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yamiheart · 1 year

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In CELEBRATION of Fanfiction

AI-generated content seems to be aiming at every possible creative pursuit as of late. Theft of art and art styles has become so insidious that digital artists are being forced to “mask” their posted pieces in ways that human eyes can’t detect yet completely scramble AI art programs. AI “animation,” while currently in a state of fairly poor quality, has proven to be feasible, and thus threatens the status of already precarious and underpaid animators throughout the world. Even photographers and their models are not immune to the pressure of the seemingly “miraculous” output of hundreds of thousands of lifelike, frontpage-ready images by AI programs.

Of course, the above mentioned are all visual mediums. The art of conversation and the written word has also been in the eye of AI for a long time. “Chatbots” have been around for almost as long as the concept of the computer itself, and The Turing Test is still a popular measure of a successful AI chatting program to this day. Back in my childhood days, “Cleverbot” was a novelty chatbot that was fun to chat with for a few minutes, but quickly became stale. As most of you reading likely already know, ChatGPT, on the other hand, has taken the world by storm. Schools are contending with students submitting AI-written reports (a very futuristic-sounding cheating method indeed), and many writing-based industries, already squeezed by the looming threats of a post-pandemic recession, are in turmoil over the potential of the complete replacement of humans by the machines.

I myself am in no way an AI expert. I do not know if the current state of AI is just a fad or a true industry disruptor. What I do know about, however, is fanfiction, and it seems that people want AI to write it, too.

I have been writing fanfiction since 2010, back when I was in middle school. I would write for hours and hours, exploring characters and ideas in ways the original source material (in this case, the original Yu-Gi-Oh! series) never intended. I would then post these works onto fanfiction(dot)net for mostly my irl friends and a few dozen strangers to read and enjoy. Over the years, I’ve cycled through a few different fandoms and made the switch to the currently-preferred fanfic-posting website, Archive of Our Own -otherwise known as “Ao3.” LiveJournal, FFnet, Wattpad, Ao3 -all of these websites and more have had hundreds of thousands if not millions of fanfictions posted and consumed. Fanfiction isn’t just a small circle of Star Trek fans sharing secret magazines through the mail -and in some ways, it never was just that.

Many “classics” today are, in some way or another, fanfiction by another name. Consider, for instance, the well-known fact that Disney’s 1994 hit movie, The Lion King, is just a retelling of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. When anonymous authors online turn all of their favorite characters into lions or wolves, it’s considered “furry cringe,” but when multi-billion dollar corporations do the same, it’s considered “art.”

House is a modern-day hospital-au version of Sherlock Holmes.

All fairytale “reimaginings,” such as the TV drama Once Upon a Time, are fanfictions in every sense of the word.

The current Batman cannon has so many reimaginings that it’s a gag in The Lego Batman Movie!

And these are just some American/European examples. The first “modern” novel, The Tale of Genji, has such a long history of fanart and fanfiction in Japan that there are literal traveling museum exhibitions to display small fractions of what has been (and continues to be) produced. However, in these exhibitions, the words “art” and “fiction” are never preceded by “fan.” These works, though just as “derivative” in content as anything you would find in internet fanspaces today, get to once again simply be “art.”

What is the difference? Where is the line between literature worthy of “respect” and literature considered worthy of constant derision?

I do not have all the answers, but please allow me to present some for your consideration.

As you may have noticed in my above examples, most of the original works being reimagined are, indeed, in the public domain. This means that no one owns the rights to these original works anymore, and thus they can be reproduced faithfully or completely changed without threat of legal trouble. This also means that all reproductions can make money for the reproducers without hassle. Batman is a somewhat curious case in this instance, since many of his reimaginings are in and of themselves canon while still carrying many of the hallmarks of fanfiction.

We will return to the curious case of Batman later, but needless to say legality and potential monetary gain make up an important component of the supposed high-literature/lowly-fanfiction divide. If you ever click on “older” fanfictions, particularly those from the 2000s and early-2010s, you will see constant repetition of phrases such as “I do not own X” or “please don’t sue me”. Later authors, including my own childhood self, repeated these out of an abundance of caution without really knowing why. Afterall, no one on websites like FFnet honestly thought the authors owned the “original” works in question to begin with. The problem, as I understand it now, arose from the infamous response of author Anne Rice to fanfiction of her book series, The Vampire Chronicles. In 2001, she made it very clear that her works and characters were protected by copyright, and that she was willing and ready to sue any supposed-copycats. Fanfics were purged by both individual authors and entire websites who were either afraid of the mere threat of legal action or had been notified of impending legal action if there was no change respectively.

The state of fanfiction legality has come a long way in 20+ years, but even Ao3, which has lawyers on hand to defend both its own existence and the rights of its authors, does not allow authors to talk about taking commissions (ie, getting paid) or post links to websites such as kofi or patreon. The idea of “making money” off of fanfiction still exists in a dangerous gray zone that not even the lawyers of Ao3 can protect you from.

Still, one of the stereotypes of the true artiste is that they do not create with money in mind to begin with, so this cannot be the only factor in fanfiction’s discrediting as an art form. Another consideration, then, is the content of fanfiction itself. So far, I have not endeavored to try and define the word “fanfiction.” Everyone reading this surely has their own conception of the word in mind either from first-hand experience or cultural osmosis. To me, defining fanfiction is as fruitless a pursuit as trying to define any other medium of artistic expression. What is sculpture? What is painting? What is documentary filmmaking? Definitions require limits, and limits breed exceptions.

Perhaps the broadest stereotypical definition of fanfiction is that it is derivative work containing sexually-explicit love stories of a primarily homosexual-male variety. Many of the most famous pairings -KirkxSpock, SasukexNaruto, DanxPhil- would seem, to the distant observer, to fit this stereotype. A related stereotype replaces the homosexual-male romance with a heterosexual romance between a male celebrity/fictional character and a female oc or “original character” who is thus presumed to be the author’s self-insert (meaning that the female oc is a one-to-one reflection of the author herself). Think of all the most infamous One Direction fanfiction for a taste of this stereotypical form.

However, as you may have guessed, these stereotypes lead to a superficial understanding of what fanfiction can be. If you go to Ao3 right now, you will find that there are five content ratings that can be attached to a fic: General Audiences, Teen and Up Audiences, Mature, Explicit, and Not Rated. By definition, there is no way to know what sort of content is in a “Not Rated” fic, but putting that aside, let us for a moment be ultra-conservative and assume ALL “Explicit” and “Mature” fanfictions have sex (as an author who has used this system, I know for a fact that they do not). Even with this ultra-conservative assumption, going to any popular series with over 200,000 archived stories will reveal to you that sexually-explicit fanfictions make up less than half of what is published. What types of stories are contained in the majority of fanfictions, then?

Well, let’s take a moment to look at the chat fic as just one example. Chat fics are not the most popular type of fanfiction, but they often attract a fair amount of readers. Chat fics are meant to be, well, group chats between fictional characters. Some may have suggestions of romance, but many of these fics would be better described as chaotic, humor-driven affairs (the humor in this case, as in all cases, being somewhat subjective). Authors often have the freedom to play around with each character’s screen name, as well as what other characters might have someone saved as in smaller or private chats. Details like these reveal that, while chat fics may appear on the surface to be some of the most simple and easy-to-write fanfictions, they often require in-depth knowledge of not just canon facts but also fanon (“fan canon”) tropes to be accepted and enjoyed authentically by readers. The implementation of this knowledge is doubly impressive when the original source material exists in a world without cellphones and the internet, and thus the author must find a way to strike a balance between referencing the original character/trait/meme/etc while making it seem congruent in the new setting. Indeed, the achievement of a particularly impressive “reference” in any fic is often met with high praise by readers in the comment section of the story.

I should say now that none of this is meant to stigmatize or label sexually-explicit fanfiction as somehow “inauthentic.” It is authentic and it is important, but it is not all that fanfiction is. One of the greatest beauties of fanfiction, as has been observed in pieces like Dan Olson’s breakdown of the Fifty Shades movies on the Folding Ideas YouTube channel, is that it lets both authors and readers get to the “good stuff” without having to be bogged down by character introductions and worldbuilding. In the contract of fanfiction, both the author and the reader have already done some amount of prior “research” so that everyone is more or less on the same page about certain aspects of the work. This is why the many iterations of Batman work no matter the change in scenery or storyline: both authors and readers are bringing assumptions to the table that they are ready and willing to see both reaffirmed and challenged.

Again, a common reason for praise in the comment sections of fanfictions comes from the perceived accuracy of a character’s depiction within the story. In this case, it doesn’t matter if the creator of the original work would actually agree with the characterization in the fanfiction, just that the fanfic author and the reader agree that it is authentic. It is understandable, then, that creators like Anne Rice would feel threatened by fanfiction. In some cases, this fear is legitimate: no well-intentioned creator would want their work altered in order to spread hateful messages, afterall. Additionally, when characters in a story are not merely fictional but are real, living celebrities/singers/idols/youtubers/etc., there are some reasonable questions about ethics and consent to consider. However, what I have mostly found throughout my years as a writer and reader is that the fanfiction contract allows for a deeper exploration of themes that mainstream media simply does not or will not explore.

This brings us to the final consideration today for why fanfiction is so often belittled and mocked, and to put it quite simply it is the creators and audience themselves. Returning to stereotypes once more, people often imagine that fanfiction is written by and for heterosexual, teenage, cis-gendered girls. The social trend of shitting on the interest of teenage girls is another topic for another time. For now, I certainly will not deny that these people exist within the space, but I also would not say they are necessarily the majority. I can only speak from my own experiences, but I have found is that fanfiction holds a strong attraction for individuals of queer genders and sexualities. These individuals, searching both to express their own feelings and to find a community, can use fanfiction as a means of attaining both. This is partially why sexually explicit fanfiction, while not the majority of what is written, can be some of the most powerful and subversive content that is produced. Fanfiction written about men is almost never fanfiction written for cis-gender men, and the truth is that pornography written by gender/sexual minorities for gender/sexual minorities just hits different.

And when it comes to minority or disadvantaged groups, queer individuals are by no means the only ones who find freedom in fanfiction. Taking characters “everyone” knows and writing them with depression, anxiety, ADHD, Autism, etc., allows authors and readers to feel fully realized in fiction for the first time. Fanfiction can be just as, and sometimes even more, resonant than traditional fiction because of just how strong people’s feelings are for their favorite characters. If those favorite characters were dismissed or betrayed in the source material, they can be given a second chance at “life” in the fanfiction. Even when this is not the case, there may be elements to characters that simply resonate with minority voices and inspire further creation even after the canon story ends.

Fanfiction is not perfect by any means. There is quite a lot to be said about problems such as the misogyny and racism that can “slip by” or be fully adopted by a fandom uncriticized. Once again, however, this is true of any artistic medium, and that’s what fanfiction is: a medium of expression, not a genre. Fanfiction can be romance, but it can also be sci-fi, mystery, comedy, thriller, historical drama, adventure, and more. It is creation constrained only by the written word itself.

Now let me tie this all back to the beginning. As I alluded to, there has recently been an increased interest in allowing ChatGPT to “write” fanfiction. I am here to say that AI fanfiction is not real fanfiction. While it is true that AI is by its very nature derivative in its outputs, AI is hollow. It has nothing to say. Fanfiction is a rich and flourishing medium which takes characters the dominant powers in society have “allowed” us to have, and it breathes into these characters fresh, minority voices. Fanfiction is art, and it is worthy of celebration, not derision and cheap imitation.

