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divine-donna · 11 months

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a fair trade

pairing: miguel o’hara x gender neutral! reader

word count: 1,010 words

ao3 link: 🕷️🕷️🕷️

summary: your help is needed to defeat a multiversal entity, one that you’ve defeated before. but what can miguel offer in return for your service?

notes: kind of mishmashing the movies and comics together. do not fret if you haven’t read any of them! it’s mostly just referenced (much like how it was referenced in the last post). the fic on ao3 is also locked to registered ao3 users only. it’s a precaution i’m taking in response to ai using ao3 fics to be trained.

“(Y/N), we need your help.”

“Miguel, I’m in the middle of eating lunch. Because, you know, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“That’s on you.”

“Some of us don’t like breakfast.”

“Okay that’s not the point! The point is that we need your help!”

You were just sitting at your table, peacefully. After a mission earlier today, you thought you enjoyed a nice break. All you’ve been doing is going on missions across the multiverse, at the expense of your personal life back home. Your friends missed you and were constantly wondering why you would dip all of a sudden. After all, it wasn’t like you to just...cancel last minute. You loved your friends. You always made sure to be there. What you didn’t expect when accepting Miguel’s invitation was to be worked constantly. There was always a multiversal threat at stake, even for something small.

You were literally the local expert on the multiverse. Small things wouldn’t cause catastrophe. But Miguel believed they would. He believed in a domino effect. You believed that it was necessary to stay vigilant but not every small thing required attention. Sometimes the multiverse acted weird. It was a multiverse. It acted on its own accords.

“Miguel, is it actually something to worry about? Or is it something like the Vulture ended up in the wrong reality which can be cleaned up without my help?” You took a sip of your drink.

“It’s someone by the name of Verna. And she’s brought with her an army.”

“Verna? Never heard of her.” You shake your head.

“Really? She claims she’s fought you before.”

“If I saw a picture, then maybe I would recognize her.”

Miguel doesn’t hesitate. “Lyla.”

Part of you wondered what it would be like if your name was always on the tip of his tongue, ready to speak on a moment’s notice. You always wanted someone who could say your name with such ease, who thought of you constantly.

“Already on it.” Lyla pulls up a video. “This is live footage of the whole thing. We’re lucky she hasn’t spread her destruction further.”

As you were taking a sip of your drink, you choked on the liquid. Thankfully, you did not die. “We need you alive (Y/N).” Miguel says.

“I thought I banished her to the ends of the Multiverse!” You exclaimed.

“So you have fought her?” Lyla questions. “Was this the multiversal being you battled before?”

“She’s the reason I have no magic!” You crush the metal cup in your hand. “It took everything for me to banish her! And she just comes...comes back like nothing happened?” You squint a little. “She also looks a lot different than I remember. You said her name was Verna?” Lyla and Miguel look at each other before nodding. “She went by a different name. Called herself the Matriarch of...something. I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for you to finish up and join us.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I lost my appetite.” You picked up the dishes and cleaned out the plates, dropping them off with the conveyor belt of dirty dishes. “You owe me Miguel.”

“Owe you what?”

“A break. Like a real break. My body needs to properly recuperate, you know.”

He inputs the numbers and opens the portal. “I can do that. You’ve done good work so far.”

“Exactly. Not getting paid here.”

“None of us get paid.”

“It was a joke. You know, Peter was right. You’re like the only one of us that isn’t funny.”

“That’s hilarious.” His voice did not change in tone and his facial expressions did not give away that he was humored.

“Lighten up a little. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re extra stoic because you want to kiss me.”

“I do not want to kiss you.”

“Everyone wants to kiss me.”

He looks at you, eyebrow slightly raised. “You should pay me in kisses actually. Think that’d be a fair deal. I help you guys stop Verna, again, and I get a kiss. It’d be the perfect reward.”

You feel his gaze on you. “It’s a joke, I promise. You don’t have to actually.” Even if you did want to kiss him.

He takes a step towards you, much to your surprise. His hand reaches up, fingers curled slightly, and his knuckles graze the skin of your cheeks. It’s reassuring in a way and his touch is gentle. It reminds you of when you first joined, how his fingers gently wiped away the crumbs at your face. His hand uncurls and cups your face. “How badly do you want a kiss?” He asks.

His voice made your legs shake. “If I answered that I think you’d make fun of me.”

“I mean...it’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Yes?”

You weren’t expecting his lips to crash against yours. The sheer force almost causes you to fall over and your hands fumble to grip onto his body. You could feel his muscles flex beneath his suit. You kiss him back, but most certainly not with the same amount of force he does. Miguel even goes as far to nip your bottom lip, causing a small gasp to emerge from your throat. It was a little embarrassing and your cheeks grew warm. He pulls away, satisfied and with that cocky smirk on his face.

“Make it back alive and I’ll give you another.” He puts his mask on. “Maybe even more.”

“You...have a lot of confidence that I will.” You were out of breath. Very much out of breath.

“You’ve beaten the odds before. It’s part of who we are.”

Miguel walks through the portal and you clench your hands for a few seconds. You were nervous. It wasn’t just the kiss that made you nervous (though your heart certainly was pumping for that reason primarily). Lyla looked at you with a smile. “You better come back. Or else I’ll lose the primary thing I make fun of him for.”

“I’ll try Lyla. For you.”

“Sure, sure. Now get going before people die.”

#to make up for the bad list of hcs #i might just be pumping out spiderverse content soon #spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #x reader

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nights-at-crystarium · 10 months

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As a twitter/tumblr user since 2010-2011, I believe I have sufficient grounds to say that currently we as a community are living through the scariest, shittiest time yet. This post isn’t trying to fearmonger, no I’m not leaving tumblr until it literally keels over, but I suggest that we don’t put all our eggs in one basket.

If twitter/tumblr stay usable, great! In the worse scenario, you’d have kept posting on a new platform and stayed ahead of the curve.

This post shares my personal experience with three potential “new”* fandom places, and is aimed to help fellow content creators. I’m an artist fully depending on internet to survive, my reasoning may not apply to you if you’re a hobbyist. Do your own research, it’s always healthy. * Pillowfort and mastodon have been around for 5+ years, bluesky is ~2 years old.

Discovering new people to follow kinda sucks on all three platforms, twitter and tumblr are eons ahead, but, given the recent chaos and uncertainty, I’m willing to be patient, keep posting on those, and feel safer than I would’ve otherwise been. More baskets good, one basket bad.

All three have poor visual customization, don’t expect custom tumblr themes.

This list starts with the least popular, but most human and easy to join, and what I personally trust the most. All three allow nsfw if labeled properly.

✦ Pillowfort is a barebones tumblr. Intuitive, cozy, but currently very, very small. Be patient with its clunkiness or lack of some features, it’s made by an AO3-like team. I’d personally love if the fandom crowd managed to redirect its attention to it instead of the sus bluesky.

Joining: is free, invite-only, but the waitlist is nearly instant.

Lurk around on their official tumblr: @/pillowfort-social

✦ Mastodon, for me personally, is impossible to explain directly. I’ll use several comparisons.

- Discord but all servers can interact. You’re still on a server curated by some human(s) that might tell you what you can and can’t post, BUT, if you don’t like that server’s policy, you can move to a new one while keeping your followers. - Email, users A and B may be registered on different domains, still they can talk. It’s a weird comparison, but fediverse (please I’m not explaining THAT but it’s a good thing) in general looks like another email story: unlike big sites that come and go, it might stand the test of time. - Someone compared mastodon’s structure to xiv’s dc and servers, if you look at its domain names that way, it might be easier to understand.

Depending on user, mastodon may feel gatekeepy/snowflakey. I haven’t spent enough time on there to form a proper opinion yet, but a warning’s due.

An actually good and hopeful thing about mastodon AND tumblr: the two might start interacting in future. Ever lamented that your fav asian artists don’t use tumblr? If they use misskey, or any other place on the fediverse, it might be possible to follow them directly from tumblr in future, and vice versa.

Joining: is free, however some servers close for new members sometimes, and have human moderators reviewing your request.

✦ Bluesky is a twitter without Musk: today’s average internet user reads this, drops everything and already looks to register there. It’s still sus, but people flock to it like crazy. Most likely to become the next big fandom place in my eyes, even if I’m not happy about that.

I personally have no good feelings about bluesky. Same as twitter, which I hated even before the 2018 tumblr exodus, yet the crowd decided to make it The New Fandom Place, and, grudgingly, I had to give up and also join them in 2022. During the year I haven’t stopped despising twitter, yet, I can’t deny that it helped me survive. I estimate half of my patrons, and, hell, even tumblr audience, comes from twitter. So, if bluesky ends up being the next hot shit, I’ll have to keep up because internet pays for my living.

Joining: is free but hell, invite-only, the waitlist is a lie, your best chance to join is a direct invite.

This’s all I’ve got to say for now. If you have a correction or an addition, replies/reblogs are welcome!

Screenshots of the current interfaces under the cut, you may spy on my profiles o/

Pillowfort

Mastodon.art

Bluesky

#i grabbed a name on cohost and inkblot too but those interfaces instantly turned me away #also i'm not covering the mobile apps since i'm a pc-only user #social media #pillowfort #mastodon #bluesky #text post #long post #this already started making rounds but i wanted to add about algorithms #all three seem to have no algorithm atm #only 100% about pillowfort tho

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gender-trash · 1 year

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incredibly funny how a bunch of people interpreted “ao3 was almost certainly scraped as part of the gpt training dataset because it’s a big easily accessible body of english language text, so you can prompt gpt with surprisingly vague stuff and it will autocomplete with snarry underage or wangxian a/b/o” as “elon musk Personally is Currently scraping ao3 and training an ai to plagiarize fic, going to go lock ALL my works on ao3 IMMEDIATELY”

its. its already in the dataset. how do you think these things work. “locking my works to registered users only until after the scraping stops!” my dude the ao3 team just needs to like add a robots.txt and check the useragent and stuff to prevent this from happening in the future*, and theyre already on it, but not only is the existing body of work presumably In the Dataset, the model has ALREADY BEEN TRAINED. that omelet isnt going to get unscrambled

(*im assuming that everyone gathering datasets for large language models is being reasonably Polite about it bc these are both very simple to circumvent — if this assumption is false then ao3 might need to graduate to Offensive Measures but also we would definitely need to bully the culprits off of hacker news)

anyway im not taking any Stance one way or the other on the “ai art debate” (other than maybe “none of you know what the hell you’re talking about”) but we’re definitely going to see a whole new world of copyright claims against the big art models and ml researchers developing new tools for “removing” stuff from a trained model, and i for one think that it will be SO entertaining to watch

#i cant believe how many fucking. layers of stupid misinformation are in this rumor #ELON MUSK COFOUNDED OPENAI BUT HE LEFT THE BOARD IN 2018 #the trashcan speaks #currently i think the main ‘anti plagiarism’ tool is blacklisting prompt keywords which is…………. just SO hacky #(wrt ai art. i think for gpt you would need to blacklist popular fandoms from the output at the very least)#(which they probably wont unless they get copyright claimed.)#(IMAGINE. hottest legal battle of 2025 is google vs. disney litigating whether ai generated fanfiction is fair use……….)

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qsmpbutwithsignlanguage · 3 months

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Okay. Let's talk, QSMPblr, because I want to talk.

The Brazilian side of this fandom is actually insane. If nobody else has said it yet (which I highly doubt, but I'll put it out there anyway), then I will.

You guys are some of the smartest, most die-hard, committed fans I've met. And you're insanely positive, which might seem like a weird thing to say, but I feel like I've seen it anyway. On that note.

I've talked about this fanfiction in the past, so if you saw that post, you'll know what I'm getting into here. But I want to delve into this a bit more.

'The Reason' by Nan_Yelo is the most kudosed work of fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese, period. It is in a fandom that has only existed since March of 2023, up against the translated version of the most kudosed fanfiction on AO3 (All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 translated into All the Young Dudes by wolfuckingstar) and multiple other fandoms and fanfictions that have existed far, far longer. Every time I find the fanfic again, I am continuously flabbergasted that it got to where it was.

However, its placement in kudos is not its only astonishing accomplishment. I've talked about it's kudos. I've lamented and waxed poetry about its kudos until the night turned to day and I reached my mental QSMP limit (which is astonishingly high, might I say). But the kudos are not the only place where 'The Reason' has done astonishingly well.

Clocking in 88,844 words, 128 comments (including one of my own, awkwardly gushing about the fanfiction in English because my Portuguese can let me say the word 'cheese' and 'I don't speak Portuguese, sorry'), 143 bookmarks, 35,035 hits, and probably most notably, 1,628 kudos, 'The Reason' is honestly a record-breaking fanfiction in more ways than one.

It is about a fandom that has only existed since March of 2023, and about a duo that really only came around in April of that same year.

It is the tenth most kudosed fanfiction under the QSMP tag, which I think is actually insane. Officially, the QSMP has thirty-four streamers displayed on its members page, plus Quackity's Spanish channel and the straight up QSMP streaming account. Of this five are Brazilian. Slightly more than 1/7th of the total streamers. One former member was also Brazilian, so adding them into the mix would bump that number up to 6/35, or a bit more than 17%. Not half, not a quarter, not even a fifth of the total number of streamers.

And despite this fact, in spite of this fact, fanfiction about the Brazilian members of the QSMP has been some of the most popular in the fandom.

That out of the way, not only is 'The Reason' the most kudosed Brazilian Portuguese fanfiction, it is also the most kudosed Portuguese fanfiction period.

