abysslordartorias
206 posts
Latest Posts by abysslordartorias
Reblog if, no matter the size of the role, you would agree to work with the Muppets if offered the chance to do so, no questions asked
if you’re having a bad day, here’s a cute little marching band
looks like i have the gift of prophecy because....
AO3 got fucking scraped again for gen AI purposes!
AO3 got scraped for gen AI purposes again, a ton of works were included.
There's been DMCA requests and it looks like some/most? of it has been taken down, thankfully. Still. I highly highly recommend that everyone lock all their works to the archive right now. I can't force you to, but I strongly suggest that you do. Don't let them scrape your work in the future. It sucks losing guest interaction but. Would you rather feed the AI slop?
For people who guest comment: Make an AO3 account! You have to wait a bit for an invite but it's worth it i promise!!
For artists specifically: I recommend that you look into Glaze and/or Nightshade. There's also these disruption filters, it's not clear how well these actually work, but you're welcome to try them. Glaze is supposed to work best, though.
It looks like you can see the status of the datasets here
And how to submit DMCA or copyright violation
I'll say it again: FUCK AI THAT STEALS PEOPLE'S ART AND WRITING!!!!
I get that being frozen for 100 years is a tough thing to go through but honestly Aang should have used it for comedy more
As a pessimist I have nightmares of a world where people are normal about nail polish as an ice cream flavour
as an optimist i dream of a beautiful world where people are fucking normal about aromanticism
13 here
The notes are broken. This is what tumblr is all about apparently.
Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.
some of my favorite woven tapestries, by Cecilia Blomberg:
Point Defiance Steps
Mates
Rising Tides
Vashon Steps
I'd bring you so much further down and twist your mind until the end of time
Summary: The Trix deal with the aftermath of being possessed by the ancestral witches.
There is a vacancy. A hollowness. And Icy isn’t sure if it is metal or metaphysical. Can’t tell where shock and emotional stress starts and residue dark magic begins. Maybe it is all the same, maybe they are so tightly interlaced that they are one now, completely inseparable and to fix her both problems need to be fixed in tandem.
She doesn’t quite remember too much but she does remember the ice dragon. Remembers that she had been forced to conjure it. It might have been exhilarating and empowering if she hadn’t been rendered powerless and deprived of any autonomy. She thinks that she has always been something of a tool; people use and discard her left and right. First Darkar and then Valtor. And she always falls for the rouse.
Darcy remembers all too much but she refuses to speak about what she remembers. It is hard to reconcile having so much awareness but lacking all of the strength and fortitude to stop it. She has always prided herself on her mental resilience, her ability to resist and withstand psychic assaults. But there had been a chink in her amor that has left her self-confidence completely shattered.
Stormy remembers nothing. Absolutely nothing. And maybe that is why she is faring better than her sisters. One of them has to be doing well. To balance things out Stormy had taken the most physical damage in having her ancestress ripped from her body. She wears no sign of it on the outside but she struggles to walk sometimes and when she does it is usually with a limp or a hesitation of her left leg.
They get no sympathy, why would they? They’d done this to themselves, really. They mess with dark forces and never learn from any of the times that it had blown up in their faces.
Icy stares at her knee, she can never seem to take her eyes off of it–off of that patch of sickly green. Sometimes she swears that it is spreading. Her mind often plays those kinds of tricks on her. She resents that patch of green that doesn’;t seem to have any intention of retracting or fading. Hates that it reminds her of how weak willed she had been. Hates that it mars her formerly flawless skin. She knows that she should stop staring and stop dwelling. But what else is there to do in a prison cell? She can’t even speak to and confide in her sisters; Magicx has wisened up and decided to keep them separated just on time for her to lose her desire for evil plots and scheming. Just on time for her to want her sisters there just to keep her company—just so she can keep them company.
She knows that she has failed them—and failed them in a way that has left them broken. And she can’t even talk to them about it. They are going to hate her. They probably already do.
.oOo.
She wonders if anybody cares about them. She wonders if she would be taken seriously if she asked for help or if they would write it off as another ploy—a careful manipulation from a master manipulator. But Darcy means it this time. Sincerely. She desperately needs help. She desperately needs her sisters.
She feels like all of Magix and beyond gloss over what she and her sisters have been through. More likely, they simply don’t care in the slightest.
She never thought that she’d say as much, but she misses Light Rock. At least they had beds in Light Rock. At least they were comfortable at Light Rock. Mildly annoyed but comfortable. Here they have mattresses to sleep on but they smell of mothballs and are coated in dirt on top of being stiff and chewed by rats.
They should have quit while they were ahead. Should have quit when people were still interested in trying to rehabilitate them. Still interested in extending compassion. Compassion and comfort.
