Tag: fic

ao3commentoftheday:

darkheartinthesky:

tomfooleryprime:

tomfooleryprime:

Writing is a process that often undergoes heavy edits… that includes responding to feedback. 

I had no idea this post would resonate with so many people. I let my vitriol surrounding several comments I received on a recent update get to me and it spilled out into .gif form and it’s now morphed into the most widely shared thing I’ve ever posted. So many comments and tags have said things along the lines of, “This was why I quit writing” or “This is why I hate writing fanfic.” And that’s soul crushing to hear, but I can relate. 

But while there are some crappy and entitled readers, there are also many brilliant ones and I’m so grateful for them. The huge response to this post made me go back and skim through the comments on my old stories, and comments like the one below are about half the reason some of those stories got finished, even if it was months later. 

Comments like these are so rare, but when they do come up, they leave me staring at my computer screen, drumming my fingers on the keyboard, struggling to convey my feelings about how their words have touched my heart. These are the comments that take the longest amount of time to respond to and the ones that cause me to wear out my backspace key the fastest. 

It’s easy to complain, but it’s literally just as easy to praise, so I just wanted to take a moment to recognize all those dear and dedicated readers who have propped me up when I wanted to quit. Readers like you are why I keep writing, and why I even feel honored to do it on rare occasion. 

And fellow writers, keep your heads up if you can. 🙂 

@ao3commentoftheday for the discussion you’ve been having with some folks….

This is so relevant in so many ways. Thanks for sharing it.

I’ve seen this before, both with and without the addition of the positive comment, and this just goes to show that a lot of those negative posts from writers were written at a particular moment in time and don’t really capture how that author feels as a whole.

Source: tomfooleryprime

Logan (x-men) and 1, 5, or 9 from the Stabby Starters. I can’t decide. :X also feel better!

words-writ-in-starlight:

5: You’re the one with a blade at my throat, so you’re obviously upset.

For this ask meme!  Also, will probably make more sense knowing that I wrote this!  Some general dialogue shamelessly borrowed from X-Men Evolution.

So the girl’s good.

Logan’s an adult.  He can admit that much.  She’s small, even by his standards, and–wiggly, and she dropped out of a tree with a shriek like a mountain lion right on top of him, a blade at his throat before he could do more than grab the nearest available limb.

“Hey, now,” Logan says.  One hand is clamped tight around her ankle–probably tight enough to hurt, although she seems unbothered–and the other is drawn back, clenched into a fist.  His claws are sheathed, though, and he’d like them to stay that way.  She’s too small to be an adult–he works with a lot of kids, and he’s guessing fourteen.  Maybe fifteen, at the outside.  He’s not in a rush to play slice-n-dice with someone younger than Kitty.  Besides, his mouth will taste like blood for a week if she really does slit his throat.  “What do you want?”

“You’re Weapon X,” she hisses.

The snarl that rips itself out of his throat is involuntary and sounds inhuman, his lips pulling back thoughtlessly as rage threatens to roll over him like a storm front.  “I am not.”

“You are.”  Her grip tightens, one hand tangled in the longest part of his hair to expose his jugular.  It’s not a great way to cut a throat without an extremely sharp blade, the important arteries hidden under layers of taut tissue, but his skin parts like wet paper under her weapon, sending blood in a steady trickle down his chest.  If it was Logan, he could go through all that protective tissue in a heartbeat.  He’s sure this girl can do the same.

She’s shaking, he realizes, as if she’s holding back her own storm front by a hair.  Every muscle is trembling, although her blade is steady.  A breath through his nose says blood-rage-fear to his brain, layered over a scent that just doesn’t seem to register right.  Everyone has their own distinct smell, except for this girl, who seems–off.

Christ, but this would be a great moment for Charles, or even Jean, to sense this scuffle and intervene.  Logan isn’t really a good candidate for whatever this is.  He’s too much of a linear thinker–A leads to B, where A is a problem and B is violence.

He takes a deep breath, as best he can without pushing the blade deeper into his throat, and tries to sound like he’s in control when he says, “How about we talk about this like people?”

“I’m not people.”

Well, okay then.  That’s a starting point, at least.  “Fair enough.  Me neither, ‘cording to some.  You want to tell me why you’re upset, at least?”  A profoundly terrible thought occurs to him.  “Listen, kid, if I did something to someone–”

“I’m not upset!”  Her voice is high and thin and ragged, like something feral, like she’s barely forming words rather than just screaming until there’s blood on her teeth.  Like he used to be, right after he stumbled out of the lab.

“I mean, you’re the one with the blade at my throat,” Logan says evenly.  “So you’re obviously upset about something.”

