- They use terms like lemons, smut, or UST to talk about the genre of their fic.
- They have squicks.
- They want you to have squicks. Which isn’t to say that they want to squick you, just that it’s a useful term.
- They leave long comments on everything the read. Possibly not in the tags. They might do something super bizarre like send a message or put their thoughts on the end of your post.
- They write disclaimers on everything. Or on literally anything, since nobody does that anymore.
- They write about orbs, and those orbs are cerulean.
- Or literally anything else is cerulean. Cerulean is an outdated term. I’m calling it.
- The tongues of their characters are still battling for dominance, even though it’s 2017, and really a winner should have been declared by now.
- They have a fear of Mary Sue.
- Characters in their modern AU are chatting on AIM instant messenger, and calling each other on landlines. There are references to Ceiling Cat, because the characters are hip to meme culture. This AU is ~modern~ after all.
- Their fic is interlaced with slightly relevant song lyrics (disclaimer, they didn’t write the song.)
- They don’t do any of above, because they are New Fandom Savy, but they write or reblog nostalgic posts about these things.
- They had a livejournal.
- They still have a livejournal.
- They ended up on tumblr only after getting into a new fandom, searching livejournal for content and fellow fans, and suddenly coming to the startling realization that livejournal has become a barren wasteland of tumbleweeds and chirping crickets.
- They miss their geocities site.
- They wrote fic for the X-Files while the original nine seasons were still airing.
- Bonus, they wrote fic for the original Star Trek and published it in a zine, before the Internet was a thing. That’s like super mega fandom old.
- They might be less inclined to call themselves “trash”, but they are totally out there, reading all the things.
It was like any other run as the Flash–run, catch the bad guys, save the day–that is until Barry caught up to Leonard Snart. As soon as he grabbed the man, he felt it, even through the glove of the suit. A jolt of energy starting at his finger tips, trailing up his arm, and going straight to his brain, his heart, everywhere. Then, the world exploded in color. There were more shades than Barry could have imagined, and he couldn’t even guess their names. It was enough to make his stumble, lose his footing, forget where he was for a moment. His soulmate. He’d met his soulmate. His soulmate was…
His soulmate was…leaving.
He’d been distracted too long. Long enough for the criminals to get on their bikes and ride off. Long enough for them to get away.
omg so much microfic. How about some Shiro & Ulaz & a panic attack?
how about it? ;)
Shiro comes back to himself with a panicked start, lungs burning as he struggles for air. His heart’s pounding, fit to burst right out of his chest. His eyes skitter frantically over a blurred nothing. Where - where - ?!
“Shiro,” the voice repeats, insistent but calm. Something squeezes his hand. “Shiro, you must breathe. Can you do that? Inhale.”
Shiro sucks in a ragged gasp of air, lungs heaving, trying.
“Good,” the voice says, fierce but hushed. “Let it out. Again.”
Shiro obeys. Inch by inch he breathes; inch by inch the voice talks him down. Inch by inch his heart stops pounding. Gradually his surroundings clarify into dull sense. He’s sitting on the dirt floor, back pressed hard against two walls. He’s curled up into the corner. He can’t move his hands -
No. His right arm rests palm-up by his side, heavy and limp. Only his left hand is being held. Long fingers grip his, and the slight tip of claws brush against his wrist.
Someone crouches in front of him, their face furrowed in deep concern.
“Ulaz,” Shiro gasps.
“That is correct,” Ulaz says, quietly. His yellow eyes betray no alarm, merely worry. “Are you with me?”
Shiro’s left hand is caught up in Ulaz’s own, the Galra’s grip firm but not restrictive. Shiro’s knees are tucked tightly into his chest; Ulaz is crouched before him, immobile and steady. Even squatting down, Ulaz is so much larger than Shiro is. His knees press right above Shiro’s own, and his larger form neatly blocks Shiro’s view of the cell door. The edges of the door’s active energy field shimmer brightly around Ulaz’s form, a purple halo Shiro will see in his dreams for a week -
“No.” A hand grips his chin. Shiro flinches, bucking, but Ulaz’s claws are gentle. “Look at me. Do not look at the door.”
“H-how are you here?” Shiro manages. His tongue’s dry, lips cracked.
“I came after you,” Ulaz says, as matter-of-fact as if he were merely discussing the weather.
Came after you. But the cell door is active, and locked. That means -
Shiro fights against Ulaz’s grip, weak and shaking. Ulaz releases Shiro’s chin, but remains crouched before him, still blocking Shiro’s view of the active door. Even so - “You s-shouldn’t be here! What have you done?!”
