When the ending sucked, but fan artists and fic writers got your back
(Source: saranel, via ifeelbetterer)
Fanfiction Club: The Rules
This idea came to me when I woke up first thing this morning.
This is gold.
(via ifeelbetterer)
Anonymous asked: so I really love your writing, and I'm invested in your longer WIPs, but please don't feel guilty for writing shorter works instead! Inspiration is a fickle thing, and anything you wind up publishing is a treat to read!
*tackles with a hug*
THANK YOU SO MUCH. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m really invested in my longer WIPs too, but inspiration is a fickle bitch and motivation is even WORSE and I am just not hitting the right balance of the two for some reason?
IDK man I’m working on it. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience, you’re a gift.
"Many people, encountering fanfiction for the first time, wonder why so much of it is erotic. Anne Jamison, in Fic, gives a pretty good answer: a lot of fanfiction questions mainstream assumptions about gender, sexuality, and desire. But writing erotic fanfiction is also a wonderful game. The fanfiction community might be the first place where a woman is encouraged to enjoy her sexual fantasies and praised for the dirtiness of her imagination. Writing and reading fanfiction is a social, communal activity, and considering how much shame is still attached to the expression of female sexual desire (what’s so funny about it?) the creation of shared erotic fantasies is still radical."
— Introduction to The Communications Officer’s Tale, The Fanfiction Reader: Folk Tales for the Digital Age (via francescacoppa)
(via bonehandledknife)
"While many people think fanfiction is about inserting sex into texts (like Tolkien’s) where it doesn’t belong, Brancher sees it differently: “I was desperate to read about sex that included great friendship; I was repurposing Tolkien’s text in order to do that. It wasn’t that friendship needed to be sexualized, it was that erotica needed to be … friendship-ized.” Many fanfiction writers write about sex in conjunction with beloved texts and characters not because they think those texts are incomplete, but because they’re looking for stories where sex is profound and meaningful. This is part of what makes fan fiction different from pornography: unlike pornography, fanfic features characters we already care deeply about, and who tend to already have long-standing and complex relationships with each other. It’s a genre of sexual subjectification: the very opposite of objectification. It’s benefits with friendship."
— Francesca Coppa, “Introduction to The Dwarf’s Tale,” The Fanfiction Reader (via rembrandtswife)
(Source: francescacoppa, via primarybufferpanel)
You are an anonymous professional assassin with a perfect reputation. You lead an ordinary life outside of your work. You’ve just been hired to kill yourself.
My first thought is that the middle man I use–calls himself ‘Leader’, real name Brett Thompson, 46, balding, lives in PA–has uncovered my identity. Why else would I be staring down at a picture of my own face? I think it’s a warning, that he knows about the Sanchez job, and I nearly reach for my go bag.
Then I see the client’s name.
Vi Larson, the file tells me, male, 32, computer analyst.
I close the manila folder, tossing it away from me. The whiskey sour’s gone warm in my hand, but I drink it down anyway, eyes distant. I don’t need to read any more of the file. I can fill in the gaps well enough.
Funnily enough, this betrayal is just as sharp and unpleasant as the first one, the one that got me into this business in the first place.
“You at least owe me a crime of passion, you bastard,” I mutter into my drink. I close my eyes and sigh, willing away the stinging in my heart. I knew that my relationship was in trouble, but this is just cold.
In a way, I can’t believe it. Is a divorce really that hard? But, no, I know Vi. He’s methodical, analytical, and competent. If anything, hiring an assassin with a reputation like mine is right in line with his personality. Nothing but the best, even in the murder game.
I should be flattered, really. My rates aren’t cheap. Whatever I did to make him send this in–and he did, there’s his social security, his fingerprint, everything–it must have been killer.
I set my glass down on the counter and tuck the folder under my arm. I need to think and I do my best thinking in the tub. Vi won’t be back from his “business” trip for another three days, during which I’m supposed to kill myself.
As I head up the stairs, I can’t help but laugh. Finally, after three years of marriage, my husband does something interesting. And it breaks my fucking heart.
——————————————
He wants me to make it painless but horrific. There’s a script in the document, something that’s more common than people think, and it’s hard to read it, even surrounded by bubbles and soothing music.
“Your husband sent me. Said he needed to shed some dead weight.” I snort at the pun and close my eyes, resting the file against my face so it doesn’t get wet. Unfortunately, the tears do that anyway.
“Fuck,” I say. “You bastard.”
Where are the fic where the super-slick super-spy is thwarted by their seduction target’s complete lack of self-esteem and inability to believe for one second that someone that hot wants to fuck them?
….
I don’t know if I need to read this or I need to write this, but I need this.This desperately needs to be a thing.
