#but it's like my favourite trope or something

[tseecka]

It's also one of the absolute best ways to find MORE fic that will scratch whatever itch brought you to that author in the first place. Because if you click on an author (using one of my faves to demonstrate),

To go to their page,

You can click on this link here,

To find OTHER WORKS THAT AUTHOR ENJOYED READING.

I'm so fucking serious: this is like a Wikipedia rabbit hole but for fanfiction. Many of my absolute favourite fics or writers are ones I discovered by investigating what my current faves are reading and liking well enough to bookmark.

This isn't foolproof obviously. Not everyone uses bookmarks, many people make their bookmarks privately, but if you're stymied by the absolute glut of fic in your favourite tags and want to find something new to read, it's such an amazing place to start. Consider:

If you're finicky about writing style or quality, odds are your favorite fic writer is bookmarking works that jive with their own sensibilities.

You like how they write particular dynamics or tropes or kinks? They probably have their own favorites in those categories. Same goes for motifs or themes.

You want to know what other fandoms might be inspiring them, where you might find content you enjoy as well? Explore what fandoms they are reading fic for, and maybe discover something new! (Case in point; I first learned about Victoria Goddard's books specifically from exploring what @ariaste was reading, and now I LOVE THEM.)

Some tags for fandoms or pairings have tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of fics. Relying only on kudos or bookmark counts to sort through them all isn't a guaranteed way of finding your next fave fic, but washing through years or even decades of stories isn't necessarily feasible. This can also be a fantastic way to uncover hidden or forgotten gems and show older fics some love. You wanna know how you get authors gushing with excitement about someone commenting on their fic from 2007 that they thought had been entirely subsumed by the influx of reboot fans? You follow the rabbit hole!

It's not creepy. It's not stalking. It's not even weird. Users can make their bookmarks private if they choose to, or just bookmark through other means. Looking through what your faves loved enough to save for later is such a great way to replicate the old Internet communities of webrings and message boards, of making recommendations to one another.

And then, don't forget to make your own bookmarks--because you can also go down these rabbit holes by taking a look at who bookmarked that fic you love so much, and seeing what else THEY'VE liked enough to save; and people can do the same with you.

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[hyog-blog]

Fangs of Fortune ep. 12 [rewatch]

Zhao Yuanzhou's humor is top-notch in this one. This is a perfect example of how in just a few sentences one can roast the unknown demoness for being too naive that she could control Zhuo Yichen, simultaneously praise Zhuo Yichen for being an exceptional demon hunter and a man of many virtues, and remind everyone that Zhao Yuanzhou's actually seeking death out of his own accord XD It's like come on, Da Yao, have some mercy on your companions XD

We also get more funny moments from the silly Bai Jiu/Ying Lei duo XD And the classy 'don't worry, we're both demons' line uttered by ZYZ when Ying Lei mocks Bai Jiu that he's afraid of demons and cuddles up to Zhao Yuanzhou pretending he's scared. Peak comedy stuff :D

Xiao Zhuo looks especially gorgeous under the influence of malicious energy. Also, have to mention (again XD) the hottest hand-grab in the history of hand-grabs. Getting manhandled by Zhao Yuanzhou early on in their relationship, m-hmm.

And this hot scene doesn't get any less hot and funny during the rewatch, ahah)))

Wen Xiao lying prettily on the ground for composition purposes seems to be one of the show's little inside tropes :D I absolutely don't mind - beautiful people suffering beautifully is what fof does best XD

Absolute husbands energy :D Also, demons not knowing their own lore - everyone believes Zhao Yuanzhou's core has some magical abilities that can grant them this and that so easily XD He'll just die, no core = no magic, c'mon guys.

The Great Demon is always between them - in life, in disease, and even in death D: My favourite throuple babies.

Oh, they say it straight to our faces that Bai Jiu isn't totally human! :D This is so cool (and I paid no attention to it during the first watch, XD).

