I take no responsibility for RPF but I’m just saying: In the OMGCP universe, the Parse/Segs shipname would be “trash babies”.
This is so accurate. Holy heck, you know how we talk about Kent’s sexuality being the worst kept secret in the NHL? What if Trash Babies is the culmination of two best buds fucking with the media?
The fan following for them already existed. But then they got super fucking trashed together one time and decided to write a crack fic about themselves (it was horribly written, but they posted it anyway and it’s become infamous in the CP! RPF fandom. People can’t get over how graphic, surreally accurate, and rudimentary it is. (It’s essentially 5k on them having locker sex and they were really drunk ok?))
So then they decide to make fake a Twitter account where they occasionally stoke the fire with “rumors” and “leads” of their love affair. They make sure their ship has a reputation. They’re the Larry’s of their own goddamn fandom. They reinvented shit posting too, mind you.
And in a half-formed eight step plan, they make out at a club during All Star Weekend the next year. People take photos, the paps get involved. No one believes it though. A) you’d be surprised the amount of things people can ignore when they’re in denial B) C’mon, you see two generic white dudebros making out in a dark club and it “has to be” your favs? C) Trash Baby shippers are like the fans who cried wolf, and paps will do anything for a dollar
Bonus: because Trash Babies actually love their fans, they release pics from a photo shoot that’s sorority girls meets engagement announcement (y’all know what I’m talking about, kisses on the cheek, laughing through a meadow, poorly hiding behind trees and finding each other) and it really confuses most of the world? but feeds the shipping fodder for a very long time
Tag: fic
Soft
It starts with a bar of soap.
For God’s sake, Kent thinks to himself in
the “personal care” section of the grocery store. Why does Dove think I’m allergic to purple just because I’m a guy?He picks up the lavender-scented bar soap and inhales. It smells heavenly. Next he tries the sandalwood-scented from the men’s section. It comes in a
gray box and costs fifty cents less. It smells good but it reminds him of floor
polish.I’m a grown-ass man, Kent thinks, and buys
the lavender soap.–
The next time he’s out of body wash, he spends thirty minutes
trying to decide on one of the many “manly” smells before caving to “Cocoa
Cabana” in the women’s aisle because it smells like Valentines Day in a bottle.After that it’s his deodorant body spray, trading in “Bold” (whatever the fuck
boldness smells like) for “Fresh Cotton.”The first time Jeff catches a whiff
of it on him, he asks, “New fabric softener? It smells awesome.”“Nah, switched deodorants.”
“Huh.” Jeff nods in approval. “Well, you smell like fresh
blankets out of the dryer. I have a physical urge to hug you.”Kent laughs. Jeff hugs him and he laughs more. It’s nice.
–
After five months, nearly every toiletry Kent owns has been
switched over from an endless variety of blacks, grays, and occasional dark
greens and blues to white, purple, soft brown, yellow, and pink. Showers have
transformed from a perfunctory necessity to something luxurious. Women’s
products are so indulgent.
They make Kent feel and smell like he’s been at a spa. He does have to learn to juggle the fragrances appropriately or
risk smelling like a perfume store vomited on him. But it’s worth it, for how
good he feels after. He feels pampered. His skin is softer, his hair shines,
and even his pits and crotch look and feel cleaner. He doesn’t know if it’s the
products or because he really cares about the maintenance, now, since he’s got
all these specialty items to try. It doesn’t matter. He feels great.Kent now has honest-to-God bubble baths and detox-salt-soaks.
He’s got body butters and face masks and a lip balm in almost every flavor. The
ladies at the Lush at the mall know him by name.Kent’s still single. He’s got his cat for company, though, and
the guys, who drop by or come over for movie and game nights and get drunk and
eat all his food and pretend to chirp him for the specialty lemongrass-scented
hand soap in his bathroom. Sometimes, on roadies, Swoops will plop down next to
him on a bus or a plane and say loudly, “Damn, who’s got chocolate and
isn’t sharing? Oh, it’s just Parser. Fuck you for getting my hopes up,” and
then he’ll noogie Kent or grab his fingers and gnaw on them.(The coaches have had to break them up before and it’s very
unbecoming of two adult men.)More than once, one of the guys has fallen asleep next to Kent
and ended up face-first in Kent’s shoulder. They’ll wake up blearily, rubbing
their eyes and saying, “Whoops, sorry man, didn’t mean to drool on you.”
