#fanfiction related i guess

[hazmaticalblue]

might rewrite the thing i wrote about my herobrine but with even more Description and some editing to post it on ao3 and if i get it done before my ao3 account is born you all get a sneak peek

[alleycatchitchat]

To the person behind me on the bus, craning their head to stare at my phone screen in disbelief: yeah asshole that’s right, I AM reading wild kratts fanfiction right now. Yeah I’m a fully grown adult and yeah I have the entire internet at my fingertips and what I want to do right now is read this almost-100k-word-count Chris/Zach unfinished slowburn and you know what?? Its fucking fantastic!!! What do you have to say to that huh

[loonatic260]

So often, I think about how Thomas's relationship with Edward (the blind soldier in season 2) would have gone if Edward was permitted to stay and recover at the hospital. I mean, really, there's so many different scenarios of how things *could* have gone for Thomas if his love interests loved him back (and stuck around long enough to make it work).

During the confrontation in the courtyard (S2E2)... Corporal Barrow to his left, Nurse Crawley to his right, and a badgering doctor in front of him, Edward speaks his mind about wanting to stay. "Please— don't send me away. Not yet," the soldier states, contorlling his emotions. And instead of Thomas being cut off this time, he continues to speak, "Sir, surely we... can still take care of him, until the time comes that he is fully recovered." Thomas looks over to Edward, for the response in his gaze that supports and appreciates his efforts, but is quickly reminded that a look of condolence is hard to get out of a blind man. "Corporal Barrow, you will not speak out of turn—" his tone shifts, "every one of our beds is needed for the injurred and dying. Lieutenant, you will make your recovery at Farley. Corporal, I will see you in my office." The doctor pats Edward's shoulder and turns away, leaving the three in silence. Sybil looks to Thomas, then to Edward, "We are fully capable of keeping you here to treat you until you are better. Thomas, I'm sure we can find a way to change the doctor's mind." Thomas takes a long moment to think of what could be said, but Edward breaks his thought by looking up towards him. Thomas knows those bright eyes can't see him, but Edward's longing for an answer, and longing for some way to stay, are clearly conveyed by that deep stare. Thomas distracts himself from the way the light shown across his face and illuminated his scars. "I don't want to leave, Corporal, not right yet. I don't feel fully recovered yet— a convalescent home won't help me." Thomas looks to Sybil. They both know Edward's outlook on his own life; it isn't good, and if they can get him to stay under their care, they'd know he'd be a healthier man of it.

"Please, one man staying here to recover- or convalesce, as you put it- is not getting in the way of us taking care of other injurred soldiers." Thomas stands opposite of the doctor, only a desk between them but many dense layers of invisible emotions as well. "We have the equipment and time to continue to tend to Edward while caring for others' just as well," Sybil enters the office eagerly to back him up. "I am taken aback by both of your confidence. Nurse Crawley, you may be used to having the social upper-hand, but not here. My decision is final in keeping Ed—" The clicking heels of an adamant, old woman can be heard stomping nearer, alerting Clarkson of his likely misjudgment. "Doctor Clarkson, I do beg your pardon, but have you tended to Lieutenant Courtenay as closely as Corporal Barrow or Nurse Crawley?" Her distinct tone sends exaughst from every hole of the doctor's body. "I do recall Thomas talking with the Lieutenant, reading him his letters, and offering condolences, therefore giving him an accurate assessment of Lieutenant Courtenay's mental health." Sybil looks to Thomas from behind, looking to see even the slightest smile peaking through his cheeks, but Corporal Barrow stays straight-faced. Sybil knows they've won this argument now. "And Nurse Crawley has tended to his physical needs and growth in his condition, so she should be more than qualified- in this circumstance- to claim whether or not Lieutenant Courtenay should continue to be seen here, so if she claims he is still of our assistance, then we shall grant him that." Without much more word from Doctor Clarkson— at least not much anything that Thomas had to listen to due to smirking and showing Sybil his slight excitement— Corporal Barrow met Lieutenant Courtenay at his cot.

"Are you happy to be out of your bandages, Lieutenant Courtenay?" Thomas smiled towards Edward, finding himself repeating natural mannerisms from his service at Downton when it wasn't always necessary, especially right now. "Please, don't call me 'Lieutenant.' I've lost that privilege of title the moment I wasn't able to perform my duties properly anymore." Slouching halfway out from under his sheets, he turned away from the sound of Thomas's voice, imagining the disappointment. "You can call me 'Edward'," the soldier finished. Thomas furrowed his brows, "I told you not to be so hard on yourself. I won't lie to you, and I won't tell you that you'll be able to perform your duties properly again, but I can say that you will- and do- have the opportunity to live a good life." Thomas laid his palms on Edward's knuckles, carefully centered on the soldier's knee as if to plead. "I already told you: don't let other's drag you down. It doesn't matter what they think of ya, or do to ya, so you'll resolve things with your brother and mother—" Thomas saw the muscles in Edward's face start to quiver, "Or else I'll have to go knock some sense into them, and they don't want that!" A chuckle was pulled out of Edward as a tear strolled down his cheek, and Thomas gave a laugh of relief to be able to make Edward smile. "We'll take care of you as long as we can, Edward. We'll make things work. Despite what Clarkson thinks is best for someone he doesn't know."