#I came back to Tumblr just to post this #But with Twitter on fire I might return permanently who knows #I have neither the time nor the skills to make a video essay #But if I did it would be this #Fanfiction

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coffehbeans · 1 year

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Tales from Immers (Prompt #11)

Prologue | Chapter 1 (you're here)

EDIT 15/07: Helloo guys. So, I was so unsatisfied with how this turned out that I edited it again quite a lot. It's much shorter and less convoluted now, at least I hope so. The first version had too much going on. Anyway, enjoy!

Masterpost of stories and prompts (you can send an ask for a prompt from the list!)

Synopsis: Self-procclaimed prodigy Kylon invented something beyond a man's imagination: the airship. In an attempt to test it out, a failure in his creation brings him to a meeting only heard of in legends, roping Kylon into a hidden story within the woods of Immers.

Rating: PG-13 for descriptions of violence.

AAAAAAAAHHHH Here it is fellas!!! I FINISHED IT NNGGHH *explodes*

Okay I have absolutly no more energy to edit this anymore, so ENJOY! I'm finally introducing this universe's protagonist, and also my favorite blorbo uwu Anyway, onwards to the story!

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Everything was ready.

The engines of the airship functioned perfectly, as he designed them to. The steam releasing from the metal contractions hummed pleasantly, music in his ears. Floating above the structure and attached to the platform was the gigantic rubber-coated fabric filled with hydrogen that would allow it to fly. From a distance, it was a spectacle by itself, a monument of beauty and ingenuity never built before, a creation that came from Kylon’s own, inventive mind. He grinned, excitement bubbling up inside his chest. He hopped on the surprisingly small airship carrying a knapsack on his back, a notebook and a pencil packed in his pockets. The space inside the balloon was too small, after all, it barely fit him on the wooden platform. This test drive would be short, yet fascinating.

“Do you see this, Rosemary?” – he shouted in the open, grassy area towards a ginger figure at the distance. Her long red curls and flowy dress billowed in the wind. Not capable of speaking, she waved at him and signaled with both of her hands:

‘It looks amazing!’

Kylon beamed, happy that his friend shared his contentment. If his invention worked, he would make a bigger, better one, and he would take her with him, hopefully to a better place than where they currently lived in.

Although, compared to their little run-down village, which welcomed foreigners like them with judgmental eyes and displeased scowls, anywhere else seemed a better place.

He fixed the round glasses on his face, pushing them up, and ran a hand across his dirty blonde hair, not doing much to improve the disheveled appearance of his frizzly straight locks, which were pulled back and tied into a high, messy ponytail. Kylon gave a quick look around the airship in order to check if everything was ready for departure. He was approaching the anchor to pull it from the ground, until Rosemary approached him.

‘Are you sure I can’t come with you? It unnerves me that you are traveling alone.’ She motioned with her hands, a frown deepening on her face.

Kylon softened his gaze and smiled.

“You have no need to worry, Rosey. I spent so many months building this little dove, I’m mostly sure she will not fail on me.”

Rosemary inaudibly giggled. ‘She?’

“That’s right! I’m announcing my official marriage with my latest creation, and you’re the most and only esteemed guest!”

They both laughed in unison, but Rosemary’s face quickly fell into worry.

‘I am worried for one thing, though. I know you don’t believe in legends but…Why the Immer Woods?’

Kylon took his eyes from the rope attached to the airship and glanced at his friend. It’s comprehensive that when a rumor is often talked about, people are most inclined to believe it, and since no one has been able to prove creatures from fairytales exist or not, tales such as of the Immers Beast are perfect to fill the imagination of curious but fearful minds.

But Kylon did not believe in fairytales, and after experiencing so many raw and real events in his 19-year-old life, the notion of considering a tall tale capable of stopping his plans were ridiculous. Still, he felt glad for the worry coming from his only friend.

“It’s precisely why no one dares to venture those places that I long to see it and document everything for myself.” – Kylon smiled and touched Rosemary’s shoulder.

“No need to worry, Rosey. When was the last time I nearly died with my inventions?”

‘Um, almost every single one of them?’ She looked wide eyed at him, agitated.

Kylon chuckled. “Well, we all must start from somewhere. This time will be different! You’ll see!”

Rosemary did not have it in her to discourage her friend. So, when he boarded the airship and it slowly soared towards the sky, she smiled and waved farewell, pursing her lips and suppressing the concerned frown that threatened to appear on her face.

.........................................................................

Kylon was flying once again, gliding the fresh wind currents at quicker speeds than he ever thought possible. The flight continued without a hitch, and he guided the airship with a gleeful smile on his face, taking in the fresh air as his creation danced around the blue skies, swinging in a comfortable motion. Kylon took a deep breath and sighed, serenity on his face. After so many failed attempts at a successful airship, he did it. He made a revolutionary invention, not once created by mankind. If he showed it to the high nobility, from any kingdom, perhaps he would be given a high-ranking position, and he would be able to live a better life alongside Rosemary.

However, the kingdom of Immers would not be the place where he’d present his invention, lest his true identity is discovered.

And Kylon did know inside his heart, for he was an honest man, that if he ever had the opportunity to stab a blade against the chest of an Immers soldier, he would do so without hesitation.

He approached the “forbidden” Imore Woods, scoffing at the memory of the funny and exaggerated mythical stories. They said the place was renamed five years ago in honor of the second son of Immers’s baron, Audwin Imore, who disappeared and apparently died inside the misty forest. Kylon also heard from Rosemary that frequent earthquakes could be felt originating from the forest, and that those who dared enter returned traumatized and paralyzed with fear, refusing to speak about what they saw with petrified eyes. Kylon smirked and leaned his arms on the thin wooden balcony. It felt almost funny how because of a tale people refused to see the beautiful landscape the forest provided. Thick, tall trees covered the ground he flew over with evergreen-colored leaves, surrounded by imposing grey mountains. A chilly white mist obscured part of the scenery, and Kylon almost felt tempted to descend right then and there to explore the forest closer.

His wish, to his surprise, came true. An intense wind current surged from the opposite direction of his airship and shook it, almost making him fall towards the ground. Gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white, Kylon carefully made his way towards the engine, seeing that nothing seemed to be broken inside. He looked up at the ship’s balloon, but nothing seemed ripped.

Another strong shaking on the wooden platform made his grip tighter on the fragile support, and Kylon made a mental note to build a stronger platform in the future. The airship twisted and contorted, diving towards the surface.

The construction soon lost balance and descended with fierce tremors, plummeting faster towards the ground. Kylon breathed in and out in, looking at the approaching ground as the biting winds blew his hair and gravity pulled him down. His heartbeat accelerated. He had to jump or the ship could explode with him in it.

“Looks like it can’t fly on its own for long.” He said to himself and sighed, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. Kylon might not admit it to himself, but the favorite part of his failures was almost dying from them, the thrill of danger filling his senses with addictive adrenaline.

He gripped the shoulder straps of his backpack and leaped off the falling airship with a yell, feeling his heart soar with joy as pressure from the Earth took him over. He pulled a string on his backpack to activate the parachute he created for himself, slowing his fall as he descended towards the forest below. The ship crashed with a brassy noise soon after, catching fire upon impact. When Kylon’s feet did as much as graze the ground, he hastily removed the backpack from his back, ignoring any pain or bruise he might have gotten, and sprinted towards the fallen balloon.

“So much time dedicated to her, and now it’s all ruined!” He grumbled and sprinted closer to the crashing site, looking up at his creation as it burned into ashes, ruffling his messy hair with one hand as he paced back and forth. He had to put out the fire somehow, or there would be nothing of his beloved to salvage.

“There must be a river nearby. Or maybe it’ll rain, or something. I’m not even married with my beloved blimp yet and it’s already – “

A strong earthquake quaked under his feet and Kylon stumbled in place.

‘So apparently that part of the legend was real’.

The rhythmic tremors confirmed some veracity of those tales as well, since the ground shook at a steady and resounding pace, causing the trees to sway and branches to fall off their sturdy trunks. He paid no mind to the sound as he steadied himself and strode towards a random direction in the misty woods, hoping to find some sort of water. But then, he remembered there was nothing he could use to carry the water towards the ship. Was his creation ruined forever? No, he could not let that happen.

The tremors got more intense and deafening in sound, causing Kylon to wince. He looked towards the direction of the mountains that loomed in the distance, thinking that perhaps an avalanche was coming towards his direction, in which case he’d have to run as fast as possible. His beloved ship may be dead, but Kylon must not die, at least not yet.

“No, that can’t be it. The mountains are so far away I can barely see them. Then what – “

The ground shook so hard Kylon lost his balance and fell back-first on the grassy ground with a loud yelp. The earth reverberated around him, the ground threatening to collapse as it quaked. In the distant, misty horizon he could make out the silhouette of trees tumbling down towards the ground, adding volume to the pulsating sounds. Kylon was about to get up when he heard a rush of water from his right.

“No freaking way.”

A waterfall had just materialized from the mist over the burning airship, instantly dousing the flames. Kylon was never one to believe in miracles, but this time there was no explanation. It was a miracle, his dearest was safe!

That was when he realized that the waterfall poured out from something, round and brown in color. It resembled a wooden bucket, but massive in size. Only when it creaked and retreated did he notice that something was attached to the monumental object, and it moved.

“What is going on?” He marveled.

He had just gotten up when a heavier earthquake shoved him towards the ground again. Frustration surged within him

“Are you serious?!” He shouted. Kylon sat up and glanced in all directions until his gaze locked onto something directly in front of him.

"My glasses must be broken."he muttered, removing them and placing them back on.

If he wasn’t hallucinating, those were two ginormous boots.

Kylon swallowed and felt his throat dry. The mist must have clouded his vision, making tree trunks appear as boots. Yes, that was the only possible explanation.

A loud clanking sound rattled the earth and he shrieked. Towards him rolled an impossibly gigantic wooden bucket. Water dripped out of it, as the immense object sped up towards him. Kylon screamed and got up, sprinting out of its way.

It was then that it dawned on him. He was not hallucinating.

He felt sweat streaming down his forehead as he slowly turned his head to the massive boots, noticing they were connected to limbs. And up he looked, and up, and up, until he accidentally fell back again towards the ground.

His stomach sank, heartbeat hammering inside his chest.

The thick leather material connected to black cotton pants that towered over the trees, to a torso covered by miles of white woolen fabric. A face was obscured by the pale mist, strands of long, thick hair cascading down the creature’s chest. Peering closely, Kylon could see up in the cloudy distance, and chills crawled down his spine when he noticed the glowing, vibrant shade of blue of the beast’s eyes.

Kylon yelled and shot up, upon which the figure grunted in a deep, echoing voice. It’s real, the tales were right. He sprinted away from it in a straight line, but stumbled when the beast's knees hit the ground with a thunderous boom. Without looking back, he continued his mad dash until colliding with a smooth, pale surface. It was a hand, resting horizontally on the ground, its palm towering over him. Kylon gawked as thick fingers curled around him and obscured his field vision. He attempted to punch and kick his way out, but soon found himself engulfed in darkness, unable to move due to the intense pressure of the colossal flesh. He hissed in pain, his stomach lurching as if it had plummeted to the ground, a result of the creature's sudden movements. He was lifted off the earth, trying to free his arms or squirm himself free, but the leathery skin did not bulge.

A pressure from the giant hand’s movements below Kylon’s feet pushed his head towards the surface and out of the claustrophobic, dark space. He gasped for air and heaved, opening his eyes.

His heart leapt towards his throat.

In front of him was the massive face of the giant. He supposed that was the beast people talked about. Ironic, in the end, it appeared to the person who least believed in it. If Kylon wasn’t so scared, he might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. But what stirred his heart in fear, wasn’t the massive blue eyes of the giant itself, but the piercing glare and the scowl across its face, which was covered in scars. It had ashy brown hair, half of it tied in a high ponytail, its disheveled bangs were parted in the middle and fell on its forehead. It spoke in such a thunderous voice Kylon felt it drumming against his ears and vibrating inside him.

