This Is Beyond Gorgeous And Deserves More Likes/reblogs

When I say “Fanfiction is free” part of what I’m saying is yes, you did not pay for the thing.

But I saw a comment from someone that made me realize the rest of the intention behind these words is being lost.

Fanfiction is provided for free, but it is not produced for free.

Authors pay their effort, including physical and emotional and mental. Authors pay their time, in planning the story (mental time) and writing the story (physical time). Sometimes it’s less than an hour for something quick and dirty, like askbox prompts. Sometimes it’s years of their lives in epic fic hundreds of thousands of words long. Authors pay additional time to alpha read their own stories, trying to make sure that they’re free of SPAG errors and make sense and sound good. Beta readers pay their time and effort alongside the authors for editing the stories. Authors pay for posting their stories with all of the anxieties that come from allowing their work - which to this point they have invested all of the above - into the public eye because while it has certainly cost them a good amount to produce the story, fandom history has proved that many other people out there enjoy fanfiction, and authors believe that at least someone else will enjoy their story, too.

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is that it costs the writers a lot of something in order to produce it. A lot has already been paid into a piece of fanfiction by the time it is available for readers to read. The expense of fanfiction creation is, by and large, resting squarely atop the shoulders of writers.

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is that readers don’t have to pay the cost of creating fanfiction.

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is that readers don’t have to pay in anything - not time, not money, not effort, not anything - in order for fanfiction to be created. It’s a donation. It’s a gift. It’s available for you to take or leave, at the expense of someone else.

Writers have, for a very long time, requested donations of one thing as remuneration for everything they put into making fanfiction: comments. Authors have asked, in so many different iterations: “If you have consumed what I have labored and invested in to create and if you have found any enjoyment in it, please tell me, so that I can recharge enough to do this again.” Some of them may recharge on critical comments, but most of us don’t because we’ve already paid everything we want to pay to create the story.

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” isn’t just that it doesn’t cost you any money. I am saying “Please respect the time and effort you didn’t have to pay into creating this thing you enjoyed, by respecting the individual creator’s requests.”

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is “be kind to authors, they have paid a lot for this gift they’re sharing with all of us, and they deserve to feel like it was worth it.”

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is “please don’t charge authors more time and emotional effort than what they’ve already provided you at no absolute cost.”

I’m not saying any of this to argue. It’s a fact that authors pay into providing fanfiction. They do it for fun. They do it out of love. They do it because they enjoy writing. No one is making them do it. No one is paying them to start or finish the story. That doesn’t mean it’s not WORK. And the only return they get on what they put into the story is the kindness of strangers that invest a little bit back by leaving a nice comment. That is why they stay, that is why they do it again, that is why we have fanfiction.

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is “please don’t be the one charging authors so much more that they leave.”

What I am saying when I say “fanfiction is free” is “please keep it that way.”

Excuse me while I go cry now 😭😭😭

Extremely sad headcanon:

(Tw: death)

Another reasons clones get unique hair cuts and tattoos on their faces (besides being individuals) is so when they look at their fallen brothers they don’t have to see their own face.

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

BEYOND obsessed with this house in fort worth, texas i mean

okay pretty normal, let’s look at the interior photos—

WHAT THE FUCK

here we see the first example of a pattern that will recur throughout the house, which is that once your eyes adjust to the bonkers dictator chic marble-and-gilded-everything, you notice some pretty egregiously shoddy workmanship. look at how that baseboard intersects with the outlet. look at how the marble… uh, thing on the wall (i was gonna call it a fireplace but it’s not a fireplace, i have no idea what that is) has gaps and weird angles wherever two pieces meet. it’s like they’re trying to recreate versailles on an ikea budget

i… don’t hate the kitchen. i mean, obviously it’s ugly and #toomuch and there was zero effort made to match the very modern appliances and sink to the cabinets, but still, i’m a sucker for a pass-through and a big sink with a window above it.

this ceiling Fucks but the wrinkly, uneven curtains and terrible caulking around the faux-column in the middle anti-Fuck

why did we suddenly completely switch aesthetics. why is there an old TV set into the wall at floor level. why is there a tiny set of doors next to it. why does the fireplace look like an asset ripped from the original dark souls. i feel a sinister presence sucking at my soul the longer i look at this photo

i feel like whoever designed this monstrosity started with the dining room and then once they’d finished it realized they’d blown half their budget on just this one room. it’s so overdecorated that the gaudiness feels intentional, like it’s a statement rather than a side effect of genuine tastelessness. i can applaud that.

