» : Jason does not remember death, per se.However he sometimes dreams of...

Jason does not remember death, per se.

However he sometimes dreams of the blurred moments preceding it— the copper taste invading his mouth, the throbbing pain in his eye, the cold brush of his mother’s finger tips leaving his shoulders as she leans him against the crate. Sometimes the panicked tone of her voice (“It’s locked! The Jocker locked us in here!”) reverberates around his skull as he wakes up. And sometimes he wakes up with the mocking hot pink of the digital clock’s numbers burned into his vision, watches them turn from one to zero as he opens his eyes and rubs sleep away with the back of his hands.

But Jason doesn’t really remember dying.

It’s funny the way his dreams play off of each other from night to night, the way he falls back asleep that night with the same hot pink numbers of the morning once again reentering his vision, and how, pushed into the dream world once more, he finds the same numbers now etched into the vivid darkness of a coffin.   Sometimes he wakes up right away just from that, gasping for breath with his arms flailing around in the sweaty air of Gotham city.

Death is a deceptive thing, he guesses.

Speedwritten Part 14. How did this even happen?! O_O

mgnemesi:

Getting to the kitchen is, admittedly, a bit of a feat - what with Richie stretching from his cradle within Jason’s arms and clinging onto Damian’s hair as though it were a pony’s bridle - but they make it safely down the stairs and across the hall to the cosy, if overtly huge, kitchen.
As soon as Jason manages to pry Richie’s little fist from his hair, Damian bolts to take a seat. He hunches on his stool like a bird of prey, shoulders up and eyes trained darkly on Jason, but refrains from any sort of comment.
Smile dropping, shoulders sagging, Jason hovers uncertainly on the door for a moment or two, looking very much like someone who’s been hit in the face by an invisible wall.

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! 

 I love this verse ;-; 

fuckyeahfanficflamingo:

[SUMMARY IS EVERYTHING YOU WANT OUT OF LIFE (Fanfic Flamingo) WRITING MAKES YOU WEEP TEARS OF BLOOD]

tehlawr:

when you’re reading a really long fic and you finally get to the sex

Fan fiction is making teenagers better writers and better satirists, and allowing them to explore sexuality in a way decided by them rather than dictated by the entertainment industry. A purity ring doesn’t carry much meaning when Ron Weasley is pulling it off with his teeth. —The Guardian   (via clever-chin-boy)

wantstobelieve:

As he entered the clock tower and saw the trail of dark blood leading up the stairwell, Thor suddenly thought about cats.

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» This fanfic. THIS FUCKING FANFIC

I AM A MESS. I CAN’T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I SOBBED SO HARD DURIN FANFIC. OH GOD. I NEED A BREAK NOW. 

that-sounds-like-a-porno-wade:

I don’t know if anyone has ever done this before but, here ya go… The Different Types of Fanfiction! 

I probably left a few out, but these are the most common, compared to their base fiction’s canon plot. Enjoy! XD

» collecting stamps from nowhere: downtothelastbullet: tywinning asked you: 2012-08-09 03:37 As a...

stannisbaratheon:

downtothelastbullet:

As a professor, may I ask you what you think about fanfiction?

I think fanfiction is literature and literature, for the most part, is fanfiction, and that anyone that dismisses it simply on the grounds that it’s derivative knows fuck-all about literature and needs to get the hell off my lawn.

Most of the history of Western literature (and probably much of non-Western literature, but I can’t speak to that) is adapted or appropriated from something else.  Homer wrote historyfic and Virgil wrote Homerfic and Dante wrote Virgilfic (where he makes himself a character andwrites himself hanging out with Homer and Virgil and they’re like “OMG Dante you’re so cool.”  He was the original Gary Stu).  Milton wrote Bible fanfic, and everyone and their mom spent the Middle Ages writing King Arthur fanfic.  In the sixteenth century you and another dude could translate the same Petrarchan sonnet and somehow have it count as two separate poems, and no one gave a fuck.  Shakespeare doesn’t have a single original plot—although much of it would be more rightly termed RPF—and then John Fletcher and Mary Cowden Clarke and Gloria Naylor and Jane Smiley and Stephen Sondheim wrote Shakespeare fanfic.  Guys like Pope and Dryden took old narratives and rewrote them to make fun of people they didn’t like, because the eighteenth century was basically high school.  And Spenser!  Don’t even get me started on Spenser.

