#ao3 bs

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

I want to quit a03 and just delete all my current fanfictions, i haven’t updated any of them in months. I’m tired lol. The main reason why is I haven’t been getting a lot of interactions on my recent stuff and Ik that’s not the point of writing fanfics but idk it’s a nice from motivation. I’m an attention whore, sue me.

What i’m asking i guess is how do u stay motivated??? I have a lot of ideas for things but no drive to make them a reality.

(You probably can tell who i am from this lol but its kinda embarrassing so i wanted to keep it anon)

Oh dude I absolutely get it, for real. While we ultimately write for ourselves, a lack of engagement is REALLY discouraging! I’ve said before that I went through a REAL mental struggle writing The Webs In The Rafters specifically, and that still stands. I had a lot of super nice commenters, and that helped a lot, but it was so, so, sucky to see no engagement other than the same six people. As grateful as I was for them, I really wanted more interaction. I’d see the comment count go up, but no new kudos, and I’d feel like I was failing.

I almost dropped that fic. The only reason I didn’t was my dearest boxwinebaddie regularly doing cartwheels in the comments and messaging me about the story. Encouragement from an author you admire helps SO MUCH and I want to be that person to someone someday!!! The community of ao3 can be toxic, for sure, but it’s so kickass to see the same handful of people in someone’s comms every time you read something from a certain writer!

And man, I am absolutely an attention whore. I thrive on attention. I may be an agoraphobic asshole with no friends other than my partner irl and I may literally panic so bad that I faint when I get spoken to, but we are HUMAN!!! Validation is fucking NICE!!! Being a person sucks absolute ass and confirmation that we’re doing something right helps a lot!

The only advice I have on staying motivated: I’m just fuckin insane. And I’ve said before that the ONLY reason I started writing was bc I had an extremely specific set of tags I wanted to see. I wanted to see more style injury recovery and at the time, a lot of the style fics out there were literally just boring high school aus or Stan being suicidal and I was like helll no let’s switch it up! So I assumed my mission of renovating that ship tag. I wanted sot style h/c with an ungodly amount of comfort? I was gonna have to write it. And that expanded to all aus. I developed the OrangeJuiceVerse specifically with the message of healing as the central theme. And it means so much to me. What I’m getting at is that your work really does have to have something there that’s important to you. If it’s just all random drama with no reconciliation, it’ll be really draining on you and fall flat in your mentality surrounding it.

Another thing is: if you don’t feel like updating, DONT! It’s fanfiction. It’s something you’re putting on the Internet for free. If you aren’t 100% happy with a chapter, there is no obligation to post it! Also, if you aren’t feeling up to working on a wip, mentally or physically, you don’t have to! Come back to it when you are!

On obligation, something I struggle with is my own self imposed habit of daily updates on multichapters. I usually go really wild when I start a new au, and I’ll write for it every day. But for instance, right now, it’s been a couple since I’ve posted a new chap on In The Truly Gruesome. And I have felt some guilt about that, bc I’ve sort of garnered this reputation as someone who updates frequently on multichaps, but I haven’t been feeling so great, so writing isn’t my top priority. A couple lines here and there are what I can manage, and that’s okay! Again, it’s fanfiction. Ultimately, it matters to us as the author, the story can mean the world to us, but we shouldn’t feel obligated to update, because above all we are PEOPLE with LIVES!!!

It’s also important to remember not to treat ao3 as social media. Yes it’s kickass to form a community of like minded authors who all support each others stuff, but it isn’t something that should be expected. And I CANNOT stress enough how important it is not to feel obligated to work on something just bc someone wants you too. I’m a hypocrite, yeah, considering I had no intention of continuing my TFBW oneshot “We Did It We Are A Good Team” until I had someone commenting on my unrelated works asking for a second chapter. I don’t regret writing ch 2, btw, like im really happy with it, but I did cave under pressure to some degree. And that’s not something we should do when writing. Write for YOURSELF and (unless you’re doing an ask book or something) NO ONE ELSE!!!

That’s what I got my dude. If you feel strongly about what you’re writing, by all means write it. If you don’t, don’t feel obligated. I hope this helped!

#asks #south park #fanfiction #ao3 bs #ao3 shit #fic crap

[fifteen-grains-of-salt]

About Me

Hi! My name's Grains, I'm 23, have been a FNAF fan since it came out. I also have been obsessed with CoD since I was... eight? Maybe? If you know me from AO3, hi!

I've been writing and drawing since I was little and now it's come in handy so I can create whatever I want for whatever fandom I'm obsessed with. Anyway, I'm in a lot of different fandoms so you're gonna see an amalgamation of random things.

THIS ACCOUNT IS 18+ SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU'RE A MINOR!!

This is literally my first ever account so please be nice, I'm trying ^^

#about myself #about my blog #ao3 bs #welcome

[duchessonfire]

I have been reading a bit on the OTW elections and the whole Tiffany G thing, but most of all, I've been reading comments from people supporting Tiffany saying that she just wants to clear AO3 from all the CSAM (child sexual abuse material) content and I don't know who needs to hear this but:

If someone comes to a predominantly QUEER space (like AO3) and tells you that censorship is necessary to eradicate CSAM... it's not actually CSAM they want to eradicate...

I've seen this type of discourse about Pride and about queer literature and queer movies and queer communities. It's a tried and true technique of the right and conservative movements.

First, they say there is a DANGER to the community through CSAM and they conflate the actual threat of CSAM in the community (we all know someone who thinks that writing a love story between two characters who are 16 is CSAM...), and make you believe that censorship is the only way to PROTECT THE CHILDREN. And since most people are (rightly) mind-bogled at having to explain that of course they don't support CSAM content, they bow down and accept the censorship for the greater good, without anyone actually trying to have a conversation about what qualifies as CSAM (which needs to, you know, actually involve real children and not fictional characters who are 17 and losing their virginity with their crush in a Mature-rated story about high school football and first love based on the author's own experience of losing their virginity at 17 to their crush in high school).

Then, they tell you that there are other forms of DISTURBING CONTENT, and what they really mean is porn that THEY find disturbing, for ex, (and I kid you not, I have seen comments like that) porn featuring disabled characters, which they consider to encourage the exploitation of vulnerable individuals, or BDSM porn (which supposedly encourages violence and lack of consent), or rough porn, or any kind of porn that isn't two (preferably white and skinny) able-bodied people doing it missionary style while lovingly gazing in each other's eyes. SO TO PROTECT VIEWERS, that needs to be banned as well.

And then, they tell you that even that sanitized version of porn is still porn and that people under 18 or under 21 or under whatever age they consider too young to view anything sexual regardless of the fact that not all countries have the same law about the age of maturity, should be free to surf the site without having to *gasp* filter out properly tagged works. So TO PROTECT THE CHILDREN, every explicit content is censored.

And then finally, when all that is left is a sanitized, white-washed, ableist, puritan type of content featuring General-Audience approved gay works of two nice men or two nice women holding hands and chastely kissing each other on the lips... Well guess what? :) CHILDREN SHOULD NOT BE EXPOSED TO QUEER CONTENT SO WE NEED TO BAN THAT AS WELL, and since we've basically done purge after purge before and there are still a handful of people on the website, well surely they won't mind/care anymore, will they?

