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ficmashup · 2 months

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Gardening

Summary: Ghost is moving into a new apartment and you just so happen to be the building's owner.

A/N: First dip into writing second person (I think that's the right term?) and I'm not sure if I don't like it or if it was just difficult for me. People who've read my Price fic in first person, please weigh in here. I need to know if this sounds weird or if it's just me. I might rewrite the whole thing in first person and see which feels better.

Warnings: Not much here...overworking? Slight fainting. Not edited.

Word Count: 3k+

Masterlist

The first time he sees you, your hands are elbow-deep in dirt and there’s more smeared over your face. It’s late afternoon and he’s heaving a duffel over his shoulder to head into his new apartment. It’s been a long time since he spent long in an apartment at all and by the time he came back to his old one, the building was being foreclosed. He’d never been one to couch surf and he wasn’t about to start now. Certainly not for a month. Jump to seeing you covered in dirt in front of his new apartment building.

He hesitates on the steps, watching you a moment longer while you grumble to yourself. You’re on your knees digging through a flowerbed as if digging for diamonds. “You alright?” He surprises himself by asking and almost keeps walking with the expectation that you won’t even answer, but you turn your face up to him in an instant. Your arm raises to block out the sun and you don’t even flinch as dirt rains down on you.

“Fine, thanks. Just a few roots being stubborn.” You give him a warm, welcoming smile that keeps him still a few moments longer. Long enough for you to scan the duffel on his back and the few boxes set on the ground by his truck. “Moving in?” He hesitates a moment before answering. He’s not in the habit of giving away information freely, but the conclusion is obvious enough. He nods once.

“Then you’re Simon Riley.” You pull your hands from the dirt as if they’re the ones who have taken root and wipe them off on your jeans while getting onto your feet. Trepidation begins creeping into his chest and he grips the strap of his bag over his shoulder a little tighter. “I’m the building’s owner. Nice to meet you in person.” You offer your dirt-smudged hand as you give him your name and he laxes slightly. He takes your hand, seeing approval flash through your eyes. He wonders briefly if offering your dirty hand was a test that he just passed.

“I’ll walk you to your place and make sure you have your keys. Need help carrying anything?” You offer and it’s clear you mean it.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He replies evenly and you nod before leading the way and expecting him to follow.

“I run a tight ship. Hope you read the rules about staying here because if you break any, I’ll throw you out on your ass.” You move around the entrance easily, clearly knowing where everything is without having to look. A little glance over your shoulder is all you give him to make sure he’s listening and you catch the slight upward tilt of his lips.

“Yes, ma’am. Read over things twice.” He answers honestly and you hum with approval before guiding him up the stairs. Something about the way you hold yourself, the easy confidence, the way you say orders and expect them to be followed, reminds him of Price and puts him a little more at ease.

“You’re on the edge of the building, so only one neighbor on the north side and another across the hall. Delaney is quiet and keeps to herself more often than not, but I let her play music on the roof with friends on Saturdays.” Your voice fills the halls and he notes that the place is very well-kept and clean. Even the windows are clear and gleaming. You go on, “Mr. Cruz across the hall can be a bit miserly, but other than mumbling about the newspaper and the state of the world, he’s harmless. His wife, on the other hand, is a shameless gossip. So I hope you’re not too bothered if you come home and see her peeking at you from her door.”

Simon hums a small laugh. “Don’t mind it. I’m not that interesting.”

“Pity. She’s been dying for a salacious neighbor since Beck moved out because her husband caught her with the nanny.” You quip instantly and amusement flits through Simon as you finally come to a stop in front of a dark green door. It’s quick work to unlock it and you push the door open, but don’t step inside. He likes that. It’s as if the second he signed the lease, this became his space and you won’t enter it until invited. “If you’d like to do me a favor and need some furniture, I have some in the basement from past tenants that I’d be glad to be rid of. Tell me if you’d like to look and I’ll take you. You have my number if you need anything else, but I’m usually around anyway.”

He enters the apartment and looks around at the empty space with a small sigh. It’s a good space with plenty of room and a view of the street below, but being in a new place feels like starting over. It’s a discomforting feeling given that nothing in his life has actually changed except for his address. But he turns towards you all the same and gives you another nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

You nod back and spare another moment to look him over. He’s not the first stray soldier that’s wandered into your building, but each one has been different. This one…this one might take quite a bit of coaxing. You give him another smile and see his body shift towards it just like he did the last time, as if your smile is sunlight he’s basking in. “Welcome home.”

* * *

The next time he sees you, you’re crouched on the stairs in front of a kid no more than eight-years-old. “It…hurts…” The little boy says between sobs with red smeared over his right knee. Probably from a nasty fall. Simon pauses on the next flight of stairs, looking down at you through the railing.

“Aw, yeah, I know it does. You’re being brave for me though.” Your voice is soft and gentle as you clean the blood away. “Bet that wimp Eric would be wailing this whole time, huh? Remember when he stubbed his toe and screamed for a minute straight?” There’s a little giggle and his heart squeezes at the sound.

The kid sniffles. “Yeah, I remember. He fell on the ground like he broke it or something.”

“That’s right.” You approve, smiling at him and reaching to the side where a first aid kit sits. “But I saw you play baseball and you didn’t even flinch when that pitcher hit you with the ball.”

“Yeah, that’s true. And that hurt!” The kid leans back a bit, relaxing as you distract him and I idly think about how many medics I’ve seen use the same tactic on wounded soldiers.

You finish cleaning up his knee and press a large band-aid to the ripped skin. “But you were so tough then and you were tough now. All done.” You muss his hair a bit and he giggles, slapping your hand away. “Now, what are we not going to do?”

The kid’s head droops. “Sprint up the stairs.”

“Smart kid. Now, wear that scrape with honor.” You tilt his chin up and he grins, sniffling again before leaning forward and giving you a hug.

“Thanks.” He squeezes tight before getting up and heading down the stairs at a slightly slower pace than running. A wait a moment as you pack up the things from your kit before heading down. Your head lifts and you smile at me, the same as the other day, and it strikes me just like it did then.

I clear my throat and tilt my head to where the kid went. “You seem to know everyone in this place.”

You hum and stand with the first aid kit in hand. “It’s my job to know everything that happens in this building.”

He quirks a brow at you. “That’s not a position taken by most owners.”

“You should have easily learned by now that I’m not like most owners.” You quip instantly and are rewarded with a little upward twitch of his mouth.

“I was hoping you might have time to show me some of the furniture you mentioned?” He asks, unassuming and polite despite his size and clear musculature. It makes you like him a little more.

You nod and take a breath in the face of another task. “Sure. Let’s go.” You turn on your heel and start moving, Simon trailing behind with surprisingly soft footfalls. You jingle slightly with each step from the keys on your hip and he can’t help but think of a cat with a bell.

The basement is dark until you pull a heavy switch and illuminate a surprisingly large space littered with furniture. “Pick whatever you like and I’ll help you carry it up.”

“You ever stop working?” He asks and you can hear the amusement in his voice. You shrug a shoulder and lean against the wall beside the stairs as he slowly walks through the room.

“There’s always something to be done and no one else is going to do it.”

“You could hire people.”

You immediately roll your eyes. “Then I’d have to fix whatever they screw up. Better to do it myself and get it right the first time.” He exhales softly and you swear that it’s almost a soft laugh.

“You remind me of someone.” He says and pauses next to a little kitchen table with two chairs in pretty good condition.

Your head tilts and you give him a little smile as he glances over. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

This time, you get an actual chuckle. “From me, it’s a compliment.”

“Hm. Then thank you.” You’re not sure you want to know why it would be an insult coming from someone else. He knocks on the table and the wood makes a dull, solid clunk noise. He nods and apparently that means it’s passed inspection. He lifts it up into his arms with a grunt and surprise widens your eyes as he carries it towards the stairs. You clear the way, grabbing the two chairs and staring at him as he bypasses the elevator in favor of more stairs without making a sound. It’s not exactly professional the way your eyes linger on his muscular arms, the shifting of his back under his t-shirt, and especially not how his thighs fit his jeans oh-so-well.

He grunts again as he sets the table down in his apartment and you sidle in to set the chairs on either side. There’s almost nothing else in the apartment. There are a few blankets and books in the bedroom along with a few cushions on the floor of the living room facing a tv. That’s it. He certainly isn’t one to overdecorate. “Anything else?” You offer with a hand on you hip.

He nods once. “Mind another trip?”

You smile and start walking to the door. “I’d be glad to empty out my entire basement if you like. Seems like you need it anyway.” The corner of his mouth lifts.

“I suppose that’s true. I appreciate the help.” He says and his voice is deep, but gentle. You only grow more curious about him and during the few more trips up and down the stairs, you realize that this guy might need a bit more than a little help with living.

* * *

It starts slow.

A few neighbors start bringing him some food throughout the week. Leftovers, baked goods, all under the guise of welcoming him to the building. Then there’s a small flyer set outside his door for an estate sale nearby where he finds a few more things to make his apartment less sparse. It’s a tad overbearing, but in an amusing way and he finds he doesn’t mind. Something about being aggressively looked after reminds him of Soap’s family and any thought of the Scot is a welcome one. He has little doubt that the interference is due to your instruction. You run this building better than most people in charge of the military.

His favorite spot in the apartment becomes the little window seat in the living room. It has a good view of the street and without fail, he gets a glimpse of you working in the flowerbeds in the front of the building. On the nicer days, he’ll even crack the window to hear you cussing at your rosebushes. But you’re a little quiet one day, moving slow, still working amongst the thorns in jean shorts and a tank-top dark with sweat. When you stand and wobble in place, he puts down the book he was pretending to read.