Here’s what fanfic authors/fans need to remember when anyone gives them shit: the idea that originality is somehow a good thing, an innately preferable thing, is a completely modern notion.  Until about three hundred years ago, a good writer, by and large, was someone who could take a tried-and-true story and make it even more awesome.  (If you want to sound fancy, the technical term is imitatio.)  People were like, why would I wanna read something about some dude I’ve never heard of?  There’s a new Sir Gawain story out, man!  (As to when and how that changed, I tend to blame Daniel Defoe, or the Modernists, or reality television, depending on my mood.)

I also find fanfic fascinating because it takes all the barriers that keep people from professional authorship—barriers that have weakened over the centuries but are nevertheless still very real—and blows right past them. Producing literature, much less circulating it, was something that was well nigh impossible for the vast majority of people for most of human history.  First you had to live in a culture where people thought it was acceptable for you to even want to be literate in the first place.  And then you had to find someone who could teach you how to read and write (the two didn’t necessarily go together).  And you needed sufficient leisure time to learn.  And be able to afford books, or at least be friends with someone rich enough to own books who would lend them to you.  Good writers are usually well-read and professional writing is a full-time job, so you needed a lot of books, and a lot of leisure time both for reading and writing.  And then you had to be in a high enough social position that someone would take you seriously and want to read your work—to have access to circulation/publication in addition to education and leisure time.  A very tiny percentage of the population fit those parameters (in England, which is the only place I can speak of with some authority, that meant from 500-1000 A.D.: monks; 1000-1500: aristocratic men and the very occasional aristocratic woman; 1500-1800: aristocratic men, some middle-class men, a few aristocratic women; 1800-on, some middle-class women as well). 

What’s amazing is how many people who didn’t fit those parameters kept writing in spite of the constant message they got from society that no one cared about what they had to say, writing letters and diaries and stories and poems that often weren’t discovered until hundreds of years later.  Humans have an urge to express themselves, to tell stories, and fanfic lets them.  If you’ve got access to a computer and an hour or two to while away of an evening, you can create something that people will see and respond to instantly, with a built-in community of people who care about what you have to say.

I do write the occasional fic; I wish I had the time and mental energy to write more.  I’ll admit I don’t read a lot of fic these days because most of it is not—and I know how snobbish this sounds—particularly well-written.  That doesn’t mean it’s “not good”—there are a lot of reasons people read fic and not all of them have to do with wanting to read finely crafted prose.  That’s why fic is awesome—it creates a place for all kinds of storytelling.  But for me personally, now that my job entails reading about 1500 pages of undergraduate writing per year, when I have time to read for enjoyment I want it to be by someone who really knows what they’re doing.  There’s tons of high-quality fic, of course, but I no longer have the time and patience to go searching for it that I had ten years ago. 

But whether I’m reading it or not, I love that fanfiction exists.  Because without people doing what fanfiction writers do, literature wouldn’t exist.  (And then I’d be out of a job and, frankly, I don’t know how to do anything else.)

sevenpoints:

duchessofcydonia:

It’s gettin’ dark, too dark for me to see
I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

I’m imagining what this must have been like for Dean when they were kids. Sammy’s just on the verge of being too old for hugs, too angry for gratitude, too unhappy for laughter. Dean could see it coming, and he wanted to do something, one last bright shining thing to hold onto Sam’s childishness, to give them one more perfect memory before Sam won’t let him do things like this anymore.

When dad leaves them for the Fourth of July, it’s like a sign. There are fireworks stands up and down the highway and it’s not hard to sneak out under the pretense of a date to buy an entire crate of rockets. Dad will smack the shit out of him for wasting money like this but he doesn’t care because some things are worth it.

It’s hours until sunset and Dean tries to distract himself with the dinner dishes even though that’s usually Sam’s job. His little brother’s no idiot and spends the entire time questioning Dean, growing more and more annoyed as Dean puts him off, until finally the stars are out and it’s time. Sam’s scowl flips into his huge bucktoothed grin once Dean opens the trunk, and then he’s running around the Impala and jumping into the passenger’s seat, yelling at Dean when he takes too long to settle behind the wheel.

He drives them to the field they’ve been using for target practice and Sam snatches the keys from him as soon as the engine quits so he can pull the crate out of the trunk. Sammy’s impatient but Dean forces himself to go slow, to watch, to commit every second of this night to memory.