“Do not worry about me,” Ulaz says, sharp. There’s no sign of injury on his face or hands. Ulaz is unharmed except that he’s imprisoned here, too, trapped just like Shiro. “This was my choice. Shiro, listen to me. The rest of your team is coming, but your Paladins will not get here in time. Your captors are coming for you first, unless we can stop them.”
The brief hope winging through Shiro’s chest sputters, caught. He thinks about crying: not in front of Ulaz. He thinks about running: the door is locked. He thinks about fighting -
“My arm,” Shiro whispers. His right arm is a deadweight at his side, metal fingers limp and lifeless. He cannot move them. “They - they did something-”
“I know,” Ulaz says. His calm voice is a rock, steady despite the undercurrent of urgency running through his words. “I can fix it, but it will hurt. However, if I re-activate your arm, we can use it to get out of this cell and find somewhere to bide time until your team arrives. Your captors will not hurt you.”
It will hurt.
Your captors are coming for you first.
Not even a choice. Shiro laughs, the shakiest of exhales. “Do it.”
Pride flits into Ulaz’s eyes, chased by a clear measure of confusion. Maybe laughing about their impending demise and torture through one way or another isn’t the reaction Ulaz expected. Oh, well. Ulaz should’ve thought of that before he ended up in this cell with Shiro.
“Do you understand me?” Ulaz repeats. “It will hurt. The hard reset was not designed to be easy on the host.”
“I heard you,” Shiro confirms. It takes all his energy but he pulls his head away from the wall, staring back at Ulaz with determination. “Do it. Pidge and Hunk can fix it later.”
Ulaz’s gaze softens inexplicably.
“I will assist them,” he promises. His hand hovers over Shiro’s immobile arm - and then, for the first time since Shiro came to, Ulaz hesitates. “You are sure?”
It will hurt.
Your Paladins will not get here in time.
“No other way, right?” Shiro says, hoarse. “My hand can open the door. Do it.”
“Then take a deep breath,” Ulaz says, and gently - carefully - he takes the elbow of Shiro’s Galra arm into his hands.
How sane people get into fandoms: hmm, I like this show/book/whatever. I might suggest it to my friends
How I get into fandoms: I watched/read this entire thing in one day and I have an emotional connection to every single character. If anything happens to any of them I will kill someone. Everybody watch/read this NOW
Hey Cassie! I can't wait until Lord of Shadows! Recently, there's been some turbulence on Tumblr that you were going to "kill off" Alec (as in way before he reaches an "older" age). The only time I observed you addressing this was when you said how Magnus would move on after Alec's mortal life ended, not that you were going to kill him off at a young age. I know you can't talk about all of this, but, to ease some rumors, could you discuss whether or not you confirmed you were "killing him off"?
I can definitely confirm I never said anything about killing him off. The prevelance of the rumor is a total puzzle to me, too, since I have no idea what set it off or where it came from – the first time I saw it in comments was in a post about Diego and Jaime.
Those newer to the fandom might not remember, but this does happen every so often – like the return of the swallows to San Juan Capistrano every year, someone decides Alec is going to be killed off. The last time was right before CoHF. I think, though I can’t be sure,that it just has to do with me saying that characters or a character will die in an upcoming book – though I never give any clue as to who, so confirming I was killing anyone off specifically would be so unlike me my friends would cart me off to see if I had a head injury or had recently been drinking blue drinks at a warlock party.
I’ve seen some people say they think Alec will die in The Lost Book of the White … but since it takes place during COFA I don’t know how that would happen since Alec is very demonstrably alive in CoLs and COHF (and TDA…) I totally get worrying for the safety of favorite characters but I have said nothing, ever, about killing off Alec at a young age, or any age, and there is no reason to worry about him as opposed to or more than Clary or Jace or any of the Blackthorns. In fact there is much less. (And in terms of Magnus moving on after Alec died, that was theoretical! – as in “"if Alec died, then…” not any kind of harbinger of things to come.)
My dash is??? Super dead in terms of things I like so pls pls like/reblog/reply/whatever you’d like heck submit a smiley face to me if you want if you post about any of the following and I’ll check ur blog out and probably follow you:
•Phineas and Ferb/Milo Murphy’s Law
•Yuri on Ice
•Kung Fu Panda
•Avatar the Last Airbender/LoK
•Disney movies in general
•Fandomy stuff regarding YA books (or classic-probably-read-in-high-school books I’m always a sucker for roasting Victor Frankenstein)
•Glowy aesthetic?? Please
And I think that’s about it. Please don’t like/reblog/etc if you post nsfw or gory stuff thanks c:
Alright kiddos buckle down cuz I’m about to rant. It’s 4AM and I have class at 10:30. I don’t care.