Sybil smiled from the doorway, watching their interaction, and glad of their soldier's brightened spirits. She'd never seen Thomas so emotional before, but it was an effective way of getting through to Edward. Surprisingly, the doctor listened to Isobel once again; it seems that only Isobel can truly get through to Doctor Clarkson.

[mysoulismelting]

Me reading 2 different fan fictions with the same crossover but completely different character dynamics:

Reading the first one: YEAH FUCK (XYZ) GET FUCKED!!!

Reading the second: (XYZ) is baby and deserves love and redemption omg!!!

[arsenicflame]

i sometimes get the impression that a lot of people forget that while our flag means death is a comedy, it does know how to handle trauma well within the narrative. we are shown it over and over with the flashbacks for ed and stede and jim. at no point do they play the real trauma of the situation for laughs, its treated with the weight it deserves, while still being part of a comedy show

[anticidic]

Dear writing muse, Here is a writing prompt to help get you into the spooky mood: "Don’t you want to be consumed by what loves you?" Share with me the things you dread so I may know what to lay upon your stone, a story of SKK brain rot would definitely take a high seat on your throne. (Did i intentionally make it rhyme... possible so.)

(cw: blood/injury mentions)

Drip, drip, driiiip…

A twig snapped underfoot. Something splashed. The bubbling current of the brook he thought so close now sounded impossibly far away and six feet submerged.

All around him, the wind picked up—leaves rustled, branches groaned, and the end of his scarf came loose in the breeze, whipping the side of his face. Chuuya touched his neck with his dirty fingers, scratching the phantom itch so terrible he wanted to jump out of his skin because it burned the more he dug mud-caked fingers in. He felt the force of a thousand tiny ant soldiers marching up and down the column of his neck, circling all around and up and down the nape into his hair and down his spine.

Shuddering, he shook away the sensation and sucked in a deep breath. Calm. He needed to remain calm. Yet how could he do that when the trees closed in on him and the starry sky above disappeared into a sea of nothingness? Not even the moon shone. He pressed on through, underbrush scratching his skin and thorns pricking his ankles, catching in his socks and tearing needlepoint holes when he tugged himself free.

“This goddamn place, I swear…” Chuuya muttered, heaving a sigh as he stopped to catch his breath. Sweat beaded at his forehead that he flicked away with a few fingers, smearing wet warmth across his hairline. When the stench of copper reached his nose, he grimaced.

“…looking for you.”

Chuuya’s attention snapped to the nearby trees.

Nothing.

Right above him, the sound of a tree branch bending and snapping under a heavy weight. Too loud to be the wind. Too heavy to be that same owl mourning from afar. A cold streak ran through his heart and a bottomless pit of dread opened up in his stomach.

Don’t look. Don’t. Look.

No, he had to. He felt the presence of something and knew he was not alone. He looked up and saw a pair of eyes, beady and yellow in the darkness, staring back, unblinking, but couldn’t make out the shape of what he saw. Chuuya clutched his phone a little tighter.

Right. He had his phone’s light. He could use it to expose whatever thing was staring back, except making any sense of his racing thoughts proved impossible with the roar of blood rushing through his ears and his heart hammering in his chest.

It laughed. A laugh that soundly oddly human. A human laugh that did not belong to his missing friend. It was a man’s.

“Who’s there?” Chuuya demanded, though his voice cracked under the pressure of the unknown. He stepped backward and stumbled over a thick, gnarled root.

The thing laughed harder, and Chuuya swore he saw those eyes finally move, almost disappearing as if it had the face of a man and he imagined someone amused.

But people did not have yellow eyes.

“Looks like you found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you?” it spoke in a smooth voice—a voice that did not fit with the hooting of owls and cawing of crows. Too out of place for this fragmented and cursed place that existed solely by nightfall as the forest swallowed whole the light of day.

Gritting his teeth, Chuuya aimed his phone up at the source of the voice and flashed the light through the trees.

A man stared back, smiling for the camera pointed at him, flashing fanged teeth.

No. Not quite right. He had the appearance of a man, but Chuuya did not miss the claws peeling chipped bark and the eight—no, nine—tails that fanned out behind him in dashes of white and blue color against the black forest canvas. Something about this man made his blood run cold and he took off in the opposite direction, ignoring the burn in his lungs that screamed for him to stop or else as he pushed past overgrown bushes and cut himself on the unruly thorns of roses that bloomed high and tickled his skin. Against the sound of his own panting heard the laughter border on hysterical, footsteps hitting the ground behind him swift, almost light.

