#i like concrit!! but when it ‘i didn’t get it it was random it had weird relationships (just siblings that weren’t canon siblings for plot)

[stellewriites]

some comments are just,,,,,, hmmm what made u Think that??

[kinetic-elaboration]

fic writer interview

I was tagged by @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold- Thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 217. And this might be an under-representative count of what I’ve posted because I’m not sure if I ever transferred all my LJ stuff to AO3. (I’ve seen some other people doing this meme and being embarrassed about having fic counts that are way lower than this... should I be sad about this? Is this pathetic? Idk man I like to write.)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,253,278 lol

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Okay, my fandom list on AO3 has 9 fandoms on it but some of those are random one-shots and one is only on the list because I wrote a drabble-length crossover between it and another fandom.

My main fandoms were/are RENT, Fruits Basket (though that was mostly something I obsessed over with friends IRL), Harry Potter, Star Trek (AOS), BBC Sherlock, and The 100.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Okay, time to embarrass myself lol.

1 - (by a lot) is a Star Trek fic.

2 - What We Built (T100, Bellarke)

3 - Rings This True (ST: AOS, K/S)

4 - Pitchforks and Pointed Ears (ST: AOS,K/S)

5 - An explicit, kinky Bellarke fic that’s posted anonymously (knowing it’s my number 5 by kudos makes me want to delete it lsjdfasdfjasdfkjasdfkasd)

5. Do you respond to comments; why or why not?

I do but I’ve been supremely bad about it recently. Like.. this year. And uh last year also.

I just... I know as someone who comments that I’m not exactly waiting on the edge of my seat for a reply from the author. But often the replies I do get are very nice, and I like knowing that the effort I put into writing a comment meant something to the person who put so much effort into writing the fic I read and enjoyed. Also, I am one of those bitches who’s always harping on people to comment--and about how comments are meaningful and kudos are not (I do not receive kudos emails). So I feel like I should show that I do read and appreciate the comments I receive. Also, I don’t get SO many that I can’t possibly reply to them all, tbqh. And finally, I’ve had some very nice discussions in comment threads over the years.

That said, I am shamefully behind atm. I have comments from the beginning of 2021 I haven’t answered. I even have a couple comments that include QUESTIONS that I haven’t answered. I do plan on getting back to them, in the spirit of better late than never, but it is tough sometimes when I feel so far behind.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. I don’t really do angst all that often, or at least, not angst without a happy ending or like... traditional angst? I guess I would say it is new moon and twilight, which is a fic about mourning, because it doesn’t really have any resolution; nothing gets better, it just... is.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve written one crossover, but it was just a little drabble thing for writing practice.

8 Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No. Not really. So. I have received a great number and great variety of comments on the ST fic that’s also at the top of my kudos list. A few of those comments might be considered ‘hate’ and they certainly made me feel pretty bad. They weren’t so much random flames as they were people who... felt betrayed by my choices or disagreed with my pacing or whatever. But I’ve also had comments on that fic that were more like... constructive criticism I didn’t ask for. One person insists on hating on one of my characters (”my” as in my iteration) and that’s pretty tough for me because I love him and I don’t want to write a version of him people hate. But there have been others too, that question my choices or provide advice I did not request. Tbh I think those ‘unasked for concrit’ comments hurt me worse and haunt me more severely than the outright ‘well this sucks now’ asshatery because those second types I can just delete (from my inbox, not the fic) and say ‘well your taste sucks lol sorry you wasted your time telling me I’m awful’ but the ones that are like ‘I’m your beta now’ make me second guess myself and doubt myself and kinda... make me feel like a failure a bit. I guess because I’m a sensitive flower lmao.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well as you can see from my number 5 most popular fic being an embarrassingly kinky smut fest--on occasion I do! I used to more often, but for a while now, like several years, I’ve felt myself increasingly bored by both writing and reading sex scenes. Also, the way that fandom has evolved, such that my AO3 and my quite personal tumblr are linked and easy to find one from the other, makes me more self-conscious about putting explicit material out there, especially the non-boring kind. It says too much about me. That said, I wrote some smut recently that may or may not (probably won’t) be edited out of the final draft of an upcoming fic. It’s not good but eh, I don’t do this very often so why not.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, a few! I feel like I should keep better track of the translations of my work but honestly I’m pretty bad at it.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really. I was part of the Wreck JRoth Club earlier this year, which is a collaboration in the sense that the finished product on AO3 had many writers. But it wasn’t a collaboration in the sense that I worked with a co-writer on any of my sections. In other words, the writing process was the same as for a solo fic, it’s just that the draft was then betaed in part for continuity and combined with other chapters written by other authors. I used to think I’d like to co-write but I think I’m too much of a control freak tbqh.

13. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Kirk/Spock.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Oh man. Well, this is a question I probably should be deeply contemplating right now, since I wanted this year to be the year I finished my WIPs and I think the lesson I’ve learned is that next year should be the year I become comfortable abandoning some WIPs. But.. I’m very stubborn. So I still haven’t decided which, if any, I’ll officially jettison. I have some suspicions but I’m too embarrassed to name names atm.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I create a strong atmosphere and occasionally write some nice-sounding passages.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

All my characters are kinda similar, especially in the structure and sound of their internal monologues. They’re all me! Just wearing different hats.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If you know other languages and it’s relevant to the fic, I don’t see why not. I think it’s polite to put translations in the end notes. (Yes I know google exists but I still think anything less is just bragging and being purposefully difficult.) I don’t generally write fics where this is relevant and my personal preference is to write in English but note in the descriptions or dialogue tags if something is actually in another language.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The very very very first was Harry Potter--a supremely cringe-y and embarrassing Mary Sue fic I wrote about 3 pages of in a notebook in, like, 6th grade maybe? After that, I’m not really sure. I wrote both original fiction and fan fic for several years before I started posting, so it’s a bit hard to recall.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Hmmm...it varies! I think right now I’d say I’m especially fond of Mountain Lion Mean. I had a good experience writing it, I love how it turned out, and I enjoy re-reading it!

I don’t know who’s done this so I’m going to lazily not tag anyone this time but please do this if you feel like it, and tag me back if you’d like!

[phdmama]

I always felt pathetic because someone’s poor opinion on a fic I wrote was the reason I stopped writing. I had a person proceed to send me asks as they read giving me criticism. I welcome criticism however being told my story was childish, I made so and so arrogant. It wasn’t creative and the picking apart timelines it felt like they read it just to complain and it was never in a nice manner. While friends raved about it and my betas picked it apart to make it work.... I felt like a second grader would’ve done better with crayons. So I stoped writing. On top of that— never being in rec lists, never seeing my fics reblogged . I’m a firm believer in writing for ourselves first. However as a human I want to be recognized for my work too? It sucks and people suck and so I stoped bothering. I didn’t feel I had a place and felt why bother if no one cares? Sorry for this post I’ve never stated it and it just kinda spilled out. - Anony

Oh darling. (If that’s not a name that works for you, please sub for something that does, but it’s what came from my heart.)

I’m so sorry you had that experience and that it hurt you. And absolutely OF COURSE, we share something and we want to be recognized for it! That’s so human. And fandoms are tough for that, honestly, IMO because there’s lots of cliques. 

I kinda want to smack that person sending you those anons, to be real. And you probably already know this, but what that person was doing wasn’t criticism. It’s called CONcrit for a reason - because the point of working with someone I that way is to figure out how to make the story be the best story it can be. To be constructive.

I mean, I’m not like a trained writer or anything but that’s what it seems tome. What that person was doing to you was using you as a punching bag. 

Okay, feel free to ignore this part, but the therapist in me feels compelled to say this. Something it took me a long time to learn in life is that sure, other people can have whatever opinions they want, but I am allowed to decide that they’re wrong. Or that their opinion is unhelpful. Or unfounded. Or just plain fucking irrelevant because I didn’t actually ask for it.

I feel like there used to be a bigger culture of feedback (from what I’ve read about like LJ and other platforms, and like, across fandoms) but as far as I know from my experience, that’s really not the case anymore. So, you don’t in fact have to be “open to criticism” from some random yahoo who’s just being a dick. 

I hope that you can find some solace from that pain, and I totally totally get how painful that would be. I’m still VERY SALTY about a mildly uncomplimentary bookmark comment from years ago. Some people suck for sure, but the great thing is, when they show you that, then you can ignore them (I know, I know, easier said than done). Not everyone sucks though. 

A thing I’ve been doing when I go on AO3 and look at my stats is to look at my hit count, and then imagine that number of people all in a room, giving me a thumbs up. 239 people (the number of hits on my most recent fic) all stopped by to give me a thumbs up. That’s a lot of people!

Anyway, I don’t know if this meaningful at all. I just wanted you to know that I read your words, and I heard you, and I heard how much it hurt you, and I’m just really sorry. 

[kedreeva]

Hi, I think I need a bit of advice if you have a minute. I received a comment that said basically "this is lovely but it would have been better if you'd written it in a completely different way". I always say in my fic notes that I appreciate and invite feedback, long or short or emoji, but specifying nothing about concrit, is it unfair of me to tell this person (gently) that they might mean well but I am not looking for criticism on a done piece? I feel like the the note might have misled them

On the one hand, if you asked for feedback and didn’t specify what kind, then yeah, you literally did invite concrit and don’t have a lot of room to say “no not like that.” Feedback, in a general sense and in my experience, is an umbrella which includes criticism and constructive criticism and compliments all at once (although it does not include flames) so asking for “feedback” without specifying is kind of a gamble. If what you want isn’t the first two, then you’ll need to be specific in what you want when you’re asking for responses. In this case, I would update your note to reflect what you actually want, and if the comment is bothering you, perhaps delete it.

On the other hand, asking someone to write an entire story in a completely different way isn’t really... criticism or constructive or even really feedback of any worth. I wrote a charity auction fic once which, if you don’t know, is generally someone donates to a cause, pays up, and then gets to give a writer a prompt for what to write up to however many words their donation was worth by the terms of the auction. I was literally writing a prompt the way someone who had donated real money to a good cause had asked me to write it, and someone came into that story and told me the story would have been better if I’d written it a completely different way, as in change the entire plot. That’s not useful or likely to happen; even if it hadn’t been an auction fic, it isn’t likely to happen, because that’s not the story I was writing or wanted to tell.

And in cases where someone (after you asked for help) is telling you that they want you to change your story so completely that it is no longer the story you’re writing, it’s still fair (imo) to say “thanks but that’s not the story I’m writing, or a story I have any intention of writing. If you have feedback on the story I’m writing, that’s fine, but suggesting I change major plot points such that it would become a completely different story isn’t really feedback on this story. If you want a story that is that different from this one, may I suggest writing your own.”