Sam starts with sparklers, knowing they’re the preshow and that this whole shindig needs to finish with a bang. Dean expects Sam to dive for the rockets the second the smaller pops fade, which means he almost falls over when Sam hugs him, it’s so unexpected. He thinks and he can’t remember the last time their family hugged at all, then kicks himself and hugs Sam back, palms pressing into the sharpness of his angel bones under his hand-me-down hoodie. He doesn’t know what to do or say when Sam finally pulls back to smile at him, and is grateful when his brother breaks the moment to set off the entire fucking crate at once because he’s a Winchester and fire safety is for civilians.

Sparks light up sky, but Dean can’t take his eyes off the colors playing across Sam’s face. He wants to run under the shower with him but he can’t move; it’s like his entire body has shut down, rooting him where he stands, not wanting to interrupt this moment, not willing blink or even breathe, not when he’s watching Sam.

» It's Only the End if You Want it to Be: Notes for Batfam fanfiction writers:

luanna255:

(Frankly, some canon writers could stand to keep these in mind, too.)

(Frankly, some canon writers could stand to keep these in mind, too.)

1) Jason threatening to kill other Batfamily members should be used sparingly, and having him attempt to kill other Batfam members should be deployed withextreme, extreme caution. Jason will react to other Batfam members with open hostility and large amounts of snark, but he pretty much only goes after the bad guys (contrary to what BftC seems to think), and he’s not really one for making death threats every time he opens his mouth. He’s not Damian.

2) Stephanie is not all sunshine and joy. The girl has a large amount of ‘tude, too. She’s not Pollyanna. She has a temper, she won’t hesitate to tell off people who deserve it, and she has a cynical side, too. This is a girl who’s been through a lot, who lost her innocence pretty early on, and although she’s still among the most optimistic of the Bats (her and Dick), that’s not all there is to her.

3) Babs and Tim are not “the smart ones” to the exclusion of all the other Batkids. Yes, Babs and Tim are geniuses, and yes, they are probably the most cerebral and logical ones. But it’s important to remember that the other Batkids are all intelligent in their own ways, too. Jason isn’t just “the angry one” - he’s also incredibly cunning and resourceful. He knows what he’s doing. Dick was the detective prodigy long before Tim came along, and he’s arguably has the best leadership skills in the DCU. Damian isn’t just a stab-happy brat, he’s clearlyinherited his father’s brains. Playing up the emotion vs. logic contrast between Dick and Tim or Babs and Steph is great - as long as you don’t start making the other Batkids stupid or incompetent simply because they’re around Babs or Tim. ALL of the Batkids are smart.

4) Jason and Bruce did not spend the entirety of Jason’s Robin tenure arguing. Bruce could actually be quite sweet and supportive with Jason, and for his part Jason was generally happy and enthusiastic about being Robin (and had an amazing ability to make Bruce smile, too, right from the very beginning). Jason could be more violent and angry than Dick, it’s true, but if you focus too much on how he was angry and ‘dooooomed’ from the beginning, you’re not accurately portraying him or his relationship with Bruce.

5) Babs does not need to have a snarky comeback to every single sentence out of Dick’s mouth. Yes, she loves to tease him, but she’s equally likely to just be openly affectionate (even when he gives her an opening to mess with him). If Dick says “Hi, it’s nice to see you”, you really can just have Babs say “I’m glad to see you, too” without twelve different sarcastic comments. Babs loves to snark, but she’s also an incredibly warm and caring person, too. (It’s also worth noting that Babs doesn’t always have the upper hand in their relationship, either. She knocks Dick off his feet like no one else does - literally and metaphorically - but Dick is probably the only one who can, to use Dinah’s phrase, make “the great Oracle embarrassed like a little schoolgirl”.)

6) Cass is a woman of few words, but she is neither cold nor humorless. She’s actually incredibly sweet, and she’s perfectly willing to joke around and laugh. (Heck, she can even troll with the best of them!) Characterizing Cass as cold or emotionless is actually about as far from her true personality as you can get. Being badass is NOT the same thing as having no emotions. Similarly, if you write Tim as some kind of super-serious mini-Bruce (not that Bruce is as humorless as many writers portray him, either), you’re not really understanding him. Tim is basically a gigantic dork who loves joking around with the people he loves and has an absolutely ridiculous sense of humor. (Oh, and he’s not neat all the time, either.)

