since I didn't have it in me to have these conversations, and there weren't any other employees currently around who I could redirect my clients to, my only other option was to find a way to avoid having these conversations at all. I was going to write an "out of order" sign for the Keurig, so I needed to figure out how to get the sign to meet whatever need my clients would be trying to meet if they came to talk to me about the Keurig. Drawing on my observations of human behavior, I decided that clients would come talk to me because (1) they needed to know that we knew about the problem and that we couldn't fix it right now, and (2) they wanted to have their disappointment recognized and acknowledged.

So I hand-wrote a little sign on a folded piece of paper that said, "The Keurig is currently out of order. We're sorry for the inconvenience!" Then I drew a little sad face at the bottom in order to communicate, 'we know you're disappointed; we're disappointed too, so we sympathize completely.' (Communicating emotions that you don't actually feel is much easier to do on paper than when the person is standing directly in front of you watching your facial expressions.) I trotted my little sign over to the Keurig, propped it up, trotted back to my desk, and hoped for the best.

And it worked. People went to the mini bar, read the sign, and did not come over to complain to me about the broken Keurig or to ask me what was wrong with it and how soon it would be fixed and what we were doing to fix it. Mission accomplished! My very-sleep-deprived ass would survive the shift!

My boss came in partway through the afternoon. When she went over to look at the Keurig, she read the sign and then threw it away without saying a word about it to me (about the sign; we did talk about the Keurig). I was honestly a little offended by her disregard for my hard work. Maybe she thought the sad face at the bottom was unprofessional. Maybe she thought a handwritten sign announcing our broken Keurig to clients and potential clients was unprofessional. (I don't think it was because of my handwriting—it's not that bad!) Either way, though, with her in the office, I now had somewhere else to direct any clients who tried to hound me about the broken Keurig. None did. (Which is a shame, because if they had, I could have foisted them off onto her, and then maybe she would have understood the purpose of The Sign and all the heavy lifting it had been doing.)

But at the end of the day, the important thing was that I made it through the shift without having an epic malfunction or breakdown, thanks to some good old-fashioned emotional manipulation intelligence. And I learned how much power there is in the strategic use of a simple emoji. (...Sort of an emoji.)

:)

[themadmorrigan]

Since AO3 is down for most of the day and it's not worth reblogging the chapter I published yesterday, may I introduce you all to a new story hopefully coming soonish?

Specifically, the sequel to We Both Go Down Together:

Synopsis:

After Nyx's traumatic birth, Elain re-evaluates several things in her life and tentatively decides to get to know her mate. But when Rhysand puts her under censure for her role in the Nessian ceremony fiasco and plans begin to get made for her and her powers in the Night Court, she turns to Lucien to prevent history from repeating itself.

Meanwhile, Nesta wakes up in an unfamiliar house in the Autumn Court (that's falling apart), surrounded by an unfamiliar orchard (that contains dozens of mysterious letters between unknown lovers), and unfamiliar people (save Eris Vanserra). As she begins to heal and make plans for her own future, she sees a different side of the Autumn heir - and of Autumn in general. But how long can even a weakened Lady Death stay under the radar in a court of snitches and scandal?

...especially once the Exile of Autumn and Prythian's only seer join her?

Scene 1 after the cut! If you like it and want to be added to the tags for this, please let me know in the comments!

If Elain Archeron had asked herself a month ago what she thought of her mate, she’d have given a pretty little titter and responded, “Who says I think of him at all?”

But life had a funny way of putting things into perspective. What was it Papa had always said? Time makes fools of us all. And by the Maiden, Mother, and Crone Elain knew exactly how true that was.

The quote popped unbidden into her head as she stood in front of a neat, forest green door set into a hallway in a rather posh apartment building. The hallway around her was quiet save for the sound of her breath and soft mewling from someone's pet cat coming from behind next door. The other normal noises that came with blocks of city flats were muffled by an expanse of thick carpeting below, and absorbed by the alternating line of potted plants and bland landscapes of each of the courts that extended across the opposite wall. 

Elain sighed, then checked her reflection in the polished brass knocker. Though she’d taken special care that morning to wear a flattering dress, wrangle her curls, and put color in her cheeks, the haunted expression that she’d worn for the last several weeks was still there. Experimentally, she put on a bright smile—it didn’t meet her reflection’s eyes.