She flips over his shoulders, lands crouched on the ground in front of him, and–  Listen.

He can’t quite find it in himself to blame her for cutting his throat on the way down.

Keep reading

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

radioactivepeasant:

ghastlygalestorm:

radioactivepeasant:

radioactivepeasant:

Most of the bunker was still standing when the storm finally passed. Rogue Squadron picked themselves up, groaning and cursing and generally despairing of finding their ships, and took stock of the situation. They still had the stolen list of Black Sun’s contacts, and they still had the informant, so that was alright.

Wedge pried open the door and took a deep breath of rain-cleansed air. The clouds had passed, the sun was shining, and….there was a super star destroyer hovering over the city. Wedge grimaced and turned back to the Squadron.

“Luke, your dad’s here,” he sighed.

Everyone groaned.

“Is it too late to feign death until he goes away?” Wes asked.

Luke squinted, then nodded. “Yep. Sorry, guys. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

pomrania

Now I want to see the rest of the squad commiserating about family on the other side of the war. Luke is only notable in that his family member a) is so well-known by people outside the war, and b) seeks him out but doesn’t want to kill him for being a traitor.

pomrania

Because the other people, either their relative is purposefully going where their Rebel black sheep isn’t going to be, so they can dodge the issue; or they’re specifically trying to kill that Rebel, to prove that their family is loyal.

Aw man, imagine after Luke, shaking and timid and trying to make sense of it all, tells his squadron in private – hasn’t even told Command, except for Leia – because some secrets are too heavy to carry alone. Imagine one of the Rogues staring, dumbfounded, and blurting out, “You destroyed the Death Star, lead the Rogues, and you’re training to be a Jedi, and he wants you back?! As in not dead?”

“I don’t know if the “not dead” part is subject to change yet, but I guess?” Luke says miserably.

“Mine took a pot shot at me with a sniper rifle and told me I was a dead woman the next time I set foot in my hometown,” says one of the pilots.

“At least that’s not actively trying to kill you,” says one of the techs, “If you ask my uncle, I’ve shamed our family name and have to be hunted down as an act of loyalty to the Empire. Doesn’t matter if my parents agree with that or not, my mom is the younger sibling. She doesn’t get a say.”

Wedge sighs. “I guess I’ve got it easy compared to you guys. My brother-in-law just avoids me like the plague. I think it’s more for my sister’s sake than mine, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate it all the same.” He leans over and thumps Luk’s shoulder. “Guess your old man cares, at least. In some weird way.”

“You guys are taking this way better than I did,” Luke mutters, “That’s weird.”

“Hey boss,” Wes asks, “So are you gonna get, like, as tall as Vader someday, or do you get your height from your mom?”

“I don’t know,” he answers sarcastically, “Should I ask him?”

“I mean…couldn’t hurt, right? We should probably know in advance if we’re gonna need a new uniform for you eventually.”

The conversation quickly derails into the monthly “short pilots unite” rally. 

Just imagine if Luke’s squadron starts casually talking to Vader. Like they give him updates on how Luke is doing, have conversations on sports teams, etc. Vader is weirded out at first but comes to appreciate it because it’s really the only civil interactions he’s had in years.

Well now I’m imagining a message breaking through to the Executor and it’s this thoroughly exhausted looking man wearing the uniform of a Rebel pilot and he’s like “You don’t know me, but I’m Commander Skywalker’s wingman. He told me that if a situation ever goes too completely pear-shaped, this was who I was supposed to contact. I think Luke and six of our guys trying to single-handedly hold a city against enraged Hutts probably counts.”

And everyone kind of looks back at Vader, who stands there for a minute and then is like “….do I even want to know what circumstances drove him to this?”

“If it made sense, I’d have said so. But you know how he gets sometimes, off without a word. Well, maybe you don’t know. I dunno.”

And Piett has already laid in the new course like “alright then sir, off to rescue the little commander again. Will we be needing the medbay this time?”

holdmeclosertonydanzah:

Damian: Good morning! I hope you slept well Father. It sure is a lovely day outside. 

Bruce: *Eyes his son suspiciously*

*News anchors voice from a tv in the background*: “Last night four unidentified males were seen loading puppies from a popular pet store into a Uhaul on Grant Street. The door was broken off the hinges and red spray paint was used to write the phrases “stop supporting puppy mills” and “spay and neuter duder” onto the front of the building.”

Bruce: *Sighs* Where are your brothers, Damian?

*5 minutes later*

Damian: *Opens the back of the Uhaul. Dick, Jason and Tim are sleeping with the puppies* Father, please listen to me. They need our help…

Bruce: You have a good heart Damian, but how are you planning to care for all of them?