It's not just a slippery slope, it's something that has been done time and again, and that is why censorship on AO3 will never, never have a positive outcome.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#otw elections #ao3 #sorry for the rant #but i'm tired of seeing the same BS again and again #tw cp mention #censorship

[lucy-ghoul]

can't believe a show based on a videogame (usually games adaptations are notoriously bad, which isn't the case here tho) gave me the beauty and the beast/twisted mirrors/enemies to traveling companions/ruthless antihero+optmistic but still badass heroine who takes none of his shit/age gap but make it sexy dynamic of my dreams. as much as i love maximus and i think he deserves the best writing ever because 1. he's a clever deconstruction of the aspiring Knight bro who's actually a bit of a loser and, as much as lucy, sees the world in black&white at first and then doesn't get what he thought he wanted but what he needs (or at least i hope he'll eventually get it), and 2. he's a cutie and i want an epic love story for him too, it's very funny how they tried to give us a puppy kind of romance and the tumblr girlies still fixated on the "toxic ~she bites his finger off and he cuts hers off and sews it on his hand in what we'll pretend it's a symbolic marriage rings exchange or whatever~ asshole who used to be a nice guy/good girl™ with a lot of spunk and hidden anger but unshakeable morals" kind of relationship.

#mind you idt the writers will ever have the guts to go for this pair or anything and i'm perfectly okay with the maximus/lucy romance #but still. they tried to give us the wholesome love story between two cuties with a killer side #and the fandom went ~mmmh we kinda want for that girl and the noseless radioactive ghoul to fuck nasty actually #shhdhdhf i'm sorry but this was so predictable to me. conosco i miei polli #also. i don't fully understand those who see it as a father/daughter thing? just because it worked on tlos #doesn't mean we need the same kind of dynamic here #1. despite him being an actual father (or at least. he was 200+ years ago) i've never seen a less paternal character than the ghoul lmao #2. lucy is an adult woman. young but in her mid twenties i guess? cooper had (and maybe still has) a daughter but the kid was like. 6 or 7? #lucy doesn't need a daddy she's a grown up. stop infantilizing women all the freaking time #let them be fully equals!! let them be bickering road trip companions/a killer squad/tentative allies who eventually form a real bond #i SWEAR if the writers go full parent/child bs with them in s2 because they're more popular #(at least on ao3. i don't expect the same level of insanity from the general audience) #than the canon ship i'll riot. idt they will but still #..... maybe they should go for a hot max/lucy/coop polycule instead. that would be interesting lmao #vaultghoul #fallout #val rambles in the tags #val speaks #txt

[plague-of-insomnia]

As seen on AO3, authors note stating (I’ve corrected their grammar):

This is not sebaciel; it is not intended to be interpreted as sebaciel; it is not intended to be read by anyone who ships sebaciel.

Sweetie, you cannot control who reads your works on a public website. If you are so opposed to sebaciel you feel compelled to post the equivalent of a sign on your door that says “stay out if you have cooties,” maybe you shouldn’t post your work publicly??

#fandumb #anti bs #and ofc they’re into sebard #yet another sebard anti for the block list #i muted and blocked them bc i don’t want someone like this reading my work either #definitely not putting this in the tags #ao3 #sebaciel

[hanmasmommy]

reading lookism x reader fanfics with either a normal, shy or cool-headed reader LIKE COME ON I WANT AN UNHINGED ANGER ISSUE READER WHO'S A LITTLE BIT FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD😭💀

#❦︎ zay's bs talk #lookism x reader #pls if you know any pls let me know #doesnt matter what site #wattpad ao3 tumblr or whtever #I NEEEDDDDD

[star4daisy]

I need someone to slap me in the face everytime I change from the fic doc to tumblr lmao

#WHY IS THIS SO HARD #KILL ME NOW #daisy's daily bs #writer shit #ao3 author #fic authors #marauders #fanfic #ao3

[ladyelephant-12]

At school in Englisch Class

Me: receiving a notification on my phone

Me: realizing what it is, grinning like an idiot and giggling excitedly

My friend, teasingly: Aha, woh texted you? Is there something going on with anyone???

Me, laughing: Oh no way better. A new chapter of one of my favorite fanfics, i waited over a month desperately for, just came out.

My friend: …..

#dead gay wizards #james potter #maurauders era #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus black #starchaser #jegulus microfic #marauders #Step bs Step by the_crip_icon #ao3 #marauders ao3 #ao3 author #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic

[orpheusilver]

yknow what would be really funny? black sails fanfic written in the style of misremembered third-hand anecdotes from sailors compiled with heavy embellishment and published with a whole page of title

#does ao3 have a tag for 'historical accuracy' bc that would be the only thing in the black sails tag that had fucking earned it #bs

[frownyalfred]

I mean this in the best, most educational way:

You don’t get a gold star for not liking something.

If a tag, story or trope isn’t your thing, it doesn’t make you better — or more interesting, pure, appropriate, etc.

#we all like things #some of us like different things #just because you hate something someone else like doesn’t make you better #‘oh I don’t read X it’s gross/morally wrong’ #do you want a gold star???? #why are you telling everyone then? #let people read/write what they want #I’m so tired of seeing this anti shipping / anti tagging bs in literal ao3 tags and summaries #younger readers finding ao3 for the first time: this is not the purity Olympics #sorry end rant #whew #ao3 #archive of our own #reading things #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing things #writing #if it’s not your cup of tea good! #the tags worked #move along

[sjura]

Maybe blaming other fans for influencing DC comics with their evil fanon is a bit of a stretch when DC famously has a reputation for inconsistent character writing

#maybe its true #but even then #are fans the issue or is dc to blame #i dont think discouraging fans from making “bad content” is gonna make dc comics better #fic m #fandom bs #i believe dc is perfectly capable of fucking up all on their own without the help of an ao3 author with 300 hits on their fic

[daisychainsandbowties]

bea - eviscerate + stitch

this dark is everywhere, we said (and called it light)

a percy jackson au

///

Lilith wakes to the latent heat of volcanic glass seeping up through the palms of her hands, lacing along the blade of her cheekbone, drinking down the tears that scatter out of her lashes as she lurches awake, gasping.

She’s lying spreadeagled on hard, garish black rock, glittering with the reflection of enormous stalactites – a ceiling of sharp ends diving down out of the gloom. Her hair, distinguishable only as a more greyish shade of black, is stuck in clumpy patches to the ground and it peels away as Lilith forces her leaden arms to move, pushing away from the ground that always seems like it wants to eat her.

A tremor of white pain travels from her breastbone to the hook of her floating ribs, and she groans as she glances down at blood-sticky rock. It is shiny, glassy like a dead black eye – and Lilith sees her sword lying in the manner of a crooked smile underneath her upraised body. The hilt is shaped like a fishhook, the blade concave near the hilt and pitching out into a broad convex near the tip.

There’s a chain of soft gold running from the hook of the handle to the blade, and it shines strangely in the wet reflective surface of the volcanic stone that runs up to the high walls of hell itself.

Lilith knows, without looking, that there is a very specifically-shaped bruise running from just underneath one of her breasts down the rungs of her ribs, terminating just above her hip. Others too, splashed across her jaw and the socket of her right eye. There is dried blood crusted in her hairline and on her lips, cuts beneath her clothes that have bled into the fabric.

The last thing she remembers is fighting, knee-deep in snow somewhere in the Himalayas. Red spotted in the drifts and an old oil lantern trying vainly to scoop the darkness up off the snow, throwing reflections onto white-capped stone. She was following a fresh trail of blood and gore up a switchback that couldn’t really be described as a path when a great shape came crashing out of the night.

She recalls being swept aside by a massive paw, or maybe a hand, and landing dazed in the snow. Rolling aside just in time to avoid a sharp-seeming downstroke. Might have been claws, or a blade, or a set of enormous teeth. Her lantern rolled away, and Lilith heard the ringing in her ears that announced death. She scrambled to her feet and saw where her light had been tossed away, where it came to rest by a shape lying limp in the snow, surrounded by a halo of blood.