You heave a breath and wipe sweat off your brow before grabbing onto the railing leading into the building. Ugh, it’s hot. The sun is beating down like a physical weight and your sunhat is currently somewhere in Delaney’s apartment after her girlfriend borrowed it. Best to just bear the expense and get another one. “You run yourself ragged.” That deep voice disturbs your thoughts and your head lifts to see Simon standing there with a water bottle held out to you.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you gratefully accept the water and settle on the steps. “Too much to do to stop. Thank you for this.” The bottle is blissfully cold as you press it to your neck and take a deep breath of relief.

Simon moves across from you and leans on the railing, looking you over. Something you’ve noticed is how careful he is to give you space. He never comes too close. “I’ve seen you running around the building at least three times today. Once unclogging the garbage chute, the second time greasing the hinges of a door down the hall, and the third—” He gestures to rosebushes you were just digging in.

You finish drinking half the water and raise a brow at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Keeping track of me?”

His lips part, but he’s interrupted before he can say a word. “Sweetie, my air conditioner is on the fritz again.” An older woman peeks out of the front door and Simon recognizes Mrs. Cruz from across the hall. She scrutinizes him through her big glasses before blinking innocently back at you.

You sigh, but nod. “Alright, Mrs. Cruz. I’ll be there right away.” She shuffles back into the building while you heave yourself up onto your feet and your vision immediately goes black. It almost feels like you’re outside your body as you feel it sway backward before a large hand slides onto your lower back and another grips your arm. Your hand tightens on the railing as your eyes snap open, the world swimming in front of you.

“Steady, now.” A pair of concerned eyes are the first thing you see as your vision clears. “Let’s get you inside.” He moves closer and begins to stoop, but you grab his shirt in a fist.

“You are not picking me up.” You grind out, every word a command. Not in front of your building, not by a tenant, not with Mrs. Cruz waiting inside who would assuredly spread every type of rumor she could about the scene. “Just…walk inside with me.” He hesitates a beat before straightening and letting you use his arm and the railing to get back into the building. You shoot a smile towards Mrs. Cruz waiting exactly where you expected her. “I need my tools, but I’ll be along in just a minute.”

Her eyes squint, but she nods a moment later before vanishing into the elevator. “Slowly and steadily, then.” Simon murmurs with his hands gentle and sure as he moves you towards your office in the back. You hold your tongue despite the desire to insist that you do not need help because you very clearly do. Still, you can’t hold back your heavy sigh as you both slowly walk back and he helps you settle into your office chair.

“Thank you.” You murmur, pride a little wounded but ultimately grateful you didn’t have to crawl in here. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Then I’ll head up to help Mrs. Cruz.” Your head shakes as you make yourself drink the rest of your water while taking some steadying breaths.

“Unfortunate we’re not closer to my apartment. I’d give you something one of my neighbors gifted me earlier this week.” Simon comments with amusement lacing his tone. Maybe you weren’t as subtle about filling his pantry as you thought you were.

“I ate today. Just pushed a little too hard in the heat. That’s all.”

“Mm.” He hums, watching you from the doorway with the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “A habit of yours?”

You can’t resist returning his near smile. “Practically my occupation.”

He huffs a small laugh before clearing his throat as if trying to hide it. The fact makes you smile a little wider. “I’ll get you another water, then walk with you up the stairs.”

“Oh, there’s really no need—” But he’s already walked out. You sigh again, relaxing back into the chair and closing your eyes for a few moments. Time passes, a bit too long than it should have taken, but when you open your eyes there’s another water in front of you and no Simon. You feel a bit better and rise from your seat with a groan, grabbing your toolkit and heading up to Mrs. Cruz. But it’s an utter surprise when you get to her apartment to find the usual whir of her air conditioning uninterrupted.

“That handsome man across the hall had it fixed in a few minutes. Didn’t complain or say much other than asking what the problem was.” Mrs. Cruz reports with rare approval in her voice. Mr. Cruz grumbles quietly from his usual seat in his favorite armchair. You sigh and glance out the door towards Simon’s apartment with a hand on your hip and a half-smile. Seems you’re not the only one keen to help. Whether it’s asked for or not.

(Lmk if you want to be tagged in future installments of this!)

#call of duty #cod #fluff #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x oc #f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #my works #f!oc

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poppadom0912 · 2 months

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Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

#onechicago #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #halstead sister #jay halstead #will halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #will halstead x sister!reader

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leothil · 1 month

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fic recs: archive edition 19

Well well well if it isn't Wednesday already. Why didn't I post this on Monday you ask? Well you may have noticed a little something went down on 911blr on both Monday and Tuesday. A few articles got published and such. A little launch party happened. A tiny bit of insanity took over the fandom. Kept me a bit preoccupied. But we're here now! One (or two) days more to enjoy some fanfic before the new episode takes over our brains for at least 24h!

This list has absolutely no cohesive theme, except they were all published around Halloween 2021.

rainbows have nothing to hide by @hattalove Buck and Chris come to the conclusion that memes about Kermit the frog fit Eddie a little too well, and a new secret language between them is born. Per the author: this is no contest the stupidest thing i've ever written, this show makes me sick in the brain. Personally I love a little silliness in my fics now and then! 3.7k words, rated T

The Monsterfucker's Symphony by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels The fic, the myth, the legend. 17 chapters of one-shots where one of Buck and Eddie or both of them are some kind of mythological creature. You will definitely find something you like, and maybe discover something new about yourself along the way. I'm not going to claim favourites, but I'm quite weak for the werewolf and witch chapters. 57.2k, rated E

Like Any Unloved Thing by @hmslusitania A noir urban fantasy AU where private investigator Eddie gets hired to find Maddie Buckley's lost brother. Hands down one of the best AUs I've ever read, with what might be my favourite use of magic and the supernatural in a modern setting. The atmosphere will burrow its way under your skin! 18.1k words, rated M

who's afraid of the little plastic pasta man? by lecornergirl (@clusterbuck) Technophobe!Eddie makes a glorious appearance when Buck buys a pasta timer in the form of a little chef that starts singing when your pasta is done. Incredible silly vibes! 1.5k words, rated G

Start the list with silliness, end the list with silliness, have a perfect balance. Enjoy your week, and may we all survive the season seven premiere!

#fic rec #911 fic rec #buddie fic rec #buddie fic #911 fic #frida's archive project

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seyaryminamoto · 24 days

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Fic-to-Art #39: Gladiator's ELEVENTH Anniversary! (+ BONUS: Fic-to-Art #36...)

And here we are! March 26th arrived and I did not forget about it, but I paid for my ambitious madness with my wrist and forearm. Somehow, I finished my intended pieces on time, but I do not advise that you ever try to make 9 artworks in 3 days. No, sir. Bad life decisions, that's what that was... but this fic, as anyone knows, moves me to do things I never thought possible, starting with writing the fic itself!

It's really crazy every time it hits me that I've been doing this for as long as I have. It's been a complicated, chaotic journey, with its many ups and downs, but ultimately, it has been our journey. For some people, this is just one more fic in the pile: for me, it's been the best adventure of my life so far. Everyone who has ever been touched by Gladiator, who has ever cherished this story, who's looking forward to the big conclusion, who wants to see how the chaotic war is going to end... you're all part of this crazy adventure along with me, and I can only thank you for joining me.

This year, I had no time to make as big a project as I usually go for. Thus, I did a sort of free-for-all edition of Fic-to-Art over at Patreon and challenged myself to draw as many scenes as I could, out of their suggestions. I even sprinkled in a few scenes I impulsively wanted to draw because I loved writing them or because I look forward to writing them... and this is the result!

In order, the scenes are as follow:

Sokka combing Azula's hair, a common occurrence throughout the story.

Azula watching over a convalescing Sokka in the Chase of Jeong Jeong arc.

The outcome of Sokka's final battle in the Superior Gladiator League, namely a moment where Sokka and Azula more or less gave away their relationship's true nature to the public by raising their hands towards each other...

And now, spoiler territory! Some were by my choice, some by Patreon requests:

An important moment shortly after Sokka and Azula reunite.

Azula confronting her father, with a LOT of backup.

Xin Long's long-awaited freedom.

The aftermath of the final battle.

The full-blown confirmation of their relationship to the general Fire Nation populace.

Sokka, Azula and Hotaru's first night together

And the big final one is ACTUALLY Fic-to-Art #36 but hahaha woops I didn't post it here on time because it was super hard to finish since I had a LOT of things going on... but here it is now! :'D it's a glimpse VERY far into the future of this fic's timeline!

Alright, that should be enough talking and explaining. Some things are vague, some things aren't, but ultimately I really hope you guys will be looking forward to the scenes you haven't seen yet, and to Gladiator's eventual outcome.

So now... with all this being said and done, I'm gonna go take a trip down memory lane and watch my Tenth Anniversary video once more! Feel free to do the same thing if you'd like to commemorate the fic, I think it's a good way to experience Gladiator all over again, hahaha.

Thank you if you read all this, and if you read all THAT: 5 million word landmark, here we come! Thanks for hanging out with me across ELEVEN years of Gladiator!