Damian: Titus will adopt them and become their father figure.

Bruce: Titus cannot take in a herd of puppies Damian, that just wont work. 

Tim: Says the man currently speaking to his own herd.

Jason: *Fist bumps Tim* 

Dick: *Holds up a puppy to Bruce’s face* This one’s name is R. Kelly cause he peed on Jason. He’s my favorite. 

McShep for the Valentine’s Day prompt, please!

villainny:

If Teyla had to hear the Atlanteans mention another harvest festival or welcoming ceremony with that snide patronising tone again she was going to stick her bantos rods where the Wraith wouldn’t look for them, and she wasn’t kidding. Dr McKay’s smirks were always the most annoying, yet he seemed perfectly happy to drape lights over dying foliage, or hunt for concealed chocolate, or demand gifts once a year simply for being born.

This particularly custom seemed the most offensive yet. Teyla brushed her chair carefully clean and settled into it, folding her arms across her chest.

“There are organs,” she said. “Shiny pink and red organs. Everywhere.”

“Also cake,” Ronon said, cheerful and muffled. There was frosting in his beard.

“Also,” she conceded, “cake. Are Dr McKay or Colonel Sheppard nearby? I would like them to explain -”

“Rodney first,” Ronon said, with the air of a connoisseur – it was true that McKay’s rants were the more entertainingly nonsensical.

It was at that moment that the noise level in the cafeteria rose abruptly. Teyla looked over to the door to see McKay’s hands waving violently, Colonel Sheppard altering his course and stance to accommodate like a well-practised dance. (The type, she thought sourly, that they had sniggered at on their latest visit.)

“ – stupid, heteronormative tradition with its offensively narrow demarcation of what is and is not a significant relationship -”

He sat without stopping, Sheppard dropping into the chair opposite him and smirking with an air of genuine amusement that wouldn’t stop him teasing without mercy.

“Why do I have folded paper?” Teyla cut in. Once McKay started, he needed forcible diverting.

“Folded paper?” Sheppard asked.

“With poorly rendered drawings of organs on,” Teyla confirmed.

“Oh of course,” McKay said, outraged with an odd sidelong glimpse of genuine hurt. “Of course the alien gets Valentines cards.” He hunched his shoulders automatically, accepting the double head-slap as his due. It didn’t, of course, stop him. “Teyla,” he said pointedly, “gets Valentines cards from admirers, from thickheaded grunts who probably don’t even look past all the midriff-baring tops and fancy hair -”

“I got ‘em too,” Ronon said. “And I’ve only got one of those.”

“Perfect,” McKay said. “Because what I really need to be reminded of is the shallowness of humanity who’d rather celebrate facial symmetry than – not that you’re both not, obviously, so much more than the symmetry of your faces would suggest, but my point is no one else has had opportunity to know that, and I for one find it galling that some people – who have saved the base on multiple occasions, might I add – some people don’t get the appreciation that it could be argued they’re entitled to.”

“Some people,” Sheppard said thoughtfully, after a moment, “obviously haven’t opened their laptop this morning.”

“Haven’t – oh,” said McKay, eyes wide and blue and startled. A gentle flush of color washed across his cheeks, and he was silent after that for a good five minutes.

There may, Teyla reluctantly admitted, be some worth to this celebration after all.

rosestonewrites:

marloviandevil:

nautolanshenanigans:

betterbemeta:

steela-gerrera:

I’m just imaging an AU where Padme’s pregnancy didn’t have to be a secret and Anakin is trying to pick out names for the baby so he asks his men for ideas, and the clones, of course, throw out names like

“Zapper!”

“Sling!”

“Bomber!”

“Kickback!”

Anakin is internally screaming, but he doesn’t want to insult them by saying those are terrible names so he’s just like, “…thanks, guys.”

even better is if after the kids are born, there are still clones around for security and such and when they’re old enough to talk they know they were given names by their parents, but clones see those names as like. your technical/official ID. not as your actual personal name. so they talk to these little kids who of course love preposterous names and that’s how leia is also named POWERFIST

I’ve reblogged this before but imagine Luke being dubbed “Cinnamon Roll” by the clones

Powerfist and Cinnamon Roll Skywalker. Deal.

OH MY GOD so i was just gonna tagspiral about this but I have Too Many Thoughts so i’m gonna actually write real text for once

So: here we have Powerfist Leia Skywalker and Cinnamon Roll Luke Skywalker.  They probably spend a lot of time with the clones, right?  Because if Padme and Anakin aren’t in a Secret Relationship then Anakin probably doesn’t fall, so the war doesn’t end the way it does in canon – actually, shit, I forgot about 66.  So let’s say Palps tries to recruit Anakin anyway because he’s super-powerful and Palps wants that on his side, but Anakin betrays him to the Council and Order 66 doesn’t happen.