Compare it to the most kudosed European Portuguese fanfiction available to a user logged in on AO3, 'E Depois do Adeus (And After Goodbye)' by Palacios_Modernos.

244 kudos, and the most kudosed European Portuguese fanfiction. Then look at 'The Reason'. 1,628, meaning that 'The Reason' is the singular most kudosed fanfiction in any type of Portuguese published on AO3. (I have checked Uncategorized Constructed Languages and the other language tabs for any other registered types of Portuguese, and none exist, meaning that European Portuguese and Brazilian Portuguese are the only two out there to look at).

It is the second most bookmarked fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese, at 143 bookmarks, which is only 15 below the most bookmarked fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese (Rainha de Sothoryos by MarVermelho), which has has less than half the kudos and 10,000 less hits.

Comparing these two fanfictions to the most bookmarked fanfiction in European Portuguese, which clocks in at 33, this can also claim its title as the second most bookmarked fanfiction in Portuguese period.

And when it comes to hits, 'The Reason' clocks in at fourth out of all Portuguese fanfiction available to a user signed into AO3.

This fanfiction is six months old, part of a fandom that has been around since March of 2023, up against three fanfictions from Harry Potter, a franchise that has been around for decades (yeah, I'm going there, I'll make everyone feel old if I feel like it). And it is genuinely record breaking in every definition of the word.

Is this post long as fuck? Yes. Is it entirely deserved? Absolutely.

Go read it, because 'The Reason' is actually insane. It has been fully translated into English and partially translated into Spanish as of February 19th, 2023, and it's honestly beautiful.

#ao3 #guapoduo #qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp brasil #qsmp positivity #ig #y'all are insane #and I love you for it but holy FUCK this fic is mindboggling #you guys can double check if you don't believe me #search > works #select the language as Português brasileiro #and sort by 'kudos' and 'descending'#long post #archive of our own #fanfiction #analysis #qsmp analysis #sort of

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elephant-in-the-pride-parade · 11 months

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AI is Theft, plain and simple.

I'm seeing a group of posts circulating with fanfiction authors forbidding folks to feed their WIPs to an AI to get a quick ending. I am both horrified that there's actual readers who would do that and also resigned that some readers will do it anyway.

A lot of us have already been robbed.

1,000,000 words of my writing were consumed by ChatGPT when its trainers took massive amounts of AO3 works and added them to its training dataset. Nearly every word I've written in my adult life was taken without my consent to build that machine.

I'm locking all my existing and future fics to registered AO3 users only for this reason. It's the best precaution to prevent future scraping of works on the website by AI. I don't want to do that. Half my Kudos and some of my comments come from guests. I want to be able to share my stories with those of you who can't get an AO3 account. But I don't want my work stolen by an AI again.

To folks who would rather use AI to generate the ending of someone else's WIP, or to write a whole story for them, know that youre condoning the theft of billions of words.

Some may say that all writing is created thanks to inspiration from other writing, maybe you think it's not a big deal that others work was used to train an AI. But there are differences to how a human mind writes and how a machine generates text. A human being can be inspired by another writer or dozens of writers. But the work they create is their own, crafted from their unique human experiences. Humans select words based on their definition, connotation, linguistic history, and dozens of other unique factors to convey whatever idea they are striving to put onto a page.

ChatGPT selects words based primarily on their function, one of the reasons it has been demonstrated to be unable to tell the difference between falsehood and fact. It selects words based on how often it knows they have been paired with other words. ChatGPT does not have its own emotions. It does not think. It does not create. It only reuses the turns of phrase created by real people. None of its words are its own. It has no original ideas of its own. It's producing a facimile of creativity - a facimile made possible by my and millions of other writers stolen, unconsented contributions. Its creators are profiting off of our work.

WGA are striking to ensure their professional writers' hard work is never used for AI models. Those of us who are fanfiction authors deserve the same choice. I never agreed to have my work used for anyone else’s profit, certainly not for an AI which, by design, steals other people’s ideas each time it generates a word.

If you're too impatient to wait for one of my WIPs to be finished, and for some reason dont just want to message me and beg me to spoil the ending, then go ahead, give my work to the AI to finish if youre that impatient. It already ate every word thats ever mattered to me. But know that whatever ending it spits out, it will be no more real than a trick of the light and not half as entertaining. The equivalent of eating a pack of red dye number 2 when you wanted a red apple. And it will be theft. Is that really worth your instant gratification?

#openai #chat gpt #fanfiction #ao3 #archiveofourown #archive of our own

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wendingways · 11 months

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Wendingways' Star Wars fic recs

The vast majority of these are fix-its. Some are time travel/time loop. Most revolve around PT, TCW, and OT characters. A lot are also gen, as it turns out.

The order of the list has nothing to do with how much I enjoyed each fic, because I've enjoyed them all in different ways, for different reasons! Fics that seem to be really popular have been placed toward the bottom of each section, because I'm guessing they already appear on a lot of other rec lists. Aside from that, the order is pretty much random.

*Chapter and word counts may not be up to date. I try to go through once in a while to update the details for WIPS, but it's a lot to keep track of!

Complete multichapter fics

Finding Obi-Wan; T, 86.9k. Obi-Wan, having disappeared from the Jedi Temple, wakes up with no idea who he is or what the Force is and gets pulled into all manner of messes (yes, Hondo gets involved, of course he does), while Anakin refuses to believe he's dead and struggles to find him.

Blood and Copper Oxide; T, 36.3k. "Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader crash land on a planet that shouldn't have existed. Luke can't escape Vader and survive the planet at the same time. Darth Vader can't capture Luke and fight off the innumerable threats the planet sends his way. They might have to work together instead." Very cool story!

The Skywalker Secret; T, 39.8k. Anakin time travels back to the Clone Wars following Endor. The story is told mostly through the eyes of perplexed observers, and has an excellent ending; it's very satisfying and lovely!

Lunches at Anakin's; T, 93.1k. After Endor, thanks to the Force's meddling, Anakin finds himself alive but stuck on Tatooine, where he ends up reluctantly mentoring a Force-sensitive girl. (Technically complete, but part of a series which is not complete.)

(Tooka)Cat Scratch Fever; not rated, 17.7k. Luke adopts a tooka which turns out to be his father, under a curse by Sidious. (I would probably rate this one as T.)

In the Tall Grass; T, 18.5k. "After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along." This one is so cool, it has such a fairytale feel to it! And there's a sequel!

Shadows of the Future; K+, 129.3k. Obi-Wan dies on Mustafar and is sent back to TPM, where he bonds with Anakin and begins to change the future for the better.

Gut Feeling; T, 7.5k. Amusing little multichapter wherein Piett is assigned a new aide who goes by the name of Lucas Starkiller (who is clearly not Luke Skywalker, definitely not), and from there becomes embroiled in treason.

May Death Find You Alive; T, 11.0k. Anakin gets stuck in a time loop where Obi-Wan keeps dying.

Empire Reimagined; series, T, 341.7k. A saga of Luke, Vader/Anakin, Piett, Veers, and Leia covering from ESB-era to post-ROTJ. Epic friendships abound! (Series not marked complete, but the last completed fic doesn't leave you hanging.)

Mirjahaal; T, 132.8k. Another lovely Wishful fic in the spirit of Empire Reimagined, involving favorite characters and somebody else who's a surprise!

The Exiled; T, 20.1k. "Leia has tried everything to help her baby son. She has turned to every expert on the Force she knows-- all but one. (Ben and Grandpa go camping)" (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Cloudy Symbols of High Romance; G, 22.1k. This one's a bit of a relict! Posted pre-AOTC, way back in 2001, it's a cool take on how Anakin and Padmé's AOTC-era reunion happened, and omg, it's so much better than AOTC. It's actually cute, and you can see why they like each other, and man does it make the knowledge of what's coming so much the worse.

Kintsugi; T, 16.7k. Quietly tragic, even though nobody dies and it's broadly a fix-it. Not a comfy fic, but one which is well done.

What Lurks in the Dark; T, 155.4k. "A simple mission to check out an abandoned weapons factory turns into a dangerous fight for survival. Trust is broken, loyalties will be tested, and dark secrets are brought to light. Because sooner or later, the truth always comes out."

The Beauty in the Beast; T, 46.1k. "When the Force decides it's had enough of Darth Vader and wants Anakin Skywalker back, it dumps his long-lost teenage son on his doorstep with an ultimatum: unless Vader renounces the Sith and turns back to the Light within three months, Luke will die."

Sibling Revelry; T, 24.9k. "After Bespin and before Endor, Darth Vader is shocked to discover that Luke and Leia are twins. Especially since Imperial Intelligence just told him that Organa and Skywalker are, erm, a tad closer than previously suspected..." A hilarious comedy of misunderstandings!

The Sith Who Brought Life Day; G, 13.3k. A rather entertaining take on how Vader found out who blew up the Death Star.

This Life of Ours; T, 53.9k. "On the run from the empire and the remaining Jedi alike, Vader must come to terms with his past and his future, all the while learning to care for the boy that is his only connection to his life as Anakin Skywalker." (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Teach the Padawan. Save the Galaxy.; series, T, 387.4k. 4 books complete, but the series itself is not complete. Ben Kenobi goes back in time and becomes Obi-Wan's master instead of Qui-Gon.

Legacy; G, 175.5k. Post-ROTJ Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

there but for the grace of god; T, 49.2k. Young Luke winds up time traveling to the Clone Wars, where he causes both confusion and conversations that will lead to a brighter future for the TCW crew and the galaxy in general.

Precipice; M, 231.7k. "An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall." Padmé and Anakin each raise a twin and work to bring Palpatine down.

Don't Look Back; M, series, 533.7k. 2 books complete, 1 in progress. Leia gets sent back to AOTC-era, and omg is she a force to be reckoned with! Very detailed, very political series.

Oneshots

Negative Static Stability; G, 8.1k. Vader and Leia meet when Leia is 5; lessons on the workings of ships ensue, along with some good old Artoo scheming. Adorable!

Palpatine's Greatest Hits II: Imperial Boogaloo; T, 1.3k. Just Palpatine being salty. It's very fun! "Fortress Dramaticus" has got to be one of my favorite bits, coupled with Palpatine's ongoing disgust at its lack of shields and certain people's inability to learn certain lessons. And his disgust at Vader's Kenobi obsession. Okay, the whole thing is great. Go read it!

Dust to Dust; T, 4.7k. "Darth Vader goes back in time. The Galaxy is saved; he is not."

Puppet Kings; series, T-M, 18.8k. Really nicely done, dark oneshot trilogy (complete) about Luke, Vader, & Co. I'm not usually one for horror and tragedy, but I read the first fic in the series and didn't want to stop!

Amelioration; T, 8.2k. "A recently liberated Vader attempts to ameliorate the future by changing the past." A different sort of angle, and an interesting fic!

The Horrendous Space Kablooie; T, 6.2k. "9 year old Anakin wakes up on the Executor. Chaos ensues." Well worth reading! Can't say more because I don't want to spoil anything.

The Agony of Tarkin; G, 4.8k. "An extra in the Imperial Opera Company discovers he has been assigned the role of Darth Vader in its upcoming production of The Agony of Tarkin." Another hilarious fic in the vein of The Sith Who Brought Life Day and Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic.

Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic; G, 7.0k. "Palpatine makes a choice to hide his fiscal manoeuvres in the Financial Department. The Financial Department takes advantage of this lack of transparency to do whatever they want. This saved the Republic." It's always fun to watch Palpatine shoot himself in the foot, and all the better when it comes completely out of left field.

Out of Step; T, 4.9k. Nice little oneshot with post OT-era Obi-Wan and Anakin stuck into their TPM-era selves.

FIVE HUNDRED AND ONE THING THE MEMBERS OF THE 501ST LEGION OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 4.9k. A hilarious list composed by General Kenobi. I laugh myself silly every time I read this. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

501 MORE THINGS THE 501ST ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO; T, 3.4k. A sequel to the 501st list fic, also very funny, although it only has about 250 entries, not 501. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.) Listed with oneshots because the extant 250 entries can be read as a complete list.

Where Have We Come?; T, 2.0k. "The first time was one of the hardest and the easiest. Obi-Wan loses at Mustafar, but instead of dying he wakes up at the dawn of the last day of the republic, doomed to repeat the worst day of his life, over and over again." Time loop!

you drew stars around my scars (but now i'm bleeding); not rated, 1.1k. Post-Twilight of the Apprentice, Ahsoka and Anakin. I'd rate G or T. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

still dancing with your ghosts (sleeping with your memories); M, 1.1k. "Everyone knows about the Massacre, and how no Jedi made it out alive. The Jedi refuse to let anyone forget." I do not cry easily at fics. This one made me cry.

The Trick is to Keep Breathing; T, 3.5k. "She's older now, and so is he. Far older now. She wonders: will he have lost any power with his age? Will he be shorter, weaker? An old man on a ventilator? It's hard to imagine that he won't still be dangerous. But then, that's exactly what she's counting on."

Tuning up your TIE-Fighter to prove you’re better than the bastard currently running the TIE-Fighter Program for fun and profit; G, 7.1K. "As a rule, Vader didn't really do anything with his social media account, but then the rant of some kid from Tatooine about the inefficiency of TIE Fighters began trending, the pilots and engineers on the Devastator started fixing their ships and Vader got invested."

Multichapter fics that are incomplete but still appear to be alive as of now

Turning Point; T, 9.8k. After Vader dies on the second Death Star, he's sent back in time to the year 69 BBY, on Naboo, where he picks up an unfortunate barnacle in the person of the teenage Sheev Palpatine. Quite entertaining, and I can't wait to see where it goes!