#sokkla #sokka #azula #gladiator #fic-to-art project #zuko #aang #katara #rui shi #fei li #tai wei #and a rando #yes that guy is a rando he's there to symbolize all the randos in that scene #do not look too deep into it it isn't deep at all hahahahahaha #Xin Long continues to be the bane of my existence I love him I hate drawing him #I don't know if he's good enough but I hope the emotional punch of THAT MOMENT #is enough to make up for any flaws ahahahaha welp #... also yes I'm not even sorry this was my excuse to go wild drawing as much Sokkla as I could #and my patrons were so damn nice to give me so many excuses to do just that!#how could I refuse? :'D #anyway I really hope you guys enjoy #the new pieces are glazed #nightshade killed itself when I asked it to work with them #I got annoyed and left it as it was #the last one did get both things #OKAY! DONE!#I HAVE AN HOUR AND A HALF LEFT OF ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION IN THIS TIMEZONE #Seyary out (?)

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elix8r · 9 months

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it's raining, it's pouring - teaser

FULL FIC HERE

PAIRING: cheetah hybrid!mark x house cat hybrid!y/n

GENRES: hybrid!au, smut, angst, enemies to ?

TEASER WC: 0.54k i'm editing it rn and i'm thinking that the end product will be around 5k?

SUMMARY: Hating Mark could almost be considered your part-time job ever since Taeyong adopted him. But on one fateful night, a raging storm strikes, and with Taeyong nowhere to be found, you find yourself seeking an unlikely source of comfort - your annoying cheetah roommate.

It was obvious that you were beyond stressed, and even without smelling you, Mark could feel anxiety radiating off of you. It was indeed storming terribly outside, and now Mark was becoming worried knowing that Taeyong was out there. But seeing your state, he came to the conclusion that it would do no one any good to have the both of you freaking out.

"Hey, I'm sure he's fine. I bet he's just waiting out the storm at his work. Why don't you come in here and wait together for him?" His words did not do much to ease your tension, but you did oblige (if it were other circumstances, you would never agree to enter his room, but desperate times called for desperate measures).

"But why isn't he answering my calls then? He knows that I hate storms, and I can't go through them without him! Mark, what if he's never coming back?" You had plopped yourself on top of his bed, eyes wide and lips quivering.

Mark sighed. "Y/N, now you're being ridiculous. Why would he just abandon us? He's probably not getting a signal or something more reasonable."

His dismissive response lacked empathy for your concerns, and you were now shedding tears. "What do you mean more reasonable? I think my concerns are valid! Maybe he's tired of us fighting all the time! I mean, we haven't been the best for him, and I know he's been having a hard time with us. It’s possible that he had it with us and just abandoned us to run away!"

The concern he previously felt was now gone as your dramatic rant slowly started to irk him more and more. Everyone knew that you were the main instigator of your fights, always being unfriendly towards Mark, so to have you group him with you had him scoffing. "You mean more like you were not being a good hybrid like you should have been. I mean, you're the one always instigating fights. I try my best to deal with you, but you're so bratty. Honestly, I'm surprised Taeyong's been able to deal with you this long."

Throughout the three years of living with Mark, you could only count a handful of times that he responded to you in such a manner. He was usually mild-mannered and overall just nice, so hearing this from him had you shocked. It was such a switch and instantly, you could feel his annoyance towards you in the air.

"Ma-Mark, what do you mean?" Your cries had yet to stop, and Mark rolled his eyes at you. Were you that dumb that you hadn't caught on to how frustrated Taeyong had recently been with your behavior? Taeyong was usually very tolerant, but even he was having a hard time with you.

"Jesus Y/N, are you seriously that stupid?" Even Mark was shocked at how he was talking to you, but this pent-up anger towards you had been a long time coming. He had been holding it all in, trying to be as good as he could to you despite your actions towards him, but now he was reaching a boiling point. He was beyond annoyed, and maybe this cold hard wake-up call was needed for you to start behaving better.

#nct dream smut #mark lee #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct mark #fic: it's raining it's pouring #hybrid!au #mark lee angst #mark lee au

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senditcolton · 4 months

Text

maybe this Christmastime, you'll realize

song inspo: santa doesn't know you like i do word count: 3k warnings: none, just pure holiday fluff (christmas centric)

a/n: i'm back!! and what better way to celebrate the conclusion of my graduate degree by giving you all a barely edited, written last night, self-indulgent fic to feed my delusion of Tyson Jost being madly in love with me. glad to be back and can't wait to write for you all again!!

The heat that blasts from the oven is a welcome sensation, considering that your old apartment often struggled to keep in the warmth from your central heating. You lean in, your oven mitt clad hand reaching and grasping the cookie sheet.

You’d be the first to admit that you weren’t much of a baker. That was never your ‘job’ during holidays with your family. But you figured you would try this year since you wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy the homemade goodies your family crafted.

That was the reason you chose to bake cookies. The reason you chose to bake almond butter cookies was because of someone else. Someone who also wasn’t able to enjoy the comforts of home this year.

As if he could hear your thoughts, a knock echoes through your apartment. You quickly finish transferring the cookies from the still hot baking sheet onto the cooling rack before wiping off your hands and running towards the front door. You swing open the worn wood and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you see Tyson standing there.

“Hey. Happy Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Is that the official name?” he laughs, walking into your apartment like it was his own. Which considering how often he was over at your place, it might as well be.

“You haven’t seen that episode of Friends?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, taking off his coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“Thanks. I tried my hand at baking.”

“And you didn’t burn the apartment down?” he smiles and you wish you could stop the way your knees weaken at the sight.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You better be nice to me or else you won’t get any almond butter cookies.” This time, you didn’t want to stop the trill of your heart at the way his eyes brightened at your words.

“Almond butter?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards the kitchen, a silent invitation for him. He took your encouragement in stride, breezing into the other room and you were thankful that he was out of earshot when you said your next words.

“I made them just for you.”

You did. You also opened your home to him, welcoming him any day during this, the week of Christmas. But that was just because you didn’t want him to be lonely. That was all. That was the only reason.

It definitely wasn’t because of the crush you had been harboring for him since the first day you met.

No, absolutely not.

You take a deep breath before following Tyson into the kitchen, turning the corner only to find him already munching on a cookie, a grin on his face and some crumbs stuck on his facial hair.

“I know they’re probably not as good as Grandma Jost’s but –” Tyson cuts you off with a gentle call of your name.

“Stop. These are delicious. You did a really good job.”

“Thanks,” you say. It’s only then that you spy the backpack that he carried in with him, one that was now placed on your kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, as if he just remembered it himself. You are even more curious when you see the blush spread on his cheeks, the rosy color having nothing to do with the lingering cold from outside. “I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“You mentioned that you were in charge of wrapping presents at your house for the holidays. And I’m really bad at it. I mean, usually I struggle through it or just put everyone’s gifts in bags…”

You gently interrupt his explanation with a laugh of your own, your brain goes over all the gifts Tyson has given you; mostly presented to you in gift bags.

“But since I can’t go home this year, I kind of want to – I don’t know – make more of an effort. Make it more exciting for whenever my family does get their presents. If that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense, Tyson,” you reply. “Sit. Eat your cookies. I’ll get the wrapping paper.”

Only a few short moments pass before you find yourself sitting next to Tyson, wrapping the stockpile of presents he brought over and listening to him talk about anything and everything: details about the gift you were currently wrapping, his shopping adventures, the hockey season so far, friend and family updates, anything. You occasionally interrupt with questions about how he wants the presents decorated but he gives you a lot of creative freedom which you slightly admonish him for.

“Tyson, they should feel like they’re from you.”

“I’ll pick out the bows.”

That was how you continued, your focus on the folds and creases of the paper in front of you while Tyson talked.

You had gone through most of the gift he presented to you, your concentration entirely on the folding and taping that you perfected long ago. Tyson had gone quiet for a moment but you weren’t that concerned as you were still able to hear him rustling around in the bag that held all your bows, finding whatever color he chose for the current gift. You are just about to put the last piece of tape on when you feel Tyson’s fingers gently press against your head.

Your eyes snap back to him, only to see that adorable crooked grin on his face. You are pretty sure you knew what happened and your thoughts are only confirmed as you reach up and feel the paper of the bow pressed onto your hair.

“Is this the one you want for this gift?”

“It looks pretty cute on you,” he says and you once again have to force yourself to take a deep breath before your body acts of its own volition, revealing your feelings in probably the worst way.

“I’m sure it’ll look much better on the present,” you quip, taking it off your hair and replacing the tape before sticking it onto the silver paper. “Ta-da!” You push the present off to the side, adding to the slowly growing pile. “What’s next?”

You turn your attention to Tyson, but this time, he’s the one distracted. His fingers tap against his phone, typing out few quick messages, a small grin appearing on his face occasionally. You wait for a few minutes, just watching him until he feels your gaze and looks up towards you.

“Huh?”

“Which present is next?”

“Oh, last one,” he says, pulling the final gift out of his backpack and handing it to you. “This one is for Kacey.”

“Was that who you were texting?”

“No um, that was Mikayla. She’s this girl I matched with on a dating app a little while ago. We’re just getting last minute details ready before our date tonight.”

His words give you literal pause as your scissors stall on the wrapping paper, your smooth precise cut turning into a jagged edge.

“Tonight?” you ask, your question answered with an affirmative hum from him. You try to act nonchalant, a shrug lifting your shoulders as you attempt to focus back on the task at hand. “Seems a little odd – so close to Christmas.”

“Yeah, but it was the best day for her and I don’t have anywhere else to be, y’know?”

You try not to let his words sting, knowing he doesn’t mean them maliciously. He wasn’t with his family and you were just a friend. He didn’t have any commitments because he wasn’t committed to you. That was the simple truth.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, forcing your attention onto the cherry red wrapping paper in your hands; the one thing you could control. “I think a gold bow would look good on this one.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tyson replies, typing out one last quick message before diving back into the bag to find the color you requested.

