#asks and answers

[zarla-s]

Hopefully not an odd question, but how did you come up with the “Ads” in Spamtons speech for your Defragmentation comic?

Like know where to put them and what they would be

A lot of the time it's just free association. Every time there's a word that CAN be replaced to obscure or muddy something, I consider it. Something to remember about his speech pattern is that his bracket words aren't all ads or slogans! He replaces normal words too, sometimes with the same word (presumably) or sometimes with a strange tangent. If a word in the sentence makes you think of something else (and can hide or confuse something), just follow that train of thought a few stops and see where it takes you.

For example, let's say he wanted to say something like "I SAW YOUR RUNNING AWAY." I made a typo while typing that and I usually keep those. "Running" jumps out at me - easy word to replace with something strange. What's another unusual word for running? "Skedaddle", no one uses that. What's a step further out from that? "Skip-to-my-loo my darling", they both have a "sk" sound and convey movement. Sentence turns into "I SAW YOUR [ Skip-to-my-loo] MY [prize3d CUstomer]!" That's my general approach, haha. Sometimes the words just have pleasing alliteration or a nice rhythm or just rhyme in a way I like. "[Prime-Time] [High-Time]" for example, or "[Blinkers Poppers Firestarters]". Anything that can be replaced with something vaguely threatening or scary is a good option too (Spamton screaming in agony about burning in acid or talking about death for example).

I made a way longer post about the details of his speech pattern (it's surprisingly fiddly) but here's some quick bulletpoints of things I don't see too often when people write for him.

Typos

Wrong punctuation/no punctuation

Punctuation inside words (LIGH;TN>er)

Too much punctuation (can never have enough !!!!s)

Numbers in words

Incorrect capitalizations in and out of brackets

Weird grammar and misspellings

Tense mix-ups, plural mix-ups

Complete sentences (he CAN do these! they're just rare)

Missing words, single words

Too many spaces, spaces in weird places

Repetition (usually panicky but he does get stuck sometimes in general)

Small short words ([guts], [eyes], [mouth])

Weird word choices (skedaddle up there for example)

Follow your train of thought wherever it goes. Song lyrics, movie titles, famous catchphrases, jingles, memes (not too many of these though), technical jargon, just whatever your brain grabs onto. You might want to check out old VHS recordings on archive.org that include commercials and see what they sound like. The 90s are a good year, Spamton loves 1997!

[chiisanajimi]

[sfs3] Give Starlight a bomb.

((THIS IS A JOKE NOT A REAL METHOD HAHA AND LOL))

@sonic-fankid-showdown

[blindtaleteller]

Absolutely agree. Same applies to tags to a degree, I think.

There's tagging, and then there's tagging your whole storyline to the point that reading it is kinda pointless, since you can get the whole thing just reading the tags before you click.

If you're ok with that, great; but not every author is going to be, and not every reader, either.

One of the many reasons the OPTION ITSELF, is a thing I love about ao3.

So im writing a fic. i have a major character death, because the entire story is about them unknowingly in a form of purgatory, finding out they are dead in a later chapter, and coming to terms with that death, leaving mc bittersweet as they move on to the unknown. the way this story is, major character death tag would completely spoil the entire story. i absolutely understand some people will not be comfortable with it, but i dont want to imply or reveal that main plot point to those hooked. they are the only major character too, so there’s no real wiggle room there.

do we think that author chose not to use warnings would be a good tag here for this? a sort of read at your own risk in the summary?

This is a perfect example of why Author Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings exists.

It's there for people who think warnings on fanfic are bullshit. It's there for people who look at their fic and look at the warnings and they want to say "be careful here" but none of the warnings apply. It's there for people who know there should be a warning but that warning would spoil the fic.

That warning means "here there be dragons" in a way that should keep away the folks who are leery of fics with warnings on them. If you want to add more info in your summary or additional tags you totally can, but that warning is already a yellow flag at the very least.

That's what I think anyway. Let's see what everyone else thinks.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Similar to your faunus MK intro’s, could you do some MK intro’s with the main cast from the early volumes and their future trauma ridden selves?

MK Intros; Past and Future

Ruby: *Twirling CR*Hey! Why is Crescent Rose all scratched up?!? Why haven't you been taking care of our baby!

Ruby: *Twirling CR* I've kept her functioning, even added some features, but as for aesthetics ... Stuff happens.

~~~~~

Ruby: *Coalescing from Petals*Hey, You should know, not everything that happens is your fault, and no matter what happens, there will always be someone at your back and willing to listen.

Ruby: *Twirling CR* I don't like the way you said that.

Ruby: Yeah, well ... I'm sorry but the road ahead will have you questioning that, but you need to rely on your friends the way they rely on you.

~~~~~

Weiss: *Posturing* So, Have we usurped Ruby and become Team Leader as we rightfully deserve?

Weiss: *Cycling Dust* No, she's actually quite reliable. You just need to give her, and yourself, time to grow.

Weiss: ... Are you certain You're me?

Weiss: For better or worse, Yes.

~~~~~

Weiss: *Being set down by Arma Gigas* Hello-

Weiss: *Stepping in on Glyphs* So We learn how to control our Summons? Teach Me!

Weiss: ... No. You'll learn in time.

Weiss: Augh! How do I become so unreliable in the future!

Weiss: ... Was I really like that to everyone?