“Trespassing was not enough apparently, you puny human had to bring your trash along with it.”

For a split second, Kylon forgot the fear he was under. ‘Not only was the beast capable of coherent thought and speech, but it had used it to insult my invention?!’ That moment of indignation was enough to stir bravery within him.

“My creation is not trash!” – Kylon yelled and the giant’s eyebrows perked up. “I was flying on it, I fell here by accident!”

He huffed. No way he would let that giant say his breakthrough in mechanics was trash. But considering it lived in those woods, there was not much technology it might be familiar with, anyway.

The giant narrowed its eyes and approached its hand to its face, close enough for him to see his reflection on its pupil.

He made such a huge mistake by speaking up.

“Flew, huh? Why would a human be flying around these parts?” Its breath ruffled Kylon’s hair as it spoke in a low, threatening voice.

“Look, I didn’t know this area was ‘prohibited’, okay? There were no signs as far as I know.”

With that, the giant scoffed and let out a deafening, sarcastic laugh, the loud voice reverberating in his bones and ringing in his ears.

“You sure are a funny one. Do you not understand the danger you are under?”

Kylon felt tension return to his body as he shivered under that icy blue glare.

“W-Well, since it was an accident, c-could you let me go? Then I’ll just pick up my airship, walk out of here, and leave you alone. How about it?”

The grip around him closed in tighter and Kylon yelped in pain.

“You dare suggest I let you go after crashing into my land and setting the forest on fire with your garbage?!” – it bellowed and Kylon wished desperately to cover his ears. The giant sneered. – “No, I’m afraid this will not be possible. I’m taking you and your toy with me.”

With that, the young inventor felt desperation rising within him. No, no no no, he could not be taken away. He had to return home, Rosemary was waiting for him. He struggled in vain under the giant’s suffocating grip.

“N-no! Wait, please! We can talk about it, I’ll do anything! Please, I need to go back!”

His desperate pleas were deafened by the fist that enclosed around him, obscuring his vision. The giant felt the squirming human in his hand, and scowled. Good, he managed to break this one apart as well.

Kylon felt his stomach plummeting once again as the hand lowered. It opened to reveal the inside of a leather pouch attached to its hip, in which Kylon was hastily dropped in. The giant closed the ropes around its opening and Kylon pushed himself to get up, but the uneven surface and the giant’s abrupt movement as it got up made him fall back again. He tried to steady himself but it was futile, as the giant’s steps bounced the bag and threw him around all directions. His breathing became rapid as the scarce air inside the bag suffocated him. No, not yet, he would not panic inside a closed space yet.

Although he could not see anything, Kylon felt the giant hunching over and heard it picking his airship with both hands, folding it with loud cracks until it was sizeable enough to carry with one massive arm. Although the ship was big, he still managed to lift it with one arm alone. Kylon shuddered. Such a monumental being was not meant to exist.

When the giant started walking away from that area, each step echoed in the ground, shaking the earth with the beast’s powerful stride. Kylon forced himself to take deep breaths and concentrate. He had to find a way to escape. Somehow. He mapped on his head the directions the giant was turning, and how many steps it was taking. Kylon did not know how many human steps that equaled to, but he would figure that out eventually. Right now, he only needed to know how to navigate back to the point they previously were.

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The hinge of a door closing indicated the return of her brother. He had to have brought big brother Audwin back, for he had promised her he would play with her dolls later. But when Otilia ran towards the eldest, she only saw the sad look on his eyes

“Where’s Audwin?”

She said with a wobble in her voice, trying to contain her tears. Benedictus’s head shaking sideways was enough for her to know: he was nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry, Otilia.”

She hiccupped and looked down, tears clouding her vision. Her oldest brother’s armored arms embraced her, the cold metal making her shiver.

Her brother was no more, and his promise to her would not be realized.

#coffeh writes #g/t story #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #sfw giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t angst #coffeh oc: kylon #coffeh oc: berk #coffeh oc: rosemary #coffeh oc: benedictus #coffeh oc: otilia #coffeh's writing #g/t #oc: kylon #oc: berk #oc: rosemary #oc: benedictus #oc: otilia

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einno-arko · 2 years

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Fragments - Part one: Thieves and Heroes

Summary: We experience our past in fragments; stories told to us as children to incite adventure and fantasy. But when you live in a galaxy of wizards and bounty hunters, life tends to be more fantastical than fiction.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Fem!reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Beta Reader/Editor: @sleepingsun501 (Thank you again so much, I really wouldn't have gotten this far with out you)

A/N: Finally! I originally posted the first part of this months ago on Ao3 (link to that will be provided below), but I wasn't super proud of how the original draft turned out. But thanks to my lovely and amazing friend @sleepingsun501, I'm now able to post the version of this that I'm extremely proud of! She really helped me fix my pacing issues and many other things that helped shape it into what it is now. I am forever thankful for your help ❤️❤️❤️❤️. This is my first Mandalorian fic, and it was the first X Reader I had ever written, so I really hope you guys enjoy!

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Warnings: language, canon typical violence, hurt reader, mentions of blood and death, slight angst. Slow burn

You had very few memories left from when you were young, and from those few, there were only fragments. You could never seem to focus on the finer details of them. Although bits of faces here and certain smells there brought up pieces of a puzzle, you would never be able to piece them all back together. However, there were a few things that frequented these fragments with absolute clarity: stories.

Legends, fables, and fairytales told to you before bedtime to incite dreams of fantasy and adventure; they were what you clung to. They had stuck with you even as you aged and anything resembling adolescence faded away. They belonged to simpler, safer times and naïve feelings. Regardless of the distance that seemed to infinitely grow between you and your past, you still longed for just a hint of those feelings again.

A distant shout at the entrance of the alleyway pulled you back from your wandering train of thought as the severity of your current situation set in. With a frantic glance over your shoulder, you adjusted the strap on your pack and secured your plunder. You were tired, the heaviness on your lungs and the soreness in your legs thumping alongside your racing heartbeat. If there was anybody more troubling and downright annoying than dock troopers, it had to be the other scavengers. At least with the troopers, they would eventually give up on their chase, figuring it would be less work and even less paperwork if the perp just got away. The scavengers, on the other hand, were a different story. Like sharks, they came at the slightest whiff of corroded copper and rusted steel. With the haul you managed to get your hands on, you were surprised they had not appeared already and stumbled across you.

You glanced around the alley walls, your eyes straining from the lack of light. Despite being your biggest detriment at the moment, the darkness was the only thing keeping you safe and out of view of your pursuers. You cursed under your breath, ripping one of your gloves off and running your now bare fingertips along the wet surface.

The worn brick wall was slick with Maker only knowing what, but there was a specific scuff mark you were looking for; one many would easily miss or disregard if not actively looking for it. The mark was shallow enough to look like it was made by the unloading of heavy crates, but it was deep enough to have been put there intentionally. The marks did not take the form of any sign or symbol, but rather a few small, seemingly random lines meant to point you in the right direction to a temporary safe house.

As you searched, you remembered you had passed the route by which you used to get to the docks, trying to get a sense of exactly where you were in case you needed to bolt. It had been a while since you had trespassed on a rival gang’s territory, and you were not familiar with the lay of the land here. You were already on thin ice with your boss after losing a total of three hauls to rival gangs in the past few weeks, and you were not about to let misdirection get in the way of this one.

“Fucking scrumrats,” you mumbled, your irritation growing as you heard a group of low voices and footsteps nearby. Your slow inspection of the wall became a frantic search as you felt your heart start to beat in your ears.

In midst of your panic, you had not noticed the empty, metal crates stacked neatly next to the wall until their presence was made painfully obvious when you accidentally bumped into them. As they tumbled down with a loud crash, you froze apart from your head swinging back toward the entrance of the alley. They heard it. you thought instinctively. They had to have heard it, especially with how the sound bounced off the walls and echoed into the night.

You waited with bated breath, quietly resuming your search as you listened for the telltale sounds of approaching footfalls. Sure enough, the group of men, who had passed by not only a few minutes ago, returned to find you sneaking through their gang’s territory. You cursed again, sliding the glove back onto your hand before covering your face with the black cloth loosely tied around your neck and pulling your small vibroblade out of its sheath as they closed in on you.

You knew you had lost the moment six figures surrounded you instead of the two or three you were expecting. You had barely managed to get away from the original two that previously ambushed you outside the docks, but the other four? Fighting them off alone was unrealistic, to say the least.

Sadly, you did not put up much of a fight. You knew other females just like you who could have easily bested them, but you were not a fighter by nature or by practice. You had probably gotten one or two good slashes in before you were on the ground being beaten half to death and your haul being swiped right out from under you. But the fact you had lost was not going to do you in. It was that you blew it, again. Every piece, every scrap in your bag had been specially requested parts, ones meant to make up for the others you lost. Your mishaps had already set you and your team back on your commissions by weeks, but at this point, you would not be surprised if it was now over a month. You debated not even returning, sorely tempted to just bleed out in the alleyway rather than face whatever punishment awaited you. But, perhaps stupidly, you did eventually return.

You had barely made it through the door of the club, the Ivory, before your knees buckled, sending you falling face-first onto the tiled floor. The music and chatter never ceased though, as if you were not there. In any case, you were more concerned about the burning pain in your side and the slow, warm spread of wetness adhering your worn shirt to your body.

For a few moments, you simply laid there, hissing through gritted teeth as the pain only worsened with every heartbeat. This is so bad. your sluggish brain concluded as you slowly and painfully pushed yourself up into a kneeling position. Every breath was agony as you glanced up from the floor, the details of the room coming in clearer from one eye than the other. If it was that hard just getting off the floor, how could you possibly expect to stand up, let alone make it across the room?

A mixture of relief and fear washed through you as one of your boss’s personal guards finally noticed your presence. He stomped over from the door he was stationed at, closing the distance between you in five long strides; your heart beating in tandem with each unnaturally long step. Before you could utter a word, he seized you by your bad arm and began dragging you along.

“Hey—ow—fuck—! Be careful!” you hissed up at him, trying to push yourself up with your uninjured leg but failing to gain any real traction. The burly Twi’lek was clearly not listening, and the moment you two made it past the threshold, he tossed you at your boss’s feet before swiftly closing the door behind him, taking the pulsating sounds of the club with him.

You were left in silence with your boss, and you nervously turned your eyes up to him. He was normal-looking enough, and if you had not known any better, you would think he was a bit misplaced, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He peered down at you from behind the crystalline glass in his hand, blue glowing liquid sloshing gently back and forth as he swirled it ever so softly. He was relaxed, despite your clear disruption of his night, and seemed to be almost bored. His eyes reflected the dullness of disinterest as he continued to look down upon you from his metallic throne.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty, perhaps?” he inquired absently.

You had grown rather good at listening for the slight undertones in voices that would contradict their statements and perceived moods. With him, you knew to look for the artificial empathy with a tinge of indifference. If you had not been on the receiving end of his wrath before, you would have thought that the questions were genuine. You remained silent and tried to ignore your pain.

“I’ll pour you a glass anyways,” he said as he waved the service droid stationed in the corner over. The bot lowered a tray in front of him and he began pouring the same azure liquid into an empty glass. “You’ve been busy tonight. Made another run to the docks, right?” your boss continued. “I bet the haul was a good one, all things considered.”