At the end of the day, you also have to remember that not all feedback is good or even useful. Not all criticism is correct. Just because someone tells you “this could be better if” doesn’t.... actually mean that’s true. MAYBE it would be better..... for that person. But for every person that thinks “I would like it better if x” someone else is thinking “damn I love this exactly how it is.” And especially in the case of fanfiction, where most authors are writing for their own enjoyment or following prompts others have given them, changing a story to suit some random person on the internet instead of yourself (or the person you’re writing for) may not actually improve diddly squat for the intended audience. That’s not necessarily something bad, or something to “correct” a reader about if they’ve left a comment like that after presumably being asked to do so. It just sort of Is, and it’s something that anyone asking has to learn to sort through in order to parse what is useful vs what is not.

Which means lastly, just because you ask for feedback, or ask for crit, or ask for concrit, doesn’t ever ever ever mean you have to actually take what is offered. Even though you asked for feedback and this person thought you meant concrit, and they gave you what they thought would help, it doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it, not even point it out or argue with them about it, if you don’t want to. You can just update the note and not respond if you want, and take away from the experience that you’ll have to be clearer next time to get what you actually want. I don’t honestly think there’s a Fault here on either side; you both believed you had done what you needed to do for one another. Didn’t work out this time, but not everything does.

[losille2000]

Hoot and Howl, Chapter 1

TITLE: Hoot and Howl CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 CHARACTERS: Actor!Chris Evans/OFC GENRE: Paranormal Romance (more on the magical realism side?) FIC SUMMARY: Chris goes on a camping trip to calm the noisy anxiety in his head, but it ends up leading him into his own messed up version of a Disney movie. When he said he wanted to be a Disney prince as a boy, this was absolutely not what he meant. Especially considering that the princess is also, well... about that... RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS:  Nothing. AUTHORS NOTES: This is the second story in the Seasons of Magic series, so the same “world” as Home is set in. I will continue Home, but this needed to get out. Also, it has obviously been a very long time since I’ve updated and/or written anything of great substance, so please be kind. That said, I do appreciate any concrit if you have it. You do NOT need to read Home to understand this story.

Also a quick message to my readers who are coming back: welcome back! I appreciate you all so much. I know it's been a long, long time since I've updated. A lot has happened in 2 years (for one, I am now teaching full time, and teaching eats all of your extra time). A lot is still happening. But this unprecedented time at home has given me an opportunity to try to write again. Enjoy!

Previous Chapter - Also available on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 1

The speeding truck, rusted out and sputtering, navigated over a narrow gravel driveway and through dense pine forest for a quarter mile off the main highway until the path opened into a clearing. Inside the clearing was a simple country farmhouse with hunter green shutters and aged white siding, sedate and quiet, but for faint white smoke curling out of a tall stone chimney. A vibrant forest behind the house was aflame in brilliant autumnal colors, cloaking the mountain in shades of kingly red and gold as it reached into a stormy sky.

 Chris only wished he could truly appreciate nature’s beauty, rhapsodize on it, photograph it, consider how, even when it seemed like the world was going to shit, there was still… this. But he couldn’t; rather, he kept his eyes keenly affixed on the narrow drive to assure that he and his passenger reached their destination in relative safety.

 Relative, being the operative word.

As though to test him, the truck bounced over a particularly uneven patch of gravel. The rear swerved and his heart jumped to his throat, but he was able to right the vehicle with a steady shift of the steering wheel and a determined clamp of teeth on his lower lip. Only belatedly did he remind himself to breathe, to calm the heart once again beating a heavy tattoo in his chest.

 Chris inhaled deeply, twice, and instantly regretted it. The cabin reeked of wet dog and man, mud, and the metallic tang of blood. His stomach clenched. Giving in, he took his eyes off the road for just a moment to glance at his companion, who had curled up on the truck’s bench seat beside him. The red and blue plaid flannel he used to wrap Dodger’s mangled paw had soaked through and now just looked dark brown.

 “Just a few more seconds, buddy,” he murmured, more to hear himself speak, to reassure himself, to connect again with the world instead of spiraling into another panic attack. He’d been doing so well avoiding them recently, too. “We’re almost there.”

 Chris hadn’t seen it happen, really, the incident that led them to this enchanting farmhouse with the green shutters. They’d been out on the river, he and Dodger, two days into a two-week solo camping sabbatical.  Dodger skipped between stones and barked at random creatures scurrying around the banks of the river while Chris adjusted the nylon fishing line on his pole, attempting to catch dinner. Then he heard a yelp and a splash; when his eyes darted in the direction of the sound, Dodger was already struggling to swim in the swift river current.

 Chris jumped into the icy river immediately, without considering the toll it could take on his unprepared body—the river was just a few feet deep, but it was certainly deep enough and cold enough to freeze every vital organ for a split second and prolong the rescue of his precious friend.

 Fortunately, he’d plucked the pup out of the rushing water by the collar just before Dodger was out of reach, and then trudged slowly back to the embankment through thick muddy riverbed, thinking all was fine now and Dodger simply needed to dry off. Other than struggling in the current, it wasn’t a rare occurrence that Dodger’s natural mischief led him to fall in a body of water—be it natural or manmade, like the swimming pool back in LA. Dodger would fall in, get out, Chris would dry him off and then the dog would go lay down, the natural consequence having fully chastised him for being silly.

 But this wasn’t like that at all. Only when they made it back to dry land did Chris notice the blood dripping freely from the canine’s front paw, made all the worse from the water saturating his fur. Somehow, Chris had kept it together long enough to rip a piece of his flannel shirt off and tightly tourniquet Dodger’s leg; never mind that he had a stack of towels and blankets in a duffel bag a few feet away, which might have been useful—also—to warm a shivering, scared animal.

 Then the anxiety hit him, literally knocked him on his own ass, as he scrambled through his fishing tackle box for the emergency burner phone. The one that could dial out for emergency services and receive calls from his mom, because his mom was the only one with the number.

 The phone still had a charge and the old crappy mobile internet had come through for him when he searched for the closest veterinarian, even all the way out in the middle of the Massachusetts wilderness. He’d practically thrown Dodger into the truck and sped away from the campsite, with the fishing line still dangling in the river. 

 Now that he thought about it, or at least, now that the adrenaline had subsided a bit, he realized the mistake he made. If he even made it back to camp tonight, that pole would probably be long gone. And so was any chance of eating because it would be too dark to do any fishing with the other poles he brought with him. The energy bars and backup rations he packed would only go so far to fill his man-sized stomach—and they were supposed to be provisions to last two weeks. He didn’t want to go back into civilization for at least that long.

 Chris grumbled. This was why he didn’t have kids—he could barely handle his dog’s injuries, let alone anything worse. How would he ever react with an actual human child? Leave another fishing pole in the river? Or, if they were at home, leave the stove on and burn an entire house down?

 The thought was absurd!

 Him having children of his own was a ridiculous idea. He absolutely was not qualified. The fact that his girlfriend was pressuring him to commit to that—to finally settle down—only made matters worse. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to settle down to have a family, but the other person in the relationship had to understand the difference between wanting something and knowing one’s personal limitations. His level of anxiety, despite all the work he had done learning to manage it over the years, was not at the point where he could contemplate children.

 This trauma was a perfect example. Fuck. He probably wasn’t even qualified to have a fur child, now that he thought about. He certainly didn’t feel like he was worthy of the companionship of this perfect spirit lying beside him and whimpering in pain because he hadn’t been paying attention.

 He glanced at Dodger again, but the dog didn’t even pick his head up this time, so he reached out to place a reassuring hand on his back. They’d get to the vet, and everything would be fine. It had to be. He couldn’t lose him.

 A few seconds later, Chris pulled into a parking spot alongside a tiny Toyota Prius, which he found completely incongruous to the rustic storybook farmhouse sitting before it. These places were made for old beaters like his, or something with a little more substance—even if he did appreciate the owner’s care for the environment.

 His old truck creaked to a stop, the noisy clunking machine rattling until it finally fell silent a few seconds later. Dodger whined again and tried to stand on his bad paw, only to slide back down the vinyl seat with the wet shirt rag. He scooped the dog into his arms and pressed his lips to the dog’s head—a completely illogical thing to do at a time like this because it clearly wasn’t going to make Dodger’s paw heal instantly, but it made Chris feel better—and bound up the three front steps toward the second door on the other end of the large porch with the small plaque that read “Dr. Bird, DVM.”

 Grateful the door had been left partially ajar, he nudged his shoulder against it and stepped into a room that looked like any other doctor’s waiting room—human or animal—except for the fact that he was the only person staring at a space he wished were filled with a reception desk with a receptionist. Someone… anyone… who could help Dodger. Immediately. All he found were worn vinyl-cushioned benches, magazines piled on an end table, and lamps glowing soft yellow light into the four corners of wood-paneled walls.

 There was also another door, this one presumably leading further into the house, but it remained firmly shut.

 His anxiety clawed back up his throat and began to strangle him—should he have instead gone to the other vet in the other direction, though another half hour away? Had Dodger lost too much blood? The dog seemed limp in his arms. Was it… was it too late? Should he just barge in through the other door to look for help?

 Chris opened his mouth to yell, but his entreaty died on his lips when the closed door creaked open. A massive cat with a fluffy white coat loped into the room, clearly unphased with the seriousness of the situation. He frowned at the odd creature as it stopped just in front of him, looked up and slowly blinked large jade-green eyes. The proximity of the feline made him uneasy; not only was Dodger uncaring of an animal that he would have otherwise had a real problem with staring up at them, but Chris felt the cat was assessing them frankly, and not in any typical cat-like way.

 The cat made a soft chittering sound, as though trying to communicate with him. Chris’ frown deepened. This was getting them nowhere, fast. And this cat gave off some really fucking weird vibes. And if he weren’t mistaken, it felt like the animal was rolling its eyes in disgust that he, a human, had not been able to understand Cat.

 Was this a dream? Was he hallucinating this? More importantly, what kind of medical professional allowed a cat to be the welcome committee to a place of business, never mind that it was a veterinarian’s office?

 The cat “receptionist” blinked again and sat down heavily, flicking its long tail before emitting a rumbling and, if Chris were being honest, perturbed meow. It echoed in the barren room, but the sound was finally enough to pique Dodger’s interest. The dog turned his head quizzically with perked ears.

 Dodger yipped twice at the animal but didn’t struggle like he wanted to get down and chase the cat. In response, as though they—the dog and the cat—had somehow communicated the problem to each other, the cat stood back up and trotted back to the door and disappeared.

 Chris tried to speak again; a blur of feathers stopped him this time as a large grey bird soared into the room and landed on a perch affixed to the opposite wall. He’d not noticed the protrusion there, as it was made of the same wood as the paneling and blended in with the walls.

 The grey parrot with crimson tail feathers turned to look at him, clucking a few times then saying in a strange parrot voice, “Just a minute! Just a minute!”