A few short minutes later, the presents are wrapped and placed back into Tyson’s pack, safe and ready for their return to his apartment. You watched from your couch as his throws his coat over his broad frame before swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

“If you want, you can always come over tomorrow. I need some help finishing off those cookies,” you playfully tease, trying not to let your heart get too attached to the idea of spending Christmas Eve with him next to you.

“I might take you up on that,” Tyson says, shooting you a gentle smile before opening your door and leaving, the chill sneaking in from the outside and finding a way to wrap around your heart.

You know you had no right to be upset. Tyson wasn’t yours. He didn’t know the way you felt about him and there was no certainty that he would even share your feelings. He might only ever see you as a friend and if that was the case… he should be free to find someone who does love him.

But there was this stubborn part of you that couldn’t imagine anyone else loving Tyson as much as you loved him. You’ve been there through the good and bad. You knew his favorite songs. You knew how to make him laugh. And you would always pick up when he called.

Who else could say that?

You sigh, gently telling yourself that there was nothing you could do about it tonight.

Perhaps Christmas Eve might bring forth some holiday magic. Or maybe you should just throw in the towel, pray for New Year’s to come quickly so you could leave this heartache behind along with the holiday season.

You weren’t sure which to wish for so you just crawled into bed, feeling bluer that ever before as you fell asleep, trying not to think of someone else’s lips pressed against Tyson’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lights in the tree blurred as you try to hold back you tears. You always seemed to cry during the holidays; you never really knew why. It just always came about this time of year. ‘Tis the season, right?

But this year, you could pinpoint the exact person that caused your tears to fall. Tyson Jost. The worst part about it was that it wasn’t even his fault that you were crying. It was all yours.

You woke up after a listless night of sleeping. When you went to check your phone, you hoped to see a message from Tyson but to your disappointment but not surprise, there was no notification on your screen. You managed to roll yourself out from underneath your covers and go about your morning routine before sending a text to him, saying that you hoped his date went well and that the offer to come over tonight was still on the table.

That was over twelve hours ago and all you received was radio silence from him.

Perhaps that is why you found yourself curled up underneath your tree, staring up at the lights in the boughs, trying to push back tears. It was a stupid reason to cry just like it was stupid to fall for your best friend. Stupid to think that he could ever see you as anything more. Stupid to think that maybe this Christmas would be the one where it all changed.

Stupid to spend your money on a new watch, wrap it up for him with a note documenting your feelings in the hope that he would open it tonight, here, underneath your tree while you both ate the cookies you made specifically for him.

Your fingers trace over the silk ribbon, fidgeting with the bow as the minutes tick by, your hope dwindling with them.

The receipt for it was still in your closet in one of your purses. You could return it on Tuesday, pretend like you never had this grand scheme and go back to being friends with Tyson. Give yourself another year to get over him. Maybe next year you finally would.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you spare one last glance down at the parcel in your hands before placing it back underneath the tree with all the other presents that your friends and family had sent to you.

It was a silly idea, an almost childish Christmas dream and now, you had to wake up. Tyson was dating other people and sooner or later, he would find someone who could give him everything you could and possibly more. Perhaps he found her last night and woke up this morning to her curled up in his arms and that feeling of love just struck him and if so, there was nothing you could do and –

The knock on your door startles you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hand hitting a few ornaments hanging down from the branches. You quickly grab them, stabilizing the fragile decor before you lift yourself off the floor, your blanket pooling beneath you before you wander to the front door.

You had no idea who was knocking at this time of night but you must have been too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to care because you opened the door without a second thought. It took you a minute to fully register the person standing on your doorstep but when you saw those chocolate curls and those big brown eyes, you feel a sense of calm sweep over you.

Tyson always pulled that feeling from you. Even when he showed up unannounced on Christmas Eve.

Although you were happy to see him, the expression on your face was one of confusion. Why was he here, now, without a word of warning, after ignoring you for almost a full 24 hours? You are about to ask those questions but before you could get a word out, Tyson speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

His words catch you off-guard, the meaning behind them not yet clear to you.

“For what?” you ask him. Your breath shallows as he turns his gaze to you and you are struck by the earnestness reflecting in his eyes.

“For not seeing you,” he replies, stepping over the threshold of your apartment and closer to you. “For not seeing how wonderful and amazing and beautiful you are.”

“Wha – what’s happening?” you question, his words sending shockwaves through your body.

“I think a part of me always knew; that you were the one. But I ignored it for whatever reason. Fear, indifference, whatever. But last night, when I was on a date with another girl, all I could think about was you. How you make me laugh, make me smile. Pick me up and encourage me when I’m down. Do silly inconsequential things for me without expecting anything in return.”

Tyson continues to speak, becoming more assured and confident with every word, punctuating each sentence with a step closer to you.

“How you went out of your way to make cookies that remind me of home so I would feel less alone this holiday season. No one else has done anything like that for me.”

You had to be hallucinating or dreaming or something. This felt straight out of goddamn Hallmark movie – it couldn’t be real life. It was a fantasy brought on by sugar and heartache. But when Tyson reaches out to you, gently grasping your hands in his, you can feel the warmth of his touch run through you, warm and as real as it ever was.

“And I realized last night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t need the cookies, the presents, the bows and ribbons to feel like I was home,” Tyson confesses, his voice becoming softer as he pulls you closer. “Whenever I’m with you… that’s when I’m home. You are home to me. And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this long for me to realize it.”

Tyson silences, looking into your eyes and you know he’s waiting for your answer but you were still trying to fully understand this whole situation. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man in front of you, the man that you had a crush for almost an entire year, just came to your house in the middle of the night and confessed his feelings to you.

Your body slightly jumps at the sound of your front door closing, the breeze pulling it shut but Tyson gently rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, soothing you. A small jingle of a bell sounds from above you, brought on by the gust of air from the door. The noise pulls both you and Tyson’s attention away from each other towards the ceiling and you feel your cheeks warm at the sight of the green leaves with white berries, tied together with ribbon, hanging above you. The warmth intensifies as Tyson turns his gaze on you once again, that mischievous look in his eyes.

“Mistletoe? Really?”

“It’s tradition,” you mutter, your tongue finally being able to twist itself into words.

“Well, it is Christmas after all. I guess we shouldn’t break tradition,” he grins.

You force yourself to breathe as Tyson leans closer to you, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel his forehead press against yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your cheeks but his movements stall and when you don’t feel the gentle press of his lips against yours, you slowly reopen your eyes.

Tyson is still standing there, his lips only mere centimeters away from yours. It’s only then that you realize you’ve never given him a response to his confession. Haven’t yet told him that it was everything that you had been hoping to hear from him. But how could you possibly respond when it didn’t feel like there were words in the English language to describe the depth of your feelings?

The answer was simple.

You respond by lifting yourself up those final inches and pressing your lips against his. You pour every emotion you felt into that kiss and you could feel a piece of you settle when Tyson kissed you back with as much passion.

And you knew that this – wrapped up in Tyson’s arms underneath the mistletoe, his lips against yours – was the best present you could have ever received this year.

#nicole writes #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fluff #buffalo sabres fic #buffalo sabres imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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ozzgin · 16 days

Note

Do you have any advice for those who want to post their stories and ideas on here but are just starting out

Not sure if I'm the best person to offer advice on these matters, as I feel my presence here has been mostly accidental. That being said, I am capable of introspection and I've been here long enough to notice patterns, so I can gladly share my own observations with you! Feel free to draw your own conclusions. Everyone else is invited to offer corrections or additions. :)

Guide under the cut because it's another long ramble divided in 3 parts.

What to post

The million-dollar question. Do you want to share original stories, or fanfiction? Various genres, or reader centered romances? You have the choice to try your luck and dive in with your own thing or scour the market to build a following first.

I've seen trending original stories from accounts who'd just started out, but don't use that as a reference for the quality of your own work. If you're not gaining traction, it doesn't automatically mean it's bad. There are hundreds of variables involved: the time, the context, the people. It takes one big blog to discover your story and share it, and you've taken your first step into recognition. The main issue is, there's no guarantee when or if it's going to happen.

Your other choice is to introduce yourself with fanfiction. Consider it a way of saying “let me show you my writing skills through something of your interest”. If you've been wanting to write fanfiction from the beginning, great! Now comes the next question: what is your goal? If you want more recognition, you'll want to consider the fandoms. Is there something you're into that's currently also trending on Tumblr? Writing for Hazbin Hotel, for example, will most likely get you more notes than writing for some 90s manga very few people know about. At the end of the day, you shouldn't feel pressured to write for what's "selling", but you can always find a compromise that works for you. Once you gain more followers, you can always sprinkle in more variety. Having more people who appreciate your work will give you a little boost when venturing into other areas.

I'll give you my personal case: I decided to share my Baki story right at the time a new season was out. It just so happened that many other people were interested in said character. "I only watched two episodes and immediately searched for fics", or "I saw an edit and now I'm here". So, there were people actively keeping tab on recent works for more content, and one of the relevant blogs in the fandom shared my content as well. That got the ball rolling. I've always been a multi-fandom blog, and thus with more visitors came more diverse requests. "Wait a minute, I came for X, but I see you like Y, too!"

TL;DR: If you're interested in original work or lesser known fandoms but want recognition, try to expand into trending and popular fandoms to gain visibility.

