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icypantherwrites · 3 years

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Changes Coming to Patreon; Back to AO3 Icy Goes

An abbreviated and slightly different version of a post I made on my Patreon this evening:

Several months ago I made the announcement that I was switching my main platform from AO3 to exclusively post my works on Patreon. I had hoped it would help with some of my mental health issues with the reasoning that Patreon was a platform with a smaller, dedicated audience and would be better than posting into the great unknown and feeling let down by the sheer number of hits but no sightings of the people behind them.

Unfortunately, this decision has not panned out the way I had hoped. To be completely honest, I feel even worse than I ever have before. I truly thought this switch would encourage more engagement from those that were on my Patreon given that everyone now had that exclusive access and knowing that they'd want to be involved and that I'd be okay with knowing only a literal handful of people might be reading. That has not been the case. And to be clear, that's on me for having those hopes and expectations because certainly no one at my Patreon is required to engage with my works; you pay a subscription fee each month, you get content, and more always comes. And I will certainly continue to post those works that Patreon supporters paid for and expect to see under the original outline of my Patreon, but at this time...

At this time I've made the decision to return to posting on AO3 and no longer make that content exclusive to Patreon.

Any of the exclusive one-shots that did post here will remain, but I'll be adding them to my AO3 archive as well and the chaptered fics will only be posting for early release tiers on Patreon going forward, not posting later for all tiers. They will all instead be made available on my AO3 and just like before you are welcome to read them there. To be clear: none of your access to content is changing. You will still be able to read all of my stories, but they will no longer exclusively be on Patreon.

It is really hard for me to post works (and yes, I know they are all finished, it's still hard). It is hard to post in the author's notes and ask for comments and engagement because it is not fun to post and feel like hardly anyone is reading, and harder still when very few do because it just tells me that the majority of people either don't read those requests or they ignore them. Both don't feel good. And doubly so when you consider the majority of my content is about support. Ironic, right? ;p

Just like when I made this original decision, I didn't come to this one lightly. After all, there was a reason I decided to step away from AO3. But trying to bribe y'all with extra content via engagement hasn't worked. I've actually had 7 people in the two months that I made this switch join the page and quit within a couple days (sometimes a couple hours), accessing all content (and no doubt spurred on by the sheer amount behind a paywall) and that's a slap in the face to me and makes me feel even worse. And I certainly don't want to turn my works into a pay-per-view where I open a shop and sell PDF copies of individual works because the money has never, ever, been what the Patreon has been about. The finances help me to justify spending the time writing the works to keep this page active and going, but the whole reason I created a Patreon was to have an engaged, local community where I could be myself a little bit more, be a little more honest than I normally allow myself to be, and to share exclusive works with all those who made that decision to come here and financially support me with the hope that would extend to mental and emotional support via engagement on the site ♥

There are over 100 people on my Patreon and on average not even 10% make an appearance. It feels like I am posting and posting and hardly anyone is reading and the whole point of posting works is to share them because fandom is something that is meant to be shared. It's an experience for us all, whether we're creators or consumers, and we cannot exist without the other. It's a circle of fanfiction.

AO3 wasn't the best for me mentally. But the alternative I decided to pursue has unfortunately been even worse. And yet I still can't help but want to share my creations, want to make those connections, want people to laugh and cry and find comfort and support and experience emotions or feelings they may never had had, to learn and grow, to just enjoy the whump and angst and find a little escape sometimes from reality. Writing has been so important to me, it's what has kept me going through some very low times although it's catch-22 as the posting part of that process can make me feel lower than when I started. But I push through and hope that things get better, always.

Planning out this Patreon has meant so much to me. Writing stories for it, setting up polls, getting to create cover banners, write commissions, and, most importantly, interact with all of you... it has kept me going. And in order for me to not hate this page, to not delete it, to not call it quits, I need to make this switch back to AO3 and the chance for a larger audience. And I truly hope you can understand why I am doing this. I truly hope that even though the vast amount of my works will now be technically "free" that you still remain a member of my Patreon as those "free" works are only possible due to this site.

And to anyone reading this now on my Tumblr, please read the above. I only continue to post because of the financial support on my Patreon. There is now going to be a burst of content posting on my AO3 and lots more to come, but please don’t ever think that this is “free” because it was not free.

And this isn’t to tell you to go join my Patreon (although if you’d like to, please feel free) but to remind you that it costs nothing to leave a comment on a story that you read and that doing so means everything to the creator. Please don’t see this change as just an endless buffet of fanfiction to consume. Please see it as what it is: a chance to engage, to be a part of a fandom, and to support a creator whether that’s financially emotionally or both.

A gentle reminder that Patreon on the whole was never meant to be just a "how much can you get" type of site, but a way to show your support to creators you enjoy with little bonuses as incentives to check out higher pledged tiers and to stick around so the creator keeps wanting to make more content to share. This page will still have all the bonuses it has always had: the FMs, the previews and bonus snippets, the ability to commission, and, in the event they happen, all of the events and contests :)

I'm sad that this change didn't work out the way I had hoped, but there's no such things as failures; it has been a learning experience. Thank you all for your patience with me as I muddle through this and try to make the best choices for my own mental health ♥ Thank you to all for your financial support of this Patreon that allows me to keep writing and thank you so much to all those who comment and engage and inspire me to keep writing ♥

Much love,

Icy

#writing #fanfiction #patreon #icypanther #icypantherwrites #voltron #lance #langst

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gwynposting · 3 years

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All Along the Watchtower (Ch. 1)

This story takes place after the “All Along the Watchtower” ending of Cyberpunk 2077, so spoilers ahead.

NSFW fic, but not centered on smut.

If you prefer reading on AO3, click here.

Silence hung over the camp, draped upon the nomads like dewed grass on a summer morning - naught but the gentle sound of air rustling through the bushes disturbed the encampment. The merry sounds of laughter and companionship drifting ever so slowly over the evening, fading away as one by one the members of the Aldecados said their farewells and returned to the seclusion of their tents.

V stood on the porch to her makeshift abode, leaning against a metal railing that had seen far too many summers, slowly weathered down through corrosive sandstorms. She felt the cold metal of a small container in her hands, running her fingers along the ornaments that adorned it. V gave a practiced flick, unlatching the cigarette case and allowing it to unfold. A few of Evelyn’s original cigarettes still remained. On more than one occasion, V had eyed those nicotine sticks, overwhelmed with the stresses of Night City that seemed to perpetually weigh down on her. Though, she wasn’t sure if that was her or Johnny that constantly itched for their chemical release. But she always felt like she couldn’t disturb them, in a way. Whether it was for hers or Judy’s sake, she didn’t really know. She would only pass Judy along the occasional smoke when she asked.

The creaking whine of buckling metal sheets prodded the gentle serenity of the cloudless night awake. V need not even turn her head before a knowing warmth crept about her waist, pulling her close, allowing her entire backside to be pulled into Judy’s caress. The sudden heat of Judy’s breath passing along her ear and neck sent a wave of ease through V. The muscles she had not even realized were taught began to slacken and the pestering thoughts that clouded her mind cleared.

Neither of the pair were quite sure how long they stood there, nor did they care. They were both free, truly free. Free of the accursed city that had claimed so many of their loved ones, the corruption and greed and hatred consuming them all. For the first time, they felt complete.

Judy’s voice, dancing soft whispers against V’s ears, sent shivers to her core, “I still never get used to how different the sky is all the way out here.” V followed Judy’s gaze upwards to the night sky.

“Looking up at it, I just get the overwhelming feeling to lie on our roof and get lost in the cosmos with you in my arms, wasting our nights away,” V mused, nuzzling her cheek against Judy’s.

“Makin’ up for lost time eh?” Judy joked.

“Something like that,” V muttered back, a smile across her lips. “It still blows my mind that something this amazing has eluded me my entire life.”

“Didja not get much starlight before you dove into Night City?” Judy questioned.

“Nah,” V replied, “the light pollution from NC was too intense, even out where the Nomads set up. Best we could see were the major stars and constellations,” she paused, “on a clear day, at least.”

“Makes me feel special,” Judy floated back, “to experience it all. Together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” V replied.

The pair stood by each others’ sides, pointing out particularly pretty stars or interesting shapes in the night sky. Each sparkling speck was given its own little personality and ecosystem, and they giggled and laughed at all the crazy alternate worlds that could possibly exist out there in the vast expanse of space.

“Hey, you see that big cluster of stuff right there?” V pointed to a particularly dense region of what she assumed were stars, “what do you think their story is?”

But her only response was the telltale slump of a Judy succumbing to the vestiges of exhaustion. Judy gingerly tugged the material of V’s long sleeve shirt, a silent request that V met. “Of course, hun,” V met Judy’s drooped eyes, half lidded, half clinging to the presence of her partner. Without another word, V placed a hand upon Judy’s back, and one in the cradle of her knees, scooping her up in a careful embrace. Judy’s fingers found purchase in V’s shirt, not so much for support, but to just feel more of this overwhelming being that she was blessed to have in her life.

Just as easily as she’d been picked up, Judy was placed down in bed. Each moment’s pass, Judy could feel the sleep take root, with every breath she felt herself sink lower and lower into comforting sleep, the soothing gaze of V’s eyes the only thing keeping her afloat. She looked up expectantly as V slid in beside her, bringing up their blankets to enclose them both. Judy could feel her guards slipping once more, overridden by the warmth of V’s presence.

“I…” she felt herself hesitating for the first time that night. Something caught her breath, her chest refused to give life to the words that wrestled within her heart. But before she could resolve the tension, V silenced her with pillowy lips, “Goodnight, Judy.”

***

Vulnerability, trust.

It was difficult to get used to the feeling again after everything fell apart the first time. To be trusted, to trust. To open yourself up to someone and have them share every piece of themselves with you. A piece of V died that day, when the Arasoka tower job fell through. She had never realized how much she had needed that closeness, how much she had missed it, until she began falling for Judy. The relic gave her a good distraction to ignore the incessant despair and loneliness. Every day she would wake up in one of the most populous cities on earth yet experience such soul-crushing isolation. It gave her a task to do, it was a matter of life and death. Nothing else mattered besides tracking down Hellman, or Hanako, or Evelyn. But her time with Judy cracked that facade.

And in her time in the Badlands helping the Aldecados, she couldn’t help feel jealous at times. The gnawing vice of self-doubt and isolation constantly weighed on her when she saw their family, albeit dysfunctional at times, together. Every night she would go to sleep questioning her own decision to leave her tribe, beaten back by the guilt of ‘losing’ the loved ones she’s made in Night City had she never made the journey.

Even now, as Judy lay next to her, wrapped up in her arms, she couldn’t help the fleeting thoughts that pinged the back of her head - someone close to you meant vulnerability, someone the bastards can take from you, or get to you through, someone for you to lose once more. It was a viscous feeling to wrestle with - live a miserable life of isolation yet remain safe from traumatic loss? Or open yourself to someone dear to you, but risk losing everything once more and fall even further into the black pit of despair that Night City lays out before you. Or even worse, lose yourself and leave them behind to suffer that miserable fate.

But even still, the thoughts were just that, fleeting. She did not care to entertain the thought of living life on the road without Judy, or anyone for that matter. She considered herself the luckiest person in Night City that she happened to be paired with Jackie Welles that fateful job, and now she considered herself infinitely more so now that she felt like she had a true family again, even if it meant dealing with Deshawn and Arasaka in the process. The loss of good people like Jackie, Saul, or Evelyn weighed down heavily upon V, but the lucky part about family is that they’re always going to be there to help share the burden.

V carefully ran each finger of her lover through her own. If she were still, V could detect the faint beat of Judy’s heart pumping blood to her finger tip, the rhythmic thump like a faint echo.

“I wish we could stay like this all day,” Judy called out softly, her voice laced with the gravely undertones of a night-owl caught in the morning.

V brought her lips against the bare shoulder before her, lingering, not wanting to break contact. “Hope I didn’t disturb your beauty sleep,” she said with similar exhaustion.

“Oh no, I’m a beut 24/7,” Judy instead took V’s hand in hers, bringing them to her lips and placing a kiss upon them.

“Oh yeah?” V’s lips curled up into a smile, “must explain why I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Judy lifted V’s arm up, just enough to allow her to maneuver, before flipping over to face V. Once again, she was caught off guard by her beauty, and it sent butterflies through her core merely gazing up into the half-lidded eyes of her lover. The feeling amplified as V brought a hand to her forehead, brushing aside the bedtime mess of a hairdo behind her ear.

“Y’know,” Judy began, “a little birdy told me it’s someone’s birthday.”

V rose an inquisitive eyebrow, “Oh yeah? And who’s that.”

Judy looked up at her with innocent eyes, “Oh, Misty and I have been talking lately~”

“Misty eh, she knows how much I don’t like to celebrate it. You haven’t been getting any ideas in that pretty head of yours have you?”

Judy looked off to the side, a cheeky grin on her face, “before I say anything else, I’d like to formally implicate Panam as well.”

“Tsk tsk, already placing blame. What am I going to do with you,” V said, climbing on top of Judy, pinning her arms to either side. Her hair fell gracefully over her face.

“Do what you must,” Judy said in a dramatic voice, “I have already won.”

“Later,” V closed the distance and placed a tender kiss on Judy’s lips, “let’s go and grab some breakfast mm?”

“Aww, you’re no fun,” Judy whined.

“I said later, not never,” V smirked, “c’mon.”

***

A dry heat radiated out from the fire pit, a bastion of warmth pushing against the encroaching cool of the desert evening. The mood was quiet, disturbed only by the crackling of wood and the melodious strings of the guitar. The familiar weight of Judy’s head rested upon V’s shoulders. Judy closed her eyes and listened closely, her ear pressed against V’s skin, to feel the soothing rumble of V’s hummed melody. Together they swayed, it had been a perfect day for V, a day with family.

She saw Panam get up and move next to her, a glowing smile upon her face. “Now I know you don’t like doing stuff for your birthday, but we all wanted to give you something. As thanks for being such an important part of our family.”

“Ah jeez, I don’t know what to say,” V replied with a nervous chuckle.

“It was Judy’s idea, I just sort-of ran with it.” Panam smirked.

“Sounds about right,” V chuckled.

Panam reached back into her pocket and pulled out a small shard, thrusting it forward.

“What’s this?” V questioned, reaching out and taking it.

“You’ll see,” Panam replied.

V placed the chip in her slot and the files began uploading.

She felt Judy take her right hand in hers. The chip displayed an image - no, a video. Viktor. Working in his shop.

“Hey V!” his familiar voice filled her ears, as if she were standing right there next to him. “How’s life out there in the desert? You gettin’ some sun, some fresh air in those lungs? Don’t forget to get yourself a checkup every once and a while. Any dust or dirt gets under that insulation, you’re done. ‘Course, decent ripper’s harder to find out there than a four-star hotel. So actually - how ‘bout you just stop by when you’re back in the city, hm? Think I could swing a little discount for an old regular like you… ‘Till next time V.”

V hadn’t realized until after his message came to a close that she was already bawling - tears streaming down her face, clutching Judy’s hand tightly. God, she had missed Viktor. He had been there for her every single step of the way, through all the good but especially all the bad. She chuckled through shaky breath, that’s just the kind of message bashful ol’ Vik would send too.

But soon after the message closed, another appeared. It was Mama Welles. Then after her, Mitch, then Judy, then Misty. All people who had been so influential in her struggles through Night City. As Misty’s message, proclaiming a wonderful life ahead, came to a close, V was a complete mess. Her friends held her close, Panam leaning on her left shoulder and Judy her right. They gave her time to work through all the complex emotions she was going through. “I’m so lucky,” she stuttered through her breaths, “to have all of you.”

“Nah V,” came Judy’s smooth voice, “we’re lucky to have you .” She kissed V’s cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday babe.”

“Thanks, Judy. Thanks Panam, just…” she paused, “thank you every single one of you,” she looked around the bonfire circle at the other Aldecados.

And there Judy and V sat, letting the bonfire slowly wane over the hour as the others slowly began to return to their tents for a night’s sleep. Not a word was said, they didn’t need to. It wasn’t until the dying light of the fire dwindled to gentle cinders in ash did V finally break the silence, “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“I know,” Judy replied, “nothing better than family.” She allowed the silence to linger, “Though, I did have one more thing. From me to you.”

“Judy,” V whined, “you’ve already done so much for me today, you really didn’t need to.”

“Hush now,” Judy shushed, removing herself from V’s shoulder and standing up, holding V’s hand. “Come with me.”

V stood, her legs aching from inaction, and followed Judy’s lead back to their room. It was dimly lit, with colorful mood lights giving her eyes a gentle embrace. V knew where this was going, “Don’t remember seeing a bow wrapped around you.”

Judy let out a little chuckle, “Pssh. Later.” She pointed to the bed, “Sit, I got something for you.”

V obediently did as she was told, taking off her boots and tossing them to the side, getting comfortable. “You know how in my message, just then, I was talking about how I’m bad talking about my feelings?”

“Yeah..” V said.

“Well, after I recorded that, I came up with something that maybe can help you understand. It seems so obvious lookin’ back.”

V tilted her head in curiosity, before Judy pulled out the braindance headset. Then, it clicked.

“I uh, went and scrolled something for you. I went through to make sure nothing went wrong with the recording, but I didn’t edit anything. So, what’s in there is what’s in here,” she poked at her chest.

“Judy… I don’t know what to say,” V said.

“Heh. Apparently neither did I, which is why I wanted to do this.” Judy sat herself besides V and handed her the headset. “I’ll be here the entire time, if you want to do this.”

“Of course, Judy. This means so much to me.” V put the headset on and leaned back on the mattress as Judy looked over her. When she looked up at Judy, she noticed some of the classic tells she gave off when she was nervous - her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the rhythmic tap of her foot, a hand continuously sweeping through her hair. V outstretched a hand to Judy, who readily took it in her own.

V started up the BD, and instantly the lights began their sequence, whisking her away.

She was a bit disoriented, but she felt something very familiar to what she had before. She was in bed, warmth clutching her, surrounding her. She felt the light tickle of breath against the nape of her neck. But it ran deeper than that, it was more than physical. She felt things, familiar, but different. She felt… free. Safe. Loved. Like she would be protected from every problem in the world, as if she had finally escaped the tangled and matted web that controlled her for so long. And then she turned around.

And she saw V, and her heart fluttered. Her breath hitched, her pulse quickened. She caught the bottom of her lip between her teeth. It was as if she fell in love again each time she looked upon V’s face, her face. She felt a thousand different emotions at once, part of her wanted to jump V’s bones, and the other simply wanted to gaze upon her striking features for hours.

This moment was perfect. She was perfect, and she didn’t want to ever let go.

And then, it was over. V felt herself come out of the trance. She was back in her own shoes, a bit disoriented. Judy was looking down upon her, nervous as ever, grasping her hand.