~~~~~

Blake: *Swinging In*Where's your bow?

Blake: *Shadows in* I don't need it. I have people to protect me.

Blake: Did the Schnee finally leave?

Blake: *Tutting* No Spoilers~ Just, don't hold your breath.

~~~~~

Blake: ... Man I looked better with long hair.

Blake: ... That's all you have to say?

Blake: No, I also have to say that Yang is rather Tasty.

Blake: *Angrily Blushing* SHE'S WHAT?!?

~~~~~

Yang: *Cracking her knuckles* ... Despite how cool the arm looks, I think I'm rather attached to it.

Yang: *Stretching* I appreciate the pun, but the Arm ... the arm was a worthy sacrifice. It was better to lose it, then lose ...

Yang: Lose What?

Yang: Sorry, I, uh, I don't want to mess up the future too much. Just know that you can always rely on Dad.

~~~~~

Yang: *Making last minute adjustments to her Arm* You know, You shouldn't be scared of your feelings.

Yang: *Punching the Air* I don't know what you mean.

Yang: Her ears are pretty Cute~

Yang: You shut the HELL Your Mouth!

~~~~~

Jaune: *Fumbling with his Shield* Huh.

Jaune: *Gliding in with his shield* The Hair?

Jaune: The Hair.

Jaune: Well, A lot of people like it! ... Maybe a little too much ...

~~~~~

Jaune: Hey! You gotta take care of your team, Alright! really pay attention to the things they say and the way they act! You can't- You can't let anything escape your sight!

Jaune: .. Okay???

Jaune: Just- please.

~~~~~

Jaune: *Trying to pull Crocea Mors out of the Shield*So, Do we ever get with Weiss?

Jaune: *Smoothly unsheathing Crocea Mors* No, and maybe ... It's better. F-for now, at least.

Jaune: Aw Dangit! I knew I should've listened to Mom's advice!

