The slowburn writer to end all slowburn writers. Has a mild case of purple prose syndrome. Sets you up to think she's using a really lame trope or cliche, but then pulls the old BITCH U THOUGHT. Gets in fights with commenters who completely miss the point of her work.
Where dick jokes meet feels. Recycles old plots that have been in the fandom for years, but always manages to put a new spin on it. That said, he's better known for good character writing than good plots. Kind of problematic, but people love him anyway. Laughs at and encourages commenters who completely miss the point of his work.
The Brontë Sisters:
Their fics get lots of comments but they never reply. They never leave author notes, either. They share an account, and there are talks of a collab fic coming soon. Write fics for OTPs of questionable healthiness and consent. Only ever write darkfic. Like, REALLY dark. ...People are getting kind of worried about them.
Edgar Allan Poe:
Also only ever writes darkfic, but at this point, people have moved past being worried about him and have just accepted that he's weird, he's morbid, and we love him. Channels his feelings about his ex into his writing. It results in really good stories but everyone's sort of like, "...Dude."
Trying to set the record for highest wordcount on ao3, and it shows.
Currently holds the record for highest wordcount on ao3.
Only ever writes M/M. Has a BAD case of purple prose, but it's worth it if you manage to get through. His stories are either hilarious or soul-crushing. Or somehow both. People love him but know better than to disagree with him publicly, lest he destroy you with one of his infamous subtweets.
L. Frank Baum:
Wrote one really well-loved story that's among the most famous in the fandom, and it's literally all he's known for, and it pisses him off. His popular story became a multichap against his will because it's the only one of his stories anyone actually reads. He keeps trying to end it so he can work on other things, but always ends up coming back.
Arthur Conan Doyle:
Feels L. Frank Baum's pain. SO much.
Has fascinating ideas, but takes forEVER to get to the point in his stories. Also a stoner, and it shows.
Lousia May Alcott:
Writes stories for her unpopular OTP (that's a NOTP for most of the fandom) and breaks up everyone's favorite ships, mainly out of spite. Also kills everyone's favorite characters, less so out of spite.
Writes incredible stories, but publishes under her boyfriend's account because she's banned from ao3. ...Again.
The first conversation of this type at this table had been Charlie, at seventeen, so serious and so scared. He’d looked down at his hands, not meeting Molly’s eyes, or even Arthur’s. The word asexual was whispered like something shameful, and the Weasley parents stumbled over each other to explain that it wasn’t. Shameful. That they loved him anyway.
They walked away from the conversation feeling close to Charlie, glad for the opportunity to be trusted like this, and for the chance to reassure him of their unconditional love. They hadn’t expected the conversation to be the first of many.
Fred’s turn was next, a few years later. He was sixteen, and Molly assumed when he asked for his parents attention at the kitchen table that he was about to confess to the mysterious burn mark on the outside of the house, just under Ron’s attic window. When he instead said that he was bisexual, Molly found herself almost relieved. It was Arthur who did the reassuring that time, though they both hugged him before he left the kitchen.
Ginny’s coming out had been almost casual. She, too, had been sixteen, and had addressed her concerns mainly to her mother, sure that her father wouldn’t fly off the handle. As it turned out, Molly nodded and said that she had known all along, and Arthur laughed and started counting on his fingers.
Harry felt the same conversation necessary, after his breakup with Ginny. He looked, while pronouncing the words, as if he had put something very sharp in his mouth and was getting up the courage to swallow it. “You’ve taken me in and I broke up with your daughter, and I might start dating boys and I’m – I, I’m sorry.”
Molly’s heart broke, like it always does when Harry’s lack of parental affection throughout his life shines through, and she reached for him, reassuring him that of course it was alright, they loved him like one of their sons, he doesn’t need to hide this about himself. Arthur laughed. “You saved three of our lives, Harry, and then the entire world. It would take a lot more than bisexuality to put us off of you.” It shocked Harry that he hadn’t been the one to use the word, but they had known anyway. He felt so much lighter, so much freer having told someone other than Ginny how he felt. The entire world felt within his grasp, now, with such a strong base of love to draw from.
The last conversation - of their children, at least, their grandchildren were going to have their own sets of comings-out - didn’t happen at the kitchen table, but rather, at the front door on Christmas Eve, when Oliver Wood, dressed to the nines and bearing a beautiful poinsettia and a bottle of elf-wine, trailed happily behind Percy. “Mother, you remember Oliver from our school days. I’ve brought him tonight as my partner,” Percy said, in a voice that left no room for disapproval or argument. “I would have brought him before, but we didn’t want to steal Ginny’s thunder from the wedding.”
Molly smiled, kissed Percy and thanked Oliver for the poinsettia, seemingly nonplussed, and just happy to everyone she loved, and everyone her children loved all under one roof.
theory: instead of the original pure animosity we were offered in the original look at justice league, aquaman and batman are going to end up being what i call “do it for the vine” bros. not even necessarily bros, just two dudes who could look at each other and know that they’re both thinking of pulling the same stupid stunt. what if i surfed on your danger car, batman? what if i flung you off my danger car, aquaman? all in all, it is much more dangerous than the simple hatred we thought of before