V removed the headset and surged forward, embracing Judy in a passionate kiss.

“I love you,” Judy whispered, a pleading request.

“I fucking love you too,” V replied, taking Judy once more. Judy was hers, and she was Judy’s. Their lips were like fire, emblazoned with passion. Each kiss along each others’ lips and jaw leaving smouldering marks of love. They breathed and moaned out as they found purchase upon one another as hands began to roam across each others’ bodies. Nothing could fulfill the desire each other felt, so they grasped and clutched for more and more .

Without breaking their kiss, V scooped Judy up and placed her down on the bed, straddling her. Judy instantly wrapped her legs around V and brought her close. V leaned in and found the crook of Judy’s neck. Judy moaned out and held V there, urging her to never let go. But V had other plans, unclasping the straps over Judy’s favorite suspenders and rolling them off. Then followed her shirt straps, slowly unfurling until Judy’s chest lay bare, her excitement visible. Judy looked up to V, pleading with her eyes.

“God,” V muttered under her breath, “you’re so fucking hot.”

Judy’s flustered smile turned into a gasp as V took a nipple in her mouth, her fingers capturing the other. Judy shot a hand through V’s hair, more as a handhold than a guiding hand. V would be taking the reins for now, and Judy would be putty in her hands. Each soft mewling and gasp for air sent electricity through V’s core. She wanted more.

Every inch she descended down brought more sounds prowling out of Judy. As she reached the end of Judy’s expanse, where skin met clothing once more, she looked up to Judy. She was going to get her way.

She was met with a wordless request for more - Judy’s face was lined with desperation. But V wanted to hear how much she needed it, how much she wanted to be taken then and there. A wordless response was given to a silent request, as V looked up with a knowing smirk and raised eyebrow.

“Please,” was all Judy could muster, drawn out with longing.

“We both know you can do better than that, babe.”

“God V, fucking please.” Judy cried out as V teased a passing hand over her crotch.

“Good girl,” V cooed. She carefully unfurled Judy’s overalls, bit by bit exposing Judy’s tender skin to the air, revealing goosebumps.

V lazily placed kisses along each inch of skin. As she reached Judy’s pelvis, she began to feel the excitement and needy response as Judy began to push into V to get more than V’s oh-so-gentle contact. But V saw it fit to torture the poor women.

V had to hold herself back from going straight for Judy’s sex. As much as she wanted it, right now she wanted to see Judy become unraveled under her, to watch her become needy and desperate for release. Instead, V began to work around Judy’s inner thighs, oh so cheekily dancing around the throbbing wetness. The eruption of eager moans were music to her ears as she continued. But she didn’t stop there, V began to move away and travel further down.

“Nooo,” Judy whimpered, reaching out after V’s descending head, finding nothing.

“Oh?” V cooed with a knowing smile, “is there something you needed?”

“Fuck, V,” Judy vented.

“Well yes, that’s the idea.”

“ Please ,” Judy responded more forcefully than the last time, “I need this. Please.”

“Now how can I say no to that,” V quickly returned back and began rolling down Judy’s pair of cotton panties, no longer wanting to waste any more time on teasing or foreplay. With them finally loose and discarded, V placed a loving kiss at the sole of Judy’s feet before returning.

V brought her tongue along Judy’s sex. Judy gasped out and immediately found purchase within V’s soft locks. V sent shockwaves through Judy’s body with each brushing pass of her tongue over Judy’s clit. Judy’s toes crinkled and unfurled as she tried to comprehend the pleasure coursing through her body, her legs writhed left and right. With every second she desired more, needed more. Her motions began to reflect the base hunger that surged through her as she began to grind back into V’s waiting maw.

Judy’s rut continued until she felt herself reach the tipping point, and her entire body flexed and ached as she came unraveled, her hips arching up, seeking every single ounce of pressure possible against V’s deft tongue. V eased Judy through her through her orgasm, letting her partner use her almost as a toy, letting her grind and push against her as her body convulsed.

Soon after, Judy began to relax and collapsed back onto the mattress. Beads of sweat lined her body, slowly rising and falling to the tune of her slowing breath. She brought a hand and swept it through the hair that had begun sticking to her forehead. She looked down to a smiling V.

“I will never get tired of seeing that,” V cooed, running a hand along her messy jawline, wiping it dry, before crawling up Judy’s exhausted body and looking her in the eyes. Judy bridged the distance and immediately pressed her lips against V’s. The two embraced for what felt like hours, allowing the emotional high last for as long as possible until their kiss became slow and methodical. Judy accented their embrace as she caught V’s bottom lip in her teeth, before slowly moving away. V let out a small whimper, attempting to follow Judy’s retreat, but she was pushed back up by Judy’s hand.

“Time for the birthday girl to get some love, hmm?” Judy smirked. With a smooth motion, she rotated them both so that Judy was on top. “I think you’re a little overdressed,” she smirked. Judy began by stripping V’s shirt, and gave her left nipple a small love bite before traversing down to her skintight pants.

“What have we here,” Judy cooed as she pressed a hand against the prominent bulge of V’s cock, aching against the straining fabric, “it feels so angry~”

“It’s cause you were such a tease today,” V gasped, thinking back to the sneaky flashes and glancing touches Judy subjected her to throughout the day.

“Revenge for this morning,” Judy replied smoothly. But now was no time for prolonged torture, they both knew what they needed. Judy deftly unzipped V’s jeans, and helped her shimmy out of their tight embrace.

V’s cock stood rigid at attention, pulsing with need and want. Normally Judy would like to have spent a good while making V desperate for her before finally giving in, but neither of them could stand to wait a single second more. Judy carefully straddled V’s hip and aligned her cock before making her descent. Both exhaled deep, low growls as Judy sheathed herself to the hilt.

V’s hands began to roam across Judy’s hips, letting her fingers squeeze down and grab, making slow pushes and pulls that sent electricity through her cock. Judy gently collapsed on V and took her lips against hers once more. Together they maintained a slow and steady grind, their passionate kiss only to be interrupted by sudden moans and gasps of pleasure, as each brought the other closer and closer to the edge.

With each slow thrust, they began to get increasingly impatient, as each began to feel the edge draw near. V’s hips became less and less disciplined and Judy responded in turn. Their rhythm became disjointed and out of sync, fueled by sheer desperation, until Judy pushed down one last time and came undone. She gasped and her entire body tensed up, bringing V along with her. Together they unraveled, sweeping each other in their arms and bracing themselves through the electricity that seemed to pass through each others’ bodies. Judy moans were muffled in the crook of V’s neck as V deposited her seed with short but powerful thrusts.

They remained in each other's embrace, their skin flushed red and their hearts racing. V could not help the tears that formed in her eyes. Before she could blink or swipe them away, Judy noticed and looked down with worry. V closed her eyes and shook her head with a smile on her face, understanding the worry in Judy’s eyes. “I’m okay, Judy. I just fucking love you, is all.”

Judy let out a silent laugh, a light-hearted exhale of relief, “I love you, V,” she said, before leaning down once more to press her lips against V’s.

#cyberpunk 2077 #judy alvarez #judy x v #female v #AATW

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leandra-winchester · 3 years

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So there’ve been several posts going around on how we, as fanfic authors, don’t receive nearly as much comments (or reblogs with some commentary in the tags, or replies) than we should.

This, my latest ficlet, is a great example of that.

It got over 2000 hits. Let’s assume many of those people either didn’t read on, still have it open in a tab, or added it to their “marked for later” list, but it’s also safe to assume - especially since it’s such a short ficlet - that a good portion of those 2600 people actually read it.

381 people felt like hitting the kudos button. Probably not everyone who read it, but at least they did that.

So that means there are AT LEAST 381 people who read this fic and liked it.

Out of those 381, only 6 people (because 5 of those 11 comments are my replies) felt like actually leaving a comment. That’s 1.6%.

At least 98.4% of readers who actually enjoyed the story that I put effort into and shared with them felt obliged to put their appreciation into words instead of just hitting a button. (Needless to say, the vast majority of notes I got on the post sharing this fic here were likes, not reblogs or replies).

I’m an experienced writer with quite some confidence, and lack of feedback won’t make me stop writing. But that’s me. As has been pointed out in those other posts going around, other writers can get discouraged easily and may think “Ok, why bother, if nobody interacts with me for my stories? If nobody tells me they liked them, and why they liked them?”

And even though the impact this lack of feedback has on me isn’t huge, it still stings a bit. I go to AO3 and refresh in the hopes for new comments, but hardly get any. I just see the hits and kudos increase, but only very few bother to take even a minute or two out of their time, after enjoying my story, to tell me “Hey, thanks for sharing this, I really liked it.”

We fanfic authors need you, the readers, to do better. We put our time and energy into creating stories you enjoy - so much so that many of you have expressed to not read actual books anymore but almost solely consume fanfic. We don’t earn a single cent with our stories. Our ‘payment’ is your engagement. Kudos and hits are just a tiny tip, but comments is where we get our reward. We hear from you that you liked our works, hear what parts made you go ‘awww’ or kept you at the edge of your seat.

We, I, really need you to do better.

#fanfic #fandom #writing

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kittenshift-17 · 3 years

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Hi! How are you? I love your writing! There’s absolutely nothing you put out that I don’t like. I hope you’re doing well and enjoying life. I have a question to ask you. I want to start publishing my own writing, but I’m pretty nervous about it. I want to start small, so I wanted to post on FFN first since it’s where I started reading, but the warnings when you first sign up are kinda intimidating 😂 Like no grammatical errors?!?And ratings! What if I write something too explicit?!? Also, do you think the community is welcoming and nice? Or will all (if any) reviews I get be flames? Please advise😂 Again, I’m a huge fan of yours and I hope you’re doing well.

LOL, if you’ve read my stuff you’ll know I break the rules about no spelling/grammatical errors and about being too explicit right out the gate in pretty much every fic. People might comment occasionally, but the hard-fact is whomever mods on FFN is either super busy or doesn’t give a shit because even stories that are repeatedly reported for plagarism don’t get deleted unless the fans harass the theif into it... There was a massive purge a while back (maybe a decade ago now?) where anything explicit was removed without warning by the mods, but that was a long time ago and no one seems to give a damn anymore what’s published there.

But if you’re worried about those things, use Ao3. Over there you can publish anything (literally, anything, no matter how sick/gross/fucked up/explicit) and as long as you use the right tags, no one minds.

As for the community.... it depends on the fandom/ship.

I’ve found over time that the community over on AO3 is much more welcoming and much kinder for all fics that aren’t Harry Potter based, and that most just tend to be a bit kinder in general over there. FFN is okay for HP fics, but you’ve got to be careful about which ship. The Dramione & Romione shippers, for example, are extrememly unforgiving and if you’re not one of the top 10 writers of all time, you’ve got to have a hell of a story to claw your way onto their noticeboard in any positive light. I know the biggest reason people who publish HP fics for the dramione ship tend to pull them/quit writing them is because so many of the shippers tend to be vocally combative.

It takes a pretty thick skin to persevere when they’re prone to flaming anyone who publishes anything that’s less than perfect, and forget it if it’s trope-y and someone “famous” in the fandom has used that trope/plot device before because they’ll crucify you for a copy-cat. And those that don’t bother flaming tend to just.... ignore you? Lots of people might see their read-count climbing while the review count stays miniscule because so many just don’t bother reviewing with anything encouraging. Some do, of course, angels that they are amongst the riff-raff, but the vast majority won’t say anything - or if they do, it will be one short review at the end of an entire story. Most readers these days also really don’t like open WIPs and won’t even think about opening a story until it’s complete because they’ve “been burned too many times before” (insert eye-roll here). They’re all about binge-reading and instant gratification and have no concept of suspense building ( I blame streaming services for this).

I don’t want to discourage you, but I do want to warn you. I remember when I started out and I was hoping for reviews and all I got was squat and the occasional “Have you considered getting a beta?” kinds of comments (more eye-rolling). I don’t want to disillusion you to the idea of publishing and I hope you’ll try your hand at it despite my warnings about what you might encounter...

Realisitically, most people are nice until you do something to annoy them. If you answer every comment in your next chapter, you’ll get flamed (seriously, never do this, it drives me mental when it looks like there’s another half-page of chapter content to read but it’s just 50 comments replying to reviews. There’s a PM button for that, use it at your leisure without interfering with chapter/word counts, for the love of God). If you leave snarky author-notes responding to rude people? Flamed. If you abandon a story just when it gets good? Whining and flames. But for the most part, the nice readers will read and might comment, and the few assholes will flame and if you react, they’ll keep flaming because it’s how they get their jollies, and all in all it’s an experience in learning not to base your own self-worth on the opinions of others because you’ll find quite quicky that: a) there’s no pleasing everyone, b) most people are NOT as smart as they think they are, c) some angels walk among us, and they are to be cherished.

Regarding ratings.... I tend to just mark everything as M to be on the safe side unless it’s pure fluff with nothing suggestive. T if there’s kissing but no nudity/hanky-panky (the shippers get MAAAAD if you mark it M and then don’t give their thirsty asses the smut).

Good luck! Shoot me a link if/when you decided to bite the bullet and publish something.

xx-Kitten.

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she-toadmask · 4 years

Text

I’m kind of in a mood suddenly so below the cut there will be me just talking about fanfics I have read or am reading and why I like fanfic and stuff because I need to just

Fanfiction fucking rocks the basic part before all the stuff about it as the story just...it’s so easy to access and there’s so much and it’s just all there on the internet I don’t have to find a physical book

And on AO3 (where 90% of good currently-updating fic is afaik) there is TAGGING where you will know what you’re getting into (unless the author suddenly adds a sex scene and only then updates the tags but at least they give a warning at the start of the chapter but it doesn’t bother me as much as it did a couple years ago as long as I know it’s coming I know it’s a tool and it has its uses) with character drama and deaths and all that jazz not to mention how Ash being a badass has a specific tag and just other random things having tags that are important parts of the story

Like there are multiple fics I have found (not all of them are living fics sadly) of writing Ash’s journey in the beginning differently, like there was one I saw once that I kind of forgot to keep reading where he went to Sinnoh (and was still rivals with Paul and I think their ship tag was there?) and it said it was following game plot and then there’s one that I definitely don’t have open anymore because it didn’t update for some amount of time where he had a Joltik and then a Ferroseed and it’s really cool and a different one that’s still living and it’s called Pity of the World and Jesse + James (who is genderfluid in this fic) + Meowth are good people and stuff and just steal abused Pokemon and they run into Ash and they all end up being travel buddies and Ash understands Pokemon (not literally of course that’s not this fic) and also just knows what James’ gender is before they say anything and also in one chapter Zapdos is in Gringy City and says something about friendship being for mortals or something??? idk we’ll see and then there’s a different fic that I was reading and lost when switching devices and Ash was raised by Pokemon and literally can speak Pokemon and it was really neat but I haven’t tried to find where I left off because I’m too lazy for that tbh but it is still updating it’s Symbiosis or Symbiotic or something like that

Most things involving Ash that aren’t shippy or weird like that (ok there are some I’m not interested in but whapdfajaldjakjdf) end up being really cool because he’s a fucking legendary magnet which can either be played for laughs or deadly serious or just not be part of the fic if it isn’t relevant and so many fics use Aura it’s really cool (including Pity of the World I think he mega evolves Pidgeot (who evolves before leaving) when he fights Sabrina who does not have a doll in this fic) and there are different ways they do it and the thing I was mentioning about his connection with Pokemon like maybe it’s just a bit more than normal or it’s just yes he is everything and I kinda skipped out on gens 6 and 7 of the anime but I get enough to understand what they mean in chat fics and when referring to it in other fics it’s really cool

I think I mentioned Creepypasta and how there were two Harry Potter Creepypasta fics, one that was one and was slow to update if it wasn’t dead and one that was on the fourth one actually I was wrong about what number it was I think and updates every two weeks the first one is more lighthearted/written by a younger person like Slendy is a character and Harry x a lot of the ‘pastas I guess and it takes place starting before 4th year and the beginning is kinda meh with some weird dialogue and absurd levels of Dumbledore Ron and Hermione bashing but it does call out some of the other legitimate problems like how the lake trial in the tournament just kidnaps people which is very big because it was Ben who was kidnapped so big yikes there and honestly it’s not what you want to read if you want something really high-quality and serious like not that it doesn’t take itself seriously but it feels closer to something I would have read when I was in middle school than most of the Sanders Sides fics I read (just using that as comparison because the vast majority of that is well-written stuff). Then the other one!!!! For one it has a much more realistic/developed take on the Creepypastas’ existence like how the stories are how they exist with Slenderman being a cosmic horror being thing more than a character with character which is always really cool and Jeff kidnaps Harry as a baby (he is Boy when he is with the Creepypasta and Harry when at Hogwarts and there’s some really cool stuff about how they’re different) and, having lived with murderers, Harry gives zero fucks about things and kills Fluffy in the first book long before other stuff happens, Quirrel tries to use him to get the stone but gets annihilated at the mirror because family and then Voldemort is just a giant white snake for the rest of the series so far and also because he sucks Lockhart tries to exorcise Harry because Harry is fucking nuts and it’s great and also Harry is a Hufflepuff and there is probably more Gryffindor bashing than is necessary and pretty much all the adults get bashed for sucking (like in book 3 the boggart stuff is called out for being hella dangerous for them also Harry can’t cast the Patronus charm make of that what you will idk what) though Harry does make for quite the conversation topic among the teachers, Harry x Neville is the main ship and Neville eventually gets resorted into Hufflepuff because the Gryffindors are being massive dicks to him, also Harry flirts with Draco because Harry gives no fucks and it’s great (also both books give Luna lots of love, like the young one she’s a Seer like from Madame Macabre’s old webcomic that’s dead as it gets and the long one she’s just a good character and shit) and Harry makes these books to spread Slenderman’s legend throughout Britain/the Wizarding World and Draco may have gotten one and survived???? but now Neville has one during the summer months (and also through feeding Fanged Geraniums or whatever live stuff and blood instead of bonemeal he is creating Audrey II and straight-up says something about having to call it Harry Jr. but that’s probably just a little joke and isn’t going to stay beyond this but it’s just fun because Little Shop of Horrors slaps) and I have big fear about him doing the stuff and getting hurt and Harry/Boy conflict will be scary

There’s this other fic I found when trying to find good fics involving Ash and it’s kinda weird and seems to be written by a younger author but we’ll see where things go, like Harry got transported by Celebi to the world of Pokemon and Giovanni is Silver and Ash’s dad and they live with him and also Harry does too and he’s in a wheelchair and also is really smart and I wish we had gotten to spend a bit longer seeing their dynamics before when Harry is 14 the Goblet of Fire somehow spits his name out and Celebi helps with getting Harry (and also the other three because of course) safely there without dying because dimensional travel is hard and Celebi is friend and Luna gets to be important here too I think she’s shown up as a named student and guided them to a room and seems to know things about the castle and that’s kinda all there is so far there’s a bit more but it’s not got a lot yet I hope the author keeps going it’s a weird idea but I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes

Oh I forgot to talk about it but there’s this whump Ash fic that was being written under one title but it got dropped and now it’s being rewritten with the same concept but under a new title and going about a lot of things a different way it’s just the same starting premise and the fic is Helpless and Ash almost dies multiple times and there’s this theme of adults failing him and also Gary fucks a thing up and Ash needs support and therapy (a good number of fics have Ash needing therapy but given the shit he’s been through that is not surprising especially from my limited knowledge of Kalos holy shit Lysandre was doing some mad shit) and it’s just good but it is a lot of hospital and Ash being hurt and almost dying so be warned if that isn’t a safe read for you

The reason I don’t just outright block explicit anymore despite the horrors of trying to find safe Pokemon fic on AO3 amidst the consensual porn, incest porn, pokephilia porn, etc., is I randomly decided to try and find some Sonic fanfic on AO3 because a couple people on YouTube have been doing Sonic story stuff (Sonic What If has some good stuff that’s just... what-if scenarios and then there’s Sonic Rewritten which takes a game’s plot and then redoes it but good like the Deadly Six having personalities or Sonic 06 not having maybe bestiality or Generations being more than ‘oh past and present stages now have nostalgia’ and Robotnik and Eggman are significantly different people in that one and it’s really cool) and I thought maybe I would find some good stuff on AO3 (which I have but nothing that I want to ramble about specifically though there was one fic where Eggman does Tails clone and then his original body dies so he’s stuck looking like Tails and it’s kinda wild) and I found a fic that was marked explicit because torture and violence (honestly it wasn’t that bad) and I like it and don’t want to miss something that I might like by accidentally blocking it and now when I try to find Pokemon fic I have to see Leon x Hop and Pokemon x human smut.