Jaune: I have the feeling that would've gone worse ...

~~~~~

Jaune: Wow! The Rusted KNight! You're like, My childhood Hero! I've always wanted to be like you!

Rusted Knight: *Hopping off of Juniper* ... Be careful what you wish for, because you may just get exaclty what you want.

[bokettochild]

What are rabbit traits you headcanon Legend having?

Ooh!

As you've all likely seen recently, his hair turns white come winter! (Yes, I did a fic on it, and the art is amazing my gosh!) this also means his hair is incredibly thick in the colder seasons, and yes, he tends to shed that white hair later on when it gets warm again! it scared the Dickens out of him the first time it happened (he was nine and actually thought he might be dying, and since he was still mid-adventure, he didn't really have anyone to explain it to him, since even Fi didn't know what was going on)

He gnaws. Not consciously, but when he's nervous, agitated, or otherwise bored, he tends to chew on things, from his hair, to his sleeves, to some of his tools. It was worse when he was a kid and switching from rabbit to Hylian frequently, and could excuse it in his own head as just part of growing up. he's gotten better about it now, but there are definitely tooth marks on more than a couple of his old things, and his childhood clothes have the most tattered sleeves known to mankind. Nowadays, he ends up chewing on his silverware or gnawing on his rings more than anything, but he tries his best not to because he finds it humiliating, especially after he's been told a lot while growing up that it's babyish and disgusting

Nose twitches. So many nose twitches. That and his ears. New smells get his nose going like nuts, but it also wiggles when he's super happy/excited about something

His ears are the Most expressive out of the whole chain. They're also uncommonly long, which some believe is because the goddesses are so distant in his era (which is ironic because he's literally gone on adventures with the golden three). It's not confirmed that their size is because of his rabbit form, because Uncle says they've always been extra big (too big for his head really) but they do make hearing everything around him much easier, although they do tend to betray his feelings whenever he's trying hard not to show them.

Bucked teeth. it's not exceedingly bad, but his front incisors are a bit larger than usual, which actually gives him a slight lisp, although he's worked very hard to correct that.

His teeth actually grow, constantly. If he doesn't wear them down somehow, they'll get long enough that it actually makes it hard for him to open his jaw or eat, so his gnawing habit is actually necessary, much to his humiliation (they got overgrown all of once and he was so miserable and terrified that he's willing to suck up the shame now, but he's still wary of letting anyone know)

Binkies. Legend's not very expressive with the chain, but the reality is that a happy Legend is a very hoppy Legend, and he tends to dance in place a bit too when he's very happy/comfortable

Flops. If he trusts you, and feels completely safe, he is willing to just go boneless and relax. It really only happens with fable anymore, but Marin got to see it and Uncle used to enjoy it a lot before everything went wrong. (I saw this in a fic once and it has my whole heart)

Nesting/burrowing: It's not super obvious, but Legend tends to like finding and claiming small places and setting them up as cozy as he can. In his first adventure, he established a bunch of boltholes across Hyrule, and he keeps them tended to even now, although better than they used to be because they all are stocked with food/water/potions and at least something warm to wrap himself in. He also has a strange fondness for tunnels and dark underground spaces which weirds the rest of the heroes out. it might not be bunny related so much as due to the fact that he spent so much of his life/childhood in dungeons and tunnels and thus finds them more familiar and predictable than the outside world, but there's no saying for sure (it's both)

He grits his teeth when he's in pain

He eats mainly plant based foods, which is partially because hunting is hard for him and trauma makes fish a touch and go situation, but also because he genuinely just prefers plant/grain based foods.

He has the most massive sweet tooth, but generally just for fruits, although he will accept sugar based sweets on occasion (especially Ravio's cocoa)

Legend tends to freeze up when startled, although if there's a threat nearby his first instinct is to run. Usually, he just darts for cover if he can to assess the situation and then deal with it, but since the rest of the chain definitely Don't Do That, he's adapted to just hopping right into a fight and making a plan as he goes, or letting Wars make one for the lot of them.

He hates dogs/wolves/canines with a passion and is genuinely terrified of them, although he does his best to hide this/push past it when others are around because he's aware it's sort of ridiculous for a grown man (he's still a teen) to be scared of a dog.

When helpless, he is likely to adopt the "if it can't see me, it can't hurt me" approach, and that usually means holding perfectly still or tucking himself into the nearest crevice

He bites. Hard.

Rabbits are a prey animal, which means that, as another user here has observed, they are a fight or flight creature. That, in turn, means that when they enter a fight, they don't stop fighting until the thing they're fighting is dead, because while predators can just fall back and go away, fro prey, if they stop, then their attacker can/will just chase them down and kill them. This means that Legend is terribly bad about backing out of a fight once it's started and will keep going until there is o doubt that his foe is thoroughly dead.

Naturally born snuggler, although his trust issues mean he rarely indulges in it.

He cannot handle spice. Like, at all. It makes him sick, although rarely to the point of vomiting. He tends to avoid it though.

While raised to be an early rise, if given the choice, he'd prefer to stay up late and sleep until he's ready. Duty and social norms demand that he gets up with the sun, but his brain is Not Wired For That, so he's not a happy morning person.

Rabbits can have genuine heart attacks when scared too badly, and Legend has some weird heart issues anyway, so if he gets too scared, he is liable to faint, albeit briefly. Usually, he can calm himself down or force himself to focus enough to force his breathing/system to behave, but sometimes his heart just decides it's had enough for the moment and makes him drop like a sack of rocks. It's very rare though, especially given how often he exposes himself to things that scare the shit out of him