Darcy draws her legs up to her chest, burrows deeper into the darkest corner of her cell, and rocks herself slightly. She can’t get it out of her head; the voice of her ancestress coaxing her to kill. She isn’t the killing type but she wasn’t given a choice.
She wants help. She needs it. She is too afraid to ask.
And when she looks into the eyes of those guards she knows that it would be worth it to try asking.
.oOo.
Stormy misses when her body didn’t ache all over all the time. Icy and Darcy tell her that it’s because she had been possessed. She believes them but it still doesn’t make sense. She still doesn’t have all of the pieces put together.
If only she could talk to Icy or Darcy. Or just one of them. But she isn’t allowed to talk to anyone. And so she has nothing to do but sit with her pain.
To really dwell upon it.
She thinks that it has probably been weeks now and the pain hasn’t lessened, not even a little. She didn’t realize that getting possessed could do that to a witch. She never thought that it would happen to her and certainly not by her own ancestress.
Stormy finds a spot on her mattress and, for once, lays still. Absolutely still as she possibly can. It doesn’t hurt as much when she doesn’t move. So may she just won’t move again.
.oOo.
It has been months since Icy has felt anything remotely close to comfort and so she soaks it in as much as she can when she finally finds herself in an airconditioned room instead of the sweltering heat of her cell. She has become sickly and exists mostly in a daze of dreadful memories.
She knows that it is the heat that makes her sick. That makes her stomach queasy and her head dizzy. Her skin has grown red and is constantly peeling. Peeling but the green still persists. She doesn’t pay much mind to her skin anymore. It is ruined, likely beyond slavaging. Even if it weren’t, the things in her mind call her attention more. She can still hear Belladonna’s voice. It creeps into her brain giving the same commands that she has heard over and over again. And that command always comes with an onslaught of dreadful imagery. Dreadful memories. The ones that she had tried so very hard to repress.
Her own body had done its share of contorting and she will never again, for a second time, be able to forget the sound of her own limbs snapping and her own spine arching. But that pales in comparison to what she had seen of Stormy. Almost every inch of her body had a slash or a scrape. Every bone beneath that ribboned skin had been snapped or popped out of place.
And Darcy. Darcy had bled only from her nose but her posture had been uncanny. Disconcerting in the rigidity of her stance and more so in the pose that she had been suspended in. Her face had been twisted up; a mask of rage. Rage that didn’t meet one of her eyes. One of them had been blackened and leaking something thick and inky. The other had been open wide and Icy could see the real Darcy there. A locked jaw had prevented the scream from escaping her throat and so her eye did all of the screaming for her.
Icy imagines that her body hadn’t been in a much better state. Even after their ancestors had left and their transformations settled back into their natural state, her clothing had still been stained bright red. She remembers staring at her shaking hands, lacerated and bloody with the fingers bent and twisted.
She remembers that she was taken to the hospital and that they had done the bare minimum to keep she and her sisters alive. And then they’d tossed her into that cell to deal with the recurring nightmares and the resurfacing memories.
They are at Alfea now with cups of ice water, black tea, and pomegranate fruit punch, a small serving of their favorite meals, and clean clothing to cover their clean bandages. They smell of shampoo; Icy had been the only one of the two who could shower on her own. Icy wouldn’t let the Winx girls near Darcy and Stormy. Icy helped bathe them. Icy had dressed them. Stormy cried the whole time. Icy had been gentle but every single touch seemed to hurt her. Bloom mentioned that they would be seeing therapists of some variety. But all of that compassion has come too late. Stormy hasn’t uttered a single word and Darcy only mumbles to herself. Icy isn’t much in the mood for talking either.
.oOo.
Bloom always has seen the Trix as one entity that functioned as three independent fragments. Seldom do they show up without one another. It has happened several times but nowhere near as many times as they had shown up to start trouble as a trio. These days they are completely inseparable.
And nobody can get too close. Not without Icy giving them a hard time. For as much as the three of them, Icy especially, insisted that they weren’t actually friends she is very viciously protective of them.
So everybody keeps their distance. Nobody seems to know what to do.
Bloom is surprised to find that rather misses their antics. She wants Icy to throw her petty little insults. Things haven’t been the same without them causing their special brand of trouble. Somehow, she has a feeling that those days are over.
The Trix have finally reckoned with a force that they couldn’t handle. That they are struggling to overcome. They have always been resilient but resilience has a limit.
Griffin has mentioned euthanasia. Said that it would be a mercy for the Trix and the alleviation of a burden for everyone else. But Bloom can see it in Icy’s eyes; she doesn’t want to die.
.oOo.