 Chris considered turning around and leaving. This was too strange, and his canine companion was too precious to be dealing with a doctor who didn’t have a proper staff and left the care up to a weird fluffball cat and a parrot. When he turned toward the door, the bird suddenly sounded like a Star Wars droid, booping and beeping and trilling like R2D2, then changed to words. “Don’t go! Don’t g—”

 “I’m so sorry!” A new voice—a feminine one, smooth and alto—broke into his periphery. “I was in the middle of something that couldn’t be put down.”

 He whipped around to come face-to-face with a blessedly human figure standing before him, all wind-tousled jet hair and large obsidian eyes. Concern etched an otherwise blemish-free face of smooth tawny skin. She was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld, but that notion, too, was immediately forgotten like the beauty of the landscape outside, in favor of the creature in his arms.

 “My dog, he—” Chris began, snapping out of his momentary trance.

 She swooped into action, flicking her eyes down to Dodger. She hummed and reached for him. “Let me take him back and have a look.”

 “Can’t I go back?” he asked, reluctantly handing Dodger over.

 She cradled the dog to her chest; Dodger didn’t struggle as she spoke softly. “It’ll be okay, Dodger.”

 “You look as white as a ghost,” she said then, her voice now firm. “You need to sit down and calm down. You’re not going to be any help to your dog or to me if you’re freaking us both out during an exam. Let me look at the injury and stop any active bleeding. Then we’ll talk.”

 And with that, she was gone so quickly he could have sworn she had kicked up a cloud of dust in her wake. However, he did what she’d instructed and collapsed onto one of the old benches, then covered his face with his hands and prayed. He didn’t do a lot of it these days, preferring other forms of soul searching, but he did say a few silent words. Dodger needed to be okay. He couldn’t lose this one constant in his hectic, always changing life. At least not until the dog had lived a long, fulfilled life at his side.

 If only his anxiety would let him think positively.

[theworldwithoutmagic]

Decompression - zutara ff

Just wrote this oneshot thursday so its CONTENT HOT OFF THE PRESS. 

Im fresh off a rewatch of A:TLA and I finished Southern Raiders on wednesday with a Mighty Need to write a missing scene. I was so striken by Zutara feels that I had to bang out this one shot in a single day.

Here is 3000 words of shameless enemies-to-bedsharing-trope. Set in missing scene during Southern Raiders.

I really need feedback as iv never written zutara before and idk if I have their Voices down. concrit welcome as id like to improve before a longfic. PLEASE message or comment. 

i also need blogs to follow..

So here we gooooo

—————————————–

Katara and Zuko stop to rest and talk about what happened that day. They get a little closer than expected. Zuko wonders how he became so lucky.

Zuko looks up from Appa’s saddle at Katara, seemingly just as determined to get back quickly as she was on the way here. She is beautiful, he thinks to himself not the first time, even now leaving the scene of an almost murder. Her wrists were flicking occasionally, bending the water in the clouds around them to give them a modicum of safety from any eyes that might look to the skies. He knows she must be exhausted at this point. He saw see the circles under her eyes hours ago. Appa himself is starting to slow down and he knows this pace can’t last forever.

“Katara, we have been flying for hours and Appa needs to rest.” He didn’t mention Katara herself. He knew without asking that she would not appreciate any comments on her ability to keep going. He hoped she might stop and process some of what happened today instead of going full speed back to their training regimen. His uncle would have said so, at least. The day was a lot more intense than even he expected.

“What we need is to get back to Aang. The comet is approaching and this was a waste of time,” Katara said.

“We won’t make it back to Aang at all if Appa collapses and we land in the middle of a fire nation village. Look at him. His eyes are starting to droop.” It was true, the bison was not at full strength. Katara did not turn around but her shoulders dropped a bit. She wouldn’t want to hurt Appa.

“So, where do you have in mind we stop? This is the middle of the fire nation and you are pretty hard to miss,“ she said.

“We can make camp in one of the many caves in this region. Look how rocky it is down there. I know that is how your gang usually hides from the fire nation. I think I see a decent spot down there right now,” he pointed down to an outcropping of rock high on a hillside, protected on all 4 sides from direct view.

Katara remained silent. “If this is some kind of trick Zuko…”

He tamped down the biting response he wanted to give. “Katara, I would not have come here with you and helped you find a firenation ship and captain just to trap you in a random cave. Appa needs rest, that’s it. So do I. and you,” He said, the last bit under his breath.

“Fine.” She said, after looking him in the eyes and finding some answer she wanted. “But only until sunrise. We don’t have time for this.” She snaps the reigns and directs Appa back around towards the overhang. He is relieved she agreed.

When they land, Zuko inspects the cave. It’s not so much of a cave as it is a large overhanging rock. It’s not deep, but big enough to hide a bison in. Unfortunately, he deduces they won’t be able to have a fire tonight. The smoke and light might attract too much attention. They will have to eat from the dried stores and sleep in the dark. He knows Katara will agree with him about the fire. Katara…

He had no idea she was so strong. He keeps thinking back to the sea raven ship. He is pretty sure she bended a living person. Not supposed to be possible, but he guesses there is much he does not know about water bending.

Even now, her back is ramrod straight and she is standing in front of her bedroll a little lost looking now that they arent moving towards a goal. He promised to help her on this mission but he is the last person who knows how to help her with the aftermath. He isn’t sure what he expected from this trip.. things went very differently than he imagined. She needs to talk her brother or Aang or literally anyone other than him, he thinks. He considers that he might be a monster for even suggesting this murder mission as he leads Appa under the rocky overhang.

With the Bison in the “cave” with them, there is not a ton of room. He puts his bedroll by Katara’s where there is a little space and dry ground and pulls out the last jerky they have. Its stale and he thinks he can start to taste the beginnings of mold on his piece. They were preserved in a hurry and it’s been a little too long since the group resupplied. But its food and it’s all they have. He holds one out to Katara.

“Uh, you should eat something.” He tries, “It has been a long day. We have a lot of flying to do to get back to Aang.” Damnit, but it’s not just about the flying. He doesn’t know how to breech this subject.

“Of course we do, Zuko.” She whips around, “I am fine. I didn’t even want to stop.” She still takes the jerky and rips into it. She finally leans back against the wall of the cave, sitting on her bedroll. He watches her face and almost panics. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears and she is nowhere near sleep tonight. It races through his mind again that she faced her mother’s murderer today and is somehow still standing.

“Ok.” is all he says for a while. He has to say something else. What would uncle say? What would the Avatar say? He doesn’t know. He knows she might need more than he can give. In the end he says nothing and silently berates himself. He knows sleep will be a long time coming for both of them.

It starts to rain. He looks out of the wet, terrible cave into the storm. The rain is beautiful in a way. It runs in shining rivulets down the other pale rocks, the nearly full moon reflecting in the puddles, and he tries to imagine what it would be like to bend water instead of this horrible fire. He starts talking and hopes he’s not ruining things again.

“The rain is nice. I’ve always loved the sound. As a child I never hated the rain as much as the other fire benders in the palace. The rain restored the land. Brought life back to the burn scars in the garden from our training.” Then, as an afterthought, “The turtleducks loved it, too.” He thinks that’s what got her to speak.

“It never rained in the south pole. Always snow. I didn’t see the rain until I left with Aang. Standing in the rain for the first time and feeling the pull of each raindrop at the southern air temple is one of my favorite memories.” Katara said. She is staring into the growing tempest outside now too. “I always hoped I would get to see it. My mother used to tell me about the rain from her travels with dad.”

She is sitting against the wall very close to him. The thought crosses his mind that if he scooted over, he could reach out and touch her. He doesn’t think he should. Instead, he quietly, so quietly hes not sure she can hear it over the rain, asks, “Do you want to tell me about her?” He closes his eyes and waits for the anger.

“I would like that.” She whispers. “My mom was not a bender. Her father and both of her sisters were. She lost them all to the fire nation before I was born.” More pain and suffering at the hands of his people, he thinks to himself. “My mother was still powerful in her own way. I remember she helped our tribe remember how to create houses without water benders. There was a while we thought our tribe could not survive without benders to keep the ice at bay. How would we do anything without benders to make new ice houses? But she figured it out.”

Zuko realized all over again what cruelties the fire nation had forced on her people. Taking away the benders of a tribe completely reliant on it for survival. It was only through sheer force of will they were still here. He lets her continue.

“My mother was the best cook in the village. Sokka thinks my cooking is good, but I learned only a little for her before she die- before she was killed.” Tears leaked from her eyes now and her voice shook. “The worst part is Sokka is right. I barely remember her now.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, especially from me. I really hoped that by taking you to her killer I could help you. Help you get closure and a bit of payback. I see now that was a mistake and I’ve made it worse” He chokes out. The whole trip was a mistake. She would never trust him now either, being reminded of all the sins of the fire nation.

“It wasn’t a mistake. Zuko I thought that by coming here I could finally get revenge. Aang was right about that. I was not seeking justice or closure. If my mother’s killer had been that man on the ship, I think I would have killed him.” 

The man she had.. bended. He knew she was not lying right now. “Katara, whatever you did to him, he.. he deserved it.”

“No, he didn’t.” She was still trying to hold back her tears and failing. “I bended his blood Zuko. A technique I swore I would never use. I was just so angry! He had the gall to stand there on the ship meant for raiding my people and claim he didn’t know what I was talking about. Probably just coming from another murderous raid against another town. There was water everywhere, we were on a ship! But I reached inside him and took something that should never be taken. I could do that right now to you, or anyone else.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. Blood bending. He hopes that man never realizes what exactly she did to him. The fire nation would not stop until every waterbender was extinct if they knew that was possible. He is in awe of the woman beside him. “Katara, I think you are amazing.” He blurts out, before he can even explain.

She barks out a half laugh, “What? Zuko you SAW it-” 

“Yes, and that is the first time I have ever seen it. Iv chased you all over the world and seen you fight many times. All those times, you didn’t use that power. Do you know what the fire nation would be doing with that power if they had it? Marching people right into prison camps. Stopping a whole fleet of human hearts before the battle even starts.” He meets her eyes now, “But this blood bending you can do… you didn’t even hurt the man with it. If there is one place its justified to lose yourself, I’d say on your mother’s killer is one. The restraint you show in not using it against every one of your enemies, your enemies who have murdered your family for generations, is more than I have ever had. I would use any weapon at my disposal against Azula or my father if I thought it would give me an edge. You’re nothing but good and even more powerful and amazing than I thought.” He means it. and he hopes she can hear it in his voice.

She only cries more and he thinks he’s made things worse, his eyes close and his heart drops- then he feels her hand on his shoulder. “Is this ok? Zuko, I.. I don’t want to sit alone right now.” She looks exhausted in the weak light of the moon filtering through the storm as she leans into him. He almost forgets to answer.