There’s one Sanders Sides fic that I was reading and I don’t remember the name nor do I know if it’s updating I think I lost it but it started from the beginning of the series with the Dark Sides being a platonic poly family and when they weren’t in the episode they were talking about it/the Light Sides and it’s honestly really really good and the author just decided to have Deceit’s name be Janus and it was amazing when it turned out that was his real name it was just great but IDK if the fic has been abandoned, I think I lost it in the shift, but it was really good (but sympathetic dark sides and unsympathetic patton and roman and logan for a bit so do be warned if those aren’t comfortable for you)

Oh yeah I remembered another fic I can talk about there was this one Creepypasta fic and it’s completed and it is a Jeff x Reader but it kind of just stops being about the romance after a certain point and just goes way off the rails. It starts like ‘oh this will be a normal x reader with mansion and Slendy is dad and Zalgo is probably evil’ and then NOPE SLENDERMAN HAS BEEN RAISING FAMILIES THAT LOVE HIM TO TURN THEM INTO CRYSTALS TO MAKE HIM MORE POWERFUL AND ZALGO IS AGAINST THAT and it just is great like I never see Zalgo being good, like Slenderman being evil or whatever is plenty common (especially in the innumerable ARG fics I don’t read because I don’t have the attention span to learn what the fuck the source is) but never in tandem with Zalgo being anything but chaotic evil n shit it’s wild and it’s great and also Slenderman’s parents have faces I guess idk that was weird also there is one smut chapter but like the author said you can skip the smut and I did and didn’t feel like I missed any plot stuff so if that’s a no for you just keep an eye out for the author’s warning. It is by a younger writer, as demonstrated by its daily updates while it was being written, tiny chapters, and some general writing style stuff common to younger writers, but honestly I just love it for being something so wildly different, under the guise of a typical x Reader fic.

Speaking of ship stuff and Creepypasta the trilogy of Sans x Creepypasta fics are amazing. The writer definitely improves over time, the beginning of the first book kind of has the weird ‘then I knew I was in love’ stuff from a couple of the pastas (then again I’m ace and demiro so starting romance is just generally weird) but it is just a really good series. Sans ends up with seven kids in the third book and, while everyone else in the Undertale cast is bashed in the first two, Papyrus does seem to get some redemption in the third, so there is that. Also Murderer Sans is a fantastic tag, Gaster made a deal with Zalgo to create the skelebros and Sans is more demon than Papyrus by a lot and Zalgo is trying to kidnap Sans and Sans’ children so he has his family together to destroy the world and wander free and it’s wild and also Chara and Flowey show up and also LJ being an angel is mentioned and relevant to the plot for a bit so that’s neat and I don’t know all the details of how it ends because I lost it when I shifted and didn’t want to find where I was but it’s a great fic (albeit with a few things I can argue on) and the author has also been writing other Sans x Creepypasta stuff but I haven’t read it because idk

I really wish I had a good Minecraft fanfic to gush about but I really don’t it’s hard to find Minecraft fic that isn’t tuber-based, either Dream and friends (which occasionally I find a good one but so much is either Dream SMP which I have no interest in getting into, involves people I don’t know from Dream SMP, or just is shippy or straight-up doesn’t have a premise I’m interested in) or Hermitcraft (I fell behind so I have no idea what’s happening anymore) (but also like Mianite and Aphmau stuff but not as much as used to, but now Dream rules all so), and it just sucks. Like if some of it was Team Crafted fic I would be on board like hell yeah give me that nostalgia juice but it’s so much shit I just don’t know. I love the idea of Minecraft fanfic because there are so many options for the world and you can either make your own characters and you probably have to but then there’s just if you use Steve Alex Herobrine or Notch how they are written depends on the author and I live for that shit it’s a big part of why I read Creepypasta fic it’s because I like when there are different ways characters can be done (not unsympathetic or sympathetic like Patton so much like straight-up different characters) like Herobrine and Notch are the big ones like good vs evil, involved vs not, serious vs comedic, there are so many different ways to play them and I’m so disappointed AO3 doesn’t have much of it and so much of it is just Dream stuff and it usually just isn’t what I’m after in a fic.

The only other fics coming to mind right now are two wildly different fics involving Springtrap x Reader, one of them is being transferred from Wattpad for copy reasons, complete with tiny-ass chapters and that language that’s just so middle-school in the best way possible (like William and Springtrap are different consciousnesses and they way the author describes their struggle at one point is just so similar to a stupid thing I did and I have so much affection for it) and the other is legitimately really really good and the reader-insert has recently found out that Springtrap is William Afton and has murdered many children and they are currently dying multiple times to help his victims pass on because they can see ghosts and it’s actually really good and I have no idea where things are going, reader has currently met up with Michael Afton, currently all purple and dead and stuff, and has learned about remnant (weird-ass shit from modern FNAF lore) and it’s getting wild. I feel like there are two types of FNAF fic, ones in the style of FNAF 3/4 and earlier and ones from maybe 4 onward. Like ones where the lore was basically ‘bad man committed murder against children and they’re possessing the animatronics and that’s why they’re trying to kill you’ and then 4 starts having some more expansive lore ish and then after that it just goes everywhere with remnant and scooping and even more locations and also the books matter probably??? There is this one fic involving Glitchtrap that hasn’t updated in a bit and it’s fun, I like the idea of Glitchtrap and really wish I could read more fic just centered around FNAF VR. Then again, BEN was always one of my favorites and after I stopped being absolutely terrified of Herobrine I really liked his possibilities, maybe I just like the story utility and possible execution of characters with wide-ranging powers over technology and affecting the real world outside of it, IDK.

Ok I’m out of ramble energy, and also topics unless I go more in-depth about specific character options, but my energy is gone so I think that’s the end of it. I typed 3,000 words about fanfictions I’m reading and probably could have talked more about some of them if I wanted. This is my new hyperfixation. I guess. At least I know I have one, it’s reassuring to know for some reason, like for a while I missed how much Pokemon was my life in elementary school and Minecraft was in sixth grade, like it was nice just having something to focus on, though maybe that’s just the college and depression talking.

That was good, I’m glad I did that. Y’all are loved.

If you seriously read this entire thing... Wow. I really appreciate you digitally listening to me talking about random fanfic shit that I like. You’re really really cool.

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nny11writes · 4 years

Note

For the fic writer ask game: What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write? (Feel free to rant :) )

Hahahaha, sorry were you looking for one trope?

I’m usually so positive so now you’ve done it. You’ve unlocked me complaining about random shit that doesn’t usually matter. Because the damn busted wide the fuck open! Okay, so I’m going to approach this as outside of smut fics with intense kinks I can’t stand (vore, foot fetish, scat play, etc), because that’s me getting squicked and/or triggered and not just tropes that I wish would die in a fire.

My only disclaimer up front is that if you love most of these (hopefully it’ll be obvious which ones I will not forgive/excuse you from), that’s awesome! Go for it! Read it, write it, print it out to loving re-read and paste on the walls! Fandom is, in large part, about finding your niche and enjoying what you enjoy pretty much shamelessly. So I’m not passing judgement on anyone who enjoys reading or writing (most of) these.

CW: rape, sexual assault Also I’ve had a shit few days, so if you don’t want to read someone just being negative and bitching this is probably not the post for you friend. But it all below a cut so people can avoid!

Crossover Fics/Rule 50

My main gripe with this is that without fail a series I love get crossed over with a fandom I either don’t care about or hate. Every time I’ve tried to force myself to read one it’s never worked out for me. Sometimes fics aren’t properly tagged and I’m getting into the setting only for other characters from another fandom to suddenly show up and literally I instantly loose interest. The closest I got to writing a crossover fic, was on FF.net where I had all the characters I wrote for “talking to me” when I hit a big wall of writer’s block in the hopes that writing something so different and strange for me would help. It didn’t. It was interesting for 0.2 seconds to wonder how characters would interact, but then I instantly lost interest because I end up leaning so heavily of character tropes to make it work which, for me, isn’t fun to read or write.

Like, just write fusion! I like fusion! I’m currently writing a SPOP-SW fusion! It allows me to play with characters in a fun world that I already understand, but without the frustration of characters becoming more 2D or very OOC (or both) to force them to interact with one another. Rage Fics

Honestly? If you write and post rage fics, fuck you. Full stop. Fuck you.

I’m about to tangent, but I swear it’s related. This is the equivalent of someone tagging a character or ship or fandom they hate in a post bashing them or blasting them to hell and back. Fucking beyond rude and obnoxious. That’s what rage fics are cranked up to 11. You are 100% allowed to hate on fandom/character/ship/trope/whatever the fuck, but when you do that shit you are forcing people who enjoy the media to see/interact with your BS because you fucking tagged it to show up where we are. A great example here in SPOP is Catra. I love her! I understand why some people don’t, and they’re 100% allowed to hate her and resent that so many people like her. Recently I went to the Catra tag to find art and fic, maybe some of the top notch meta this fandom puts out if I was lucky, and got stuck seeing post after post after meta post comparing her to another character in the show to explain why she’s an awful person, badly written character, and anyone who likes her (but didn’t like the poster’s fave) was an idiot/asshole/troll/bitch/dumbass and you know what? I went from having a decent time decompressing after a shitty day at work to getting fucking sent around the sun with stress. Like, bro, I’m here to ENJOY myself thanks, and when you tag things I go to for fun and fluff when I’m out of spoons and ready to snap to ranting about hating it, you make me want to scream.

Y’all don’t know how many people are lucky that I write up responses in word so I can get it out of my system and then just DELETE the whole fucking thing. Rage fic is that same fucking set up, but instead of being a relatively quick post (where I can block the poster here on tumblr), it’s a fanfic that people are going to continue to click into over and over and over again for fun only to get body slammed. There’s no way to warn people on AO3 if something is a rage fic beyond not leaving a kudos and dropping a comment. I don’t know a lot of people who read comments first so it doesn’t always work.

If you post rage fics, grow up. Stop that shit. Fuck you. Instead, try not purposefully interacting with fandom that makes you so mad that you think doing this is an appropriate reaction. Block tags, block users, regulate comments, go whole fucking hog. You should be able to enjoy fandom too! But if you can’t do that without tearing down other people in fandom then you make me want to beat you over the head until you self-isolate to play by yourself in a different sandbox. Seriously. Fuck you if you do this.

Troll Fics

Did you think I came on strong for rage fics? This is worse.

If you do this? Fuck you. You get NOTHING but my pure rage and if I find this shit I will report you however I can and then shout from the rooftops about it. And I’m sure if you do write troll fics because you enjoy being purposefully offensive and triggering then you’re probably delighted that my reaction to just thinking about this is wishing I had the power to fuck up your life.

Like, the ONLY thing I can say for rage fic is that at least typically the person writing it actually enjoys some aspect of the fandom or fandom in general.

Troll fics are just meant to be offensive on purpose and if you write and post that you’re a bad person. No exceptions. You can make different choices and work to become a better person or a good person, but right now, right this second as you do it? You’re a bad person. You should probably figure out why you get so much joy out of posting things with the sole purpose of hurting/triggering/being cruel to others. And you might need help to do that. I legit think you should reach out to people with different opinions from your own to try and break out of it. Get a therapist. Do fucking something worthwhile, because posting troll fics is not worth anyone’s while. Fuck you. Rape as a Backstory

I hope I don’t have to fucking explain why this makes me want to literally explode. I’m purposefully not writing that as R*pe so that people with rape tagged don’t see this.

If you think that rape is the only way to push your story forward or is a great way to give a character “free and easy trauma”, literally stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. There are other ways. Really look at your work, really think about /why/ it’s so important to you that the character /has/ to be raped. Most of the time the real answer is you don’t have a reason you just chose it because you either don’t care, think it’s not a big deal, or never considered other possibilities. There are stories where rape does need to be included, stories that address the topic kindly and/or tag appropriately for it. I’ve read some of these that were really amazing, both short (<1k) and long (>100k) because the author actually took a hot second to address the topic in an intelligent way. Whether that was to dive into how it’s harmful, address their own trauma, or (honestly) even for the smut porn of it but with all the proper tags on it. If you have it to be purely enjoyed by yourself and/or others with dubcon or noncon kinks, cool, good for you, TAG IT APPROPRIATELY. Fucking bless writers who still use “Dead Dove/Do Not Eat” tags y’all are doing great work. But the vast majority using this trope?

They aren’t that, they aren’t anything like that at all, they aren’t always tagged correctly or at all and that’s by design, it’s often for shock value or a quick ‘well that’s why they’re anti-social’, it’s sometimes used as an excuse for one character to swear off sex until the “right person” comes along to “cure them”, and they shouldn’t have ever been posted.

Redemption Equals Sex/Sexual Karma

I know this is spring boarding a bit, but please stop writing these two tropes.

I’m exhausted y’all. And not just because I’m asexual. This trope is disgusting and usually comes with heaps of sexism, racism, and homophobia. If you want to write smut please just write the fucking smut. I’m literally posting smut fic and am planning to work on another one tonight! JUST WRITE SMUT WITHOUT MAKING IT DISGUSTINGLY ANTI-MINORITY GROUPS AND PLAYING INTO HARMFUL STEREOTYPES. If bad guys become good(ish) guys because a woman saw past their barriers, took care of them, are a surrogate mother, and then had wild and kinky sex with them then it’s a bad fic. Likewise, if a character is punished for having sex, or is sexually assaulted to show that they’re now bad then it’s a bad fic.

If a character’s suffering is rewarded with sex to “cure” them and “make them better” then it’s a bad fic.

There are so many ways that this shit becomes a seriously harmful fic.

Please. Please, stop doing this. I am on my knees. Stop!

I am sick of ‘Draco’s in Leather Pants’ (can’t fucking believe I’m whipping that term out again holy shit what year is it) getting redeemed because they slept with someone and now found a reason to care. Sex leading someone on the path towards redemption is so EXTREMELY rarely handled in a way that’s well done. Just. Don’t. Be an unapologetic villain lover, slap them in an AU where they aren’t a pure villain, but don’t do this. Like I wrote above, I’m also just sick of (usually, but not always) dudes who put rape in to punish (usually, but not always) female characters or to punish weak/pushover characters (usually, but not always males). And equally tired of traumatized characters “casting off their shackles” to enjoy wild and kinky sex because someone with a magic dick/strap/fingers/tongue “showed them it’s okay” and “made it all better”.

Just, don’t. Be a fucking decent human being and don’t.

Character/Reader Fics

I...I really just don’t get this? It’s very uncomfortable to me and I’m assuming that’s due to me being aroace, I can’t read them and if I try to I either become so uncomfortable I stop or so rage filled I stop.

I don’t mind 2nd person stories, but most of the ones I see are character/reader fics and it’s...like, it’s just bad. Not “cringe” just enjoyable for me. I can’t explain why I hate this so much considering I do enjoy some 2nd person fics. Idk, I really don’t have the words to explain why these bother me so much. :\

I ain’t got an alternative, if you like these you like them, and if you don’t you just don’t. Thank you for tagging so I can avoid. Have fun on your own! Song Fics and/or Audio/Sound Cue Fics

Sorry guys, I just hate it. I can’t really read a fic and listen to music at the same time, it becomes background noise 100% and detracts from both for audio cue fics.

Fuck, just realized I don’t know if people know what those are. Audio/Sound cue fics are fics where you’re reading along and all the sudden there’s a link or URL that you’re supposed to follow to help set up the next scene/enhance it. Hate it. Hate, hate, hate. It detracts from your story and makes it weaker while being annoying and breaking me the reader out of my enjoyment of your story. Hate! Telling me in the A/N that this (or these) are the song(s) you listened to while writing, song(s) you based the story on, or even that you think they’re good songs to get you in the mood for the story is totally okay! I’ll probably ignore it unless I went head over heels for it, in which case I WILL go back and listen to all of them. (Why hello Rhythm and Blues, you punched me in the face and I now listen to every song even vaguely mentioned in the story or A/N, you’re that good, it’s so fucking good guys, I can’t stop talking about this fucking series it’s just so good?????????) Song fics are also typically in this boat for me. And I want to be really clear, not fics where a character is singing in the fic with lyrics written out. That doesn’t bother me, that song is now effectively part of the story and draws me in. But if it’s paragraphs of description before suddenly cutting it’s annoying. Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason For now it is a mystery to me Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason But for now it's ancient history to me

So yeah I’m making an example to complain about the example.

But question.

Was that needed?