He has very sensitive ears, and is tender headed in general

He's very fast, but only in spurts. He can't last long for long distances on his own power. The pegasus boots help with this a bit, but he still needs breaks

By nature, he's pretty playful. By need, he rarely plays, but if someone starts playing WITH him, well, it'd be rude not to respond, right? (He loves it)

Very sensitive nose. Not as much as Twilight's, but he's got a better sniffer than most of the rest, even Time (LOL)

Big feet. He's also flat-footed, which means shoes are hell for him, although he has to wear them given the variety of terrain he crosses and how frequently he gets in battles and runs across poisonous substances. Still, he'd much rather he barefoot. (Fable commissioned him a special set of boots when she found out, so it's not as bad as it used to be, but he still doesn't like them)

High sensory. He might not have whiskers, but he makes up for it by touching just about everything around him to get an understanding of his surroundings (outside of a fight that is). Add in the smell and hearing things, and, well-

He's actually got pretty bad eyesight, being mostly farsighted and having a sensitivity to strong light. In contrast though, he does pretty well when left in the dark, and actually finds it soothing (much the to the horror of anyone who's fought a shadow).

He's very good at getting out of places he's supposed to be locked up in.

He does not handle fall damage well. He's learned to tuck and roll in the circus from Mel and Rom, but it still messes him up more than the rest.

Foot stompies. So many foot stompies. he tries hard not to do it, because it makes Twilight laugh at him, but he genuinely can't help it sometimes

That's all I got for now! Hope you enjoyed!

[erisenyo]

"don't fucking touch me!" and zukka, maybe? love your writing!!

For this prompt game! (And also this one!) (And this one too lol) (and this one now too)

Fencing isn’t a quiet sport. The crowd is more bated-breath than heckling-you energy, but the sound of fencing is unique and unmistakable: the metallic ring of blades, grunts of effort, the resonant sound of your own break in the confines of your mask and the patter-slam of sharp footwork into lightning-fast lunges. The whir of reels rapidly unspooling and the innocuous beep of blade finding target—

“Yeaaoww!”

—and of course, the screaming.

Every time blade finds target, when the point is yours and even when you know it’s not to try to sell it because anyone who says showmanship isn’t at least 15% of fencing and of foil in particular is lying.

Sokka loves the noise of it like he loves winning. It’s guttural and raw in a way that makes his blood thrill in answer, even when the point isn’t his, even when he’s just watching from the armory or after elimination pools or in struggling YouTube videos of classic bouts. Zagunis’ wildcat screams and Katara’s roar of triumph, Suki with a yowl of victory like Vezzali’s and Chamley-Watson bordering on excessive celebration, Aang’s surprisingly deep-chested shouts right there with him.

It’s the tension that builds and builds over the course of a match made tangible and real, the intensity of every second finally breaking from deep in your stomach, fully-body electricity and release and yes, he is aware.

Azula Leung screams her triumph like a bird of prey.

Zuko Leung fences in complete, unnerving silence.

--

Zuko who fences as intensely as he glares, with a kind of contained-ferocity that feels like an explosion on the verge of igniting. Whose lunges close down distance that seems safe in less than a heartbeat, who has the kind of point control Sokka longs after, who’s entire body is tight in a way that makes Sokka’s own shoulders ache in sympathy until Iroh reminds him again, exasperated, that his entire arm is not meant to resemble a piece of metal, Master Sokka, that its about being fluid like water, not stiff like a department story mannequin.

“Dude,” Sokka can’t help saying around his protein bar as he watches Zuko lunging at a dummy over and over and over and over. “You’re looking a bit tense. Want to shout a little? Grunt? Let it out?”

“Dude,” he can’t help offering during a group lesson even though he knows it’s just going to get him a sour look, “it’s not going to feel right until your shoulders loosen up, trust me, Iroh had me drilling it for like, nine months. Give a little shout or something,” he suggests. “Like karate,” he adds, which just makes Zuko glare harder.

“Dude,” he says, frowning, “you’re going to hurt yourself like that, if you keep it all bottled up,” as if Sokka can claim to be even half the fencer Zuko Leung is, even if Zuko abruptly dropped off the circuit years ago and just as abruptly returned, like it was nothing for a former junior-almost-actual-Olympian to be at a no-name club in the middle of nowhere.

Loosen up, Sokka keeps behind his teeth, a kind of exasperated irritation in his chest. Sokka doesn’t really know the guy, but he grew up around fencing, even if it was in the armory, not the salle, but—

“Let it out, loosen up,” he huffs as he tests the connection of Zuko’s mask cord, rolling his eyes when Zuko gives him a sour look and nearly knocks Sokka’s mask out of his hand testing back.

—he knows this.

--

He knows it like he knows the results from the Worlds for the past ten years and every touch of the Oh-Ferjani match and that every step Tagliariol ever took was perfection.

He knows it like he knows Zuko’s equipment is old but good, and that it was well cared for and then not and then cared for again, and that Zuko glares off anyone who gets too close to it, which considering the rumors coming out of the —

He knows it like he knows Zuko has a too-small-now lamé in his bag with Leung and CHN printed underneath and like he knows the one Zuko wears to fence now is as blank as Sokka’s on the back, as if someone who tore through Junior Cadets and was making it out of pools in Senior tournaments when he was still in middle school, who was the youngest and is still the second-youngest person to ever win a senior World Cup, who won the FAHK Challenge Cup every year except the year that mattered, could be inconspicuous, even here.

“Master Sokka,” Iroh says, eyes crinkling like always at the face Sokka pulls at the title, “Fence with Zuko today.”

“Uh,” Sokka says, laughing, because the gulf between him and Zuko Leung is wide enough to sail across. “Okay, Coach Ho. Whatever you say.”

--

Zuko Leung, two-time Hong Kong Open Champion and one-time third-ranked men’s foilist in the world, who didn’t finish out of a top-36 over the course of two entire seasons until abruptly, suddenly, he did, and disappeared, and now he’s back.