Lilith didn’t need to roll the corpse over – didn’t have time, as snow swirled and a shape stalked her. There, with snow and ice muddling the feeling of stone beneath her feet, she felt powerless. She couldn’t reach out and rend the earth, couldn’t call fire up from the mantle of the planet. Too much interference, too much fear.

There was a crumpled polaroid in the back pocket of her jeans, showing a smiling woman in a puffy green jacket, pretending to blow on her hands for warmth, though she stood next to a bonfire and underneath a clear, starry sky.

There was no need to roll the corpse over because the jacket lay in pieces around the body, rent by claw or blade or teeth, and Lilith felt anger surge up inside her as she tore her sword out of its sheathe and turned in a wary circle, trying to pierce the blizzard with the tip.

But then she heard a flurry of movement behind her and something rammed into her back, tossing her forward and face-first into snow. A phantom voice in her head whispered through the wind as Lilith reached vainly, dizzily, for invisibility, for her god-given power over not being. Coming up, as usual, against the wall of her own scattered focus.

A voice in her head saying, shut the fuck up and fucking Travel, or so help me I’ll come back to life and murder you.

And so she Traveled. Reaching out to gather up the shadows into a soft blanket, into a blade she pressed willingly through her own body, carrying it away from the blood in the snow and the monster in the dark. And there was nothing and no one and nowhere to think of but home, wretched though it is.

Hades.

Lilith stands, dragging the sword with her so that it dangles with the tip almost touching the ground, resting the blade flush against the curve of her boot. It has a soft black glow, down here in such proximity to the waters where Lilith stood, stripped to the waist and running with cold sweat. Where she dipped the fresh-forged blade into the polluted waters of the Styx.

She’s wearing her black aviator jacket, sunglasses sticking out of the pocket, over a somewhat threadbare t-shirt with a weird, shadowy creature on the front. She keeps meaning to Google what it is, but a giant snake ate her phone last month.

And, anyway, there’s no one left to call.

As ever, a pall of ghoulish green light sits over the gateway to the underworld, seeping along the riverbank in both directions. It’s a little like dry ice, but this isn’t a stage or a theatre. It’s just where she lives.

Lilith frowns down at herself, at the spots where her jacket has frayed, where the black leather has cracked or been scraped away by claws, the chill sitting barely above her bones from weeks of sleeping rough up on the surface. The golden chain on her sword settles against her knuckles – a faint, weird warmth – and Lilith lets a small sigh escape from inside her mouth as the greenish mist rolls past her.

There’s something about the mist that feels animate, today. It almost seems to cup her cheek, to flow over her cheekbone like a cold thumb, taking a little heat out of the bruises. Though, there’s a pressure to it – almost a reprimand.

Lilith stares towards the gates and the looming canine shape that sits squarely inside, worrying the inside of her lip. Is it her imagination, the slightly-chiding care that runs through the green light, the cool river mist?

She doesn’t speak to her father – not more than a handful of times in her life. He didn’t save her mother from the bombs or her sister from starvation, and he tucked her away in a dreamless sleep until he had a use for her. So what does she owe him?

Nothing.

Certainly not conversation, or whatever paltry imitation of love he can scrimmage out of his rotten heart. Fuck you, she thinks. There’s no benefit in saying it aloud, but Lilith lifts her middle finger, pointing it towards the mammoth walls, toward Cerberus and the stupid, banal bureaucracy of death.

The ghost in her head chuckles, low, and Lilith feels the golden chain brush her fingers again though there is no wind here to move it.

A wave of dizziness wash over her – a wild urge to lift the hilt of the sword up to her mouth and kiss the chain, but all she does is stand there in the shadow of her father’s kingdom, aching down to the marrow of her bones.

Then, from behind, from down in the direction of the ferry, she hears the scrape of wood over stone. Here, on the parallel shore of the Styx where nothing moves or walks or breathes but Lilith.

She whirls, sweeping her sword around so that she stands – unsteadily – with her body held sidelong in a narrow target, blade parallel with her raised arm, tip pointed towards whatever foul thing has crawled up out of the river.

Then she freezes, blinks, feels all the moisture in her mouth turn coppery and sour, because it’s not a monster.

It’s a girl.

Shorter than Lilith, with a pair of dark eyes pooled above a grim little mouth. Lilith realises – with a sense of disquiet – that she is beautiful. There’s a dust of freckles sitting like an afterthought on her nose, her cheeks, drawing out the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth is pulled tight, grimacing, but it hardly upsets the softness of her jaw.

She’s wearing a dark blue shirt over what looks like a thermal base layer. It’s cold down here, though it has never truly bothered Lilith. She’s built for it, or just used to it. Despite the extra protection, there is still a faint tremor sweeping through the girl as she stands, black rock glittering underneath her.

It’s easy to see why.

She is drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a spear made of bronze, decorated with tiny winged shapes. Lilith can’t make out what flying creature it is, but she makes a guess. There is, indeed, an owlishness to the girl as she stands, blinking through the gloom at Lilith, making no move to defend herself as blood spills out from where her palm is pressed into her stomach. Lilith can see the pink glisten of unearthed viscera beneath it, can see that her fingers are pressed inside to the knuckles.

A half-blood, then.

Lilith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword. It’s Stygian iron – a substance that can only be forged in the waters of the Styx, capable of absorbing the essence of monsters, ripping them even out of Tartarus. Monsters and mortals and gods fear it, but the girl only blinks down the curve of the sword as Lilith holds it aloft.

Her voice, when it drifts out of her mouth, rolling into the mist, is clipped and precise and soft. All by itself it makes a crack in Lilith’s resolve.

‘You’re the daughter of Hades?’

It is, Lilith thinks, mostly a statement. In her bruises and her battered black clothes, with the life-eating pall of a Stygian sword in her hand, Lilith looks like the bastard child of death.

The stranger is a hazy shadow, cut to the quick by the perpetual drain of this place; the sewer of the Styx washing by with a sound like a hundred thousand muttering voices.

Blood patters softly onto the stone at her feet, but it scarcely has a chance to pool before the stone swallows it. The girl, hair half-unbound around her shoulders, strands falling down around her face to complicate it with shadows, stares at her own boots for an instant, wobbling. Lilith understands what she is feeling; it took weeks for the rock of this place to feel solid, to stop warbling underneath her with the threat of turning to liquid, to blood, to ink.

Lilith has dreamed of the bottom of hell, and this is not it. This is only the threshold.

‘Who’s asking?’ she growls, taking a careful half-step forward. It’s more of a shuffle, really – a habit born from fencing lessons held deep inside the walls of the Underworld, in a garden full of soft fruits and the promise of spring. The place she learned to fight.

The girl straightens, stiffening under Lilith’s scrutiny. There’s a sort of raw-boned intensity to her, like she’s holding herself very precisely in check. Her fingers, too, have tightened around the haft of her spear.

She’s shaking, blood now flowing down to drip from the tip of her elbow where it’s clamped tight against her body. Lilith wonders what it took for Charon to ferry a dying girl across the river.

The tip of her sword is only a foot from the girl’s throat as it bobs, as she raises her chin to expose the bumpy layers of cartilage sitting in a line; the very slight bulge above her windpipe.

There’s no point in asking who sent her. If she’s a half-blood, there’s only one place she could have crawled from.

Softly, again, the girl speaks. Backlit as she is by the green glow on the shore, she carries the countenance of a ghost. Lilith might mistake her for one, if she didn’t know better.

‘My name is Beatrice,’ she says, in a voice like cold water and warm milk, ‘I am a daughter of Athena.’