All I did was make overly explicit my feelings in this text that was already there in what I’d written. Song fics feel to me like writers who aren’t confident that their writing is good/understandable/relatable and so they are desperately throwing someone else’s creation into their own in the hopes the reader will get it. Friend, I promise you, we’ll get it without the song! The song lyrics detract when they’re just floating out there, and have taken goods fics and made them frustrating. Either that or you think you’re so amazing that your shit don’t stink and the rest of us idiots can choke because of your brilliance. I’ve found several song fics that if I copy and paste them into a word document and delete the song out, I really enjoyed the fic itself on it’s own merits in a way I literally couldn’t with the lyrics in there. Again, if you are weaving music into your fic, weave it in. Have characters sing, write the lyrics out as a character is listening to the music, quote the song in your fic (preferably without it being super obvious. I’m not saying my take on that was the best, but I did write a Catradora fic on giftly request based on a song and I 100% used lyrics from it in my prose and built my whole plot around it without breaking out to quote the song explicitly), just do something that’s not, like, punching me in the face because “clearly I couldn’t get it” or from a fear that “they won’t understand”. At best you seem insecure and unsure about your story, which is fantastic without the song. At worst it seems like you’re saying your fic is so beyond the average reader that we would never understand your vision without someone else’s original content in it.

#cw: rape #tw: rape #negativity #fandom #fandom negativity #me actually complaining about shit explicitly #and I still edited it a lot to make it not rage ranty #my anxiety won't let me live if I don't #about the author #tag game #writing game #writer game #fic game #fanfiction game #oh my god Imma post now otherwise I'm going to dive back in and scream A LOT MORE BECAUSE MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM #bobkitten

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sincognito · 6 years

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And So The Dragons Fell From Grace | Chapter 2.

Pairing: Spicyhoney (Mapleblossom and papgore will be later).

Universe: Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell (both versions).

Warnings: Slavery, Speciesism, Kidnapping, other chapters will be tagged for other content.

Overview: Rus is mindlessly beginning to settle in with his new routine, slowly beginning to forget any plans of escape he may have had. However, eventually, his past will catch up to him.

A/N: Second chapter of the fic, there’s a little jump from the last chapter to this one, but it’s nothing major :3

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Read on AO3: HERE

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The days that followed seemed to progress at an agonisingly slow pace. The dragon, Edge, would leave at dawn before Rus woke to begin his patrol of his territory, scouting out the nearby mountain ranges for any trace of intruders, before returning just before midday. More often than not the skeletal reptile would return with a fresh catch – usually wild elk or the occasional sheep or cow – that he would quickly devour, leaving not a scrap for Rus. The skeleton knew better than to disturb a dragon while feeding.

After his meal, Edge would return to his pile of gold, curling up in it with a pleasant hum as his body converted the newly eaten flesh into usable magic to fuel his soul. Rus had quickly learnt that the dragon was not one for simply lazing about, and while he lay still to digest, he was constantly filling the air with conversation, albeit largely one sided. His claws would tap at the floor with poorly veiled restlessness as he eagerly awaited his chance to move around again. And move he could.

One afternoon Rus had walked to the opening of the dragon’s lair and had been rewarded with the stunning sight of Edge as he effortlessly spiralled up beyond the clouds, before abruptly shifting direction and allowing his massive body to plummet down towards the ground, halting his dissent just in time for him to gracefully switch to a swift glide, swooping down low over the trees. It was in that moment that Rus felt his hope of escape begin to slip further away.

It was on a particularly warm evening that Rus had finally decided to explore the cave in greater detail. With most of the vast cavern lit only by the small torch he clutched firmly in his fragile hands, he cautiously began to examine all of the intricate carvings of mighty dragons on the walls and pillars that seemed to hold up the entire ceiling above them. As he slowly moved, he came to realise that the dragon depicted in all of the art was in fact the same one.

While the drawings offered only little information about it, Rus found his mind wandering – what colour had its beautiful scales been? Did they flicker in the light like the gems it horded? – if one thing was for certain, it was that whoever the dragon had been, it was greatly adored by the humans of the valley. There were images of the dragon keeping their land safe from invaders and offering its service to all who needed it, acting as a benevolent protector and friend.

The clacking of bone against stone drew Rus’ attention and he glanced away from the carved walls to watch as Edge approached, his head low as if trying not to frighten off the monster. Not that he had anywhere to run anyway.

“What are you doing?” the dragon rumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I thought you were going to retire for the evening.” Originally Rus had stated that he would go to bed early but had perhaps been too absorbed by his imagination, thinking up fanciful scenes of humans and monsters living at peace with dragons. It was a foolish, naïve idea, but weren’t all stories about love and happy endings fabricated by the mind of a hopeful child?

“I was just looking at the carvings,” he explained, motioning to the pillar beside him with the torch, “but I can head off to bed if you would prefer, master.”

The dragon hummed to itself for a moment, its eyes scanning over the art as a distant look began to take over his face, “They loved their dragon,” Edge finally breathed, his eyes seeming to lose their normal focus, “They built him shrines and would provide him an offering at the beginning of every spring in thanks.”

“How do you know?” He knew it was improper for him to question a dragon without invitation, but Edge either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t mind the inquiry.

“I remember it.” He said simply with a soft puff of smoke, turning away to signal the end of their conversation. The answer had done nothing but further his confusion and for a moment Rus simply stood staring dumbly, even after the dragon had returned to its pile of treasure to prepare for his inevitable slumber.

Realising he was making an even larger fool of himself the longer he continued to watch, he quickly made his way towards his own sleeping quarters. He had a small bed, a slightly worn pillow and a small pile of plush blankets to pick from. It was a rather humble set-up, but it was far superior than sleeping on the floor. While it wasn’t exactly a closed off room, he still received a pleasant amount of privacy from the way his sleeping area was dug deep into the side of one of the cave’s walls.

Taking a moment to release some of the tension in his back with a few cracks, Rus swiftly moved to removing his hoodie, noting with a slight frown that it was due to be washed. He was just about to begin taking off his shorts and was more than a little startled when a large head appeared at the entrance to his room causing him to jerk slightly.

Upon noticing what Rus was doing Edge made a sound unbefitting of his fearsome appearance, immediately aborting whatever he had planned and retreating back around the corner once more. The sound of valuables clinking was enough of a signal that the dragon had gone back to his horde, obviously deciding against speaking to Rus again.

It hadn’t really registered with Rus that the dragon wasn’t exactly a real dragon but a monster in possession of a dragon’s soul until that point. He could feel his skull warming slightly as he considered Edge’s reaction as the reaction of another person, another skeleton just like him. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it but decided that standing half naked in his room wasn’t going to help him decipher his emotions.

The following morning Edge was acting completely normal – leaving early on patrol, taking some time to track down a meal and then sleeping it off – his mind no longer lingered on the concerns he had held the evening just passed and he was quick to return to routine. While Rus was by no means the cleanest monster out there, he had quickly learnt that if his cleaning skills were not up to par he would be rather harshly reprimanded; the scars that lined his back were a testament to that. He had yet to see Edge’s true ire and if he could he would try his utmost to keep it that way.

His morning was spent sweeping out all of the leaves and dust that had blown into the dragon’s cave during the night – a surprising amount of work due to how enormous the cave was – and he was only just finishing up when Edge had returned from his morning meal. Rus shivered slightly as he watched the fat drops of crimson drip from the dragon’s maw, a tongue snaking its way from his mouth to lick away the final remainder of whatever it was he had hunted down.

With a soft sigh Edge stretched out his joints like some sort of overgrown cat, his chest vibrating slightly as he prepared to sleep off his breakfast as normal. His eyes scanned the cave, seeming to roll over each and every one of the dragon’s possessions in turn, including Rus himself. Once satisfied that nothing was out of place, he happily padded over to his usual napping place.

Before Edge could completely settle in to sleep Rus finally managed to find his voice, “I-I need to clean some of my clothes down by the stream,” he began, pausing slightly when the dragon narrowed his eyes on him suspiciously, “With your permission, of course, master.”

Edge tilted his head to the side briefly in what seemed to be contemplation before growling slightly, “Fine. But don’t even consider running away,” he hissed, his tail thrashing in obvious agitation, knocking a large antique wardrobe over. Dragons hated letting their possessions out of their sight, and for Rus to leave Edge’s den while he slept? It was no wonder the reptile was anxious.

Rus gave a slightly awkward bow, “I wouldn’t dream of it, your eternal eminence.” The flattery seemed to at least calm the dragon, even if only slightly, as he merely waved for the smaller skeleton to leave in feigned disinterest. Unfortunately, the regal effect was ruined by the way he seemed to preen at the compliment.

He was able to hold in a snicker until he was finally outside the cave, it was rather entertaining to watch how easy dragons were to please. They were by no means dull, simple creatures, but it was almost ridiculously easy to play into their good graces with a few sweet words and admiring looks from afar. Perhaps Edge just wanted someone to tell him he looked handsome every morning. Thinking back on it, he wouldn’t exactly put it past the dragon to do such a thing.

The woodland air was clean and crisp, the scent of fresh pine heavy in the air. The smell filled Rus’ nose with a familiarity that had his heart aching and his mind wandering to a simpler, kinder time when everyone was safe. The sun above shone strong, and yet, it almost seemed that underground the world had been brighter.

Rus could see the nearby village in the distance at the base of the mountain. A kindly old lady had allowed him to stay in her stable one evening, even going as far as to bring him breakfast when he woke and a mug of sweet tea to wash it all down before he left to continue his journey. He wondered if he would ever be able to repay her kindness.

It was no secret that humans hated monsters, they always had and likely always would if those deemed ‘fell’ monsters had their way. Most humans would have turned Rus away or simply slammed the door in his face if he’d asked for somewhere to spend the night. When he wasn’t out trekking through the wilderness he usually found himself huddled up on a cold street corner, hoping that no one would pay him any mind or pass him off as just a poor beggar.

It was quiet as Rus began to walk down the mountainside toward where he had been told there was a small stream he could use to wash his clothes and himself. He had been completely lost in his thoughts, but he slowly began to realise just how quiet the woods were. There were no sounds drifting up from the usually busy village below and not a bird to be seen in any of the trees.

At the eeriness of the forest he slowed his movements, contemplating returning to the cave and cleaning later on. There were very few things that could scare away all the animals of a forest, and Rus wasn’t eager to encounter any of them.

There was a loud snap as a nearby branch was torn from a tree and Rus found himself running before he had even registered where the sound had come from. Much to his dismay, running back uphill was a far more tedious task than it had been to leisurely stroll down and he found that no matter how quickly he tried to sprint away from whatever dangerous creatures lurked in the woods he made no significant ground.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when something snatched Rus’ legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall face first into the hard ground. He gave a weak groan, his hand seeking out the front of his skull to clutch his face as it seemed to pulse with pain. He felt something warm and wet trickling onto his phalanges and pulled his hand away from his face to see it stained red with marrow. It seemed that the rocky ground was a little sturdier than his face.

A laugh sounded from behind him and Rus felt his blood run cold, “You seriously thought you could get away from us?” It chortled in amusement, a clawed paw easily grasping his legs to prevent any attempt at escape. Even if he had wanted to, Rus was unable to even consider trying to get away, not with the way his head seemed to be spinning, red liquid dripping down into his sockets from his forehead and only serving to disorientate him further.

He fell limp against the ground, his mind growing fuzzy and drowning out whatever it was his attacker was saying. He could hear roaring and there suddenly seemed to be a lot of fire everywhere, but Rus didn’t mind, even if it was a little warm. Why was Edge looking at him? When did he get there? It likely didn’t matter, Rus was tired, his sockets growing heavy. Edge seemed to be saying something but Rus ignored him, he’d ask him what he was trying to say when he woke up.

#a dragon writes #and so the dragons fell from grace #literature #fic #update #dragons #underfell #underswap

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samayla · 6 years

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An Utterly Impractical Magician

A Jane Eyre/Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fusion fic.

Also on AO3

Summary: When John Reed burnt Thomas Godbless’ book of magic to spite his cousin, he had no idea how drastically he would alter both her fate and that of English magic.

This fic is a long term project that I’ve been working on for ages... This chapter has been sitting in Scrivener, ready to go, for about a month, but I didn’t want to post it before I had more done. I don’t have much more ready to post, but I’ve decided I don’t care. Expect sporadic, slow updates on this one, but for those of you who enjoy such things, I hope this fic is worth the wait!

Tagging those of you who expressed interest when I asked all those months ago: @bookhobbit @katie-beluga @bryonyashley @wolfinthethorns @kaethe-nicole @warsawmouse @cassandravision @mythopoeticreality @jmlascar @seriouslythoughguys @pink-lemonade-rose @isawatreetoday @rude-are-food @the-stars-above28 @the-candor-shadowhunter

I think I got everyone who’d expressed interest. Let me know if you’d like to be included or removed from the tag list!

1 The book of Thomas Godbless

Gateshead House, November 1804

The widow Sarah Reed of Gateshead House was considered by all her acquaintance to be an exceedingly fashionable woman.

Her clothing and speech were always chosen with the utmost care, in accordance with the latest London fashions. Even her remote Yorkshire home, though it could of course not be held accountable for its unfortunate location, was considered perfectly lovely by all the great London ladies. The rooms were well-appointed in all the latest colors. The fabrics and drapes were all of the latest patterns and styles. The furnishings were arranged to create the most charming settings for morning chats and merry luncheons and afternoon teas and grand dinners.

Even her library was well-stocked with a great many titles, all pleasingly coordinated by subject and author and color of binding — though, in accordance with the very latest fashion, Mrs Reed had only the most perfectly superficial appreciation of her collection. In fact, the only book in her great library that ever received much of that fashionable lady’s attention at all was Proscriptions for the Care and Correction of Children by James Wallace Digby, by which she hoped to ensure her children would always do her as much credit as her hat or her mantelpiece.

Though Digby’s book was filled with all manner of valuable lessons and instructive anecdotes, Mrs Reed was in truth far too weak-willed and changeable a woman to make much real use of it. John Reed, Mrs Reed’s eldest and only son, was always well-dressed, and he stood with the bearing of a young gentleman, but he was prone to fits of temper and destructive tantrums. Miss Eliza Reed was pleasing enough to look at, but spent most of her energy imitating her mother’s fashionable whims and hiding from her French tutor. And Miss Georgiana Reed, a doll-like little creature with manners that charmed all her mother’s friends, had little in the way of independent thought, and was easily swayed to either good or ill by her elder siblings, as she could not tell the difference between such acts herself. In spite of their shortcomings, the Reed children were pretty and quiet in company - much like her hat - and so Mrs Reed felt she was quite free to be exceedingly fond of them.

But Mrs Reed had in her charge one other child — Jane Eyre, the favorite niece of her late husband — and this child was as far from her aunt’s ideal as it was possible for a child to be. All those shortcomings to which Mrs Reed was blind in her own children, became glaringly obvious to her in Jane Eyre. Perpetually pale and thin, Jane lacked her cousins’ lively spirits. She seemed to her aunt unwilling to be pleased with anything, and she argued back when she had much better remain silent. Indeed, poor Mrs Reed could scarcely speak in the girl’s presence without being forced to hear how unfair a thing was, or how a thing was really John Reed’s fault, or how Eliza put Georgiana up to it, or how any one or all of her natural children had started the whole affair, and Jane was merely defending herself, or trying to fix it, or uninvolved entirely. The lies she concocted to escape blame never failed to shock Mrs Reed: if it wasn’t the fault of one of the other children, it was that of faeries or ghosts or talking trees!

Her deepest fear was that John or her girls should pick up on Jane’s nonsense. Little harm could come from it in the case of the girls, as ladies were simply not magicians. But John was beginning to talk of possible careers, and his mother could not bear the idea that he might pursue magic, as Jane’s late father had done. She was not sure which would be worse: the stuffy, reclusive theoretical magician, who was prone to unkempt hair and a decided thickness about the middle, or the yellow-curtained vagabonding magician, with his rotted teeth and ragged hat. She shuddered to think on it. So she did her level best to discourage Jane’s fascination with magic, and if her children did not get on with their cousin either, then Mrs Reed was content to turn a blind eye — in the interest of their future happiness, of course.

Jane, for her own part, was quite content to pass the majority of her time in solitary reading.

Another rainy, dreary day in November had forced Jane and her cousins indoors yet again. Jane did not mind the weather in the least, but six days of rain had put John Reed in an increasingly foul temper. Fearful of becoming the object of his ire, Jane had built herself a little makeshift fortress in the library’s window seat. The thick curtains blocked the fire’s warmth, leaving only the chill from the rain-speckled window to pool around her little body, but this was a favorite hiding place of hers. No matter how many times she chose it, her dimwitted cousins never thought to check it first. Even if John was searching for her already, she should have an hour or perhaps more, before he thought to look behind the curtain. She pulled a shawl from its hiding place beneath the cushion and wrapped it around her shoulders. The cushion, she wedged up along the window to guard against the damp glass, and she settled back in the warmth of a stray sunbeam with her favorite book.

The book of Thomas Godbless had no title. A rather enigmatic swirl of gold leaf instead graced the front cover. Whenever Jane ran her fingers over it, she fancied she could almost understand whatever word that swirl was supposed to represent, like a voice half-heard in another room. It was magic, Jane was certain of it. The same magic that returned the book safely to the library every time Mrs Reed removed it. Thomas Godbless was supposed to be illiterate — several of her father’s other books about magic said as much — so Jane had come to the happy conclusion only a few weeks prior that the book was written by magic, perhaps even with the assistance of Godbless’ fairy servant, Dick-Come-Tuesday. She murmured the fairy’s name, reveling in the whimsy of it, and swore she could feel the book quiver in answer.

She opened the book carefully, ever mindful of the imperfect stitching of its pages, and lost herself in its eccentric spellings and emphatic flourishes.

“Little Rat,” came John Reed’s voice, singsong in the hallway. Jane started and dropped the book, which hit the floor with a resounding thud. “Madam Mope!” John Reed tore the curtain back from Jane’s hiding place. “There you are! Reading again, of course.” He snatched up her book before she could and held it up out of her reach, regarding it with a sneer.

“Give it back!” cried Jane.

Her cousin flipped carelessly through the pages, clearly enjoying the way she cringed at his treatment of the book. “Beg me,” said John. When she did not obey immediately, he turned the book to dangle it by its green leather covers. Jane lunged for the book, but he shook it menacingly, and two pages slipped out of their binding.

“Please, give it back, John.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook the book again. More pages drifted to the floor, rustling like autumn leaves. “I am Master Reed to you, Pest.”

“Please, Master Reed,” said Jane, with as much subservience as her bold little heart could muster. “Please, give me my book.”

For a moment, Jane thought he meant to return it. He closed the covers and collected the loose pages, tucking them neatly inside, but then everything was stars, and there was a sharp pain in the side of her face. He’d struck her with the heavy volume. “It is not your book, Worm,” said John. He seized her arm to make sure she was paying attention to his next words. “Everything here belongs to me, and I think this looks a great deal like kindling.”

He flung the book into the fireplace.

With a scream, Jane shoved him away. He struck his head on the library table, but Jane scarcely noticed. She threw herself down on the hearth, intent on rescuing her beloved book. Jane plucked a large portion of the book out of the flames, but saw to her dismay that the pages that fell out were entirely blank. Horrified, she looked back to the pages still curling in the flames and frantically pulled them out. Those pages too, had gone blank, but in the sparks and embers and flames flickering around her fingers, she could almost see the words. Could almost hear them in the crackle and pop of the logs. She gasped and inhaled a great mouthful of ashes.

