some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
I have had some health issues for the last...decade? almost a decade...and one of the side-effects has been a significant loss of my originally high vocabulary. I refer to it as "brain damage" in the sense of my cognitive capabilities needing to heal and go through the mental equivalent of physical therapy to regain even just some of what I lost.
So, about anonymous works, what's the process like? Would I still be able to reply to comments while still anonymous? Would the work itself show up on my stats page, and/or my list of works? If I decide later to make it not anonymous anymore, is that option open, and what's that like?
Excellent questions! And handily enough I have a few anonymous works so I can tell you from personal experience :)
To post a fic anonymously, you create your fic the same way you would any other time, and you just add it to one of the collections on AO3 called anonymous. Do this in the “Post to Collections/Challenges” section of the Work Post form. It’s right above where you would gift a fic to someone. Type in anonymous and several collections will appear (screenshot below)
Looking at my own fics, it seems like I chose the second one on the list, personally.
The works still show up on my stats page, but it isn’t visible to other users when they visit my profile. I can still see it, but no one else can.
When I reply to comments, my user icon is a dark version of the default AO3 icon and my name is listed as Anonymous Creator (screenshot below)
When I look at my own fic, the top of the story shows the author name as Anonymous with my user name in brackets after it (screenshot below)
But when I log out and look at it again, all I see is Anonymous (screenshot below)
If you ever want to put your name back on the fic again in the future, edit the fic and go back down to that section where you can post to a collection or challenge. You’ll see the anonymous collection listed there with a little x to the right of the name (screenshot below)
Click the x to remove your fic from the collection. Your name will reappear on the fic and your username and icon will be visible next to your comment replies.
As a disclaimer, It’s worth noting that none of the anonymous collections on AO3 are official or controlled by AO3 staff, and it’s possible for the owner of a collection to change whether or not it’s anonymous.
So depending on your paranoia levels and how much you really don’t want the work in question being connected to you, you might be better off with a different option, like making a separate account.
This is not to say that the various anonymous collections shown here are unsafe, or that I have any reason to think the owners would do anything nefarious with them! (The big Anonymous collection has been around for ages and there’s never been any issues with it that I’m aware of, so it seems pretty solid as these things go.) But it’s good to be aware of the risks, even if the chances of anything bad happening are low.
I would like to add that there is nothing stopping an author from making their own anonymous collection on AO3 and thus could control who turns the anonymous off and on, though I do think people would be able to see the moderator of the collection, but they couldn’t see who wrote the fics in it. Make sense?
Ah, I wouldn't recommend creating your own Anonymous collection for your own works. When someone owns a collection, that collection shows up on your profile. Most people viewing an an account with an anonymous collection containing a single or small number of works are going to reasonably conclude that the collection contains the owner's own work.
If you really need the security of an anonymous collection you control, create a second "sock" account on AO3, create an anonymous collection on the sock account, and add your work on your main account to the collection.
you guys this might be a wild and crazy take but hear me out please: i think katara might’ve had a crush on aang…
listen, i can’t be the only one who got those vibes when she kissed him in the finale, right? and low key……… she was always kinda blushing around him and kissing him on the cheek. it just feels suspicious that’s all i’m saying
and i’m not sure if you guys are seeing it too but the fact that she married him??? it feels like the writers were trying to hint at something there…
and then they had 3 kids together?!?! i can’t be imagining it. she had to be attracted to him right???
hmm lemme know what yall think cause these easter eggs have to mean something
i think katara found someone who makes her better... i think she's attracted to someone who raises her up to be a better person... i think! and she lays her trust on a person who can change things for the better. a person who's optimistic, hopeful. i think she's charmed by aang?
there might be love between them. it's pretty straightforward with how he looks at katara and how he thinks about her that he appreciates all her aspects. i dunno that's open to interpretation. surely it's just him being a... a boy with a crush? he cant love love her, right? surely he'd choose unlimited power over katara. heck, he won't even care, probably.
that's just me though, idk rly 🤔 do y'all know something?
Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grumpy | Leroy, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time)
Additional Tags: AU, Angst, Violence, archeology, psychic questing, Religion, spirituality, Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, Romance, Smut
Summary:
A strange man confronts Doctor Belle French after one of her lectures, and claims to need her help. He also claims to know that she is troubled, and can offer her protection. When events transpire that lead Belle to take up that offer, a desperate search begins to find a series of ancient artifacts, and Belle and her friends - both old and new - face increasing danger as they try to secure the artifacts for the powers of good before they can fall into very wrong hands, and possibly threaten every living thing in Storybrooke and beyond!
Chapter One: Ēvincere
Etymology of the English word evince (v.)
c. 1600, "disprove, confute," from French évincer "disprove, confute," from Latin evincere "conquer, overcome subdue, vanquish, prevail over; elicit by argument, prove," from assimilated form of ex "out" (see ex-) + vincere "to overcome" (from nasalized form of PIE root *weik- (3) "to fight, conquer"). Meaning "show clearly" is late 18c. Not clearly distinguished from its doublet, evict, until 18c. Related: Evinced; evinces; evincing; evincible.
"And I cannot stress hard enough…”
He didn’t move. While all around him in the lecture hall, those gathered in unspoken conspiracy seemed to squirm and shift uncomfortably in their places on the long, hard wooden benches, he remained immobile.
“…that if you are coming into archeology with dreams of… fame and fortune; of glory even, then you have been sadly misinformed.”
He sighed - perhaps the first sign of life since he entered the hall - and moved his hands with slow, measured precision, to turn to collar of his black, woolen trench coat up as if to defend against a unwelcome draft. He’d heard this before, several times, and as she continued, almost syllable for syllable, matched her litany.
“Treasure comes in many forms,” he muttered as she spoke, “and it isn’t always - is rarely as a matter of fact - gold or precious artifacts.” He recitation was lifeless and without the passionate inflection with which she spoke.
“But is something more precious still…” She gave a pause then, and in his line of sight, the watcher could separate those that had been caught in her spell, and those that were merely along for the ride. The former leaned, slightly, toward the front of the lecture hall, where the diminutive Doctor Belle French held court, and finished with all the mysteriousness it seemed that she could muster, “Knowledge.”
If she might have continued, he would never know, as the bell signaling the end of the alloted time sounded, and the ever impatient students began stuffing backpacks and tote bags with notebooks and textbooks; wooden boxes full of sharpened pencils and depleted ink pens, and hurried to rise and leave.
Still, he sat immobile, one booted foot up on the desk-like shelf in front of him, the other splayed slight to the side, toward the aisle. Others along his row shifted impatiently; pointedly waiting for him to take his foot down at least, so they could sidle, inconvenienced, past this apparent miscreant. He didn’t move. He didn’t even respond to the irritated murmuring; never once took his eyes off French as she too began packing away the lecture notes into folders, then the folders into piles on a table already replete with books and other papers.
“Are you gonna move y’foot, mate?”
Apparently, the patience of the nearby attendees had worn thin, or at least their courage had thickened, one or the other.
“Go around,” he said, his voice low and full of gravel, as well as gravitas. It was all he said, and neither did he make any attempt to remove his foot from blocking the way.
After another moment of immobility, and with the press of other students behind him, the one that had spoken tried again, more threatening this time as he grumbled, “I said move yer foot.”
With the grace of a highly trained dancer, and turning as he did indeed move his foot to stand, he turned to face the student, towering over the younger man as he said quietly, and with patience that somehow held a deadly quality, “And I said, go. Around.”
The student opened his mouth to make a third protest, but as he shifted slightly, something seemed to change the younger man’s mind and, muttering something not quite audible, but he was certain was unlikely to be very complementary, did indeed turn, and pushing the other students ahead of him, moved and exited the row from the other side.
The students were already forgotten though, and he turned his attention back to Doctor French. She was slowly clearing the table in front of the podium of all the books and papers littered there, packing them away in her already overstuffed messenger bag, paying absolutely no heed to the room around her, nor - he guessed - the energies in it.