There’s blood on her lips, Lilith realises, as they pull into a grimace. They shiver as Beatrice pulls her fingers out of the slit in her stomach, holding them out in wry invitation.

It’s utterly bizarre, but Lilith finds herself lowering her sword, leaving it to sit against the leg of her jeans. Beatrice has proffered her right hand, so Lilith is forced to juggle the sword into her left so that she can reach out, tentative, to wrap her fingers into the sticky, blood-stained cup of Beatrice’s hand.

‘Lilith,’ she says. Somehow, it feels like an admission, like giving something away.

The daughter of Athena smiles. Pink-tinted saliva dribbles down her chin. It’s ghastly, but Lilith finds that she is somewhere on the opposite end of disgusted, wherever that might be.

There are, after all, no destinations along the river Styx but one. Death.

Beatrice squeezes her hand. She takes a ragged breath, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, boring into Lilith’s. ‘Pleasure,’ she says, a little giddily. ‘I thought I would have to go deeper into hell to find you.’

‘Well, here I am.’

A tightening around her hand, not quite a squeeze. ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice says. She lists forward, catches herself, ‘I’m here-‘

She coughs, and the redness of it floats weirdly in the mist. Beatrice stares, shakes her head like she’s trying to banish a ghost.

Her voice is very faint. ‘We need your help… daughter of Hades.’

Then the daughter of Athena, her skin like dark gold even in the bad light of the Underworld, falls forward. It happens slowly, at first, like she’s just taking a step, but then Lilith sees her knees buckle, watches the spear slip through her fingers.

And without thinking she steps forward, capturing Beatrice’s warm body in her arms.

...

Ten minutes later Lilith crouches next to a limp figure she has propped up against the pitted, high stone wall, feeling like a thief as she unbuttons Beatrice’s blue shirt and peels her black base-layer away from the slice in her lower abdomen.

Her sword is on the ground next to her, at a right angle to her body, the hilt in easy reach. Beatrice’s spear is propped up against the wall. It is, indeed, covered in tiny filigreed owls.

Beatrice does not stir as Lilith raises her hand, ignoring the unhappy shiver of the mist against her back as she draws on the power in her blood, summoning up a sliver of bone from a tiny vial of bone dust she keeps tucked inside her boot. It forms in the air, turning from powder to liquid to solid bone in the span of a moment, before settling down into Lilith’s red-painted palm.

It’s not ideal, but she can hardly wash her hands in the river. It’s full of plastic and rot and blood. Instead, she makes do with the little wadge of bandage and thread she keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

Beatrice continues to breathe as Lilith carefully threads her bone needle. There’s a voice in the back of her head spouting stupid facts about the history of needles and sutures, but Lilith hisses at it to shut up before dipping the sharp end of the bone through Beatrice’s flesh. The thread turns red as it passes in and out, but it’s proper surgical suture, so it also tugs the flesh back towards itself. It makes whole.

Distracted by her work, it takes Lilith too long to notice the change in Beatrice’s breathing. She finishes her row of stitches – they’re thick and lumpy and as elegant as she can make them, but there is no ringing in Lilith’s ears to ordain death, so it must be enough.

At a loss for any other implement, Lilith picks up her sword and carefully cuts the thread, leaving a little curl of it to sit against the taut muscle of Beatrice’s stomach. She has, of course, attempted not to notice the ripple of honed, hard muscle that runs the whole length of what necessity has forced Lilith to unearth; the evidence of a life spent fighting.

She has attempted to ignore it.

When Lilith looks up, sword resting on her knees where she’s crouched, balancing effortlessly on her heels, she finds that Beatrice’s eyes are open. Hazy with pain, but alert underneath it all.

A tentative smile flutters across her lips, ‘You saved my life.’

She dumps the sentence at Lilith’s feet like it means something.

Lilith shrugs, ‘I’m a freak, not a monster.’

The freckled skin on Beatrice’s cheeks wrinkles in tandem with her frown, ‘Wh-‘

‘You said you needed my help?’ Lilith interrupts before the question can come out and make everything awkward.

Beatrice’s stomach is still laid bare, covered in fingerprint marks where Lilith has touched her – in every single place Lilith has touched her.

Mercifully, the daughter of Athena lets her question fall away. Her bronze spear shines off of some strange reflection in the volcanic rock.

‘Yes,’ Beatrice says. There’s some depth to the word that Lilith doesn’t look down into, in the same way she doesn’t peer into the waters of the Styx as the ferry glides over it. Some mysteries are not fit for consumption.

‘Alright.’ Lilith nods, ignoring the way that the gold chain on her sword tightens against her hand, like a warm tongue, ‘Tell me what you need.’

#warrior nun #wn pjo au #sister beatrice #sister lilith #warrior nun fanfic #i'm reading these books again & now it's everyone's problem #gonna call this part 1 #it'll eventually be avatrice & camilith i think but in the meantime have the usual homoerotic bs between bea and lil #ty for the prompt! #casper writes #i'll put this up on ao3 when it's not 2:30am

[nhi-theuserof-this]

Noir hcs!! (+punknoir!)

These are based on BS and nobody can stop me because I’m the author >:)

Ok so this list also doubles as self promotion but we aren’t talking about that right now ✌️

Also content warnings! I’m keeping it light but like general warning for noir having poor mental health, nothing terrible or explicit brought up and hcs end on a light note

-he’s recruited to the spider society specifically due to basically his entire life getting shaken around like those little glitter water jars

-the events of itsv changing his mentality ->therefore changing how certain events were supposed to go

-he near exclusively shows up to use their infirmary

-he doesn’t get sent on missions due to not having a no-killing rule

-he primarily starts going by ben at first(not only as a differentiator for author) because he’s quite detached from his own identity as a person and needed a fresh slate so to speak

-now he just likes going by ben since hobie is the one that started it

-he goes to therapy with spider therapist. The bill goes straight to miguel

-he’s aroace, he has no fucking clue what the terminology actually is, just knows he’s got no romantic intention when kissing and holding hands

-punknoir. Need I say more?

(yes I need to say more.)

-he and hobie getting together is simultaneously a gradual thing and also just absolutely random. They get closer as time passes but there’s absolutely no beating around the bush when it comes to saying their feelings to each other

-he starts growing a pot of flowers shortly after they get together and is going to gift them to hobie when they start to bloom so they can plant them in his(hobies) universe

-hex codes. Something about them

-there’s a group in the spider society that write a newsletter about what he gets up to because people were interested and a little worried about him when he joined

-he does not know there’s a newsletter about him. There’s probably a subplot about that going on its merry way right about now

-he’s trans he’s so trans literally the most trans of trans look at him and his misery and tell me he isn’t trans

-on that topic he does not like his face

-he also loves hearing his own voice, he’s not gonna go out of his way to talk all the time but he’s really proud of the general control he has to get it that way. I’d be proud too actually

-continuing, he just passes so well when I think about it. Deep ass voice, pretty tall, and whatever his build may look like, he’s got a fire ass fit with that coat and hat and stuff

-speaking of the hat, he’s quite fond of it and has had it for a while, he likes to personify it for bits and quips sometimes

The post is getting a bit long so I think I’ll make another part at some point, if you enjoyed any of these I greatly recommend reading my series!! [Link] I put my heart into it and I want you all to love it too! Things are getting a bit busy but I’m working on another main work as well as outsiders pov with more of the newsteam

Take care all! <3

#how we feeling on that subplot idea btw #happening parallel to bs but focused on the goobers #i’d probably demote alanis to a one off character though ngl #since she’s not mine and allegedly is going to be paired with miguel #anyways I do realize they’re invading noirs privacy so that’s gonna be a plotpoint for sure if I did that #noirpunk #punknoir #ao3 link #spider noir #itsv noir #itsv spider noir #punknoir spiderverse #noirpunk spiderverse #nhiwrotehere #nhihashcs