The hot ash was everywhere, in her mouth and nose, her eyes, muffling her hearing. Jane blinked hard to clear her vision, and suddenly, the library was gone. In its place was a vast landscape of open, flat moors and endless, flat sky. Jane felt as if she were a flower, pressed between the pages of some great book, preserved, rather than destroyed by the pressure. A wind rose up, smelling of old paper and dusty leather, and the rustling of the heather became a million million whispering voices. The flat sky became a fathomless depth above her, filling with clouds carried in on the wind. Every curve of cloud was a flourish of ink on the vast page of the sky. Then it was raining, and every drop was a word she could almost understand. The wind whipped around her, pulling the pins from her hair and making a pennant of it. The rain soaked her dress, turning its soft red the color of blood. Then the rain was not rain at all, but ink, and she was black with it: her dress, her arms, her hair.

And then she was back in the library. The howl of the wind became John Reed wailing for his Mama and Jane screaming for her book. Bessie dragged her away from the fire grate, her strong arms wrapped around Jane’s thin waist. Jane’s dress was soaked, and her arms, still stretched desperately toward the flames, were black. The hair straggling in front of her face was black as well. She froze in Bessie’s grip, paralyzed by fright.

She’d just done magic. That other place, with its ink-filled sky, it had been magic, or the place where the magic came from. She wasn’t entirely sure. But in spite of the magic, the book was gone. Pages lay scattered around the grate, blank and half-burnt, and everything was covered in a fine sheen of ash. Jane let out a hoarse sob as Mrs Reed flew into the room and went at once to her son’s side.

“My darling boy,” cried Mrs Reed, her hands fluttering ineffectually about her son’s wounded head. “What happened?”

John Reed raised one quivering hand to point accusingly at his cousin.

“Whatever has that little devil done to you this time?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she rounded on Bessie, who was still working to restrain Jane. “Call for a doctor! And get her out of here! Put her in the Red Room, and have one of the footmen do it, if you can’t manage her yourself.”

The Red Room, as its rather unimaginative name suggested, was a bedroom Mrs Reed had done up entirely in her late husband’s favorite color. It had been his bedroom before his death, and afterward, she hadn’t the heart to change a thing, in spite of numerous updates to the decor of the rest of the house. Mr Reed’s favorite books still lined the little bookshelf in the corner; his clothing still rested inside the bureau; his armchair beside the window still smelled faintly of cigar smoke when the sun warmed the fabric of the cushions. So little had the room changed in the years since her Uncle Reed’s death, that Jane felt quite certain his spirit had lingered too, long after his body had been removed.

Thomas the footman carried Jane to the Red Room, deposited her in the middle of the floor, and fled the room at once, fearful of the usual tantrum this treatment inspired. He locked the door hastily behind himself, but for the first time in her life, Jane had fears that outweighed those of disturbing her uncle’s restless spirit. Her book was gone. It would not be coming back, of that much she was sure. The painful state of her hands dashed any hope that the ancient pages might have survived the flames. Equally certain was the fact that she had somehow become entangled with magic.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye had her heart jumping in her chest. A tiny creature of ink and blood was staring at her from over the dressing table. As its mismatched eyes widened, and a blackened hand rose to its mouth in horror, Jane realized it was her own reflection in the mirror. She had become some fae creature, the changeling child her aunt had always feared. The now odd-eyed stare proved it. Where once her eyes had both been a warm, if unremarkable, brown, the left was now a pale ash grey.

Ink dripped from the singed ends of her hair and streaked blackly from her eyes, and Jane had the notion that she should melt on the spot, become nothing more than an ink stain marring the painfully cheerful rose pattern of the rug. The thought conjured an image of her aunt’s face, and the horror that would no doubt contort her features if she were to find that Jane’s final act in this world was to ruin her beloved rug. She choked, torn halfway between a laugh and a sob, and sank to the floor in a heap of sodden fabric.

As panic gave way to exhaustion, the pain in her hands began to make itself known in earnest. It began as a dull throb in time with her heartbeat, but it quickly grew to the point that Jane felt certain her hands must still be aflame. She bit her lip and wiped them clear of the blackness - soot, she discovered, not ink - using her wet skirt as a handkerchief. She only managed a few fingers before the pain, and a cluster of sparks around the edge of her vision, forced her to stop.

Her head whipped up, but the fireplace was cold. It was always cold, ever since Uncle Reed had slept his last night there.

Sparks flared again in the corner of her eye, by the armchair this time, and Jane staggered to her feet. More sparks by the bed, then by the bureau, then flickering across the ceiling. More and more sparks, until everything in the room was limned in dancing light. It was the fire, Jane was sure of it. The fire that had tasted her hands and consumed her book, had come back to claim the rest of her.

She raced to the door and beat frantically upon it, heedless of the pain in her hands, as she screamed for Thomas to let her out, or for Bessie to come and get her, or anyone at all to come and put out the fire. Bessie at last threw open the door in a great panic, knocking Jane to the floor.

“Oh, Miss Jane!” said Bessie. “What a scream! Whatever is the matter?”

But Jane’s tongue tangled on the taste of ashes, and she could not make the words come, only strangled-sounding sobs. She could barely see Bessie for the sparks filling her vision. She crawled toward the door and clawed her way back to her feet, clinging to Bessie’s black skirt as if it could save her from the fire.

Footsteps in the outer passage announced the arrival of someone else. “What is going on here?” demanded Mrs Reed. “Bessie! I’m surprised at you! The doctor is in with John, and all this screaming and carrying on is disturbing his work. I believe I told you I would fetch Jane from the Red Room myself when I was prepared to deal with her behavior.”

“You did, ma’am,” Bessie confirmed over Jane’s continued hysterics, beginning to push her away from the door, back into the Red Room. Jane wailed, and the sparks flared bright, eating away everything in sight. Her last panicked thought before consciousness fled her was that they would all burn.

#Eyre/Strange Fusion #AnUtterlyImpracticalMagician #jane eyre #jonathan strange and mr norrell #jsamn #my writing

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dubsdeedubs · 6 years

Text

An Outreached Hand [3/?]

Summary: On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

Notes: A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that whatsoever to read. I greatly underestimated how long this fic was going to be, because this is going to be A Long One. Not exactly for Stanuary anymore, but started as something for it!

[AO3]

It started off the way this kind of story always does: a John Doe got brought in one day, no identification, nothing on him but the clothes on his back and a couple bills in his pocket. Had a bit too many holes in him to be anything other than dead.

His face didn't match that of any missing persons, not that anyone looked particularly hard. People who got shot up in these parts don't have family or friends looking for them.

This was an odd event, not because of the death or the anonymity - neither was particularly uncommon then and there, especially combined - but because this corpse was, as it was, not entirely dead.

There was no rigor mortis. No rot. But what really sealed the deal was when the coroner finally showed up, and quickly realized that the incisions he made wouldn't stay open long enough for him to do the autopsy.

There was no avoiding the fact then. Something terrifying was going on - or something truly miraculous.

(Then again, the only difference between the two had always been about who made it happen.)

This was the exact sort of discovery that got arrangements made and people interested, in the way that never led to anywhere good.

If the body had stayed lying under that sheet for just a few days more, this story would be told very differently indeed.

Because, before anything even gets the chance to happen, the body goes missing.

The security cameras don't catch anything but a stray cat or two before they go down - by chance, their wires bitten through several hours earlier by some rabid wild animal. Between that and the inconsistent time stamps of entry, it's embarrassment for everyone involved. The whole thing gets forgotten pretty quickly.

As far as people were concerned, the corpse might as well have stood up and walked right out of the morgue.

1982

Stanley looks up at the portal for one long, quiet moment. There's an intensity in his unblinking stare that made Ford feel more than a bit uncomfortable.

"I understand exactly nothing about this," he says at last, voice flat.

"It's a trans-universal -" Ford catches his brother's blank stare, "Ah, a sort of - door to other universes. A hole in the walls of our dimension, you could say."

"Huh. And what's this hole in the universe doing in your basement?"

Ford opens his mouth, and shuts it again. "I created it," he says at last.

Stan just looks at him, flat judgement in his eyes.

He colors slightly at that. "To unlock the secrets of the universe!" Ford defends himself, waving a frantic hand. "I assure you, there are plenty of valid reasons to construct a trans-universal gateway. Scientific innovation, yes, but also -"

"Huh," Stan grunts.

Ford falters a bit at that. "But, ah, it does have the potential for... terrible destruction. Possibly, the end of the known universe and everyone living in it. That's - that's actually why I called you up here," he says weakly, turning his lips up into a weak grin. "I needed someone who I can trust entirely, and - well, the decision was quite obvious, after that."

For the first time since they had left the cats in the living room, something like emotion flickers in his brother's eyes. "...Yeah?"

"I shut down the portal," Ford says, all in a rush, "and I have to be sure no one else can activate it again. All the instructions, the plans, are in my journals. And - God forbid - if someone with malicious intent got their hands on all of them, it could mean the end of everything." He swallows. "I've been hiding them the best I can, and I... just have one left."

He pauses, steeling himself to say what needed to be said. His fingers clench hard around his journal for one panicked moment before he succeeds in forcing himself to hold it out to Stan.

"I need you to take this book and go far, far away," He finishes breathlessly. "As far away from here as you can. Somewhere you will never see me -" and by transition, he thinks, never come into contact with Bill "- ever again."

His brother looks at him quietly.

"Please," Ford begs.

Stan glances down at the journal in Ford's trembling hands, and for a moment, his face is cast in shadow. He doesn't speak, or move, or even seem to breathe for a long and terrifying moment that seems to stretch towards infinity.

Ford can't predict at all what his brother will say or do, and that sudden realization hits him harder than it really should.

"Sure," Stan says easily. "I can do that."

And he plucks Ford's journal right out of his frozen hands and tucks it under his arm, as casually as anything.

Ford just stands there for a moment. He can't even begin to process the reason behind his own startled hesitation.

He... didn't expect this to be easy. He didn't expect this to go like that.

"Stanley, are you -" sure? Ford doesn't say, can't say because he needs his brother to do this for him. There is no one else who can. Still, there's something heavy in his gut and painful in his chest that makes him want to, more than anything else.

Maybe he's hoping Stan would change his mind.

His brother shrugs, slow and languorous. "I have time," he says, something deeply bitter in the tone of his voice.

Ford feels lost. This was exactly how things were supposed to go with Stanley, which meant it was also entirely unexpected. He lowers his hands and clasps them behind his back so he doesn't have to see them shake, and clears his throat.

"Do you," he tries, "do you need anything before you go? Food? Money? I... don't have much of either in the house, but if you need it, I can -"

"It's been a long trip up here," Stan interrupts, shifting ever so slightly. "The kids are tired, even if they didn't show it back there. We could do with a few days settled down. Some food and water for them, maybe. I can swing by the town grocery store and get it myself."

Despite himself, Ford recoils, his mind already conjuring up dozens of different consequences that would come from his brother staying that much longer here, the vast majority of them starring the demon that possessed his body whenever he slept.

"No," he blurts out without meaning it, his thoughts whirring incoherently in his head. Because Bill had hurt him as much as he could while keeping him functional, because he needed him like that.

Fiddleford had not been nearly as lucky.

He doesn't want to think what the demon would do to Stanley and his ki - cats if he had the opportunity. Without any knowledge of Bill and what he was, they would be easy prey. They had no idea who or what they were even up against.

He hadn't thought this through at all. And just like that, he makes the decision.

Stan blinks once. "I wasn't asking," he says bluntly.

"I - nevermind that," Ford whispers hurriedly. "There's one thing you need to know, now." He keeps his voice low and his words quick, even though he knows that would do nothing to stop Bill from listening in if he really wanted to. "You cannot trust anyone with yellow, slitted eyes."

His brother goes still.

"Check for them on everyone," Ford continues, and he doesn't even realize he has moved closer, that he is holding onto Stan's shoulders like their lives depended on it. "On everything you might encounter. Even - even if that person is me. Stanley, do you understand?"

Stan just looks at him. "This guy with yellow, slitted eyes," he says finally, voice unreadable. "He happens to laugh like a lunatic? Likes violence a bit too much?"

The ball drops. Ford lets go and scrambles backwards to a safe distance.

"You - know him?" He asks weakly. "You've met Bill?"

"So that's his name, huh?" There's a dangerous quality to Stan's voice as he takes a step forward. "You got a current address for him too?"

Already, Ford is fitting together the pieces he has into a picture he does not like at all. Bill had made some sort of contact with Stan, and while it was clear that the contact had been minimal - considering his brother hadn't even known the demon's name - it did not bode well for either his or Stan's chances at a future without Bill's manipulations.

There's a heaviness in his gut that might just be guilt. He never wanted his brother involved in this way. He never wanted to his brother in this kind of danger.

"Stanley, you can't go looking for him."

"Yeah, and why not?" Stan demands, baring his teeth. "Does it have anything to do with how you know this guy?"

Ford flinches. His brother is obviously angry, and he would have felt relieved at seeing the familiar way that emotion twisted Stan's face if it isn't so directed at him.

"I can't tell you anymore than I already have." He knows too well the dangers that came with forbidden knowledge. "You just need to get as far away from here as you can. This isn't your battle to fight. This - this has nothing to do with you."

Stan chokes out a disbelieving laugh. "This has nothing to do with me? Sixer, you have no idea."

He's moving closer, taking a confident step forwards for each and every one that Ford stumbles back. There's a glint in his eye, something about the way he looms, how it suddenly feels so much harder to keep stumbling backwards that terrifies Ford beyond logic.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about, Stanley," he stammers even as he tries to make sense of his brother's outburst. "You need to -"

"You don't know anything about me, Ford," his brother hisses.

The light in the basement flickers.

"You haven't known anything about me for the last t̷e͏n ye͠a̛rs."

Stan's close, too close. "Stanley," he tries, voice cracking. "I didn't... I'm -"

"Is it in this journal of yours?" Stan demands, brandishing the object in question.

Ford's heart sinks.

"Don't look so surprised, Sixer. That's what you've always done, right? You trust your books and your secrets more than anyone else." His tone is biting. "More than me."

"Don't open that," Ford pleads, voice hoarse. "Stanley, you don't understand, you can't read that!"

Because the moment he does, its contents will become a part of his brother's memories. And Bill didn't need the actual physical book, being the creature of the mind that he was. All he needed was access to someone who knew what was in it.

If his brother read that journal, he would be a target for the rest of existence.

"Make me," Stan growls, and flips the journal open.

Ford lunges forward before he's even thinking, driven by a heady mixture of adrenaline and terrified panic.

He collides hard with his brother's torso but he doesn't even feel the pain or shock of impact, he's too busy grabbing for the book, frenzied and manic, like a life - Stan's life - depended on it.

And just like that, they're brawling on the ground.

It's entirely undignified and certainly a ridiculous thing for two grown men to be doing, and while Ford knows he's landing some punches and definitely feeling a few punches as well, for about five whole minutes he has no idea what's actually happening on a higher level.

Maybe it's the element of surprise or the power of adrenaline, but at the end of it, he gets his hands back on his journal.

Ford clutches it to his chest protectively, his breath coming in with big ragged gasps, and watches Stan pick himself back up into a kneel.

His brother's teeth are bared as he stares Ford down. His eyes glint an eerie pale blue in the light of the portal's machinery lights.

"I didn't want to do this," Stan says, voice cold, and reaches forward.

And suddenly, Ford can't move at all.

He's practically pinned to the ground by some kind of invisible, oppressive force that's almost physical in its strength. It's the same feeling from the doorstep, and just like then, he doesn't know what it is or why it's happening.

(...But he does, doesn't he?

After all, there's just one common factor.)

Stanley's hands close on the journal.

There's only one thing that he can think to do.

"I'm sorry, Stanley," he says quietly, and his brother goes deathly still. "I shouldn't have let Dad kick you out."

Ford takes a breath. "I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind."

Stan's eyes go wide with disbelieving surprise. The pressure alleviates for a split second.

It's just enough time for Ford to kick Stan squarely in the chest and send him careening wildly backwards. He catches a glimpse of his brother's face, just enough for Stan's look of furious betrayal to sear itself completely into his memory.

His brother crashes heavily into the side of a piece of portal machinery, and -

- there's a sizzling sound.

That's his first clue that things had gone horribly wrong.

And then his brother lets out a kind of pained wail, keening and desperate in a way that fit an injured alley cat more than a human being. He lurches forward, clutching at his shoulder with a single hand, and there's something strange about the unrestrained, unnatural way his limbs swing.

Ford can see now the vivid red brand on the pale skin of Stan's back. He gags at the combination of that sight and the moist, acrid smell of burnt human flesh-and-hair that had so quickly filled the air.

"You hurt me," his brother rasps as he stumbles towards him, his steps loose and helpless like he's losing control of his body entirely.

But when he catches the expression on his brother's face, he realizes with mounting horror that it isn't of anger or fear. Instead there is a kind of wonderment, and - a strange kind of joy.

Ford takes an involuntary step backwards. He's not sure what he's seeing, but something tells him that it's something he will be seeing in his nightmares for years to come.

Then, Stan goes still. He stands quietly, swaying slightly.

Maybe it's the light, but it looks as if his eyes are glowing - the same pale blue from earlier, the same pale blue of the activated portal.

"What did you do to me, Sixer?" His brother asks, voice hollow.

And then he slumps over, his frame crumpling like newspaper in the rain.

For one long moment, the basement laboratory is entirely quiet but for the click-clacking of machinery and the hitching gasps of Ford's breathing.

Only Ford's breathing.

"Stan?" He asks into the silence, voice trembling. "Stanley?"

There is no reply. The dark heap on the ground doesn't move at all.

The next few minutes are a blur. Ford remembers running forwards and kneeling down next to his brother. He remembers landing hard on his sore knees. Most of all, he remembers that he gets no response when he shakes his brother by the shoulders, and distantly registering that Stan's skin is cool - too cool - to the touch.

"No," he says out loud, voice trembling. There's no one to hear it, but he says it anyways, repeating it over and over to himself like some kind of a prayer. "No, no, no -"

It isn't possible. That couldn't have been enough to - not for someone like Stanley.

(he looked half-dead already, whispered a voice in his head, he must had been so tired.

and the human body could be so, so fragile -)

When he reaches out with a trembling hand and feels for a pulse with two fingers, there is nothing.

Ford doesn't know how long he stays there bent over his brother's body, even after his legs had lost feeling and the cold had penetrated through the thin layers of his wrinkled coat. He's too numbed by shock to even cry. There's just a stinging sourness in his mouth and a weight at the base of his gut that gets heavier by the moment.