Knock, she ordered herself. Because a sane person knocked on doors, rather than standing there practicing their smiles. She got as far as shifting the gazed ceramic pot in her hands and raising her free arm, but then let it drop down and hang at her side limply, unable to summon the courage. She did it again after a deep breath, then a few more times after that before accepting the fact that she was just going to stand in his hallway until Lucien came out, like someone who was decidedly not sane. 

She wasn't sure how long she’d been there—it could have been five minutes, or two hours, who knows?—when a set of soft footsteps echoed off of the floor behind her, came to a stop, then were followed by a familiar voice: “Do you require directions, Lady? I daresay you look a little lost.”

    Elain bristled despite herself, then slowly turned around, with that definitely false smile on her face. Lucien raised both eyebrows—there it was, he clearly thought she’d lost her marbles. There was absolutely no good explanation for her being here without it being obvious that she was here to see him. This was a quiet part of Velaris, after all, mostly tree lined streets full of upscale flats and elegant townhomes. The kind of neighborhood one comes home to, not to sightsee or shop.

“I just—” she trailed off, took a breath, recalibrated, then tried again. “I thought I’d try to catch you at home—”

Cauldron boil her, WHY was she always so tongue-tied around him? Lucien made an inscrutable face and set the satchel he’d been carrying down onto the floor below, crossing his arms while she fumbled with her words. It didn’t take long before she gave up entirely. “I—these—I brought these are for you,” she finally managed, thrusting the pot towards him.

To his credit, he didn’t laugh at her. Instead, he brought the vessel to his nose and delicately sniffed the purple blossoms within it. “Heart’s ease?” 

Elain wasn’t sure whether he was asking or answering, but she nodded anyway, adding, “Violets. That’s, ah, what we call them where I come from. Or pansies, depending on…”

She caught herself doing the thing again. “Yes,” she answered succinctly. And then, with no small amount of effort, she fully looked up into his face. Amusement sparked in Lucien’s good eye, and the corners of his full lips turned upwards into a half-smirk.

Now that she stood in front of him and had made eye contact, she remembered suddenly why she’d shrunk—like a violet, ha, her subconscious added unhelpfully—in his presence for so long. Looking at Lucien was like looking into the sun: his dazzling face eclipsed everything else in her field of vision, narrowing her gaze to him and only him. He was handsome, unfairly so, and she was overwhelmed by the scent of pomegranate and something floral—

Olive blossoms, it occurred to her. Whatever he used to groom himself smelled like ginger and pomegranate and the delicate flowers of the olive tree; taken together with his face, his entire presence was overwhelming and threatened to pull her under. She wasn’t sure where, specifically, but she desperately wanted to find out. 

Wait, no she didn’t. That was the stupid bond in her chest talking.

He watched her watch him for a long moment, chuckled faintly as he shook his head, then spared her dignity by turning his attention over to her gift. "Foxes," she heard him murmur under his breath as he traced a finger around the edge of the pot, where a delicately painted fox cavorted. "That’s cute. Heart’s ease was all over the place in Spring, you know,” he added conversationally, expertly smoothing over all of the awkwardness currently radiating outwards from Elain. 

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I grew them in my greenhouse… they have a meaning where I come from. We have a whole language for flowers, you see—”

Lucien held up a finger to stop her. 

“Before you go on, Lady, would you care to step inside?” His smirk broadened. “I get the impression that whatever conversation you’ve come here to have isn’t one you want to broadcast to my neighbors.”

She shut her mouth with an audible click. Silly Elain; here she was, five seconds from baring her heart to the most beautiful male in existence… in the middle of a semi-public hallway. She looked away out of embarrassment. Damn his eyes. Er… eye. But he was right, and Elain hated when Lucien was right. Lifting her gaze back up to meet his own, she nodded shallowly, then stepped aside to let him unlock the door she stood in front of. 

Lucien gave a soft snort, then picked up his bag and walked ten feet further down the hall, before unlocking the next door over and holding it open.

[themadmorrigan]

I hope you guys like the idea of Lucien doing Elain's hair.

[themadmorrigan]

Not me, writing a scene for The Harrowed and the Haunted where Elain - who is friendly with Lucien but not in a romantic way and also high off her tits on datura - creeps on Vision Elain and Vision Lulu having consensual adult fun together and is like, "Should I be watching this? Is it voyeurism if it's yourself? Eh, probably fine. Actually, this looks pretty fun, I should ask him about it."

[themadmorrigan]

WIP Wednesday: The Harrowed and the Haunted, Ch. 2

Pursuant to this silly post from yesterday...