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Watching someone read all your works in real time is KICKASS until they’re in your earlier works that are HOT GARBAGE

#I’m so fr don’t read my first fic I didn’t know how ao3 worked ok #block of text bs fr bc I didn’t know how to format at ALL #it’s just… really cringe

[drowningroane]

This little piece comes from a Ao3 fic called:

"Heroes all have a Saving People Thing"

By Blueseabird2

#not mine #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfics #fanfic quotes #bnha #Harry potter #mha #dadzawa #Aizawa Shouta #Aizawa is a Black #Aizawa is a squib #Aizawa takes Potter under his wing #I cackled at this quote #Nezu is a little shite #Nedzu is creative with dealing with the Political BS and is going to have a Blast eviscerating the MiM #Blueseabird2 #Heroes all have a Saving People Thing

[vyingeyes]

Project Crown - 2 - Recovery

Myth’s favorite place in Tipoca City had to be their barracks. The stark white tiles might freeze bare feet and blind unsuspecting eyes from time to time, but they were consistent. Quiet peace compensated for the lack of privacy that came from being bunked with other squads, and a sleep pod was about the closest thing any of them had to a personal space.

Myth’s least favorite place had to be the hangar. The only experience he had with it was during storms, so he had only ever seen the metal floor slick and hazardous. Freezing sheets of rain blew in from the open bay doors, and the chaos of everyone running around trying to get sorted sent him into a tizzy of his own. It probably didn’t help that every time ended up in the hangar, it was due to a situation that did nothing except cause him stress. It didn’t matter that there were other, less-severe places in Tipoca that he was subjected to more frequently—the hangar was just worse.

“When we touch down, I want 48 and 8ball to help Course to medical. Myth, with me.”

The transport ship rocked ominously in the gale of the storm as Kyr gave them their instructions. Myth found himself relaxing despite it. If he was with Kyr, that meant he’d probably be doing something administrative. Helping with the combat report, maybe, or recounting inventory and expended supplies. No matter what, it would almost certainly be better than a trip to the medical bay.

8ball seemed to think the same. “I’m sure 48 could take Course alone,” the scout implored. “Or, hell, Course could probably get to the medbay on his own?” He inched a bit closer to Myth.

Kyr fixed a tired glare on 8ball. “No. You were both there when Course got hurt, you’re responsible for making sure he gets helped.”

8ball bristled immediately. “He was supposed to be the one watching for bugs! I was shooting an SBD—and so was 48! You can’t just put us on babysitting duty because you’re mad you didn’t do anything to stop Course from—”

“He can.” Course’s voice cut in flatly, immediately shutting 8ball up. “He is squad lead, and he tells you what you do, where, and when.”

Blood buzzed in Myth’s ears at the undercurrent of anger in Course’s voice. Course was… not frightening. None of his brothers were frightening. But Myth hated conflict on a good day, and today… hadn’t been a good day. And Course was never the one to start a conflict. He was the closest thing they had to a mediator—the only one that could ever hope to redirect Kyr—and hearing him with that barely concealed hint of something boiling under the surface did frighten Myth.

“—miserable existence! Ooh, wow, he’s got a fancy title! He’s still got the same brain as any of us!”

Uh oh. Myth missed the first half of that, but it didn’t take an information analyst to see that 8ball wasn’t responding well to Course’s attempt at grace. His mouth opened uncertainly, but he quickly shut it as 48 began to speak.

“Shut up, man.” Myth could hear the rolling eyes, even if his brother still wore his helmet—48 was not impressed. “It’s been a long day already. Do you have to do this right now?”

It was as close to defending Kyr as 48 would get right now. Probably more for Course than anyone else, but Myth doubted any of them were enjoying this argument. Green Squad, silent backdrops in the dim transport, made no attempt to intrude on this display. Pull and Push shared a look, and Myth’s stomach dropped.

“It won’t take too long,” Myth blurted. “If you just get out of the ship as quickly as you can and go directly to the medical bay—you probably wouldn’t even have to stay to explain the situation to the medical droids, Course is awake, and it isn’t like there’ll be any trainers looking to cause problems right now with everything going on—”

“You’re stressing Myth out,” 48 interjected, annoyance growing. “Just suck it up.”

8ball elbowed 48 in retort, but he turned to glance at Myth, eyes searching for a moment. “… Fine. I’ll do the thing that nobody involved thinks is necessary to satisfy Kyr’s ego—but I’m not doing it because you told me to,” he directed at Kyr, an accusing finger tapping the squad leader on the chest.

Kyr did not respond. Probably for the best. He was probably seething—he had a temper just as bad as 8ball, but he was usually a little better at handling it. Plus, it was typically reserved for just 8ball and 48. Myth and Course got a little more lenience from him—except for when one of them had two broken limbs and tried to argue against being helped, apparently? That was a new development, and he’d have to take it into account. Myth couldn’t remember Kyr ever blatantly disregarding protocol like that before, and it concerned him, but Myth hoped that they could convince Course to at least be a little kinder to Kyr in the medical report than he’d been in the canyon.

The transport shuddered as it landed in the hangar, jolting Myth out of his thoughts. Kyr put a hand on his back while Punch and Punt slid the transport door open. All ten troopers immediately poured out of the cramped space, more than eager to get away from the stifling air they’d been stuck in.

Kyr set a steady hand on Myth’s shoulder to both ground him and guide him through the cacophonous hangar. Myth glued himself to Kyr’s side, not eager to get nudged or shoved by any clone that didn’t put much stock in the idea of personal space. One of the best parts about being placed with Kyr was that he had a certain way of walking that made other people move out of his path. Even when he had full kit, just the set of his shoulders and the weight with which he stepped had even the brothers that didn’t know him scrambling to make space. In another life, he would have been a CC. Maybe even an RC. Myth didn’t like to think in “could-have-been”s, but that was one thought he couldn’t help but sit with sometimes.

People steered clear of Kyr because he was intimidating, in-control, and good at what he did. People avoided Myth because he talked too much and never gave a straight answer.

… It wasn’t quite the same.

“I want you to help me with this report,” Kyr said in the quiet of the sterile white halls, voice as steady and confident as always. Only the barely perceptible swivel of his head (searching for eavesdroppers?) told Myth why he wanted help.

“Do you think Course will really put your protocol breach in his report?” Myth couldn’t help but ask. He wanted to backtrack immediately, nervous about speaking it into being. “I mean, he wouldn’t, right? That would hurt all our chances at a decent placement. He was bluffing to get you to back off.”

Kyr didn’t answer immediately, steering Myth into the cafeteria. Not many troopers had found it in them to eat yet, so the usual chatter was a pleasant murmur. They got in line, Kyr ahead of Myth. Myth didn’t comment on Kyr filling his tray for him.

Kyr took him toward the far wall, leaving a couple tables of buffer for any incoming troopers who preferred to hug the wall outright, and they sat together at a round table. It was only once Myth took the first bite of his meal that Kyr answered his question.

“He said he would, so he will. He might let 48 talk him into being a little forgiving about it, but he won’t go back on the threat.”

Anxiety burst through Myth’s chest, freezing tendrils wrapping around his heart. He tapped his foot on the metal leg of the table. If one of the biggest outliers of their performance in their reports was that Kyr had ignored protocol, they would be lucky to get a placement at all. The idea of the Kaminoans reading that, deciding they wouldn’t get deployed after all, and putting them back in training popped into his head and refused to leave. They could hold them back. Use them as an example to any of the ninth-cycle cadets getting too big for their helmets. Or they could recondition Kyr and send them all to a moon where he'd never get the opportunity to break protocol ever again, even if he wanted to.