here we have the antithesis of the dining room. i don’t know what this room is supposed to be but i hate it. i’m pretty sure everything in this photo literally came from ikea. there is a lack of commitment here and it is rancid

ladies, gentlemen, distinguished colleagues, we have now hit the cornerstone of any great tacky real estate listing: the heart-shaped bathtub! this one gets bonus points for being next to a gilded mirror and surrounded by bright red damask wallpaper. as a bathtub i’d give it a 1/10 because those angles look incredibly uncomfortable, but as a place to shoot my lover through the heart while wearing a gauzy fur-trimmed bathrobe before fleeing with our ill-gotten fortune i’d give it a solid 11/10

here we are with the lack of commitment again. this literally looks like the kitchen in my college dorm but with a weird fringey lamp and some curtains that are absolutely too long for their windows

again, the mix of styles here is just killing me. half damask wallpaper and carved wall panels, half normal-ass bathroom? really? isn’t there anything truly unhinged left in this house? anything truly opulent, decadent, off the chain, extravagant, gaudy—

THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT BAY BEE!!! THAT’S MORE THE FUCK LIKE IT!!! COMMIT! TO! THE! BIT! GO BIG OR GO HOME! IF YOU’RE GONNA STICK A CEILING DOME IN THE FOYER OF YOUR SUBURBAN TEXAS HOUSE IT HAD BETTER BE TWELVE FEET IN DIAMETER AND PAINTED WITH DOZENS OF FLOWERS OR ELSE WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE EVEN DOING HERE??

and finally, to close out the show, a reminder that this entire acid trip of a real estate listing took place in an ordinary, modern single-story house in texas, one with a backyard and utility boxes on the exterior walls and neighbors who may be blissfully unaware that they live mere feet from a yawning pit of madness.

i love tacky real estate listings.

Bro wtf?! 😂

I'm just gonna go cry in a corner now 😭😭

The clone troopers hate the new nat-borns filling their ranks. They don’t teach them diddly squat. But on occasion, rare as it might be, they find one worthy of their training.

Bly is placed in charge of basic training for the Empire’s recruits. His newest batch of men is just like the last. All except one.

The kid blatantly ignores Bly’s terrible advice on how to shoot a blaster. His witty, barely veiling his disgust for the Empire. But he volunteered to be here and he keeps going.

Bly is intrigued. One day he pulls the kid aside and asks him why.

The kid talks about his escape from Corellia, how he had to leave a girl behind. Not just any girl, but “the love of my life.” And he’s here, in the Empire, so that he can go back and save her.

For reasons he can’t quite remember, that strikes a chord with Bly. He smiles and places a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Han, love is a powerful thing. When we fight out of love, the Force will be with us. If that’s what you’re here for, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you find her.”

Bly actually trains Han, teaches him everything he knows. Han Solo passes basic training with flying colors and Bly disappears a year or two later.

Decades later, when Solo meets Rex and Wolffe for the first time, he grins.

“Always good to meet another brother of Bly’s.”

“You had Bly?” Wedge pipes up, “I had Stone. He taught me everything I know about a blaster. Sure don’t know how those other stormtroopers can’t hit a barn with his training.”

Other Imperial defectors pipe up, kids talking about the clones who trained them. Who pulled them aside and told them they were special and actually taught them.

And it eases something deep inside Rex’s chest to know that maybe his brothers had been able to do some good after all.

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

poly 141 x reader - tattoo parlor au - ongoing

MDNI | Anthology

New Girl

Piercings and Puns

Bubble Tea

“Girl Problems”

Night Out

Where…?

Firsts

Eight

I don’t currently do taglists, sorry!

the japanese “-ne?” particle and the british slang term “innit” serve the same function

Fox: *after watching Obi-Wan yell at the chancellor through a glass wall with no idea what he was saying because soundproofing but amused cause he just KNOWS that smile means Sheev is only holding back the rage of cold blooded murder because of witnesses* Heh. Cute.

Obi-Wan: *yelling at Palps for telling his kid the Jedi will kick him out for being married and now he’s throwing accusations around and about to go public with Palps hanging out with little boys by threatening their guardians and ruin him forever*

Palpatine: :/

Fox: *after Obi-Wan storms out of the room* Respectfully, like /super/ respectfully, do you even know you were being watched by an entire floor of secretaries and clone guards who def recorded that?

Obi-Wan: Don’t know, can’t care, I’m gonna spread rumors the Chancellor likes little boys now.

Fox: 😨… why didn’t I think of that…

Three hours later

Fox: *storms into the officers lounge* Cody! I’m marrying your general. Or bedding him. He’s worthy of this deece.

Cody: *halfway through his seventh caff of the day* …listen. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, and give you a five minute head start.

Fox: Fair.

Rex: I hate everyone in this family.

“Be careful who you trust, Sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.”