How to post

Is there a specific template you must adhere to? Absolutely not. However, I've noticed many common elements from people sharing their stories. There are authors who will dive right into the story, no title, no descriptions, but they already have followers who know what to expect. If you're just starting out, you might want to offer a helping hand to people who don't know you yet. Have a concise, clear title. Make it obvious from the beginning what your story is about. You can include trigger warnings or content previews. Maybe a little synopsis or two-three sentences to summarize everything. I've seen some blogs mention that their shorter stories get more interaction (1-2k words), so this might be something to consider. If you would prefer going for longer works, perhaps it's wise to give everyone a heads-up and include the word count at the beginning. If you want to encourage people to check out your other works, you can include a link to your masterlist at the top of the post.

Regardless of appearances, once your content is written, it needs to be tagged. Which brings us to the next topic:

This truly isn't meant to call anyone out, just something I noticed. Many people don't know how to use the hashtag feature.

Let me give you a fabricated example: you just published your best fanfiction so far. The magnum opus of your work. Time passes, and you barely get any notes. You tagged the post with #fanfic (because it's fanfiction, right?), #writers of tumblr (to notify other writers of your presence), and #series name. It's not bad by any means, but these are extremely generic hashtags. If your only anchor for the post is, say, #Harry Potter, it will be immediately drowned by the massive influx of various content under this tag: memes, fanart, discussions, screenshots. Everything meets here. If your story is a reader insert, your target is not only the overall fandom, but specifically the people looking for this type of story. Which characters are featured? Is it more of a fluffy romance, or downright smut? Is your original character a monster? If so, what kind? You have to help people find your content. If you're not sure what tags to include, use other blogs as reference. Find stories similar to yours and check the top posts. What other tags did the author use? Is there a common pattern among these popular stories?

TD;DR: Make your posts clear and obvious within the first few lines. Overly general or overly specific tags are not bad, but they shouldn't be your only identifying features. Make it very easy for people to navigate your blog (masterlists, consistent hashtag system, etc)

When to post

At one point I asked myself, out of curiosity, why some of my own posts are more popular than others despite the same amount of effort. Is there a difference depending on when you release your content? The answer is yes! There's an article discussing the best times to post on social media in order to maximize engagement. Of course, there's many variables involved, and these time intervals are not a guarantee. When are your followers most active? When do you notice a peak in notifications? Have a look at this neat desktop feature. It gives you all the answers you need. If your engagement is the highest at a given hour, it might be worth a shot to post your content then. You can also schedule your posts to match the patterns.

Let's say you posted something, and you suspect it hasn't reached all of your followers. Maybe it was a slow day, and it got less engagement than usual. I've seen people who reblog their own content the next day or even regularly, so you can opt for that if you're worried you missed out.

Additionally, Tumblr seems to reward activity. You may post as often or as little as you'd like, as long as you maintain a certain regularity. If you search for top posts/blogs of all time, you'll notice it's not actually an all-time chart, but only the content with recent engagement. A post with a million notes that hasn't been touched in 5 years won't show up. Same for blogs. The recommendations you see are of accounts who frequently post under the given hashtag. This is something to keep in mind as well.

Lastly, if you're willing/are extroverted enough, you can always try to network and build a group of mutuals. Reblog, leave comments, reach out to people within the fandom or who do the same thing. When a post is fresh, it may be temporarily bumped to the top of the search if it receives a burst of engagement. So, it definitely helps to have a bunch of friends who give you a little boost.

Yeah. This is what I have. It's not a matter-of-fact textbook, just what I personally witnessed or my own inferences. The most important detail is to give yourself time, and of course to have fun! I wish you the best of luck, and don’t forget that your ideas are worthy regardless of the outcome.

#personal #advice #sorry for the ramble y'all this is what 6 years in academia does to you

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elephant-in-the-pride-parade · 2 months

Text

That Troll Accusing P/T fics and Trek Fic Writers Blogs (Including me) of Racism could be a Right-Wing Bot.

Edit (4/16): I would like to emphasize that i really hope this theory is not true. It stemmed from having had multiple friends and acquaintances in the voyager fandom (white and not) be suicide baited and otherwise harassed with vague accusations of racism over the past year, (for P/T primarily, but other ships and characters on occasion too) yah we did cycle through a lot of explanations. Ultimately our anon(s) being someone with either a malicious motive or an extremely ill thought out and unproductive approach, were the explanations that wound up making the most sense. the content of the anon asks and comments i am refering too has been both vague and painful, and further, never came from a real ao3 or tumblr account. these also came with no evidence based points for the fic writers to work on.

I do not believe this theory below to be anywhere near the most plausible. but it is the only conclusion we could make sense of for a slew of similar anon messages that, at the end of the day, did a lot of hurt without making any concrete points that writers could take action on. By making this analysis, my hope is not to convince you all that a right wing troll is out to get voyager fic writers. Instead, i hope it comforts writers who have gotten similar attacks and helps them to dismiss messages that come with harassment and suicide baiting, rather than evidence based points. And i hope if there are real people behind those anons that seeing this analysis helps them to reconsider the effect their approach is having.

Original Post from 3/2

At first I thought I was paranoid post-2016 and 2020, but now I've been hit a couple times and seen comments on more of the affected fics. And I'm seeing concerning themes.

I make a couple of assumptions here: 1. My anon (whom I will refer to throughout as "The Anon") is the same each time. 2. The Anon is the same actor or belongs to the same group as The Anon troll commenting on P/T and some J/C fics.

The Anon as a Bot Evidence:

1. The Anon accusations are sweeping, but generic. They do not use in-fic textual evidence to justify their comments. You write P/T: You're a Tom apologist. You think Belanna is his exotic wife. You justify your blatant anti-latina racism by casting her anger as an inherent a Klingon trait. You write J/C: You think Chakotay is a noble savage and fetishize him. You write Harry Kim: You're infantilizing him.

These tropes and stereotypes are legitimate concerns that fic writers should care about and should be mindful of. These accusations on the other hand are not legitimate. They are left as guest comments or anonymous asks on fics heedless of the fic content or writer's background or track record. The AO3 comments do not reference fic content. They are repeated across all impacted writers. They target new and veteran writers alike. They target fics regardless of rating.

2. Comments that appear to reference fic specifics go no farther fic tags.

This was harder to catch. But a P/T fic tipped me off last month. It was tagged "Tom & Belanna & Miral". The Anon's first comment on that fic dove in accusing the fic of incest. This showed both that the anon had not read the fic content - they also didn't understand the difference between a / tag and an & tag. (Which also means the programmer of the tag-reading bot or human actor creating tag-based comments is not literate in how fandom ship tags are structured - they may not be a fan at all!)

3. The Anon never replies. Not on AO3 or on Tumblr. (All AO3 comments from "The Anon" seem to stick to the automatically assigned Anon name or use a generic, short first name like "Sam").

Exceptions to this - the rare ocasions where someone sympathetic to the anon replies break from the distinctive patterns of The Anon. Replies come from either burner accounts or guests with more unique names. And these replies are both A - fewer and far between - suggesting they are a different actor - and B - by and large quite serious and thoughtful. I take them to be real people, legitimate fans concerned about racism, caught up in the crossfire.

4. The Anon uses language intended to engender right-wing sympathies and white-moderate anger.

The Anon sent this in their message to me the other day. I will bold the relevant passages.

"You’re the perfect example of the kind of white person who ruins fandom for everyone else, a nasty racist bitch who cares more about their shitty fanfiction than the feelings of actual people of color. Keep using your precious freedom of speech to fetishize brown men I guess

"The kind of white person": This anon has no proof of my race and proof doesn't matter to them. (They have targeted writers of color and white writers alike) They are indiscriminant because they are hoping some of their targets are white women. They are also attempting to out-group white women from the rest of fandom - trying to engender in me feelings of being alienated from my community.

"Nasty racist bitch" "Nasty woman" incidentally is what Trump famously called Hilary Clinton during a 2016 debate. Calling me a racist is there to put me on the defensive (and to alienate me from my coalition) Im meant to feel shocked and disheartened by this accusation. And in a way, keeping this generic serves a purpose. A lack of specificity makes it harder for me to defend myself. "Bitch" is there to trigger my fear/anger response. It is also assuming my gender - again. The anon doesnt care if they accidentally sent this hate to a man or nonbinary person or a person of color. they are betting that at least a plurality of targets will be their key white woman demographic.

"people of color" - while it is correct terminology - is also terminology of the US left/democratic wing. By using this term the Anon is in-grouping themselves with the left - trying again to make me feel like an outsider.

Finally, the kicker is the Freedom of Speech part of this ask.

The Anon is using the concept of free speech here in the same way that the MAGA crowd does, to mean that I ought to be able to say whatever I want regardless of how it hurts others, rather than the legal term's actual definition - the right to critique one's government without being jailed or killed.

By accusing me of caring about Freedom of Speech this way they're not trying to make me feel guilt - theyre trying to hurt me, make me angry, and guide me to sympathize with Republicans. They are using the term this way to push me to think of my fanfic in terms of free speech and thus to agree with Republican freedom of speech talking points. Or if I reject the accusation - to feel torn between Left and Right.

The Anon is trying to sow discord. Theyre employing the same tactics that broke the Womens March movement in 2021, and that pervaded so many Facebook groups and twitter in the last two US election cycles. They are using tactics honed to cleave apart progressives and moderates.

My only question after all those realizations was: why the fuck are they doing this to such a niche group as star trek fanfiction writers.

And then it hit me.

The Anon's Motive: Trek Fic Writers are a Target Election Demographic.

By and large, US fan writers of ships from 90s star trek are women, often millenial and gen x women, many likely to be suburban. And yes - more likely to be white. In short we are part of the same demographic Trump lost in 2020 and needs to either win back this year, or try keep from going to the polls.