The Good He Seeks; T, 70.1k. "After killing the Emperor, Darth Vader agreed to serve the fledgling New Republic and destroy the last true-believers of the Empire he had once helped create. But he's living on borrowed time." Though I do enjoy pure fix-its, there's just something that really gets me about fics that are fix-it-ish, but life is messy, the characters are messy, there are no easy answers or perfect solutions, and every positive development really feels earned. So far, this is one of those fics, and I'm loving it!

The Galaxy Revolves at a Million Miles a Day (Around Me); T, 40.7k. After dying on Executor during the battle of Endor, Piett finds himself trapped in a time loop which he must break. I'm a sucker for time loops, and this is such a good one!

The Sleepover to Restore the Republic; T, 56.1k. This many Skywalkers, clones, and associated friends, relatives, and coworkers were never intended to be thrown together, and when they are, boy oh boy. Gloriously chaotic and funny. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

Nameless, on the Edge of Nowhere; M, 100.7k. Vader survives ROTJ, but both he and Luke made it out of the second Death Star via random hyperspace jumps in separate ships. After getting by for a time, the not-fully-Sith-but-not-fully-redeemed Vader ends up with the Rebellion, where Leia becomes his handler. Slow build, and a really rewarding read thus far! (Also, I love the OCs in this one; they all feel very natural and vivid, and like people in their own right.)

Multichapter fics/series for those okay with living on the edge (inconsistent updates, long hiatus, or abandoned)

Headaches; T, 31.2K. "When Luke overhears his aunt and uncle arguing, he follows old Ben to Daiyu. Skywalker shenanigans ensues." Oh my goodness, the pure child chaos that is in this fic, it's an excellent time. Hasn't updated in almost a year, but what's there is so good!

Balance on the knife edge; T, 136.6k. After dying on Malachor, Ahsoka time travels back to Mortis, during the Clone Wars.

The Thunder Answered Back; M, 13.1k. "Count Dooku survives his duel with Anakin Skywalker only to wake up as a captive in the Jedi Temple on the evening of Order 66 and the siege. Betrayed, maimed, and surrounded by slaughter on every side, he must choose his path forward - and choose it quickly. RotS AU." Featuring Jocasta Nu.

Synchronous; G, 67.9k. "It's the usual time-entangling fiasco: 'Find the disturbance. Rectify the wrong. Fix the anomaly. Bring balance to the past so the Force may be balanced in the future.' There is a slight miscalculation, however, and Luke Skywalker finds himself in the Clone Wars while having to masquerade in the body of his late father Anakin Skywalker. Leia and Han aren't so helpful either."

In the Midst of Darkness Lays a Sleeping Light; T, 26.0k. Series, wherein Palpatine turns Vader into a dragon. (It goes great for both of them. Totally.) Angsty and enjoyable, and an interesting exploration of dehumanization/rehumanization.

To Set Up a Sith; T, 35.2k. "Teenage Luke tries to help his unwitting Sith father make a friend, with a little help from his ghost mom and the Force." Interesting story with fun and sweet bits, and I'm super curious about how it will turn out if it's ever finished!

like a lazy ocean hugs the shore; T, 10.7k. After Vader kills him, Fox gets stuck in a time loop around the time when Fives is killed.

Living Every Day; T, 82.9k. "When Satine Kryze survives her encounter with Darth Maul, it changes the galaxy. But even more than that, it changes the lives of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Skywalker family."

Dancing with Ghosts in Your Garden; T, 979.3k. Star Wars PT and TCW characters, but in a Hogwarts setting. It works surprisingly well! There's a little more teenage romance than is my personal preference, but it's a cool AU and quite long if you're looking for a fun, imaginative fic to absolutely bury yourself in for a while. (And it looks like Ahsoka might finally be entering during the next year of the fic!!)

What We've Become; T, 82.0K. "Darth Vader and Ahsoka’s fight on Malachor takes a different path, and Ahsoka actually is able to save her master. Or rather, she’s able to convince him to save himself. Diverges from canon in the last few minutes of Twilight of the Apprentice and goes increasingly AU from there."

better late than never; G, 41.4k. Ahsoka wins at Malachor, Vader redemption fic.

Madhouse Promenade; T, 13.0k. "In a bid to save his new apprentice's life, Darth Sidious siphoned the life force from Padmé Amidala, ultimately killing her. Ten years later, after finding out the truth, Darth Vader finds himself haunted by her ghost, and Padmé finds herself face-to-face with what her husband has become."

Hard Reset; T, 33.4k. "Anakin Skywalker wakes up to his worst nightmare, and he doesn't even know all of it yet." Aka Vader gets amnesia, and Anakin is confused about everything. (Visible to registered AO3 users only.)

The Ghosts on Coruscant; T, 143.6k. After surviving Mustafar and living as a rebel for eight years, Padmé is captured by the Empire, and Vader finds out.

Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns; T, 616.6k. ST-era Leia time travels back to ANH.

Old Man Luke; M, 109.4. ST-era Luke and Leia time travel to the Clone Wars.

Comics (all wips)

Dark Chasm; T, 21 chapters. "On Bespin, the truth is revealed, and Vader bids for Luke to join him. Luke looks down into the dark chasm and makes a choice."

Imperial Babysitters; T, 17 chapters. Cute comic/art series with Luke being raised by Vader, Piett, and Veers.

Our New Hope; T, 57 chapters. "After Ahsoka Tano discovers 12-year-old Luke Skywalker on Tatooine, she takes him under her wing and around the Galaxy. Meanwhile, Darth Vader has found Bail Organa's force-sensitive daughter and has started training her as a Junior Inquisitor. A chance encounter between the twins brings their worlds together."

The Tinies; G, 76 chapters. Cute comic with Vader and Padmé raising Luke and Leia.

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boundinparchment · 7 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - L

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only. Song for the second half is "Can You Hear the Music?" composed by Ludwig Goransson, from the Oppenheimer soundtrack.

You would have preferred a meeting in the depths of Zandik’s labs rather than the opulent warmth surrounding you. At least then, you knew exactly what you were getting.

Northland, and more accurately Lord Pantalone’s official offices, required careful consideration, specific staff members, timing the visit to attract the least amount of attention. It also required ignoring the desire to see more of the city at the foot of the Palace; such sentiments were dormant until you caught the familiar smell of cinnamon and dough and sugar in the air.

The carpet, handwoven no doubt, was plush and well-maintained. The leather sofa conditioned and cared for. No fire roared in the hearth; instead, you were surrounded by the familiar bang of radiator pipes as they staved off the chill. Dark wood paneling made the space feel almost homey, a place one would spend time with friends and loved ones.

Exactly the kind of person were not. Not to the only other occupant in the room.

At least there was a sofa, you told yourself. Plenty of previous encounters gave you the opposite experience; your patron hardly ever kept guest chairs in his office. For you, and others, were not there to converse. Or if you were, never for long.

You had yet to take a sip of the tea you held, one hand on the bottom of the cup and the other cradling the porcelain body to savor the warmth. It was fragrant, no doubt as delicious as it was expensive. For a moment you recalled a tea house in Liyue where you spent the evening cackling with colleagues and making the most of your free time.

A small selection of snacks were laid out as well and when your eye caught the pink snow cake, you couldn’t help but take a forkful. Tangy raspberry and sweet milk mingled with coconut and the cake was chilled to help it keeps its shape. It didn’t taste abnormal (or so you thought); the Harbinger stood to gain little by poisoning you when you were here to discuss professional matters.

Nonetheless, the congeniality rubbed at your skin like sandpaper, especially after the last time you saw Lord Pantalone. Did he expect you to believe such gestures were more than simple courtesy? Surely not. You wondered briefly if, in the event you were instead chosen for convenience rather than fate, if the scales Pantalone used to find equal value would be tilted in your favor.

You pushed away that train of thought. Nonsense. You only needed his signed approval on your budget and scope of work for the performance, not his validation on your connections to his colleague.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, maestra,” Pantalone said as he capped his pen and rose from his seat. “The Captain required additional resources that could not wait.”

“The Tsaritsa’s Will is priority; I am no stranger to it. Your hospitality is appreciated, Lord Harbinger.”

He pressed a device on his desk and in the next room, you heard a bell. The office doors opened instantly, the paperwork was handed off, and the conversation continued as though the interruption never happened.

“The Tsaritsa’s request is quite unique for this particular occasion,” he continued. “In most cases, we hire the national orchestra and the Tsaritsa dictates the works to be played. The creative freedom involved is a different venture and you are yet unaccustomed to Snezhnaya’s standards for such gatherings.”

You scratched out the notion that he was attempting to make peace as you kept your lips from twitching into a frown. Beneath your veil and mask, your brows arched and you took your first sip of tea as you silently waited for the Harbinger to speak again.

Silence did more to voice displeasure than words ever did, in your experience.

As expected, Pantalone gracefully acquiesced and dipped his head as he trailed a hand along the edge of his desk to put less distance between you. He closed his eyes for a moment before you caught a glimpse of the molten gold as he turned his gaze towards you instead.

“Fontaine’s finery is only outmatched by Snezhnaya’s commitment to quality; I meant no disrespect to neither your homeland nor your craft. As this gala is intended to demonstrate to the people as well as the ruling class that the Tsaritsa’s plans are unfolding, that faith and truth in Her Will results in the nation prospering, it is key that whatever composition you create reflects that standard, or even sets itself beyond it.”

“Which is precisely why my timeline proposal, as you requested, takes into account that I will need to become familiar with both the culture, social norms, and musical history of the nation,” you tersely replied. “The six-week timeline is more than enough to compose a piece worthy of the Tsaritsa and help guide the orchestra through learning it.”

Said proposal was a bit hastily written but it was clear, concise, and laid out your exact scope of work. Turnaround would be tight, admittedly, but it was achievable.

Pantalone tilted his head as his lips quirked into a smile that, perhaps in a different context, passed for endearing. He brushed away imaginary dust from the sleeve of his overcoat and closed the distance to sit across from you on the other sofa. The Harbinger poured himself a cup of tea with careful, ritualistic precision over the tray on the low table between you. It wasn’t until he took a sip and exhaled softly that he spoke again and his posture relaxed slightly.

“I am aware we do not always see eye to eye, maestra, but in this case, it is purely about numbers and the promises of an investment that must deliver. There is no option but to surpass all expectations. I would hate to see you fail all because of poor planning on anyone’s part, myself included. Surely there is more to your plan than mere bullet points?”

“Much of it is technical and easily summed up as part of an entire step. It is a waste of paper otherwise.”

What was this, a job interview? He sounded exactly like every private entity you ever auditioned with, the kind with too much money and too little knowledge of how things worked.

The Tsaritsa was the one who tasked you with the waltz. And here Pantalone was, gatekeeping you from that very thing all because he oversaw planning the entire event. All you needed was the contact information for the orchestra and an affidavit that you were the intended composer and a bunch of other details for the sake of legal protection. Your grip on the cup tightened a hair.

“Spoken just like Zandik himself. Although he doesn’t miss an opportunity to talk about his grand intentions.”

You raised the cup to mouth in attempt to hide your pursed lips. Of course he would also know Zandik’s name, you reminded yourself. They worked together and seemed to be one of the only pairs of Harbingers capable of crossing the gap of ranks. He kept everything organized with the Segments, after all. It shouldn’t have surprised you so.

The Harbinger laughed softly and your blood ran cold as his eyes crinkled but never closed.

“Are you familiar with the process of equivalent exchange, maestra?”

“An alchemical process that, through the use of mora, has become an economic principle in which goods are exchanged for their value in mora,” you said at last, the notes of Qingxin Flowers tickling your tongue. “What about it?”

Pantalone gestured with an open hand, as if his point was obvious. “As a wielder of the Geo Archon’s power, you must know that the process extends well beyond commerce. And that everything has a price. Name yours.”

For a moment, you saw a different set of eyes and were not in the banker’s office at all, but back home. Where musicians and entertainers were kept like trinkets, bought and sold between those of the same station, leveraged as collateral. Without a second though, you put your cup down, twisting it slightly so the unfinished porcelain scratched the lacquered table.

“My price for what, exactly?”

Too late, you realized how defensive you sounded. His eyes flickered to the tea cup and back to you before his smile grew wider.

“For you to drop this soulmate act and go back to wherever he found you. I’ve heard Fontaine’s representative orchestra lost a cellist some weeks back; the position sounds perfect for you.”

You froze, your breath caught in your chest like a mouse in the jaws of a snake. Did he know who you were, where you came from? Worse yet, did he know…

Or was he bluffing?

The man across from you had the world’s best poker face you’d ever seen. And you were well-versed in the art of separating words from actions and gestures.

“All the money in the world wouldn’t be enough to get rid of me, Lord Pantalone,” you said softly, rising to your feet and heading towards the door. “I greatly apologize if I’ve offended you. I do not seek a Harbinger’s seat for myself. But you’ve stood in the same room as both Zandik and myself. This world is full of truths we do not want to accept for one reason or another but that they do not align with our worldview does not make them false.”

You paused before turned back and spoke again.

“Please be sure the necessary documentation is available to other parties. The sooner I can begin, the sooner you can move onto other matters and be left in peace, Lord Pantalone. My results will speak for themselves.”

You gave a smile and a bow before you saw yourself out of the office, heart pounding in your throat with every step.

Part of you hoped the sensations would vanish as soon as you were out of the financier’s domain and back under the trusted gazes of two Agents tasked with your well-being. But the second you stepped out of the bank’s grand entryway and were faced with the idea of riding back up to the Palace, your muscles itched.