Ziven Costello was not a nice man, and it was reflected in his eyes. Even now, as he poured you a drink you never asked for, the faux generosity and purposeful patience made your skin ache worse than it already did. He gestured toward your crumpled form with a tilt of his head, noting the rough state you were in. “Did you know that a group of Empire remnants sought out our services? Specifically requesting parts for an older model of TIE fighter—parts that you were tasked to retrieve.” He set the bottle of liquor down with a soft thud. “Definitely people you wouldn’t want to disappoint, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue as long as we deliver on our end of the deal. I can trust that you brought your haul back in one piece this time, correct?” The man was not asking for confirmation of a successful job, but rather a confession of failure. He was just toying with you for his own amusement, and he wanted to hear you admit to your shortcoming.

You waited a few moments before slowly shaking your head. “I tried, sir… I-I really did, but a group of scrumrats cornered me before I could make it to the safehouse,” you defended weakly. It was not enough of an excuse, and you were acutely aware of that. You should have been smart enough to avoid that situation altogether, or at least been fast enough to escape. You were getting rusty.

“I see,” he sighed, dismissing the droid with a flick of his wrist, but not before grabbing the glass and standing behind his desk. “You know how much I…” He paused, gazing up at the ceiling and rotating his wrist three times as he tried to remember the word, “…detest failures and mishaps. I have a reputation to uphold, and I expect everyone I employ to perform at peak efficiency. You can’t run a successful business with people who fail to perform and deliver, now can you?”

You hesitantly shook your head as he leaned down and offered you your drink. You looked at the gleaming liquid, hoping it had not been altered in any way before accepting the glass. Whether or not the trembling in your hands and the cold numbness creeping up your back was caused by blood loss or the fear of not knowing what Ziven would do next was unclear, but you could feel your impending doom inch closer as the seconds ticked by.

“I took you in, gave you a roof over your head, a purpose. Up to this point, you’ve been a real asset to me, an ace, even. But four times now, you have underperformed, and I just kept letting it slide because of the reputation you garnered. But what does that say about me, hm? That I’m forgiving? That I’m growing soft in my old age?”

Ziven looked at you expectantly, eyeing the untouched drink in your now trembling hand. You took the smallest of sips to maintain a level of courtesy as he stood again slowly, watching you before continuing.

“No, it would imply that I’m weak. It gives people the impression that they can walk all over me and get away with it,” he sighed, reaching behind his back slowly. “I’ve been going easy on you for too long now, and I can’t allow you to continue letting me down, but I can’t really afford to just let you go either. You know too much, you’ve seen too much, and I need to set an example. However, because of everything you’ve done for me, I’ll make this quick and painless; scant mercy, if you will.”

He pulled a blaster from the small of his back and you deflated at the sight of it. There was no way you could fight him, not in this state, and even if you could, you would never make it past the door. He admired the marble handle of the gaudy blaster for a moment before pointing it at you, and all you could do was watch.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, I truly am,” he conceded. For the first time, you thought you detected the slightest bit of genuine remorse in his voice.

Your mind wandered back to the fragments, searching for a sliver of comfort in your last moments, and you settled on the first one that came to mind: the story of a hero saving a damsel in distress. You could hear a woman’s voice recite the story to you softly as the world seemed to slow down around you. You would have chuckled at the naivety of it if you could, but it seemed too fitting for your current predicament. It was almost too easy to put yourself in the heroine's shoes, being saved last minute, getting swept off your feet—your knees if you wanted to be technical, and being offered a second chance at life. You managed to find a sense of solace in the thought as you lost yourself in the delusion, but it only lasted for a moment. You were just a petty thief, after all, and people like you never got those happy endings. You closed your eyes and you felt a stray tear roll down your cheek as you braced yourself for impact, clinging to the last shred of comfort you had left.

An impact that never came.

Suddenly, you heard the blaring music of the club fill the room once again as the door swung open. A pair of heavy boots came thumping in and stopped only a few feet behind you. You blinked your eyes open, but for some reason, you could not seem to peel them away from Ziven’s black dress shoes.

“What the hell—?” your boss started, and you could only assume that he had raised the blaster toward the newcomer before a single shot whizzed over you. The heat of the plasma caused the hair on top of your head to stand up as if reaching for it. You had no idea where the shot originated from, but a mere second later, the imposing man in front of you fell back with a yelp, cradling his hand as his gun hit the ground beside you. The other figure resumed their approach, and you heard metal clink together as they walked by. You still did not dare glance up as they crouched in front of your boss, their cloaked back facing you.

“Wh-who the hell are you?” Ziven gasped out, his voice trembling in pain. A few beats of silence passed before your boss spoke again, bargaining with the intruder. “Who hired you? I can-I can double your pay, hell, I can even tr-triple it, just name a price.”

“I can bring you in warm,” a deep, modulated voice begins softly, “or I can bring you in cold.”

Monotone, cold, probably a male. you observed just from his voice alone. When you finally looked up, a mountain of brownish-grey fabric and broad shoulders had positioned himself directly between you and your boss. Even as your eyes caught the reflecting light off the domed metal helmet peeking just over the worn cloth, you could not tell if it really was a man or just a glorified droid, but the disk projecting a hologram of your boss sitting next to him drew your attention. A bounty hunter. your thoughts whispered, warning yourself as your unfocused gaze slid from the disk to the discarded gun behind him.

The gun scraped against the floor softly as you picked it up. The intimidating figure did not budge at the sound but turned his head slightly the moment you raised the weapon, the marble cold in your hand as you trained it on the figure before you. You saw a small smirk creep its way onto Ziven’s face from the corner of your eye, content that you were still loyal to him.

Despite how your mind was still traveling at sublight speeds, trying to process the situation, your shaking hand was a testament to how quickly your state of physical awareness was declining. Somewhere in your delirium, you realized you could no longer hear the loud chatter you observed earlier coming from the open office door. In addition, no one had stepped in to help, not even the guard who brought you in. That could only mean one of two things; either everyone had bolted at the first sight of danger, or this bounty hunter had killed them—all of them. Your bets were on the latter.

As if he confirmed you were not a threat through your hesitation alone, he turned back to your boss. “You’re the Golden Tears gang,” he said, the statement hanging heavily in the air. Neither you nor your boss responded, so he continued, addressing you alone this time as he dragged your boss up onto his feet, “I need someone who can fix a ship for me, and your gang is known for vehicle repairs.” Once he had your boss in cuffs in front of him, he turned to face you properly, “I would like to maintain a low profile. I can pay handsomely.”

You could not see his eyes through the tinted visor, but you could feel his hard stare as it held you in place. The helmet itself looked familiar, but the race and culture it belonged to seemed to escape your recollection. You could not decide which was worse: the fact that he viewed you as the least threatening being on the planet, or the innate fear of what might happen if you chose not to respond. Fighting the fog in your brain, you weighed your options very carefully before lowering the blaster. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have. you reasoned. “I-I can help with the repairs for your ship. You’re right to not trust technicians on this planet. They’re more likely to scrap and take off with both your credits and your parts.”

He cocked his helmet to the side slightly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How can I trust that you won’t do that?” he asked simply, and you glanced over at your boss. Just a few minutes ago, that man was the most intimidating person in your life, the driving force behind your perfection. Now, you had just been offered the second chance you so desperately needed, and Ziven just stood there in stunned silence, realizing his world was falling apart around him as he gazed blankly into the empty club beyond the door.

“You just saved my life, whether you meant to or not. I’ll forever be in your debt,” you admitted, finally dragging yourself off the floor.

A few beats of silence passed before the masked man nodded once, seemingly content with your reasoning. Without another word, he dragged your boss away and you hobbled after him. As you stepped through the door, the sight before you confirmed your previous suspicions as you carefully stepped over the body of the Twi’lek crumpled just outside the door.

You were able to patch yourself up quietly in the privacy of the club’s refresher as the bounty hunter secured his new quarry in carbonite. It was a sight you wish you could have seen, but wound care had to come first with the amount of blood you had lost. With a hiss, you tightened the bandages around your ribs and prayed that the sutures would hold. You were used to helping patch up your fellow crew mates after a job had gone south, but you rarely had the displeasure of applying first aid to yourself.

Once you were certain that you were not going to bleed through the bandages, you slung your duffle over your shoulder and slowly opened the door. The bounty hunter was waiting for you next to the main entrance, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. His gaze locked on you the moment you stepped through the doorway and followed you as you made your way over. You wondered how long he had been waiting for you as you watched his helmet dip downwards before sliding back up to its original position.

“Sorry it took so long,” you apologized under your breath, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as discomfort set in. You received no response as he pushed himself away from the wall and motioned for you to follow.

After the bounty hunter, who you now recognized as a Mandalorian, led you back to his ship, you gave him the coordinates to an old hangar that your team used to operate out of. The facility was set on the outskirts of the city, a smaller one bordered by a thick forest. Your boss abandoned it a few years back after he gained control over rival territory. You knew that if anyone were to come looking for Ziven, this would be the last place they would check.

The bounty hunter’s ship was an old ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111 assault ship that had been practically falling apart at the seams. As he landed the ship in the main courtyard, you noted the way it seemed to creak and groan as if it were in pain. Once you were safely inside the derelict hangar, you exited the ship and set to work. While you slowly circled the exterior of the ship, you hummed softly to yourself and examined every plasma mark and piece of exposed wiring. You wondered what stories this ship could tell, if only it could talk. You sighed to yourself, mentally noting all the damage. Upon completing your analysis of the exterior, you cautiously made your way up the ramp.

The Mandalorian was standing next to the carbonite chamber when you entered, watching you carefully with his arms tightly crossed as you made your way deeper into the hull. Thankfully, the interior did not seem to have sustained a great deal of damage, and you would probably be finished with the minor repairs within a week at most.

“Based on first impressions alone, I’d say the repairs will take me a little under a month,” you began softly, running your fingers along the metal bulkhead, “but I’ll still run a proper diagnostic so I can give you a more accurate estimate.” You paused in front of a bundled group of wires and started untangling them; needing something to keep your hands busy as your nerves grew. It was his silence that unnerved you the most. You were used to relying on people’s facial expressions and vocal tones to get a read on them, but with him, it was as if he were a book of blank pages. “There should still be plenty of material for me to get the job done, but we’ll still need supplies, like food, water, and maybe some specific parts. I can make a run in the morning.”

You highly doubted he would need anything further from you at the moment as you finished untangling the wires. When you made your way off the ship, you could still feel his hard gaze burning holes into the back of your skull.

His head tilted at you as you turned to face him once more, and the visor glinted in the faint light above him. He did not respond to anything you had just said beyond that head tilt, so you cleared your throat, “I-I’ll be making use of the dorms. If you need anything, that’s where I’ll be.”

The next morning, you decided to start with the exterior first—figuring it would be better to get the hardest parts out of the way. There were leaks in the fuel lines, holes in the casing around the engines, exposed wiring, and a detached turret, not to mention the many, many holes dotting the frame and shell.

You quickly developed a routine within the first few days: waking at the crack of dawn, preparing a quick meal and a cup of caf for both you and the Mandalorian, changing any soiled bandages, and then starting on your repairs. He rarely bothered you while you worked, opting to spend his time either on the ship or keeping an eye on the surrounding area for any signs of intruders or rival gangs. The repairs easily took up the rest of your days, and you only stopped when you were physically exhausted. Afterward, you would clean up, make some dinner, sometimes using whatever food he had scrounged up, and then you would go to bed.

You had not heard him say a single word since he had led you away from the Ivory, and he did not often stick around long enough for you to strike up a conversation. The few times you had tried, he had simply walked away. Not that you minded, because as much as you hated to admit it, he made you nervous. You never even saw him when you left him his meals on the crate next to the ladder that led to the cockpit. You only ever tried to talk to him because you were clueless about what to do with the awful silence that seemed to follow him. He was like a black hole, sucking in all sounds from around him.

“You’re still hurt,” he observed suddenly one day, his modulated voice taking you by surprise.