Kent was confused at first but he’s realizing that it’s because they gravitate
towards the scent of him in their sleep. He smells like comforting things:
honey and chocolate and cotton and Shea. He smells like warmth and safety. It’s
why he likes all the things he buys, so it makes sense the guys would like
that, too.Nobody rags on him for it. They chirp him, but that’s different.
Chirping, light-hearted and giggly, means acceptance. Soon his teammates start
coming up to him in the locker room or nudging him on a bus and
saying, “Parser, can I borrow some of your stuff?” and leaving with
key-lime lips or cocoa-butter hands.But it’s when he catches Sunny—big, burly, greatly-bearded d-man
Sunny—pulling a bright orange tube of passion fruit lip balm out of his bag and
slicking it on in front of everyone that he knows for sure that it’s okay.
Reblog if you think fanfiction isn’t a waste of time.
Reblog if you think it’s a good way to practice writing.
Reblog if you have made friends because of fanfiction.
My sister called it a waste of time and I want to prove her wrong.
fanfic alignments
Lawful Good: lurked for a month before posting to consume all fan content in their area of interest, internalise tagging conventions, and learn what content is already well-represented and what is lacking. fills in gaps in the fandom oeuvre out of a sense of community responsibility. alerts people who were like “why isn’t there fic of this” that there is now fic of this and includes author’s notes acknowledging those people by name for inspiring said fic.
Neutral Good: writes fic in response to prompts or community discussion. beloved by those who follow and interact with them. potential ouroboros relationship with fanon, where they both contribute to the development of fanon conventions and perpetuate them.
Chaotic Good: “I know no one asked for this but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone so HERE, HAVE THIS THING THAT I POURED AN UNREASONABLE AMOUNT OF MY LIFEFORCE INTO. FREE ME FROM THE GRIP OF THIS FEVERED MUSE”
Lawful Neutral: scrupulously researched, impeccably canon-compliant fic. author may go out of their way to mimic the canon narrative style as closely as possible. readers’ comments are likely to include “wow, this feels like it could have been an actual episode of !” high proportion of missing scenes, alternate POV scenes, and character interactions that should have been given screentime in canon but were tragically underutilised.
True Neutral: had an idea, wrote it, and posted it. may not be aware of the fandom zeitgeist or may simply not care. doing their own thing and feeling the fulfillment of an idea properly manifested. lower average hitcount than many other alignments due to lack of engagement with fandom or fanon and potential redundancy to already-existing fanwork. may be dabbling in a fandom they have no specific intention to revisit.
Chaotic Neutral: AUs, expies, self-inserts, reader-inserts, reader-directed/choose-your-own-adventure fic, crack, etc. We’re all mad here! Mad and having so much fun.
Lawful Evil: “I have no justification and no excuse, but enjoy this exhaustively-tagged, morally unconscionable character torture! I sure did :)”
Neutral Evil: fic would not have existed if not for the motivating power of spite and frustration with the fandom (or, in certain end-of-the-bellcurve cases, the source media, but in general spite/frustration toward the source media is common in any alignment). whatever other motivations there may be, the fic is an express Take That of greater or lesser subtlety. this author is so mad. why is everyone doing this wrong? WHY MUST THEY BE THE ONE TO RIGHT THIS WRONG? THEY’LL SHOW YOU WHAT THIS CONTENT SHOULD BE. THEY’LL SHOW YOU ALL!!!
Chaotic Evil: wants someone to suffer. is it the cause of their spite, whom they are using Take That fic to call out? is it their readers, whom they are trolling, whether with badfic or with a poisoned-apple plot that seems to be all the reader desires before it takes a horrible twist? is it the creator(s) of the source media? it doesn’t matter, as long as someone experiences regret as a result of the fic’s existence.
AU where instead of going to Samwell, Jack starts a widely successful Publicly Broadcast show for children.
Jack learns that he is great with kids after coaching them for a little over two years. Moreover, kids are good with Jack. There is no pressure to be anything other than who he is.
It all starts with a local news program doing a fluff piece on Jack Zimmermann’s coaching ability. But then it turned into something completely different when Jack skated onto camera and started to introduce every single one of his kids and what was special about them. He was…really enchanting actually. He didn’t ever really talk down to them. Jack just treated them as a tiny friend.