“Myth. Myth! Hey.” The warmth of Kyr’s hand between his arm plates snapped Myth out of his thoughts and reminded him painfully that he had been shot earlier. “We can make it work. That’s why I want your help. There’s a reason they use us instead of droids.” His voice dropped a bit, careful not to be overheard in the relative quiet of the mess. “If I can give a really good reason why I didn’t listen to Course, we’ll be fine.”

He wanted to wave it away. If they could justify the decision effectively enough, Kyr’s hardheaded decision could prove the benefit of using clones, not the drawbacks. It could work. It could at least keep them away from the attention of the wrong people.

 “Okay. Okay. You—have you started the report? I can help.”

Kyr exhaled, and Myth watched the crease between his eyebrows relax as he removed his hand from Myth’s arm to take another bite of his food. “I did inventory and expended resources on the transport. Finished everything up to the… attack, on the way into atmo. Once you’ve eaten, we can head to the barracks and finish it. I need to submit this—soon. I got an alert when we landed that they’re reviewing and assigning us ASAP.”

Another quick bolt of anxiety raced through Myth. “Already?” He set his spoon down. “I don’t—we don’t have to eat. We can work on it now.”

“No. Eat your food.” Kyr nodded at Myth’s tray. “You’ve had a long day, and you barely ate before we left.”

Myth stared at his nutrient mush, mouth suddenly dry. “… It’s really fine. I’d rather get the report out of the way.”

Kyr sighed, and Myth shrank back a bit. “How about this. You eat, and I’ll start working on it. I’ll ask you for your help as I need it.”

“… Okay.”

The mush did not grow any more appetizing as Kyr put on his helmet and started tapping at his bracer. Myth knew he was looking at the report draft, but between the emotionless visor and the rapid typing, he exuded an aura of annoyance that did nothing to ease Myth’s discomfort.

He began poking at the mush. Really, it wasn’t appetizing on a good day—not since they’d changed its consistency. Where before you could at least pretend to chew it, the new mush was almost slimy. It made the exact same taste seem vastly less appealing.

When they’d originally made the change, Myth hadn’t been able to stomach it. He’d tried—really, really tried, but he couldn’t manage to eat more than a bite at each meal before his rolling stomach stopped him. He’d given his portions to 8ball for a week before his body started to get too weak for their squad training. Despite the physical issues, the real catalyst that had forced him to start eating again had been his specialty track scores. The brain fog that came over him had resulted in him getting the worst scores he’s pretty sure any information analyst had ever gotten. He never scored great—he could never settle on a single strategy, and the trainers never let him forget it—but the threat of detracking looming over him was more than enough to make him push through the nausea.

He'd gotten used to it. Eventually. Staring at the goop now brought him memories of the way he threw up the entire meal the first time he’d managed to make himself eat all of it. Not fun memories. He’d gotten odd stares from all the other squads in the mess, and more than a couple cadets had laughed at him. He’d been dragged off to the medbay by a droid and poked and prodded for an hour before it declared that he must have eaten too quickly and sent him back on his way with a ration bar, since he didn’t have time to go back for a new meal before his squad training.

Myth took a deep breath, studying the glint of the overhead lights on the mush. “You sent Course with 48, 8ball, and Punt because Course has the highest scores in close-range fighting and the position of the SBDs at the intersection of the passes meant he’d be best positioned on the frontlines.”

Kyr didn’t have the audacity to pretend he’d originally had a good reason to send Course with the smaller group, so he nodded and tapped away accordingly.

Slowly, Myth lifted a small glob of nutrient mush to his mouth, swallowing it quickly. “… Course was ambushed by a Geonosian warrior. He was disarmed and lifted while the others were in the middle of eliminating the SBDs, leaving them unable to help quickly enough to prevent him from being taken. They split their focus between the remaining SBDs and the Geonosian—Punt and Eighty finished off the supers while 48, who was sent as backup, began to shoot at the Geonosian. When the last super went down, they focused all fire on the Geonosian. The increased fire provided enough distraction for Course to extract himself from the hold, and he fell.” Myth paused for a moment.

Kyr didn’t push him, continuing to tap away with increased speed following Myth’s massive information outburst.

Myth breathed in slowly, then out, then took another small bite of his food. In, out, bite. After a third repetition, he spoke again, slowly, but as firmly as he knew how. “Course hit his head against the rocks on the way down. Although he was verbal and cognizant, you did not think him fully aware at the time of his landing.” He paused again, air stalling in his chest until he remembered to breathe. “You expressed concern of Course’s ability to walk quickly enough to the rendezvous point. He only repeated the protocol for broken limbs. Believing him to be concussed and not fully understanding of the extent of the damage to his legs, you followed protocol to deliver stim shots to the affected limbs, as well as to his spinal cord in case of spinal injury and to hopefully alleviate the suspected concussion.”

Kyr nodded slowly, tapping with deliberate intent.

“Following the injections, you carried him through the majority of the mountain pass until you were certain we would make the rendezvous on time with his impeded pace.”

“So, we’re playing up the urgency aspect of it?” Kyr took off his helmet to take a bite of his own food.

“Course likely won’t include the exact timeline in his own report,” Myth reasoned, slowly growing more confident in his words. “His reports are very short. It’ll be something like ‘advised squad lead of protocol but was dismissed’.”

“I almost feel bad for implying he isn’t a reliable source of medical advice,” Kyr muttered dryly.

“For good reason,” Myth said mindlessly. “He’s never given us any reason not to listen to him before.”

Kyr went quiet, picking at his food for another minute before putting his helmet back on and continuing to fill out his report.

Myth made slow work of his mush. With his job fully completed, he wasn’t as anxious, but his hunger had already been spoiled. Not much any of them could do to fix that.

The rest of their squad would have long since made it to the medical wing by then. Myth wondered if he and Kyr would pass 8ball and 48 on the way to their barracks. He was pretty sure both of them had eaten all of their food pre-deployment, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be hungry. But if neither Kyr nor Course hounded them to go get food, would they…?

“Are you not going to finish your food?”

Kyr’s unmodulated voice snapped Myth out of his mind abruptly, and Myth stared as the goop dripped from his spoon back down to his tray. “… I’m really not hungry,” he mumbled.

Kyr sighed, and Myth shrank back a bit. Kyr shook his head. “It’s fine. You ate something, at least…”

Myth pushed the tray away from himself at the—not quite permission, but acceptance. He watched Kyr finish his own food in a couple bites, then stand.

“Well, we may as well go to our barracks,” Kyr said with another sigh. “Our training is cancelled for at least the next day cycle. I’m sure the trainers are trying to figure out what happens now.”

Myth stood with him, wringing his hands a bit as Kyr took both of their trays to disposal. “You submitted your report?” he verified.

“Yeah. It’s getting processed now.”

Shoulders relaxing, Myth found it easier to breathe. If their report was turned in, that meant it would be reviewed shortly. He wondered if Course would even have time to submit his medical report. He hadn’t been looking during the flight; had Course submitted it while they were still on the shuttle? Surely, they wouldn’t make judgements on placement before both reports were in.

Despite himself, Myth’s anxiety began to blossom into anticipation. If their generous take on the events of the day were taken at face value… Well, it wouldn’t look half bad. Only one major injury, 100% survival rate, and they followed instructions to a T.

“Myth.”