Also, this is the start of the topic of trampled gods and goddesses and how people immediately turn on the one they worshipped as soon as something bad happens. We get to see more of that when Zhuo Yichen turns into a demon and Li Lun mentions the whole thing once again (in this episode the idea is voiced by Zhao Yuanzhou). Parallels!

[loki-hargreeves]

It's 2023 maybe I should just embrace the fact that I love writing angst and whump the most

[quillthrillswriting]

no love story trope will ever hit quite as hard as "two traumatized teens (often) with unique abilities who are forced to save the world each help the other shoulder the burden of their respective destinies and slowly become each others safe places as they shift from friends to something more."

[somethingsomethingwords]

Good whatever-time-of-the-day-is-over-there. Here's a new thing. I played a little with their characterisation in this one. Stay safe out there. Enjoy 💜

Lance is bothered. And what's worse, Fernando is bothered that Lance is bothered. Not that caring about someone is wrong or strange and, while personally it isn't his MO, neither is caring about your teammates.

No, Fernando cares because of reasons that are still not clear. And that's what is driving him mad. And also the frown on Lance's face, but he'll face one problem at a time.

First point on the list, why does he care about this kid.

It had been easy signing the contract, even when Lawrence had heavily hinted at his mentor's duties.

He obviously had heard about Lawrence's son, about his achievements in the minor categories, and his average results in Formula 1.

And he couldn't escape the rumours about his rich spoiled kid behaviour, his lack of a strong personality or his evident disinterest in the sport.

Hell, he had even met the guy in the paddock before arriving at Aston Martin.

And then he met Lance, with his goofy smile, his sweet personality, his seriousness about the job, the fire that burnt when getting inside the car and the evident hard created persona for the media that completely melted when in private, the spark of a prankster spirit with Mick and Esteban.

(Ugh, he already couldn't stand the Frenchman when they were teammates, and now it was even worse when he saw how close the two young men were.)

The point is, when he started he didn't think highly of baby Stroll, and now here he is, knocking on the door of Lance's hotel room, because there is something wrong with the Canadian, and that meant Fernando cares because. Just. Because.

So, here he is, ready to find out what's going on.

He hears some muffled words behind the door, and then it's opened by Lance, his hair really messy and his shorts really short.

He is slowly losing his mind, when the younger one starts talking.

"Hey, Fernando. Do you come here often?" he says, languid and with those big doe eyes of his.

Fernando is completely baffled. They don't flirt, that's not how they are. He is usually the one that lightly teases Lance, just to see him blushing, and jokes around, just to see his smile and make sure that he is happy, but nothing more than that. He doesn't understand this sudden change.

Lance must see his confusion on his face, because he chuckles and shakes his head.

"Sorry, just the painkillers, they are kicking my ass. Also I'm tired as fuck and I'm really thirsty" he says, with an adorable snort.

Lance isn't exactly shy, but he has always seemed to like keeping to himself, and to contribute to a conversation rather than starting it. All this openness and honesty are very surprising, and somehow even a little bit worrying.

"Don't worry. You ok?"

And Fernando is winning dumbest person ever, because the answer is staring right at him, eyes glassy and unnaturally red cheeks, the aura of sweat and sick all over Lance. But the younger doesn't stop smiling.

"Yeah, it's all good, just high temperature and sore wrists"

And that's what Fernando had first noticed. Lance had been particularly careful with his wrists all day, never actually wrapping them in bandages, but massaging and rubbing them continuously, discomfort clear on his face.

ok, now you know, now you can leave he thinks, but something won't make him move. He had always been attentive, after all.

"You have a fever?" he asks, starting to worry.

Lance shrugs, but everything about him is screaming tired and sick.

"It's nothing serious, really" as he says this, Lance has to grip the door because of the sudden dizziness.

Fernando, now seriously worrying, just stares at him, until the other sighs.

"Ok, it may be a little bit serious, but everything is fine. I just need some sleep. Goodnight" and goes to close the door, but Fernando is faster. He puts his foot in between the door and its frame.

"Let me help you" he simply says.