Zuko Leung, who seems to already know every drill Iroh comes up with and does jump lunges until Sokka thinks he’s going to puke and who eyes their games of warmup soccer and handball and blob tag like its some kind of trap.

Zuko, who can carry three weapons, four body cords, his mask, and a backup lamé between strips like Iroh carries a mug of tea, like they’re all extensions of his hands when Sokka feels always on the verge of tripping into a crashing pile with even half that much gear. Zuko, who wears form fitting whites like all the rest of them but somehow manages to make the knickers that always feel faintly ridiculous on Sokka, even with his jacket and lamé on, look very, very good.

Zuko who takes lessons with just his mask and glove and weapon and Iroh dug in his heels, hard and sudden and unexpected only in that it was needed, over the mask. Zuko who stands in front of Iroh’s whip-quick blade with no jacket, no plastron, and snaps out insults about Iroh’s age if he thinks Iroh isn’t going fast enough and doesn’t even flinch when he misses a parry or fails to steal the distance.

Zuko who does lessons so fast Sokka can barely track the bladework, can barely see even knowing the drill the feints he’s shadowing, the breaks in Iroh’s guard he’s reacting to. He does them like he’s going to he graded on each one, specifically, and makes Sokka feel even more clunky in his own lessons by comparison, even though Iroh always smiles gently and indulgently when Sokka gives in to his desire to be fencing sabre—“The footwork and blade control will help you, Master Sokka”—and accidentally ripostes with the blade and not the tip.

“I don’t know if flicking will aid you in sabre, Master Sokka.”

“Yeah, well,” Sokka shrugs in answer and continues to practice, snapping his blade toward the target until his wrist aches and his eyes blur and he can’t help but wonder how long Zuko had to practice to knock these out so precise and deadly and constant, how Zuko does it when he's always so tight.

--

So Sokka doesn’t know the guy, not really. Zuko doesn’t hold himself like someone who wants to be known.

But Sokka has seen the way Zuko takes comments on his form and technique and strategy like a boxer taking blows off his arms, like it’s part of the job. And he’s noticed that comments on his silence—

“Dude, what did you do, take a vow of silence? Even Aang didn’t do that.”

—land very, very different. Different in a way that means wound tight, and tight in a way that means stiff which means slow which means broken defense and too-short lunges and Sokka is not, and will never be, a two-time champion of anything that relies so much on having two perfectly constructed knees.

“We could put you in that shouting class Coach Ho puts on for the little kids, you know. Get you some practice.”

But Iroh always says fencing is as much a game of physical chess as it is a sport, and Bato learned years ago to stop playing chess with Sokka if he wanted any peace and quiet. And Sokka?

“Are you auditioning to be a mime?”

Sokka wouldn’t be here where he is now without recognizing when someone is handing him a strategy.

“How are you going to play to the ref in a bout if you don’t play to the imaginary one now?”

He says it as if Zuko has gotten anywhere near anything approaching a formal tournament in the past six months, says it with a smirk as if Zuko isn’t glaring venomous enough to see through the tight mesh of their masks, very line of Zuko’s body rigid and tight and so obvious in his defense, so locked up in his offense, that Sokka is giving his most-obnoxious whoops of victory before his points even lands, going out of his way to make noise into the silence that’s big enough to choke on.

“Come on, Zuko Leung,” he laughs as he evades Zuko’s parry. “How are you going to win like—”

“Will you shut the fuck up and don’t fucking touch me,” Zuko shouts, parrying so hard Sokka actually drops his blade. Or maybe that’s from the surprise at the rasping, resonant scream, a big cat’s snarl, and Sokka can’t even begrudge the bruising-sting of a well-landed flick on his back because that parry-feint-riposte was beautiful.

“I mean.” Sokka shrugs, grinning and hauling his weapon back up by the body cord, cocking his hip just to be obnoxious. “Touching is kind of the point.”

Zuko stares at him a moment from a blades-length away, chest heaving. Then he rips off his mask and shoves back his hair and reclips his mask cord like he wants to throw it at Sokka’s face, flushed and disheveled and ragged like Sokka suddenly realizes he probably always has been.

“En garde,” Zuko bites out like a demand, shoving his mask back on.

“Alright,” Sokka agrees easily, purposefully taking his time setting up. “But just to be clear, you know I’m going to try to touch—”

“Allez,” Zuko snarls and lunges forward lightning-fast and beautiful, like a two-time champion and Junior Fucking Olympian, shoulders relaxed and shoulder-arm-wrist-blade fluid like water.

“Touché,” Sokka drawls in acknowledgement, grinning, and as he hears Zuko growl, audibly, he starts to rethink his strategy as he resets his feet at the line he didn’t even get a chance to leave. The big cats usually fence sabre. And as Zuko explodes toward him again, Sokka wonders why Zuko doesn’t, wonders if he could convince him to try, wonders what other noises Zuko can make, what other noises Sokka can make him make.

He decides, as he proceeds to very, very decisively lose, that he’d like to try.

[lookingfts]

Ok but WRECKING BALL?!? THE HANDS PASSING!?! When Kate blinks and her eyebrows curve up and shes the human personification of 🥺

Okay but tell me I'm not the only person who noticed that they move their hands more quickly past their faces because god forbid they can't see each other's eyes? God forbid they can't stare longingly at the person who's about to leave them forever????

[not-poignant]

Pia, Pia! Did you know that there is an omegaverse c-drama!? Like for real? Like, not a book, not a fanfiction, a real show!?! It's called a/b/o desire (mind you, the slashes are not used [i think] at least not in the tag). Who would have thought!?!

Hi anon!

I did know this! But did you know that actually Thailand beat China to the punch in 2023 with a show called Pit Babe, that's omegaverse? :D

You can find it on YouTube (if you're okay with watching each episode in parts). It's pretty well-reviewed!

[author-martinkblackwood]

Hello there, I heard you're speaking with ghosts? An interesting and rare power to find.

Zoe, Dear, why are you speaking into a tape recorder?

It appeared with a small message.

It's not a phone, Lovely.

You never know my dear Nikolaos.

No, I never do, do I?

Menaces the both of you.

Our Kassandra is insulting us.

She would never.

Tell him I'd like to assist if I can, help him understand why ghosts follow. Assist them however I can?