You leaned heavily into the side of the ship, holding your ribs carefully and trying to catch your breath. You were two weeks into your repairs, and in that time, you had torn your stitches once and lost a lot of steam. You were tired and hurting all the time, but there was no need for him to know that. You took a few more deep breaths in before nodding, turning to face him. It was the first time you had heard him speak in weeks, and you would be lying if you said the sudden reappearance of his voice did not startle you. Even at a distance, it felt like he was staring you down, his arms crossed over his chest as he, too, lounged into the side of the ship. You watched as his visor tilted down an inch before returning to its original position, much like he had done in the club.

“I-I got into a minor scrap before the whole club incident, but it’s—it’s nothing to worry about,” you lied, stuttering through your pain and slowly getting back to work. You still had a few hours left of daylight that you fully intended on utilizing, but you also did not hear him leave. I guess this conversation isn’t over. you thought warily, pausing and glancing over in his direction. Sure enough, he was still there, watching you work silently. “Did you, uh, need anything?” you asked, pulling away from your work.

He did not respond, as expected, and you pursed your lips together, mumbling a resigned, “Okay,” before returning to your task. He continued to sit there and watch you for what felt like hours. The pressure you could feel under his watchful eyes only increased until he finally took his leave. As his boots thudded quietly down the ramp, whatever had been gripping your lungs finally let go.

A loud crash coming from the inside of the ship startled you awake. You had dozed off while working on the underside of the ship. You swore as you pushed yourself out from under the ship and shot up, hobbling to the back of the ship. You come to a stop at the bottom of the boarding ramp and looked around frantically for the source of the commotion.

“Bounty Hunter?” you called out before a flash of green catches your attention. In your sleep-deprived state, you had no time to react when something came tumbling down the ramp and slamming into your chest. Caught off balance, you tumbled backward and hit the ground hard, hissing as you felt the stitches pull and rip with the impact. Shit. Two now. you groaned inwardly.

The Mandalorian came rushing down the ramp and was by your side before you could see whatever knocked you over. He bent down, swiped the little green creature off your chest, and spun around, all in one fluid motion.

You managed to catch a quick glimpse of two big, green ears peeking up from behind his armored shoulder, but you remained silent as you watched his retreating form disappear into the ship. You had no choice but to lay there for a few moments, waiting for the pain to simmer down, before pushing yourself up with a groan and stumbling towards the dorms.

You could feel the warm wetness seep through the bandages and ruin yet another one of your work shirts. You struggled to lift it, trying to avoid agitating it further. Once the bottom of the shirt was bunched up and tucked in the crack of your armpit, you slowly unwrapped and peeled the now-soiled bandages from the wound. The skin around it was uncomfortably hot, and you feared that you might be at risk of infection. You turned your attention to the small med kit beside you before reaching your hand in and fishing for disinfectant, cursing yourself for not grabbing bacta gel.

“Minor scrap, huh?” you heard from the entrance to your room. There was a slight teasing to his tone now, and it irked you.

Exhaling with a little more force than necessary, you turned your head just enough to give him an unamused side-eye. He was leaning against the door frame, his chrome-armored arms crossed as he stared down at you. Was there ever a time when he did not have his arms crossed?

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean up after I deal with this,” you mumbled, too tired and lightheaded to put up a fight.

“That is a cut from a vibroblade,” he stated very matter-of-factly, pointing to your injured side. “I should have checked on you once we got here, but I was too busy dealing with your boss. I would have never noticed if you hadn’t left a concerning amount of blood in the dirt just now. If I would have known what condition you were really in, I would have—”

Never hired me? bounced around your delirious skull, but you cut him off before those words could slip off his tongue, “I just want to leave,” you say quickly, looking up at him. “I’ve been trying to get off this planet for years now, and I’m as good as dead with my boss gone. Injuries like this,” you glanced back down at the gash, “are nothing compared to being killed.”

He shook his head and sighed before coming to stand beside you. “You did it wrong,” he remarked.

You blinked at him questioningly, catching the faintest hint of concern in his voice before the coldness set back in. His visor tilted down slightly, and your eyes followed it.

“The knots are loose, and the stitches are spaced too far apart,” he explained flatly, crouching down in front of you. “You also didn’t use the right thread. They’ll just keep tearing with this. I’m going to show you how to do this properly.”

You were too stunned to answer. That was the most you had heard come from him in the past few weeks, and now he was digging around in the medkit about to patch you up. You reached out to help him locate whatever he was looking for, but your attempt at assistance was met with him gently batting your hand away. You huffed petulantly but withdrew your hand all the same.

After finding the proper wire and needle, he patted the poor excuse for a cot that you had been sleeping on, indicating that you should lay back on it. You did so obediently, not having the will nor the energy to argue with the very blunt man. Your eyes were heavy, but you watched him pull off his leather gloves and sanitize his large, bronze hands. Fuck. Normally, you would be rather enticed by such hands; thinking of how they would feel against your bare skin or stroking your cheek. However, the ache in your side overruled such thoughts this time.

To distract yourself from the pain and possibly learn a lifesaving skill, you focused on the way he expertly threaded the little curved needle. They looked so strong and gentle now, but as he tugged up at the hem of your shirt, you suddenly remembered that these were the same hands that had singularly taken out the majority of the Golden Tears gang not long ago. The hands of a trained killer. you thought. He tugged again, but you remained motionless, too absorbed in your pain and thoughts to register what he was telling you to do.

Sighing heavily, he tugged a third time, a little harder this time to get your attention. “Take it off,” he said, sounding a little annoyed, “or I will.”

If the deep baritone of his voice had not gotten your attention first, the threat certainly would have; even more so than the tugging. Shaking yourself from your stupor, you gingerly eased your tattered shirt off, and you were glad that the bandeau you wore beneath was short enough to be out of his way.

He immediately began spraying your wound with an analgesic and antiseptic solution, ignoring your initial hiss of pain from the sting of the liquid and focusing on his task. Only when your wound was clean and completely numb did he carefully begin sewing you up. The jaggedness of the skin around the wound from busting so many previous stitches made his job that much more difficult, but he did it all without complaint. Instead, he opted to explain his process to you as you merely watched. His hands were steady and precise, and you began to question if he was secretly a droid again.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any bacta,” he apologized as he finished closing you back up, and sprayed more antiseptic on your wound for good measure. “I doubt you would have been in favor of me cauterizing it.”

Not a chance. Your eyes widened and you shook your head as he tossed the soiled needle and handed you a gauze patch to secure over the neat, clean stitches.

“I don’t mean to pry,” you began softly, “but what came flying down the ramp at me earlier?” You had been wondering about that for the past few minutes. You doubted that creature was another one of his quarries. If it were, he would not have been so gentle when handling it, and you did not see it while you were running the damage diagnostic either. Perhaps it was a pet of his? Or a companion?

He paused from repacking the medkit and tensed. His helmet moved just a fraction of an inch, and you could the pressure of his eyes on you again through his visor.

You pursed your lips together and nodded once. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” you whispered.

“He’s a companion of mine,” he mumbled, tucking the scissors and the spool of wiry thread back into the kit.

“Hmm.” Best not to pry any further. “Uh… tha-thank you again for helping me. You really didn’t have to do that,” you add softly as you wrapped your ribs with a fresh set of bandages. He only nodded in response before pulling his leather gloves back on and abruptly exiting the room.

You made sure to make a little extra food for him that night, wishing you had known about his companion sooner so you could have been doing that the whole time. You had not noticed any missing rations either, so you had to figure he was sharing his meals with it.

You crept up the ramp, like you often did, and silently made it over to the crate. However, before you could set the tray of steaming meat down, you heard the cockpit door slide open and the Mandalorian’s boots descending the ladder. A small wave of anxiety took hold of your heart as if you were about to be caught doing something you were not meant to be doing. You quickly backed up a few steps, being careful not to drop anything off the trays in your hands as he turned to face you.

“I, uh, I-I brought you some dinner,” you stammered out as he glanced down at the trays, “and I made a little extra for your companion, too.” He still did not respond, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you watched the visor slide from one tray to the next. You did this for him every day and night, there was no reason for you to act like he caught you stealing from his ship. Did he think you were guilty until proven innocent or some shit? Maybe he was scanning you from behind that heavy mask and—

“Thank you,” he said softly, taking the trays from your shaking hands.

You nodded once as your lungs were still constricted by anxiety. You muttered a quick, “Y-yeah… of course,” as you turned on your heel and made for the exit.

“Hey, wait,” you heard him call out to you. Pausing cautiously, you turned back to face him. “I… hmm,” he glanced down at the trays as if their very existence troubled him. He stayed silent for a moment, and you began to think that perhaps you had imagined it, but then his visor locked back onto you, “I’m heading to Nevarro. There are people there I have to meet with—good people who could help you out.” The words fell out of the modulator heavily, sounding foreign to both you and the mouth they were coming from.

You inclined your head, turning your body so you could properly face him before crossing your arms nervously over your chest. Your mind raced with the possibility of finally leaving this wretched planet. You tried to think of how far away Nevarro was before he spoke again.

“The original terms of our agreement were that I’d pay for your services with credits,” he said, finally setting the trays down and shifting his weight from one side to another. “But upon further deliberation, I have a counteroffer: you can accompany me to Nevarro and I’ll introduce you to my associates, from there, you can decide what you want to do.”

You felt your arms drop down to your sides as your eyes widened in surprise. The offer he just presented to you was far better than the original by a landslide. Not only would you have a guaranteed ride off this hell hole, but you would also have an actual destination and purpose.

“You can still take the credits instead if that’s what you want.”

You shook your head to clear the shock. “Thank you! I’ll take the ride if that’s all right,” you finally answered, despite having already made up your mind the second the option was given. He nodded, turning towards the ladder, but halting once his foot hits the first rung.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said softly from over his shoulder before continuing his ascent up the latter, somehow managing to carry both trays up with one arm.

You stared at the bottom of the ladder for a few moments before a smile spread across your face. Freedom. The word rang like a bell in your mind. You let yourself just stand there, smiling stupidly with the prospect ahead of you. You happily twirled on your way out of the ship and powerwalked back to the mess hall, not caring that your food had probably gone cold.

#mandalorian din djarin #mandalorian #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #mandolorian fan fic #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you

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grandtheftaristotle · 2 months

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Hey so I was inspired by @likeadevils's brilliant album reworkings to do one of my own cause I LOVE finding new ways to procrastinate on homework

I decided to do Speak Now cause it's one of my favourite Taylor albums and while I think the current order is great, it was a fun challenge to try and come up with something else. So here's what I have!

So first of all, I think I’m gonna call this rework The Story of Us. Not only is Speak Now the song not on this version, but The Story of Us fits these vibes better Each song is its own contained story that forms an overall narrative, kinda like folklore.

Timeless: It feels so much like a closing track that it gives off a nice ‘end at the beginning’ vibe. Also parallels nicely with the closing track.

Sparks Fly: I like the idea of the earliest written song on the record being track 2. Although she rewrote it to be less naive, I do like how Foolish One could be its answer. Also it leads into…

The Story of Us: ‘How we met and the sparks flew instantly’. Too obvious? Nahhhh. I like that it foreshadows the heartbreak of the later album but frames it in an upbeat way so as not to let us down too much. Plus the awkward party element leads us nicely into the next track.

Enchanted: Is it the same party? A later party? Not sure, but it continues the vibes of the last song, while also offering one last little piece of fairytale whimsy and romance before the latter half rips our hearts out.

Mean: As you can see, I am not adhering to the track 5 rule lol. But this is a set up for Castles Crumbling and Innocent, with the talk of fame and the different ways of responding to criticism.