But just because Palpatine tripped and fell into about a dozen lightsabers on his way to his jail cell doesn’t mean the war’s over.  The Separatists are fucked, they can’t exactly claim that Sidious made them do it, so they’re going to try their hardest not to lose.  So Anakin’s still spending a lot of time out in the field, and Padme’s still got Senate stuff to do.  And they probably both already had serious business security details, since somebody needs to be around whenever Anakin decides to do something really fucking stupid without backup (he usually manages without backup, but Obi-Wan, Padme and every clone friend of Anakin’s agree that they’d rather have someone on him anyway), and Padme’s a significant target for the Separatists because a) she’s pretty well-connected in the Senate and b) Palps was hoping he could kill her off to get Anakin to fall.  Which would’ve ended pretty badly for him but Palpatine clearly doesn’t understand love so he wouldn’t have realised that.

SO.  Anakin gets called off to spearhead some campaign somewhere, Padme has to go to the Senate, and who’s left to look after Powerfist and Cinnamon Roll?  (Padme finds these names hilarious.)  It’s the clones.

“Okay,” Rex says, no longer quite so angry about being grounded while his blaster wound heals.  “Watch carefully.  This is how you hold a blaster, okay?”

Luke and Leia are fascinated.

Padme, who entered politics at a frankly ridiculous age and was embroiled in her first war at the age of fourteen, isn’t all that upset when she finds out.  Okay, she’d prefer it if the weaponry lessons waited until the kids were older, but considering who their parents are, they’re pretty tempting kidnap targets so she’d rather they knew how to look after themselves.  And they’re so cute doing their unarmed combat lessons!

Anakin – Anakin is very protective of his tiny children.  HE’S SEEN SOME SHITTY STUFF IN THE GALAXY, OKAY, HE JUST WANTS TO WRAP THEM IN COTTON WOOL AND HIDE THEM SOMEWHERE UNTIL THEY’RE EIGHTEEN.  He is not impressed when he finds out.  Every stupid, dangerous thing he ever did as a child is running through his head on a loop.  He did so many stupid things.

“Not that many,” Padme says, patting his shoulder.

“Pod races,” Anakin says hoarsely.  “Blowing up Trade Federation droid ships.  Racing speeders.  Sticking my hands into droid innards.”

“That isn’t that dangerous,” Padme says, frowning.

“What if I’d electrocuted myself?” Anakin demands.  “I could have died so many ways, Padme, why did I pass this on to my children, oh god.”

Padme looks over at Rex for support.

“He’s never told you any of the really wild war stories, has he,” Rex says, deadpan.  “They’re too short to fly fighters, but we can start them on acrobatics soon, they’ll have an easier time if they’ve already had practice not throwing up the first time one of them decides to spin the ship they’re flying.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Padme says, wondering what Anakin’s stories are if they aren’t the wild ones.

Somewhere, Obi-Wan Kenobi just broke a rib laughing.

foxfireflamequeen:

Okay but imagine a Viktor Nikiforov who is told from day one that he’s beautiful and brilliant at skating, but that’s about it. He’s talented but an airhead; he’s forgetful and can’t remember dates and names and can barely pass history or geography; he’s easily distracted and takes forever to finish one book, and he’s awful, awful at arithmetic; he has to count 2+5 off his fingers, and as a kid in the 90s (born in ‘88) he’s discouraged (or even banned) from using a calculator so he barely scrapes by from grade to grade. He’s lucky he can rely on his figure skating career, his teachers tell his guardians, because goodness knows he doesn’t really have the brains for anything else.

He’s lucky he’s pretty and charming, they tell him, over and over again. He’s lucky he’s good at skating, say his teachers, his coaches, magazines, fans, lovers, friends. When he finally finishes school his grades are so abysmal no one even considers the possibility of university, least of all Viktor. Besides, he’s already a star by then, Russia’s treasure. There wouldn’t be any need for him to go to university even if he could.

And Viktor’s fine with that; he has his strengths and his brains aren’t part of that, he knows. He was put on this earth to skate like a dream; he never needed to be smart. It’s not like he’ll ever need to get another job. It’s not like being smart matters in what he does. He doesn’t even need to be able to add up his SP and FS scores; someone else will do it for him.

He knows he’s kinda dumb. He has all the Cs and Ds on his report cards to prove it.