And then, a lightbulb shatters without warning, its glass pieces sprinkling onto the ground like rain. It's entirely unexpected and impossible, but it's just enough to break Ford out of his trance.

They can't stay down here forever, he realizes.

Even if he wants to.

It takes effort to haul his brother's body up and over his back, but much less so than he expected. Stan is surprisingly light, and it makes his mouth go dry to realize that while his brother had always been so much bulkier than him when they were both children and then adolescents, it is no longer true.

If Ford doesn't know better, he would say that Stan still had the frame of a teenager.

He stands up, swaying only slightly, and tries not to think about the dead weight on his back.

"Let's go, Ley."

#gf #gravity falls #ghost trick #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #my fic #i can't believe i thought this would be only three chapters lmao #also if you know me you know that i will never let it go that the sigil/brand turned out to be a total throwaway!!! w h a t #sorry for the lack of cats i hope the sibling fighting makes up for it

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tothehounds · 7 years

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(I don’t think I’ll ever finish any of these so I wanted to share the last batch I have of unfinished wrencus content. It’s also an opportune moment to finally give @monochromenyghtmare that gift fic that I had forgotten about. As always if you like any of these let me know and you can read old watch dogs 2 content I’ve written at my ao3: dirtylittlewar.)

“I thought t-bone was the only person to still buy physical copies of porn?"

"I know, right? It sounds entirely stupid but once you really get to thinking about it it's absolutely brilliant."

Sitara doesn’t look the least bit convinced. "How?"

"You can trace someone's porn history at the very source, so all those hand puppet jerk off videos you've been binge watching are still there despite going incognito. But actual physical porn, well you can purchase that with cash and just destroy the evidence."

"Please don't tell me Marcus is into muppets."

"God, no." Wrench holds up one of the costumes he'd been eyeing in the window before turning it over in his hands and pressing it against his chest. "It's just a lot of hentai and the occasional parody porn."

----

(This one was for monochromenyghtmare based off of their fic,“smoke and mirrors” but I just never gave it to them because I’d forgotten/hadn’t finished it.)

“You’re not scared?“

“No offense, but this was a lot like the Kylo Ren reveal.“

Okay, Wrench would have much preferred fear as a reaction instead of the underwhelming disappointment. "Now you’ve just gone and hurt my feelings."

"You know there’s a lot to be said in less is more?” Marcus immediately back pedals because the anxiety emitting from Wrench’s person is almost palatable. Especially since it’s taken up until this point in their relationship to get Wrench to show him anything outside of anything above the hairline. “Man, what I meant to say is that there’s a reason why Jaws and alien is so effective. It’s because your conscious comes up with much scarier incarnations of the creature than what the actual reveal ever could. So whatever monster you think you’ve presented to the world, well it just looks like a normal human to me."

"People are a lot worse if you ask me."

"You know what I mean.” Wrench becomes aware of the hand that rests just above his knee, the fingers of Marcus’ right slightly curved beneath his calf while its counterpart traces thru a snag in Wrench’s jeans.

It’s less than five seconds of skin on skin contact but it’s enough to make Wrench regret having taken off the mask. Especially when his impulse control is hard wired to be on par with that of a five year old with finger paint.

Okay, maybe more along the lines of a few dozen unsupervised teenagers with paintball guns and untapped carnage.

"Wrench.“ Marcus tilts his head back to get a better gauge on his face. The action immediately draws focus to the column of his throat and Wrench catches himself before he goes in to lathe his tongue along the patch of skin.

It was an awful idea to do this outside of Marcus’ dreams because Wrench didn’t account for the possibility that he may very well fuck up. He’d relied too heavily on the advantages of a tethered getaway exit that could be easily severed at the snap of a finger.

Now Wrench had gone and screwed all of that up because he’d overestimated himself by thinking he could ever do this in person.

"Wrench, I know that comparison was weak as hell but I promise you you’re way hotter than Adam Driver.” Marcus reinforces the sentiment by tentatively dragging Wrench down by the lapels to kiss the underside of his jaw in reassurance.

The action immediately elicits a garbled response on Wrench’s behalf and he can’t help but want to die at the genuine affection, especially when Marcus laughs like that. Open, honest, and without the slightest bit of knowledge exactly how much power he holds over him.

"I want to suck you off.“

"What?"

Okay, wrong choice of words because he’s a literal vampire and Marcus is probably under the assumption that Wrench wants to suck his blood straight thru his dick.

--------

(More vampire Wrench stuff inspired from Nyghtmare’s, “Smoke and Mirrors” fic.)

“Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot."

"So how does sex work with you exactly?"

Wrench nearly drops the entirely of his work load onto the floor, fumbling with the hardware he’d gutted earlier in the hopes of salvaging for later.

"I mean, logistically it doesn’t make sense, because blood usually helps aid the process along but with vampires shouldn’t there be a lack of a proper functioning blood system?"

Marcus wasn’t going to assume it was like “True Blood” either where everyone was having blood orgies and a vast majority of vampires seemed to be on viagra, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Wrench. He already knew to take “Twilight” at face value, especially after testing out the sparkling in the sun theory.

-------

(This was gonna be a body switch au, because I fucking love freaky friday type tropes and have a habit of writing at least one for every fandom, but I just never explored/revisited the idea once I’d written this. I wish more people would explore this type of shit because it’s my favorite.)

“Wrench, do you ever clean this thing?”

“Define the word clean, exactly?"

Marcus coughs, disembodied static rebounding off his own ears, and if that isn’t the weirdest fucking thing he’s ever heard. Especially when it’s his own voice filtered thru Wrench’s mouth.

"It’s not that bad, I do spray the occasional bout of febreeze.” Wrench looks at him, mouth quirked at an odd angle, and telling by the awkward delivery he’s still trying to get a proper handle on facial expressions.

At least on a face that’s not his own.

It’s probably the most exposed he’s ever felt but given the current situation, he seems to be fairing off better than how claustrophobic it must be for Marcus. Who absolutely refused to take off the mask because of course he fucking took Wrench’s feelings into account despite this weird freaky Friday type scenario.

---------

(This was just going to be shameless smut, initially that first piece near the top was going to play a bigger part in this, but I copped out because I have a difficult time writing porn that’s to my liking. It was really just an excuse to write Wrench in a maid outfit but it just never came to fruition.)

Marcus takes forever to get home, so much so that he resorts to actual cleaning. Wrench is in the midst of rearranging Marcus's DVD collection -after having habitually disorganized it one DVD at a time, just to fuck with him - that he doesn't even notice Marcus watching.

"So you're the culprit that keeps spelling dick with my law and order dvds."

"Hey, if they didn't want me to do that maybe they'd hire a better graphic designer for the covers." Wrench shifts, causing the hem of his skirt to ride higher, and revealing just enough thigh to get Marcus to reconsider the impending argument.

#my writing #watch dogs 2 #wrencus #marcus/wrench #I feel guilty about the lack of content on my behalf so I thought I'd share

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intrepidmare · 7 years

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THE BOND [Part 1]

Well, my dearies,

This my new contribution for @olicityhiatusficathon, organized by the wonderful @thebookjumper. On week 2 we got “Eye Contact” as prompt, and let me tell you that this prompt gave me so much trouble. First, I changed the plot 4 times. The first 2 were ideas radically different from this one, and the 4th time was to make this idea less crazy than it was. Once I finally was somewhat happy with the plot then my muse took over and has me writing like crazy. This fic keeps getting larger and larger. So much that I decided to split it into 2 parts so you can read half of it while I finish the other. The second part probably will be up by the weekend.

The first part is all fluffy and adorable, but chapter 2 is all smutty, hot, and kinky. I hope you enjoy this.

Before I go, I have to thank you @laurabelle2930 for you enormous help editing, endless support and cheerleading, and priceless friendship. I don't know what I'd do without you *tackles you*

Happy reading!!!

PS: I suggest you to listen the son “Closer” by Ne-Yo while reading this.

THE BOND (Part 1)

Finding love, meeting your other half always has been what drives most humans across the multiverse. For the inhabitants of Earth-837, it was no different. Searching for one's soul mate —more than one in some cases— was the most important pillar of their civilization. On this Earth, humans were extremely open about their sexuality. Gender labels didn't exist, and they accepted love relationships in all kinds and forms. In the end, for them, the paramount thing was which innate sexual role each individual in the society had born with. It was written in their DNA. The vast majority of the population carried either a dominant or a submissive gene. As for the rest of the people, they had a slight mutation in it that gave them traits of both. They got the name of switch because their inclination for either side of the power play could vary from person to person, and even occasion to occasion.

Only bonded people reached the highest levels of pleasure and self-realization. That motivated everyone to find their soul mates. Although, it was easier said than done. Submissive individuals had a small advantage over the rest of the people when it came to finding their perfect match. Each of them had a unique birthmark that designated them as submissive. An ownership brand if you will, which would darken once the bonding with the Dominant mate was forged. The marking could be anything, from images to phrases, always related to the soul mate that would claim them someday. Occasionally, the mark gave a clear clue on how to identify the other soul mate, making it easier to find. In other cases, the stamp was too enigmatic to be of much help.

Many people had it in places on their bodies where it was easily concealed. That was not the case of Oliver Queen, whose mark covered the back of his left hand. When you looked at it, it resembled a computer code in the form of a faint henna tattoo that went from his knuckles to his wrist. The meaning of the message was beyond Oliver. He had searched for his soul mate for years without any luck. Oliver even had tried to break the code with help of computer experts, but none of them had been able to. A setback that made him lose the hope that one day he would find the person destined to be his mate. His biggest desire was to wear his mark with pride, but sometimes, at the peak of his brooding mood, he wished his mark to be somewhere else, so he could hide his unclaimed status. Thus, he'd pass as a switch or a dominant. In his opinion, it was a preferable option because, in the society where he lived in, a submissive over 30 without a mate was frowned upon. They gave him disapproving looks often. Soul mates that took too long to find each other had the risk of a weakened bond, and in extreme cases, they could never form the bond at all.

He had turned 32 recently, and Oliver was getting desperate. Maybe he was being a little overdramatic, but everyone around him: his friends and family, including his baby sister, were mated. Often, he felt like an outcast.

Keep reading on Ao3 or Wattpad

List of all my OHFAT fics HERE

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pllsetskyonice · 7 years

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plisetsky answered:

Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

2.3K

In which Yuri finds out that Otabek has a tumblr.

AO3 link

We recently found out that Otabek is “well versed in all kinds of social media” and I am SHOOK. Somewhat inspired by the ask that altisetsky replied to, here’s the fic that no one asked for, but you’re all getting anyway.

cc: @otayuriwriterscollective

He doesn’t mean to pry.

Really, he doesn’t. But Otabek’s left his laptop open on the kitchen counter and it’s unlocked. Otabek is in the shower, so Yuri won’t be disturbed. It’s not like he’s going to go through his personal files or anything, but that’s unmistakably a tumblr dashboard, and Yuri is intrigued. The thought of Otabek having a tumblr is almost of ludicrous as Otabek DJing in his spare time, and – well. Now everyone and their mother has Otabek’s tracks downloaded on their Spotify or iTunes.

So he crosses the room and investigates.

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plisetsky

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“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yuri mutters as he opens the blog in a new webpage and begins to scroll through the posts. It’s all him, all of it. There’s posts from his Instagram, official photos from competitions and aesthetic edits interspaced between countless answered asks. How hasn’t he come across it before, this blog that that seems to be the one stop shop for anything Yuri Plisetsky related? Admittedly it’s not like he frequents the fandom side of tumblr often, his own blog is mostly bands and aesthetic and cats, but still – how hasn’t he come across the blog that has his last name for its URL?

He can’t risk following it. However, Otabek has anonymous enabled on his ask box, so Yuri can still ask him stuff. This is going to be fun.

Anonymous asked:

Holy shit I’ve only just come across your blog and I AM IN LOVE

plisetsky answered:

Haha thank you! I hope you enjoy your stay :)

3 notes #ask #anon

Anonymous asked:

How long have you been a fan of Yuri/been on tumblr? I’m curious!

plisetsky answered:

I’ve been a fan of Yuri ever since I was around 12 years old, and I started the blog when I was 13. I’ve been here a while – seen a lot of changes in that time and I even made the mistake of being online when the Mishapocalypse happened.

5 notes #ask #anon #i’ve seen some shit in my time let me tell you

Anonymous asked:

You were on tumblr when the mishapocalypse happened? You have been here a long time!

plisetsky answered:

Haha yes, those were dark times

3 notes #ask #anon

Anonymous asked:

Who did you kill for your URL like seriously HOW DID YOU GET IT??

plisetsky answered:

Taken from Q4 of my FAQ: How did you get this URL? I was simply lucky. I set this tumblr up in 2011, and was fortunate enough to find ‘plisetsky’ available at the time.

4 notes #ask #anon #check the faq please

Anonymous asked:

I’m on mobile can you link me to your FAQ please?

plisetsky answered:

plisetsky.tumblr.com/faq

2 notes #ask #anon

plisetsky’s FAQ

Q1: What name/pronouns should we use to address you?

You can call me B. He/him.

Q2: Where are you from? What languages do you speak?

I’m from Kazakhstan, and can fluently speak Kazakh, Russian and English.

Q3: How old are you?

Q4: How did you get this URL?

I was simply lucky. I set this tumblr up in 2011, and was fortunate enough to find ‘plisetsky’ available at the time.

Q5: How many followers do you have?

26.3k

Q6: Do you skate yourself, or are you just a fan?

I do skate myself, but I’m also a huge fan of the sport. And Yuri.

Q7: Does Yuri follow you?

Sadly not.

Q8: Do you have any other social media?

Not that I’m willing to share with you all, sorry.

Q9: Post a selfie?

No.

Q10: Are you single?

No, I have a boyfriend.

Anonymous asked:

So you’re 21, from Kazakhstan, you have a boyfriend and you skate, are you sure you’re not secretly Otabek Altin?

plisetsky answered:

OH NO MY TRUE IDENTITY HAS BEEN REVEALED WHAT DO I DO

8 notes #ask #anon #lmao I joke

icetiger + phichit-chu ··· ↘ X

icetiger

PHICHIT

I HAVE NEWS

phichit-chu

OOOOH WHAT IS IT?????

icetiger

Have you heard of the tumblr plisetsky?

phichit-chu

Yeah, I’m following it! Why?

icetiger

Well you’re not going to believe this

But

It’s OTABEK’S

phichit-chu

…WHAT

YOU’RE JOKING RIGHT?

YOU’VE GOT TO BE

icetiger

He left his laptop open on the kitchen counter and it was open onto tumblr and I don’t know what to do with this information

phichit-chu

I’M SHOOK

icetiger

ME TOO

phichit-chu

Wait.

I have an idea…

icetiger

Phichit no

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO

Phichit

PHICHIT

FFS CHULANONT ANSWER YOUR FUCKING MESSAGES

phichit-chu

On How an FAQ Hides an Identity (OR: plisetsky is Otabek Altin and I’m going to prove it to you)

So I’m sure that anyone who’s spent a certain degree of time in the Figure Skating corner of tumblr has come across the blog plisetsky at some point. For those unfamiliar, it’s a Yuri Plisetsky appreciation blog run by some mysterious guy in Kazakhstan that never reveals much about his identity. However, I’m going to delve into the blog’s archives and dissect their FAQ to prove to you that this Mysterious Kazakh Guy that we all know and love is, in fact, none other than the world-renowned skater Otabek Altin.

After months of hiding their relationship behind closed doors, Otabek and Yuri finally told the truth about their relationship when Yuri posted this photo to Instagram last May. This was also the same time plisetsky posted a post titled Life Update: I have a boyfriend. His FAQ was also updated at the same time. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

Question 1 of his FAQ says that we can call him “B”. Those close to Otabek call him Beka (Yuri is especially fond of the nickname) so it’s not unreasonable to suggest that “B” is a nickname of a nickname, so to speak.

He also states that he’s 21 in his FAQ. That’s the same age as Otabek.

He’s FROM KAZAKHSTAN and can fluently speak Kazakh, Russian and English (just like Otabek). I rest my case.

He skates, and once stated in an ask that he’s not overly fond of ballet. Sound familiar?

He’s a massive fan of Yuri.

He’s never posted a selfie, and refuses to whenever asked.

Likewise, he won’t share any of his other social media accounts. Otabek has an active presence on Instagram and Twitter and so on, and although it’s not unusual to keep your tumblr separate from the rest of the rest of your online presence (looking at you, fandom blogs), he’s always flat out refused to share any of his other social media accounts. For someone with over 26k followers, you’d think that creating another Snapchat or Twitter for online tumblr friends to follow you on wouldn’t be too much to ask: you’d be wrong. Whenever asked, he’s always said that he’s “too busy” or “can’t deal with the hassle” of creating other accounts. Or he’s too busy with training and even if he did create other social media accounts, his true identity would soon be revealed. Either or.

In response to ask, he said that he’s got two siblings. I’m not sure if this is common knowledge or not, but IRL, Otabek has two sisters. #otabekfactoftheday

Once, way back in 2014, he posted a photoset of some DJ decks with the caption “today’s work”. It mostly went unnoticed as the World Juniors happened later that day and the post was buried underneath photos of Yuri’s skating. That might have been deliberate, I don’t know, but either way, we all know that Otabek likes to DJ in his spare time.

Our online presences are strange in a way the world hasn’t seen before. You can make a Twitter account, call yourself Charlie and say you’re from LA when in reality you’re Alex from Luxembourg. Our online personas take years to perfect as we craft them into the best versions of ourselves, showcased through Facebook status updates, Snapchat stories and photos posted to Instagram. You can be whoever you want to be online, and whether it’s good or bad, the vast majority of your audience won’t be any the wiser. I could be reading into this far too much, but the possibility of plisetsky actually being run by Otabek is there and is a reality.

4,521 notes #otabek altin #figure skating #conspiracy theory #please don’t take this too seriously lmao

otabekaltinn reblogged phichit-chu and added:

HOLY SHIT THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING WHY DID I NEVER THINK OF THIS BEFORE

4,527 notes #FUCK ME #IF THIS IS REAL

katsukki reblogged otabekaltinn and added:

I CAN SEE IT I CAN SEE IT I WANT TO BELIEVE

4,538 notes #this actually kinda makes sense tho ngl

plstsky reblogged katsukki and added:

@plisetsky you seen this?

4,547 notes #b tell me this ain’t true #it can’t be #i can’t have been talking to otabek altin for months life is not that good

nikiforovik reblogged plstsky and added:

…no

what

I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THIS GARBAGE

4,556 notes #phichit I love you #but no #just no

icetiger + phichit-chu ··· ↘ X

icetiger

what have you done?

phichit-chu

a service :)

“So,” Yuri says as casually as he can as they have lunch, “I hear tumblr’s going a bit crazy at the moment. Something about some Yuri Plisetsky appreciation blog secretly being run by you?”