“Yeah, this is fine, this is.. this is fine.” Zuko doesn’t know what to do. He has never been able to comfort anyone with his touch. He slides his arm around her shoulders because thats what it seems like she wants. She exhales shakily and turns further into him and his heart skips a beat. She is warm in the chilly air and clinging to him like she needs it to breath. She is almost in his lap and he has already never been this close with anyone.

“I’m not as strong as you think Zuko.” she whispers into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for how angry I’ve been at you. I knew this whole time, ever since the South Pole, there has been good in you too. I just didn’t want to be wrong again, after the crystal caves so I lashed out. I was fighting my instincts to trust you. This journey just proves to me again that I was right from the beginning.” A pause, her tears coming harder. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess right now.”

“Il do whatever you need of me Katara.” He says quietly, instead of what he wants to say. I need this too. You are stronger than I think. Don’t ever leave this spot. He tightens his embrace and she does too.

They listen to the storm outside. Finally, Katara sobs openly against him. He rubs circles on her back and lets her cry. He doesnt press her to talk anymore. He breaths into her hair and can’t pinpoint what he has done to earn this trust, but he will do everything in his power to make sure she is never this upset again. If he has to personally kill every fire bender who has wronged her. Eventually her sobs clear and she relaxes, still not letting go of his shirt. They fall into steady silence, with only the sound of the rain outside, and he can only think of how wonderful it feels to be a comfort to another person instead of a source of pain. 

It gets steadily chillier in the cave and he eventually releases her to reach for her blankets and pull them over her shoulders. He’s not going to push her off anytime soon, he will let himself freeze to death and not sleep a wink if she needs it. When he brings his arms back around, Katara still doesn’t speak and pulls them down from their sitting position leaning against the wall. His heart is about to beat out of his chest and he knows she can probably feel it. She pulled them so he’s lying down on his bedroll and placed her head on his chest like she means to sleep this way.

Zuko is absolutely frozen. One of her knees is resting on his thigh, her arms are around his torso, and she is so soft. He wants to curl around her. He wants to express something unnamed.

“Zuko, you home?” He can hear the smile in her voice. At least she is feeling better, his racing mind supplies. “I hope this is ok too. Please.”

He stiltedly brings his arms back around her now prone form. He lets one of his long legs tangle with hers. His shirt rides up and her fingers are quick to find a bit of his skin. He doesn’t know if this is right but it feels like it is. He sighs and tries to live in this moment forever before he speaks and ruins it.

“Katara, I just don’t want you to regret any of this tomorrow and realize that I’m the enemy again. I don’t know if I can take it if you hate me again tomorrow.” He admits. He pulls her even closer anyway. Every part of their bodies touching. Gods she feels so good against him. Like she was made to be there. Why has he never done this with anyone before? “And iv never…” He tries to pick the right words. “I’ve never been this vulnerable with anyone.”

“I promise you that I won’t hate you again. I’ve wanted to trust you for so long and truthfully, I already did. I wouldn’t have come with you if I didn’t.” Katara said, “This was not easy for you either. Offering to take me across the world where we planned to murder a man from your country in cold blood. I would have never known who killed my mother without you and no one else in my entire life would have come with me for this. Aang and Sokka never understood what I needed and they still don’t. I love them both but I knew you wouldn’t judge me no matter what I chose, even if I was rude to you this whole time.” 

“I could never judge any choice you make.” He shivered and lowered his face to her hair. “I’ve admired you since I met you. Even when I sent pirates after you. I really hoped you would choose my side then. I’m glad you didn’t now.”

Katara seems embarrassed for a moment and squirms. He jerks slightly when a knee brushes an intimate part of him and he feels a slight grin from her against his shoulder. He has no idea if that was an accident but his head is spinning. She speaks, “I know fire nation royalty aren’t particularly touchy feely.” She runs a slender hand down his ribcage and he struggles not to let on how much the sensations are affecting him. “but my people are. and it has been what seems like a lifetime since anyone has just let me cry and comforted me like a human. Even when I was still at home.. our village lost so many of its softer customs to the demands of war.”

“The only people who have ever even hugged me in my entire life were my mother and my uncle, Katara.” He admits, embarrassed too. “I.. you.. this is nice.” he settles on. Nice doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Katara only hums. He feels her sigh contentedly and hopes she is done teasing him. Katara is pushed against every plane of his body and he thinks his heart might still fail from how lucky he is to have earned her trust despite everything between them. Her breaths slow until he is sure she is asleep. The rain still falls outside and he watches her and he watches the rain and just feels until finally the warmth and contentment begins to pull him toward sleep. His last thought is about how he hopes he will get the chance to do this again one day… tomorrow they have to go back to the Avatar and face their destinies.

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 1/2 - Maeve

AN: Hi, everyone! I suppose this is my debut as a fan fiction author, and I’m super nervous. I never thought that I would be a writer, myself, but when I suggested a Vatya fic outline, some of you lovely people encouraged me to give it a try. ConCrit is always welcome! I tried my hardest, and I hope you enjoy! EEK!

August air is like a woman in heat: wet, warm, and not in the mood to do favors.

The short walk from her baby blue Beetle to the cafeteria doors left Katya sweating like a hooker in church. “Part-time-clown working a corner in the Red Light District” was a solid look, but Katya was beginning to doubt that it was the right choice for the first day of the new school year. The fabric of her long-sleeved dress clung to her skin uncomfortably.

If the funfetti doesn’t cover my sweat stains, I’m suing, Katya thought.

She tried to smooth down the sheer fabric out of habit. Katya took a deep breath before throwing open the glass door and bracing herself for a head-on collision with nostalgia. White floors, harsh light, kitchen clatter—too much for a Wednesday.

It’s an A/B day. First period: English, room 316. She repeats the mantra again and again in her head. If she loses the thought, she’ll never be able to find her way back.

Pussy, she chastised.

Katya’s bright red combat boots plunk across the linoleum and up three flights of rubber stairs. She might apologize for shattering the silence if anyone else were around, but the English corridor remains silent.

She, In her loud dress and noisy shoes, looked very out of place.

Mother, I’ve breached a sterile environment.

The white walls and white floors seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. Katya had forgotten how sad the white looked without students against it.

Mrs. McPhee’s door, like all the other doors, was an unremarkable brown. Katya stared into it and tried to reconcile the empty canvas with the image of the imp of an english teacher described by the upperclassmen . No dice. Perhaps her friends were exaggerating their hatred for the woman behind the unassuming door. It would be nice to think the best of  people, but she knew she lived in a time when that didn’t happen often. People suck; get with the program.

An eternity later the bell rang and Katya got to her feet before the horde could pull a mufasa on her. The unremarkable door swung open, revealing a short woman with a tight face and copper hair.

This could be trouble, an alarm flashed in her mind.

However, her body did not have time to trigger a fight or flight response. The older woman flashed Katya a bright smile, taking in her first student of the year. Mrs. McPhee enthusiastically extended her hand for Katya to shake.

“Hi there! I’m Mrs. McPhee! It’s so nice to meet you!” She all but chirped.

Katya snapped out of her thoughts and accepted the gesture. “I’m Katya. It’s nice to meet you too,” the teen delivered the customary response before Mrs. McPhee ushered her inside.

“Feel free to sit anywhere! I need to run to the copy room and grab a few things for class today. There’s an ice breaker activity on the tables that you can get started on,” she said before ducking out into the hall.

Someone’s had their morning coffee, Katya quipped, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile.

Familiar faces began to fill the chairs at the tables, but Katya had yet to find one she’d spoken more than a sentence to. The presence of her long time crush, Trixie Mattel, in the seat across from her did nothing to quell her growing anxiety, either.

A frantic Mrs. McHale returned with arms full of papers shortly after the end of the passing period. Katya could hear the eyes rolling at the sight of her. Cue the secondhand embarrassment.

Copies of the syllabus made their way around the room. Katya tried desperately not to wince as her English teacher introduced the “phone spa” where phones would live during class.

It wasn’t hard for Katya to become lost in her own thoughts once again.

Is there going to be a project on the summer reading? Is my copy of All the Light We Cannot See—which I’ve annotated the crap out of—going to be of any use to me at all?

The blonde was fucked if they were going to have to do an in-depth analysis of the text. The only thing she could remember about it was that the girl, Marie-Or-Something, was blind. And that only stuck with her because of the cackling fit she had on the floor when her mom asked her why she chose the book. And, of course, it was stupid. It was too hilarious that a book with a title about not being able to see the light had a protagonist who was blind, and thus, literally could not see the light.

The thought brought a smile to Katya’s face even now. It was unlikely that Anthony Doerr intended to make an ironic joke about a blind girl, but Katya liked to believe that humor wasn’t dead. Was it terrible? Yes. But come on, she literally couldn’t see the light. Because she was blind. Katya snorted at the mental picture that formed and immediately covered her mouth. Scanning the room, Katya determined that she hadn’t drawn any attention to herself. That was, until she caught Trixie Mattel’s unimpressed gaze.

Go figure, Katya scowled, I bet she thinks I’m keeping squirrels in the space between my ears. The teen could feel her cheeks flush beet red in embarrassment. She darted her eyes down to the syllabus, suddenly finding classroom procedures intriguing.

Fuck! Shit. She thinks I’m a freak, and she’s going to tell all her friends. Everyone will stare. You’re an embarrassment, a fool a—

Lady luck chose the opportune time to smile down on Katya, for it was an A/B day, and that meant classes were much shorter. The shrill bell sounded over the loudspeaker and silenced her pleas to be wished out of existence.

Katya’s second period was library aide. It was the perfect opportunity for her to get ahead on homework when she wasn’t needed. However, she knew full well that she’d spend the hour and a half people watching and reading obscure works.

The library was empty this morning and she cou;d take a moment to compose herself. Mrs. Slay, the librarian, gave her a brief runthrough of her duties and explained library procedures. Afterwards, she released Katya to her own devices.

Katya had never actually spent much time in the school’s library. The harsh, fluorescent lighting did nothing to make the room look cozier. Dozens of tall wooden shelves framed large areas along with some extra shorter shelves of books.

Katya trailed her fingers along dusty spines, hoping that a title would catch her eye.

Her third period class, theater, was on the first floor. A lot of people found it weird that a self-identifying technician was still involved in normal theater classes. Katya began her career on the stage, though. Her stage fright and lack of singing and dancing abilities were not about to stop her from growing as a performer. She promised herself that she’d audition for the play this year.

Ginger was waiting for Katya in their usual seats when she entered the black box. The blonde smiled at her best friend, taking a moment to look over the other faces in the space before joining her long-time companion.

Unfortunately, another year had not flushed out the riff-raff. Katya scowled, new year, same bullshit. The blonde shared a knowing glance with Ginger.