You can tell me I sound ridiculous - I think this whole stinking situation is ridiculous. I'm not unaware of how fringe a theory this is. I've been taught to always assume incompetence before malice. And for a while I considered that maybe The Anon was genuine. Maybe they had good intentions and poor execution. I'm sure I could write characters of color better (I am not afraid to admit that I'm still learning. Being wrong isnt something to be afraid of). I wanted this to be the case actually, but I have too much evidence and motive in favor of malicious bot tactics to ignore.

I have tried so hard to think of a reason I'm wrong. Except that all the pieces make sense. No fic / writer specific grievances have been aired by The Anon. They hit the same points every time, again, without textual evidence. They never reply. They chose words that wound and inflame but that never say anything specific about the fic or writer.

And wouldn't it be damn convenient for the Trump camp if a bunch of progressive and moderate US star trek fans decided not to vote because they were disheartened by being accused of racism and felt alienated from the democratic coalition.

This is a niche community. But we likely arent the only targets. And as a friend reminded me tonight, it doesnt take much to move the needle.

#paris/torres #star trek fandom #the troll anon #racism #if you do happen to be the anon the easiest way to prove im wrong is to make a burner account and come talk to me #tell me what parts of my fics you found problematic im really not afraid to hear it

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wanderinginksplot · 1 year

Text

Refuge Chapter Four

Continued Delta Squad x fem!reader fic

Sorry for the late update, guys! I've had crazy writer's block, plus I'm trying to work through getting my sideblog un-shadowbanned. Anyway, here we go!

Word Count: 5,700

Warnings: Discussions of the Separatist occupation of Voubos, a condescending GAR officer, and more self-indulgent plot devices.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

A Proposal

Barriss Offee was a kind girl, if a little quiet.

She had taken you directly to the Jedi’s clothing… supply. She hadn’t actually given the room a name, now that you thought about it, but she had brought you there first. You were grateful for that. The sonic shower on Delta Squad’s ship had removed most of the physical contaminants from your skin, hair, and clothing, but there was a film of river scum on everything and your tunic smelled like you had been wearing it for a month.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

In any case, the Jedi Order had some spare clothing they let you have. The items were simple and well-worn, but your new leggings and tunic felt nothing short of luxurious. Barriss even managed to find a pair of soft boots for you.

When you were fully dressed once more, Barriss led you all to an expansive room filled with tables. A delicious smell came from a long table on one side of the room, but your guide seemed distracted by the group of people - made up largely of teenagers - calling greetings to her.

“There are only limited dishes at this time of the day,” Barriss explained, “but you have several options. Please, feel free to help yourselves. I will be nearby if you need anything.”

Delta Squad lingered uncomfortably, but you didn’t need a second invitation. You hadn’t eaten anything other than ration bars for two days, and they didn’t make the most appetizing meal. You had missed real food.

Most of the dishes on the table were unfamiliar to you, but you made several choices based on scent and ended up with an overloaded plate before you knew it. Fighting the urge to take even more, you retrieved utensils and scurried off to a table while Delta Squad was still choosing their own meals.

The tables were long and lined with benches of equal length. The Jedi scattered around the room seemed to have formed small groups. Most groups contained beings of similar ages, but there were more than a few pairs of older Jedi and younger students, or a single Jedi surrounded by a handful of fascinated younglings. You shook your head, still floored by the new realization that the Jedi were not only real, they believed you to be one of them.

No, not one of them, you internally edited a moment later. Your abilities weren’t strong enough to be those of a real Jedi. You just had some sort of connection to their mystical Force… That sounded strange and off-putting to you, but your instincts had saved your life more times than you could count, so you couldn’t be entirely ungrateful. At least, not until you learned what conclusions the Jedi Council had drawn during their private conversation.

The thought made you nervous enough that your stomach twisted, so you pushed it away and focused on your meal. You were halfway through the pile of food by the time anyone joined you: Boss and Sev on either side of you while Scorch and Fixer took spots across from you.

Your table manners were terrible, but you were too busy eating to worry about that. Some kind of spiced meat disappeared from your plate, followed by roasted vegetables. The spoonful of unidentifiable fluff you had taken turned out to be a type of starchy vegetable. You found that you didn't enjoy the long slices of herb-crusted fish. Whether that was because of the spices or because it reminded you of vomiting up river water and half-digested fish, you couldn't be sure, but you pushed it off to the side regardless.

When you finally slowed, Scorch was grinning at you. "You eat like a clone."

"My apologies," you said, wishing you had thought to grab a napkin only seconds before Sev handed you one.

"You don't need to apologize for that," Boss told you. "You must have needed it. What I do want to know is why you left the ship when we specifically told you not to."

You ducked your head, which gave you an excellent view of Fixer moving some of the starchy fluff from his plate to yours. You sent him a quick smile in thanks and turned to face Boss once more.

The intensity you had noted in him before was even more pronounced when you were sitting this close. You looked directly at him, then away again, unable to hold direct contact with those eyes.

"My mind was too loud," you admitted, shifting uncomfortably in your spot on the bench. "I couldn't stop thinking about Voubos and everything that happened there. I had to leave or have a breakdown. I'm sorry. I hope I didn't get you into any trouble."

Boss continued looking stern until he sighed and passed you the piece of bread from his plate. "Let us worry about the trouble. You had to get out. Did you find what you needed outside?"

"Not really," you admitted, then laughed. "Though when you're looking for a distraction, nothing beats being told your instincts are actually part of an ancient religious system."

"Do you think they're gonna give you a lightsaber?" Scorch asked. It was so far from the other questions on your mind that you could only stare blankly at him.

"The real question is whether she'll be tried for treason or if we'll be the only ones," Sev scoffed.

“They can’t!” you denied immediately. Your voice was too loud, and you choked on the bread you had been in the middle of eating. Sev thumped you between the shoulder blades a few times to help dislodge it. “I won’t let them.”

“You aren’t a general or a Jedi,” Fixer pointed out. “Technically, you aren’t even a citizen of the Republic. What could you do to stop them if they decided to court-martial us?”

“I’d…” you trailed off, having not really thought this far ahead. “I’d do something.”

Scorch snorted. “Leave the plotting to us, nattie. We’re better at it.”

Boss shook his head at him. “And you’re the worst of the whole squad, Scorch. Lay off.”

“Ouch, Boss,” Scorch tossed back, though his broad grin showed exactly how seriously he took his sergeant’s censure.

“What are you going to do if they do decide to accuse you of treason?” you asked, breathless with the idea alone. You were struggling under a surge of guilt at referring to it as their problem rather than one you had a share in, but Scorch had made a good point. Technically speaking… you were no one. “I mean, I would fight for you, but I don’t think it would mean very much. Oh! I could try to-”

“Easy, nattie,” Sev told you, half-laughing with his harsh voice. “I wasn’t being serious.”

“You-? Oh. So you… You’ll all be fine?” you summarized weakly.

“More or less,” Fixer replied with a shrug. “We might get a slap on the wrist for picking you up from Voubos, but we knew that was a risk.”

“You knew?” You frowned, suddenly realizing that you had done nothing but repeat things, ask questions, or ramble for the past few minutes. “I just don’t understand why you would take such a chance for… me.”

The men exchanged glances, something you pretended not to see while you paid attention to your nearly empty plate.

“You helped us,” Boss told you. “And you did it when there was no benefit to you. You tried to keep us from danger on your world. And then the Seppies arrested you, burnt down your house, and were going to-”

He cut off what he was going to say and you glanced up at him curiously, that curiosity only deepening when you saw him shake his head. You glanced over at Sev and found a muscle dancing in his jaw, but he didn’t offer an explanation, either.

“I never did find out exactly what they were planning to do with me,” you admitted carefully. “Execution, but… was there more?”

“Yes,” Sev said sharply.

“What was it?” you asked. “I don’t really know what more they would have done.”

“It’s better that way,” Fixer told you.

“Oh, but-”

“No, nattie,” Scorch said, cutting off your protests with a tone that was shockingly firm for someone who spent so much of his time making jokes. “Don’t ask.”

You closed your mouth and gave a small nod, but there was nowhere for the conversation to go after that. The table fell silent, and that silence stretched until Barriss reappeared just behind Fixer’s shoulder.

“The Council has not finished their deliberations yet,” she announced, “but I can show you some of the Temple if you would like.”

“Yes, please,” you agreed instantly, pushing yourself away from the table.

When Delta Squad had gathered behind you, Barriss gave you all a measured look. “What exactly would you be interested in seeing? There are certain sections of the Temple to which you do not have access, but there are meditation rooms, study areas, extensive gardens…”

“We’re just following along, Commander,” Boss said, before you could ask what Delta Squad wanted to see. “Ask her.”

Barriss nodded thoughtfully, then took a step closer to you even as she lowered her voice. “If you’ll excuse me saying it, you seem… I believe you are off balance. I mean no offense, but you seem to need some peace. You may benefit from meditation.”

“I don’t really… meditate,” you admitted, feeling like that was an insensitive thing to say to a Jedi. You were struggling to think of them in a setting outside of a story, but they were often portrayed as defenders of the peace who meditated to retain or strengthen their connection to the Force.

“Perhaps now would be an ideal time to start.” Barriss’s smile was kind, even when faced with your hesitation. “Or we could find a later opportunity. Is there anything that puts your mind at ease? Any activity that allows you to concentrate while your mind rests?”

“Sewing,” you admitted, your face heating at her curious look. “Sorry, I just- The movements are simple and they just let me think about things when they don’t feel so… close.”

The silence that fell was thoughtful, but you still shifted your weight uneasily, worried you were making a bad impression. A presence stepping up just short of your shoulder gave you an odd sense of comfort.