Our Kassandra wishes to assist them in understanding the ghost.

I'm unsure if she is theirs.

They still care.

-Zoe, Nikolaos and Kassandra

How many..? How many ghosts can possess a recorder at once..? Or-or one tape? Whatever, Jon'll... figure it out.

I- I'd appreciate the help, yeah. Thank you. I have- I have no idea what I'm doing. I-I'm not even 100% sure that I'm awake right now.

. . .

A lot has happened.

[ingeniousmindoftune]

Hi i was wondering if you could write a fic about a virgin with either stack or smoke

“First Time for Everything”

Featuring Stack Moore (Michael B. Jordan) from Sinners (2025)

Reader Insert / Virgin Female OC Style / Modern day

Slow burn | Realism | Adult themes | Emotional depth | Emotional realism | Subtle intimacy

Words: 1,389

She felt the city’s pulse in her bones—the relentless drumbeat that lifted some and swallowed others whole. New Orleans in midsummer wore a heavy, sultry cloak: the air thick with steam, the low murmur of secrets slipping through cracked shutters, and tendrils of cigarette smoke drifting from open bar doors like gray ribbons. Tourists swarmed the French Quarter in camera-bright colors, never noticing the hidden heartbeat beneath the jazz. She did.

She savored the hush after midnight, when street lamps blurred into halos and the clatter of late-night traffic faded to a soft percussion. From the front desk of the Maison de Chartres—a peeling pastel building wedged between a smoky jazz lounge and a voodoo stall that only opened at dusk—she heard saxophone notes spiral down from a second-floor balcony, unwinding like warm jasmine perfume onto the sidewalk. Behind her desk of burnished mahogany, she was the silent anchor for a revolving cast of guests.

They came and went: weary salesmen in damp suits, backpackers with muddy shoes, couples in too-tight formalwear clutching plastic hurricane cups. None of them registered her pale face or the way her dark eyes tracked each arrival and departure. She was the fixed star in a sky of passing comets—always watching, never seen.

Then he appeared.

She didn’t know “Stack Moore” that first humid evening. All she saw was a man who inhabited the air around him as if he’d claimed it by right. He stood at the threshold, tall in a soaked charcoal overcoat, collar turned up against sudden rain, a wool scarf knotted at his throat. His gait was deliberate, silent—an echo of confidence that didn’t need volume to fill the room. His broad shoulders hinted at stories carved into muscle; his eyes, dark and unreadable, never gave anything away for free.

“You the night clerk?” His voice was low, a rumble she felt more than heard, like thunder through a wall.

She looked up from her laptop, mouth parting into a flicker of surprise. “Yes, sir—um, I am.”

He let a brief, crooked smile slip across his face, sharp as broken glass. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Ain’t earned it.”

Her fingers trembled as she swiped the check-in tablet. “Of course. Stack Moore?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know me?”

“Just from the reservation.” Her voice floated in the hush between them.

He studied her for a beat too long, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

Over the next nights, he morphed into a living ghost. Always arriving just before midnight, alone, the hem of his coat dark with rain or something darker. Some evenings a bruise, pale and spreading, bloomed along his jaw; other times faint smears of dried blood crusted under his knuckles. She never asked. She simply slid his room key across the desk with the same controlled calm—her nod the ritual, his departure the final note.

He had money—of that there was no doubt. His matte-black car with tinted windows whispered power. Yet he chose this modest hotel: clean rooms, polished floors, an anonymity that let him slip through shadows. Maybe that’s why she watched, puzzled by his insistence on returning.

One night he lingered longer than usual, leaning against the cherrywood counter as she refilled the lobby candy jar. The tin echoed with each gumdrop she dropped inside. Outside, the street was slick with fresh rain, neon signs winking through puddles.

“You from here?” he asked, voice low.

She paused, lifting a handful of pastel mints. “Born and raised. Lower Ninth—before the flood.”

He nodded slowly, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his coat. “Most people run from something.”

“I’m not most people.” She didn’t look up.

He exhaled, a sound almost like relief. “That scares me.”

His patronage haunted her thoughts as she locked up each evening. What corners of the city swallowed him? Why did he always arrive with that look—eyes like ash, as if he’d just walked away from something burning?

Then came the thunderstorm that cracked everything open. She was about to turn the key in the front door when he burst in, drenched. Water dripped from his hair, his shirt clung to his ribs. A dark bruise marred his temple—angry, raw.

“You okay?” She stepped around the desk before she could think, heart pounding.

He met her gaze, tension coiling in his sternum. “You always this kind?”

She shrugged, cheeks warm. “Not always. Just with you.”

He paused, something in his expression softening, or maybe it was regret. “You ever been touched?” His voice went brittle.

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He closed the distance, voice dropping until only she could hear. “You look like the type who’s never been kissed unless he asked real nice. You ever been with somebody, sweetheart?”

There was no cruelty in his question, only blunt curiosity. She swallowed. “No, I haven’t.”

He blinked, jaw flexing. “I didn’t think so.”

She could have shut him down—called security, turned him away. Instead, she said, “I’m not saving myself.”

His shoulders sagged in a silent concession. “I didn’t think that either.”

“I just never felt… safe. Not really seen.” Her voice was a whisper.

He reached out, brushing a wet curl from her cheek with a tentative thumb. “I see you. More than I should.”

She met his gaze, heartbeat echoing in her ears. “You scared of me?”

He gave a short laugh, bitter and low. “You don’t even know.”

That night they didn’t go to a room. They sat on the worn leather couch in the lobby, sipping mint tea from chipped porcelain cups, listening to raindrops drum against the skylight. He told her about a childhood shaped by alleys and hard choices; she spoke of books that became lifelines and dreams of distant cities. When his fingers found hers across the coffee table, she let him hold her hand.

Their first kiss came weeks later, not in a fevered rush but slow and certain, as if they’d been rehearsing in silence. He returned with styrofoam containers of oxtails and collard greens, a stack of vinyl records crackling with distant trumpets. He teased her about her first taste of spicy gravy; she laughed until her sides ached. He told her her lips made quiet seem holy.