When Emma Falls In Love: This song kinda makes me insane when I think about the context in which Taylor wrote it. She was dealing with everything surrounding JM when she wrote the line ‘she won’t lose herself in love the way that I did’. The last line (‘between me and you, sometimes I wish I was her’) is a GREAT set up for the next half of the album; it establishes everything Taylor didn’t do in these relationships and the person she wishes she had been. Part of me wants to do another rearrangement with this as the opening track, cause again, that last line.

Back to December: We have an excellent lead in with Emma; ‘I wish I was her’ and then a song about how badly she screwed up a relationship. Plus, the rest of the album is like an explanation of why she screwed it up. We’re slowly zooming in…

Last Kiss: Almost a flipped perspective of Back to December? I’m a little shaky on this placement, I almost feel like this song and the next could switch places, but idk how I feel about Last Kiss and Dear John back to back. Therefore, the next song is…

Ours: Getting into another relationship after heartbreak, one that others don’t approve of but that makes her happy. It’s a love song, but an understated one, not as bombastic as Sparks Fly or as sweepingly romantic as Enchanted. Cute, but careful.

Dear John: THE AFTERMATH. Christ. The parallel of Emma and the result of Ours and the events that led to Back to December. The fireworks line is a slight parallel to Sparks Fly and The Story of Us as well. It’s a moment of triumph amidst the heartbreak. ‘I lost you, but I’m still shining for the crowd. Oh wait…’

Castles Crumbling: AND NOW SHE’S LOSING THE CROWD. The formal demolition of her fairytale outlook and the parallel to Mean. She’s living in the big old city, but the big old city’s getting tired of her. It also looks ahead to the last track, where she hopes to be remembered regardless.

Haunted: I just like that we have Enchanted on the first half and Haunted on the flip side. She’s no longer enchanted by a stranger, she’s haunted by someone she thought she knew well. I also like how the word haunted works with Castles lol.

Innocent: Even on the OG record, I feel like this should’ve gone after Haunted if just for the ‘you and I walk a fragile line’ ‘lost your balance on a tightrope’ of it all. On some level I get why she didn’t cause it would’ve been this song and then Last Kiss, which, ouch. But anyway, I know this is about Kanye but FUCK that guy so now within the narrative it’s her talking to herself (just ignore the 32 part). Even after everything she’s been through she’s still an innocent, and it’s not too late to regain her balance.

Foolish One: Again, kinda shaky on this placement, I feel like it should be earlier in the second half. But as is, it’s a parallel to Sparks Fly where she’s cautiously optimistic about a guy; that song was sung by the voice in her head she talks about here. It’s also a follow up to Innocent; you may be innocent, but it doesn’t mean you have to be foolish. PLUS it’s a little bit of a hope spot after all the heartbreak (‘the day is gonna come for your confessions of love / he just wasn’t the one’). As an aside, I am fully convinced she added that line for the rerecord. She sings the rest of the song in a higher register matching her voice in 2010, but for that line she lowers her voice closer to her current register, making it seem like it’s her future self talking. Plus she recorded that when she was still with Joe; something something ‘this ain’t our fairytale’.

Long Live: Our moment of triumph!! After Castles Crumbling, this is where she says ‘hey, even if people run me off, we’ll still be remembered’. Parallels our opener both in title (Timeless / Long Live) and in subject matter; she and the guy weren’t timeless, but the legacy of her and her band will live forever.

BONUS TRACKS

Better Than Revenge: Really my only justification for this is that I couldn’t fit it on the main album but if she hadn’t released it in 2010 we NEVER would’ve gotten it. Plus it being a bonus track gives off the vibe of ‘oh you thought you were off the hook??? You thought I wasn’t gonna write about you??? Lmao fuck you’.

If This Was A Movie: Similar justification for this as with Better Than Revenge; since she kinda rebranded it as a Fearless song with the rerecord, if she didn’t put it out in 2010 we may not have gotten it at all (she wrote it in 2009 so I don’t think it could’ve been a Fearless vault track either). That said, it fits the ‘story’ themes of the album so I think it works. Plus I like how it interacts with BTR; from pure unfiltered rage to ‘BUT I’D TAKE IT ALL BACK NOW’.

Mine: It KILLED me to leave this off the main album, it really did. Maybe one of my all time favourite songs of hers. Part of me wants to switch this and Timeless, but I also like the idea of having Mine as the last track just because of how it rounds out the album. The narrator is very disillusioned with love at the beginning, so it could easily be taking place after this string of heartbreak she experienced throughout the record. I also love how it ends with ‘hold on, make it last’; after being burned so many times, she finally starts to believe in love again and the notion that they could be forever. The way it interacts with Timeless, which was a portrait of very idyllic fairytale romances that last forever (love letters during a war, forbidden lovers eloping, two people growing old together), this song focuses on the more mundane parts of life that still make up a beautiful relationship. Also if we’re thinking about this as part of her album timeline, the next album she puts out is Red, so we go from ‘there’s a drawer of my things at your place’ to ‘you’ve still got [my scarf] in your drawer even now’. OW.

And as vault tracks we have Speak Now, Superman, I Can See You, Never Grow Up, Electric Touch, and Battle. Because I’m still a little offended we never got an official version of that song :/

#taylor swift #speak now #ttpd prep #maybe?? doing this helped me to find interesting parallels between the songs so I think it counts

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orionsangel86 · 1 year

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Hey Saz!

Love your meta analysis about Sandman so much!!!! I'm currently reading the series for the first time. By the way, which ones are your favorites?

But I meant to send you this ask, 'cause you also like other Neil Gaiman's works. And I was wondering which of his books you really like/think people should definitely read? 😁 Today's the kick off of the annual Lisbon's "book fair", and I wanted to seize the opportunity!

Have a nice day 💖

Hey! Thank you so much! :) It's so nice to hear because half the time I'm writing things thinking "Does anyone really care what I think?" so its lovely to get this message!

My favourite Sandman stories are Season of Mists and Overture.

Season of Mists is predominantly set in the Dreaming (and Hell) and I absolutely love all the characters that are introduced in it. I tend to prefer the stories that are set mostly away from our world. I love all things fantastical and I honestly wish more of the Sandman was set IN the Dreaming.

Overture is just a phenomenal piece of art in my opinion. The artistry is the MOST gorgeous of all the Sandman books and it is set all over the universe and we get to meet Dream's (horrible) parents and Hope Beautiful Lost Nebula!! There isn't a single frame of Overture I don't adore and I think I have read it half a dozen times already.

Honorary mention to Brief Lives because my girl Delirium is in fact my most favourite Endless sibling and Brief Lives revolves heavily around her.

As for Neil Gaiman works, Neverwhere is a good starting point I think. Well, I don't know for sure as I haven't read all his stuff. But I liked Neverwhere. Then again, I get the London Underground at least twice a week so it's fun to think about London Below when I'm on the tube.

Good Omens obviously is a fantastic book Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. I usually assume people have already read this one or at least seen the show but on the rare chance that you haven't please do! A huge and really accepting wonderful fandom too. It's really hard not to fall in love with Crowley and Aziraphale so I highly recommend it if you haven't already.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane. I admit I watched the play in London before I read the book. But its gorgeous. Its a bit scary, in the same way Coraline is a bit scary, but its just gorgeous and had me sobbing. The play is also absolutely stunning and fabulous and I highly recommend trying to see it if you can.

I have been meaning to read Stardust for ages but I am a bit hesitant because the movie is one of my all time faves but I know the book is supposedly quite different from the movie and knowing Neil Gaiman that means its darker and less comedic... but I still plan to read it at some point (or listen to it on Audible maybe)

Others that I haven't read but plan on reading include Norse Mythology and The Sleeper and the Spindle. Can't really go wrong with the batshit crazy North myths and some dark versions of classic fairytales in my opinion!

Enjoy the book fair!!

#neil gaiman #the sandman #neverwhere #good omens #the ocean at the end of the lane #stardust #book recommendations #asks

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childlikegoblinqueen · 1 year

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Writing Notes: Sweet Child O' Mine: Scarytales ETC

Last chapter there was a Grimwalker Scarytale and a little more background about Osran's family.

I was super nervous about writing this chapter for a few reasons.

First, I am a huge fan of mythology, folklore, fairytales etc. I wasn't sure it would work, or if I could get the feel of it down in universe.

Second, people seemed into the idea and I felt a lot of pressure, but folks seemed into it!

For more info, the text of the scarytale, and the identity of the character who gave the "gift" in the flashback from Hunter and Willow's engagement party below.

For reference: In a previous chapter it was suggested that the "Grimwalker" books currently available (those Hunter read while hiding out at Hexside etc. were ripe with half truths, misinterpretations or just bad information all together. In fairytales, we often can get an idea of how folks saw various populations through the way they are regarded in story.

So, for the scarytale, it didn't have to be clear if this was an edit or the original version. It gives a general sense as to how grimwalkers had been portrayed on the Boiling Isles. It was not good. There's also a nod to how basilisks might have been seen as well.

Lilith also lets Hunter and Willow know, in addition to Osran being from an influential family (one he connects with the oracle in the scarytale) he had a distant relative in the castle that spied for him and likely tipped him off that Hunter was a grimwalker.

The only other character who has "fingers" on their head.

In the flashback where Hunter and Willow receive the "gift" of a decapitated snake on their engagement party, there is a card with a message written in blood. And that message is:

"Regards, Kikimora."

LEGENDS OF GRIMWALKERS

Fifth Edition Stories Collected and Edited by Head Witch G’Mork with Foreword by Flora D’Splora.

TALE IX

Oracle of Lovoed

Once two witch brothers traveled through a forest. They were returning from a war and looking to make their fortune on the Boiling Isles. The older brother was tall and handsome and beloved by all the witches and demons who set eyes upon him. The younger brother was serious and stern, but what he lacked in charm, he made up for in shrewdness.

The brothers followed a strange path to a clearing where they happened upon a castle surrounded by cobblestone streets.

Oracles by trade, the brothers set up shop and were immediately approached by royal guards and brought to the castle for a feast with the King and his two children.

The prince was attractive and jovial. He had an affinity for potion magic and dazzled the elder brother with tales of his deeds. The princess was an appealing young witch, but her sullen expression soured the meal. Her half lidded eyes turned away from her father and his guests, while dozens of blood red roses bloomed in her hair. She had plucked one from her long black braid, and held it to her nose as if drinking in its scent, while she cradled its stem in her delicate fingers.

After the meal, the King dismissed his children and turned to the brothers.

“What do you think of the prince and princess?” The King asked.

“The prince is lovely” Blushed the elder brother dreamily.

“And my daughter?” Asked the king quite seriously. “I expect honesty.” He added, giving a pointed look towards the younger brother.

”She would be comelier, if her expression was cheerier.” answered the younger.

The King nodded. “I would like your help. We are in need of an Oracle and none of the witches or demons in my fiefdom are known for such magic. It seems that my daughter is under an enchantment. Every night she goes to bed, at a sound hour, but in the morning she emerges from her quarters exhausted. Her slippers are covered in dirt, and her hair is a nest of those Titan-damned flowers.”

The younger son drew a spell circle as his eyes fell into a vision. He Saw the young princess in a locked garden in embrace with a mysterious figure with eyes that glowed eyes as red as the roses in her hair. When he told the king what he saw, his majesty’s mood became volatile.

“It was as I have suspected!!” He shouted. “The princess has been seduced by a grimwalker.”

The brothers had heard of such monsters, with their intense eyes and their penchant for trickery, created as replacements for the dead.

“For too long I have permitted noble families to keep these creatures as servants in substitution for their children who had perished in service to the Kingdom – but no more.”

