Pearletta - Bc I Need To Express My Thoughts Sometimes

You don’t own fanfics. They’re inherently public domain because they aren’t your IP. Agree or disagree with AI, there are no grounds for “protection” from AI because it isn’t your IP to begin with. That’s what you chose when you chose this medium

Oh dear.

Okay, you get an answer, because at least you took the effort to write your ask out properly, even if you are hiding behind the grey, sunglassed circle.

Do I, or any fanfic author for that matter, have any legal claims to our work? No, not really, no. (Although if someone took a fic, filed off the serial number--deleted the fandom specific elements--, and then had it published for financial gain, yeah, that would be a case.)

BUT

Fandoms are built on a social contract that says we respect each others work, the effort people put into their art. We don't steal or disrespect the work of our peers. By feeding people's fanworks to AI you both steal and disprect it, and we need to make people realize that before it's too late--before fandom falls apart, because there will be no more real, actual fanworks.

Disrepectfully,

Orlissa

(i can't believe I have to say this)

when men’s shirts ride up just enough and you see just their lil tummy and edge of their adonis belt and there’s maybe a liiiiil tiny happy trail and then their shirt just drops back down and you have to keep having a normal conversation??? like you did not just see god

ugly crying over the fact that i don’t have any more bagels for breakfast

why am i just learning that today is national asexuality day !!!! happy day to all my aspec mutuals!!!!

I love when a man is a little bit cunty. Not mean or rude or unkind or anything.. just bitchy

some semblance of azriel with a rare smile.

if amarantha made me choose between murdering 1000 people or seeing him like this one time…

adieu, bishes 🔪

Tradition and Blood

Chaos.

Tarquin took a long drink from the goblet in his hand as he leaned against the balcony railing and watched his palace erupted into bedlam.

He’d thought to have a drink after dinner, even thought to invite Lady F—

No, the Cursebreaker.

He’d even thought to invite the Cursebreaker. She looked so wound up during the day and at dinner, there was no question sleep would’ve eluded her tonight. With their impending return to the Night Court, he’d foolishly allowed himself to believe that the rumors were true. That she was stolen from Spring, that she hated Rhysand, that she dreaded having to return with him. Maybe even that she found solace here, in his court, in his palace.

In him.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Tarquin slowly leaned further onto and over the railing, watching the seas below. Turbulent, choppy, angry, where just a few hours before they’d been calm. He sipped from his cup, ignoring the shouts, ignoring the footsteps. And when they came to his door, he’d ignore the knocking too. He already knew what they were coming to tell him. He’d felt it as it happened, too slow and powerless against its magic to stop it.

He drained the last of his wine in a single gulp and turned to the small table on his left. Two empty bottles, and a third half-finished. The wine was disappearing at an alarming rate, but no amount of drink could cover this feeling of shame. The other High Lords looked down on him, he knew. Many in his Court did as well. Too green, they all said. Not enough experience. Too young, too naive, too trusting. A few years and he’d make a fool of himself, they said. It hadn’t even been one since Prythian was freed from Under the Mountain and he proved them all right.

And for what? Some lofty ideals? A chance to prove himself? Friends? He wanted to laugh. Laugh like Cresseida laughed when he told her his hopes and dreams. Not to be cruel, never to be cruel. Cresseida was just a realist.

Change is slow, she’d said more than once.

It doesn’t have to be that slow, he’d replied every time.

And while he still believed that, still believed the phrase was used by many to defend and justify lack of action, maybe...maybe there was a grain of truth in the thing. Maybe if he'd taken his time, gathered more intel, built a solid foundation and started slowly within his own court, he wouldn't have been humiliated tonight.

A small breeze that carried a fresh scent of the sea blew past him from his left. He reached out the hand holding the cup. Wordlessly, Varian picked up the half-empty bottle of wine and poured him a drink before taking his own straight from the bottle.

"It's gone."

His words fell from a hollow throat, needing no confirmation from his cousin. They felt heavy yet meaningless. Varian, he knew, would never throw it in his face, but maybe Tarquin would feel better if he had. If his cousin reminded him that he'd tried to tell Tarquin not to trust the Night Court or anyone that came with them, that he tried to get him to listen when Cresseida said the same, maybe he would have felt better, or at least different. Anything other than what he was feeling now.

There was a reason Rhysand had no allies. There was a reason he was welcome in no Courts. And those reasons started before Amarantha. It made him wonder what he could've done, what Tamlin could've done, to turn the Cursebreaker into another one of them. Another Night Court monster.

And how he'd hoped that wasn't the case. Felt it was his personal mission to prove that the Night Court wasn't full of monsters. Those who'd lie, steal, hurt, and betray for their own cause, for their own benefit. After Brutius, he'd hoped. He banked on that hope.

This was the price he paid for hoping.

He wouldn't make this mistake again.