OOoh, how about the complete lack of self-esteem and disbelief is married with cynicism…that there’s no way that this person wants to fuck them, they must want something,
And that’s when the spy takes it as a personal challenge. He can hear the suppressed laugher in his handler’s voice. They’ve never failed like this.It is ON.I love this addition
This was longer than I meant it to be, but once I started writing I got caught up:
000
His suit was less expensive than he was used to – he was playing an attorney here, not a jet-setting billionaire or dashing playboy – but the game was the same as it always was. Approach the target, charm them into letting their guard down, then talk his way into their home to get access to, in this case, computer files. He didn’t even have to feel guilty about this one – either she was manipulating phone software for terrorists, in which case she deserved everything she got, or she was being used by someone who was manipulating phone software for terrorists. In which case, he was saving her.
She was just the type who could use a little saving, too. Eating lunch in a mall food court, hunched over a tablet while she ate sesame chicken one-handed without looking. Hair pulled back in the most practical hairstyle possible, he was sure their interaction would be the most exciting part of her week.
Shifting his grip on his briefcase, he sauntered over to her table. “Pardon me for being rude, but I saw you sitting over here and I—“
“No.”
He blinked. “What?”
OMG EVERYONE READ THIS!!!!
thank you so much this is awesome!
I hope you continue it but even if you don’t it’s still more than I was expecting and it’s awesome and you should be very proud!
You’re very welcome. Have some more;
After a few seconds, he realized the muffled noise he could hear over his comm sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice low enough that casual passers-by wouldn’t be able to overhear.
Naturally, D did exactly the opposite and stopped muffling the laughter entirely, letting it boom over the comm loud enough to make him wince. “You know I’m saving the audio forever, right?” D managed, laughing so hard she was wheezing. “I’m going to insist we start an agency Christmas party, just so I can play it for everyone and we can all laugh at you together.”
(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
Little Acts of Resistance headcanon: Fashion edition
There is no way around a fact that the First Order concept and culture is deeply and uncritically inspired by Nazi imagery. I am still pissed off at creative decision to use Nazi chic IN SPACE! like you wouldn’t believe. I am also very spiteful, hence this headcanon.
Every person with vaguest idea about history of fashion knows that while Nazi uniforms were admittedly very stylish, they were also incredibly uncomfortable for the wearers. I like to imagine it’s the same case for the First Order uniforms. They certainly look like they could be.
So, imagine: at one of the deeply First Order worlds lives a fashion designer. He doesn’t really have a means to actively fight a regime. On the other hand, he has mouths to feed and workers that depending on him.
That doesn’t mean he can’t make nuisance of himself, though. And he can do it without the First Order noticing that something is amiss, even.
He gets a contract for designing and producing uniforms for officers and civilian dignitaries.
And then he gleefully makes them the most uncomfortable things ever conceived by fashion. All in the name of ~aesthetics~, of course. Of course.
(I like to think it’s generational tradition. The Empire’s boner on capes isn’t very practical, either.)
It’s the little things.
The algorithm for tailoring commissioned officers’ uniforms is one of his favorites.
It looks good. It’s trim and chic and the lines are perfect.
It digs into your waist when you sit down. It tugs gently at the front of your thighs. It pulls down in the back so you feel a tiny bit awkward and always worry about your tunic riding up and exposing a bit of flesh. Attempts to tug it up a little come to no avail.
It’s always just a tiny bit too close at the throat. The inner lining rests above the wristbones, making you feel like your sleeves are too short. The fabric is a little too thick, creasing uncomfortably inside elbows and knees when these joints are bent too far. It does not hide stains at all.
His copy reads brilliantly, if he does say so himself. “Our tailoring programs custom-fit every piece to your specific measurements.” True. “The resulting uniform works with your unique body shape to create a flawless image.” Also true. “The absolute best in military fashion for the absolute best in military history.” Fashion being, as one Coruscanti critic back in the Republic days put it, “the priority of people who never have to sit down.”
The outer fabric is sturdy, matte, and able to repel low-level energy bolts. It will also do a great deal to resist a vibroknife. The specialized equipment necessary for cutting the pieces out add quite a bit to the price, to the point where they cut significantly into his profits, but all will be well worth it the first time somebody attempts to have their uniform retailored. Moreover, the fabric is an astoundingly poor insulator, and even worse at blocking the wind.
The lining is soft, pleasant to touch, with a tendency to grab and bind when slid and pressed against skin. Say, like when you sit down. Its insulating qualities do as little as possible to make up for where the outer fabric is lacking in that regard, and it tends toward clamminess when wet, and is slow to dry.
None of this will pose too much of a problem on board ship, but whenever they’re out in the field, they will suffer. One does what one can.