You couldn’t go back to the Palace, not like this. Not with the festering frustration Pantalone set alight in your veins and not with the disconcerting notion that you had all but thrown your cards down on the table.

It didn’t matter if he knew, you told yourself. Someone else would connect the dots eventually, once they knew a Fontaine musician who arrived by way of Sumeru composed for the Tsaritsa and lived in the Palace. Anyone with half a brain would figure it out. You and Zandik concluded as such and you would not stay in his shadow; both because you couldn’t and because he would not stand for it.

But turning back to the Palace, telling Zandik what happened as soon as you arrived…

He was finally back in the flow of his work in-between memory sessions, even asking for your assistance in testing different soundwaves and frequencies. You understood the basics of the science beyond your career but only insofar as which ones were faster, slower, the effect they had at certain pitches. Whatever he was working on, you took solace in his bright eyes and exuberant expression when he admitted that listening to you inspired him.

No, he couldn’t afford distractions.

And you were always at the Palace. For once, it would be nice to simply be outside of the guarded grounds.

You hesitated a fraction before you turned to one of the Agents and said, “Where can I find the nearest concert hall or opera house?”

Without the contract, you couldn’t approach the conductor or the symphony manager but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sit in the audience. It took persuasion but your Agents agreed to split up, with one tucked away in the shadows nearby and the other in the balcony overhead. You would have preferred to be alone but Zandik went through the trouble of ensuring your escorts were veterans who served him and only him.

The concert hall was a rectangular space with ornamented walls and a high ceiling; ideally, the sound would bounce off the side and rear walls and then back over the audience. From your vantage point roughly two-thirds of the way back, you noted the venue was well-attended for an afternoon performance by all walks of life. Promising, you noted. If the symphony was not well-supported by the community, the seats would be empty. Which meant that music meant a great deal to those attending at this hour mid-work week and perhaps to the people at large.

You were enveloped in sound as soon as the performance began and you felt your nerves twist back into place as the notes washed over you. Strings, high and bright, started the movement, their tempo increasing and decreasing in waves as other sections joined in. Circular, cyclical, you could feel the notes spinning around you. The effect was dizzying, not unlike the experience of traveling through leylines, feeling the energy of the world.

On stage, you never would have noticed that. You would have been too absorbed in pulling the music from the depths of the strings, keeping in time with everyone else, melding your soul with the next pull of your bow. Wrong notes were felt, not necessarily heard, and acoustics differed between every venue you played at.

How long had it been since you sat in the audience? Not since Sumeru, perhaps before you left Fontaine for the next tour leg…that had been a chamber choir, rich and deep and haunting. Only a small group of you attended, the vibrato wracking your very soul long after the concert ended.

As the final notes hung in the air, a deep ache sat itself in your heart. You would never be a single part of a whole again, not in a collective like the one performing before you. Certainly not without looks and daggers ready to stab you in the back. It would be impossible to hide your connections. And other audience members already gave you second glances at the sight of your mask.

You chose this, you reminded yourself.

You chose Zandik.

And while perhaps you did not truly choose one another, as some had the luxury of experiencing, you made the conscious decision to leave your old life, that shell of existence, behind. Just as you did years ago, on a sunny beach…

You swallowed thickly, eyes burning behind the mask.

Of course. Your mind reeled with the startling clarity provided by the woodwinds in the next movement. It was not that the Tsaritsa had no love left to give her nation. What utter nonsense. She loved them so much that she had them experience this, realized what they lost, gained. So they remembered what was to…

Love.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #fic: dream a little dream of me #female reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #soulmate au

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brighteststar707 · 8 months

Text

Promise Me One Thing

Part one of Don't Say My Name

Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Read on AO3 (Registered users only)

✦ Saeyoung x gn!Reader

✦ Words: 2840

✦ TW: Death mention

You remember his fury when you ran into V just a few days ago outside the compound. Anger had transformed him into a stranger. But you also remember the fondness in his voice as he talked about their history over the phone. His dedication, his appreciation. Were a few days of discoveries enough to undo all of that history?

For as long as you have known him, Saeyoung has never been able to sit still. There is always an undercurrent of nervous energy running through him – a side effect of having to grow up the way he did – keeping him alert at all times. You can see it in the nervous tap-tap-tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel as he drives, in his endless pacing, in the way he fidgets with your hand or plays with your hair while you’re close to him. Even in his sleep, he tosses and turns and mumbles incoherent sentences.

So, seeing him asleep at the hospital now is equal parts fascinating and unnerving. He is lying almost perfectly still, propped up on a few pillows, his breathing deep and even. It’s different to how he looked immediately after surgery – pale and bruised, like fighting to stay alive for that long had drained everything out of him. Now, he looks like he’s at peace. His skin has got most of its colour back, his lips are slightly pursed, his expression is serene. He’s beautiful and alive. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

You treasure every second of peace he can get, because with the news you still have to deliver, you know it’s going to be short-lived. You had reassured Jumin that you would tell Saeyoung about everything that had happened at Mint Eye, if only to not make him relive it again. A light had gone out in Jumin, and you know it was taking him all his strength to handle everything else at the hospital.

When he first woke up from the anaesthetic, you gave Saeyoung a short version of what happened at Mint Eye, enough to give him context and reassure him, not enough to shock him (the nurse had sternly reminded you that he was still in a fragile state and needed rest). You told him that Jumin had rescued you not long after he passed out, that Saeran is in care in the same hospital. But even being half-conscious couldn’t stop him from being suspicious. He had heard the tone of Jumin’s voice, flat and monotone, from behind his door, and could see the weariness in your eyes. Even Vanderwood, on their brief visit, had been acting oddly. He tried to keep asking questions, but he was barely able to keep his eyes open. You encouraged him to take the painkillers he was given and promised that you would answer whatever questions he wanted to ask after he rested.

You had been spending the time he was asleep thinking through the events at Mint Eye over and over again, trying to string your words together the right way.

It’s not that you don’t remember. The memory of it is all there, a slideshow that plays every time you close your eyes.

The deadly glint of light catching on the gun. The shrill desperate shouts of someone whose reality has shattered. Saeran clinging onto the gun like it is the last thing that will save him. Saeyoung’s head on your lap, his blood warm and sticky on your hands as you and Vanderwood try to protect him from the crowd.

Then the bang. The ringing silence after. The gasp of realization, of a bullet finding home. A soft ‘oh’.

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The thud of a body hitting the carpet, and then the screaming that never seems to end.

A part of you is still there, you’re sure of it. Reliving it over and over.

The problem is that you cannot gauge how Saeyoung is going to react to the news. You remember his fury when you ran into V just a few days ago outside the compound. Then the disgust on his face as he kicked him in the cell, over and over as you could do nothing but watch and beg him to stop. Anger had transformed him into a stranger. He seemed almost younger in those moments, funnelling years of frustration into every movement and word.

But you also remember the fondness in his voice as he talked about their history over the phone. His dedication, his appreciation. Were a few days of discoveries enough to undo all of that history?

There is only one way to find out, and you are about to, because you can see his eyelashes fluttering.

There is some relief in seeing him open his eyes again. He returns to you, waking up part by part like one of his little creations powering up. He smiles at you softly, and there's something there that's saying I can't believe you're still here with me.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” you say affectionately.

“Hi.” His voice is raspy with sleep and disuse. He seems content. You wonder what he was dreaming of.

You wonder how long it will last.

Already he starts to shuffle around. You help him sit up properly, offer him some water to drink. He eyes the bandages on his arm warily and reaches for your hand with his free one to distract himself from it. As you fill him in on who has come to visit and give him updates on Saeran’s situation, he taps his fingers against your knuckles. By the time you finish, he is more alert and you know that he’s itching to ask you about what you’re not telling him. It’s a wonder he has even waited this long. Maybe a part of him wanted to hang on to this peace for a little while longer too.

But now the knowledge that there is something that he is missing is eating away at him, filling his mind with terrible scary ideas. You can see it; his smile is fading and he is distracted even as he listens to you talk. It is the guilt of a protector who put down his weapons for just a second to rest and feels like he has failed the people he has sworn to take care of.

No doubt the things he is coming up with are convoluted and awful. It would be kinder to tell him the truth now. To stop him from worrying.

You squeeze his hand gently to draw his attention back to you.

“Saeyoung, there is something you need to know about what happened at Mint Eye, while you were… unconscious.” Hands sticky with blood, his body helpless in your arms. “Stop me if you need a moment.”

He sits up straighter, braces himself for bad news. You decide to start with the facts first, the most important part. The details can come in time, when he can handle it.

“There was an altercation at Mint Eye, before Jumin and his team arrived. V… was shot. He’s... dead.”

It comes out clumsy, your voice wobbles.

- The gasp of realization, of a bullet finding home. The thud of a body hitting the carpet. The screaming that never seems to end -

But this is not the time to get caught up in the memories. Saeyoung has gone still again. This is different to the stillness of sleep. He is frozen stiff and his jaw is clenched. It looks unnatural on him. He swallows visibly, and it takes him a second to find what he wants to say.

“He’s really… not like last time…?”

You shake your head. “I saw him myself. It’s real. The others are planning his funeral already.”

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his expression still blank. It’s not like at the apartment, when he was trying to process the reality of Saeran’s situation. There, fear and confusion were painted clearly on his face. Every movement was jittery, every word came out sharp because he was scared. It sounds like this news has taken something from him – or maybe changed something in him.

He isn’t looking at you. His eyes are blank and unfocused, aimed at the black TV screen opposite his bed.

“Saeyoung?"

“How did it happen?” His voice is monotone. It’s not that he actually cares, but that that he needs to know.

So much for waiting until he’s ready. The best thing you can do for him now is give him the full truth.

“There was chaos after you passed out. Saeran… he had his gun out. I’m not sure what he was thinking, he was shouting and trying to defend himself from all those people.” You stop and suppress a shudder.

If it’s possible, at the mention of Saeran’s name, Saeyoung grows stiller. Like a rubber band pulled taut, about to snap. His attention is fully on you. He can piece the rest of the story together, but he needs you to say it anyway, to make it true.

“It went off, and V jumped in front of the bullet.”

He squeezes his eyes shut like he is fighting off a headache.

“Who knows about this?”

“Only Jumin. He hasn’t told the others the… circumstances of V’s death yet.”

“Good.”

You don’t like this stillness in him. It’s like he’s about to shatter at any moment.

“What are you thinking?”

“…I’m not sure.”

But you can see it, even if he can't yet. The clenched jaw, his grip on your hand. The way his entire body has gone still. It's defeat, and in his defeat, there's anger.

You remember his frustrated pacing in the apartment as he waited for V to pick up his calls. The muttering under his breath, all the questions that were building up. Then, when he saw him at the compound, the questions he spat at him. Questions he punctuated with each kick in the basement. Over and over again, anguish and fury flowing out of him like he was an open wound. Why? How could you? What the hell happened?

His life had fallen apart in the span of a week. Of course he was angry. He had bloodied his hands for someone who had been lying to him all along. He had only told you some of the things he had been forced to do at the agency, but it was enough for you to understand. A part of him had been lost forever when he chose to become Seven Zero Seven.

Then there was Saeran. Hurt beyond recognition, exploited and abused in ways that Saeyoung was supposed to be protecting him from. What was the point of it all?

"What about her?" He says suddenly, his voice sharp. You don't have to ask who he's referring to.

"Rika is... I'm not sure. She was brought to this hospital, but she isn't really... speaking at the moment."

"Not speaking?"

"Jumin said they diagnosed her with something called aphasia? Ever since V... she hasn't said anything."

And like that, he shuts off completely. His last hope for answers, for accountability has gone silent.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Saeyoung?"

He softens, if only slightly.

"Can you please... stay?"

Stay? The thought of leaving his room, let alone the hospital hadn't even occurred to you.

"Of course."

He relaxes a little bit - there is still some tightness in his jaw - but the stillness stays with him. He doesn't fidget, doesn't try to get up, he just sits resting against the pillows of his bed staring out of the window. You know his mind is miles away, trying to fit these new pieces of his life together, trying to process the blow he has just been dealt.

Trying not to let the anger consume him completely.

˚　.˚　　　　✦ 　　　 ˚. 　˚

The soft tapping of footsteps and murmurs of doctors as they walk down the hall. The opening tune to some sitcom rerun playing on one of the TVs. People arguing behind the closed doors of a patient room. The smell of antiseptic and the creaky plastic chairs.

If hell exists, Saeyoung thinks, it’s a hospital waiting room. After all the hours he has spent here between visiting hours, he should know.

He sits slumped in one of those awful chairs, head in his hands. He must look like a wreck to anybody passing – the doctors certainly didn’t hide their disapproval – but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t had the presence of mind to make sure he looks presentable. It has only been a few days since he was discharged, but he knows that he's a mess, barely eating and sleeping, propelled onward only by his determination to help Saeran.

Today’s visit hadn’t gone well. He couldn’t be in the room for more than a few minutes before Saeran started threatening to hurt him. Saeyoung was more scared that he would hurt himself. He left quickly after that with a quick reminder that he’d be back tomorrow.

The doctors are getting increasingly impatient with both of them and he isn’t sure what to do about it. He plays nice for them, smiles placidly and thanks them again (for what exactly, he’s not sure) in the hopes that they’ll take pity on them and hold off on any drastic plans for just a little bit longer.

The whole charade makes him want to scream.

But he doesn't. Instead, that anger and frustration builds up inside him, as it has been for the past few days (weeks? months? years?). He doesn't see a way out of it.