Tarquin pushed off of the balcony, decades of thoughts in his head. He looked over at Varian, who was watching him silently as he drank. He must've read the question in Tarquin's eyes because he said, "No one's dead."

He scoffed. Small mercies. He could hear Rhysand now, as clearly as he heard the knocking at his door. Yes, we stole your greatest treasure, but at least we didn't kill anybody. He'd say it as if Tarquin should be grateful. Maybe he should be.

"And Cresseida?"

Varian hesitated, as if he knew his next words would only make him feel worse. "Trying to work through the magic left lingering in her mind."

Of course. The picture was getting clearer and bloodier by the second. Came into his home under the guise of peace, dangled Prythian's hero in front of his face (not unlike how he dangled her in front of those Under the Mountain), distracted and deceived him while they schemed for his treasure, destroyed his temple, harmed his people, and on top of it all, messed with his mind to ensure their success.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage like the seas below him.

"I always thought tradition was for fools," Tarquin said quietly.

Varian looked to the sea. "Fools do cling to their traditions," he admitted. "Never wanting to see anything new, try anything new. That's why you want to change things, no?"

"Mm," Tarquin hummed. "Indeed. But then what? Do I want transient gratification? Do I change things only for them to change again in another few decades, and then another few decades again?"

"I would hope not, cousin," Varian said.

Of course he didn't. He wanted his change to last. A thought he'd been having since the call of his land upended his night spilled forth from his lips. "The truth is I don't hate tradition. My arrogance demanded that I create my own and discard the ones that came before me."

"A new revelation?"

"Mere minutes old." And with that, he left the balcony.

Tarquin walked into his room and past his bed to the far western wall, grabbing three bottles of wine as he passed. A hand swept over an inconspicuous stone opened the way to a secret passage, a portion of the alabaster white wall shimmering blue. He let Varian step through the wall first, then followed closely after. His cousin took two of the bottles out of his hand, freeing him to open his and take a long drink.

They made their way through the secret corridors of the palace, a place known only to Adriata's royal family and the High Lord of Summer. After Amarantha, Cresseida and Varian showed him, and he was forever amazed at the twisting, turning tunnels that wove through the palace and led to the sea. Even now, the sight filled him with awe.

They continued on their way, only stopping briefly at a certain spot for Varian to pull Cresseida through another wall before continuing on. He shoved a bottle at his sister, and together the three of them drank in silence as they neared their destination. No words had to be said. They all knew what was to come next.

When they finally stood in the middle of the treasure chamber, Tarquin almost faltered. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she'd gotten too curious of a ruin and set off the alarm by accident. Maybe she got scared, and immediately knew they'd think the worst of her because of the company she kept, and so fled.

But if that were the case, his guards wouldn't have been injured. And she'd have tried to send a note to explain, no?

Her guilty eyes haunted his mind. She'd reeked of guilt the entire trip. Now he knew why.

"Cresseida," he said.

She moved, and within a few minutes came back with a box. Inside, the three rubies she'd chosen were shining. The size of chicken's eggs, he knew they were three of the largest they owned. Fitting.

Tarquin set his bottle down on the floor and gently took the box from her. No reprimand passed her lips either, for which he figured he'd be grateful. Enough of that would come from his advisors and courtiers with the morning.

"It feels like this night has gone on forever," he said, not sure if he was speaking to himself or his cousins or no one at all. "It has been hours, and yet I've lived a lifetime in this one night."

He picked up the ruby in the middle, turning it over and over. The first time he'd heard of the blood rubies, he laughed himself hoarse. The thought of being so beside oneself with anger that you...send valuable jewels to the offending parties? For years, he thought it was a joke his cousins were playing on him. But now that he held it, he felt it. The depths of darkness and malevolence radiating from the jewel called to him, as they could only call to one whose soul mirrored their own.

Like calls to like.

"Are you sure?" Cresseida asked.

"Are you not?" he answered, still staring at the gem.

"There will be no going back," Varian said.

"That was true before I held this," he answered. He never thought he'd be here, get to a place where he'd send one of these, let alone three. A thought that could have driven him to madness. He remembered sailing summers long past, laughing to the point of tears.

"Even if I were High Lord, I'd never send one out!" He'd been ready to swear it, but Varian stopped him, warning him against making a vow he might one day have to break. It was painful to think of how he was then and where he was now.

As he looked at the gem, he thought of his predecessors. They probably all had a point in their lives where they thought the same.

"I see now," he said to the ruby, "why you lived as we now live. Why you did what we now do. I didn't before. Forgive me for my blindness." He lowered it back into its place. "Will you share in this with me, cousins? Will you take part in my revenge?"

"Your revenge is ours," said Cresseida. Varian simply nodded.