Otabek pauses with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, his usual calm expression replaced by a mildly panicked one. “I left my laptop on the kitchen counter this morning, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Yuri says, a grin spreading across his face, “you did.”

“You saw?”

“I saw.”

Otabek puts his bread down on the plate. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I understand if you find it weird. I’ll delete the blog if you want.”

“What?” Yuri asks. “I don’t want you to do that!”

“You don’t?” Otabek looks relieved, and Yuri can’t say he blames him. After all, it’s not every day that you’re told that your boyfriend has discovered the secret tumblr you’re running about how wonderful everything about him is. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But I do think that you need to tell your followers the truth about who’s actually running the blog everyone seems to be following.”

You’re now following plisetsky. Want to get notifications when they post?

Post notifications are turned on for plisetsky.

plisetsky

I just updated my FAQ, I recommend that you go and check it out!

1,302 notes #housekeeping #update

phichit-chu reblogged plisetsky and added:

@ all the people saying there was no way it was otabek how does it feel to be wrong let me know

1,398 notes #i knew it was him lmao #yuri found out and told me

katsukki reblogged phichit-chu and added:

(via @phichit-chu) #i knew it was him lmao #yuri found out and told me

FUCKING WHAT

WHAT

1,413 notes #BURY ME FOR I AM DEAD #DEAD #D E A D #RIP TO JEN

otabekaltinn reblogged katsukki and added:

HERE’S THE NEW VERSION OF HIS FAQ FOR EVERYONE WHO’S ON MOBILE OR WHATEVER:

Q1: What name/pronouns should we use to address you?

My name’s Otabek Altin. He/him.

Q2: Where are you from? What languages do you speak?

I’m from Kazakhstan, and can fluently speak Kazakh, Russian and English.

Q3: How old are you?

Q4: How did you get this URL?

I was simply lucky. I set this tumblr up in 2011, and was fortunate enough to find ‘plisetsky’ available at the time.

Q5: How many followers do you have?

26.3k

Q6: Do you skate yourself, or are you just a fan?

I do skate myself. I have medals from the Grand Prix Finals, 4CC, World Championships and the Olympics.

Q7: Does Yuri follow you?

Yes, he does.

Q8: Do you have any other social media?

Facebook: facebook.com/otabekaltin

Twitter: otabek-altin

Instagram: otabek-altin

Snapchat: otabekaltin

Q9: Post a selfie?

[Selfie of Otabek which shows his tumblr open on his laptop in the background]

Q10: Are you single?

No, I have a boyfriend, Yuri Plisetsky. (icetiger on tumblr, yuri-plisetsky everywhere else)

1,426 notes #there you go folks #go wild

plstsky reblogged otabekaltinn and added:

ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TELLING ME I’VE BEEN MESSAGING OTABEK FUCKING ALTIN FOR MONTHS WHAT IS AIR

1,572 notes #W HAT THE FU CK #I THINK I’M DEAD #DEAD #MY FUNERAL IS NEXT WEEK YOU’RE ALL INVITED SEE YOU THERE #CAUSE OF DEATH: OTABEK ALTIN

phichit-chu reblogged plstsky and added:

I’m still in shock ngl

1,654 notes #it doesn’t feel real lmao

icetiger reblogged phichit-chu and added:

If you’re not following @plisetsky what r u doing with your life

1,723 notes #in case you missed the memo it’s Otabek #GO FOLLOW HIM U WON’T REGRET IT

icetiger asked:

BEKA WHAT’S FOR DINNER I’M HUNGRY

plisetsky answered:

…you’re literally sitting a metre away from me why are you asking me over tumblr

12 notes #ask #icetiger #WHY

icetiger asked:

THE INTERNET NEEDS TO SEE THE DOMESTICITY (I’m still hungry btw)

plisetsky answered:

Pretty sure the internet doesn’t need to see it but whatever we’re having pizza, I’ve already ordered and it’s on the way

14 notes #ask #icetiger #are you happy now

icetiger asked:

SO HAPPY (but I’m still hungry have we got anything else I can have in the meantime *raises eyebrows in a suggestive manner*)

plisetsky answered:

YURA STOP I HAVE MINORS FOLLOWING ME ON HERE

54 notes #ask #icetiger

icetiger reblogged plisetsky and added:

why u gotta spoil my fun like this

56 notes #i’m joking btw #...mostly

otabekaltinn reblogged icetiger and added:

…is this real life am I actually witnessing this with my own two eyes

61 notes #i cannot believe

plstsky reblogged otabekaltinn and added:

I do believe so but who knows I’m struggling to process this

65 notes #what a time to be alive #i mean this is killing me but still

phichit-chu

[photo of Otabek and Yuri dancing together at a skating banquet]

@icetiger @plisetsky cuties!

6,514 notes #yuri plisetsky #otabek altin #figure skating

plisetsky reblogged phichit-chu and added:

♥♥♥

6,523 notes #yuri #beka #both

icetiger asked:

I love you. ♥

plisetsky answered:

I love you too ♥

73 notes #ask #icetiger #♥♥♥

#otayuri #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky #otayuri fanfic #otayuriwc #fanfic #this is trash i'm sorry

657 notes · View notes

prepare4trouble · 7 years

Text

Star Wars Rebels fanfic - First Steps, part 9

Okay, this is the final part of this particular fic. There is more to come though, so keep checking the ‘little by little’ tag on mine or @pomrania‘s blogs, or you can follow the series over on AO3, but we update a day later over there. Either way, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this last chapter, more is on the way.

Noisi sprung to life the instant they walked through the door. He approached them on his humming wheels from the corner of the room, where he had been waiting in sleep mode for a patient to happen by. “Ezra Bridger. It has been twenty-one hours, seven minutes since your previous visit. Although I appreciate your returning today, I would urge you to schedule and keep an appointment in future. I had been hoping that you would be here earlier, and I have spent much of the day anticipating your return.”

Ezra glanced at Kanan, and then back at the droid. “You have?” he asked. “Why?”

“One does not often get the opportunity to study such a fascinating condition in any detail. Especially not in such a remote and underpopulated locality. The majority of my patients are not even suffering from eye complaints, which is my specialty; I spend much of my time tending to broken bones, lacerations, head injuries and the like.”

Ezra folded his arms across his body and wished that he could exchange a glance with Kanan.

“As much as I offer to perform eye tests as part of the service, I am regularly turned down. Perhaps your case will serve to convince others of the importance of monitoring eye health.”

He couldn’t do this. Not right now. Maybe never. He turned to glance at the door, only a few steps away. If he bolted, he might even get away before Kanan could stop him. As his muscles tensed, ready to run, Kanan took a step forward. He clasped a hand lightly on Ezra’s shoulder as he did, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s probably enough, Enno-fifteen.”

The droid inclined its head a few degrees, and gestured to the large chair at the other side of the room with a wave of one of its limbs. “Please sit.”

Ezra eyed the chair apprehensively. There was no reason to be afraid of it. The chair itself had had no bearing on what had happened the last time he had been here, it had just been the place where he had sat. “Why?” he asked. “More tests?”

“In my experience, it is the preference of most organics to sit during occasions such as this. However, you may stand if you would find it more comfortable. I have no need to perform any further tests today.”

Ezra considered this, then very deliberately crossed to the left side of the room and perched himself on one of the two beds pushed against the wall. Noisi made an irritated sound, and propelled himself in the same direction. “The chair is equipped with both a backrest and a footrest for your increased comfort.”

Ezra shuffled back a little and swung his legs back and forth, “I’m comfy here,” he said, in a tone of voice that begged the droid to challenge him.

“Ezra…” Kanan said, warningly. He moved a little closer and leaned against the wall.

“Very well,” Noisi agreed, with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.

It wasn’t comfortable, actually. The bed itself was hard, and Noisi was right, the chair would have been much better. He stayed right where he was. “So, why do I need to be here?”

“The primary function of this meeting is to arrange a schedule of appointments in order to allow me to monitor your condition. This could have been achieved the previous night, had you not chosen to leave before I had completed this task.”

“Hey,” Kanan cut in. “I think he’d been through more than enough last night, don’t you?”

Ezra lifted his feet onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“It is my understanding that the patient was already aware of his condition; I did little more than confirm the diagnosis. I had no way of anticipating the amount of distress that confirmation would cause. Which reminds me…”

The droid moved across the room, opened a drawer and returned quickly, holding an object in his hands. He passed it to Ezra, who accepted it before he even registered what it was. It was soft, furry, and pleasantly squishy. He looked at the object in his hands. “Is this a loth-cat?”

“A synthetic tooka, of which yes, the loth-cat is one variety. There is a high percentage chance that given your emotional response on our previous meeting, you would require additional comfort. Please feel free to embrace it.”

Ezra stared at the droid. “I’m not a child,” he said. He started to hand the toy back, then stopped, finding to his embarrassment that he didn’t want to let it go.

“Technically incorrect, assuming the data we hold for you to be accurate; however, my programming suggests that most species of any age often prefer to engage in a displacement activity of some description when dealing with an uncomfortable situation. If you prefer, I could offer you a sheet of paper to rip into squares, or some thin sticks which can be snapped into fragments.”

Ezra’s fingers stroked the soft fur of the toy, and he shifted his position so that he could hug that instead of his own knees. He glanced at Kanan, a little embarrassed, but Kanan appeared either not to have noticed or not to care. “No, this’ll do,” Ezra said, and squeezed it a little tighter.

“Very well. Now, as I recall, you chose to terminate your appointment just as we were about to discuss the likely timeline for the syndrome. Are you prepared to have this discussion now?”

He wasn’t. He felt himself hugging the soft toy a little tighter as a vague sense of panic started to rise within him. He took a deep breath. Unbidden, from his position leaning against the wall, Kanan strode across the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “Okay,” Ezra whispered. Kanan touched his back supportively and Ezra released the breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“The early onset variety of Sacul Syndrome is relatively rare, and differs from the standard variety in a number of ways. To be considered early onset, symptoms begin to appear anywhere between twelve and thirty years of age, however most commonly in the mid-teens.

“With the standard variety, vision declines over the course of twenty to thirty years, but in the vast majority of early onset cases, this timescale is reduced to a maximum of five years.”

“Wait,” Kanan interrupted. “The majority? So not always.”

Ezra felt his breath catch again, and he stared searchingly at the droid. Could there be a chance… He tried not to allow himself to hope, but if he had longer than he had believed...

“Given the degeneration already observed, as well as the patient’s description of the time of the onset of noticeable symptoms, I have no reason to believe that this case will be anything other than standard.”

“Figures,” Ezra muttered. He refused to allow himself to be disappointed. He had known what to expect already. It just would have been better if the droid had left that part out. But that was fine. Completely and totally fine.

Kanan shook his head. “Listen,” he said, addressing the droid. “I know you find this interesting…”

“On the contrary, ‘fascinating’ would be a much better descriptor. The opportunity to study this syndrome, and perhaps add to the collective understanding of it… Did you know that the cause of the early onset of symptoms is currently unknown? Perhaps a detailed lifestyle interview could assist in the discovery of that answer.”

“And that would be great,” Kanan said, in a voice that sounded calm on the surface. His emotions, communicated through the Force, were anything but. “Another time. Right now, how about we stick to the facts that are relevant to Ezra rather than worrying about things that aren’t?”

Ezra stroked his loth-cat. Not loth-cat. But it looked almost the same, and it reminded him of home.

Noisi gave an exasperated sigh, and somewhere at the back of his mind, Ezra pondered the reasoning behind whatever engineer had thought that would be a good thing for a medical professional to do. “Very well. As timescales vary, it is not possible to predict with any degree of accuracy the exact course the syndrome will take at this time; however, with further monitoring I will be able to provide this information. For now, the patient…”

“Ezra,” Kanan supplied quietly.

“Yes, that is the name of the patient. He can likely expect to have little to no usable vision in anywhere between two and three years. Following this, further degeneration will result in a total lack of light perception within a further six to eighteen months.”

Ezra realized that he was tightly squeezing and twisting the fur of his loth-cat, and made a conscious effort to stop. He smoothed the fur with trembling fingers. “I need to go,” he said, and made a move to hop off of the bed.

Kanan’s hand clamped down firmly on his shoulder, stopping him momentarily. He considered ducking down instead, sliding off the bed and fleeing, but reconsidered. If he left now, he would only have to come back again. If he could make himself stay, he would be justified in his refusal to return; it wasn’t like knowing exactly how long it was going to drag on for would benefit him in any way. From what he could tell, Noisi just wanted him there so that he could study him.

“Is there anything that can be done?” Kanan asked.

The droid hesitated. “Sacul Syndrome affects the vision in two ways. The condition truly is fascinating! The degeneration takes place simultaneously in both the retina and the optic nerve, though slower in the latter. That means that a cybernetic implant would work in the short term, but given the recovery time, as well as the time that it would take to become accustomed to the altered input from an implant…”

“Get to the point,” Kanan told him through gritted teeth, “please.”

“By the time the… Ezra… had adjusted to the cybernetics, the condition would have begun to affect the optic nerve, rendering them useless. I am sorry.”

Ezra nodded. He had known as much, though he hadn’t understood the reasons. The loth-cat sat cradled in his lap, his hand resting on its head.

“If you stop to consider it, the condition is really quite elegant, it could barely be more effective if it had been designed!”

Effective. Great. Well, at least someone was happy.

“So what’s the next step?” Kanan asked.

“Accommodation, adaptation. Rehabilitation.”

Learning how to be b… Like Kanan.

“As you are no doubt aware, I am not an expert in such matters, and under normal circumstances, the patient would have been referred to another professional for such things. However, circumstances are not normal. I have various texts which I can provide, which may be of use. In addition, I may be able to make suggestions based on my own knowledge. Outside of that, I believe that you may be the closest thing we have to an expert in that regard, Kanan Jarrus. Perhaps you would accept a referral?”

Ezra could tell, even underneath the mask, that Kanan was frowning. Slowly, he released the pressure on Ezra’s shoulder. Ezra decided to take that as permission to leave. He slid forward until his feet landed on the ground.

“When does he need to come back?” Kanan asked.

“I would suggest weekly for now, perhaps growing more infrequent over time. Please remain where you are while I retrieve the necessary texts.”

Noisi wheeled over to the other side of the room and picked a large textbook and a datapad from the shelf. He handed them to Ezra. Ezra balanced them in one hand and attempted to hand the loth-cat back to the droid.

“That is yours to keep,” the droid said.

Ezra glanced down at the toy, then up again at the droid, not sure what to do. He didn’t really want to be seen walking through the base with a stuffed toy under his arm. But, on the other hand, he did want to keep it. Finally, he pressed it to his chest and obscured it from view with the large book. He folded his arms over the book, hiding the title, and made for the door.

Behind him, he heard Kanan exchange a few words with Noisi, before he followed him outside.

“So,” Ezra said. “Never again?”

Kanan hesitated. “I know he takes some getting used to, but I think it would be helpful to go back.”

He hugged the book, and the loth-cat, tighter to his chest. “So he can start a countdown? Maybe talk about how ‘fascinating’ and ‘effective’ it is some more? No thanks. He basically said he’s not going to be any use and asked you to take over, that says just about everything.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Kanan said.

Ezra nodded. He had a feeling he was going to win that argument, Kanan didn’t appear to see any real merit in returning either.

“He’s not all bad; he did give you a tooka,” Kanan added.

Ezra sighed. As consolation prizes went, he could think of better. “That’d be great if I was five,” he said.

Kanan shook his head. “Don’t pretend you weren’t happy that you got to keep it.” He hesitated. “I still have mine too,” he added. “But Hera borrows him from time to time. Maybe don’t mention to her that I told you that, though.”

Ezra stared, trying to work out whether or not that was a joke. It had to be, right? His mind couldn’t quite connect the points to make it make sense, one way or another. He hugged the book, and the loth-cat, a little tighter still. “I’m just going to go,” he said. “Unless you want… anything.”

“No,” Kanan told him. He found Ezra’s shoulder with his hand once again. “I think I can give you a few days to…” He sighed. “Tomorrow,” he decided. “You don’t want to get into the habit of not doing it, or it’ll be tough to start again. And we need to talk about… but we’ll do that tomorrow as well.”

Ezra nodded, thankful that Kanan hadn’t insisted on doing anything there and then. He just felt… not tired as such, more like drained. Of energy, of enthusiasm, of anything. All he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe not even that. Just to sit, to grieve.

“Here.” He shoved the books into Kanan’s arms and kept the loth-cat for himself. “Do something with these, I don’t want them. I’m going to…” He pointed vaguely away from the main buildings, in the direction of his hiding spot, not sure whether Kanan was able to pick up on the gesture or not.

Well, he would start to find out that kind of thing soon enough.

He turned took off at a quick walk, the loth-cat partially concealed in his folded arms.

#little by little #star wars rebels #swr #fanfic #au #ezra bridger #kanan jarrus #feedback and comments are welcome #and appreciated

39 notes · View notes

missizzy · 5 years

Text

Fic: All Five, Part 15: Work Back Home(Star Wars)

(Read entire work on AO3)

Roughly half an hour later, Mace walked into the plant store where Xador and Edny hadn’t found much interesting, and he sure didn’t see any shatterpoints anywhere around either. When he told them that Big Hargo had taken some business by someone he was pretty sure was the Sith, and that he was now accepting a banishment from Colorpa, Edny’s face was filled with cautious hope, but Xador asked, “Is he going right now? Not even stopping to grab some bags first? Did you hypnotize him into literally turned and leaving by the nearest way out?”

Mace reached through the Force. He’d actually headed in the direction of his headquarters. He figured he probably would pack some things first, maybe even claim he was going away temporarily to whoever he’d leave to run things. Especially if he was hoping to eventually come back, although he might have realized what Mace had, that any deputy he chose would claim everything for himself first, and not welcome him home.

Sure enough, he was there, he mind very occupied, his fear still driving him. “I think he’ll be out by morning,” he said, after another moment or so. “As will I, but I will stay here until he’s beyond the walls, if that makes you feel better.” He could spare that much time. He wanted to at least visit the two signal towers before he left anyway.

That was enough for Edny. The fear she’d been carrying around every second she’d been in his presence decreased substantially. He allowed her to hug him, hard, and the enthusiasm of her thanks honestly stunned him.

But Xador, meanwhile, was looking very cross, even before he demanded, “So am I getting anything out of this? If you tell me my reward will be your not handing me over to the authorities, I swear I’m gonna take your own laser sword and ignite it right in the middle of…”

“I would expect you to be able to provide for yourself amid all the chaos that will soon ensue with this city’s biggest crime boss gone. I don’t suppose it would help that much if you accompanied me to the signal towers, but I could be wrong there.”