“How are they?” Bloom asks.
“Stormy and I went for a walk.” Icy replies. A slow walk, but Stormy hadn’t complained of pain during it. She had made herself a few small tornados along the way. That old hag, Griselda is probably going to come in and bitch at her for letting Stormy tear up the flowerbeds and draw lazy spirals across the lawn. But it’s alright, it had made Stormy laugh. She has the most annoying cackle but Icy is relieved to be hearing it again.
“What about Darcy?”
“She still doesn’t want to use magic.”
“But is she eating again?”
Icy nods. “Here and there.” It is better than nothing.
It isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world and it certainly doesn’t come naturally to her but Icy sits down next to Darcy and lets the witch lean on her shoulder. Flora thinks that she should try holding Darcy or, at least, rubbing her back. Apparently she responds well to touch. Even if that touch is cold. Or maybe it is the familiarity of that cold that brings her a sense of comfort.
Not for the first time, Icy wonders what it had been like in her mind. What horrors Liliss had shown her to make her act this way.
.oOo.
It is like peeling back gauze or slowly unwrapping herself from a cocoon. Layer by layer, her dread begins to dissolve. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that each layer has frozen and melted away. Icy is by her side most of the time; Darcy can tell that she had run out of things to talk about at least a month or so ago. She is repeating the same stories and making the same small talk. But Darcy doesn’t mind, it isn’t the content of her speech that she likes but rather the sound of the voice that says those words. It is a constant, something routine and soothing in that routine. Icy’s voice has always been very pretty to listen to. And Stormy’s booming voice adds a nice, but semi-jarring ambiance.
She hears both of them but she is never quite listening.
She likes to lean on Icy. To feel that frigid draft that ripples off of her. The texture of her skin is a little rough in those places where the perpetual sunlight of her cell had burned her skin the worst, where the blisters had formed and popped. Her skin has grown pale again, nearly sheet white. Darcy rubs her cheek against Icy’s shoulder; evidently her shoulders had sustained the worst of those sunburns and, by all means, they should be unpleasant to touch. But Darcy finds the scar tissue comforting, it lets her know that Icy is real. And, by extension, that Stormy is real too.
“I guess that I don’t have too much to talk about today.” Icy mumbles.
“What do you mean, not much to talk about!? Stormy shouts. “Tell her the news.”
“There is no news.” Icy grumbles.
“Other than that you made out with me in the hallway.” Bloom says. “But that’s no big deal, right?”
Icy gives a little shift and Darcy lifts her head. “You…kissed Bloom?” She crinkles her nose. Her voice sounds hoarse even to her own ears. It has been so long since she has used it.
And maybe that is why Icy replies… “yeah, sort of.”
“Sort of!?” Stormy asks. “You’re whole tongue was, like, totally down her throat!”
“Fuck off, Stormy.” Icy folds her arms across her chest.
Darcy smiles and rubs her cheek against Icy’s bicep. She hasn’t heard those two go at it in a while. She closes her eyes. She’ll leave them to it.
.oOo.
Bloom knows that Icy hates it, that it makes her uncomfortable but Bloom likes to kiss the scars on the witch’s shoulders. She is almost certain that the witch is insecure about those scars, and that she would probably cover them up with long sleeves if they didn’t cause her to get overheated. She has mentioned getting tattoos. Bloom thinks that that would fit her very well.
More than the kissing of her scars, Icy doesn’t like it when Bloom traces her finger over that patch of green on her knee. She says that it is unsightly and she keeps that hidden beneath ribbons, bandages, and kneepads with spikes and snowflake motifs. She doesn’t wear those to bed. She hardly wears anything to bed, especially if she is going to be sleeping next to her. Bloom can’t sleep without blankets, Icy can only sleep with them if she takes layers of clothing off.
Most of the time Bloom falls asleep first. Most of the time Icy wakes up last. Most of the time Bloom wakes up to find Icy tangled around her. Icy still doesn’t know that she cuddles things in her sleep and Bloom doesn’t have the heart to break the news to her. She has been through enough already.
Currently she and her sisters are walking the streets of Magix, lately they have taken to occupying their usual spot at the Haunting Hex Cafe. Sometimes Bloom is afraid that Icy won’t come back. Now that she is fully healed—now that all three of them are fully healed—they can get back to their mischief. And Bloom suspects that one day they will. But every day, the three of them return and Icy tosses a t-shirt or a really stupid looking stuffed animal at her and says, “here, loser, I saw this and thought of you.” Bloom thinks that this might be her way of saying thank you. Icy isn’t exactly good at expressing her thoughts but she is doing her best. Bloom is just relieved that she is sounding more like herself again.
