Re: Losing Hope
anonymous
July 2 2012, 19:09:54 UTC
I'll heed the rest of your comments but...
Especially for a character like Sherlock with very little sexual experience in canon, this seems completely out of character and you need to do a lot of work to make it seem convincing.
That scene was written well before Moffat's horror show and none of the rest of it was updated for series 2.
Re: Losing Hope
anonymous
July 2 2012, 23:01:07 UTC
ayrt
Still massively out of character. Unless they've got an established history of sexual assault, to have any character going from zero to rape in a matter of minutes is going to take quite a lot of skill and effort to make it work. Given that it's Sherlock - a cerebral man who's married to his work even in season 1 - you'll have to work even harder.
Anyway, it's your job as the author to convince me that this scene is in character, not my job to convince you that it isn't. I start from an assumption that the 'good' characters are unlikely to start spontaneously raping - it's on you to provide a plausible motive for Sherlock's actions.
pokemon x sherlock 1/2
anonymous
July 1 2012, 04:07:04 UTC
a/n: fic takes from anime and game canon. Main concerns: pacing, characterisation, and how accessible the fic is if you've barely played/watched
( ... )
pokemon x sherlock 2/3
anonymous
July 1 2012, 04:09:03 UTC
“Uh-huh. And did it ever occur to you that it was holding a Scope Lens?”
Ah, that would have explained how the Zubat had dealt so much damage. Air Cutter had a high critical hit rate, but not that high. “I had suspected,” he lied.
John looked unimpressed. “I know you think that you can faint, be revived, and have everything turn out fine, but you are very much mortal, Sherlock
( ... )
Okay I'm stuck. This WIP has been giving me trouble for weeks because I'm not fond of where I accidentally started taking the story. Jim's personality didn't quite come out the way I meant for it to. Any crit/advice is welcome
IMO, things went awry when Jim went and drugged himself. I started skimming once he was taken into custody by Mycroft--it seemed forced and detracted from the main plot.
Also, bit nitpicky, but there's the odd SPAG error sprinkled throughout.
The story I think this is too similar for to my liking is coloredink's "Sleep Hath Its Own World" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/456904). In my story, John is an artist and one day begins to paint portraits of a man (Sherlock). The paintings then come to life at night.
Anyway, it's around 4600 words long so I feel kind of bad posting the whole thing here, so feel free to TL;DR this...
The Paper of His Skin 2/7
anonymous
July 15 2012, 01:29:08 UTC
₪₪₪
John is twenty-eight and in Afghanistan.
It's hot and dry. The sun glares down at him, blinding white. He wipes his brow with his sleeve, tilts his helmet. There's sand in his boot, and his pack is heavy on his shoulders.
During the evening, he sketches his mates. Sometimes, when they're waiting for an order and it seems like nothing is happening, like nothing will happen again, John draws in the dirt with a stick.
“That's all right,” one soldier says, nodding toward the drawing.
“Ta, mate,” John smiles.
Twenty meters to his left, a Jeep explodes.
₪₪₪His grandmother was wrong, because John is never going to become a famous painter
( ... )
The Paper of His Skin 3/7
anonymous
July 15 2012, 01:29:36 UTC
₪₪₪
In the end it doesn't work out, but they remain friends. Which is perfectly all right, John thinks.
John could always do with more friends.
₪₪₪
The next time John paints, he flips through his box of canvases to find one that's the right size. There's one, tucked in the back, that's facing the opposite direction and he assumes that it's blank. John pulls it out, flips it over in his hands, and says, “Oh.”
The dark, curly-haired man stares back at him.
“I don't remember painting you,” John says.
It must be a trick of the light, because he swears the man in the painting winks at him.
₪₪₪For weeks, the man is all John paints. He tries different styles, different colours, different mediums. His fingers are covered in pastel smudges, and he breaks two charcoal sticks. The graphite eventually disappears. John buys more canvases, more charcoal and graphite and pastels
( ... )
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Especially for a character like Sherlock with very little sexual experience in canon, this seems completely out of character and you need to do a lot of work to make it seem convincing.
That scene was written well before Moffat's horror show and none of the rest of it was updated for series 2.
Reply
Still massively out of character. Unless they've got an established history of sexual assault, to have any character going from zero to rape in a matter of minutes is going to take quite a lot of skill and effort to make it work. Given that it's Sherlock - a cerebral man who's married to his work even in season 1 - you'll have to work even harder.
Anyway, it's your job as the author to convince me that this scene is in character, not my job to convince you that it isn't. I start from an assumption that the 'good' characters are unlikely to start spontaneously raping - it's on you to provide a plausible motive for Sherlock's actions.
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Ah, that would have explained how the Zubat had dealt so much damage. Air Cutter had a high critical hit rate, but not that high. “I had suspected,” he lied.
John looked unimpressed. “I know you think that you can faint, be revived, and have everything turn out fine, but you are very much mortal, Sherlock ( ... )
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http://archiveofourown.org/works/387188/chapters/634451
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Also, bit nitpicky, but there's the odd SPAG error sprinkled throughout.
Reply
The story I think this is too similar for to my liking is coloredink's "Sleep Hath Its Own World" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/456904). In my story, John is an artist and one day begins to paint portraits of a man (Sherlock). The paintings then come to life at night.
Anyway, it's around 4600 words long so I feel kind of bad posting the whole thing here, so feel free to TL;DR this...
Reply
Reply
John is twenty-eight and in Afghanistan.
It's hot and dry. The sun glares down at him, blinding white. He wipes his brow with his sleeve, tilts his helmet. There's sand in his boot, and his pack is heavy on his shoulders.
During the evening, he sketches his mates. Sometimes, when they're waiting for an order and it seems like nothing is happening, like nothing will happen again, John draws in the dirt with a stick.
“That's all right,” one soldier says, nodding toward the drawing.
“Ta, mate,” John smiles.
Twenty meters to his left, a Jeep explodes.
₪₪₪His grandmother was wrong, because John is never going to become a famous painter ( ... )
Reply
In the end it doesn't work out, but they remain friends. Which is perfectly all right, John thinks.
John could always do with more friends.
₪₪₪
The next time John paints, he flips through his box of canvases to find one that's the right size. There's one, tucked in the back, that's facing the opposite direction and he assumes that it's blank. John pulls it out, flips it over in his hands, and says, “Oh.”
The dark, curly-haired man stares back at him.
“I don't remember painting you,” John says.
It must be a trick of the light, because he swears the man in the painting winks at him.
₪₪₪For weeks, the man is all John paints. He tries different styles, different colours, different mediums. His fingers are covered in pastel smudges, and he breaks two charcoal sticks. The graphite eventually disappears. John buys more canvases, more charcoal and graphite and pastels ( ... )
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