Rolaskatox—the inseparable trio of  Roxy, Alaska, and Detox—remained front and center. Sharon and Jinkx camped out in the back, and Tammy sat awkwardly on her own with Raja and Manila nearby. Pearl and Trixie gossiped to their left.

After Ms. P, the theater teacher for juniors and seniors, passed out the syllabus, they gathered in a circle. Playing stale warm-up games never failed to put the majority of the class in a pissy mood. It was no secret that half of the room hated the other half of the room; times when they were all forced to work together were toxic.

The second activity Ms. P had put on the agenda for that morning was not any better: duet scenes. The oblivious woman thought it would be a fantastic idea to assign partners at random for the scenes. Katya’s heart jumped in her throat when their teacher called Alaska Honard’s name along with hers.

Alaska had long, silky golden hair, soft pink lips, and big doe eyes. She was easily the tallest girl in their grade (and quite possibly in their school). She had legs for days, and they looked stunning under that short green cheer skirt in Katya’s opinion. And most of the student body’s opinion. Alaska might have been the nicest girl on the cheer squad, but Katya was sure that this encounter could still be fatal.

Katya hesitantly approached Alaska, who had yet to stop chatting with Roxy and Detox, and cleared her throat.

“Um, Alaska, I have our scene…If you want to go work on it…” Katya trailed off, digging the toe of her boot into the black floor.

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at her. She could feel the eye roll and once over from tweedle dee and tweedle dum. Instead, she focused on the tight smile the blonde in the middle gave her. Alaska nodded and followed her out of the black box.

The two girls made their way to the anti-lobby in without a word. Neither of them knew how to break the silence between them.

It was Katya who bit the bullet “Look, Alaska, I know you’re not thrilled about being my partner. But I care about the work I do in this class, and I know you do too. So can we just—”

“I’m sorry about them,” Alaska cuts her off. The confusion and shock is visible on Katya’s face, and Alaska feels the need to further elaborate. “Rotox…they’re rotted cunts sometimes. I think you’re a great actress, and I’m actually pretty glad to be working with you,” Alaska confessed . She ducked her head, and a long, golden lock fell into her eyes. Katya had to clutch the fabric at her thighs in order to resist the urge to brush it behind the taller girl’s ear.

“Okay then,” Katya breathed a sigh of relief, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Katya could not believe the success she’d had on her scene with Alaska in theater. Maybe cheerleaders—well, certain cheerleaders—weren’t so bad after all. Katya was feeling optimistic as she made her way back up to the third floor for biology.

Are all biology classrooms supposed to reek of formaldehyde? Katya wrinkled her nose in disgust. There were tables made up of four desks clustered in front of the whiteboard at the front of the room. The back half of the room contained lab tables and equipment. Katya figured they would not be spending the majority of their time in there. Again, not wanting to draw attention to herself, she slipped into an empty desk near the back of the room. Their teacher, Mrs. Yates, shuffled around marking students present—to save time, Katya supposed. She finished moments before the tardy bell rang, and the students quieted as she took her place at the front of the room.

Mrs. Yates opened her mouth when the door slammed open. The culprit was captain of the cheer team, Violet Chachki, or what Katya swears, must be the devil in high heels. Satan made eye contact with a startled Mrs. Yates and lazily flashed her a small slip of paper. Hot pink: Coach Calhoun’s signature color.

“You must be Violet Chachki!” The friendly woman greeted. “Why don’t you take a seat next to Katya in the back?”

The gentle instruction wasn’t an option for Violet. The only empty seats left were at Katya’s table. Katya felt as though Mrs. Yates had just declared it open season on quirky blondes with questionable fashion sense. Dread pooled in her stomach; she was too young to die.

Similarly, Violet visibly recoiled at the idea of sitting next to some theater clown. Violet’s withering gaze focused on Katya, but she was certain it wasn’t her that the fuming brunette was plotting to crucify. Katya pitied whichever of her bimbo cheerleader friends forgot to save her a seat.

Violet chose the desk across from Katya. The blonde didn’t resist the opportunity to take a magnifying glass to the untouchable girl, herself.

Violet chachki was stunning. If looks could kill, the school would be a cemetery by now. She was a dark horse, a vixen, a black widow, the kind of beautiful that hurts you if you get too close. A girl like that did not belong here. Katya watched in awe as Violet’s manicured hand brushed long onyx strands back into place.

Unfortunately, Katya was no Double O Seven, and it didn’t take Violet long to pick up on the attention she was getting. The same painted fingers removed themselves from dark, silky waves and ventured closer to Katya’s face. They snapped suddenly, and Katya almost fell out of her blue plastic chair.

She only had a second to recover when Violet spat venom at her. “Hey, Bozo the Cunt, has the lack of oxygen in your tiny car affected your ability  to function, or are you just simple?”

“Bozo the Cunt”? That’s new. Mother, I’ve made a name for myself. Katya brought her eyes up to look at Violet. Her failure to provide a timely response did her no favors and the she-demon’s ruby red lips curled into a snarl. If Katya could feel her legs, she would be running to the nearest place of worship.

“Quit staring at me, freak,” Violet hissed. Katya met violet’s piercing eyes with her own sheepish blue ones.

“I-I uhm…Sorry. You look nice today?” Katya offered with shrugged shoulders. She wouldn’t buy her excuse either.

The brunette rolled her brown eyes, fishing her sparkly red phone from her bag and leaving Katya to pick at her hands.

Mrs. Yates saved Katya’s cuticles when she passed out materials for the students to make makeshift nameplates for their desks. Katya was a sucker for crafts. She wasted no time in writing her name in thick, red letters. A large, yellow sickle and hammer ran through the center of the page and black Russian characters accented her work of art. Katya was proud of herself. Capping the black marker, she took a risk and peeked at Violet’s handiwork.

Violet chose a clean and classical look for her own sign. V I O L E T was spelled out in deep purple, looping script.

Katya sighed. It was going to be a long year if the ice queen froze her out completely. At least Katya enjoyed biology.

After everyone was finished with their nametags, Mrs. Yonkin passed out an ice breaker activity designed to help the students get to know everyone at their table. Unfortunately, it was an activity where you had to interview a partner, and Katya’s partner was clearly unwilling.

“I don’t see why we have to talk,” Violet complained. “Trade papers with me so we can fill out our own answers. I’m tired of working with people that are not myself.”

Katya couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted. It wasn’t like she had herpes or something. They didn’t even have to share their entire life stories with each other; a favorite color is as generic as it gets. If the bitch wanted to be difficult, Katya sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

“Look, Princess, I don’t know anything about science other than it’s really good for you,“ Katya bit back, “But I haven’t done enough crack to melt my brain. Do you honestly think people would believe that you could produce chicken scratch like this?” The blonde gestured pointedly to the top of her own page where she had scrawled out her name. Violet pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh and I’m also not bad at science. It was a joke, A bad one,” Katya tried to assure the frustrated girl in front of her. Her words of comfort did little to change her new partner’s mood, though. She tried again, “What’s your favorite color?”

[stargazing-enby]

What about those of us who take writing seriously and want readers to feel comfortable being honest in their responses? Why do we have to suffer from the culture you've created that serves only your needs? Part of being a writer is learning how to take concrit. If you don't care about becoming better, then why do you care about criticism? I miss the days when writers actually cared about the quality of their work.

You can:

- State in the author notes that you like and appreciate concrit and any other kind of comment from your readers.

- Write professionally, publish your novels and earn money from them. Those are the stories that deserve criticism, because people pay to read them and they are expected to be high quality and professional.

- Understand that most fanfic writers are not professionals; just random people like you and I who use their free time to put the stories in their minds into words that you can then read for free, and stop expecting fanfic to be of any particular level of quality to stop being disappointed when it doesn't reach your standards.

Fic is not like published books. Fic writers have other professions, other fields of expertise. Most importantly, not all of them want to become better at writing. Some do, but fanfiction is inherently not about that. It's about everyone being able to share their stories with the world in hopes someone else will enjoy them, or learn something from them, or feel emotions with them. Again: FOR FREE and AS A HOBBY. Fanfiction is about writing what you want, how you want, no matter who you are, where you're from, what your age is or whether you have enough skill, time or energy to even consider writing professionally. In fanfiction, all these things don't matter, because everyone is allowed to be creative and share their stories with the world! Fanfiction is tearing down the walls, saying 'fuck it' to the people who decide who gets to share their stories and who doesn't.

The reader of a published book has every right to comment on its quality because they paid for it, expecting to find something of professional quality in its pages. If you clicked on a fic, you did it knowing full well the writer could be literally anyone—of any age, of any background, of any skill level—who had an idea for a story and wanted to tell it. If you dislike the fic, you are allowed and expected to close the page and move on with your life at the amazing cost of 0€. And if you did like it, but are frustrated because you think it could be better, you can rant about it with your partners, friends, whoever. Privately. Because if the author posted it like that, unless stated otherwise, it's because they consider the story is finished and have posted it so people might enjoy it.

If you don't agree with this, say it in your author notes! You'll get the concrit you want, and we'll all be happy and comfortable with the way people interact with the content we've put out there.

And before you say it, yes, I have considered stating in my author notes that I don't take concrit. You know why I don't? Because I know fic writers who have done this and immediately received comments insulting them for "trying to police what I can and can't say". Like it's somehow incredibly hard and distressing for these readers to respect another person's very reasonable boundaries and keep the things they didn't like to themselves.

My post is about unsolicited constructive criticism. You need to understand that the one you personally get is always going to be solicited, but that's not everyone's case.

Lastly, I personally do care about the quality of my work. That is why I have alpha and beta readers: to become better on my own terms, with people who can assist me privately. And if you want to help other fic writers become better at writing, you can offer to do alpha and beta work for people who want it! You'll be able to correct other people's writing to your heart's desire and know that they will not only accept and appreciate your help, but also credit you for helping them tell the story they wanted to tell. But you need to understand not everyone wants to get better. Not everyone wants their stories to show a particular level of skill. Some people just want to tell the story as it comes to their minds and be done with it, and that's okay, because fanfic is free, fanfic is a hobby, and fanfic is about everyone being able to tell their own stories. Not just the few people deemed apt for the job by a capitalist, patriarchal, white supremacist society.

Tell me, if you found a DeviantArt account with fanarts that look clearly amateur, having no idea of the background or even the age of the artist, would you leave them a comment telling them everything they could change in the drawing to make it better? No. You'd close their page and keep scrolling. Well, fanfiction should not be different.

[perkynurples]

Are you still doing the fanfic asks? Can I ask 8,10,15 and 19?

I am, thank you! :D

8. What is a scene you wrote that you are most proud of?

Ahh that really tends to change by the fic, but looking way back? The ending to Nothing Gold Can Stay, probably, because of the sheer amount of time and work and just words it took to get there?? I’d been planning on ending it on that note ever since I first started writing the damn thing, and with the direction the fic ended up taking, it’s a miracle I actually got there! 