“Do you have a room for sewing in this temple?” Sev asked from just behind you. “You’ve gotta fix these clothes somewhere.”

“We do,” Barriss agreed eventually. “It is far from the most impressive place, but I can show you if you wish. Are you sure you would not prefer to visit the library? Or the music room, perhaps? They are much more popular with outside guests.”

“I’d love to see the sewing room, myself,” Scorch told her, laying it on thick. “What about you, Fixer? Boss?”

“It would be interesting to see how much work goes into supporting the clothing needs for a group this large,” Fixer mused.

Boss took longer to reply, but he only said, “Whatever she wants.”

“Very well,” Barriss said, clearly doubtful but trying to hide it. “Follow me.”

—

Fixer hadn’t been lying; he did think it was interesting how the Jedi Order recycled clothing to meet the needs of such a large and diverse group of beings. Granted, a lot of it was probably born of necessity. The Jedi Order only gained financial support through donations from outside parties and a modest governmental stipend. The group didn’t earn credits in any way.

Not that they would be incapable of it, if they tried. The Jedi could farm out their skills to the highest bidder and be richer than anyone could dream. They would be persuasive lobbyists for the highest-paying politicians, frightful mercenaries for anyone rich enough to afford their skills, or unprecedentedly efficient thieves working on behalf of any organization who hired them. Hells, the natties on Coruscant would line up for blocks to have their future read by a real Jedi - anyone who could prove that their skills were more than just bravado and cleverly-concealed mechanisms.

But the Jedi did none of those things.

Instead, they existed on what they had access to. They accepted donations of clothing from generous civilians and made sure that clothing lasted long enough to be used by generations of students from younglings to adults. The Jedi took their limited funds and used them to purchase what they couldn’t find or make for themselves, somehow finding enough spare to help anyone in the galaxy they could.

Even now, with most Jedi masters working as generals in the Grand Army of the Republic, they didn’t collect payment. They could charge insane amounts of credits to use their talents on behalf of the Republic, but they didn’t. For all the unfairness that the clones weren’t paid for their work, at least they knew that their superior officers weren’t collecting a paycheck, either.

Whether that made the Jedi more sympathetic or utter fools, Fixer couldn’t be sure.

Either way, he couldn’t help but appreciate the Jedi just for this room alone. You were happier than he had seen you since they had all been sitting in your comfortable home as you taught them all how to knit. Actually, you were happier than Fixer had ever seen a civvie, especially over something as trivial as a sewing room. But, considering you had lost your comfortable home so recently, you could use some happiness.

It didn’t hurt that your joy made your face glow. You weren’t beaming or even smiling more than usual, but there was a deep contentment that had settled over you as soon as the doors had opened to reveal the room.

Scorch had given a slight exhale through his nose; that was as good as an exclamation of surprise for a clone trooper. Fixer privately agreed with his brother’s assessment. Commander Offee had been dismissive of the room, clearly of the opinion that they would find it underwhelming, but Fixer couldn’t see how.

It was an expansive space, filled with small tables holding machines that whirred with flashing needles and rotating spools of thread. Light filtered down from the ceiling, though there were small lamps at every workstation that offered more direct illumination. A few beings, presumably Jedi, were scattered around the tables, working on garments. Some of them sewed in silence while others held soft conversations brightened by occasional laughter.

Overall, it was a peaceful setting. Even Fixer could concede that much.

Ahead of him, you were already speaking excitedly to Commander Offee: “Do you simply alter the clothes you have or do you create new ones?”

Commander Offee looked taken aback by the question but, fortunately, she gave a real answer. If she had been dismissive or mocking, Fixer would have been forced to say something that would have broken - or at least intensely bruised - the chain of command.

“We decide that on a case-by-case basis,” she explained. “Certain members of the Order come from a heritage that determines how they would dress, and their clothing needs are taken into consideration when deciding how to prepare clothing. Master Luminara and I are Mirialan. Our cultural background means that we need clothing that offers more coverage, along with additional cloth for our hoods and hair coverings. If items come from the Mirialan community - and they often do - they are offered to Mirialan Jedi before they are added to the bulk clothing storage. If pre-made items cannot be found or altered, we are allowed to create the necessary pieces from cloth that is donated to the Temple.”

“That makes sense,” you agreed easily. “Your cape is beautiful. Did you make it or was it donated to the Temple?”

“Neither,” Commander Offee admitted, running her fingers over the patterned fabric with a soft smile. “When I first became a padawan, one of my early assignments was to accompany Master Luminara to Begamore as she offered aid to a group of our people who had begun to steal from a nearby community. They were simply trying to support themselves in a place that had become hostile. The group accepted our aid, but we offered to help them build a better community so that their troubles would never be repeated.”

“Clever,” you murmured, your voice low and soft enough that the commander wasn’t pulled from her reverie.

“The assignment was meant to be a simple one, but we stayed for several months as we worked to create a place where our people were not only tolerated, but accepted.” The commander was still smiling, tattooed face alight with warmth. “Even in such a short span of time, my master and I watched as the community began to thrive. Eventually, we were called away, but one of the women gifted me this cape. She said I should have something from my own culture to carry with me.”

“That’s a lovely gesture,” you remarked.

“It was,” the Mirialan agreed. “We were summoned back to Coruscant to discuss the Secessionist Movement with Chancellor Palpatine, which of course, led shortly into the war. Master Luminara and I have been fighting ever since, but I have never forgotten the joy that stems from offering aid to those across the galaxy who need it.”

The air of peace that had been emanating from you dimmed slightly and Fixer frowned, but you only said, “With any luck, the war will end soon and the Jedi will be able to take up old practices again.”

“Yes, with luck, skill, and a great deal of training,” Commander Offee agreed. “But while we fight a war, there are still younglings who need clothing. This room remains as it ever was - filled with donations and Jedi working to shape them into necessary items. Would you like to see anything else in the Temple, or would you rather stay here?”

You hesitated, glancing around the room before admitting, “I would like to stay here for a little while. I don’t need any clothing, but I could help out if anyone needs it?”

Commander Offee smiled. “There is always a need for someone to mend tears in clothing. It is often torn from use or by excited younglings learning to augment their abilities with the Force. If that is truly what you wish to do, the repairs section is here.”

She led you to a section of the room with clothing piled high, small tags detailing what had been damaged. As you settled in to sew fastenings onto clothing or neatly close rips in fabric, Boss took a step toward Fixer.

Immediately, Fixer’s attention was on his sergeant. Boss didn’t keep him waiting long. “If it comes to an investigation about why we went to Voubos, I’m taking full responsibility.”

“Respectfully, no,” Fixer told him.

Boss’s eyes narrowed, and Fixer couldn’t really blame him. He wasn’t typically one to argue, but this was something he didn’t intend to let slide… even if his sharp mind helped him guess exactly what Boss was going to try next.

“That’s an order, Fixer.”

Fixer almost smiled despite himself. That had been exactly what he had expected from Boss. However, he managed to keep an even expression and a firm tone as he said, “No, sir. No disrespect meant, but I won’t let you take responsibility for something we all wanted. As your second-in-command, I could have argued and I didn’t. At best, you can claim half the punishment, but the other half belongs to me.”

“The other half of what?” Sev asked, dark eyes suspicious as he glanced between Boss and Fixer. “What’s going on?”

Scorch followed closely behind Sev. “Yeah, we wanna be included, too!” He tossed an arm around Sev’s shoulders.

Sev pushed Scorch’s arm away, making a disgusted sound. “I don’t want to be included in anything with you, Scorch.”

“Men,” Boss said tiredly. “Fixer and I were discussing how to handle the possibility that we’ll be held accountable for our side trip to Voubos. I want to take full responsibility. I’m the squad leader and the ranking officer. Any repercussions should be mine. I’ll make it an order if I need to.”

Sev snorted loudly and, for once, Fixer didn’t mind the display of insubordination. In fact, he agreed whole-heartedly that their Sergeant was being ridiculous.

Scorch seemed to agree with Sev’s nonverbal dismissal. “Make it an order if it makes you feel better, Boss. We’ll just disregard that one, too. We’ve got the practice.”

Boss didn’t laugh… not that anyone had really expected him to. Instead, his jaw tightened and he tossed a firm look toward the rest of the squad. “There’s no reason for all of us to be reprimanded when I can take the blame.”

“Kark that,” Sev told him lowly. His rumbling voice held enough venom that it drew attention from the closest Jedi, along with Boss’s ire. In a concession clearly aimed toward placating the Jedi rather than the sergeant, Sev reluctantly tacked on, “Sir.”

“None of us agree, Boss,” Fixer summarized. “But maybe we should just see what happens. We don’t even know if the Jedi are going to go for formal discipline.”

“‘See what happens’?” Scorch repeated incredulously. “You feeling okay, Fixer? You always like to have a plan for everything, and a backup plan for that, and then a backup backup plan in case something goes wrong with the backup…”

Sev dug his elbow into Scorch’s ribs. “He’s helping us for once, di’kut. Don’t let your personality ruin it.”

Fixer glared at both of his brothers, but couldn’t deny that the comment had stung. Maybe he was tough on Scorch and Sev, but it was only because that was the best way he could find to keep them safe. Though he couldn’t deny that the ‘wait and see’ method was extremely out of character for him. He did prefer to plan everything down to the last detail.

Now that it had been pointed out to him, though, Fixer couldn’t help but wonder about his own change of heart. What could have happened that changed a fundamental part of his personality so intensely?