Fast forward a few years, then imagine a Viktor Nikiforov who’s so fucking proud of his Yuuri, his Yuuri who has a university degree, did you hear, his Yuuri who is so smart, he went to university in another country and got his degree in a whole different language, and he maintained a competitive figure skating career while doing it! He hangs Yuuri’s diploma on their living room wall where everyone can see it and tells everyone who’ll listen, Yuuri is brilliant and amazing and he has a university degree, and he tells Yurio that he should go to university too, you’re so smart you’ll definitely do really well! Having a degree is important! You should be like Yuuri, he says, don’t be like me, everyone knows I’m just an airhead! He half-bullies Yurio into studying for entrance exams and half-forces him into applying for university and when he gets in no one is more thrilled than Viktor. He’s so proud of Yurio too! Viktor knew Yurio could do it! Viktor knows Yurio will do super well in university; he can do anything he wants he’s so smart!

Imagine VIktor when he finally retires and takes up choreographing/coaching full time, but that doesn’t keep him as occupied as practicing as a competitive skater himself, so one day he starts rooting through the textbooks Yurio brings to the rink to study when he’s taking a break as his skaters practice. He keeps doing it, and Yuuri catches him looking over a physics textbook and overhears him talking to Yurio about his classes. What are your professors like, Yura? he hears Viktor ask every other day. What are you learning now?

Viktor, Yuuri says one night. Now that you have some time, do you think you’d like to go to college?

Viktor laughs it off, not even considering it, because of course he’s not smart enough for university, he can’t even do basic math.

Don’t be silly, Yuuri, he says. I’m not smart like you.

Imagine a Yuuri Katsuki who knows better than that.

He’s seen Viktor practice and he’s seen Viktor choreograph, intuitively knowing exactly what moves will work and what won’t without even knowing why. He sees Viktor’s tweets to his fans, encouraging them to study and learn, listens to him advise young skaters to also focus on their schoolwork, watches him be more excited than anyone else when Mila graduates university. He knows Viktor needs to pull up the calculator on his phone to figure out a 20% tip and needs to count off his fingers to solve 13 minus 8 but he’s also seen him look over Yurio’s shoulder while he’s doing homework, learning from Yurio as he works. Viktor might not be able to point to Thailand on a map or know the dates of WWII but he watches documentaries for fun and listens with rapt attention when Yurio talks about his classes and the thing is, after many many months of being annoyed and frustrated with Viktor’s inability to remember promises and his distraction during practice, Yuuri has learned that he doesn’t do it on purpose, that Viktor genuinely can’t help it, the same way Yuuri genuinely can’t help his anxiety.

Yuuri knows that Viktor is beautiful. Yuuri knows that Viktor is also intelligent, even if Viktor doesn’t believe that at all.

It takes some fighting, a lot of long nights on the internet, and even more wheedling and coaxing, but eventually Viktor lets Yuuri sign him up for online classes, and then he lets Yuuri make an appointment for Viktor to talk to someone.

Turns out that ADHD and ADD are conditions taken a bit more seriously nowadays, and there’s medication for it that Viktor doesn’t have to worry about taking now that he’s no longer a competitive athlete. Turns out discalculia is a mathematics learning disability that means Viktor will probably never be able to stop counting off his fingers for basic mathematics. Turns out neither of those things makes Viktor dumb.

Turns out Viktor can be really, really good at physics if he can use a calculator.

It’s still not easy, and it takes time, because studying doesn’t come to Viktor as easily as skating, and Viktor is still easily distracted and still very forgetful and still doesn’t think he’s smart enough for any of it. Yuuri has to remind him over and over again that it’s okay to take longer than others to do his homework, to finish his readings, to solve those problems, to be bad at testing, and no, he shouldn’t switch to an ‘easier’ subject, he can do this.

It’s not easy, but it helps that Viktor likes learning.

Viktor choreographs for Olympic medalists, and enrolls in a degree program. Viktor coaches Grand Prix winners, and graduates university with a Bachelor of Science in applied physics. Viktor choreographs for and coaches World Champions, and completes his Master’s thesis.

No one is more surprised than Viktor when he successfully defends his PhD dissertation on kinematics of ice skating, and no one is less surprised than Yuuri.

Imagine a Viktor Nikiforov who is more than a pretty face, who is capable of more than just skating, who likes and wants to learn, and all he needed to do so was a few pills, a calculator, and someone who believed in him more than he believed in himself.

This is so perfect! I really like the idea that Viktor has ADHD. It makes a lot of sense. And I’ll never say no to depictions of dyslexia. This story makes me so happy! Thank you for writing it!