Saeyoung is no stranger to anger. He was raised on it, a resource more plentiful than food or comfort ever was in his house. He breathed it in and let it take hold, learned to turn it back on the people around him without a moment's notice. It was the only way to survive in his world. And there was a lot to be angry at. His mother and father, for having him and his brother and then failing them both so spectacularly. At the agency for his endless stream of work. At the world, for putting even the kindest people through pain.

It takes physical effort nowadays, to keep from breaking apart. He has to walk away, has to hold his breath, has to keep his body tense. He has to, because if he lets go for even a second, even he isn't sure what the fallout will be. All he knows is that it will be messy, destructive. If he starts screaming, he may not stop. He cannot afford to lose it. Not yet. Saeran needs him. You need him (or is that one the other way around?).

There is also a part of him (however reluctant he may be to admit it) that is scared of what will be left of him without that anger.

These visits are all he has the energy for. Even after detoxing and the little treatment he has allowed, Saeran is thin and pale, all bones and bruises, the opposite of that smiling boy from the pictures that Saeyoung had come to associate with his brother. When he isn’t staring out of his hospital room window at the clouds, he’s screaming and lashing out at the people around him. When the doctors listed off all the drugs they found in his system, Saeyoung had to leave the room to avoid breaking something.

He doesn't recognise himself anymore. He has worn many masks, but even he cannot find a trace of himself in this stranger with the clenched jaw and empty eyes that looks back at him from the mirror.

He cannot stand to be near the RFA for very long amounts of time. Their grief makes him itch; their pity makes his blood boil. They have been walking on eggshells around him, much the same as they have been with Jumin. Neither of them appreciates it much, if Saeyoung's observations are anything to go by. Jumin is absent, inexpressive. Drunk, more often than not, he reckons. He wonders if he resents V too for throwing himself in front of that bullet.

He even reluctantly keeps his distance from you for fear of what might happen if you try to get through to him. If there's anyone who will see through the mess he has become, he knows it's you. After the life he had promised you, he feels like this version of him would be a disappointment to you.

God, he thinks. How did they end up here?

You will have to say goodbye to Saeran. Rika and I will take care of him. We'll make sure we save him.

Saeran had thrown the TV remote at Saeyoung’s head as he was about to leave the room. It would have hit him if Saeran’s hands weren’t shaking so much from withdrawals. He wishes it had.

We really want the two of you to be happy.

Right. Look where they ended up. This is happy.

He isn't sure how much time has passed when he finally stands up from the waiting room chair and leaves the hospital. He robotically drives himself home, returns to his desk, and sits in silence. He will probably sit here until he cannot keep his eyes open any longer.

#don't say my name #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeyoung #mystic messenger saeyoung choi #mystic messenger 707 #mystic messenger seven #mysme seven #mysme saeyoung #mysme luciel choi #mystic messenger luciel choi #my writing

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olderthannetfic · 11 months

Note

Just saw a TikTok of a girl bragging about copying and pasting the unfinished fics she's reading into ChatGPT so that the AI can write the missing chapters and all the comments were super positive and kept asking her which AI was the one that worked better for this, and I'M SO FUCKING TIRED.

Fanfic is a hobby, not a duty, and if someone stops posting they have their reasons. They may not be good, you may think they're stupid, but they have THEIR OWN REASONS and you HAVE TO respect them.

It's so fucking shitty that the OTW is trying to defend its creators from AIs as much as possible, the only suggestion for authors that of making their works visible only for registered users, and here are these cunts who are PURPOSEFULLY harvesting material and feeding it into AIs because they think they're entitled to other people's stories.

If they care so much about those fics, why can't they do it the right way: opening up their own little Google Docs document and writing the missing chapters themselves? It's not like they can post them to Ao3 anyways, so... what's the fucking difference?

I'm 100% sure that they feel this entitled because a lot of traditional writers are now churning out four 500 pages novels a year and are constantly selling them something. They think that that amount of output can be sustainable for people who don't have writing as their main form of income, who have to have jobs to support themselves, and who are just doing it because they like it.

I hate them.

I fucking hate them.

Also, it's just Sanderson who has Can't Shut Up disease. Or people with ghostwriters.

Most authors don't put out that many pages per year even if it's their primary source of income.

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discluded · 10 months

Text

OTW Candidates and the Threat of Censorship in Power

Per my policy with this blog, I am creating this post as a centralized information point for the last two cycles of pro-censorship candidates running for @transformativeworks board positions. This is for us, voting members of OTW to have an centralized factual archive of these candidates, which allows us to hold OTW responsible for better screening candidates for views antithetical to the central mission of the organization.

As we know, censorship is on the rise across parts of the internet. These places include geographical territories that OTW's servers sit on. With the resignation of three sitting OTW board members, including one with a history of racist comments, the current election cycle for OTW board became an uncontested cycle that would have been dangerously close to allow an uncontested slot-in for a pro-censorship candidate. With this, I am hoping to increase the amount of transparency and responsibility OTW owes to its voting (and contributing) members.

We as voting members of OTW have the right to choose candidates that will advance the mission of the organization -- we should not, multiple years in a row -- be forced to organize around preventing a pro-censorship candidate from advancing to the Board or accept that such a candidate was could have possibility of being promoted in an uncontested election to the Board.

2022 Election - Tiffany G

Tiffany G's interview statement from her candidacy response. It appears that this text is no longer part of the transcript, but a screencap was preserved by twitter user muzhiyou on August 11 2022. Please click the link to their tweet thread for more context about AO3's banned status in China.

[ID in alt text]

Given that the text transcripts' comments reference in various parts "adult content" but this section is now removed from the chat archive and only contain references to "pedophilic content and other illegal content" the transparency of candidates' views and the the permanency of their archival by OTW are also now in question.

For further nuance and discussion about Tiffany G's candidacy, please review this [non-neutral] thread/discussion about Tiffany's position on censorship with regard to AO3 and the Chinese government.

2023 Election - Audrey R

Upon reviewing candidates for the 2023 election cycle, twitter user mozaikmage noticed that candidate Audrey R was Audrey Richards, an registered Republican who ran for election to the U.S. House to represent Missouri's 7th Congressional District in 2022. (source: Ballotpedia / archive.today version ) Her affiliation for OTW was listed on her Ballotpedia biography.

For additional [non-neutral] discussion of Audrey R's candidacy, please review twitter user fairestcat's breakdown of Audrey's responses and their contention. Fairestcat's views are not representative of my own, the creator of this post. I am merely trying to offer voter perspectives to Audrey's lack of qualification.

Upon further research, twitter user Taenith_Rain was able to unveil more about Audrey R's work with Children and Screens, an organization that advances moral panic around minors' media consumption which has an ultimate goal of censorship. Twitter user Taenith_Rain gave me express permission to archive their research and also asked not to be further engaged on this topic.

(archive.today link)

Note in her own webpage, her qualification listed as follows:

POLICY LEAD, Institute of Digital Media and Child Development - Create and lead the policy department at a nonprofit research institute dedicated to understanding the impact of digital media use on child development. Create a nonpartisan reputation on Capitol Hill as a scientific resource.

(archive.today link)

(archive.today link) Please note that the twitter user's comments do not reflect my own opinions about the Republican voters, Republican women, or Audrey R as a person.

(archive.today link)

Youtube webinar:

youtube

I do want to highlight again the dog-whistle pro-censorship description used for this webinar.

"media w/romanticized abuse and sexual content lacking partner communication may be impacting teens' attitudes and behaviors".

Final Thoughts

I am glad that twice in a row OTW has avoided having a pro-censorship candidate elected to its Board, and that the Stop OTW Racism campaign has led to the successful removal of a sitting board member who has made racist comments.

However, it is unconscionable that two years in a row OTW voting members were forced to reconcile with the fact that there was a pro-censorship candidate running, and had to do extensive research and advocacy to make sure that voters were aware of this risk.

With this archived in one place, I am hoping to hold OTW accountable to better screen candidates to advance the organization's goal of fighting censorship.

Reblogs for knowledge sharing and transparency appreciated.

#otw #ao3 #otw elections #audrey richards #censorship #tiffany g #Youtube

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silver-heller · 2 months

Text

On Navigating AO3

I've gotten what feels like the millionth comment about two issues, in particular, from people who are just starting to read on Ao3 but don't actually know how to navigate the site.

So, and know I am saying this with affection...

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, READ FIC INFORMATION! AND GO TO AUTHOR PAGES, I AM BEGGING YOU!

To start off, this box is the first thing on the page when you open a fic, and it feels like so many new users just skip over it despite its importance:

This lets you know the fic's age rating, archive warnings, the types of relationships within the fic, the fandom, the relationships, the characters, additional tags, language, if it's a part of a series or not, and the stats. You are doing fics a disservice by reading them without this information.

PS: & is for platonic and / is for romantic.

However, Ao3 sometimes misrepresents what part of a series a fic is in, so I am begging people to please just click into a series if they feel they are missing some context.

Ao3 is littered with spaces for information, so don't think we're finished just yet. Below the title is the summary (fic description) and note area which will include the beginning notes or will let you know if there are notes at the bottom of the fic (both written by the author), all of which can give extra context:

Also, at the bottom of a fic that is a part of a series, there are two links, one to the previous fic and another to the series. The part number is also more accurate. Please use them:

It drives me up the wall how "previous work" is right there, and so many people don't click on it but go to comment about how confused they are anyway.

I know no one means any harm but, as a fic writer, it is exhausting to have to deal with people complaining my fics "make no sense" when they put no effort into understanding the actual context, or sometimes anything about the fic.

Another thing that is exhausting? Getting comments that are the equivalent of "I really hope you write more for this fandom! I love how you write the characters, I wish I could read more of it from you," when I have multiple other fics for that fandom. So, let's look back at that fic title, shall we? Right below it is the author name, and it's a link:

If you want to see more works by that author, you can click on their author name (in this case, All_Nightmares_Start_As_Dreams) to look through their profile. One of the first things you will encounter is their fandom list and, by clicking on fandoms, you can see their other works for that fandom. On the list, it will also put how many fics they have for that fandom next to its name:

Yes, I do get this comment about Lackadaisy fics despite having written 147 of them lol.

Now, you might not be able to see someone's full catalogue of fics because they have some fics locked, meaning only registered users can view them. Personally? I have some of my fics locked for this reason. Guest commenters tend to not only not understand how to use the site, but ignore the information laid out in front of them. I have some series I am very dedicated to writing and, quite frankly, I do not have the energy to constantly explain to guest commenters the set of series I've raveled myself in lol. Please prove me wrong, start using your tools!

But also...please just register for an account. You can still keep using Ao3 as a guest while you wait to get your email with the invite, but at least, eventually, you will have an account. This will help you start using Ao3 more and understanding how it all works so you can more properly follow your favorite writers and save your favorite fics. You can even start posting for yourself, yay! It's free, and you'll get access to more fics, you have nothing to lose.

#ao3 #ao3 advice #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 stuff

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rewrittenwrongs · 2 months

Text

Vaguely dead (I kept you alive)

Rating: general

Warnings: offscreen gun violence, blood and injury, (probably) medical in accuracies

Wordcount: 3875

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Jason Todd

Summary: He tries to listen, reaching out with his powers and trying to catch the feeling of a dying soul. His instincts make him bank sharply back to the mouth of an alley he just passed—why does this city have so many alleys—and he rounds the corner just in time to see a body slam into a pile of wooden crates.

Nico flinches at the crash of wood splintering—the feeling of death just got a whole lot stronger. It takes him a second to realise the stranger just fell off a roof. It takes him another to remember a group of people are yelling and chasing after them, both on the ground and across rooftops. What with all the gunshots and threats their intentions aren’t hard to guess.

Dammit. He was going to have to actually do something, rather than just point whoever it was to the nearest hospital (not that he knew where that was). Ugh.

Or: The first thing Nico does in the morning is find some guy bleeding out in an alley. The first thing Red Hood does is get shot.

Ao3 link (registered users only): https://archiveofourown.org/works/54802189

I might write more of this in the future, but for now it’s a oneshot. I did try to write another scene from Jason’s POV but the words weren’t wording, and after almost a month of it sitting untouched I decided to just post it like this.

The first thing Nico does in the morning is find some guy bleeding out in an alley.

You might expect the first thing he does to be something reasonable, like wake up or get out of bed, have a shower or brush his teeth. The reason it isn’t any of those is because Nico didn’t go to bed or to sleep in the first place. He’s been too busy wandering around this city he’s found himself in—‘Gotham’ if his memory serves him—and acquainting himself with the local shades. There’s a worrying amount of them, to the point that he’s claimed a more or less abandoned graveyard as a temporary home, just so he had somewhere to sleep between dismissing countless souls to the underworld.

He was about to go back to that graveyard now that he’s realised how late—early—it is when he hears gunshots. Worryingly enough, that alone is quite normal for Gotham, but what truly concerns him is how close they sound. Well, that and the state of his eardrums. He didn’t realise firearms were so loud.

Nico watches the sky as he ducks into the shadows, curling them around him. He’s seen numerous figures jumping across the rooftops during his time in this city, vigilantes and heroes chasing burglars and drug dealers across the skyline. He’s about to make a guess as to the cause of the gunshots when something tugs on his powers.

Ten minutes ago this wouldn’t have been concerning. He would’ve dismissed the otherworldly tug in his gut as a distressed ghost. But the gunshots… concerned him, let’s say. One side effect of his ability to sense the dead is that he also sensed people who were dying.