That night the King ordered all the grimwalkers in the kingdom be drawn out to the courtyard and slaughtered, their galdorstone hearts added to the treasury. The brothers were lauded as heroes and the princess was sent to bed hoping that to be the end of the matter.

But the next morning the princess once again emerged from her room, walking in a daze, her slippers covered in dirt and her hair a tangle of roses.

“Your vision has failed!” The king told the young Oracle. “I will give you two more chances to prove your skills. And as insurance I will lock your brother in the dungeon!”

Once again, the Oracle looked into the eyes of the princess and he Saw another vision of the same sinister figure, this time it held the princess an intimate embrace, the creature’s eyes bled with lust as it placed its lips upon hers.

When the King heard what had been Seen, he fumed and demanded all families who had kept these creatures’s properties seized until the monster with a hold on his daughter was captured. That night the King ordered guards to stand outside the princess’s door and window.

But the guards were foolish and took tea from the princess that had been enchanted with sleeping nettles. In the morning the princess emerged from her quarters once more, shoes even dirtier, eyes heavier, thorny roses in her hair.

Now the King was furious. He threw the guards out to die in the boiling rain where they melted away. He turned to the young Oracle. “This is your last chance! Find out how to release my daughter from this enchantment or you and your brother will suffer the same fate as the guards!”

The Oracle looked into the eyes of the princess once more. Now not only did he See this creature, its eyes glowing bright, its breath upon her neck. But now he Heard them making plans to escape together. But he could not See the path to the location of their tryst.

“Sire, if I may.” Said the younger brother. “I have a plan to entrap this creature, I require a potion of wakefulness, a small band of your finest soldiers and a basilisk skin cloak.

“I will give you what you ask for, but your failure will seal your doom.”

As an extra precaution, The king ordered the princess’s windows bricked shut. This time the young Oracle himself sat guard. The princess wished him goodnight and offered him a tea blend which he knew was enchanted. The Oracle drank it for show and immediately as the door closed he drank the potion of wakefulness.

At the stroke of midnight the princess emerged from her room, moving in stilted motions, as if under a mind control spell. The Oracle pretended to sleep as she slipped past and when he was in the clear, altered the King’s soldiers to follow him quietly. The Oracle trailed the princess to an old walled garden as she drew three spell circles summoning vines from all around. She scaled the vines and when she had made it over, the Oracle and guards did the same.

The Oracle ordered the guards to trap the princess and demanded she that call for her lover. She screamed and with the basilisk skin cloak, the Oracle shifted into the form of the princess. When the grimwalker arrived to claim its prize, the guards captured it, casting a netting spell over its writhing form.

The Oracle proudly presented the monster to the King as it spewed lies of affection for the princess and false grief for the loss of its kin. Its eyes leaked and when that did no good, it lunched forward, gnashing its terrible teeth, taking ten guards to restrain its monstrous form.

As guards prepared the grimwalker for execution as the princess begged for its life, so deep into its spell that she had lost all dignity.

“Do not be fooled, pet.” The King soothed her. “This creature feels no love. It mimics life. Everything it says is a trick.”

“You have done well”, he told the young Oracle. “As a reward, your brother will marry my son the prince and inherit half of my kingdom. And you will have my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

But the young Oracle was not satisfied.

“Your daughter has no claim to the crown. No power. She has consorted with a monster. And my brother will become a ruler? I did all the work! ”

The King shook his head. “You do not have the bearing of a King, but you are cunning enough to challenge me. What is it you want?”

The Oracle lifted his chin and spoke the words that rested deep within his belly.

“I want influence! I want wealth! I want to be the most powerful Oracle that ever lived!”

The King considered this.

“Then I offer you a place as my advisor, an estate with many servants, ten galdorstones, and this grimwalker’s body.”

“I do not need a monster as a servant, let alone one that will betray me and make off with my wife!” The Oracle scoffed, already imagining his wedding night with the princess.

“ I will tell you a secret.” said the King , “Drain dry the blood from this creature and keep a vial of it’s life force around your neck. With its magic, your visions will surpass any oracles that have come before. You and your descendants will See beyond any witches that have come before. You gain influence, wealth and prosper in all the realms for as long as the magic is potent.”

And with that, the Oracle ran a sword straight the heart of the creature. As it bled out, its body returned to wood and stone. The princess let out a harrowing shriek thus freeing the her enchantment.

The Oracle married her and they lived ever after.

Footnotes:

To this day, It is thought to this day that the blood of a Grimwalker is especially valuable to oracles, enhancing their visions, and increasing their power tenfold. This story is attributed as the origin of that belief.

#toh fanfic #hunter noceda #willow park #a03 fanfic #toh hunter #fanfiction #huntlow #sweet child o mine #toh osran #grimwalker lore #grimwalkers #toh grimwalker #fanfic analysis

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twirlybumblevee · 6 months

Text

I stole this from @bottleofchaos

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

71 right now! (man I've been here for a long time, haven't I...)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,077,321

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently it's Dteam (adjacent) and Tolkien's Silmarillion, in the past most notably Marvel (plus various others)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Oh boy. First, and by a mile, we have Sign Dirty to me and its sequel As loud as our hearts (MCU, Steve/Bucky modern AU where Steve is deaf and they meet under... embarrassing circumstances), then the next with not even half as many kudos is No other version of me I'd rather be tonight (Larry famous/non-famous AU), then a fic called First Sons and Superheros (Johnny Storm from the Fantastic Four meets troubled gay president's son TJ from Political Animals), and then Cross the Line which was just a silly little MCU RPF get together fic but yeah, everything MCU related went HARD back in the day.

Everything and many others found here.

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

Always!! It sometimes takes me a while but I never ever leave comments without a response over - if you see them, I just haven't gotten around to them yet. I think it's only fair - if people take their time to leave comments, I should show just as much appreciation back by responding. (That's why I don't comment on fics where I see lots of comments that have never been responded to because I just think it's rude.)

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

Oh man that's got to be the Silmarillion stories. Nightfall ending with murder and the dying of the Light (of the Trees), Shards that goes to incredibly dark places (but all the stories in that series aren't happy).

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

Probably Ever a surprise / Ever as before where DNF literally life in a fairytale and get a fairytale ending. :D (Taizi and I did our best. <3)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I remember once in an MCU Steve/Bucky fic there was a big discussion going on in the comments about an aspect of therapy in the story, but that was the height of it. It never went into hate territory.

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

Oh absolutely. XD Not sure I understand the question though, what kind. The sexy kind? Wholesome, sweet, kinky, dark, I've written it all.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have! The crasiest was probably First Sons and Superheroes (mentioned above) that sort of founded a whole new branch of fandom at the time. The premise was good though.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

There have been several requests over the years, yes

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Constantly. XD I think 95% of fics on my account have been co-written. I don't know how to finish stuff by myself.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship

Mae/Fin and Tyelpe/Annatar (Silmarillion), but DNF is up there as well for sure :)

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

The Holiday. It's a Remus/Sirius fic based on the movie and there's only ONE CHAPTER MISSING and I still get comments on it even years later and they're all so sweet and I always feel so bad about it and I wish I could finish it but I'm so out of the headspace. Maybe one day. Not giving up hope.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding. Picking things apart until everything makes sense. Believable character/relationship progression especially in adversary, I'd like to think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Motivation and drive, for sure. I was never able to write big stories by myself, I always needed someone to do it with. I WISH I could, how cool would that be. But I just get too distracted too fast by other things.

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

I can only write in English. German, I guess, I am a native. XD But I haven't done that in forever and the thought of it just makes me cringe.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Lord of the Rings

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

That's the meanest question. I have so many favourites, DNF ones as well, so many amazing ones that have never even seen the light of day on AO3 for one reason or another. I think overall I am the most proud of all the Silmarillion stories because they all belong in the same universe and span thousands upon thousands of years and so much worldbuilding and progression.

If you want to do this yourself, please feel tagged!! This was loads of fun. :)

#tagging game

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surr3al1sm · 27 days

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☆ Funky little intro post ☆

Hoi! Since more people have been interacting with my blog and fics lately so I decided it's time to do an little intro post. Introductions are always something I put off bc I'm bad at them (as you can probably tell) so we're just going to roll with it. ☆ My name is Rose (internet alias ig), or Yiv (shortened version of my irl name) doesn't really matter which one you use either work. You can also refer to me as my user if you wish to. I go by he/him pronouns! I am a 19-year-old student from the Netherlands. I also have autism, which is just something I like to tell people to be upfront lol.

I am currently extremely fixated on Just Dance (like brainrot level) so thats the thing I really only post about, it's my hyperfixation and I get to post on tumblr about it, but I do have other intrests. Here are some of the other things I like: I'm an artist and (now also) a writer. I'm intrested in things like folklore and fairytales but am also really into history. I play D&D and I really like cartoons and ghibli movies. I love ghibli movies. I also really like musicals and have a pretty varied music taste. I'd say my current favourite artists are: Hozier, Sophie Powers, and Palaye Royale!

If you happen to like Just Dance and fanfics: I am currently writing two of my own on AO3. They're called 'Treasures of The Swan' and 'Maybe Loving You is Dangerous' respectively and I really appriciate alll the love they've gotten so far. it really means a lot.

You can always send me an ask or tag me in something. I really don't mind, I actually love it when people do that. As a heavy lurker (who is posting bc JD needs more content) I get that it can be a little intimidating but theres no reason to be nervous! I don't bite (most of the time). So feel free to just say hi! I love interacting with people with similair intrtests to me (and possibly even making friends)

Sorry that this is kind of a long post, once I start yapping I don't know when to stop. Going to leave this off with: if someone ever asks you 'who asked?' I did. It was me. I asked. ☆

#intro post #please do say hi if you were going to #I love having mutals and online friends to bother with my posts #again sorry its this long

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formula-fun · 7 months

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Ah! (lightbulb) we definitely have very different understandings of angst, or I was more thinking about relationship-wise because the current fic feels like the story of them coming together despite everything on themselves and between each other. And internal and external perception of gender roles, external expectations and judgment hahahaha is simply part of the “everything”. I definitely is not expecting fairytale happily ever after (not that my expectations should matter).

It’s not pretentious at all hahaha, maybe it’s just even though world-building is very important for me even in fanfic (I get stuck thinking about logistics a lot of the time) , I still looked past the heaviness of gender roles, expectations and judgement because it feels like something jumping on the back of their minds and the story constantly, but when I am way too focused on “how they are feeling” instead of “how they are going to make this work” it’s kind of shoved out the way.

Though now typing this out is really making it like I’m just ignoring the elephant in the room ha. I do really like the “huge fucking mess” though, besides the glorious horse metaphors, your way of writing and very smooth incorporation into personality and interactions make the underlying discussion so much more interesting. Like it’s a very important part of the story but not center-staged with neon flashing lights, instead has the constant lurking in the shadows air to it. It is technically heavy but both of them thrive on challenges don’t they!

Oh! Or maybe I have always associated the heaviness in the background for Max in the story with his father which is being counterproductive to him embracing himself, and Charles with embracing himself, this actually is the more specific version of “gender roles, expectations and judgement”.

Forgive me for thinking that even if the plot is trying to gender stereotypes into mush they could still get ostentatious diamond engagement rings hahahhahah, maybe it’s just me thinking this would be funny, especially during the time they would literally be facing media judgement about how the “omega wife” should be home with the child not out fucking f1 with his greatness. It could (or not) be in line with Charles change in dress style!

Sorry I pretty much just wrote down my very nonlinear thought process.

Happy Wednesday! (At least we are pull through half the week now right?)

