Writing since ‘86 (or like… a year ago take your pick) Good day or perhaps good evening. Currently on Spy x Family 🕵️♀️ Love seeing art of my work, just please give credit! ✏️ Fluff and other stories served hot and fresh: archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmelange
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If you haven't heard, the em dash has been getting a lot of attention lately…
Because it was trained on pirated work—including freely accessible online writing (like fanfic, academic texts)—ChatGPT picked up patterns and quirks native to human writing.
Including (sigh) the em dash.
There are other victims here (RIP tapestry and delve 🫠), but the appropriation of the em dash—a punctuation mark beloved by writers everywhere—feels especially personal.
A kind of low-grade panic is ensuing. Writers who once memed their own em dash overuse—the greatest punctuation mark ever to grace the control-freak’s lexicon, frankly—are suddenly backing away to avoid accusations.
No. More. We have centuries of dash-abusing writers behind us. We will not sit quietly while AI repurposes our beloved stilted aside—or the just-one-more clarification the sentence demands—or the dramatic pause your comma could never—etc.
You don’t write like AI—AI writes like you.
Defend the em dash.
(Feel free to download/share/stick it where it matters!)
Do not repost the same work multiple times on AO3, or change the date/time to put you back at the top of the list, to boost your stats. Do not post new chapters of a chaptered work as individual stories. These things are extremely rude and people who are angry at you will not want to read your stories.
DO REBLOG everything on tumblr because that is the only way this site functions. On tumblr, YOU are choosing what your followers see. They see what you reblog. They don’t see what you like. There’s also no algorithm robot AI whatever seeing what you like and showing you related comment. NOTHING HAPPENS to likes that affects what content ANYONE on this website sees.
DO SHARE stories you like on AO3 with others, perhaps by sharing them with your Tumblr followers. AO3 has features specifically for this purpose. Fic recs are a wonderful way for fanfiction to get more attention, because, as we’ve discussed, there is no algorithm on AO3. AO3 is the opposite of TikTok.
I love the idea that Yor makes a ton of money from her assassin job but doesn't do it for the money and just squirrels it away. Then at the end of the series when Twilight decides to leave the spy profession to become a family man, he's like, "Til death do us part, I can offer you this hot spy body and my amazing cooking skills, but alas, I have no money." And then Yor is like, "Oh... is this enough?" and shows him her account balance and she's basically a millionaire.
I wrote a snippet about this exact thing a while back! (With a slightly different spin) She’s in a very small apartment in the first few episodes, I don’t think she spent much money on herself after Yuri moved out :((
—————
Holy shit.
The words barely stay retained to his thoughts, checked at the last minute only by Loid remembering that Anya is sitting not three meters away on the sofa. She pricks up all the same, glancing at him curiously before returning her attention to her comic.
In place of the expletive, a throaty choking sound escapes his lips instead. Yor, across the dining table, tilts her head in confusion at the noise. Loid blinks a few times to force his vision into focus again, as if it will make the number drop to something more… real. “This is all from… from hit jobs?”
His wife rearranges her hands with a hint of discomfort, and he tries to reign in his tone. It’s not the easiest conversation of course, even if they had both agreed to what they were doing.
“Well,” she explains nervously, “that and city hall paychecks. I didn’t see any point in keeping the money separated.”
She’s right, even if her reasoning is different from his; it’s better that she didn’t divide either source of income. A local-level government worker stashing this kind of money, even with a decade of work under her belt, was just asking for unsavory figures to appear in their life.
Still, the possibilities are stumbling through his mind for exactly how Garden cuts their checks. Because that is a lot of zeroes.
“What did you spend on yourself and Yuri exactly?” he asks.
Yor takes on a distant focus as she recalls expenses past. “Just basics, I suppose? Groceries, electric bills, some items for school. That sort of thing. Is there too much missing?”
“No,” he chuckles in disbelief. I’m surprised it’s not more. “And you lived in… a studio before this, didn’t you?”
“Mhm.” She occupies herself tracing quick patterns in the air with her thumbs. “It got the job done. Why do you ask?”
“You just…” Loid’s hand makes another pass through his hair as the numbers continue to bewilder him. He lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised, I guess. You could’ve been living in the Upper Lehms district with this kind of money, easily. Hardly need the job.”
“Oh.” He looks up, shocked to find a blush coating the apples of her cheeks. Tilting his head, he presses her silently to open up about the worry. When she doesn’t, his hand tenderly captures one of hers, his socked foot crossing into the space of hers beneath the table in a strange but familiar reassurance.
“You can tell me anything, Yor.”
She’s more than aware his promise rings true, especially now. Her hand turns over so that their palms meet, thumb hooking around to trace lines down each phalanx. “It wasn’t…” She hesitates to find her words, but they come about soon enough, with an avoidant gaze and a bashful half smile. “I didn’t really take the job for the money, Loid. More for the cover and socializing, I guess. For… normalcy.”
One of his heartstrings snaps, plucked with guilt. Idiot. He knew every word out of his mouth wouldn’t be perfect, but he should’ve known better than to say that. His hand engulfs hers once more, pulsating little squeezes distracting her with the reminder that neither of their professions was exactly typical. Strangehood, at the very least, could be made a bit less lonesome with empathy.
“That’s perfectly fine, as well,” he assures her in a soft tone. Yor’s able to meet his eyes then, staring for a few seconds before returning the smile.
She takes the bank statement from his grasp, giving the total a thoughtful look. “I guess I hadn’t realized how much had accrued,” she casually shifts the subject. “What do we do with it?”
“Retire?” Loid offers into the air, grinning as it earns him a playful smack to the forearm. He leans over to look at the total as well (and try to maintain a steady breathing pattern). “Honestly Yor, it’s up to you. It’s your money.”
His wife raises an eyebrow at him in admonishment. “Going into a family account.”
Her giving nature is kind, amusing even, especially in this situation. “I’d feel quite bad spending money that’s been 90% earned by my wife, dear,” he laughs.
She lets out a small pout under her breath, nothing stinging, though. Loid sits back in his chair, tossing an elbow over the adjacent one. “Pick a family expense, then. If it’s a family account.”
Yor continues to look at the paper before resting her head in her hand, perching an elbow on the table. Her gaze turns to the sofa, eyes on a child too absorbed in a story to realize she’s being watched.
“College fund?” she suggests casually. Across the way, Loid’s mouth folds into a smile he can’t fight. Always giving.
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