7) Catchphrases should be used sparingly, and are not substitutes for genuine personality. Damian does not tack “-tt-” onto every sentence out of his mouth. Babs is unlikely refer to Dick as “Hunk Wonder” or “Short-Pants” more than a few times in one conversation. Steph does not constantly make jokes about waffles and the color eggplant. All of these things can be mixed into dialogue here and there to good effect. But if you start relying on them too much, especially to elevate otherwise flat characterization, it comes across as unrealistic and irritating. Your characterization should speak for itself. Catchphrases, nicknames, and signature jokes are there to enhance characterization - they do not, on their own, comprise it.

8) Dick is a flirt, but he doesn’t think about sex 24/7, nor is he going to want to sleep with every attractive person he meets. He has relationship ethics, and when he does have casual flings, it’s not something he feels comfortable with. Nor is he likely to just take off his clothes in public without some kind of in-story justification for it. Dick has an outgoing personality, and he is a sexual character, but taking these qualities to an extreme and writing him as some kind of exhibitionist sex maniac is completely out-of-character. (It’s also worth noting that while he is a flirt, he isn’t crass about it. He uses the adjectives ‘lovely’ and ‘wonderful’ to describe Kory in skimpy bikinis. Need I say more?)

9) This is the most important one: Bruce is neither a terrible person nor an abusive father. Is he emotionally distant sometimes? Yes, absolutely. Is he too hard on his kids at times? Yes, that too. But he’s also often warmsupportive, and extremelyloving towards his children. He doesn’t always expect perfection, and even though sometimes his standards are too high, there are just as many moments where he’s sensitive and understanding when his kids mess up (or think they’ve messed up). Bottom line is, he loves his kids deeply, and he tries to be the best father he can. And he’s a good person. He makes mistakes - terrible mistakes, sometimes - but he can be a really wonderful father at times, too. (And he’s not humorless either!)

Anyone care to add your own?

holywatered:

when you think about it fanfiction is actually amazing

there are thousands of brilliantly written novel-length stories kids wrote from their own brains about characters and shows/books/movies they love all twined into the internet and other kids read these 50k+ stories in their own time and invest themselves in it

nobody’s being paid to write it and nobody’s being told to read it, people do it because they legitimately enjoy it

that is just kind of amazing

If someone asks you, I’m crazy

mgnemesi:

“You have heart,” Loki tells him, voice low and crooning. Deliberate. This man is a promising one.

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this is a jason and loki fic. 

a Jason

and

Loki fic.

JASON AND LOKI

I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THE SIMILARITY IN THEIR STORIES. SWEET JESUS. 

wantstobelieve:

It is half-light.

It is when strange transitions happen; stone into sentience, angles into bends, spite into longing.

Brothers into not-brothers into foes into lovers.

Weight into wamth. Words into promises.

It is half-light, and Loki turns pensive.

Meditative, serene; bordering on lazy. Slender finger drawing slow, invisible circles. Still and pliant. Almost tame. 

“You seem content,” Thor rumbles gently, battling sleep he cannot afford.

Loki’s lips scarcely move. “Do I.” 

Thor smiles as he watches the finger on his chest traces another circle, then another, then another; each one overlapping the last, a succession of never-ending spirals homing in on his heart. 

It aches as dawn creeps near, unwelcomed and abhorred and certain.

studiousjones:

Supernatural Hunger Games AU (drabble #2) -previous-

The first thing Dean did when the countdown ran out was grab a backpack and the set of throwing knives resting near the edge of the Cornucopia. He didn’t spare a thought for the kid who got in his way - couldn’t have been older than thirteen, damn it all. A kid who didn’t have an older brother to watch out for him.

Dean wasn’t heartless. Stopping to dwell on it, though, would see him killed too and that wasn’t going to happen. If he was dead, then Sam was just as good as. Dean was the one who looked after him, raised him, kept him safe and fed.

Dean could hear the fighting behind him as he ran for the woods. He wondered how many would be dead by that night’s tally. Two? Twenty? The more dead, the sooner the Games would be over.

John Winchester was a force before he died and in her prime, before starvation took her like it did most in District 12, Mary Campbell had no equal. He was their son. He had their stubborn drive and the same ruthless will to fight and protect his family.

Dean would do as he always did; push on. Survive.

He found himself a nook between a rock and a hill, out of the way and good for cover. As he gathered moss and twigs to disguised his shelter, Dean turned his eyes, knowing the cameras would be on him by now as everything settled for the first night in the arena.

His head held high and putting forth as much confidence as he could muster, he spoke out without thought to Sponsors or gamblers or the Capitol. Dean’s only concern was for the one person in this whole forsaken world who needed him to believe.

“I’m coming home, Sammy.”

aausten