Myth startled guiltily, quickly turning to Kyr, who stood waiting for him. To his credit, he didn’t seem like he was actually annoyed with Myth’s spaciness, but the tired look in his eye and the tenseness in his back made Myth still feel like he was only adding on to his squad lead’s stress.

Kyr’s expression softened after a moment, and his next sigh was not nearly as severe as the last several had been. “Let’s go back to our barracks,” he said, voice gentler. “We’ve done our jobs. Now we get to shower and rest.”

Myth faltered for just a moment, then nodded. That nervous anticipation remained, but if Kyr deemed there to be nothing more they could do, then that was that. He stepped in beside Kyr and let himself be herded toward the promising chill of their sleep pods.

The walk itself held no surprises for them, but upon reaching the door to their wing, a small droid sat stationary. As they approached, its eyes lit up—eerie, opaque white windows—and its head swiveled toward them.

“CT-0105-203-0918-01.”

Myth’s eyes widened, and his attention snapped directly to Kyr, who looked as stricken as Myth felt to hear his full identification code spoken at him.

It took Kyr only a moment to recover from the surprise. “That would be me.”

The rest of the droid’s mechanics began to start up. Its boosters activated with a high whir, and it lifted itself a few feet to bring itself level with the clones’ eyes. “CT-0918, you are summoned to briefing room 27-8 to await orders. The rest of your squad may continue their designated recovery period.”

Myth couldn’t help but stare. Kyr’s expression schooled itself in a matter of seconds to something more confident, like he wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Alright. Are you here to escort me?”

“Affirmative. Follow me.”

Kyr put a warm hand on Myth’s shoulder as the droid began to drift down the hall. “I’ll be back,” he said, promptly following his escort.

Myth stood in the hall for a few seconds after he lost sight of Kyr. Even though Kyr had told him that they would be placed as soon as possible, pulling squad leads to wait for results sounded like a sudden decision. How long before they were given their placement? How closely would the details of their reports be examined, really?

He wandered into the barracks in a daze, oblivious to the bemused glances he received from the other squads as he made his way to the Crown Squad bunks.

48 was the one to jar him out of his muddled state. “Did you hear? We’re going to be placed! Pull heard a nattie saying that the CCs were all reviewing the reports ASAP.”

Myth started to regret eating the caf food, given how much his stomach began to roll. The thought of a CC—a future officer—reviewing their messily spun report made him want to throw up again. What if they realized it was intentionally skewed? What if they pulled the security footage of the caf and realized Kyr asked Myth for help? Myth’s earlier paranoia of reconditioning sprung back to the forefront of his mind. Falsifying official reports wasn’t a light crime. Did this count?

“… hope we go somewhere busy,” he heard 8ball telling 48 from his place in his extended pod.

“Like Coruscant?” 48 asked, dubious. “You wouldn’t find me dead there. If I’m gonna get deployed, I’m gonna be somewhere I can show the clankers who’s the superior soldier. Can’t do that so close to the core.”

“I was thinking more like big warzones. Somewhere I can run around, y’know? Lots of fun angles to catch ‘em off guard.”

48 rolled his eyes. “So you wanna give Course a heart attack? Poor guy spent the whole time on Geonosis hovering over Myth’s graze. He wouldn’t survive somewhere busier.”

Myth realized then that Course wasn’t present. His pod was closed, and the panel suggested it wasn’t occupied. He glanced between 8ball and 48. “Is Course still in medical?” he asked.

 48 turned back to him. “Oh. Yeah, apparently his legs are super fucked up. The droid said it wasn’t that big of a deal, but they held him to make sure the injections didn’t get screwed by him walking around.”

Frowning, Myth nodded. That made sense.

“Did you get your graze checked out?” 8ball asked. It wasn’t said accusingly, but it didn’t need to be for Myth’s expression to turn guilty.

“I forgot,” he said. He really had. He hadn’t thought about it at all since Kyr put pressure on it earlier—he’d been quickly distracted by the borderline insubordination they committed.

48 shook his head. “It’s just a graze, and Course treated it anyway. Probably better to wait until the medbay isn’t so busy with the guys who really got injured.”

“Hope you’re ready for Kyr and Course to accept that answer,” 8ball warned. “They’ll be fussing the minute they figure you out.”

Myth moved to their storage bins and started methodically removing his armor. “I’ll go when it isn’t so busy,” he echoed 48. “They’re probably oversaturated with injured by now.”

A passing clone laughed, and Myth froze mid doffing.

“Don’t suppose they could fix your head while you’re there?” Myth did not turn his head, but the unknown brother kept teasing anyway. “Or is your condition terminal?”

“Fuck off, Hud,” 48 ground out. “You’re not any funnier today than you were yesterday. Or the day before that.”

“Just a joke, bud. I know you clowns are delicate, but you gotta lighten up.”

Myth saw 8ball jumping down from his pod from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah? We aren’t the ones that threw up in the dropships. Unless Bingo was misremembering when they told me about that?”

The passing brother—Hud—went quiet for a few seconds before hotly going, “It was motion sickness. We’ve never been in actual ships before, I couldn’t exactly help it.”

48 spoke again, evidently gleeful to learn this piece of gossip. “Delicate stomach, Hud? I didn’t expect that out of you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Hud’s voice grew fainter, and Myth relaxed as he realized the other clone was walking away. “You guys’re gonna regret that in a year when I’m an officer.”

A hysterical laugh broke out of 48, and he collapsed onto his bunk in sporadic giggles as they were left alone again. “That dumbass? An officer? Over my dead body.”

8ball scoffed in response, walking over and beginning to help Myth remove his armor. “If he can’t even handle a little turbulence, you won’t have to worry about it.”

Myth bit the inside of his cheek, slowly continuing to doff his armor with 8ball’s help.

“I mean,” continued 48, “seriously, good on him for having plans, but really? He’s gotta find some more attainable life goals. Like surviving.”

8ball floated into Myth’s peripheral in the process of unlatching his rerebrace, and Myth watched him raise an eyebrow. “What, like you? Sir ‘I Can Become A Commando, No Really, It’s Entirely Feasible’—”

“It is!” 48 insisted. “Just because it hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean it won’t.”

Their voices faded out while Myth focused on removing his armor. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t upset by the teasing. He never could—he just didn’t know how. 48 always did it without problem. Course and Kyr hardly seemed to blink whenever cruel words ended up being thrown in their direction. 8ball could give it back better than he got it. Why was Myth the only one that always shut down?

The teasing wasn’t even that big of a deal. It wasn’t malicious. Like Hud said, it was a joke.

8ball put a hand around Myth’s wrist, drawing his eyes up.

His brother wasn’t making a deal about it, but Myth could see the concern creased in his brow. “What about you?” 8ball asked, those creases easing a little while he spoke. “What’s your plan? Where would you want us to get sent?”

Myth took a moment to find his words, and when he did any energy from earlier was gone. “… Somewhere with an interesting ecosystem,” he mumbled.

8ball nodded, pulling him toward the ladder to the bunks. “That sounds good. I’d probably have good cover, too.”

“… I want to see different plants and animals.” Myth remembered his modules; he’d always gotten more modules and more in-depth modules than the rest of his squad, as an information analyst, and he remembered how many times he’d come back fawning over the flora and fauna of different planets. He understood more about the different lifeforms of Felucia than he understood about natborns as a whole.

“So definitely not Coruscant,” 48 laughed. “Unless stray tookas and criminal lowlifes count?”

Myth climbed up to his own bunk while 8ball responded.

“I think Course’s the only one who’d actually like us to end up there. Although, Kyr…” 8ball got a thoughtful look on his face. “Maybe.”

“It would be them,” 48 complained.