They ARE his tiny friends, but that’s not the point.
The footage they got of “snack time” was really the best. Imagine a good 16 kids piled around this massive man teaching them the best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
It should have been obvious that a local channel would contact him. It still surprises Jack. They want him to host a show? Why? Everyone always teased him about how impersonable he was during interviews. Is it because he’s Jack Zimmermann’s son? Or Alicia’s?
Jack asks all of these questions to his mother and she just laughs. “You made a PB&J interesting to 16 kids just by being you”
Jack figures it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot.
Chewbacca 👐 SURPRISED
Thanks @thebyrchentwigges! What fun!
I have a notion that Chewie’s not surprised that often, but here’s a time when maybe he was.
Four days ago, Chewbacca finished fixing the damper for the
rear center spin control using a bit of electrical tape and an eating utensil
snipped in half and pounded flat. He reattached the panel and knocked twice on
it for good luck.When the Falcon was still flying straight the next day, he did
it again as he passed the spot, just in case that was why.Each day since, when he’s passed the panel on the way to and
from his bunk, he’s quickly and quietly knocked twice.Three days ago, Chewbacca reattached the navigational
antenna on the top hull. They were out of 6-centimeter screws so he stuck in
some shorter ones, glued the whole thing down with epoxy that maybe wasn’t
quite rated for vacuum, and added a whole lot of hope. The spot was right above
the corridor to the cockpit, and when he passed under it he shot a stern look
at the ceiling: You better hold together up there.When the nav computer was still working the next day, he
kept looking up each time he entered or left the cockpit, because better safe
than sorry.Two days ago, he repaired a weld on the cooking unit so it
would make heat again instead of just sparks. The connectors had been fixed so
many times the ends wouldn’t reach anymore, so he stuck an extra bit of wire in
there, welded it to both pieces, and hoped for the best. He laid a hand on the
cooktop in a quick, quiet blessing.When Han didn’t die in an explosion the first time he tried
to heat up a meal-pack, Chewie thought: better do that again, for luck.Chewbacca has a lot of little rituals like that. Small
things, probably silly, but it seems like when he remembers to do them his
repairs hold together, even if he fixed the thing with spit and fur because
they couldn’t afford to do it right. Or because they forgot to stock up on
six-sided washers, or because Han threw that one specialized wrench at the
bounty hunter they were running from, and they left both wrench and bounty
hunter in the dust.He doesn’t do these things if he knows Han’s around. Han
would tease him. Even though Chewbacca is fully (and secretly) aware that Han
whispers sweet nothings to the ship when he thinks his first mate can’t hear.But then, after a quick stop on Syvon to pick up food and
drop off a certain piece of unofficial cargo, suddenly Chewie’s down with the
Syvonian Flu, and although humans usually only sneeze a bit, it hits Wookiees
hard. He’s stuck in the medbunk for five solid days, dizzy if he tries to stand
up, hallucinating little furry creatures that appear to be dancing on the
ceiling while singing raunchy songs.Han brings him broth and flatbread.
When Chewie finally staggers to his feet, the lights are
dimmed in the medbay and the ship’s engines are humming quiet and smooth.
Nothing’s pinging. Nothing’s knocking. No alarms are blaring.Chewie hasn’t knocked on a panel or reminded the nav antenna
to stay on the ship in five whole days. He never took his rituals all that
seriously, but still. Don’t tell Han, but Chewie’s amazed the ship hasn’t
fallen apart.He makes his way down the corridor toward his own bunk,
still unsteady on his feet. As he rounds the corner, he sees Han heading that
way too, just passing the panel over the spin control damper. Han lifts a hand,
and… knocks twice.Chewie’s short, surprised laugh isn’t that loud but the ship
is so quiet. Han turns, sees him, smiles.“Held the ship together for you,” he says, “but I’m not sure
I got them all. She’ll be glad you’re back to do it right.”
{{Okay, so residual haunting was a canonical thing in the old Star Wars EU, right? What with the echo of Anakin’s massacre of that Ghorfa tribe still remaining on Tatooine in Tatooine Ghost. Makes me think, what if there’s a similar residual haunting in the ruins of the Jedi temple on Coruscant, repeatedly replaying the massacre that had happened inside during the events of Order 66?}}
@sanerontheinside have this
*meeps* y u do this?
in fact: why does everyone insist on throwing the supernatural and paranormal at me all at once? not to mention, I just wrote fluff last night, and now you want me to angst at ppl again? siiiiigh… oh, have at it.