He finds himself being looked through as if he was inconsistent by Lance's unfocused eyes. And then they refocus, and they are starting deep into his soul.

"Why?" Lance says simply, and Fernando feels like this is a test. Lance won't let him in if he fails, and Fernando has no intention of failing.

"Can see you're not well. Want to help. Because... I care" the admission tears something in him, something that has been hardened after all the years on track. Something that starts feeling warm and light and bright when Lance smiles softly and lets him in.

He enters and then closes the door, leaving behind the last vestiges of embarrassment and doubt. He has a job, a mission, and he won't make mistakes nor disappoint.

Looking around, the only sign of life is the crumpled blanket on the couch.

"You were sleeping on that?" ask Fernando, looking at the small sofa and his tall teammate.

"It was closer to the door" answers the other, shrugging again.

"Must have been uncomfortable" because even if it was of the right size, which it wasn't, it still looks stiff and leather cold.

"What's a little more pain when your whole body tingles and your wrists feel on fire?"

It's the simplicity with which Lance speaks, as if nothing bothers him, as if pain is inevitable and he shouldn't complain. That doesn't sit right with Fernando. Lance deserves the world's softest blankets, its warmest beds and its coziest socks. Fernando could give him everything. Fernando wants to give him everything. That's terrifying. But admitting it is also freeing, somehow.

soul shattering revelations later, nurse duty now he thinks, not without fondness.

Fernando follows Lance to his bed, and when the taller man just falls into the bed, not bothering with his clothes or the sheets, Nando realises he's going to have to work hard. He's always loved a good challenge.

Fernando reaches for the other's luggage, easily finding his pajama and fresh underwear. Then he returns to the side of the bed.

"Now, get up. Take a shower, dry, new clothes and bed. Can you do it?"

He infuses a bit of a challenge at the end, just to rile the man up.

What he doesn't expect is Lance's laugh at his words.

"Dude, I can't feel my legs. I'm not gonna reach the bathroom on them. I think I'll just skip everything and just go to bed" he says, burrowing further into the covers, which still aren't actually covering him.

"Ok, I'll help you" he says, as if it's something they do normally.

Fernando basically drags Lance to the bathroom, sitting him on the closed lid of the toilet. When he looks at Lance's face, he worries. It is redder than before, and his eyes are strangely focused on his arm for no apparent reason.

"Lance, everything ok?" he is starting to feel like a mother hen, but Lance's behaviour is really messing him up. And his answer really doesn't help.

"So strong" says Lance, completely spaced out and lightly stroking his bicep.

The caress is absolutely doing nothing to him, no sir.

Fernando gently takes Lance's hand, and waits until his eyes are focused on him.

"It's ok. Just a quick shower and then to bed, no?"

Lance nods, but Fernando can tell he's not completely there. So he quickly removes his clothes, leaving the underwear, and after turning on the water at a lukewarm temperature, he guides him into the bath.

It's not even ten seconds later that Lance starts shaking. Fernando is immediately grabbing his hand.

"What's going on, Lance? What's wrong?"

"The water... Is hot... It hurts" he is shivering and biting his bottom lip so hard Fernando can already see blood.

"Lance I need you to listen to me. The water is not hot. Your body is not feeling it right. Let me wash you and then it's the bed" he says, feeling like he is kicking a puppy, but he knows the lukewarm bath will help Lance in the long run. So he washes him as fast as he can, and then turns off the water. He starts wrapping the younger man in the preheated towel, gentle and careful.

He can see the other is losing himself faster than he'd like. So, when Lance seems dry enough, he wastes no time taking off his boxers and putting on a new pair, without peeking, he swears.

All dressed up, he carries him to the bed, where the other can finally sleep under the covers. He's just about to go get Lance some water, when the other starts.

"Thank you,,, for being here,,, but don't leave,,, it hurts" he says with his eyes closed and a pained frown, his breath moving his chest with a staccato rhythm.

Fernando kneels on the floor, so he is face to face with Lance, and starts stroking his hair.