Leaves crunched underfoot. Earth squished.

Plop, plop, plop…

Shadows darted past him and something soft touched raw skin. A warm caress in the autumn twilight if not for the body he ran into and the hands that snaked around him, wrapped tight and refusing to let go. Claws pressed into his back and breath tickled his ear.

"Gotcha."

A scream tore itself from his throat, with no one to hear.

In the silence that followed, a soft weeping knowing the end was near even as the body refused to give up and he dug his heels into the ground. The slow dragging of his body against his will by the hand around his wrist persisted, past the bubbling brook and the meadow his friend disappeared in. Past bare trees until his feet hit stone and they walked, together, up a path leading to a shambled hut peeking through the low, purple glow of overarching trees. Next to the hut, the tiniest candle with a flickering, almost-dead flame.

He flinched when he felt a claw drag down his cheek. Harsh, but not as harsh as the unforgiving sting of the wind lashing his face.

"Don’t you want to be consumed by what loves you?"

[gibbearish]

ive seen ppl saying smth in the wider plagiarism discussion to the tune of "don't worry anxious people, it's impossible to accidentally plagiarize!" and i feel like that lacks a lot of nuance that anxious brains like mine latch on to to just dismiss the possibility outright, as well as a lack of life experiences fueling it.

it is possible to "accidentally plagiarize" in that you can read something, forget about it, then a while later have your brain spit the ideas back out without telling where it got them. so of course you just assume they're yours and share them as such, because That's Where Most Of The Thoughts In Your Head Come From! and it both is and isn't plagiarism, you weren't /intending/ to pass someone's else's work off as your own, i'd even say in a way you were just as much a victim of misinformation as your audience. but you very much so did still resuse the work of someone else, even if you don't remember it.

but in my experience, this kind of thing also happens to a lot of people. you tell a friend a joke then wake up in a cold sweat two days later realizing the reason they didnt laugh was because they'd told you that joke a month ago. you reply to a friend's text and after sending you realized you ended it with the same exact phrase as theirs. you're writing edgy poetry and write a line you really like only to see it in a text post two days later saying youve already liked the post. like, it happens. so if it DOES happens and you're just honest and explain, people will understand. something like "oh shit im sorry, i totally have read that, i mustve forgotten and only remembered bits and pieces and just thought they were mine. thank you for letting me know and for the source" works wonders.

people know you can forget things. people won't automatically doubt your apology just because all true plagiarists say it was accidental. HOPEFULLY people can understand the nuance between a genuine remorseful explanation, and a thief who hoped no one would find out scrambling for excuses for why they did it. and those who can't, that's a them problem, not a you problem, you've taken responsibility for your actions as much as you can. they think the answer is simple, that the only thing stopping you from saying "yes i did it on purpose, i knew the whole time and deliberately copied them" is shame/inability to admit to your actions. but sometimes things AREN'T that simple, so imo ppl who are shitty to you for not following the script they made up for you in their head should be ignored

[thriveonanonymity]

BIG MOOD SISTER

[chibipandaao3]

I can’t believe I’m writing this 😅😅😅

[sonknuxadow]

why are there people tagging spiderverse posts as miles prower.. begging for people to stop spamming random tags on their posts for clout Please its so annoying to every person whos not actively seeking out whatever youre posting about

[purpleandstarlight]

Being a fan of pretty dark/tragic media is all fun and games until you've reached the point of anxiety bc of a fanfiction at 3 AM and need a distraction that doesn't include any sort of drama

[adylote]

Yaaaay, cooking another fic!

What can I say, I haven't written enough Umbra's fic tu fullfil my fangirlism. And my mind is running fast with a few Space Daddy's ideas right now! Sorry Ordis :(

Idk when I will post it on Ao3 but I'm sure it will have +3 chapters. So wait for the fic tittle —not just the first chap name! Because it will be too literal, haha.

Edit: so, this is basically my headcanon timeline (in spanish) from my series "Smiles of Juran". Waoh. I'm sick, haha.

[a-really-cool-blog-name]

R.I.P Mabel you would have loved fanfiction

Plus alternative lightings because I can't help myself

[caterpillarinacave]

why have I stayed up half the night reading fanfiction

there was no reason for me to stay up half the night reading fanfiction

[savrenim]

gods nov 5th is the gift that keeps giving

[goatmilksoda]

it's always so scary when you dump your heart and soul into a chapter and think "hehehehe my audience is going to think I'm so clever and they'll love this!" and you genuinely had a great time writing it so you finally put the chapter out into the world and it's like *refresh* *refresh* *refresh* (repeat x3 days) and that inbox number for comments just stays 0.