So this is a thing that has bothered me for quite a long time; the vilifying of Miyuki Kazuya, especially when it comes to Sawamura. Oooooh my GOD this is annoying. I just read a fic that does exactly this, where Miyuki does one small thing that for some reason destroys Sawamura’s apparently extremely fragile little heart and causes the rest of the team to completely despise Miyuki to a point that is absolutely unrealistic and totally ridiculous. And this sort of thing is common in a staggering amount of MiyuSawa fics in which Miyuki is the “top”.
What I see is people shoving these two into he typical (and kinda gross) seme-uke relationship, which doesn’t work AT ALL. Seriously, it’s so OOC. Sawamura isn’t a baby, so please don;t write him as if he has the emotional and mental capacity of one. Yeah, he’s a sensitive and caring dude, but come on. No need to take it that far. This is important because compared to this sort of OOC Sawamura, Miyuki is like a freaking demon or something. I don’t understand why people write him like he’s Sawamura’s abuser????? Miyuki may say some insensitive stuff from time-to-time but holy shit he isn’t abusive.
Now, not all fics portray Miyuki as controlling and abusive etc., but in a good majority of MiyuSawa fics, Miyuki is somehow vilified, and everyone completely turns on him for Sawamura. This is probably the part that makes me most uncomfortable. I get some people may be going for the angst-factor here, but oh my god nobody just completely 180′s on their friend the way Kuramochi does in some of these fics. Or even Chris. It insinuates that nobody at Seidou actually likes Miyuki, which is BS.
Anyway, it’s late af, idk if this even makes coherent sense, but idc. It needed to be said.
TL;DR: Miyuki deserves love and happiness!!! He isn’t Sawamura’s evil seme! Ans Sawamura isn’t a helpless baby! STOP WRITING THEM LIKE THIS (or just do it less please).
lol i love that a few reblogs is all it takes for Sterek to mobilize for a poll like this, it's so nostalgic
Seriously though today has given me such nostalgia for like… summer 2014 when everyone was so energized and confident and it’s such a great feeling to see us still pulling together and pulling ahead like this.
We’ve come up from 19 to 62% and I am just so proud of us.
And now to close out with the most classic of gifs:
also i’d been talking to @littleblackchat all day about it and she was designing up what she imagined Mari’s dress from chapter 3 looked like, and I doodled this version based on her descriptions and early doodles of it xD so it’s a little different from the one she posted. Also I pointed out that the keyhole in the dress was perfect for Adrien in that scene, since he put his hand there and gyid7573943778hsjdfj IMAGINE IT GUYS imagine it
a story for which the world is not yet prepared; estranged and desperately unspoken
[This went from a 500-word idea to a 3k-word final product. Oops.
Let’s just pretend that Mary is either dead or the real Moriarty, and she or Moriarty’s minions are coming after John and Sherlock and they have to do some crazy secret spy shit in order to take them down again. John and Sherlock secretly come to Baker Street to reminisce and feel sad and gay and neither of them actually happen to be there at the same time and its fucking miracle that Moriwhoever hasn’t caught on and killed them yet.
My first actual Johnlock fic, please be gentle. On AO3]
No one lives at Baker Street these days, but Sherlock visits anyway. He shouldn’t be here, too suspicious, but he can’t help himself, and the desire to remember those days before everything went to shit is more powerful than his willpower to stop his legs from climbing the stairs.
He sits in his chair, and a red plaid blanket sits gathering dust on the one opposite him. Eloquent, his brain supplies, and he is painfully reminded of the last time John’s chair sat empty. His eyes threaten to water, so he takes a deep breath and closes them, focusing instead on the smells that linger just below the dust. The remnants of Thai takeout, formaldehyde in the fridge, John’s pea dish. He smacks his lips as that thought leads him to think about John making him tea on the weekends.
He hears the end of John’s favorite violin piece, and the smiling praise that greets it. He absently runs a finger along his violin case. More dust, his heart aches. He wishes he’d gotten to play it for John one last time. John’s chuckles ring out over the crap telly, and his heart swells at how charming it is. Familiar footfalls sound on the stairs, and deductions flood him with old memories.
Slower than normal, and lopsided, his brain supplies. It’s been a long day at the clinic, and he’ll be in the mood for a nice murderer to chase around London to take the edge off. Breathless laughter in the stairwell, a few fingers of whiskey, and a maybe Bond movie to end the night. Sherlock smiles sadly that his brain would fill in the silence with only his fondest memories, he realizes those exact nights when he fell just a little bit deeper.