"Am not leaving. Just going to get some water, then we sleep. I know it hurts, but it's going to be ok. Trust me" and the last sentence came out more like a question, and he worries for a second. Then he sees the other relax before opening his eyes and looking him in the eyes, whispering "Always" and closing them.

Fernando feels a weight lifting from his chest, but also a growing responsibility. For the first time in a while, he isn't scared of committing to whatever this is.

He shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his face, before standing up and retrieving two bottles of water from the mini fridge in the kitchenette.

He deposits them, one on each of the nightstands, and lies on the free side of the bed.

He tries to keep a modicum of distance, but Lance is having none of it. He simply turns towards him, and hugs him, reminding Nando of an overgrown squid.

He is out like a light in five seconds flat.

cute, he thinks, and for the first time in what seems like months of their dance, Fernando allows himself to properly drink Lance's sight, his long eyelashes and his strong nose and his pink mouth, slightly open in his sleep. He allows himself to think about how he likes being with the other man, how he likes to make him laugh, how he can't stand seeing him upset.

He allows himself to simply be, to simply feel whatever he feels for Lance. And it feels good.

[maxlarens]

i could write fbi agent reader x fbi agent oscar piastri. would that be normal. i think it would be normal.

[13eyond13]

Idk what it is about fanfic soul mate trope stuff where you're living in a world waiting your whole life for your soul mate to appear that matches your soul tattoo or whatever that creeps me out but it honestly just makes me go 😱 instead of 😍 every time

[milomilesmib]

Actually I think one of my favourite tropes is when character A is having a panic attack of sorts and their love interest guides them through the five senses exercise but when they ask them what they can see/feel/hear/smell they just say "You. Only you."

(Which ships this reminds me of and fic ideas in the tags)

[fitzrove]

[shaking and biting] but what does it MEAN. what does it SAY what is the THEME

[blue-likethebird]

The fanfic trope of depicting a character’s existing family as abusive or neglectful even if that blatantly contradicts their canon portrayal -especially when it’s done to make a ship/found family look better in comparison- is one I strongly dislike on principle, but there’s something that feels especially cheap when gravity falls fanfics portray Stan, Ford, and Mabel that way for the sake of Dipper angst. Like this is the “family of weirdos who love each other so much that it literally saved the world” series we’re talking about. did u consume every piece of media these characters have ever appeared in with ur eyes closed and the audio muted or smthn

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The wanderer: Pt 1

I loved my ball. It had been with me for a dozen years, since I was but a child. To the untrained eye, it was a generic squishy ball, the sort you might find in a child's playset. But if you asked me, I could think of a dozen fond memories with it, playing with friends at parties, bouncing it while I was bored, squeezing it in my hand as I cried. It was, for all of its lack of anthropomorphism, a friend. Sure, seventeen year olds were a bit too old to play with toys, but I had always had a childish streak.

That was why, when it rolled into a drain, I jumped after it without a second thought. The drain was narrow, too short for me to stand fully, so I knelt to get in. My shoulders and hips were twisted to the side awkwardly, one leg trailing behind the other like I was lunging, but I kept shuffling forward.

It was dark, too. Light filtered through the fixed grilles, creating a patchwork of bright and dark that guided me. As I went on, my front knee aching from the strain, rough stone rubbing against my sides, I began worrying.

Had I missed the ball? It seemed like I had been walking on forever. It occurred to me that I wasn't quite sure how to back out again. I couldn't turn around, and moving backwards would be a laborious process. The pain in my legs grew, and so did my panic.

The stone seemed to entomb me, rubbing against my back and chest, keeping me from breathing deeply. What if I was trapped here, forever? Would anyone hear me when I screamed? Still I kept moving. Stupid, blind loyalty to my ball would not allow me to back out.

I wanted to crack my neck, but there just wasn't enough space. The hand that I used to support myself began burning, the skin rubbed raw. I was coated in a layer of dirty water and dust, my clothes clinging to me. Still I kept moving. It was too late to back out, now.