From more recent memory, I’m really proud of the moonlight pier talk from Chapter 4 of Welcome to Gusu, because I think that’s when I first realized what direction the fic was really going to go in. Which sounds silly, but up until that point, I wasn’t sure if I was striking the balance between funny and serious, and after that, I just knew.

10. When you write fics, how much of canon are you willing to ignore/skip over?

In my head, canon is just an overcomplicated pizza and I’m picking off the toppings I hate and tossing them to the ducks.

No, in all honesty, sometimes I get stuck on, like, this is so OOC, or I absolutely have to transmute this one tiny canon event into my super weird AU, but then I’m always reminded that we really ARE all doing TRANSFORMATIVE fiction, and then I don’t feel as bad about the numerous silly AUs my mind comes up with. (I still get unduly excited about figuring out how to make said canon events fit, no matter how different the AU, I gotta admit)

15. At what point in writing a fic, do you decide to quit?

Ohh, hmm. I have quit on fics before, and most of the time, it was just me losing passion - my stupid brain would pick up another idea and latch onto that, and I couldn’t put in the work to finish the old idea. But these days I’m trying my damnedest to be better at committing to a thing - used to be that I was incapable of reading other people’s fics while I was working on my own, because I’d lose what fragile confidence in my skills I had at the time, but fortunately I’m over that now.

19. How do you handle negative comments?

BAD. I have been writing for a long time, but if I need concrit, I ask people I actually trust to give good concrit, because as mentioned before, my confidence in my skills is... a fluctuating thing, to say the least. Plus I feel like we’re all writing for free, in our free time, for our own enjoyment and others’, and the best that we can do for each other is comment some nice words if we liked the thing, or click out of the tab if we didn’t. It’s that simple. If the author wanted an attempt at critique, or spell checks, or, I don’t know, random britpicking, they would have asked, believe me. Just be nice in fanfic comments, we’re all just trying to make the words go a certain way to make ourselves smile, that’s it.

This was amazing, thank you for asking so many! :D

[trulycertain]

All right, so I’ve had a couple of people come to me asking if I can beta for them, which is one part terrifying to one part flattering, and I’ve had several conversations this week with followers about writing stuff. And about writing improvement.

I think I have some Thoughts.

Look, in my opinion, I'm quite often a terrible writer. I’m self-taught, I’ve picked up some bad habits, and my grammar is... um. Let’s just ignore my grammar. I need to refresh several things. (Where the hell does a semi-colon go in a list? Please. Help. Also, I need someone to surgically extract about half my adverbs.)

But I see so many people ripping into new ficwriters with that old-school LJ "sporking" mindset and crying "MARY SUE!!!" and... honestly?

That's not criticism, that's... shiticism. Excuse my French.

Yes, sometimes someone has a bit of an ego on them, especially if they’re new to a skill. That might grate on you. Fair enough. But if they’re not hurting anyone or forcing you to read, ripping into a new writer teaches them nothing except to shut up and be afraid. If someone's actually willing to learn and put the effort in and this matters to them, why crap on something they've put their heart into? Especially if one doesn't have to read it or pay for it.

I see so many self-conscious ficwriters who either don't dare write anything or define themselves entirely by "Look! I'm so much better than those self-insert/Sue/[whatever's out of vogue now] writers!" and... that doesn't always teach you to get out of negative patterns. Often it just inculcates you into different negative patterns, and a crab-bucket mentality where you and your feedbackers are so busy panicking and dragging each other down you don't get anything written.

I'll be honest, overpowered OCs are usually not my cup of tea as a reader. But I'm not going to wander in and tear someone's fic apart, and if someone comes to me for help, I am certainly not going to take that trust and hurt them with it.  I see a lot of nicely done OCs because of being in RPG fandoms. I love watching people build protags with distinct voices and backstories they've put a lot of heart into. And statistically, yeah, sometimes you get stuff old-school fandom would call Sue-ish, but I don't think a beginner story where someone feels out the ropes and is proud of themselves for writing is going to ruin my day or destroy the world. Why bother being a jerk about it? And how does that ever teach someone to write?

Five times now, from different followers, I’ve heard things like, "A commenter tore my story apart, and I still remember it, and I cried but it was such good constructive criticism." And it might just have been a bad day, but if someone made you cry? That’s... probably not constructive criticism.

If people had treated me when I started drawing the way a lot of people treat new writers in fandom - 

Actually, no, scratch that. Some people in real life did treat me like that when I picked up a pencil. That meant I put it down again pretty fast as a kid and didn't even try to draw until adulthood, when I was scared stiff and fought the impulse to hide everything I was working on. And I didn’t start again because of tough love, I started because people encouraged me.

Everyone goes, "Those poor kids!" but I don't really care if a writer's six or sixty, the principle of "be a decent teacher" applies.

Silencing is not teaching. If someone’s left scared and despairing and stops writing, you have taught them nothing. You’ve failed.

Random anecdote:

When I was looking at going semi-pro (long time ago, and bluntly put, I wasn’t brave enough at that point), I used to be on a writing forum. They prided themselves on their merciless criticism and their “I’m just being honest!” 

And you know what happened? Crab bucket.

No-one ever tried to get anything published or optioned, no-one ever went to go and try and find an agent, because they were all too busy tearing each other's stuff down to feel better. They might have had some good points, once, but it got buried in the echo chamber and the self-importance.

I went in expecting pros to be brutal, to have to gird myself all the time. And they... weren't. Because I'd learned to write partly in crab buckets. And the pros, the real pros, know well enough not to do that. Because they’ve got less to prove, and a lot of them are readers themselves, or were fans themselves once. They want new stuff in the field, not to scare someone off writing forever, because then they'll have no new colleagues and nothing to read. 

The worst that'll happen is the slush pile, and that just means hearing nothing or a form letter. (Very few pub houses do bit-by-bit critique rejection letters these days, and if they do, the good side of it is you've caught an editor or an intern's attention and they cared enough to go through it. And they may remember your name next time.) I got rejected by Clarkesworld. And I had the shakes sending my stuff in, but when I got the rejection? It actually... didn't hurt. Because I was so proud of myself for even trying and being brave enough to do it, and hell, getting seen by a slush pile intern in the same magazine that published Alastair Reynolds and Neil Gaiman. Because it was proof I'd tried and once I'd done the big scary thing, I could do all the smaller magazines and the anon stuff.

"Tearing someone's fic apart" is not criticism, it's fuckwittedness, and if someone knows how to be a decent beta, they don’t do it. A good reader recognises their own bias and realises that they’re coming in with subjective thoughts and skewed views of their own, and doesn’t represent themself as the only authority. 

If you’re here for actual writing advice and not just a rant (I am so sorry), here’s some advice I’ve given a couple of mutuals. This is what works for me, and it might not work for everyone else. I tried?

I had to stop associating feedback/concrit with personal validation, because that made writing an emotionally fraught activity rather than something safe. So I never have friends beta read or edit my work, because I want a professional boundary or a common goal there. I let myself make mistakes and grin at "This is awesome!" comments with fic, because it's a practice ground where I'm just doing my best, rather than trying to ask for money with it or make a career out of it. It lets me relax. I definitely don't mind concrit and rather like it; it's not the thing itself, it's having a pseudonymous boundary. For that reason, I still don't have friends beta read me. Strangers, fine, friends, no.

A lot of people tell me "bloody hell you're prolific." Well, that one's partly unemployment, can't lie. But before that, when I was working and studying...  Learning to write aimlessly changed everything. Doesn't have to be big, doesn't have to be your next novel or a completed short story. I drabbled, focused on 4/500-word snippets and just capturing a mood/place/concept or building the start of a character, whatever took my fancy. Hell, for six months I took phrases I'd read on billboards as daily prompts. Basically, the aim is to start associating writing with fun and relaxation rather than pressure, and to get into the habit of sitting and doing it. 

I tend to write longhand (for original, not for fic; it's how I keep the mental lines drawn). That sounds like a helluva lot of work, I know, but it also lets you see your progress so it's not just some... theoretical thing in cyberspace that you can’t quantify. (God, now I sound like I'm from 1995.)

I still am absolute shite at outlining when it's for fic. I'm too relaxed, but I try my best. What got me learning to do it for original and completely changed my process was Scrivener. (Also very good for essays!)

Relatedly, the final thing that made me get into a consistent writing habit was NaNoWriMo. It forced me into it because bluntly, I really wanted half-price Scrivener. And it never wore off. Three years later, I'm here. You might be too busy, too ill or too tired for it, and just not be into it, and that's OK, but a challenge like that can be fun.

If concrit and idea exchange are important to you, it may seriously be worth looking into writing groups, in real life and online. Absolutewrite, for instance, is very publishing-focused and a really good group.

And, most importantly of all:

Don’t give up. It gets easier.

[attackofthezee]

So I’ve started to type this exact post up on at least 4 different posts dealing with the whole Unsolicited Concrit Thing but every time I just end up reblogging it without comment instead but I have some fucking thoughts. 

(I would like to preface this with the fact that this is NOT a ‘normal, nice Lizzy post’ because I am so angry at some of the arguments for unsolicited construction criticism that I feel like I could breathe fire.) 

Ya’ll we have been discussing this shit for like 15 years at least. And I’m only using ‘15 years’ as a time because that’s how long I’ve been lurking in fandom spaces to see this shit being discussed every couple of years. It’s probably been going on longer! People have probably been arguing that they somehow have the right to share their shitty unsolicited opinions without being told they’re being a dick since the ability to comment directly to an author on their work became a thing. There was probably some asshole at a Shakespeare production going ‘But William, it doesn’t make sense that Romeo and Juliet had to die, here’s how I think you should fix it!’ (This is hyperbole don’t at me, though tbh I can see it.) 

People have already covered gift economy and like, whether or not you yourself as the person wanting to leave unsolicited ‘advice’ are actually qualified to do so. It has probably been beaten to death and tbh if you’ve been in fandom spaces for more than a couple years and haven’t fucking gotten it you probably aren’t ever going to get it, but the point fucking remains that no one is asking to be made to feel like shit just by posting a fic. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen ‘if you don’t want concrit you shouldn’t post your fanfic’ which is just... Not Good. Jesus christ, there has been 15 years of consent politics happening since I stumbled into fandom spaces as a wide-eyed, fresh-faced child, the “well they’re practically asking for it” argument should be as dead as Cassie Clare’s credibility. 