“I want you,” she said one rainy afternoon, her voice soft but unshakeable.

He paused, eyes darkening. “This ain’t just a night. Not with me. I’m not built for perfect.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” she replied. “I’m asking for you.”

He laid her flat across the bed in Room 307—white sheets smelling faintly of lavender—and tended to her with reverence. Each touch was deliberate. When she winced, he stopped. When tears came, he kissed them away. “You good?” he murmured.

“Never been more sure,” she whispered.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sweat and scent—his heartbeat against her ear, her fingers tracing the scar near his collarbone. He pressed her closer, voice husky. “You ain’t a secret now. You’re mine.”

She simply pressed her lips to his jaw and held onto the stillness.

But nothing golden ever lingers in New Orleans forever. At dawn, the air felt thicker, heavier. He stood by the rain-streaked window, their sheets pooling at his feet like a forgotten promise.

“I ain’t good for you,” he said, eyes on the gray morning sky. “You carry light. I got things chasing me that eat light.”

She rose on one elbow, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face. “Then stop running.”

He turned, pain flickering across his features. “You make it sound easy.”

“I’m not saying it is,” she replied, touching his cheek. “I’m saying I’m not afraid.”

He sank to his knees before her, voice raw. “You should be.”

She leaned down and kissed him—lips soft, determined. “I’m not. Not of you.”

Stack Moore was a sinner.

But to one quiet girl behind a hotel desk, he’d become a beginning. A first. A man who didn’t take but offered—a man who saw her not as something untouched, but someone worthy of careful handling.

Maybe the world wouldn’t understand.

She didn’t care.

Because when you’ve been invisible your whole life, the first person to truly see you becomes unforgettable.

And Stack?

He never looked away.

[zarla-s]

I found...an issue with your skeletons.

And the font thing that kind of contradicts...yeah

I've had this drafted for a while and today is the NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF HANDPLATES (!!!!) so you're going to get... lore!!

Anyway this is correct, Sans speaks in more than one font! MS Sans Serif if I remember right, or at least that's what people thought at the time. I wanted to work that into Handplates somewhere (I was thinking here) but I just couldn't find a good place for it. It ended up in a Mercyplates script that I never ended up actually doing UNTIL NOW!

Anyway, my thoughts are skeletons can speak in different fonts if they want or learn how (except skeletons with a cipher) and some are just born with multiple font styles, but they have a primary font they prefer to speak in. Sans has a bit of MS Sans Serif in him but he likes Comic Sans more, haha. Papyrus might have a touch of Parchment MF in him but it's so similar to Papyrus that you probably wouldn't even be able to tell. Gaster only has Wingdings though, most cipher skeletons only have the one font.

Nine years... it doesn't feel like it's been that long. It's hard to believe...

[index] [patreon] [comicfury]

[chiisanajimi]

Bro I can just imagine that Shadow with his fifties ah mindset struggling to understand Starlight’s gender, he must be so confused. But I know he’d be so supportive!

not only is he from the 50s he also has a very loose understanding of gender and presentation to begin with <3 but he's learning. if his kid's gender presentation changes once a week he just has to roll with it

also taking this opportunity to spread the trans amy agenda (image is from twitter — beware of transphobia in the replies/qrts)

[ao3commentoftheday]

I know tag wranglers do a lot of work connecting tags etc. Is there anything authors can do to make their jobs easier for them like trying to mostly use canonical tags or not making tag comments?

Thanks!

This is a great question, and I'll do my best to answer it but I do hope that some wranglers add on in the notes! I'm also just going to preface this with the fact that you should still tag however you like to tag. This list isn't meant to be a checklist or anything. It's just info I've picked up over the years and you can take or leave each piece as you see fit.

Okay, so the first thing that most non-wranglers should know is that wranglers see tags separately from the fic. They get a big bin full of tags to sort through and match up in the system, but they'll only see your fic and the other tags you've added to it if they decide to go look.

That's important to know because sometimes a user will tag something like [character] is so sexy and then also tag by which I mean they're a huge dork. The wranlger won't see that second tag and won't know that they're connected so your sarcastic tag will end up synned (matched up to) sexy!Character or whatever the canonical is, as if that was the meaning you were going for.

Another good thing to know is that tags can only be synned if they only have 1 idea in them. So if you tag, say, [character] is gay and autistic then the wrangler can't actually syn that to either [character] is gay or character is autistic because it only half-fits either tag. To have them synned in the database, you would need to tag those two ideas separately.

You might have already seen the post I made referencing the fact that you don't have to tag multiple versions of the same idea (unless you want to for the aesthetic) because the synning that wranglers do makes sure that tagging one idea allows users to filter for all versions of that idea. But in case you didn't know that, now you do!

Wranglers are often members of the fandoms they wrangle, but they aren't always. Sometimes they'll take on a fandom that doesn't otherwise have a wrangler because they like to do research or because they like small fandoms or for many other reasons. But that means that if you're tagging your OCs by name, you should add (OC) to the end so that they know it's not a canon character that they aren't familiar with. This is double true in huge fandoms like Star Wars where there are millions of canon characters and just as many OCs.

Wranglers don't "seed" tags in fandoms. For a tag to exist, users need to create it. The rule of thumb is at least 3 fics from 3 separate authors, but that's very much the minimum and in fast-moving or huge fandoms the bar is probably higher. Also, for brand new fandoms, it's entirely possible that they won't know you exist until you tell them. Back in January I was the first person to write in a brand new fandom so I knew I had to start the tags, and I waited until there were 25 or so works by 15 or so creators before I emailed Support because I know I have to be patient - but I'm still impatient by nature lol.

