Category: Uncategorized

Questions designed to make you hate me

absynthe–minded:

irritates:

  1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?
  2. Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?
  3. Any fandoms that don’t appeal to you?
  4. Have you ever unfollowed someone? Why?
  5. Do you have a NoTP in [insert fandom here]?
  6. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?
  7. Is there anything you used to like, but now can’t stand?
  8. Unpopular opinion about [insert fandom here]?
  9. Have you received anon hate? What about?
  10. Any fandom you’re ashamed of being in?

Ooooohhh ask me these

prokopetz:

Level 1: Getting mad at a fanfic for misrepresenting your favourite character’s canon personality and motivations.

Level 2: Getting mad at a fanfic for declining to subscribe to a particular interpretation of your favourite character’s personality and motivations that isn’t explicitly present in canon, but is a totally obvious extrapolation.

Level 3: Getting mad at a fanfic because the author’s headcanons about your favourite character contradict your own, clearly superior headcanons.

Level 4: Getting mad at a fanfic because its wildly divergent AU version of your favourite character differs from the fully realised notion of what that character ought to look like in this AU that you spontaneously developed in the 300-word span between the introduction of the AU’s premise and their first appearance.

Level 5: Getting mad at a fanfic for getting your favourite character so incredibly wrong, before remembering that the character in question has no discernible personality or motivations in canon and everything the ‘fic got “wrong” is just stuff you made up in your head to fill the howling void.

I wish you would write a fic with Círdan and/or Elwing and/or Eärendil…

squirrelwrangler:

The Fëanorians had torched Elwing and Eärendil’s house. Círdan tried not to feel surprised at that, watching the black charred remains of what had been rafters, beams, and furniture slowly smolder and collapse in the harsh shore breeze. All the embers had cooled by now, and he knew he could approach the ruins of what had been the house of his dear friends (adopted niece and nephew, yet another war orphan he had taken in as his own). He feared approaching, worried that it will be more than burned wood he would find in the wreckage. His men, searching the other buildings, had already found bodies. Elven and mortal, male and female, old and young, every sort imaginable. Círdan did not wish confirmation of which he would find in this house. The Fëanorians had burned the docks. That he was not surprised at, for they had no more use for ships, or at least still had the self-awareness that no boat upon these waves would tolerate them. Still, Círdan knew one ship was not present, and thus one body he shall not find.

And, staring at the charred ruins of the home of Elwing and her young children, for the first and only time, Círdan fervently prayed that Vingilot had foundered upon the waves. The Shipwright wished this betrayal of his craft. Let not the lad return to this, he prayed. Better he dies, drowns in a storm, not seeing the destruction of his home, the death of his people. Never have asked this of you, Lord Ossë, oh, how Círdan wept, but never allow him to return to this shore, when this sorrow is all that awaits him.

I wish you would write a fic with Círdan and/or Elwing and/or Eärendil…

The Fëanorians had torched Elwing and Eärendil’s house. Círdan tried not to feel surprised at that, watching the black charred remains of what had been rafters, beams, and furniture slowly smolder and collapse in the harsh shore breeze. All the embers had cooled by now, and he knew he could approach the ruins of what had been the house of his dear friends (adopted niece and nephew, yet another war orphan he had taken in as his own). He feared approaching, worried that it will be more than burned wood he would find in the wreckage. His men, searching the other buildings, had already found bodies. Elven and mortal, male and female, old and young, every sort imaginable. Círdan did not wish confirmation of which he would find in this house. The Fëanorians had burned the docks. That he was not surprised at, for they had no more use for ships, or at least still had the self-awareness that no boat upon these waves would tolerate them. Still, Círdan knew one ship was not present, and thus one body he shall not find.

And, staring at the charred ruins of the home of Elwing and her young children, for the first and only time, Círdan fervently prayed that Vingilot had foundered upon the waves. The Shipwright wished this betrayal of his craft. Let not the lad return to this, he prayed. Better he dies, drowns in a storm, not seeing the destruction of his home, the death of his people. Never have asked this of you, Lord Ossë, oh, how Círdan wept, but never allow him to return to this shore, when this sorrow is all that awaits him.