So. Closing his eyes he focused on the feeling, ignoring the shadows trying to leach into his limbs, and tried to map it out. It was a few streets down and moving fast, vaguely in Nico’s direction. It didn’t feel like a shade or a lemure, even a revenant, or a ker, or an animated skeleton or corpse. It wasn’t as strong as a demon or devil but there was a similar sense of… not quite evil, maybe chaos? The soul felt corrupted somehow. It wasn’t vague and shadowy and intangible the way a monster was, but beneath the haze of not-quite-death Nico could just barely pin-point a wrongness clinging to it like a second skin. It felt like it was almost dead, not a creature of the dead, but like it’s spent more than its fair share of time dealing with the underworld.

It was probably someone dying. A cursed someone dying.

Nico wasn’t one to busy himself with the affairs of strangers if he could avoid it, especially when he’s already exhausted from dismissing shades. But the tug on his powers unnerved him. It felt real and dangerous, like it was important he help whoever this was. There was also a certain feeling of curiosity as to why a human’s soul could feel so out of place, maybe helping whoever they were would give him answers.

(Part of him was very aware that most people at Camp Half-blood would expect him to ignore whoever was dying. There was a bit of satisfaction in proving them wrong, even if they’d never know.)

Nico breaks into a sprint, flying down alleys and trying to follow the sensation like a deadly game of hot and cold. It’s moving fast, slippery and faint, and seemed to be coming from above him? Not directly above him, it was still a street or two out, but the soul was definitely on or around the rooftops.

The gunshots were getting louder. His ears were ringing, but he’s still able to parse out people shouting insults and threats. After a few more turns he also hears faint footsteps rapidly approaching. He tries to listen, reaching out with his powers and trying to catch the feeling of a dying soul. His instincts make him bank sharply back to the mouth of an alley he just passed—why does this city have so many alleys—and he rounds the corner just in time to see a body slam into a pile of wooden crates.

Dammit. He was going to have to actually do something, rather than just point whoever it was to the nearest hospital (not that he knew where that was). Ugh.

Nico ducked closer to the person, further annoyed to find them unconscious. They—he?—were wearing a black and grey body suit and a brown jacket, several knives and guns strapped to their—his person. He wore a vaguely familiar red mask that covered his head and had suffered significant damage. A pool of blood was slowly soaking through the clothes around his stomach.

The cloying feeling of death covered the person like a weighted blanket slowly suffocating him. The inherent wrongness simmering underneath was making it so much worse. It felt like an actual presence in the air, catching in Nico’s throat and making it a little difficult to breathe. He tried to ignore it, grabbing the strangers arm and taking hold of the shadows around them, until the darkness picked them up and deposited them inside the mausoleum Nico had taken residence in.

Nico feels the darkness sinking into him, laying a weight over his shoulders and giving his limbs pins and needles. When he tries to stand up a wave of lightheadedness pulls him back down. He takes a moment to breathe and look around, absently finding a bullet hole in the stranger’s bodysuit and applying pressure as best he can with a shadowy hand. They’re in the communal space Nico repurposed into a living room with a couch, coffee table and armchair from yard sales. There’s still a coffee mug on the table that he forgot yesterday. A book he borrowed from a library in Barcelona is abandoned on the floor.

The stranger is also lying on the floor, which Nico guessed wasn’t good for the floorboards if he was bleeding out. Speaking of which: Nico fumbled for a moment with the man’s jacket before managing to pull it off, dragged himself to his feet, then did his best to pick up the unconscious body. He feels like he might pass out, but he manages to get a good enough view of the stranger’s back. There’s no blood.

Great. The bullet is probably still inside. That’s likely better for the stranger’s overall health, and actually makes Nico’s job way easier, but he really doesn’t want to go rooting around in this person’s guts looking for a bullet.

He shoves the unconscious body onto the couch then leaves to search through his medicine cabinet. He returns a moment later with a suture kit, gauze pads, saline solution, bandages, tweezers and a celestial bronze dagger. He leaves his sword leaning against the armchair and washes his hands before getting to work.

He’s just started cutting away the material over the stranger’s torso when he catches sight of the bat silhouette splayed across his chest.

Nico is vaguely aware of the Justice League’s existence, but he barely knows anything about them. He knows one or two of them are aliens, and he’d probably recognise most of the names thanks to gossip around the camps, and he’s pretty sure Hades has mentioned a few of them once or twice. But still, it takes a long moment to recognise the red bat symbol across the stranger’s chest.

So he’s a vigilante. Good, Nico would prefer not to be helping some crime lord that was caught in the middle of setting an orphanage on fire or something. The guns are still off-putting. A few people at Camp Half-blood are obsessed with Batman, and they’ve made numerous jokes about how many vigilantes he works with and how he picks them up like strays and adopts them on the spot. He must not be picky about his children(?) running around with guns.

Concerning, maybe, but no worse than Hades, so Nico doesn’t feel qualified to judge.

It’s surprisingly hard to cut through Stranger’s suit. The material is thick and fights back against his dagger as if he’s trying to cut through metal. Nico’s pretty sure he nicks Stranger once or twice, but he sees no blood, so either he’s mortal or Nico’s knives are a lot duller than they should be.

Eventually he manages to hack away the fabric, and he realises he’s going to need more than just gauze to soak up all this blood. It’s dark enough that Nico’s pretty confident there aren’t any cut arteries. He fetches a towel to soak up the excess crimson, a black one, because he’s learned that lesson too many times to forget. He also grabs a battery lamp so he can actually see what he’s doing—this place doesn’t have electricity, and even if Gotham knew what the sun looked like the curtains are too thick to let light in, especially after midnight.

Now that Nico can see what he’s doing, he hesitates holding the tweezers over the wound. There’s too much flesh and blood in the way, he’ll have to hold the wound open with something to get a clear shot at the bullet, and he doesn’t own anything to do that with. Technically he could leave the bullet in and Stranger would be fine as long as he sewed it up, unless the bullet was lead or laced with poison, but having a bullet in your stomach sounds really inconvenient and it was best to remove it if he could.

A voice in the back of his mind wonders when he got used to seeing life threatening injuries.

Maybe he could use his powers? Even the thought makes bed sound so much more enticing, but if Nico is doing it at all he has to remove this bullet ASAP. It’s the best option at the moment, or at least the best one he can think of. So Nico breaths slow, deep breaths and reaches out in the way that doesn’t command skeletons but rather something else, searching thoroughly and slowly for a chunk of metal.

Every second makes his headache ten times worse. Every tug on his powers sets off another twinge of pain. Every forced exhale becomes shallower the way it only does when he’s concentrating. His fingers twitch and start to cramp, but he can feel the lump of metal lodged in Stranger’s abdomen, and begins tugging it back.

Stranger’s body gives a little jerk. His head turns against the couch cushions and his breath stutters. Nico pays him no mind, wrapping the godly parts of his soul around the bullet like a gentle whisper, and guides it ever so slowly out the way it came.

Nico’s nose starts dripping blood. He uses a clean corner of the towel to wipe it off, then stiffens as he becomes distinctly aware of eyes on him.

For a second he braces himself to jump up, to wrench his sword back to his side, to resign himself to what has to be the millionth fight for his life this past year—when he remembers he’s operating on a person who isn’t under anaesthesia and thus can wake up any time.

Nico glances at the unsettling whites of the broken and battered red mask, feels the distinct expression he’s being stared at either in confusion or wariness, and says “Don’t worry. Just a flesh wound.”

He doesn’t know why the first thing to come to mind is a movie he saw once in a hotel beyond the boundaries of time, but at this point he’s pretty sure the strain of his powers is making him a little loopy. It wouldn’t be the first time something similar happened. That was a waste of perfectly good Lucky Charms…

A tiny clink startles Nico, and he looks down the see the bullet resting neatly against his tweezers as if waiting to be picked up. He does so, and places the bullet and tweezers on the coffee table, trying not to vomit as even just turning around causes a wave of lightheadedness and nausea.

“Dick,” a quiet voice mutters, hoarse and slurred and with a distinctly mechanical edge.

Nico huffs at the stranger. “Rude.” His hands are made of shadow now, he can’t do anything but stare at them and will them to become tangible faster. As if that’s ever helped.

“Why’re you in’m saf’house?” Stranger slurs.

“I’m not, you’re in mine,” Nico tells him calmly. Safe house is an accurate description as any.

“…Blüdhaven?”

“Uh, sure.”

“…Mmkay. Don’t tell B I got shot.”

“I won’t.”

“Hm.”

Nico’s hands are a bit more tangible now, but not enough to have the precision required to clean or stitch such a deep wound. Actually, it’s not that deep, probably less than an inch. The clothes definitely slowed the bullet. He might have to get some of it for himself.

Stranger’s breath hitches painfully as he tries to say something else, and the sentence tapers off into a groan. His hand twitches like he means to gesture obnoxiously but can’t make the effort.

It’s bleeding too much. Nico’s current shadow levels will have to do.

He grabs a gauze pad and the saline solution, fingers shaking as they fight to stay intangible. He manages to soak the pad without dropping either items. He starts dabbing it against the wound before immediately abandoning it and grabbing the tweezers again. Using them to hold it proves much easier, and he starts cleaning the wound as quickly as he can, ignoring Strange’s pained groan.

“Hurts,” Stranger gasps, turning his head and tightening his hands into fists.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have painkillers”

“Thas dumb.”

“It is.”

Stranger huffs, then winces audibly. “…Can, can I sleep?”

“Go ahead.” Nico doubts he could stop him if he tried. He must be having a crazy adrenaline crash after the chase, not to mention a possible concussion from falling off a roof.

…He’ll have to check his head soon.

For now, Nico lets the stranger sleep, and focuses on the repetitive but nerve wracking task he’s forced upon himself.

By the time he finishes cleaning the wound his hands are much more solid. He manages to hold the needle forceps dextrously enough to begin sewing flesh back together. The needle shakes where his hands still fight against the material plane, but it’s a halfhearted fight at best, and he manages to weave the thread in and out without dropping or snapping it.

A while later—could be an hour, could be hour minutes—he tugs one last stitch into place, and swiftly slices the excess thread before his hands start cramping. His entire body droops from exhaustion, but now that he remembers concussions are a thing he has to check.

Ughhh. This sucks. Why does he have to get invested in the business of strangers so often? Stranger barely radiates ‘I’m about to die’ anymore. Can he just leave him like this?

Nico’s conscious, apparently, decides that no he cannot.

It takes an annoyingly long time to figure out how to take off the red mask, mostly due to how dented and cracked the frame is. In addition to cracking when he fell it looks like it’s been shot. He suspects Stranger might also have a cracked rib or three because of how much breathing seemed to hurt him when he was awake, but there isn’t much Nico can do about that. He focusses on the much more simple and realistic, but no less time consuming, task of taking off Stranger’s helmet.

Eventually, Nico succeeds, and he feels kind of bad. Stranger’s sure to fear for his secret identity once he wakes up, but Nico really needs to make sure the fall didn’t give him a concussion or fracture his skull. If it did he’ll need to bring him to a hospital, or at very least shadowtravel him to Will.

Much to Nico’s surprise, sliding off the cracked frame of his helmet reveals another mask. A cloth one around his eyes that doesn’t actually do much in the way of obscuring his features, especially since it leaves a startling streak of white hair visible above his forehead. Nico can count on one hand the number of people he knows with white hair streaks. Especially people so young, he only seems to be in his early twenties or late teens. What’s the point of wearing two masks at all if one of them leaves your most defining trait out in the open?

Whatever. It’s not his problem.

What is his problem is the mess of congealing blood coating both the helmet and Stranger’s forehead. There’s a sickening amount, enough to stick his hair in matted clumps to his scalp, some of it having dried and left red flakes sticking to his skin. There’s enough of it that it drips off the helmet onto the floor.

Nico carefully adjusts Stranger’s head to catch sight of the wound, annoyed to see it still bleeding sluggishly. Thankfully it’s blunt force trauma and not another bullet wound. He quickly presses the already soaked towel to the injury, a mostly feeble attempt to soak up the mess of crimson that’s going to be impossible to clean tomorrow—he’ll probably have to burn the couch cushions. The floorboards will never recover.

Combining the head trauma with the bullet wound Stranger’s lost at least a litre of blood. Will has said before that head wounds always look worse than they really are and bleed way more than you’d expect, so he still doesn’t know if Stranger has a concussion. Either way Nico’s going to have to close this injury fast if he doesn’t want to bring him to the hospital for a blood transfusion—which he really doesn’t.

He ends up flipping Stranger onto his stomach to get better access to the wound. He cleans it quickly, not bothering to tangle with the mess his hair has become. He’s both thankful and a little concerned when Stranger doesn’t show any reaction. Does that lessen or increase the probability of a concussion? He doesn’t know. Whatever, either way he needs to stop the bleeding.

Thankfully it is already quite slow. It probably stopped on its own and was jostled when Nico took off the helmet. He gets a little sloppy disinfecting the wound because of all the hair in the way, and he briefly considers shaving some of it before remembering he doesn’t own clippers.

Sewing the wound is even more tedious. It’s quite shallow to have spouted that much blood, but also larger than he would’ve liked. He has to wipe hair out of the way every other minute. Nico’s exhausted by the time he finally leans back and cuts the suture thread. He feels like a wire stretched too far.

He grabs another towel to clean up the blood. Some of it has dripped down Stranger’s face and neck and dried into his skin, which Nico wipes away with a wet wash cloth. He throws the suture kit back together halfhazardly and shoves it under the coffee table. He shifts Stranger onto his back again. He throws a blanket over him and leaves him a glass of water on the table. He makes a halfhearted attempt at cleaning the helmet, then gives up when he sees the mess of circuitry and sensors that line the inside.