Another thing to know is that tags are kind of like proton packs - they can't cross the streams. If you put a tag in the Character field by mistake, wranglers can't move it to the Additionals. This can also work in your favour, though, because if you have a minor character or minor relationship that you want to tag because there's some kind of fandom drama happening and people want to be able to avoid them, you can tag them in the Additional Tags so that people can know they're in there, but the people who like that character or ship can still filter the Character and Relationship tags without seeing a bunch of works that don't really focus on them.

This got super long, so I'll end with your question about tag comments. I know people worry that it makes extra work for tag wranglers if you get all chatty in your fic tags but I've been reassured by more than one wrangler over the course of several years now that it's no extra work. They just shovel those tags into the gaping maw of the Unfilterable Beast - which is the same thing they do with those tags that have multiple concepts in them. If it can't be synned, then that's where they go.

(keep tagging that way, though, if you like to because that's how new concepts get created and eventually canonized)

Alright, I that's all I can think of off the top of my head, and the list was actually longer than I thought! Wranglers: please do add on with other things you wish users knew, and please correct me if anything has changed since the last time I delved into this topic!

Editing to add: a wrangler pointed out in the tags that [character] is autistic and gay can itself become a single tag if enough people use it. That's true of other tags with multiple meanings as well. They just can't be synned with existing tags in the meantime.

[regina-del-cielo]

My friend! Expand on Nicky saying Vaffancalo if you please? When/who precisely does he say it? And help me understand connotations too!

(I really wish there were like Extra Bonus subtitles you could put on to get all this knowledge from the movie itself. Or even just know what words they say in each language not just leapfrogging to English 😔)

Hiiii!

So, in the dinner table scene, when they're all tipsy and giggly and playing 'guess if Andy's lying', Joe says "oh yeah Andy has tells!" and Nicky, in Italian, tells him to shut up and goes "fanculo, va'" (fuck you) (affectionate)

The connotations, as an Italian, are [screams in a pillow for cuteness aggression] because telling a friend/beloved to go fuck themselves in that context, with that particular slang form, and laughing, is SUCH an Italian thing to do. It's so NORMAL to me. It feels like when I curse off one of my friends at the D&D table because they made their character say something ridiculous. ITALIAN REPRESENTATION AT ITS FINEST. LUCA I OWE YOU MY LIFE.

It really is a shame that Netflix doesn’t make an effort to be more accurate with non-English subtitles. I'm lucky that I can just compensate with my own native language knowledge when it comes to Luca, but every viewer should have the chance to. Would love to know how accurate the translation of Quynh cursing in Vietnamese is at this point

[bokettochild]

Any headcanons about the mermaid suit or mermaid legend in general?

I have had so many people send me Mer-Legend thoughts over the years (only for them all to get lost in my inbox because I wanted to write a fic for each one T-T)

I like the idea that, rather than being a full on outfit he can slip on, after the first time he did put it on, it actually just....fused to him. He's sort of cursed by this thing.

Pros of the curse!

when in water, he changes near immediately

he can breath underwater without the need of any other items!

I HC that Legend was actually mostly mute prior to Labrynna, due to damage to his throat from a childhood illness. The curse actually gave him a literal voice, and a very beautiful one too!

he can sleep submerged if he needs to

his eyes aren't bothered by water or salt in that form, and feel no pain/I'll effects from being exposed to whatever is in the water

he can explore pretty far down in bodies of water. The only thing stopping him is water pressure (he's not built for the deep ocean)

his singing voice is literally enchanting

This transformation actually gives him built in weapons, unlike the rabbit one: he has claws and teeth that are sharp enough to be fangs like this, and his fins are pretty sharp too, enough to cut something/someone

Legend wasn't able to swim very well previous to gaining the Mer-Curse, now, he's the fastest swimmer of the lot, ad that's counting Time with the Zora mask (Zora aren't faster than mer, as they spend equal times on land and water, whereas mer are BUILT for the water alone, and tails will always outpace legs)

Cons

when in water, he changes near immediately, so he has to physically fight against it if he wants to play in the water with other people, bathe, or whenever it rains/there are puddles on the ground

the transition from mer to Hylian, and vice versa, is incredibly painful. Not just for his legs, but for his lungs, because there's a spell where he can't breath water or air and just ends up choking on both.

he may have a lovely voice now, but it comes with the fact that he can/does accidentially spell people with it. If he's not careful, they'll believe/do anything he says, which means he's never certain anymore if/when things are done because of magic or because someone actually wanted to, and he hates that because he has no desire to take away others' autonomy. Luckily, he's found that being harsh, rude, and generally un-charming means that the spell doesn't work, so the reactions he gets are honest if he does that

He looks more like a monster than a Hylian when as a mer. There's more scales around his hands/arms, waist, and neck/face. His eyes also appear golden and slitted (which makes hunting easier in that form) ad generally unnatural, which is very unsettling for people (he's yet to find out he can relax his eyes to somewhat normal)

if transformed for too long, it does get harder to change back

someone suggested to me a few years back that if Legend's transformed to a mer for a very long time, then he starts to lose his sense of reason and fall back more on instincts, which is very terrifying for all parties involved, because Mer are, in reality, predators

Mer are rare, and also hunted, so he has to be very careful about who sees him like that, and when he uses that form, because there is no shortage of people who would kill to keep a mer as a pet, or even to be able to prove that they'd killed one.