8ball did not climb back up to his bunk, instead sitting cross-legged on the cold metal flooring. “Well, wherever we end up it’s gonna be with Green Squad. I’m pretty sure they’re legally not allowed to separate us, what with Punch being Kyr’s handler.”

48 sighed. “Truly, a masterclass of a soldier. Able to lead without leading… What would we do without him?”

“Get chewed out. Constantly. And maybe killed,” 8ball deadpanned.

Myth weighed the merit of closing his pod. It wasn’t that he disliked his brothers bantering, but his nerves had been fried throughout the course of the past twenty-four hours, and the thought of them talking poorly about their squad lead in the middle of the crowded barracks made him want to smother them with his thin pillow. Best to just not hear it at all.

Despite his misgivings, Myth did not close the pod. Hearing his brothers joke like their world wasn’t changing irrevocably put Myth a little bit more at ease than he would be with his own thoughts, even if the jokes added to his overall stress. The lesser of two evils.

His compromise for this was to zone out. He didn’t have a datapad, which had been left behind in the rush of the first call to Geonosis, so he couldn’t study his modules—which, he hadn’t considered before then, likely would not be continued. If they were deployed, they would have no more time for educational modules. Would they just have to get by with briefings? Would the information analysts have time before engagements to study the terrain and wildlife modules for the planets they were being sent to? They wouldn’t always have time for that.

There were too many unknown variables. Myth couldn’t finish drafting a single plan without it being countered with a potential roadblock he hadn’t ever dreamed of two moments prior.

 Myth wasn’t sure how much time had passed between climbing into his bunk and the door to the barracks opening again. The Crown bunks weren’t terribly close, but it didn’t take proximity to figure out that the flood of clones entering were the squad leads. Within moments Kyr approached, fully absorbed in a datapad. A quick glance to Green Squad across the room confirmed that Punch had a matching one. Our orders.

All three present Crowns dropped down to the floor without hesitation.

“Well?” 8ball pressed. “Where are we going? What’s the verdict?”

48 clasped his hands together pleadingly. “Don’t say Coruscant.” he muttered. “Don’t say Coruscant, don’t say Coruscant, don’t say—”

“It isn’t Coruscant!” Kyr snapped, physically swatting at 48 without looking up from the datapad. Then, reading directly from the screen, he said, “Following the Green-Crown Unit’s performance at Geonosis, CTs—well, all of us, I’m not reading that—have been selected for deployment with the 212th Attack Battalion—”

“Led by who?” 8ball pressed.

“Do we get a Jedi?” 48 cut in.

Kyr finally broke eye contact with the datapad to glare at them both. “If you two would shut up for twenty seconds, I would answer those exact questions!”

Both of their mouths snapped shut, too excited at hearing about where they’d ended up to bother being nuisances.

“As I was saying,” Kyr muttered. “Let’s see… deployment with the 212th Attack Battalion of the 7th Sky Corps, led by High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Jedi Commander Anakin Skywalker, alongside Marshal Commander CC-2224—”

48 interrupted again immediately. “2224?”

“Wrong focus,” 8ball shook a hand in 48’s face. “Hello? Who are the Jedi? We get two?”

“Jedi Commanders are Jedi apprentices,” Myth found himself saying. “The High General would be his mentor.”

“Second priority focus,” 8ball said pleasantly, physically covering 48’s mouth when it opened again. “High General? That’s for the corps, obviously. What about the battalion?”

“That is for the battalion.” Myth did a double take, but Kyr’s face stayed deathly serious. “The 212th Battalion’s only listed commanders and general are the same as that for the corps.”

“Surely that must be an error,” Myth muttered.

48 did not seem nearly as bothered as Myth was to learn this. “Oh, Hud is about to hate me.”

Kyr raised an eyebrow, but rather than question it, he said, “Only if he got deployed to the same battalion as us. We ship out first thing in the morning.”

Every new piece of information made Myth’s heart palpitate more sporadically. “First—? But—Course…?”

“The wounded will be transferred to the medical bay of the Star Destroyers,” Kyr said emotionlessly. “From my understanding, we’re being transferred to Coruscant, where our home ships will be designated, and the Jedi briefed.”

48 sighed bodily, but 8ball’s eyes lit up. “This really is just starting, huh?”

“Very suddenly.” Myth’s mouth felt dry.

They’d had ten years and yet no time at all to prepare. Course’s legs were broken. 48 had just barely reached the final stage growth requirements last cycle, and Myth wasn’t any of them had ever passed their exams with anything more than a “Permissible” score. How had they ended up in a High General’s battalion? A Marshal Commander’s battalion?

Something had gone wrong. He couldn’t be more certain, but none of his brothers seemed to be nearly as concerned. The Kaminoans are using us as fodder, his mind whispered traitorously. We’ll all be dead in a month.

An attack battalion of this calibre had to have sandbags to throw at the front lines. That would be the Crowns—and Green Squad, unwitting but unavoidable casualties in the crashing dropship that was the Crown track record.

Myth felt ill.

But looking at his brothers, 48 and 8ball excitedly scheming and dreaming up all of the crazy battles they’d surely see and even Kyr cracking a smile in their beaming presence, Myth couldn’t find it in himself to say any of his thoughts aloud. Instead, silently, he returned to his bunk. He would skip his shower for now.

His brothers noticed his movement, quieting down a bit as he moved, but Myth didn’t bother sitting in his extended pod. Instead, he climbed directly in and closed it, flimsy pillow over his head as though he could still make out any of the words in the barracks beyond. He didn’t think about their odds—or the disaster that had followed them from decanting to deployment. Instead, he recalled the way Course had twisted out of the grasp of that Geonosian. He remembered the excited sound 48 had made when he got his first confirmed kill, and the way 8ball had clapped him and 48 both on the shoulder when the mission was complete, when it was time to move to the rendezvous.

He and his brothers weren’t fodder. They weren’t meat droids, and they weren’t going to die easy. Not after they’d made it as far as they had. In a way, the hard part was over. They’d never had a simple day in their lives, on Kamino. Geonosis… hadn’t ended well. But up until Course got picked up, it was the closest Myth had ever come to feeling like they were doing something really right.

Remembering Green Squad truly put Myth’s racing heart to rest. As long as they had the Greens, they would be fine. Maybe he didn’t have quite enough faith in his own batchmates, but their brothers from Green Squad were needed to temper some of the worse habits of the Crowns. The thought of being deployed without Punch to temper Kyr or Pull to make sense of Myth’s own nonsensical plans was just a bit nauseating.

He remembered Course pulling him aside to repatch his arm, and the way Kyr had insisted on carrying Course out of that canyon. He remembered 8ball’s adrenaline-filled hurtling back to their unit, pursued by a squad of B1s who weren’t prepared for what Green Squad and Crown Squad had in store for them.

They would stick together, and they would survive. They always looked out for one another.

They would be fine.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I still hate web tumblr. Why can't I just insert a line? Why have the gods forsaken us?

Chapter 3 is in an interesting purgatory atm but the accompanying ficlet has been written for literally like 6 months, so there's that.

Chapter 1 (Tumblr)

Chapter 2 Spotify Playlist Here (Spoiler Free, I believe)

AO3 Chapter 2

#star wars #sw tcw #swtcw oc #cross posted on ao3 #the clone wars #clone troopers #clone wars #star wars clone wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw #clone trooper oc #star wars art #chapter 2 #project crown #pov: myth #kyr #course #myth #48 #8ball #art #fanfiction #fanfic #kamino #you are getting silly little glimpses into my clone wars world building #they really didnt explain anything in canon at all #how do CT numbers work? dont ask me i dont know #i have some bs drafted and numbers thrown down #spotify playlist #extra content