Tarquin sighed, then held up his hand. Slowly, his skin shifted from smooth to rough. Razor sharp scales formed on his skin, glowing blue as the oceans beyond them. With his other hand, he took hold of Varian and Cresseida. For a minute, the three of them stood, holding hands at the precipice of magic, just like they often did as children.

"Tonight, I've learned valuable lessons. Many traditions are adhered to for a reason. They are not things to spit on, but things to understand and respect, even should we not necessarily agree with them. And we won't always; they were established during different times than the one we live in. My predecessors were not barbarians who simply didn't know any better, they were complex beings leading complex lives. I see now how they could be pushed to drastic action."

As he spoke, the rubies began to glow.

"On this neverending night, our court has been weakened. I cannot even say that we were blindsided. We—no, I invited the blight in this time, just as my predecessor did half a century ago. Only this time, I knew what evil I was inviting in. I simply convinced myself that everyone in Prythian other than me was mistaken. My arrogance has died tonight. To tell the truth, it was killed."

The rubies pulsed, and in return he began to warm. Without having to see his cousins' faces, he knew he'd begun to glow himself. Shining with the power of Summer.

"This night may feel endless, but the sun will rise. Here in Summer, but also in Night. Our sun will rise in the Night Court. Let it blot out the stars they hold so dear."

And with one swipe, Tarquin slashed across all three hands. Deep gouges formed and blood spilled, intermingling with one another until they were one. The blood and magic fell upon the rubies, who desperately sucked it all up. This was a curse, one born from only the darkest of desires. What Cresseida and Varian desired, he couldn't know. But for him? He only wished upon them all exactly what they'd wrought on him. For them to trust someone wholeheartedly, despite every point of logic telling them not to, only to be violated in the way he had been. Not being able to trust his own mind in his own home, having things placed under his care stolen from him, using his hospitality in a time where such things were hard enough to come by, preying on his good nature and harming those he was meant to protect. He wished it all on them.

And then, once they experienced it all, he wished them dead.

Such desires were deep, and the stones drank until they had their fill. Once they shone with murderous promise, the three Summer fae unclasped their hands, now sticky and stained. Tarquin closed the box and handed it to Varian carefully. His scales were still out, and they refused to go back in for now. Being High Lord was so different than anything else he'd known. The land heard his desires and imbued him with power, but he was aware that in some ways, he was just a vessel, a conduit. They were tied inextricably, he and his Court, and what angered him enraged his Court. His beast roiled underneath his skin in response. It would be a while before he could rein it back in.

He wasn't even sure if he would want to when he could.

He hesitated handing these to Varian. The curse would take root once the recipients laid eyes on them. He thought of her, looking at the rubies. Rhysand would be there to explain what they meant. Would she feel devastated? Would she want to apologize? Would her heart sink to her feet and through the floor as his did when he heard the land scream and found her room empty? Would she shake in disbelief as he had when he found the other rooms vacant as well and realized what they'd done?

He thought of her and how easily she charmed him just to get to his Book. Is that what she did, seducing High Lords to get what she wanted? She seduced Tamlin, didn't she? He read between the lines and connected the timeline. She seduced Tamlin and her family regained their wealth. She seduced Rhysand and became feared throughout Prythian. And in this short time, she'd seduced him and made off with something that could neutralize the Cauldron. Next, he'd hear of her with Helion, leaving him with empty libraries.

The thought pissed him off. He shoved the box at Varian rougher than he meant to.

"These are in the Hewn City by morning."

I feel like the reason the blood duel got brought up in ACOSF was because it’ll actually be between Helion and Beron.👀 I firmly believe Helion and LOA are mates & no one can convince me otherwise.

Oh I’d pay good money to see Helion fuck Beron up to defend his lady!

I am also of the belief that they are mates and that is why Helion is without an heir (that he’s aware of) and never married or otherwise mated.

As nice as it would be to see Helion kill Beron I think the honour should ultimately fall to Eris or Lucien as they are the people who have suffered his shit the longest and are also important players in the story. Maybe Eris and Lucien will bond over killing their father and start to heal their relationship.

as a fanfic writer, the best thing you can do for yourself is invest in the stories you want to read. don’t think about what will get popular, because it will make you miserable. write about what means the most to you. if you want to write pure smut, do it. if you want to make intricate worlds and complex characters, do it. write and write and write. contrary to popular belief, good art does not have to make you suffer. all my very best work is the stuff that i enjoyed writing

ERASE the idea that America saved lives by dropping two atomic bombs on Japan from your minds. ERASE the idea that it was anything more than a political move to scare Russia and also to satiate US curiosity as to the true ability of nuclear weapons. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were not military bases. They were heavily populated civilian cities chosen precisely bc the U.S. wanted to see how many people an atomic bomb could kill in one go. Japan was on the verge of surrendering, the U.S. literally wanted to test out their nuclear weapons on people that they deemed disposable. That is it. If those bombs were dropped by any nation other than the US veryone involved would have been tried as war criminals.