“What does Rhys want with Elain?” [Lucien] asked, figuring his odds of being ignored or attacked were roughly about even. “She didn’t do anything but talk at the ceremony.”

At the mention of Elain's name, Azriel’s expression shuttered. “He wants any information she might know about Nesta's whereabouts.”

Lucien huffed wryly through his nose. “What, Rhysand thinks this whole thing was a planned operation?”

“With your brother?” Azriel turned to him and that ugly, wounded thing was back behind the Illyrian’s hazel eyes again. “You know he’s fascinated with Nesta. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Then why is Elain the one being questioned right now? You’re his spymaster, answer me honestly: do you think she knows anything?”

It took Azriel a while to get a response, but ultimately he did—a shrug. Lucien’s opinion of the Shadowsinger was waning precipitously with each passing second. “Maybe. But I doubt it. She generally stays away from politics and Court business. Still, she was with Nesta before the ceremony.”

"So was Feyre," Lucien pointed out.

Azriel scoffed. “Rhys isn't worried about Feyre, Vanserra." 

(It’’s maddening, the way they keep anything important from me, Elain had complained a few weeks before, venting at him over a steaming cup of chrysanthemum tea. As if I’m too dim to comprehend politics or be able to offer insight into what's going on. I offered to help them scry for the Trove, you know. I told them to come get me when they wanted to start but no one ever did.)

“I see…” Lucien said in a low voice, trying—more or less successfully—to keep his expression neutral.

“But…” Azriel added unexpectedly, surprising Lucien, “it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that she Saw something in one of her visions before her Sight slowed down.”

Well now that was an interesting thought. He braced himself to stand, then—because sitting still wouldn’t happen again until his ma–until Elain walked back through that door. He needed to pace, to do something. “Perhaps, but a simple questioning shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, should it?”

“Depends on how one does it.”

Something about the other male’s tone gave Lucien pause. That and because what Rhysand’s torturer had hinted at was uncomfortably close to… well, actual torture. Lucien let out a faint, disbelieving chuckle. “Surely Elain Archeron doesn’t warrant ‘advanced interrogation’ tactics, though? She’s family, Shadowsinger.”

The Shadowsinger didn’t seem to have a response to that, and Lucien’s gut twisted sharply with dread. “Right?”

Azriel didn’t even look at him as he responded. “I trust Rhys to use his best judgment in this situation. He always does, where family is concerned.”

Tags behind the cut - comment if you would like to be added so you get notified when this BEHEMOTH chapter finally comes out (soon, I hope)!

(Also, uh... if you haven't seen my edit to Chapter 3 of The Singer Addresses His Audience, you may want to brush up.)

Tags:

@alexof90s, @theangryhistoriananna, @crazydragongurl, @thenwhokilledtheworld, @renehart13657, @clarafae, @musty-old-claptrap, @pinkfuneral7, @frostystarlight, @nocasdatsgay, @theknittingoracle, @crickettesong, @separatist_apologist, @misstyfikacja, @tinyy-jj, @chaol-apologist, @shockenbury19, @lady-selenee, @azrielsdaggerpolisher, @professorprompt, @thequirkytravels-blog, @gooseyjossip, @untilthedarknessclaimsus, @xirose, @benelobee

[themadmorrigan]

The Harrowed and the Haunted: Prologue

Banner by me!

Part 2 of the Or Forever Hold Your Peace series. Parts 1 - We Both Go Down Together, and the first chapter of Part 1.5 - The Singer Addresses His Audience can be found at their respective links.

Status: Chapter 1 (of 5 planned) Rating: M (language, light smuttiness down the line) Relationships: Elucien, Former Nessian, Neris Word Count: 5,520

Summary:

When Nesta Archeron - one of the most powerful and well-known fae in all of Prythian - disappears at her own mating ceremony along with the infamous prince of Autumn, the Night Court's Inner Circle is thrown into a tizzy: centuries-long friendships are tested, and previously hidden motives, truths, and feelings finally surface to see the light of day. But then Rhysand taps Elain to find Nesta as soon as possible, and the gentle seer finds herself in an uncomfortably familiar, deeply unwanted situation.

Thankfully, her mate is there to make sure history doesn't repeat itself.

The Harrowed and the Haunted is a story told from two perspectives: (1) Elain and Lucien's, as they travel to Day and work to hone Elain's power and find Nesta's whereabouts, and (2) Nesta and Eris', as she begins the healing process somewhere entirely unexpected, and Eris grapples with the enormity of what he's done in bringing a member of a foreign and hostile court back to Autumn.