When he felt the moment was right, just as the light descended enough to case a beam across the lecture hall and illuminate the dust that had yet to settle, he spoke.
“It isn’t true, you know?” he said. Though his voice was still soft he pitched it so that the acoustics of the hall carried it clearly to the professor. She started slightly, then looked up at him, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the light that concealed him.
“I beg your pardon?” she shot back, her voice terse, a challenge.
“Granted,” he said, and began to slowly descend the steps that flanked the tiers of seats.
“No, that’s not—” she began, slightly flustered, before annoyance got the better of her and she demanded, “I’m sorry - who are you?”
Once he reached the floor, he strode across to her, his trench coat almost billowing, cloak-like behind him, and once close enough held out a hand in her direction.
“My name is Jefferson,” he told her, “And I need your help to do something that I can’t.”
-------------
Belle blinked, then with a slight scoff, and ignoring his still outstretched hand said, “Well you have a very strange way of showing it!” Then she returned to packing her bag.
“In return,” he continued, apparently unmoved by her response, “I may be able to assist you.”
“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. The tone in his voice made the small hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Had he been watching her?
“There are powers in this world, Doctor French, who have no regard for the living, nor respect for the dead. I suspect you know the type, if not the very ones of whom I speak.”
She looked up at that, fixing her eyes first on his face, undeniably handsome, but clearly more than a little haunted behind the seriousness of his expression, and then traveling the length of the sombre-clad figure that stood before her, seeming to know more about her than a stranger should.
She couldn’t help but notice the small pin that graced his otherwise unadorned lapel: an equal armed, red cross, their width narrower at the center than they were at the ends, set against a white background that was stark against the black of his coat.
“Now you listen, Mister Je—.”
“Just Jefferson,” he corrected.
“I don’t know who you are, or where you came from,” she tried for indignation, but even to her own ears, the tone spoke more of fear, “or even why you’re here, but—”
“I told you,” he said, his voice soft, “I need your help.”
She frowned, and couldn’t muster an answer, just stood and shook her head.
He raised his long forgotten, outstretched hand to her again, and as if by magic, though she was certain it was slight of hand, he produced a velum business card and held it out to her, clasped between his index and middle finger.
“There’s a man, his name is Mister Gold,” he said. “If you have cause to change your mind, all you have to do is go to him. It’s very important you tell him what’s been going on. He can protect you, but you must tell him exactly what’s been happening. He’ll know what to do.”
He nodded then, just once, to the business card he still held, and hesitantly, she reached for it, and glancing down at it, saw the words that graced the center of the otherwise unadorned card.
“Gold - Antiquarian,” it said, and then in relief around the edges, words that she had to turn the card one way and then the other in order to read. Latin words.
Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.
Another reason I want more Addams Family with the 90s cast is I think it would be so nice to see Morticia uncorseted and aging gracefully. I don't think she'd go full Grandmama but do you really think an Addams is afraid of wrinkles and cellulite?
Look me in the eye and tell me Anjelica Huston doesn't still have it.
Joan Cusack has never appeared in a film that she did not steal.
And as for Debbie, I will always repost my stance on her end.
I’ve said it a million times - if Debbie had listened to what the Addamses were saying in response to her tales of woe, she’s have realized that they understood completely. She had found her people, and was too wrapped up in herself to realize it.
If they could have, they’d have burst from their bonds, hugged the stuffing out of her, bought her a Bentley (and a vintage Ballerina Barbie) and declare her an Addams.
She could spend the rest of her life trying to kill Fester, and he’d love her all the more every time she tried. And the rest would keep offering helpful suggestions. “No point in trying poison, Debbie my dear - he’s been putting strychnine on his cornflakes since was seven”.
More of the sketches of the Last Air Keyholder AU! All character designs instantly gain +50 points in my eyes with the inclusion of gloves. I haven't figured out Toph's design yet but I should speed up, cause she is supposed to appear in season 1. I toyed with the idea that Zuko has a gang of arrogant teenagers who treat him as their leader and all of them have the shaved head and a "racer's tail", but I think it would end up being confusing as they'd all be too similar. So in the scraps you go!
