Tumblr Fic - Tumblr Posts

weird things i like about fics/tumblr

the funny doodle reactions with the keysmash??? like this guy:

the word 'coo' like, 'he cooed gently' AWWWWWWW yes u will see that it in all my fics stfu

funny custom tags that tell more about the post than the actual post.

people making friends and seeing each other in the comments! so wholesome

seeing the same person in the reblogs as u read the fic so its like ur reading together

exploring fandoms is like acupuncture. you just kinda play around for a while, sometimes you get a couple of good ones and then you find the one and suddenly everything explodes

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

You know those anime meta posts along the lines of “I was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find me”

Well I see that, and I raise you this:

An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyone’s account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.

And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. He’s dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And he’s competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.

He’s crushed by the competition every single time.

Until one day–one day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never was–as though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid who’s beaten him in competition, every kid who’s gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker. 

There’s some trend there that this Main Character boy can’t explain and can’t understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. He’ll play along too. He’s got a model train competition in four days, and he’s got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.

And he wins.

Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. He’s hit on something. 

The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. They’re prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.

So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret he’s stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. He’s hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.

He’s rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says “You don’t belong”

Dan Erikson - Part 2

Part 1, 7k, zimbits, homophobia warning, generally fluffy though, Samwell Men’s Hockey Team

Okay, so back to this Dan Erikson guy.

It’s three years after he wrote his article on Jack Zimmermann’s college experience and, look, he’s generally too busy to obsessively stalk one hockey player because his day job involves roaming the country and doing all the feel good stories that go on that last page of Sports Illustrated, but every once and awhile, he takes a night to watch Jack’s interviews and he’s not looking for clues, per se but…

Well, he is a journalist. And the answer to the unspoken question of the Blond boy in all the photographs itches at him. Because… journalist.

So for three years now, he sort of drawn his own conclusions. He notices how Jack never brings a date to events and he finds the blog of a certain Southern Baker and notes how there is an abrupt shift from sadness to ‘barely contained glee’ after graduation. And he notices that the “friend’s kitchen” Bitty shoots his most recent videos at is very nice. Very spacious. And so when Dan Erikson gets told that the Falconers want to meet with him (and that they asked for him by name), he has a flash of “they know I have been stalking Jack Zimmermann and I am about to be sued,” which, frankly, makes no sense but he still shows up to the meeting in his best suit and manages to look like a nervous idiot in front of all the publicity interns and if he thought it was bad then, it’s nothing compared to when he is shown into a conference room.

Because Jack Zimmermann is already there. Like… in the room.

It’s a good thing 50% of a journalist’s job is acting neutral in the face of anything because that’s all that keeps Dan from freaking out. But he manages. Admirably if he does say so himself. He shakes hands with George and then with someone from the Falconers legal team and then with Jack Zimmermann and they all sit down.

And the legal person- Michelle, he thinks her name is - she jumps in and starts talking about how this information cannot leave the room until written in an official article and they’ve already discussed this with Sports Illustrated and - honestly he sort of stops listening because Jack Zimmermann looks like he does when the Falconers have just won Game 1 of a playoff series. Aka he looks intense and focused and it’s not that he’s unhappy, per se, but he’s not celebrating quite yet.

Also, his fingers drum once against the table before he stops them and that reads as nerves.

Dan wants to tell him he already knows. That he saw the pictures three years ago and he’s suspected and this proves it and he still has no idea what he’s doing here.

Finally, Michelle goes quiet and there’s a beat of silence before:

“I’m gay,” Jack announces. “I’d like you to write the article.”

Dan blinks once because that makes no sense. For good measure he does it again before managing to push a word out. And then that word is simply:

“What?”

Keep reading

Stop & Go

Yo, check please fandom, here’s a fic that was originally going to be Jack’s Freshmen year (aka Jack & Shitty’s origin story) but this first chapter is just Jack getting to Samwell and might end up being a stand alone. Still, figured I’d post it– Hope you enjoy!

Stop & Go (Or Jack’s Freshmen Year)

It is still shocking, how much the hockey world cares about him. He grew up knowing in an offhand way that his father is a Big Deal and then as he’d gotten older it had become more and more apparent how much people expected him to also be a Big Deal and by age twelve, he knew the hockey world cared about him. So, of course he knew. It’s a part of what had caused this whole mess in the first place.

The problem is that he sort of thought it would go away. After months of rehab and therapy and coaching a peewee team, he almost assumed he would have to start over. In April when he decides to take the SATs, he makes one call to Boston University and inquires about whether or not he would be allowed to play hockey there and suddenly–

Well, it turns out that the hockey world still very much cares about Jack Zimmermann, drug addictions and nervous breakdown or no. Coach Quinn initially starts to go on about “most of our team is recruits, but we do hold open tryouts at the beginning of the fall semester and– wait, what did you say your name was again?” Jack repeats it, expecting the admission to result in a resounding ‘no’ because who would want someone who clearly couldn’t handle the pressure in their program? Except that’s not what happens.