@obaewankenope, @deadcatwithaflamethrower, @lilyrose225writes, @meabhair, @maawi, @eclipsemidnight, @kyberpunk
A cold touch, like two fingers, across the nape of your neck. An echo of scream at the far end of a dim hallway. A flash of lights like a blaster shot, no discernible cause for it.
In general, though, the cold almost-cramping in your gut was only normal around the Emperor. The way his eyes bored into you, like fire on your skin wherever he happened to be looking, cold sweat all over – it stood to reason that the halls would also feel airless, choked with smoke and the scent of burnt metal. Just your fears whispering in your ear. That’s what all the residents of the Imperial Palace told themselves.
And of course, there were those like Tarkin or Isard who were only too happy to ignore it, and softly deride anyone who shuddered at an imagined sensation.
But for Mara Jade, it was impossible to ignore. Some nights, Mara couldn’t sleep at all, hearing the sounds of blasterfire and screaming, and something that sounded oddly like the Emperor’s lightsaber – but many of them at once.
On other nights, the Imperial Palace was deathly still, and that frightened Mara more than the screaming she could almost ignore. It made her restless, and no matter how she tried, she could not sleep.
Mara Jade slipped from her bed, not making a sound, sliding the blaster from under her pillow. If nothing else, a walk out in the free air might clear her mind.
There was a boy at the end of the landing pad – just sitting there, feet casually hanging over the side. Mara Jade grinned in appreciation: that was something she always wanted to do herself. It didn’t make sense to live in fear of heights in a city over six hundred levels high. It did, however, make sense to get to know them, much like walking around in the utter stillness in the dark was supposed to help her fear it less. Though, so far, she wouldn’t have said it was working. Now that she’d seen the boy out doing the same, however, Mara did feel a bit lighter.
Still, she didn’t necessarily want company, nor immediately trust this being.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked as she warily stepped closer, fingers closed over her small blaster.
The truly disarming thing about that boy was that wide grin he cast over his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said brightly.
Mara tensed immediately, sensing – no, not a lie. Under that grin, the boy was rather troubled that he did not know. She wasn’t sure whether her surprise showed on her face, but something must have, the way that grin melted away. That was disappointing. She’d been trying so hard to school her expressions so as not to give anything away.
But the boy had turned back to the city’s lights, and he sighed. “It seemed so important, you know, to get to the end of the landing pad. Like there was someone at the end of it to help me.”
Mara weighed her options – to take out her blaster, or to keep it out of sight, even if within reach. She decided on the latter. Perhaps there wouldn’t be much harm in coming a little closer, bit by bit. She watched him as she approached, but he didn’t move a muscle, so she didn’t stop until she was just out of arm’s reach. “Help you do what?”
The boy shrugged. “Leave this place, I think.”
Mara didn’t quite manage to choke back a scoff. “Why would you want to leave home?”
But the look she got for it was equally troubled, and even more lost. “I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “Honestly I can’t think of a single reason.”
“Betrayal.”
The word dropped from her mouth, and Mara started, certain she must look just as surprised as the boy, whose head had snapped around to her. It felt oddly right, and she didn’t understand where it had come from. Mara shivered, hugging herself in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. She wasn’t supposed to show anything, she wasn’t supposed to allow anyone to read her reactions –
“Hey, it’s okay,” the boy soothed, his smile genuine for the first time. “It’s okay. That happens sometimes. The Force speaks to some people that way, it’s like prescience.”
“I don’t – I’m not –” Mara stuttered helplessly. She wasn’t Force Sensitive, she’ wasn’t prescient, she was just – she could hear the Emperor in her head, and that was all that there was special about her.
“Doesn’t have to be prescience,” he shrugged again, and sighed. “Anyway, I know you’re right. I just don’t remember anything about it. Not really.” He hung his head, looking pensive.
Then, “I think there was someone at the end of the platform, someone who wanted to help.”
Mara Jade shook her head, wondering at this trusting being. In the middle of the Imperial Palace, no less! Didn’t he know how everyone here fought for the Emperor’s notice, and ‘allies’ were ready to turn at a moment’s notice just to get a step ahead? She’d seen it often enough.
“No one ever helps,” she said, with a firm nod.