I’m relatively new to the whole frequently posting fics thing but I’m also a fully formed adult person who has lurked her way through some shitty times in this fannish world. I have the ability (most days) to let negative comments that are meant to be ‘helpful’ roll off my back. I laugh at shitty hate anons or make stupid poems out of their messages. I can choose to respond to only the positive parts of a ‘here’s a good thing I liked and here’s a thing I didn’t like’ sort of comment, I can even say ‘hey I’m sorry if this made you uncomfortable, let me tag/warn for it’ when someone points out something problematic in one of my fics. I’ve even been known to fix the shitty thing if it’s an easy enough fix! Hell, there are even people who comment on my fics regularly and who are generally positive beings in my fic writing life who I wouldn’t even mind a private message being like ‘I was wondering if you’d mind talking about *insert random issue in one of my fics*’ or an offer to beta or whatever. 

But there are also people who are entering into their first experiences with fannish works (and the fannish world in general!) and if you think your opinion on what they’re doing wrong is so fucking important that you need to disobey the fucking implied Concrit Not Welcome Here of posting a fic without explicitly asking for concrit then I genuinely want to meet your fucking parents so I can ask them how they raised someone to be so fucking entitled, to think they are so important to the fucking universe that their opinion is the only one that matters even when that opinion hurts someone. And when preventing the hurt of another person is as simple as just saying nothing. Literally! That’s all you have to do! 

And this is not to say that there AREN’T people who would love to get advice on writing their fic but 99.99% of the time they are going to outwardly say that they’d like advice!  And throwing your advice out when it’s not asked for is the equivalent of looking at some random person in a bathroom and telling them you think the shade of lipstick they’re wearing looks hideous and they should wipe it off. If they wanted to know what you thought of their lipstick they’d fucking ask. 

[kuriquinn]

Prompt/Request - Gal Friday [Pt 2]

Anonymous said:

Your stories are frigging awesome. I fell in love with Gal Friday and it’s the best boss and Asst fic I have ever read in any fandom. You made Sakura so Bamf without Mary sue tendencies. I am desperately hoping for a small sneak peek into Sakura and Sauce's interactions at the office from Sauce's Point of view. It can just be a one-shot as I know you are very busy. Take your time and keep up the awesomeness Kuri.

AN: Well, I was eventually going to continue this one but I figured, why not, let’s treat it like a prompt/request :P Also, I’m posting early because I might not have time tomorrow and I don’t like to use the queue option because for some reason it mucks with my formatting...

Once again I shamelessly stole from Suits, but I just love the idea of Sakura Haruno being as chill and confident as Donna Paulsen. Inner Sakura is totally reigning in this fic…

Sasuke arrives work the next morning with a throbbing headache and a larger than usual disdain for the world.

He hates mornings on principle, but powers through them because he has to. Today he’s regretting that second tumbler of whiskey – alcohol tolerance is one of the few areas that he doesn’t shine – and wishing he could have just stayed in bed.

The surreal meeting with someone named Haruno feels like no more than a dream, and he thinks it’s entirely conceivable that he hallucinated her –

Except when he exits the elevator and heads into his office, there is a perplexingly familiar pink haired person standing by his desk.

What the…?

He strides forward, trying to disguise his confusion with a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, his head pulsing painfully with every word. He hopes to convey several other questions with that one demand -  how did you get in the building without identification, who let you up, why wasn’t I informed?

“I have my ways,” she informs him, sounding maddeningly cheerful and enigmatic as she hands him a cup of coffee. “Here – black, no sugar and a dash of cinnamon and chili power.”

He blinks, so caught off balance by the segue that he automatically reaches for the cup.

“How do you know that’s how I take my coffee,” he asks, eyes flicking disdainfully down to the cup, all the while blaming sleep-deprivation and the hangover for his uncharacteristic malleability this morning.

“The same way I know you’ve decided to hire me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I’m going to hire you because I haven’t called security yet.”

“Oh, I knew you were hiring me the second you let me help sneak you out of that soiree early,” she retorts easily as he shifts in surprise – he doesn’t remember that – and continues smugly, “I did tell you I know people better than they know themselves.”

Sasuke considers her again for a further minute, and then relaxes. He’s not sure if it’s in resignation or acceptance. At least she’s dressed appropriately for work today, pink hair aside. And she brought him caffeine, which is a start.

“Fine,” he says, reaching for his chair. “When Hokumono gets in tell her –”

“Already done.”

He raises an eyebrow, only slightly taken aback. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“While that’s not outside of my power, no, I had Nanmono-san reassign her,” she informs him unconcernedly. As if there’s nothing outstanding about some strange woman walking into a major business and ordering a man three times her size to reallocate another employee.

“Where?”

“Shikamaru Nara.”

Sasuke’s mouth twitches, because he knows how much that will piss off the other man – and have the added bonus of ensuring he can’t nod off watching clouds. Hokumono Tayuya swears like a Yankī at the most random moments, and he’s pretty sure she would rather head a biker gang than be working as a corporate assistant. He vaguely recalls hearing that a powerful relation or something got her the job – which she kept due to the general uselessness of the former CEO and Sasuke’s own distaste for filling out paperwork.

It’s a change he welcomes, although he doesn’t tell this to the unbelievably cheerful woman before him. Instead he deflects, inquiring, “Other than firing my assistant, do you actually know how to complete administrative work?”

“Really, Sasuke-kun, you’re still doubting my abilities?” she teases, reaching for a tablet beside her. It’s this more than anything that stops him from reacting with knee-jerk annoyance at the casual form of address.

“Where did you get that?” he demands, staring at the company issue digital tablet that her fingers dance across.

“I know someone in IT,” she answers, and then passes him the device. He stares uncomprehendingly down at the screen and sees that – somehow – she’s managed to space out his double- and triple-booked meetings and appointments throughout the week according to maximum efficiency. The most important individuals are always scheduled in the morning, just as he likes it, and she has even accounted for his kendo schedule and a weekly luncheon at his favorite restaurant.

She looks as if she’s expecting him to compliment her or acknowledge his amazement at her skills, but he was raised in a family that didn’t waste praise on qualities a person knew were exceptional. She’ll learn that quickly if she expects to stay here.

“Hatake will never be on time for these, no matter how adequate you are at scheduling things,” he points out, gesturing to his Tuesday and Thursday appointments with his head of advertising.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, grinning wolfishly like she has taken that as a personal challenge. Sasuke thinks he doesn’t envy Kakashi having to face that particular resolve.

“Hm,” he says, because he has nothing to say to that.

“On that note, I have paperwork to file, and you have phone calls to return,” she goes on, passing him a notepad with neat writing on it.

“You answered my phone,” he deadpans.

“Well, Hokumono wasn’t going to, she was busy swearing a blue streak all the way down to the fourth floor. Also, your mother called – ”

“… you spoke to my mother?”

“ – She wanted to know if you were coming to your nephew’s birthday.”

Sasuke’s eye twitches. “What did you tell her?”

“That the Taka merger is today and you can’t miss it, but because you know the importance of family you’ll squeeze in a half hour on your way there,” she answers without missing a beat, “which will give you enough time to make a quick round of greetings and drop off a gift.”

“I don’t have –”

“Yes, you do, you’re giving him a giant Lego set, which is fun enough for a boy Haochizuki’s age and is educational – it helps with motor skills, fosters lateral thinking and creativity.”

“Did you memorize the brochure?” he grumbles, trying get over the constant sense of being thrown off balance.

“No, I played with a lot of Lego as a kid.”

“Of course you did,” he mutters.”

“Anyhow, given the short time frame you have, you won’t be able to stay very long – and if you greet the following guests that I’ve noted at the bottom of the page there –”

“Hold on, you know who’s attending?”

“Of course, once I called your sister-in-law to make sure the gift was age appropriate –”

“How the hell did you get Izumi’s phone number?” he demands, all ability to pretend aloofness disappearing.

She smirks at him. “Ways. I have them. Now stop interrupting, you have a tight schedule this morning and don’t have time to be basking in my awesomeness.”

Sasuke’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“As I was saying, if you greet all those people I listed, you can make some valuable network connections, and also limit the amount of time you actually speak to your brother to about a minute and a half. Forty-five seconds if you stop in to compliment Inuzuka-san about his dog. It’s up to you which one you’d rather stomach.”

“Do you ever breathe?” he asks dimly.

“Only when I have to,” she chirps. “I told you – I’m not like any other assistant you could have. I’m Haruno Sakura. And I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

Again, he doesn’t know what to say to that.

It bothers him that somehow this…this person manages to put him off balance to easily, to the point he actually has to interpret what she’s saying to him because it makes no sense. He wonders if this is what it’s like for Naruto when Sasuke talks to him.

So, instead of commenting, he instead says, “Whatever,” and sits down.

“I’m taking my conference calls now – don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“You got it, boss!”

She strides confidently from the room.

“And for the record, I don’t take cinnamon in my coffee,” he calls after her.

“You will when you try that,” she replies without even turning her head.

Sasuke scowls at her retreating back through the glass windows of his office and sits back in his chair, somehow already exhausted.

How can anyone be so…exuberant this early in the morning?

Considering the merits of just firing her and finding a quiet, boring secretary – someone like Hyūga Hiashi’s daughter – Sasuke takes a resentful sip of his coffee.

And then startles at the sharp kick that shoots through him as he swallows.

Because it actually tastes good. Spicy, not sweet, and it feels like someone has hooked up an IV of caffeine directly to his veins.

“I told you so,” he hears Sakura singsong and when he glances up, she is grinning at him from her place at the desk outside his office.

Sasuke scowls at her and pointedly shoves the coffee cup away, reaching for his phone to dial his first appointment of the day.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

つづく

So, as I said, I’ll continue this one whenever the mood strikes me. It might not update as much as other stuff, but hey, when I’m inspired, you’ll get a chapter.

Reviews and concrit are appreciated!

クリ

Next Chapter

[isadorator]

A Fic Year in Review - 2016

It's that time again~ And I wrote so much this year, holy shit. As usual, any concrit and comments are welcome~~ (as are requests, when open lol)

January

what are THOOOOSE a superhero's holiday

Oh jeez. Both these fics got way more attention than I thought they would. But I keep underestimating the ML fandom tbh. The first was basically me goofing around and I somehow ended up promising to write a sequel since everyone wanted one (which I...still need to do.....). The second was a flag for both my descent into ladrien hell and also a return to my nsfw ways orz;;;;

February

you are gold and silver (1/2)

IT TOOK. SO. L O N G. TO WRITE THIS. Although this fic is firmly in AU territory now thanks to being beautifully jossed by canon, it helped me realize just how much I needed to grow in order to write romantic intimacy in a believable way. So, I made it my goal to work on it until it was up to my own standards.

(I...still need to finish this fic too......)