Xxxxxxxxxooooooooooxxxxoo

Hi hi again!! mwah

Yeah I think that probably explains it!! i mean it'll probably all result in some tension in their relationship but you know...it'll be fine. idk. we'll have to wait and see!! once again i am answering your ask too early in the morning and dont have the braincells i am so sorry

i do completely get you about worldbuilding too, I tend to think about writing in a really mathematical/analytical way in terms of how people and relationships fit together so i know it's easy to get caught up in logistics!! theres a lot of worldbuilding cmoing up now for me as well though because the last chapter has to do with like how mating works vs how weddings work and things like that. like mating ceremonies were already mentioned and they're different than beta weddings, but im still working out what exactly they look like. Also how gender works for kids since gender and biological sex don't really have anything to do with each other in this universe? I think i've figured out what its going to be like but i dont know for sure yet. fun fun fun

but yeah anyway i like the way you put it because they themselves exist kind of in an internal relationship and that's where the story is being told, but everything else is an external pressure that's guiding them in certain ways or making them feel certain things. Without all of that they'd probably be fine, but there's a lot going on outside of just them and we're not so much seeing those things as we are seeing how it changes them as people. So 'how they're feeling' is really what the story is about, but it's all a direct result of those things that are lurking in the shadows.

and hashshahd i'll get back to you about diamond rings!! i guess it all depends on what exists in their bubble vs what exists in the external bubble!! at this point they're starting to prioritize only what makes them feel good and completely put aside things that please external forces (max finally told his dad he needed space, charles wants to court max, charles is exploring his own self-expression in ways that make him happy--all of these things directly contradict what other people expect or want from charles and max, but they're both doing them to make themselves feel happier or more secure, which in turn makes their relationship more secure), so going forward that will probably be what they continue to do. if they want to get beta married and throw a big celebration then they'll do it, but they probably won't do it just for the sake of appearances/to show off! it's more about doing what makes them happy

but also my brain was like melted the other day from this stupid academic paper about public vs private life and i think that is now unforutnately influencing this fic. the public/private life academic paper is an external pressure on my internal relationship with my own fic. this is why we cant have nice things

anyway sorry for this long ass answer, thank god its wednesday tho and i hope youre having a great week!!!! sorry if none of this makes any sense but please know i enjoy your questions so so so much <333

#xo anon #that is now your moniker my friend #if i had words #writing tag

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firesofdainix · 2 years

Text

October 1: Torment | Chains | "You promised me."

CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Death

Finally did some Morrotober stuff! Nothing but for my boy right here!

@morrotober

AO3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42058260/chapters/105597894

Timelines are an interesting subject to think about. Like the branches on a tree, or the vines that run to cover every crevice or empty space in the world. It is ever-present, probabilities mixing together to create a new formula or a new universe out of nothing, stars, and galaxies colliding into an impossible mix of awe and horror. A sparkle of something new coming out from an abyss of differing events to one choice, or from a different trademark happening in the background. There are a million timelines within one branch, always fluctuating, multiplying, and being added as it develops. It is a whirlpool of all events being rolled into one, or perhaps, separating into different, new foreign timelines that divert from the main one, the real one. But there is no such thing as reality, or a true timeline from all these other timelines, correct? There is only, simply, a subject and an ending that can always be altered.

So, the subject of alternate timelines, and how they work, is simply whether or not your choices coincide with the best set of ending for you, a plausibility of climbing one tree higher with alternating branches. It is the reason why we are at whatever timeline you are in— you made it.

But why am I talking about timelines?

Oh, simply because that is currently what we are going through when we talk about Morro and his multiple choices throughout his life.

In a different timeline, Wu keeps his mouth shut tight and continues to nurture him until there comes a time he dies before he celebrates his thirtieth birthday, the Curse of the Masters of Wind coming to collect their debt.

In another one, Morro returns to the monastery, feet covered in dirt, face darkened with grime, and eyes filling with tears. Wu rushes to him, his arms as light as a feather as he puts them around the sniveling Morro.

In the most well-known timeline, Morro is cursed, tainted with the evil mark of the Preeminent, drowning in his resentment and anger before defying his own destiny and taking the Realm Crystal to release his master. He dies a watery death, after reflecting upon his own decisions leading to his own ruin, with no regrets of the present, but rather of the past.

And that is when the scripts and writings on Morro’s scroll in the Cloud Kingdom have now halted; the privileged writers who have done nothing but give each and every one of the ninjas and those who around them the worst fortunes imaginable, Morro’s scroll toppled to the ground, before being archived by the monks who did not want to mention the one who defied the concept of destiny that is as primordial as the Oni and Dragon Wars. That is where his scroll stays; collecting dust, the figure of the writing never attempting to rebel against the fate that has been assigned to him.

But, there is another timeline that they have experimented with executing, a timeline that they have stored into other timelines.

The one where Morro wins. Where he plants Lloyd’s head on a pike as a great cloud of curses starts to form over the Realm of Ninjago. Where the ghosts run free across the world, lighting up the world in a sickly green hue. Where pandemonium will forever be eternal in each and every settlement of the people. Where the ninja is nowhere to be found, unable to withstand the Preeminent’s hold over the Realm.

A gruesome fairytale, filled with the most grotesque endings to be told by the spirits and ghosts who wish to tell the tale, of the man that had wanted the green gi so much he broke the barriers of his fate. Of an eldritch entity with a hold over her own realm, wafting the other sixteen with her abysmal, evil aura.

Morro, the ghost, scorned son of Master Wu, the new Green Ninja, should feel the triumph. He’s finally gotten rid of his one true villain, the thorn at his side, the reason why he was never proven as worthy to his own master. The one that keeps on giving him the worst thoughts possible, of never being enough.

Yet, all he could feel when he kills Lloyd with his own two hands, not noticing the way his hands smoke and sting as the red liquid continues to clash with his green corporeal form, was emptiness and a dread pooling into his stomach. All his eyes were focused on is to kill Lloyd Garmadon, as ecstasy continues to drain from within him, his mouth curved to a manic smile.

Because he’s killed Lloyd Garmadon.

Yet, he doesn’t feel quite relieved, or overjoyed, now that he would not share his title with anyone else.

There was just… dread.

Dread has always been a constant companion of his as he traverses the Cursed Realm’s ribcage, a wasteland of discordant dystopia, attracting hungry stares everywhere as if he were prey to be eaten. Knowing that he is being watched by the one entity whom he didn’t very much want to interact with. She was able to sing to his inspiration in his mind and dreams, which is why he is currently here in the first place.

But why does he feel it instead of the crushing weight of happiness overtaking him as he waves the green gi high in the air?

He doesn’t even laugh— he could not even bring himself to lift the corners of his mouth up as the other ghosts take one note of the gi that he is clutching like a lifeline and cheer.

The Preeminent had crooned like an animal as he presents both the Realm Crystal and the bloodied gi, before finally settling onto her final form so that she could plant herself into this realm before moving on to the next one. Morro can only stare emptily, before simply floating in one of the houses that had once been part of the civilization he assisted in destroying. He hears the ear-piercing shrieks of the people, comparable to a dying animal, and the howls of joy that rumble the entire world.

The Preeminent is not very keen on keeping her promises, a fact that he’s known since he was a young ghost. It is especially clear to Morro, who’s seen the inside of her head to note that he was not as favored as he believes he is. If he was, he would have ascended to her head to achieve enlightenment for the dream of becoming the Green Ninja immediately when he had garnered her attention.

After a while (he doesn’t know if it was a few days, months, or even years; the Cursed Realm’s changeless surroundings desensitized him to time), it seems she’s become less interested in Ninjago and sets her sights upon the other realms.

She settles on the Cloud Kingdom first, and Morro doesn't feel a single thing except for relief and satisfaction, as the home of those who have come to write their fates disappear headlong to the abyss one by one, devoured by the Preeminent, never finding another semblance of afterlife that was not the paradise they seek.

Well, except one.

Fenwick falls to his knees in front of the gargantuan Preeminent and Morro, form trembling. Morro wants to laugh, but he's already drained himself of all emotions. “Please, spare me! I have done all you have asked! You have told me that you shall not curse this Realm when I assist you!”

Morro scoffs, "We all know what you're really like, Fenwick. You are nothing but a traitorous weasel."

Fenwick cowers at his statement, before turning to the Preeminent.

The Preeminent takes her time with her words, but Morro knows her answer. It's already been embedded in her head, like a wheel that would not stop spinning.

Then, she croons, the sound of a thousand Cursed souls morphing to make a legitimate sound. He shudders.

Fenwick, her voice tries to be sweet, but with a hundred voices, a woman, a man, and a child mixing together, it was a failed attempt. Fulfilling a promise is only for the Righteous.

The elderly man pales, and Morro takes this as a sign to swing his sword towards the offender of his master’s wrath. The squelch of flesh seizes the quiet realm, and the spray of blood subsequently follows.

Fenwick's head is on the ground now, permanently endowed with a horrified expression. A quell of satisfaction seeps into his veins, even when he has to smell the putrid stench of blood.

It was better to die by his hand than be devoured by the Preeminent.

Hm. The Preeminent hums, the only noise in this now static realm. It was dead, gone. The destiny-makers have all been killed, Cursed, or devoured. I did not think you would enact mercy upon the man who wronged you.

Believe Morro; he wanted this man to suffer, but in the end, he's decided he's caused enough suffering. Even if this man certainly deserves it.

Besides, he has another dream to chase, his own destiny he must fulfill.

The Green gi burns on his clothes.

He turns to look at the Preeminent, eyes empty but excited. "Master, I believe I am now worthy."

Of what? She asks as if she was playing naive. He knows of her tricks by now. He's not falling for it.

"Of obtaining the rank of the Green Ninja." He keeps his impatience and irritation for her out of his voice, moving to a proud stance. "I have not failed you, Mistress of the Cursed Realm."

Yes, indeed you haven't. Then another ear-splitting silence enters the realm. The dread continues to pull on his corporeal form as if he was melting under the pressure.

After a minute of silence, he tries again. "... What's the verdict, Mistress?"

She starts to laugh, and his own ghostly form wavers.

It was the same laugh she had expressed when she made a deal with him, back at the Caves of Despair.

Morro feels cold seep into his veins, like roots searching for ways to quench their thirst.

He feels the wind pick up, a sign that he was utterly horrified.

He's already sealed his fate the day he made a deal with her, but he didn't think she'd break it immediately.

Then, he feels something grip his wrist. With a gasp, he sees the tentacles of the Preeminent coiling on him, as if they are in a rough embrace.

But he knows what this means.

"You— you promised me!" He bellows at the Preeminent, trying to escape the chains when he knows full well there is truly no escaping the entirety of the Realm.

Like I said, Master of Wind, she doesn't address him as the 'rightful Green Ninja' anymore. As if it was a fake title. Fulfilling promises is only for the Righteous.

Morro's desperation starts to show, as he begins to claw at the ground, leaving scratching marks that will mark the day he foolishly trusted the Preeminent’s whims. He should have known this would happen— he was never truly favored, simply only a title that has been given to him by proxy due to how expendable and powerful he was. When he controls the wind, he controls life; something that the Cursed Realm is clearly devoid of, and that is something that his Mistress has always wanted to exploit.

He wants to laugh as his hands go numb, as his own ghostly body gives up on trying to evade his own proper death. The afterlife he has been living until now was simply an augmentation of his own life, except it was less forgiving and harsher than what he had been exposed to.

How absurd of him, to have to completely bow to the Mistress of the Realm in hopes of seeking enlightenment, before he is consumed.

Morro should not have made a deal with an entity that he is aware will never keep her vows straight.

That is his last thought before he is ingested into the Preeminent, feeling his own spirit disintegrate into prompt nothingness as if he had never existed in the first place.

#manji wips #lego ninjago #ninjago #morro ninjago #morro wu #morrotober #morrotober 2022

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