i thought this was the ladies' room

wwinrys:

if I ever get my book published and it has a section on FF.N you can bet your fuckin asses I’m going to be posting my own secretly canon fanfiction and never telling anybody

Long fics that never turn out to be as good as their summaries made you think they’d be

hana-bakemono:

dan-and-phil:

today in class this christian girl was telling her life story, and she was like ‘who knows what fanfiction is’

and i just shouted out ME I DO

so she started saying ‘this stuff was basically written porn. i was addicted. and then jesus saved me, he saved me from this spiralling pit of despair’ and she just burst into tears

omfg what

I guess I’m going to hell.

I’m sorry, Jesus.



Thor says, “In my youth I courted War,” and those who hear him think he’s being poetic. He’s never been very poetic, though; he’s much too sincere for that. It isn’t his fault that the Midgardians with their blunt, frank speech find his to be flowery. No, War was real, and she was lovely—as beautiful as a wildfire and just as deadly. 
She wasn’t quite a god—not one of Asgard, anyway, although she was no stranger there. She claimed there was no place in existence where she was unknown. She would tell wild, brutal stories of battle and bloodshed that panned every known realm and a few unknown ones. Once she even claimed that she was destined to one day help destroy Midgard. Loki once privately accused her of being a wild liar, but her cruel, proud smiles convinced Thor otherwise. 
Either way, she fascinated him, and his lust for her was utterly blind. Once he invited her to battle alongside him, and in the middle of the whole ordeal she went into a frenzy and ended up slaying two Asgardians as well as several enemies—but even then Thor was too young and foolish to cast her away, and so their violent courtship continued. 
It wasn’t until the business with his exile and Loki’s fall that he finally and resolutely tired of her. She’s never really left, though, will never really allow him to escape. Even in his battles alongside the Avengers he can sometimes see her—a flash of flaming hair wilder than Natasha’s and a glimpse of a broad grin more sadistic than Loki’s. The Midgardians can’t seem to see her, though, and so they write Thor off as poetic.

Thor says, “In my youth I courted War,” and those who hear him think he’s being poetic. He’s never been very poetic, though; he’s much too sincere for that. It isn’t his fault that the Midgardians with their blunt, frank speech find his to be flowery. No, War was real, and she was lovely—as beautiful as a wildfire and just as deadly. 

She wasn’t quite a god—not one of Asgard, anyway, although she was no stranger there. She claimed there was no place in existence where she was unknown. She would tell wild, brutal stories of battle and bloodshed that panned every known realm and a few unknown ones. Once she even claimed that she was destined to one day help destroy Midgard. Loki once privately accused her of being a wild liar, but her cruel, proud smiles convinced Thor otherwise. 

Either way, she fascinated him, and his lust for her was utterly blind. Once he invited her to battle alongside him, and in the middle of the whole ordeal she went into a frenzy and ended up slaying two Asgardians as well as several enemies—but even then Thor was too young and foolish to cast her away, and so their violent courtship continued. 

It wasn’t until the business with his exile and Loki’s fall that he finally and resolutely tired of her. She’s never really left, though, will never really allow him to escape. Even in his battles alongside the Avengers he can sometimes see her—a flash of flaming hair wilder than Natasha’s and a glimpse of a broad grin more sadistic than Loki’s. The Midgardians can’t seem to see her, though, and so they write Thor off as poetic.

excerpt(s) from a nonexistent fic

aitu:

With all the resolution and precision of a man barely staying on his own two feet, Loki moves to stand over the God of Thunder’s prone form. Magic crackles visibly in his hands—little blizzards and hailstorms swirling about his fingertips and wafting from his palms. “None shall touch this man,” he snarls in his most terrible, godly voice. “He is mine.”

The Foe chuckles, low and dismissive. “He is your…what? You reject him as kin. He is hardly an ally. He is nothing.” His sneer is as audible as his words, as physical a presence as the weapon he balances in one horrible hand. He wants to see Loki squirm under the force of it. The soldiers that stand around him snicker as one being.

Loki, for his part, looks momentarily aghast, disgusted—and then, bizarrely, a little disappointed. He settles on furious and a tad strained. “Do you forget the simplest rules of wartime? Do you know your enemy so poorly?” Wildly, he casts his ancient eyes about this place that smells of war and death; he allows his gaze to rest on his estranged brother for only an instant. “Without Thor none of this matters,” is his rumbling explanation. “He is not kin. He is everything. And you shall not touch him.”

Loki looks up at his brother from beneath five blankets and two sets of dark, dark eyelashes. He whispers, “Exactly how long do you plan to wait for me?”

Thor doesn’t say anything for a short while, and by the knit of his brow and the lines around his mouth, Loki can tell that he is thinking very hard about his answer. Fear, sharp, cold, and without warning, makes its presence known deep in Loki’s gut. It only lasts a few seconds, and Loki feels silly once his brother’s face smooths over as a sign that he’s decided what to say, but the ghost of the sudden shock of doubt still lingers like a bad taste in one’s mouth after having been sick.

If Thor’s noticed Loki’s momentary attack, he doesn’t show it. Completely sober and solemn in face, he says, “Until I no longer can.” His face softens, then, reveals ancient fondness, and he leans down to smooth his hand down a visible patch of Loki’s hair. Then he turns and leaves without another word.

And Loki has no idea what to make of that.

excerpt from a nonexistent fic

With all the resolution and precision of a man barely staying on his own two feet, Loki moves to stand over the God of Thunder’s prone form. Magic crackles visibly in his hands—little blizzards and hailstorms swirling about his fingertips and wafting from his palms. “None shall touch this man,” he snarls in his most terrible, godly voice. “He is mine.”

The Foe chuckles, low and dismissive. “He is your…what? You reject him as kin. He is hardly an ally. He is nothing.” His sneer is as audible as his words, as physical a presence as the weapon he balances in one horrible hand. He wants to see Loki squirm under the force of it. The soldiers that stand around him snicker as one being.

Loki, for his part, looks momentarily aghast, disgusted—and then, bizarrely, a little disappointed. He settles on furious and a tad strained. “Do you forget the simplest rules of wartime? Do you know your enemy so poorly?” Wildly, he casts his ancient eyes about this place that smells of war and death; he allows his gaze to rest on his estranged brother for only an instant. “Without Thor none of this matters,” is his rumbling explanation. “He is not kin. He is everything. And you shall not touch him.”

Here, have the link while I’m getting dressed to go to the airport, my darling loves

Brother: *ominously quotes the first line of the fic I'm working on*
Me: WHAT DID YOU SAY
Me: HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT LINE
Brother: I skimmed through your fic while you were letting me use your laptop a couple days ago
Me: WHAT
Me: HOW MUCH DID YOU READ
Me: GOD ALMIGHTY
Me: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE
Me: YOU'VE DOOMED US ALL
Brother: *laughs*

image