#Young Terminus was probably a menace

[steelthroat]

The fandom perception of Terminus is weird. Guys- guys... he's really NOT a softie too-good-for-this-world old man. This old man is a radical, like- HE was the one to radicalize Megatron. If he'd ever had the chance to become a politician, he would have plotted the shit out of everything.

[johannas-motivational-insults]

1, 22, 39?

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Angsty with plenty of arguments that cut to the core of a character’s trauma and trigger lots of processing, but with a happy (or at the very least hopeful) ending.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Not usually on the fics themselves, but sometimes I get rude asks about my fics. Usually I either play diplomat or sass them right back, depending on my mood and the precise content of the ask. Believe it or not I’m not big on conflict, and I’m pretty good at understanding other points of view if something has literally upset somebody. But if they’re just being a troll there’s no point engaging.

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

I put this one last and under the cut because it’s long-ish. It comes from Chapter 1 of Loyalty, my Peacekeeper!Johanna fic. Anyone who hasn’t read it, come get a snippet of the OTP’s first meeting. :D

(Also keep in mind that the protagonist is pretty damn problematic at this point and kind of a dick, if a charming one. She isn’t like this for the whole story, or even the whole chapter. Several of the story’s themes relate to self-improvement and intersections of privilege, so she had to start somewhere.)

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers

The original

I’ve started to move my eyes from my own trail of footprints back to the path of sorts in front of me when they detect a scuffed up area of snow several yards to my left. I follow it with my eyes to its terminus, a tree a short distance away. I smile even wider, a familiar predatory urge rising up in me that I haven’t felt it in far too long. No animal leaves tracks like that. I start to approach the tree, examining it closer, and easily make out the gaps in the snow settled on the lower branches where it has been compacted by a human hand or foot. I strut the remaining distance to the tree and cock my gun, aiming it up into the branches.

“How about you come down before I shoot you down?” I bellow pompously. When there’s no response, I shrug and click my safety off. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” a voice rings down from above me. It’s deep but feminine. I watch as a young woman in a leather jacket, tattered pants, and hunting boots emerges from the foliage. I grin when I spot the bag slung over her shoulder and the bow and quiver strapped to her back. A poacher. Maybe I’ll get to engage in some violence after all. She drops to the ground a few feet in front of me and I go to twist her arm behind her back and pin her to the tree, but then she turns around. She’s younger than I’d assumed. Maybe sixteen, if even that. It almost makes me want to be merciful. Her stunning good looks probably contribute to that same impulse. She’s a few inches taller than me but skinny as fuck, though her telltale Seam features explain that. Dark brown hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, olive-toned skin, stormy gray eyes. I blink and try to regain my focus.

“What’s in the bag, huh?” I demand, taking a menacing step forward. She doesn’t resist me when I slide the bag down her arm and peek inside to see three dead rabbits. “Don’t you know what happens to people who poach off the Capitol’s land, little girl?” I drawl condescendingly.

“Little?” she asks, pointedly looking down at me.

I don’t feel like being merciful after all. I drop the bag and grab her wrist in a flash and slam her against the tree in the position I’d been planning to only a moment ago. “Oh, so you’re a poacher and a smartass?” I challenge her, rubbing her face into the bark. She struggles to free her arm but I twist it farther behind her back until she yelps in pain. “What was that?” I snarl.

“Please,” she pants, “stop.” I smirk in satisfaction and pull away from the tree, keeping an iron grip on her wrist as she spins to face me again. “Look,” she petitions, “you’re making a big mistake.”

The translation

As my eyes drag from my own trail of footprints back to the path of sorts in front of me, they detect a scuffed up area of snow several yards to my left and follow it to its terminus, a tree a short distance away. My smile grows wider, a familiar predatory urge rising up in me that I haven’t felt it in far too long. No animal leaves tracks like that.

Approaching the tree, I examine it closer and easily spot the gaps in the snow settled on the lower branches, obviously compacted by a human hand or foot. Strutting the remaining distance to the trunk, I cock my gun and aim it up into the branches.

“How about you come down before I shoot you down?” I bellow pompously. When there’s no response, I shrug and click my safety off. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” The voice that rings down from above is deep, but feminine. A young woman in a leather jacket, tattered pants, and hunting boots emerges from the foliage. The sight of the bag slung over her shoulder and the bow and quiver strapped to her back makes me grin. A poacher. Maybe I’ll get to engage in some violence after all.

She drops to the ground a few feet in front of me and I move to twist her arm behind her back and pin her to the tree, but then she turns around. She’s younger than I’d assumed. Maybe sixteen, if even that. It almost makes me want to be merciful. Her stunning good looks probably contribute to that same impulse, honestly. She’s a few inches taller than me but skinny as fuck, though her telltale Seam features explain that. Dark brown hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, olive-toned skin, stormy gray eyes. Blinking hard, I try to regain my focus.

“What’s in the bag, huh?” I demand, taking a menacing step forward. The girl offers no resistance as I slide the bag down her arm and peek inside, finding three dead rabbits. Giving her my best condescending smirk, I drawl, “Don’t you know what happens to people who poach off the Capitol’s land, little girl?”

“Little?” she asks, pointedly looking down at me.

I don’t feel like being merciful after all.

Dropping the bag, I grab her wrist in a flash and slam her against the tree in the position I’d been planning to only a moment ago, rubbing her face into the bark. “Oh, so you’re a poacher and a smartass?”

She struggles to free her arm but I twist it farther behind her back until she yelps in pain. “What was that?” I snarl.

“Please,” she pants, “stop.” Smirking in satisfaction, I pull away from the tree but keep an iron grip on her wrist as she spins to face me again. “Look,” she petitions, “you’re making a big mistake.”

…

Man, my past overreliance on starting sentences with the subject (especially I) and tendency to clump up paragraphs are just embarrassing at this point. I’ve always excelled at characterization, which is why my early fics were still so loved, but my readability was not the greatest, to say the least.