The lights became further and further apart, grilles turning to thick concrete slabs. Was the passageway narrowing? I felt squashed, compressed into a cube. Everything burned. Still I kept moving.

My breath came in shuddering gasps. It was so dark. Where was the light? I wanted to collapse, my thighs trembling with the agony of constant weight. But if I fell now, I would not get back up.

So I kept moving.

And eventually I reached an exit, where the drain led to an opening. Light, proper sunlight, shone in an uninterrupted ray. And where it fell sat my ball, haloed like an angel. I pushed myself forward and grabbed it, just as my legs gave in. Collapsing, I clutched my ball to my chest and rested.

After an indecipherable amount of time, I got up. My back ached, but the worst was over. Figuring that I could just follow the drain back home, instead of taking the gruelling underground route, I stepped out into the light.

I had no idea where I was, save that it was filthy. A layer of grime and rust coated every surface, and the light highlighted smog in the air. Suddenly the drain seemed to be a fine way back home.

Was it a scrapyard? There were machine parts scattered in heaps, serrated metal jutting out in piles. But there was flesh, too. Rotten, stinking corpses of things that were not human, their skeletons smashed to unrecognisable bits, blood like a dried up fountain staining the ground red-brown.

Was it a garbage heap? Perhaps a butchery was nearby, and these were the remains of their products. But the corpses were too whole for that, and they had been mauled rather than butchered. There was too much violence in the air, too much blood and fury.

So was I somewhere else entirely? I turned back to look at the fateful passageway. Here, in this strange place, it was a concrete tunnel, with walls and a ceiling thick enough to bear my weight. I stepped atop it, and began following it like a trail.

The desolation stretched as far as the eye could see, machine and monster intermingled endlessly. The sky was cloudless, the sun beating down on me relentlessly. The mud that was smeared all over me began to dry, leaving me caked in dirt. I fit right in, an explorer in a post-apocalyptic world.

Everything was red, from the viscera to the corrosion to the soil. Even the sun itself was a massive crimson globe hanging in a fiery sky. Only my little pathway home, my fateful drain, was a grey testament to a different colour.

My old taped-up sneakers were a blessing in that endless slog, the socks mercifully dry, even as my feet grumbled, a steady pain that was dwarfed by the anguish of the drain. I squeezed my precious ball repeatedly, as if to remind myself that it was still there, and kept a brisk pace.

It seemed that I was the only person for miles around. Nothing stirred in the red-brown meadow, not even buzzing flies laying eggs in putrefied flesh. Nothing breathed in the flesh-rotted air, not even carrion-vultures feasting on the dead. Nothing lived in the hellscape that I wandered, not even the crawling maggots that should have lurked in the rotten meat. I hummed to distract myself from the uneasiness of being all alone.

As if the sound awakened something, I heard a shrieking cry. It came from above, a haunting, sorrowful noise. 'Run,’ it seemed to say. 'This place is not for you. Whilst your heart still beats, you must leave.’

I heeded it, my pace quickening. The scream came again, closer this time. I looked up to see a great serpent in the sky. Blood gushed from a dozen wounds, and it released a third cry of agony. Even so, it twisted in the air magnificently, looping in the sky with peerless grace, silver scales glittering in the sun.

I stopped to stare, awestruck. Some things in this world can only be experienced, and the sight of that dragon was one of them. No words could describe the regality, the raw determination, the sheer terrifying power of it.

I was watching a god fall, and I knew it. My heart wenched as it released a final ululation, a serenade to the dying world, and hung in the air for an infinite moment.

Then it collapsed, dropping like a stone into the mass graveyard that surrounded me. When it landed, a thump resounded through the world, like the land itself had broken upon impact. The dead dragon was lost amidst the gore and gears, and I wept for it.

I wept for that dragon and the untold horrors of the world I wandered through. I wept for fear that I would never get home, for the pains in my body and the grime all over me. I wept and wept and wept, clutching my ball like a security blanket and walking all the while.