The haze of death around Nico’s kidnappee has lessened considerably, it’s barely even noticeable unless he focuses, but he still finds himself hovering the same way Will did during those three days of torture, checking Stranger’s pulse and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. There’s still something not-quite-alive-but-not-quite-dead about the stranger. Something otherworldly and strange and inherently wrong in a way that blares alarms in Nico’s head. His powers don’t seem to know quite what to do with him. It’s unnerving.

It almost scares him, if Nico’s honest. He shouldn’t be able to feel Stranger’s presence at all, which either means he’s indebted himself to a demon or devil, sold his soul to an underwordly entity, cracked his skull, or there’s some sort of poison lacing his bullet wound. Nico doesn’t know what to do if it’s either of the last options. He only knows basic first aid, he was mostly copying things he’s seen Will do, and without absolute certainty that this guy is a demigod he doesn’t want to risk ambrosia or nectar.

It’s actually quite dumb of him, in retrospect, to keep his medical knowledge limited to basic splints and crooked sutures. He certainly can’t rely on godly food every time he gets injured, and this is obvious proof of that. Though, he can’t be blamed for not expecting to come across some guy playing dress up bleeding out in an alley.

Whatever. He can do research tomorrow, maybe borrow some textbooks from that library. Actually, he probably won’t be able to shadow travel that far. Now that he’s stopped he can feel the exhaustion dragging him down like mud. It’s the kind of draining ache that tells him he’s overused his powers. Still, he doesn’t want this stranger to die.

There’s a trick Nico learned after the second Titan war, a sort of trigger he could set with his powers that would wake him up if his patient’s condition worsens. He first started doing it unconsciously, actually, back when everyone was dying or dead and he was in charge of organising their funeral rites. It’s pretty simple and doesn’t take a lot of energy, but it’s quite time consuming.

It takes an annoying amount of time and power to wrap his godly presence around the stranger, gently settling it around his injuries until he can feel his immortal side resting over him like a guardian Angel. He keeps his powers poised until they get the memo, sharpening his awareness and tuning him in to the slightest disturbance in Stranger’s soul.

Nico becomes all the more aware of the strangeness in it, and it almost reminds him of a zombie.

His arms are shadow past the wrists by the time he’s done. His feet are intangible almost to his ankles. He sits against the coffee table for at least five minutes waiting for them to go back to normal, fighting to keep his eyes open. When his limbs finally remember how to exist he retrieves a blanket and a protein bar, which he starts dejectedly gnawing on more for the sake of future-him than any actual hunger. It isn’t long before the shadows at the edges of his vision become too much to ignore.

He slumps into the armchair, still with flakes of blood clinging to his hands, and is unconscious before even tucking the blanket over himself.

#my writing #fan fiction #riordanverse fanfic #dc fanfic #batman fanfiction #oneshot #no art #Batman fanfic #nico di angelo #jason todd #red hood

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suzyq31 · 7 months

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20 Questions Game

Thanks for the tag @nodirectionhome-ao3 and @practicecourts

How many works do you have on AO3? Currently at 17

2. What's your total A03 words count? 696,804

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now just Harry Potter

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Maybe Tomorrow: Post War. Harry and Hermione are renovating Potter Manor over Christmas then wake up into a different life. (almost finished!)

Iris: My first story, and the bane of my existence. Hermione flees after the war, five years later she's dragged back in by a dangerous situations. Follows my series Seasons. Hidden child trope, angst fest, long as hell and on hiatus. H/Hr

It Had To Be You: Post war, completed, steamy romcom with some loose inspiration from the film When Harry Met Sally. Co-written with @bettertoflee

Found: A spin off of Iris, and another alternate ending to Seasons. Never thought I would write an OC protagonist, but here we are!

My next highest kudos is another Harmony, but that's boring so going with my highest rated Jily fic which is Plans. It's also more Sirius & Lily focused, takes place right after Harry's born.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best! Sometimes I can forget if I'm distracted/dealing with real life stuff. But I am SO grateful for people who take the time to let me know they've read my work.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angtiest ending?

For now probably Spring or Winter in my Seasons Series.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well seeing as how I struggle to finish anything...I guess the ones that are complete which is It Had To Be You and Home.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, so far only in Harmony. It's a huge reason I don't participate in the fandom much and why I moderate comments. Most of it has been concentrated on my stories Iris and Found, but I've also received rude comments on other works including It Had To Be You (which got some very incel type comments, and is the main reason I only allow registered users and block instantly).

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

Yes, mostly reluctantly as I still get uncomfortable writing it, but some stories feel incomplete without some. Love reading it though! Not sure what kind means? Like M or E? I would say my smut is relatively tame. I've only written one E rated fic, which was co-written haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Nope, can't imagine I ever would.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No idea! People have asked me, but haven't seen them.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Yes! Working on my second collaboration with @bettertoflee. And my story Iris gets so much support from my beta Green_Eyes that it feels like she may as well be a co-writer!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? I've shipped both my fave HP ships since around 2001 when I was a child and they haven't changed even with the dreaded epilogue for Harry and Hermione (I take Unlike a Sister as canon and breathe easier for it), or you know canon for James and Lily (which is why AU is so fun!)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ideally I'd like to finish all of them. If I didn't have such a strong editor/beta reader for Iris it would likely stay unfinished. I REALLY struggle with endings at the best of times and that story has a variety of factors that make it difficult for me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm very hard on myself, so its hard to think of positives. I do think I'm creative, and as someone with ADHD I often think outside the box. I think I have a good ear for dialogue. I've also received compliments on my descriptions/scene writing, as well as for conveying emotions. The thing I do love best about writing is seeing the growth year by year, story by story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting, getting stuck after the midway point. ADHD brain always wanting to jump to something new. Spelling/Grammar from years of French Immersion. Wordy, though REALLY have worked on this and I do so much slashing and cutting in my editing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

No strong opinion unless it's constant.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Probably Harry Potter as a child. Although me and a friend wrote a That 70s Show script and posted it on fanfic.net back in middle school haha.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is a hard one. I am really proud of Maybe Tomorrow, I put a lot of my heart into it and it's actually complete except for some edits and additional scenes I'm contemplating.

I also really enjoyed writing Plans. And I'm proud of this short micro where I managed to stay under 1000 words!

I think this has made the rounds already! At least for Jily. But will tag;

@bettertoflee @myst867 @glitterwitch1 @riverwriter @runawayminds @annonymouslyblonde

#fanfic writing

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jesperfaheys-defenseattorney · 8 months

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US Major Step In Fight Between AI vs. Artists

So, we all know that a bunch of the creator strikes in America and a multitude of other countries associated with WGA and AFTRA have been for a multitude of different reasons. These are money, treatment, being taken advantage of by powerful companies and corporations. However, one big reason, specifically for the WGA Strike, is the use of AI. Companies and show creators in the industries refused to agree to not use AI prior to the strike, and this became one of the listed reasons the WGA Strike started.

Those of us who are content creators, artists of any media, and consumers of that media who spend time in those communities know that there are a lot of problems with this. For one thing, AI steals from works that have already been created. It also isn't actually AI, just machine learning. These co-exist to mean that if someone creates work with AI, there is no argument without rebuttal to be made that they aren't stealing or committing plagiarism. Another issue with AI is that it is extremely biased and is both socially and culturally harmful.

This is a photo created by a man named Matthew Allen using Midjourney AI and editing tools.

The photo above was AI generated. However, it still won an art contest at the Colorado State Fair. This is despicable in its own right but that's a whole different thing that we don't have time for right now. Matthew Allen was denied to have his work allowed Copyright protection because it was AI generated.

This is an image generated by a man named Stephen Phaler that was also denied copy rights.

This was made by Stephen Phaler, who also tried to make the case that his work was copyrightable. The court ruled against him, another promising sign for the creator community. This means that despite making his own AI Art system, he's works with it are still not protected. The software is his, but the art is not.

This is a major step in taking action against AI in courts. We need laws against AI to protect creators, because many of these efforts to do so have so far been unsuccessful through strikes and protests. All in good time, but for this is beacon of hope for us.

Not only have regular people who are unaware or refuse to acknowledge the harm of AI been using it, but people in academics have also used AI to do their work or assignments for them. Artists, writers, and musicians have been more hesitant to post their work because of AI algorithms stealing from them. If you look on AO3, any fandom, any type of work, you'll notice a large spike in restricted fics. This is because it's harder for AI to steal when only users with registered accounts can view many of the sites works due to restricted access.

The refusal of a federal judge in the U.S against AI is so undeniably important because not only will it hopefully prevent future AI users from making money off other people's work, but it's also a better way to spread words. Not everyone had Tumblr, or Twitter, or Reddit, or Facebook where you might hear about the dangers of AI and the algorithm only feeds you certain posts and things it thinks you want to see. Actually taking a legal stance against AI use and forcing restrictions is an excellent way to draw attention to the dangers of AI.

You'll also note there's various signs that a piece of artwork or writing was made with AI, for it lacks humanity. There's a post that said something alone the likes of, "Calling yourself an artist when you use AI Art is like buying box mix brownies and calling yourself a chef". This is one of the best examples of how ridiculous the use of AI art in genuine creative processes' are. It's not modernizing, it's theft and it's dishonest and lazy. You're not doing the work yourself, you're typing words and descriptions into a computer so it can do all the heavy lifting. That is horrible and dishonest.

Ultimately this post is about how we need more of this. We need it in other counties, we need to support our WGA and AFTRA strikes, we need to protect online and local creators who may not have as much voice when speaking out against AI. This includes famous, big names as well. This is all a positive step forward, and I encourage everyone to spread the word. Thank you for reading.

Tagging some mutuals who might be interested, but no pressure to reblog guys <3: @iammadeofmemoriesforlife @justanormaldemon @violets-and-books @rinadragomir @laylax13s @all-this-panic-still-no-disco @wesperbrekkered @grace-lightwoodd

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esta-elavaris · 10 months

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Fallen Through Time

Part Six [3,845 words]

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Also now on AO3 (restricted to registered users only thanks to AI mining, sorry!) and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - *Part Six* [you’re here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm @teawithshakespeare

It was mere days before James encountered Theodora Byrne again – although this time she appeared in much better shape, with more colour to her face and a great deal less swaying as she stood, and rather than traversing structurally unstable docks, she was in the town square. It was a fair day – sunny, but not stiflingly hot, with a fair breeze that kept winding its way through the settlement – and so there was little risk of her being overcome by the heat, as he suspected she had been last time. James also had to admit that seeing her milling about outside of local establishments made him far less suspicious than her scrutinising the build of the ships at the docks. All in all, it was a much more favourable state of affairs. Or so he thought upon first glance.

Then – to his exasperation – he began to notice the details. Most surprising of all to him was the fact that she could not be blamed for any of the aspects of her current situation that he found distasteful. She stood unmoving as a monument on the street by the jeweller’s shop, her hands folded before her amidst fine skirts of a deep green colour that suited her far more than the white ever had. Her attention was fixed on the thin air before her eyes, and anybody who spared her just the one glance might be forgiven for thinking that she was lost deep in thought – or perhaps merely taking in the town.

A second glance, though, would find the steely set of her jaw, the fact that her knuckles where stark white…and that there were tears in her eyes. Slowing his stride, he looked about – mostly to see if others had noticed, for the last thing the Swanns needed was their guest having a hysterical breakdown in the middle of the street. Instead, he found the source of her tears. Amelia Simmonds and her gaggle of ladies, standing between James and Miss Byrne with their backs turned to him. Their ignorance to his presence could be the only explanation for the words twittering from their mouths.

“She’s not bad looking – I was expecting a savage.”

“Not bad looking?” Amelia scoffed. “Her nose is crooked, her eyes are too far apart and very beady, her lips are too thin, and she has a jaw more befitting a man than a lady.”

It might have been difficult to gather how Miss Simmonds had put together such a thorough assessment with what appeared to be mere minutes of observation, were it not for the fact that none of it was true. Since her arrival, James had hardly been ignorant to the fact that Miss Byrne’s good looks – which were becoming more apparent as she recovered from her misadventure – would only bode ill if she was a malevolent force. Plenty of fools were only too happy to believe that a fair face could conceal nothing ill.

“She’s tall, too, for a woman – and doesn’t carry the height half so well as Miss Swann does.”

“I had noted her poor posture myself,” Amelia replied, a smile in her voice. “Likely earned from a lifetime of shovelling excrement and hauling crops. That’s all her sort is good for – and even so, an ox can do the latter with more proficiency. And grace. You can dress it up in silk, but you can’t hide it.”

“Not with that accent.”

“They should fall on their knees and thank us for ever taking an interest in their miserable little country. How could they manage without the King’s supervision? Instead, here they are, begging once again for our guidance. How the Governor can stand to have one in his home, I’ll never know-”

James could hear no more of this. Whatever his suspicions of Miss Byrne were, they were far from set in stone, and so there was every possibility in his mind that he was currently bearing witness to needless cruelty against a woman who had already been through much. Sighing quietly, he squared his shoulders and comforted himself with the fact that any awkwardness that would soon arise could not match the regret he would feel in his home tonight if he sat back and did nothing.

“Miss Byrne.”

His voice was unnaturally loud and bright even to his own ears – but it did the job. The women fell silent, turning with slack jaws and parting as he strode through their little group and straight towards the one they’d just been picking apart, knowing full well she could hear every word.

It was little wonder that, when she turned and caught sight of him, the stony façade slipped for a moment and clear dread fleeted across her features before she managed to bury it. Given their prior encounters, she likely thought he was here to make it worse.

“Captain Norrington,” she greeted him softly, looking away and blinking furiously in an effort to dispel her upset. “Good afternoon.”

“It pleases me to see you looking so well-recovered. Are you well?”