Read the Prologue here!

Taglist behind cut! If you'd like to be added, let me know. :)

Tags: @alexof90s, @snowwhitewithanxiety, @crazydragongurl, @thenwhokilledtheworld, @renehart13657, @clarafae, @musty-old-claptrap, @pinkfuneral7, @frostystarlight, @nocasdatsgay, @theknittingoracle, @crickettesong, @separatist-apologist, @misstyfikacja, @tinyy-jj, @chaol-apologist, @shockenbury19, @lady-selenee, @azrielsdaggerpolisher, @professorprompt, @thequirkytravels-blog, @gooseyjossip, @untillthedarknessclaimsus, @xirose, @korepio

[themadmorrigan]

WIP Wednesday: The Harrowed and the Haunted, Chapter 2

Just a little snippet for very patient people! Remember, YGM isn't on hiatus, I'm just taking a break to make space for another fic update! :)

Lucien ground his jaw even more. It was, [Elain] supposed, annoying but reasonable. “Any other terms?” he grunted.

Rhys’ smile grew alarmingly sharp and his violet eyes glittered. “Just the one. While I understand that you two have been seeing one another, if Elain is going to train in Day under your escort, Lucien, then I don’t want my mate and I to spend the next several weeks wondering whether you’re using proximity to potentially influence anything. You will not touch Elain while away for her training."

Mortification, bright and hot, rose in Lucien’s face and the oily feeling of shame flooded the bond. “I will have you know that I have been nothing but respectful—”

“I beg your pardon?” Elain cut him off sharply, rising abruptly to her feet. “Nobody here gets the right to decide who can or cannot touch me—”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” Rhysand insisted, still smiling as he waved her off. Elain didn’t need to be a daemati or half a millennium old to know how much of a lie that was, though the why of it was still a mystery. “It’s the mating bond, that’s all. I know from firsthand experience how hard those instincts are to overcome, especially when one’s mate is in close proximity.” He turned to her then. “Think of Lucien as… oh, what did Feyre call them… the adults that escorted eligible young ladies?”

“Chaperones,” Elain answered stiffly.

“Yes, that!  Much obliged, Elain.” The High Lord clapped his hands together briskly. “But! Those are my terms, if you both are truly serious about pursuing training in Day.”

Lucien was staring daggers at him. Broadswords, even, before he barked a short, humorless laugh. “You really think that the bond is all this is about, Rhysand?”

“I think,” Rhys answered, perfectly pleasantly, “that you’re a male who’s spent years waiting for an opportunity, and that you’ve conveniently presented me with a plan during a crisis that places you both together, in another court, under minimal supervision.” His eyes went hard, suddenly. “So convince me otherwise.”

Lucien opened his mouth but hesitated, choosing instead to weigh his words; Elain decided to fill the silence. “He doesn’t need to.”

“Elain—” Lucien interjected.

“I agree,” Elain declared. “I accept the terms, or whatever you say to agree.”

A sudden shock of pain bloomed in between her shoulders, at the base of her neck; reaching back to rub at the spot, the skin felt smooth but hot, like she’d been resting against a hot water bottle. She watched as a moment later Lucien and Rhysand did the same thing.

“The bargain is struck,” intoned Rhys. “So it is, and so shall it be.”

“Heh,” murmured Lucien, gazing between Elain’s shoulder blades. “Elain, move your hand?” She did. “A blue-black moon and sun against a field of wildflowers… oh my, that’s colorful.”

“Colorful?” Rhys asked petulantly. “Five hundred years of making bargains and now I get one with color?” He seemed affronted by the entire notion. “How many?”

Lucien could barely contain his smile. “So many colors, High Lord.”

Rhys swore in High Velarian.

Taglist behind the cut! Let me know if you want to be added for when Chapter 2 comes out. :)

@alexof90s, @snowwhitewithanxiety, @crazydragongurl, @thenwhokilledtheworld, @renehart13657, @clarafae, @musty-old-claptrap, @pinkfuneral7, @frostystarlight, @nocasdatsgay, @theknittingoracle, @crickettesong, @separatist-apologist, @misstyfikacja, @tinyy-jj, @chaol-apologist, @shockenbury19, @lady-selenee, @azrielsdaggerpolisher, @professorprompt, @thequirkytravels-blog, @gooseyjossip, @untilthedarknessclaimsus, @xirose