He has a lucrative, multi-decade, exclusive contract with the First Order, and at the celebration dinner when the new uniforms were revealed, he made sure to introduce everyone at the head table to his friend who specialized in personal armor design, with the suggestion that the old stormtrooper armor, though a fine design, could perhaps use some minor improvements.
Whenever he feels off these days, all he has to do to cheer himself up is imagine a First Order general sitting down.
Passive resistance done well! This is A+
(via wildehacked)
Look out!
Okay, so you know how canonically the cops were fairly down on Spider-Man, and back when he was a high-schooler it probably wasn’t that hard to figure out he was a teenager because he has never, not once, in his entire life known how to budget his fucking time?
Can you imagine one of his second-rate villains being a local truant officer who starts chasing him every time he’s out spider-manning during school hours? Which is super inconvenient, because he’s only out spider-manning during school hours during real emergencies? And the officer’s superiors start reading them the riot act because they’re a fucking truant officer, how are they finding themselves in the middle of so many bank robberies and mutant-lizard attacks and supervillain fights?
But they’re too obsessed to let it go, and their cubicle just turns into this ludicrous wall o’ bonkers with maps of Spider-Man sightings and school schedules and absentee reports and everyone’s like “Ha ha, making any progress yet?” and they’re like “Ten percent of the school-aged population is out on any given day, how does anyone in this city even graduate.”
Like, their quest to narrow the pool of Spider-Man suspects starts generating honest-to-god reductions in missed school days because there have been so many case studies and experiments on how to get kids back in school, leading to even more weird accolades because this officer cares and this officer’s a hero and the officer’s just like “I just need to find out who Spider-Man is, because then I can go yell at his parents because he’s not in school” and that’s why they’re no longer allowed to give speeches when they accept rewards for this stuff.
Then one day they put in for a transfer and everyone’s shocked, because they’ve been so good for the city, they’ve really gone above and beyond, but I guess burn-out had to happen sometime, huh.
Only it’s because the math says there’s no way in hell Spider-Man could still be in school, so there’s no point in chasing him, he can do whatever he wants during school hours. And that’s what they lived for for so long that now that it’s gone, their heart’s just not in it anymore.
Cue dispirited montage of the officer just writing parking tickets and shuffling aimlessly through their lives and everything’s getting grayer and sadder and duller until they whip out their book to write a ticket, look up, and see the Spider-Mobile in all its tacky crimson glory parked on the side of the fucking library.
(via fireflyca)
listen kids, i am very tired and in all honesty have no authority to be giving anyone advice but looks matter in fanfic, how you present the work you created matters, okay
you’re trying to impress, you’re trying your very best to get someone to read this work you’ve created and how you present it is fucking important, ayight?? it’s like having a first date, you can’t just roll out of bed after three months without showering and be like “sup fam, suck on my tongue”
you have to look minimally presentable for people to want to metaphorically suck on your tongue, ayight kids?
so, get a nice title, something that ppl wanna whisper, something nice and related to the content ayight? it can be one word, it can be any word. that’s your calling card kid, that’s the piece of paper you slide over the table with your phone number. good titles can go a long way
and if titles are your name, the phone number is the tags and for god’s suck use the tags. how do you want people to find the unique things you bring to the table if you don’t put them in the database for them to search by name??? how will all those potential people you’re trying to win over find you without some proper tags, huh? they ain’t fam. tag yo shit
and while you’re at it, don’t talk down on yourself, don’t you dare talk down on yourself. you’re beautiful and ethereal and everything you do matters, and everything you do works to make you even more beautiful. “i suck at summaries lol xD give this a try tho”. fam no. don’t do that shit. it’s unnatractive. that’s like being greeted by your date with a “rawr that means i love you in dinossaur lol xD im so random how many kids do you wanna have also my family are all extremists come see our gun collection”
ppl are gonna run away from that. fast. you’re good. what you do matters, OWN IT. seduce your date with a beautiful summary, whatever you like, using any technique you like, just have a good summary ayight? that’s your bait, that’s what you use to reel them in as the beautiful siren you are just before you drown them in your amazing content and eat their hearts.
and if you don’t think you’re shit and are insecure about posting, then boi u better fake it ‘till u make it, my guy. i can assure you, you’re worth more than you could ever dream.
now that u got em reeled in, now that you got them to click the link and ask for a second date, for mcfuck’s sake correctly format your fic, use some goddamned paragraphs spacing. i want to see beautiful flowing lines of text, not a slaughtered ant colony that faintly resembles a wall of text. and dont forget theres a special place in hell for people who align center their text.
so.
maximize your readability, expand your goddamned market, become enticing to the point where no one can resist you, sloppy fic presentation harms your fic and it’s completely avoidable. take care of yourself and make smart decisions to get that sweet validation medicine friends.
(via skymurdock)