At that, she forgot her tears and stared at him like he had gone quite mad. In response, he glanced in the side using his eyes only, in the vague direction of the women behind him. She caught on quickly – although she still seemed barely able to believe what was occurring. Their shock, he suspected, was only matched by that of the one standing before him.

“I…yes. Thank you. Yes. I think I tried to push myself a bit too quickly last time, but I feel much recovered now.”

He forced a smile, all too aware of the utter silence that had befallen those behind him. “I can sympathise – I often find it difficult to remain idle. Still, it seems to have done you good.”

“It has. That, and the kindness of the Swanns. They’ve been very generous with me.”

As she spoke, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervously looking anywhere but in the direction of the women (nor at him, by extension), almost visibly searching for something else to speak of lest he go racing off and leave him at the mercy of her critics once again.

“And what brings you into town today, might I ask?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back and trying – for the first time in his life – to appear as easy and sociable as Groves.

It didn’t come particularly naturally to him. Nor did he wish it to.

“Fresh air…some window-shopping…and, well, an ill-fated errand.”

His brow furrowed. “You wish to purchase a window?”

A laugh bubbled up and out of her throat at that – and it was difficult to say who was more surprised by it, James or Miss Byrne herself, for she quashed it quickly and he found himself oddly disappointed by that fact.

“Sorry – no. It’s just a turn of phrase.”

It was then that he became aware of the predicament he’d stepped into. He’d entered this small-talk expecting Miss Byrne to use it as a way of excusing herself and slipping away, but she showed now signs of doing so. However, if he said his goodbyes and left her now, as he would have without any outside factors, the chatter would resume. Likely twice as fiercely, at that.

The pragmatic part of him may have been trying to furiously insist that he’d given her ample opportunity to take her leave and that she had not, so her predicament was thusly her own fault. But though her hands had unfurled from the tight fists they’d been in, there was still a distinct sheen to her gaze, and her jaw was clenched so fiercely shut that it was a wonder her teeth had not begun to crack. Could it be that she was so distressed that she hadn’t recognised the exit he was providing her with?

“Perhaps…” he hesitated, and then resigned himself to his fate, “Perhaps I might walk you back to the Governor’s mansion, and you can tell me of this ill-fated errand.”

She blinked at him with wide eyes, and it was of some strange relief to him when he found that she was as reluctant to accept the offer as he had been to give it. In fact, she even seemed tempted to ask if he really meant it. Thankfully, she thought better of it. And then, for better or for worse, and accepted.

“All right. That would be nice – thank you. Maybe I could use the advice of a real Port Royal expert.”

There was no denying she’d piqued his curiosity with that, and so James turned and waited for her to step into place by his side before they would walk. The journey, unfortunately, would take them right alongside the women he’d just all but rescued her from, but James had faced greater perils – and if Miss Byrne’s story was to believed, so had she. He had to admit, however begrudgingly, that he was impressed by how she raised her chin and walked by them as if they hadn’t just come perilously close to driving her to tears. He’d half expected her to brave the steps with her gaze cast downwards and her fingers picking anxiously at the sleeves of her dress.

All the same, once they turned the first corner and were out of sight (and now, likely, a hot topic of discussion), her shoulders dropped a good few inches in relief and she sighed quietly.

“Thank you for that. Really.”

He saw no use in playing coy and pretending he did not know what she meant.

“It was no trouble.”

“It was kind. And it was highly appreciated.”

It was then that James recalled words spoken to him by Governor Swann – as he fought Miss Byrne’s case, following their unfavourable introduction.

It seems to me that Miss Byrne, through circumstances we are not yet aware of, has learned over the course of her life not to expect kindness, nor help. Perhaps not even decency. That is where her words came from, not disrespect. Elizabeth says Miss Byrne ties herself in knots every time we have the servants alter one of my daughter’s dresses so that she can wear them once she is well enough, you know. Hardly the behaviour of one setting out to take what she can and give nothing back. And Elizabeth has a mind to adjust that sad world-view for the better, and I have no mind to dissuade her from that goal – especially not as she herself seems all the happier for it.

James had not the heard to argue with that. Not then, and not now. The Governor had referenced the fact, albeit tactfully, that Elizabeth had not managed to find any kindred spirits among the Port Royal ladies. Given the display he’d just witnessed, James could see why. If Miss Byrne proved to be a remedy to that fact, he could never begrudge her that. So long as Miss Byrne meant no harm. And he had not enough proof of that to be comfortable. Yet.

“You don’t have to walk me back, you know. They can’t see us – I can make the rest of the way on my own.”

“I said that I would,” he said, “And you have not yet told me of this ill-fated errand. I confess myself curious.”

She sighed and continued walking alongside him. At first he thought she meant not to answer at all, but when he glanced at her again he found her frowning at the path ahead, and he could see she was trying to decide where best to begin.

“That sort of thing doesn’t usually get to me,” she said finally. “I don’t usually…cry. It was ridiculous of me, I shouldn’t have gotten upset – I shouldn’t have given them any sort of reaction. It was what they were after.”

James bowed his head, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had unexpectedly taken. “It was understandable.”

“Maybe, but it was also stupid. I’d just been in to see the jeweller, you see.”

“The jeweller?” he frowned.

A strange destination for one who had washed up on their shores with nothing.

“Yes, it’s…”

Trailing off, she sighed once more and then sifted through her skirts in order to find the pockets concealed within. Once found, she reached a hand in and withdrew what looked to be a necklace – and a strange necklace, at that. The chain was thicker than most, with a solid but cleanly cut heart-shaped pendant. It was flat, albeit just slightly thicker than a shilling, with no engravings or jewels adorning it. Still, simplistic or no, it was fine. Surprisingly fine. And were it a souvenir from past misdeeds, he doubted she’d be so foolish as to needlessly showcase it around Port Royal.

“May I?” he asked.

She handed it to him. Reluctantly. James was almost tempted to be amused by that – what did she think? That he would abscond with it? Or send it hurtling into the bushes? She trusted him enough, at least, to comply. He could work with that.

“This is all I have from home,” she explained. “It was a birthday gift from my father a few years ago. Elizabeth is very taken with it, she says she’s never seen anything similar around here. And you have to understand, when I eat it’s from their kitchen, when I dress it’s from Elizabeth’s wardrobe, when I sleep it’s under their roof, when I needed a doctor it was them that paid the bill, and I…I have nothing. I have no way to show my thanks in a way that could ever be sufficient.”

Seeing that she was far from finished, James handed her the necklace back wordlessly. She accepted it quickly, holding it tightly in her fist as she brought it to her chest in a way that didn’t seem entirely deliberate.

“If it wasn’t so sentimental, I’d give her it in a heartbeat. But it was from my father, and I don’t know if…well.”

A moment was needed, then, for her to collect herself.

“Miss Swann would never knowingly accept it, given all that you have said of it, if indeed she knows how much it means to you,” he said – aware of how the awkwardness seeped into his voice.

“I know that. And it wouldn’t be much of a thank-you gift if she’d only feel guilty once she knew all of the facts. So I went to the jeweller today – I had a few coins from home and I knew that even if they weren’t valued as money, they might be worth something. He pretty much laughed in my face and told me it would barely be enough to make a necklace of tin. Elizabeth doesn’t seem like a tin kind of lady. Offering her nothing would be better than offering her that.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate the gesture, if nothing else.”

“Of course she would, she’d be very kind about it, but that would just make it even more embarrassing. Like when a child makes something and you pretend it’s a masterpiece in order to please them.”

James snorted, watching with curiosity as she opened up her palm again and frowned down at the necklace.

“Maybe I should just give her it,” she sighed quietly. “It’s only a thing. My dad would laugh if he saw how much sentimental value I was putting on it.”

Something in that statement gave him pause. Could it be that she truly was the daughter of a soldier, then? How often had it been hammered into his men (and James himself, too, when he was a lad) not to place too much sentimental value on things. Things, after all, could be all to easily lost in the heat of battle – particularly when that battle was at sea. Even more foolish than falling apart over it was to risk one’s life to try and retrieve it before the ship went down. It seemed a strange mindset for a man to pass down onto his daughter, but James could not pretend he was blind to the logic in it.

“The choice is yours. However…I would caution you against it.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, and then seemed to give herself a shake. “Yes. You’re probably right. Anyway, the jeweller wasn’t particularly kind about the whole thing – so I was grappling with the disappointment, the embarrassment of being treated like the world’s biggest imbecile, and then…that. And worse, I couldn’t even say anything in my defence because the last thing the Swanns need is their guest starting arguments in the streets. I’d just be giving those women what they wanted – and you know when they recounted their version of events, they’d conveniently leave out the provocation that preceded it.”

A surprising amount of eloquence from one who purported to have such humble origins. It was of some small relief that he noted that it was hardly the speech of a pirate, either.

“Why not leave?”

“I didn’t want ‘em to think they’d run me off.”

“And so your solution was to stand there and silently listen to it all.”

“Well, when you put it like that it doesn’t sound like the masterplan I believed it to be.”

James laughed. Just a little one, but he couldn’t help it – there was something oddly disarming about her humour that caught him off-guard. When he didn’t have cause to find it tiresome.

“I’m sorry you got roped into it,” she added.

“There are a number of people who should be offering their apologies for what just took place. You are not among them.”

She nodded and offered a weary smile – although she may not have agreed, based on the fact that she said no more. There was still much of the walk to continue on with, thus far they had barely left the town behind them, progressing onto the dirt roads that the carriages used by those who lived further up the settlement. The quiet, at least, and the relative lack of eyes on them, gave James an opportunity to think.

Apparently, he took so long in doing so that he dragged her out of whatever thought she was lost in when he spoke again.

“The blacksmith.”

“Sorry?”

“The blacksmith – or, rather, his apprentice. Not Mr Brown.”

“Will- er, William Turner, isn’t it?”

“The very one. You know of him?”

“I’ve heard of him. We’ve never met.”

Uneasiness flitted through James at that, and he found himself hoping that she knew of him because of the similarities in their coming to Port Royal, and not because Elizabeth had taken to speaking of him often.

“He may be able to help you.”

“A blacksmith?” she asked doubtfully.

“Think of the craftsmanship that goes into all of the elements of a sword’s hilt. And a scabbard, oftentimes. Mr Turner is…well, he may be swayed. Should you bring him your coins and your tale of woe.”

“My tale of woe?”

James snorted at the sheer disgust that laced her tone. “For lack of less melodramatic phrasing. Although melodrama is what I’m recommending, on this sole occasion.”

“I’ll practise my blubbering.”

“You did not get the idea from me, should anyone ask.”

“Of course not. Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence then, and he was relieved to find that she didn’t rush to fill it with inane chatter about the weather, or the walk itself. Nor of the eyes that seemed to follow them from behind the windows of the few carriages that rumbled by them. They drew fairly near to the Governor’s mansion when she next spoke.

“I’m not keeping you from your work, am I?”

“No, I was at lunch.”

“That’s worse, I think.”

“I do not ordinarily take it – I use the time to go walking instead, and so the time was spent as it ordinarily might be.”

Even if it was with a touch more awkwardness and sociability than he’d usually opt for. Lunch was usually a break from people, but it seemed she was already grappling with the temptation to apologise again and so he disguised that fact. In any case, if she began warming up to him, he’d be more likely to learn more about her. Such would not be the case if he heaped guilt upon awkwardness.

“Don’t they say an army marches on its stomach?” she asked instead.

“They do. Thankfully I am in the navy, and so I sail in place of marching.”

She laughed quietly – a sound that was surprisingly soft and warm. “Touché.”

By then they were at the gates that would lead up to the Governor’s mansion, and James had already begun to slow when Miss Byrne stopped.

“If I can ask one more thing of you, Captain…” she hesitated, and James felt warier than he would show. “If you wouldn’t mind not telling Elizabeth – or Governor Swann, for that matter – about this, here, today. With the women. They’d…she’d want to do something. Or say something. I don’t want to bother her with it. She’s done enough for me, and it’s only as big a thing as I make of it, you know?”

James considered it a moment, and then he sighed. “Very well.”

He had to concede that she had a point – and the smile he was rewarded with was not half to weary as the others, almost as bright as the hair that blazed atop her head in the warm afternoon sun.

“Great. Thank you. Really – you’ve been an utter legend today. I know we got off on a questionable foot, so I appreciate your stepping in all the same. And the advice.”

I suppose I found her rather charming. That was what Groves had said, was it not? He supposed he could see why – but much of it was lost beneath the endless questions that surrounded her. More still, now that he’d seen her necklace, spoken properly with her, and begun to suspect that she really had been speaking truthfully when she claimed she was able to read.

Thankfully, he was a resourceful man. Answers, he did not doubt, would follow suit. He would see it so.

Notes: What’s this?? Amiability? Chivalry? Don’t worry, it won’t last. I know we haven’t seen Elizabeth for a bit, too, but fear not – she’ll return with a bang in the next chapter! She was originally going to be in this one, but the length was getting on a bit anyway, and the scene works better if I slot it into the next one, anyway.

As far as the status of Ireland and England as far as this time period is concerned, here is what Wikipedia says – “During this time, Ireland was nominally an autonomous Kingdom with its own Parliament; in actuality it was a client state controlled by the King of Great Britain and supervised by his cabinet in London.” So while not officially under control of England, I find it feasible to think it would be common enough knowledge for the likes of Port Royal’s upper crust to comment on it.

#catch the wind #ctw #james/theodora #james and theodora #fallen through time esta-elavaris #ftt #james norrington/oc #james norrington x oc #pirates of the caribbean fanfic #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #james norrington fanfic #james norrington fanfiction

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