Quinn is suddenly beside himself, asking Jack when he would want to visit and if he’s taken his SATs or needs help with his SATs and “let me put together a packet for you, Jack. I think this would be a great fit. Really, I do.”

It seems silly after he hangs up, it seems like this is something Jack should have expected but he finds himself taking deep breaths and holding them and counting to five before exhaling and suddenly he wishes he didn’t love hockey so much.

Because what he realizes is that he is always going to be a Big Deal in hockey. And if he didn’t ache for the feel of ice under his skates and miss the buzz of adrenaline under his skin and if he didn’t dream about the feel of the puck against his stick and the slap sound it makes when he knows he’s hit it just so, he could just give it up. Slink quietly into obscurity and life a life that revolves around something else.

But he can’t do that and so he tries to make it small and manageable, like his therapist taught him, and vows to call at least one coach a day for two weeks, and promises himself he will go visit at least five schools. Because, he does need hockey again. Coaching is not enough. Not right now. Not yet.

Keep reading

i know "gn!reader" means gender neutral, but, my brain always short-circuits to goodnight reader!

tattoos and i love you's

After 3 and a half years of knowing exactly what she wanted, she was finally making it happen. She had made the appointment a month ago. There was some difficulty due to her age, but she had the ID and made sure the date there matched with the date of the appointment. Finally, she was making it happened.

She showed up 30 minutes before the actual appointment, 10 before what was recommended. She caught the eye of the artist she had been in contact with quickly, who smiled a bit as he shook his head.

“A little excited to have a needle jabbed into your arm?” The man asked.

“Patience isn’t really my strong suit,” she explained, “My mom says I get it from my dad.”

“Well lucky for you, my earlier appointment went quicker than expected, so I can take you back right now. Happy Birthday by the way.”

She smiled, granting the artist a ‘thank you’ and happily followed the older man behind the counter to the area that he would be doing the tattoo. He pulled out a table for her to lie down on, which she eagerly hopped on to. 

“You didn’t bring anyone with you?” The tattoo artist was used to first-time tattoo getters bringing someone along with them, especially ones as young as her.

“Nah. The only person I’d bring is my mom, and as much as she says she likes what I’m getting, tattoos aren’t really her thing. Maybe my kinda older brother, but he’s got a million other things going on right now. And I don’t mind getting this on my own. It feels right,” she explained. The artist nodded, pretending to really understand what the young girl was saying, as he looked through his drawer before pulling out the design he had made for her.

“Mom doesn’t approve?” The artist laughed a little, used to seeing 18-year-olds come in against their parent’s wishes.

“I don’t think she loves the idea of me getting a tattoo in general, but she knows what I’m getting, and I know she stopped protesting as soon as I told her what it was I was going to get. I think she even likes it.” The girl pondered what he mom would be saying if she was in the shop with her now, and laughed a bit at the idea of her mom, who always seemed calm and collected and cared about keeping a good face, as trying to do the same watching her 18-year-old daughter getting a tattoo.

“Last chance, this is what you want, correct? Nothing you want to change at all?” The girl looked at the sketch he had made closely. She wanted to keep it fairly simple, figuring it was easier to go back and add stuff if she really wanted rather than vice versa, but she had dictated that at their last session when they were working on the design together.

“Yup, that’s perfect. And I still want it on my inner right bicep.”

“Okay then. I’ll press on the outline just to make sure it’s perfect, and then we’ll get started.” She nodded at his statement, reaching her arm out to put the outline on her arm. After looking at it at every angle she could, she agreed that it was in the spot she wanted, and lied down for the tattoo session to start.

“You’re gonna feel a bit of a sting, but it shouldn’t hurt too bad where you’re getting it. If it starts to hurt too bad, let me know and we can take a break.” The artist said this as he already started the needle, causing her to hear the buzzing. She could immediately feel the needle on her arm when she started. It was definitely not a comfortable feeling, but the pain wasn’t awful either. She just focused on her breathing and waited for it to be done. She had zoned out a bit until she heard the artist say something.

“What?” She asked.

“You would have been pretty young when he died, right?” The artist asked. For a second she wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but the remembered the arc reactor part of the tattoo and sighed a bit.

“Yeah, I was four when he died,” She told him, not willingly giving any more information. The artist whistled.

“Wow, you were young. Pretty cool though, what he did…” The artist continued to talk, but the young girl quickly tuned out, already having heard a million times about how great a sacrifice Iron Man made to save the rest of the Universe. She understood it, of course, she did. She wouldn’t have a lot of her family, including her pseudo-brother, without that sacrifice, but that didn’t make her wish it didn’t happen some times any less.

“Didn’t he have a daughter?”