Fixer’s eyes were wandering as his mind whirred, a common habit for him, but his gaze paused in its journey around the room when you glanced in his direction and offered a smile over the pair of pants you were mending. His lips quirked in response without his permission, and he stifled the emotion as a comlink beeped.

Commander Offee answered the comlink, listened intently to a conversation too quiet for Fixer to hear across such a long distance, then glanced over at Delta Squad. “The Council has asked us to return.”

—

You weren’t going to let the Jedi punish Delta Squad.

You had decided that much almost as soon as Sev had mentioned that repercussions were a possibility, but your determination had only grown as the squad insisted on going to see the sewing room. The men probably knew how to sew, if only for injuries or clothing emergencies out in the field. They might even enjoy it; you had never asked, so you couldn’t be sure. But you had a suspicion that none of them had a strong interest in sewing. In that case, they had pushed to visit the room purely so you could see it.

Even through the fear of being summoned in front of the Jedi Council once more, your heart warmed at their casual kindness to someone who could offer them nothing in return.

You frowned. On the subject of having nothing to offer them, you weren’t sure how you would keep the Jedi from punishing Delta Squad. You would have to come up with something, and you needed to come up with it soon. The doors of the Jedi Council chamber were already in sight.

When you entered, the buzzing preoccupation of worry was filling your mind, along with a distinct lack of galaxy-shattering epiphanies. And, as you stepped into the center of the room and glanced around at the gathered Jedi, it seemed you were out of time.

Earlier, many seats around the room had been empty, but most were now occupied. Even places that didn’t hold a physical occupant had been claimed by holoprojected beings.

It was intimidating, standing in front of that group. The semicircle of chairs in front of you were filled with people watching you. None of them looked cruel or harsh, but all of them were serious, and your stomach twisted with nerves.

Before your fear could shift into panic, you heard the shuffle of someone settling into place in the back of the room, along with the soft clearing of a throat. Boss was here, you could feel it. Even if the sergeant of Delta Squad wasn’t thrilled with your earlier disobedience, you had no doubt that he would speak on your behalf if the situation called for it. You weren’t alone. Your shoulders eased down slightly, and you finally felt as if you could take a full breath.

“Council members,” Master Unduli announced, drawing the attention of the seated figures. If any of them had been speaking before then, you were sure they would have stopped to pay attention, but they seemed to already be focused on the meeting. “We have gathered to discuss the woman Delta Squad found on Voubos. Or, rather, we have gathered to deliver the results of our discussion.”

The man from earlier, Master Windu, leveled his steady gaze at you. You did your best to return the look without fear. “Your Midichlorian levels are high. They are not high enough to grant you entrance into the Jedi Order, but we would like to offer you the chance to train with us.”

“What?” you gasped out inelegantly. “Why?”

Master Unduli spoke again. “There is a chance your Midichlorian levels will continue to climb. More importantly, you’ve been through a trauma. In a heightened state of emotional upheaval, there is a strong possibility that your abilities will appear in unexpected situations. We can help teach you control.”

“So…” you trailed uncertainly, trying desperately to gather your thoughts even as you spoke. “So I would stay here and learn how to control my… abilities?”

“Yes, in part,” an unfamiliar man with reddish hair agreed. “But we could also teach you to use your abilities to do certain things. From the point made by Padawan Offee, it seems as if you could aid the Republic with missions that require strategy and secrecy.”

“She is not a citizen of the Republic,” a male countered. “Why should she feel any real desire to aid us?”

“Actually,” you interrupted, glancing over your shoulder as subtly as you could. To your surprise, Boss wasn’t alone. The entirety of Delta Squad was standing in the back of the room. Scorch gave you a thumbs up and a wink. “I would like to help any way I can.”

“Why?” Master Yoda asked, not unkindly.

You shrugged. “I lost my home and my planet, and nearly lost my life. We on Voubos were loyal to no one, but the planet fell to the Separatists anyway. I’ve learned a hard lesson about the price of neutrality - specifically, that there is no one to back you up. If it comes down to it, the Republic sent the men who saved my life. That already puts you ahead of the Separatists for me. I’ll help you because you’ve helped me. Simple.”

There was a beat of silence, a heavy one.

“As it happens,” a human male with a yellow stripe trailing across his nose said, “we’ve already come up with a way you can help the Republic. If you’re interested, of course.”

“I’m interested,” you assented immediately.

A few Council members glanced around at each other in a way that put your nerves on-edge, but you waited for someone to speak. Master Windu was the first.

“We have a lot of missions that require what Master Kenobi said earlier: strategy and secrecy,” he told you. “We have a few Jedi who are gifted with those abilities, but they’re busy leading armies. Or, in some cases, busy with missions here on Coruscant.”

The man with the yellow tattoo met Master Windu’s eyes, inclining his head with a smirk. Windu didn’t smile back, but he gave a short nod before he finished, “We could train you in the basics of control and subterfuge, then send you out with squads who are working missions that line up with your abilities.”

“Squads-?” you started.

Master Unduli cut in. “I sense you share a bond with Delta Squad. They often go on missions that would require the abilities you’ve already shown. We could partner you with them for any secrecy-driven assignments. Is that something you would be interested in?”

“Train in the Temple, she should,” Master Yoda told her, his eyes traveling to you a moment later. “Much to learn, have you. Vicious and desperate, this war is, but no reason is that to send an inexperienced soldier out into the thick of a battle that belongs to us. Before you answer, think it over, you should. Whatever your answer… have a place with the Jedi, you will.”

“I- thank you,” you said after a moment. “I would like a day or two to think about everything.”

“In the meantime, you may stay here in the Temple,” Master Windu told you. “Padawan Offee will show you to your temporary quarters. Delta Squad, you are dismissed.”

“One moment, General Windu,” someone interrupted. You glanced over to find a man wearing the gray uniform of a military officer. “There is an open investigation into Delta Squad’s conduct. I would like to collect this woman’s testimony before she disappears into the depths of this… temple.”

“Of course, Investigator Nylirk,” Master Yoda said, bowing his head slightly. “Proceed, you may.”

Nylirk turned his searching gaze on you. “I understand these men freed you from your home planet of Voubos. Is that correct?”

You searched for a way to refute that, but came up with nothing. “Yes, it is.”

“Did they ever mention why they came to help you?” Nylirk asked.

“They found out Voubos had fallen to the Separatists and were worried about my safety,” you reported. “If they hadn’t returned for me, I would have died.”

Nylirk seemed unimpressed. “Then they brought you back to a secure building run by the Grand Army of the Republic and let you wander the premises unsupervised. Did they ever offer an explanation for that?”

“No,” you said shortly, listening intently for any hint from Delta Squad about what you should say.

“I thought as much,” Nylirk said contemptuously. He directed his next comment over your shoulder, to Delta Squad. “There will be a full investigation into every part of this, then we will discuss disciplinary action.”

He had already started toward the four commandos by the time you found your voice. Maybe you wouldn’t have said anything, but the resignation on the men’s faces spurred you into action. “I made them do it!”

Nylirk paused, glancing back at you with disbelief written across his face. “You made these highly-trained men disobey orders and general security protocols?”

“Yes, I did,” you told him, stubbornly kicking your chin up.

Nylirk frowned. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible, Inspector,” Master Windu denied. “Improbable, perhaps, but she has demonstrated an impressive amount of skill in evading notice. Who is to say that she didn’t influence them? The Force can grow stronger in those who fear for their lives. Perhaps it grew strong enough for her to influence them.”

“Yes, that’s what happened,” you repeated firmly. “Sergeant Boss said earlier that it felt like he was being pulled to the spot I needed him to be. Who can really say when I started pulling? Maybe I wasn’t just directing them to a river, but to the specific planet.”

“And you’re admitting that you did this?” Nylirk asked.

You took a beat to give that question full consideration. “I didn’t do it on purpose, but I often thought about Delta Squad as I was being held captive by the droids. I… I wished they were there with me. Maybe that was enough to influence them, even over the distance between us. I’m new to this, you know.”

Scorch laughed at your joke and Fixer cracked a smile. Sev gave a small nod. But what really struck you was the look on Boss’s face. He looked… stricken by your admission. His dark eyes held more than a hint of guilt, and you hoped he would let it pass. There was no way he or Delta Squad could have helped you any more than they did. They had saved your life. As far as you were concerned, that was far more than you had expected.

“General Yoda,” Inspector Nylirk redirected. “Your best guess: is it possible that she influenced Delta Squad to come back and help her?”

Yoda sat quietly for a moment as your stomach twisted with nerves. If he didn’t back up your story, Delta Squad would be punished and there would be nothing you could do to stop it. You would have failed to uphold your promise to the commandos, and repaid them poorly for helping you.

When Yoda finally spoke, he said, “Mysterious, the Force is. Possible, it is, that she influenced them. Yes, very possible.”

Nylirk’s face twisted in displeasure. He bit out, “Very well. Report back to GAR headquarters for a full debrief and an update on your next mission.”

Barriss approached, gesturing toward the door of the Council’s chambers. “I’ll show you to an available room.”

You hesitated a moment. There wasn’t time for you to say goodbye to Delta Squad and you knew that, but you wanted to apologize for getting them in trouble. However, with Nylirk still watching you closely and the entire Jedi Council looking on, you had to content yourself with giving the ghost of a smile.

Delta Squad looked serious and coolly professional as they watched you leave with Barriss, but Boss gave you the barest hint of a nod, eyes warm. You fought back a smile. It was a drop in the lake you owed them, but you had done something right for these men.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! Extra thanks to all of those who have said kind things or asked questions about this fic. It has been a HUGE motivating factor for continuing to write!

Have a great day! 😊

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