Xador seemed to consider it for a moment or so, but said, “There are other places I should be tonight for that. Hey, Edny, do you know…”

“No.” Edny had pulled away from Mace, and now she was drawing herself up and turning away. “I don’t know you, sir.”

“Hey, I just helped save your life!” he protested, moving to grab her.

“There’s no need for this.” Mace placed himself between them. “You won’t get anything out of her if you get violent. Edny, do you actually have any useful information for him?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment or so, and Xador looked a little calmer when she shook her head. “I’ve known nothing he hasn’t surely changed by now.”

“Makes sense,” said Xador, and Mace didn’t sense any deception from her either. “So, fine then. None of the three of us know each other. I’m sure you’ll be happy not to know either of us, Master Jedi.”

“I would be happy not to know you,” sighed Mace. “But don’t think either of you are going to get that lucky if you ever cause trouble anywhere I am.”

“Did we really get so up in your cloak you’ll take the time out?” laughed Xador, but he was already on his way out. Edny watched him leave, then continued to stare at the door for a minute or so, obviously wanting to put some space between herself and him immediately.

Just before she left, she turned to take one last look at Mace, and she said, “May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

“Thank you, m’am,” he said, and bowed slightly.

He himself stayed behind just long enough look into the Force again, this time concentrating upon the fate of his two companions. For Xador he couldn’t see much, which was to be expected; one could rarely see the fate of a man who lived like he did. For Edny, however, he could see a little. There would be more grief for her, he could tell, and fear, and also a child she would have to raise on her own. But there was also persistence, and love, and not a little amount of joy. Things wouldn’t be easy for her, but she’d be all right.

Both of the signal towers were far away enough Mace took a bus to the first one, which was empty enough he used the chance to contact first Padmé, sending her a quick message telling her he would be setting off to join her. Then he contacted the Temple. By a stroke of luck, he found himself talking to Yoda and Qui-Gon together. When he told them about Big Hargo diverting the ship, Yoda said, “Look into that, we should. Talk with Knight Kenobi, we will?”

He sensed the Dark Side strong around the first of the towers even before he got off the bus. It was the one by the Red Gate, as it was called; Mace had heard three different stories about why. That he’d sensed nothing like it the entire time he and Padmé had been in the spaceport made him suspect that Darth Maul had used that signal tower a lot less. Perhaps he’d thought he would use it, but had found that impractical.

The security on it was better than it had been on Edny’s tower, and breaking in would take more time than he had. So instead Mace spent a little while walking around the perimeter, standing over some of the blocks on the bottom which contained the majority of the tower’s wiring; that was a common feature of Colorpa’s older buildings. He’d gone nearly around when he reached the ones with notches on the end near the wall, which was definitely a sign of being tampered with, especially when, on closer examination, he also discovered it opened on that end.

There was a seal-lock built into the wall, and it was impossible to break it without triggering an alarm. But using just a sliver of his blade, Mace was able to cut a hole just big enough to look through.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was he saw in the box. It looked kind of like a holocron, but while it was not without the Dark Side, it was so weak he hadn’t sensed it until he’d gotten within a hand’s length of it, if only because of the mysterious broken piece of it he was currently carrying around blocking it out.

Because that was the main thing he could determine about it: it was made of the exact same substance as the object in his pouch, and it was the right size that the broken piece could have easily come from it.

Pulling back, Mace gingering slip a pinky finger into the hole. He didn’t even actually have to touch the thing; same feeling of wrong. This time, he was also hit by a strange feeling of distance, as if he would, if he reached out, be able to touch and feel things half a galaxy away, maybe more.

Were the Sith trying to do something like that, to spy on the Jedi, or even cross vast amounts of space within a moment? Had they possibly even succeeded at the former? At least if they managed the latter, the Jedi would know.

He didn’t linger much longer, either by the block, or around the tower. He sensed nothing else out of the ordinary, and he didn’t have time for any more in-depth looking. As dawn rose over Colorpa two and a half hours later, Mace Windu had already left the city, settled in the corner of a long bus where he hoped he wouldn’t even have to sit too close to anyone during the three days it would take to get to Tanzer. He had given Padmé a full update, and learned she and her two companions had reached the city and gone to ground in a motel on its outskirts.

They probably wouldn’t be able to get rid of those two as easily has Mace had his own two; they neither of them had anything to go back to. He found themselves dwelling just a little on whether they could settle them somewhere on this planet, or whether they’d have to take them off it with them. It probably wouldn’t be that much of a bother to get them into a refugee resettlement center, one far enough away from Avvarbor Prime that they could be convinced that nobody there would be interested in hurting or killing them. It was getting them through Colorpa first that might be more of a pain.

Except that Mace also had an uneasy feeling that he himself was never going to set foot in Colorpa again.

The Jedi Temple, Coruscant

On Master Jinn’s instructions, Anakin had spent the last hour looking up weird gadgets that were very tangentially related to Sith Holocrons. Like where it was believed some inventor who never would’ve been able to open it had found one, and there were signs of it influencing his work, situations like that. His Master and Obi-Wan had gone to the Archives to research other objects that might be related or even be what Master Windu had found before leaving Colorpa, the ones that were darker.

He found himself flipping through the creations of Syne Orbs, an inventor from Avvarbor Five who’d died only the previous year. He’d made his living by selling traveling lights and similar, but he also filed paperwork for a device he claimed could be used to listen in on encrypted messages, even ones both sent and received all the way on the other side of the galaxy. When Anakin looked at some of his wares, he was reminded of the lantern Master Jinn had given him back on Sopertlia, on a day that felt so long ago now.

His hadn’t been the only invention to remind Anakin of that lantern. It probably helped that he’d been working with it lately. As his Master had suggested, he now had a way to take the lights on and off of the chain and put them back. Detached, and occasionally floated around, they definitely looked a little like some of the levitatable lights developed on more than one planet.

He was looking further into the various records related to Orbs, noting he’d died of a disease it was very unusual for humans to get, when Obi-Wan came in, and Anakin could sense Master Jinn was close behind him. “Well, Anakin,” he said, “you’ll be happy to hear this: the two of us are to go outside the Temple.”

“Really?” Anakin couldn’t help how his face lit up.

“Yes, really,” said Obi-Wan. “You remember the transport that left Avvarbor Prime and was diverted here, apparently on the orders of the Sith? We’ve been looking into where its various passengers went, especially the Epostulate ones. It looks like most of them have rented out an apartment clump on Level 3011. The Council has decided the two of us are to go down there, see if we can get any information out of the locals, if any of them are Force sensitive.”

“Why us, though?” Anakin was now mature and responsible enough to ask that question. “I mean, any pair of Jedi could do that, and they might even be in less danger than us.”

Obi-Wan let his obvious discomfort show then, as he said, “Qui-Gon brought up the same point. He got the Council to admit that they’re hoping the two of us will attract the Sith’s attention. We’re pretty sure Darth Maul isn’t on Coruscant right now, so he wouldn’t be able to come attack us tonight, but hearing we’ve been there, if the inhabitants have been told to keep an eye out for us, maybe then sending Qui-Gon down there too a few days from now, might draw him back here.”

“You think he’d really do that? Come here, to Coruscant, alone, with all the Jedi right here?” Although he wouldn’t be completely alone, Anakin then thought, since the Sith almost certainly had operatives here, and probably the second one was on the planet somewhere. Or, of course, he might bring fighters with him, like the Sith had twice in the last decade and a half.

“I don’t know, honestly,” said Obi-Wan. “All I know is the Council seems to believe it’s possible.”

Sometimes, when the Jedi went down into Coruscant’s lower levels, they would leave the Temple by an exit on one of the lowest levels still in use. Master Jinn accompanied his former and current Padawan down to it an hour or so later, Anakin trying to remember as they walked where they were in relation to the abandoned areas he’d crept through on that day he’d run into Master Dooku.

The memory of Dooku brought up another worrying thought. Very quietly, he asked, “Does anyone else in the Temple know where we’re going?”

“Of course not,” said Master Jinn. “This is the sort of task that must be done quickly and quietly. You yourself should not talk about it with anyone outside the five of us, and maybe not that much even then.”

Anakin wasn’t sure he liked that, being asked to limit how much he talked about it with Padmé. But maybe things would be different by the time she got back to Coruscant anyway.

For now, he just reminded himself that this meant they shouldn’t have to worry about any spies at all, and he was even cheered when Master Jinn pulled each of them in turn into the kind of fierce hug Anakin didn't always even want anymore. “Come back safe,” he said, and then watched, his care warming them both through the Force, until the door had shut behind them.

Since that first time, when he and Padmé had both still been Initiates and she’d nearly died saving someone, Anakin had traveled down to the deep levels of Coruscant three times, all of them with Master Jinn. It definitely felt less safe than it had ever been, even with Obi-Wan with him, but that was simply because he knew more now. Even during his last visit, a little after he’d turned twelve, he hadn’t quite grasped the full extent of the crime that went on, or how desperate life could be for so many who lived down here, and what could happen as a result.

“Stay close to me, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “I know at your age I would feel like I should be more daring, and I know you’ve done things probably more dangerous than this, but all the same, it would be silly of you to get yourself hurt right now.”

Surely Obi-Wan realized how restless that was going to make Anakin. But he did understand the logic of the knight’s words. So he tried to remember all the mantras he knew for keeping himself at peace and patient. Master Jinn had taught him a lot of those over the years. It helped that they spent a significant amount of time walking downward, steady rhythmic steps that gave them both something to concentrate on, combined with their surroundings, though through much of it there weren’t very many lifeforms near them.

He even managed to keep doing them during the brief elevator ride, listening to the hum it made-a little whirry; it could do with a tune-up. When the door opened up, they were blasted by cold air, although Anakin felt more the warmth of all the people crowded together in the space ahead of them, so different from the levels they’d just traveled through or even the places immediately around them.

He noted that last bit to Obi-Wan, saying, “I think they chose a place deliberately away from everybody else. Surely that means they’re up to something.”

“Not necessarily. If they’re refounding their community here, they probably don’t want its members, especially not the younger ones, mixing too much with other people, especially on a planet like Coruscant, where there are so many different kinds of people, and they know so little about any of them. Cult groups are often like that, always afraid of their ways being changed or people abandoning them.”

Anakin couldn’t help then but think of certain things he’d heard said about the Jedi, especially here on Coruscant. Maybe Obi-Wan could tell, because he said, “It has often been the task of the Jedi to avoid that kind of thinking. Our ways are our ways, and while change should not be unheard of, nor should it be undertaken without great care, prudence, and knowledge. But we do not put ourselves above those who aren’t us. On the contrary, we spend our days doing good for them, walking among them, even if we live apart from them. Young Jedi see plenty of the galaxy by the time they are knighted; they do not make that commitment blindly.”

He probably would’ve talked more, too, if they hadn’t now just about reached their destination, a large cluster of buildings, two or three floors, it looked like, clumped against and around each other like pieces of mud. There was absolutely no one outside, and this was big enough a residential cluster that there should have been at least a few people going from one place to another.

They walked to what was roughly the middle of it, hoping the Force would nudge one or the other of them towards one of the buildings, or someone would decide to come out when they saw them. When neither happened, Obi-Wan called out, “I know there are people here, people who are obviously hiding from us. We won’t be much of a bother to you. In fact, we’re trying to protect you. We know who you are, and where you came from, and you did not intend to come here to Coruscant. We also know that your ship was diverted by the mysterious man who came to your city and said he would teach you. I imagine you were fleeing from him, and now he chose your destination, and there’s a good chance he has some further plans for you.

So if you want us to stop him, then any information you have about him could be what allows us to do that. If you don’t want to come out now, you know where to find us.”

This was probably the right course to take, but Anakin couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that it looked like they weren’t going to get much done themselves that day. Even more so when they’d started walking, and were nearly out of the complex.

Until a young woman burst from the entrance from the building at the edge of it, her hood half-falling down as she stumbled in her heavy dress, nearly colliding with them before she skidded to a halt with a, “I believe you. The rest of them don’t, or say they don’t, but I do. And the two people who are in charge of us right now, one of them’s behaving really weird. Master Tenni, he’s mostly all right, focused on getting us the virtual employments and food and stuff, but Master Kolut, he’s not helping with any of that. Instead he says he’s always off trying to find out why we ended up on Coruscant, almost all the day, every day. I think he’s doing something else.”

That definitely sounded suspicious, but Anakin could think of a lot of things Master Kolut might be doing that he had nothing to do with the Sith which he still wouldn’t want his followers knowing about. Obi-Wan was probably thinking the same thing, as he asked her, “Do you know if he has any powers? Or if he was a student of the one you fled from?”

She shook her head. “I never knew those sorts of things. Though I think most of us here don’t have any powers. I know I don’t, and nor does anyone in my family.” As she spoke this she glanced around, as if she’d just heard something.

Obi-Wan of course promptly asked, “Is it safe for you to remain here now?”

“No, I’m not leaving,” she said, and shrank away, and both Jedi knew instantly that it wasn’t.

“You need to come away with us,” Anakin said, before Obi-Wan could stop him. “I know that must seem really scary, but aren’t you scared to go back in there?” She was; they wouldn’t have even needed the Force to sense that.

But she must have been even more scared to go with them, because she just shook her head and started to retreat.

“The choice doesn’t have to be between them or us,” Obi-Wan offered. “There’s a refuge not far from here, level 3038, in the Mustrose Complex, go up the lift just west of here and it’ll be easy to find.” But his words somehow seemed to frighten her even more, and she outright turned and ran back the way she had come.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You should’ve left it to me, Anakin. I could’ve almost certainly gotten more information out of her.”

“And would you have gotten her out of here?” Anakin asked, as they resumed their walk back to the lift. “Could we have said anything to make her go?” He would feel terrible if they could have.

But instead he felt even worse when Obi-Wan just said, “I don’t know. Someone in her position-it’s hard enough to get them to save themselves even in the best of circumstances, and when she’s newly on a planet like Coruscant, bigger and scarier to her than even the entire galaxy ever was to us, and has reason to believe a great and powerful being is after her…”

“And we have to just walk away from her now, don’t we?” Anakin wasn’t even disputing that; he knew he couldn’t. But he wasn’t going to pretend to like it.

“We can’t force her to leave,” said Obi-Wan. “Jedi can only do that sort of thing when enough is at stake that they can justify it to the Senate. And in this case, even talking to her about it for too long could cause the leaders of this community to file a complaint about us, which we really do not want right now. And yes, I know it’s painful…”

“Painful?” Anakin did his best not to yell it. “It’s way worse than that! What if they kill that poor girl?!”

“I know, I know,” said Obi-Wan, and Anakin knew he did, if only because he knew the knight’s mind. “But the fact remains that if we did other than what we are doing right now, it would likely result in far worse happening.”

Anakin didn’t say anything then. What could he have said? But he was going to be mad for the rest of the day, he decided, and he didn’t care if he wasn’t supposed to be mad just because he was a Jedi.

Back in the elevator, Obi-Wan said, “At least we got the information about their leaders, and she was telling the truth that there wasn’t much Force sensitivity, from what I could sense. Did you get the same impression?” When Anakin said that he had, he said, “We’ll pass that name on. I think Qui-Gon could trace at least some of his activities with neither he nor his followers any the wiser.”

The Next Morning

It was one of those mornings where Master Rancisis decided he wanted to lecture the next generation on a subject he believed they all needed to know about. So Anakin was out of their quarters right after breakfast, and Qui-Gon had told him he could go to lunch from there, and there was no hurry for him to return after it, so long as he didn’t take half the afternoon. Normally he wished Master Rancisis wouldn’t forcibly drag all the Padawans in the Temple at the moment to one of his speeches, but there was no denying it was convenient on that occasion.

First he was able to talk with Obi-Wan about what had happened with Anakin specifically the previous day, and even a little about how to help him cope with it. “I certainly would’ve felt the same way he did when I was that age,” he commented. “To some extent, I still do.”

“More than just to some extent,” said Obi-Wan, smiling. “Anyone who’s been your Padawan would know that. But that might at least make it easier to get Anakin to listen to whatever you say to him about it.”

He couldn’t stay the entire morning either, though, and Qui-Gon was alone when he sat down to deal with the matter of Ugs Kolut. He’d gotten his full name off the ship’s paperwork the previous night, and from there messaged all of the various friends he’d made around Coruscant over the years with all the details they had on him. A message had arrived in response from one of them, a tech who had been working in the Senate building for over two decades, who had looked in the Visitor’s Log and seen Kolut’s name six times. He’d also asked Qui-Gon to call at home at a certain time when he’d be on break. He was probably using this as excuse to talk to him about some other matter, but Qui-Gon commed him anyway.

Sure enough, when Rozitti answered, there were about ten minutes where he complained about new taxes applied to everyone who lived in the Senate District that didn’t hurt the Senators any, but did very badly hurt those that worked for them. He had to know Qui-Gon and the Jedi couldn’t interfere any with that, but he didn’t try to remind him of that, just heard him out.

Finally, Rozitti said, “And to make it even worse, I’m not sure my boss isn’t secretly looking through our messages. That’s why I didn’t want to go into any more details about your guy Kolut when I wrote you last night. I’ve set this to not archive on my side. But I’m pretty sure your guy’s been to some pretty high places as a visitor, and in the Supreme Chancellor’s office at least one, somewhere between 4:24 and 4:28 of this year.”

“Your private messages?” Qui-Gon demanded, his mission momentarily forgotten in his dismay. “Are they truly allowing that now?”

“According to law, no,” Rozitti answered with a rueful smile. “But even if we could be sure he’s doing it, how would we stop him? Law enforcement on Coruscant doesn’t serve people like us, my friend. You know, if you could ever make yourself of aid to us, you’d have a lot more friends here than just me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, my friend.” He would, too, but now, unfortunately, might not be quite the time. “Meanwhile, are you still willing to give me any more information about who exactly Kolut might have talked to? Even speculation might be useful.”

Rozitti shrugged. “His aides, or some of them, I’d assume. Maybe some other officials? Or other political figures, not even senators, necessarily. I haven’t heard of him coming in or being in with any other visitors in particular, but if there was any serious under-the-console stuff going on, those involved might try to avoid being connected to each other. Be interesting to know if he met with the Chancellor himself; not everyone who goes to his office does, of course.”

Qui-Gon, too, would be very interested in knowing that; he suspected that if the man was meeting with the Sith, he probably didn��t see very many people besides whoever their operative was. “And the other dates he might have come in? Any other details you happen to know?”

He rattled off the dates, but no obvious pattern appeared, and after that he had pretty much told Qui-Gon all he knew. Qui-Gon thanked him then, and added, “Remember, if you ever have serious financial difficulties…”

“I know,” said Rozetti. “Nice doing business with you, Master Jinn.” He was smirking as he disconnected. It made Qui-Gon’s lips curl up a little.

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #mace windu

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