March

jackady ladrien drabble prompts (1/2):

ribbons

fan merchandise

artistic muse

make-outs

stuck in a small place

rain

smiles

croissants

never have i ever

i want to touch them

jackady ladrien drabble prompts (2/2):

damsel in distress

beauty facial masks

visible marks

ice cream sandwiches

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (1/9):

the 4 times adrien pretended to shower to hide from ladybug (and the 1 time he was actually showering when she calls out his bullshit)

disney

halloween

tried to kiss your lips but i missed

magic

staring into each other’s eyes

Ah, the plan being put into action! With the release of actual ladrien eps, I had the perfect excuse to write romantic scenario after romantic scenario using submitted prompts. Which also meant I accidentally created a secret love affair AU and wrote more smut whoops. Still, they were super fun! I took a break halfway through to write some Inuyasha-inspired marichat that just would not leave me alone (also fun).

(....I promised to write a continuation of the 'never have i ever' prompt, didn't I alrjkdsflaks. AND TANGLED AU SHIT I ALMOST FORGOT)

April

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (2/9):

music

moaning

sweat

bath

they go on a date together

soulmate au

photographs

“i love you. i’m completely and utterly in love with you. please don’t get married.”

the one time ladybug actually catches adrien in the shower

ACTUALLY in the shower

“of all the people i could’ve gotten stuck in an elevator with and it just had to be you.”

mirror

More ladrien prompts/romance practice~ The music prompt is still one the most cracktastic things I've ever written lol. Managed to make two more AUs with this batch that I've already started to expand on: the soulmate AU and the auteur AU. Lastly, in a surprise twist, the fucking elevator prompt managed to gather over 1k in notes. Probably because I ripped off Sailor Moon but. Still.

May

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (3/9):

another shower scene

porn

away from home

“you have mom’s smile.” he said this to ladybug once, but he thinks it again and again and again. but ladybug is better: she is real.

calling bullshit

untitled continuation of a comic by pozolegirl

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (4/9):

under the covers

eyelashes

mega nachos

“i heard that the spots on your bodysuit corresponds to chakra points? so… what happens if i touch this?”

cute nose/forehead kisses

their first time

happiness

“i need you to pretend we’re dating…”

“is there anything you’re not good at?”

More Volpina prompts! Again, I like experimenting with them :D Also wrote a continuation of that Christmas comic because it was just way too cute~~

June

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (1/6):

love poem

awkwardness

games

i can show you the world

first love

everyone can see it

shower scene

jealousy

it’s a trap

insecurities

sins cannot be undone

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (2/6):

jealous fangirls/boys

“you have her smile”

gabriel | hawkmoth’s reaction

it’s not you, it’s my enemies

secret dating

window kisses

Oooooh boy. The triple whammy of Ladrien June, Ramadan, and starting my summer job. I was excited to have a month dedicated to just ladrien (as if I hadn't already dedicated most of my year to it lol) but fell behind pretty quickly thanks to my lack of free time. I aim to finish them this year!

And Ramadan. Man. It always sends my mental health straight into the toilet. Not because of the holiday itself, but because of the way my family treats it. Idk. I tried to flush away the bad feelings by punching out 'sins cannot be undone' in one night. And it helped, I suppose. It's definitely the rawest thing I wrote this year and I still have very strong feelings about it.

July

three sentence prompts:

ladynoir, spy au

nino and marinette, karaoke au

ladrien, bodyguard au

ladrien, superman/lois lane au

adrien and tikki, baking au

alix and kim, and the one-time-max-actually-won au

alya and marinette, vigilante au

adrienette, foreign countries

ladynoir, and the elevator game/ritual

Between work and writing various wips that I still haven't posted yet (*coughcoughconjugalvisitcough*), I only posted stuff from this meme. I had fun (the goal) and the adrien&tikki kwamiswap AU one is still my fave |D *slams fists on table* LET ADRIEN BE A BAKER!!!!

August

untitled continuation of a comic by geek-fashionista insomaniac and the chaton pile

UMMMM My summer job ended by this point, so my only excuse for not posting much is it's all tied up in unpublished wips and...I was freaking out about starting school next month for the first time in y e a r s;;; Just some drabbles for the sidekick AU (not mine) and my own, sleep-deprived ideas (that I...still find hilarious alkdjfhalksd I DID NOT EXPECT ANYONE ELSE TO???)

September

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (5/9):

embarrassing hobbies (aka: adrien is secretly a popular ladynoir fanfic writer)

water

mlnsfweek prompts (1/3):

laughter

roleplay

make 'em blush

we've got time

"i can’t believe we survived" sex

wet dreams

virginity

STILL REALLY STRESSED ABOUT SCHOOL, which translated into a lot of writing. Did a couple of Volpina prompts, including time ≠ water. Which. Got way more attention than I expected;;;; And that I...also promised to expand on......;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

And then #mlnsfweek hit and I'm actually really proud of myself for finishing the whole week, even if it was late~ /o/ Did some random scenarios, including some futurefic for the timebreaker AU. I still cackle every time I think of the wet dreams prompt tbh XDDD

October

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (6/9):

inside a video game

horror movies

“who crawls through someone’s window at 4 am to go for ice cream?!”

aching muscles from running all over the city, and then: "would a massage help?"

chocolate

discovering their sensitive spots

“so close” from enchanted

As usual, more Volpina prompts in between school and wips. Not really much to say except it was around now (or maybe September? My memory is horrible) that I realized I had developed a pretty good grasp on romance and could start working on upping my daily wordcount. I really want the mental stamina to complete a chapter fic one day...

November

mlnsfweek prompts (2/3):

marks

School REALLY started to pick up in difficulty and I signed up for a fic exchange and a fanzine. Despite really wanting to, I didn't have time or energy to do more than one prompt for the #mlnsfweek redux, but I plan to complete it~ I have Ideas.

December

oh, the things i do for you (the bubbler remix)

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (7/9):

bruises and scars

cold hands, warm hearts

I'm never, ever committing to more than one fic deadline near exam time ever again. I nearly died last month as I rushed to complete these fics, my studying, and prep for my vacation that started right after exams (I'm still recovering;;;). The remix is currently the longest fic I've written to date, including my wips! Holy shit!!!

Both were done very last minute, but I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. I tried to finish the last of the Volpina prompts before the end of the year, but alas, time was not on my side. Better luck next year~ :'D

Total Year’s Output: ....58,718 words;;;

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

.......This is almost twice as much as I did last year. I actually passed the NaNoWriMo standard. Oh my god. There is no fucking way I would have predicted this last year. And that's not counting all the wips aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH—

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January 2016?

Uhhhh, Bustier/Mendeleiev, definitely. Also DjWifi?? I just wasn't into it at all last year, but now I'm rooting for them. Also, I did not expect to write this much smut, but here we are. ALSO MARIE/ADRIEN/MARINETTE AKA THE OT3 AKA LOVE SQUARED (the homestuck in me will never die)

What’s your favourite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest.

Happy...? Hmmmm....There's stuff that makes me laugh, that I'm proud of...

...I know it's not published yet or even done, but...probably conjugal visit. Not only is it chock full of my favourite type of ladrien, it's...sort of my thesis on emotional intimacy? It's proof of my progress. I look at it and I can feel my determination to grow and to move on from the mental rut I was stuck in for most of my life, that I won't let my past keep my from recognizing my own emotions and learning empathy, not forever.

(Maybe that's pride and contentment and hope more than happiness, but I'll damn well take it)

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

I ALWAYS SAY THIS but...I really want to finish my wips.....and I want to start an actual chaptered fic. Not a one-shot collection or a drabble collection. Long, plotty, gen or romance (or both!!), chapter fic. I want to write something that will keep people up all night, lying to themselves when they say 'just one more chapter'. I think I actually have a shot at completing one now, at my current skill and confidence level |D

[fanfictionlive]

YMMV: When your fanfic is written by design, is there even room anymore for ConCrit?

This has two exhibits and a conclusion.

We are heading into a new year and exhibit A is the last time I will cite this review.

Exhibit A:

"U put me in physical pain. I suppose u are free to write whatever u like and I will support u in doing so but christ man ur...ur doing too much this is too much. Rape was mentioned far too many times the main characters are only really a very dramatized crude versions of themselves. + you said you don’t believe in trigger warnings which is like o_0 what was even the reason for that jiraiya icky ass scene?? these are valid criticisms tbr but hey u seem to be a talented writer I know some people love this type of writing so keep going ur not hurting anyone but me I guess...."

Exhibit B:

"I don't get Hinata she wants Naruto but yet when he tries to get her to hang out and or have a conversation she brushes him of or turns him down. Well of course anyone with some decency would stop as if it's always going to end the same well why try. Also her having feelings for Neji was really weird. Overall Hinata is acting very oc here. Canon Hinata would've never t be this negative or jealous she would keep trying to be her best for herself and try to get closer to Naruto. Also naruto has never chased down any girls except Hinata."

Comparing these two reviews:

Exhibit A was mad at me. I still don't know for sure if they're mad I made them feel bad feels (in which case, that's a win), or if they meant the writing was so awful it was painful. Even worse that this was one of those examples of when someone's (totally valid feelings) get thrown at you as some objectively awful thing you did. That comment was already their formal resignation of readership, so in the end there was no 'making it up to them', which is how I was initially left feeling at the time. (And then I had my anxiety spiral, and then I got better, and now here we are at the final evolution of this topic). Also, I did use: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings. Also also, my teen era angst was way too deep in the hopeless feels and I'm doing my damnedest currently to just stay above bittersweet.

Exhibit B was not mad at me, and I love them forever for it. Compared to A, B was able to explain themselves as well. And they were technically correct. The best kind of correct!

What makes both of these reviews the same on a fundamental level though is the fact that B's statements are not applicable because the fic is an AU and the fact that they didn't buy into 17 chapters of build up and backstory reveal, plus how they felt about the LI in the flashback having a childhood Cousin Crush, shows that this is truly a distilled example of YMMV because my other readers varied in reaction as well. Generally, B is the first to disagree with it. (I realize I neglected to ask them if they thought it was random weird (objective issue), instead I assumed they thought it was weird to them (subjective issue), so I didn't address it at all. Whups. :p )

In the end, I thanked B and agreed with them and then as briefly as possible (often a struggle for me), I explained my side of things, which is that quote-quote "... At least, that is, I like to believe that the backstory supports how she is currently".

In conclusion: I think I just need to set my own parameters of what kind of ConCrit I need or can benefit from.

If someone happens to tell me why so-and-so's actions didn't make sense and how, and I can't explain why it does make sense, then that means they're correct and I can learn from their observation.

If someone can let me know what's wrong with the technical aspects of the craft, ultimately the execution as a whole, that's also a 'Hell yeah, pour it on me bro! I wanna hear everythiiing!'

If someone can objectively tell me where the emotional build up fell flat or that the payoff did not pay off, then 'Woot! Gimme gimme!'.

But I'm finding certain things are just too subjective to be teachable observations, and I suppose these happen to be the most easy things for people to point out or have an opinion about. :p

Feel to answer to the header question specifcally, in case my perspective requires broadening.

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