“Hmm?” The girl responded, trying to check back into the conversation.

“Tony Stark. Didn’t he have a daughter?” The artist expanded. The girl thought for a second before answering.

“Yeah, I think so. I think she would have been around my age.” The tattoo artist nodded at the girl’s response but picked up on the fact that she didn’t really seem to want to talk. He returned to the almost completed work on her arm in silence, letting her ponder her own thoughts.

“Okay, all finished,” The artist said a few minutes later.

“Really? That quick?”

“Yup, writing doesn’t usually take super long, especially with such a short quotation, and the arc reactor was pretty quick as well.” As the artist explained it, she jumped off the table to look at the tattoo in the mirror. A smile quickly grew on her face as she switched between looking at it directly and in the mirror.

“It’s perfect,” She says, “Exactly what I wanted.”

The artist quickly wraps her arm up and gives her all the tattoo care instructions that she needs. After she pays him, including a more than generous tip, she leaves the tattoo shop, walking to her car to drive home.

She paused a second on the way to the car, looking down at the bandage on her arm. Although she couldn’t see it, Morgan could picture the tattoo underneath it perfectly. It was dedicated to her dad, something they used to say to each other when she was little, and what he left at the end of every holographic message he had left her after he died so long ago.

On her upper right bicep, the same arm her father had used to destroy Thanos and his army, Morgan Stark had, in Tony Stark’s handwriting, ‘I love you 3000′. Underneath that, was his arc reactor, the original one, the one that proved that Tony Stark had a heart. A heart that was now carried and seen in his daughter, carrying on his legacy.

Who do you think was the first person Steve Rick Rolled?

Steve discovers Roll Rolling one night while working through the list of music recommendations Sam and Natasha had given him.  At first he thinks it’s a random ad popping up in the middle of the music video. Then he reads the comments. Nearly every one involves swearing and the term ‘Rick Roll’d.’ Google, as always, is unbelievably helpful and Steve laughs out loud to himself upon reading the Wiki page.  

Sam is first.

Steve:  Otis Redding is terrific - thanks for the recommendation. Found one you might like. Let me know what you think.

He pastes the link into the text before hitting send. He smirks and waits.

Sam:  Steve Rogers, you Rick Rollin’ sonofabitch! Dammit, man. Who knew Captain America was such a troll?

Steve’s sharp bark of laughter echoes off the walls.  

Steve: On your left

Sam:  You’re an asshole

Sam:  Fifty bucks says you can’t get everyone else

Steve:  I won’t feel bad taking your money, you know?

Sam:  That’s why you’re an asshole.

IDEK you guise.

Gratitude (Jackieboy Man x GN! Reader x Darkiplier) -Part 1

(Semi-inspired by this fic)

You sat at your desk, fingers tapping against the keyboard. Your mind wasn't focused on your work in the slightest. Your phone buzzed with a notification from instagram, bored out of your mind and curious you picked it up and unlocked it, tapping the notification. What you saw caused you to drop your phone onto the ground, cracking the screen protector. In the livestream was Jackie, or his hero persona 'Jackieboy Man' at some swanky party. Now you understood why he never showed up like he'd promised.

Usually you'd brush it off as part of his 'hero duties' but this time was unacceptable. Just a few days before, you'd been nominated for a prize after submitting some of your art into a competition and Jackie had promised to celebrate with you at your favorite coffee shop, but evidently being a fuckboy was more important to him. You frowned, a sting of hurt rising up in your chest. You stood up and grabbed your coat, deciding against locking the door to your apartment while leaving for the coffee shop nearby.

You were mad at Jackie sure, but that didn't mean he should sit out in the cold. You were still friends. Right? God how you hated how you felt whenever Jackie called you his friend. You felt so much more for him than he would ever for you, and it hurt.

You sighed, sitting down at a table while you waited for your drink to cool down. You felt so ignored by him. Nowadays it was like he cared more about being famous than he did about your friendship, it made you miss the earlier days of his heroing career when he'd actually make time to hang out. It wasn't like that anymore though, was it? The only time you really got to spend any time with him was for healing his wounds and fixing his costume if it got ripped.

"My apologies for bothering you, but is this seat taken?"

OH MY GOD THIS

i lowkey ship tumblr ♠ twitter now

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

As a fic writer, i need every reader to know that:

I don’t care if your comment is coherent. I know what you mean and i love you

I don’t care if you ramble. I read every word and i love you

I don’t care if you leave a comment on a fic from four years ago or leave comments/kudos on like ten of my fics in one go. This isn’t IG, pls stalk my AO3. I love you

I don’t care if you mention the same thing in your comment that four other people have already mentioned. It’s actually really useful to know what resonated with people and I love everyone who takes the time to tell me they liked a particular turn of phrase

I don’t mind if your comment is super long or just a couple of sentences, i love them all

I love you