Stormy and, especially Darcy, still have a ways to go but they have Icy and she takes care of them well.
“It’s my fault.” She admits later that night. “That Darcy doesn’t talk as much.”
“Your fault?”
Icy nods. “I thought that it would be brilliant to team up without ancestresses. I didn’t think that they would…not to us…” she trails off.
“I wouldn’t have either.”
Icy rolls her eyes. “Bullshit! You’d have seen through that.”
“Only because they’re not my family. I would have listened to Daphne even if she had started saying suspicious things. I feel for fake Avalon’s lies.” She pauses. “You care about your family, Icy. You wanted to trust your family. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
This is probably the first time that anyone has told Icy that something she has done wasn’t evil, the first time that someone has hinted that they think that she might be a decent person deep down. It almost definitely is. The witch doesn’t seem to have a response.
After a while she mumbles. “Well it doesn’t matter. I almost lost them…”
“But you didn’t.” Bloom says. “Darcy and Stormy are getting better.”
“Stormy still walks differently.”
“And I think that it bothers you more than it bothers her.” Bloom says. “She’s adjusting just fine. And sometimes she does this thing where she pretends that it does bother her so that people will give her special treatment—I think that she’s enjoying that.”
Icy nods. “She likes attention.”
“Well she’s got it.” Bloom laughs.
“Darcy isn’t doing as well.” Icy replies. “When…if? When…? If…” she settles on, “if she gets better she is going to be pissed.”
“I don’t think that she will be.” Bloom assures her. “I think that if she blamed you, she wouldn’t want to lean on you.” It is so bizarre to hear the ice witch expressing guilt. Bloom rests her head on Icy’s chest and a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She kisses the witch’s neck. “I think that Darcy is going to do a lot better now, she has always been…”
“Less aggressive than Stormy and I?” Icy guesses. “Yeah, there were a lot of plans that she didn’t really care for.”
.oOo.
She is different now. They are all different now.
Stormy isn’t quite as impulsive, her agitation has given way to enthusiasm and a very bold sort of energy. She likes having very heated and very horrible rap battles with Musa. The kind that make Darcy’s cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. She has made a surprising connection with Stella who looks even more embarrassed on Musa’s behalf.
Icy is somewhat subdued. Darcy senses that Icy doesn’t like this about herself, but Darcy thinks that it is probably a good thing. Anyways, she seems content enough with Bloom. She had wanted to the Dragon Fire and, in some sense, she has it. She also has reclaimed a sense of normalcy in bickering with Bloom, witty and sarcastic banter. Hearing it brings Darcy some weird sense of comfort. She is a nicer person too, less judgemental. More empathetic, even if she won’t admit it.
And Darcy…she supposes that she has always been rather introverted and that hasn’t changed. What has changed is the way that she works with her magic. For better or for worse she can no longer bring herself to play with people’s minds. She can’t do it without thinking of Liliss. And so she works mostly with the darkness aspect of her magic. She likes telling fortunes too. Looking into the future and telling fairies who is going to ask them out on dates for a few coins or trinkets that she finds interesting. She thinks that maybe one day she will open up a shop and sell crystals and cauldrons and other curiosities. And she can tell fortunes on the side.
She has aspirations now, she realizes, life goals. Simple, mundane ones. But she treasures them nonetheless. For quite some time she has been seeing the futures of others. She can finally see one for herself and her sisters again.
“‘Do you think there’s such a thing as a criminal mind?’ Carrot almost audibly tried to work this out. 'What … you mean like … Mr. Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, sir?’ 'He’s not a criminal.’ 'You have eaten one of his pies, sir?’ 'I mean … yes … but … he’s just geographically divergent in the financial hemisphere.’ 'Sir?’ 'I mean he just disagrees with other people about the position of things. Like money. He thinks it should all be in his pocket.’”
— Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms
I don’t know if anyone has ever done this before but, here ya go… The Different Types of Fanfiction!
I probably left a few out, but these are the most common, compared to their base fiction’s canon plot. Enjoy! XD
I should probably mention that I’m writing fanfiction on ao3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/51883840/chapters/131187691
It may not look like much, but it’s mine. And I like it that way.
No one owes artists anything.
But existence is lonely and sometime you throw hours and hours of effort into a void, on the slim chance it will say something back.
the one thing thing funnier than this caption is that the only reason they stopped doing it was that the ferret shit in the tube
If you're reading this...
go write three sentences on your current writing project.
spin this list of all the pokemon. you have to eat whichever one you get
made some versions of the agony grip for my friends for when the whole gang gets it . including different levels depending on the anguish
and a joyous one for when there is love abound
No one ever tell me anything bad about the person who runs this account.