Finally, I let out a scream. It was a hoarse, thin thing, a poor mimicry of the full howl the serpent had produced, but it was all I could make.

When the cascade of tears subsided, I found myself standing at the end of the path. I was not home, not yet. But I had found something else, something that belonged to my world.

A train station.

[anetherealpoetess]

the absolute restraint i have shown not to talk shit about by emerald fennell adapting wuthering heights. please why are we letting an extremely wealthy white english woman with a history of shallow films adapt a profanely violent story about racism, victorian-era class oppression, and generational trauma. ten bucks says she casts a white man to play heathcliff and completely ditches the second part of the novel which focuses on the second generation.

[cakeinthevoid]

I had the most incredible dream last night that I feel I should turn into writing

[katyspersonal]

Lrb sorry for hopping in again guys, my spider senses felt the injustice xD But anyways, yeah, can we please collectively agree to stop seeing Rom being called "stupid" as something bad or wrong? This is literally in the Japanese script that she has an (unspecified) severe intellectual disability. It is not a matter of semantics or localization, it is a Japanese word 白痴 (hakuchi).

Sorry, I am just really irritated that people treat it as an insult. I have a quite low intellectual abilities myself so when ya'll go like 'noooo don't be mean to her!!! >:(' I am just sitting here like..... Well, sorry that the concept of certain neurodivergencies angers you so much that you feel like you should '""protect""" Rom from it...? If you really are THAT attached to the headcanon of her being superstar best scholar that elboved Caryll and Micolash combined and had 500 IQ, you can still cope with her being called intellectually inferior in her Great One form specifically (like she sees so many things that she can't comprehend any of them, or got her brain sacrificed to become a tool for others).

[rexcaliburechoes]

diamant, the horrors chamber, and why he’s just so fun to mess with // the diamant-sertation series

i’d talked a little about this before on twitter about diamant angst and if i’m doing alright (i’m fine just biochemistry major go brrrr) and i just remembered this:

and i wanted to think about this for a little bit. i’m going to try and not retread old ground, but that’s kind of impossible if i want to break him in a realistic way.

but i was mostly thinking about how easy it is to destabilise him. i might be woobifying him too much, but i swear, i’ve been through this rigamarole before with a variety of characters. i’ve hurt characters over and over and over again, testing their limits, watching them bend and potentially break, and diamant has keeled over the fastest. it’s kind of funny in a bit of a twisted way.

but i mean it: why does he bend to easily compared to others?

i think it’s because he Refuses to experience The Horrors, and so when something encroaches on that tenuously stretched self control, he simply cannot deal with anything new, so he shuts down. you’d think he’d have a fight response to new stressors (he is of brodia; if you can’t fight, then what kind of brodian are you?) but i think he’s gone past that point. he’s dealing with enough already as it is, just One More Thing just will set him off. he’s tired, overwhelmed, and bottles everything up because He Should Be Able To Deal With It.

there’s definitely an allegory of being undiagnosed neurodivergent in here somewhere but we don’t have time to unpack all that.

but since diamant is so easily burnt out (which, haha, funny fire trauma go brr), he’s just an easy target to picking at all of his weaknesses and flaws. diamonds have very predictable cutting planes, and if manage to hit one just right, the entire crystal will shatter.

[alilbatflies]

I DO TAKE REQUESTS.

Be aware that if you reblog a bunch of my posts before you request your thing, you will be recognised and your request will possibly definitely gain priority in my scattered little brain. That means your chances of successfully reading whatever you requested get higher.

Also, be polite. I'm easily spooked.

...

[blogkeeping who?]

heroes and villains

Just Cake part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Note of the Villain

The Superhero's Apprentice

(prompt continuation) henchman x henchman

(song based) witch x witch hunter

angels and demons

guardian angel

dialogue bats

assassin

anything

some poetry for the soul (my soul, mostly)

the gentle care of a broken heart

on smiling

other stuff

Have All People Got a Heart?

shadows whisper

6. 11. 2024