For some reason, the boy let out a harsh, bitter laugh, then hung his head, hands clutching white-knuckled at the edge of the landing pad. “That’s true, I guess. If the people you always thought were there to protect you and watch your back suddenly turned against you, I don’t think there would be enough people left to help.”
That sent a chill down her spine – worse, already, than the wind at this height of the city. People you always thought were there to protect you and watch your back. She thought of the Emperor, of her exhaustive training that would prepare her to one day serve as his Hand, and how she only ever felt warm in his presence. No, she would not ever betray him.
“Mara Jade,” a soft voice called to her. She looked up sharply at the boy, but he only smiled. “Go back to sleep, little one.”
Her feet had moved without any conscious thought of her own, and she only really noticed that she’d left the landing platform when she was mere steps away from her room again. But the quiet no longer seemed quite so oppressive, and sleep dragged at her, inexorable. She all but collapsed back into her bed, eyes already closed, and yet the small blaster still made its way under her pillow in a loose clasp.
– in memory of the one young Padawan who almost broke through the ranks of Torrent Company, fighting to get to Bail Organa.
also, holy shit – did not fucking expect to hit the creep vibe at the end therebrb screaming
How Long is this Fic Really?: A Guide
Word count in the HP Series:
Sorcerer’s Stones: 76,944
Chamber of Secrets: 85,141
Prisoner of Azkaban: 107,253
Goblet of Fire: 190,637
Order of the Phoenix: 257,045
Half-Blood Prince: 168,923
Deathly Hallows: 198,227Word count in the LOTR Series:
The Hobbit: 95,022
Fellowship of the Ring: 177,227
Two Towers: 143,436
Return of the King: 134,462This changed me
I’ve read/ am reading fic that are upwards to 150,000 – 200,000. You’re telling me that authors that write for fun are writing a full-length book for the fun of it? They have earned my respect 10 fold.
A friendly reminder.
Adding on to this by reminding everyone to leave feedback on fics. Seriously, y’all, fic writers put their heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, and time into their writing. The least that you could do is let them know you enjoyed their works.
Please!!
but trans!woman Tony Stark- Toni Stark, she doesn’t wanna change her name really, she’s never gone by “Anthony” anyway and there was a reason for it- and Pepper Potts. trans!Tony Pepperony!
- Pepper finds out because she catches Toni dressing up, nylons, heels, makeup on and gets flustered and thinks it’s some sexual fetish thing but Toni stumbles over her words to get out “It’s not what you think!” and the two of them just stare at each other for a moment before Toni breaks down everything
- Pepper’s the only one who knows that Toni’s a trans woman for a long time. She always calls her Toni, and no one understands “Why does his assistant call him by his first name?” and Toni always calls Pepper “Ms. Potts” still.
- When Toni comes out, Pepper being the first person to correct anyone in the press on her pronouns and shut any transphobic bullshit down.
- When Toni asks Pepper if it changes anything about their relationship- “because there’s been something here, hasn’t there, Miss Potts?” Toni tries to smirk, but it’s too earnest- Pepper doesn’t hesitate to reassure her. “I’m still your girl, Toni.” They share their first real kiss as soon as the words have left Pepper’s mouth.
- As soon as Toni gets back from Afghanistan, she starts estrogen. It’s one thing Pepper doesn’t have to remind her of. She forgets to eat while in her workshop more often than she forgets to take her hormones.
- When their relationship goes public, Pepper fields questions about her sexuality by just giving a stare and taking a question from a different reporter. She blacklists reporters if they bring it up more than once.
- Toni’s body dysmorphia gets really terrible when her PTSD hits and she keeps building suits to fight it, some of them being noticeably “feminine” in shape, but she hates those worst of all and Pepper tries her hardest to remind Toni that she’s beautiful and sometimes those conversations do nothing and make Toni more upset, but she knows Pepper’s trying and eventually she goes back to bed and let’s Pepper be the big spoon.
- Pepper Potts and trans woman!Toni Stark!!!!!!!!!!!!
I think a big part of why I read way more fanfiction than books is that there’s just a hell of a lot less exposition
the first 10 pages of most books are always “these are the main characters and here’s some background on each of them and this is the setting etc etc” and it’s such a fucking hassle getting to the plot sometimes
fanfic is just like “fuck it you know all of this already let’s go”
That’s a really good point.
Steel Phoenix Studios 