I am that weirdo being weird about your fanfics

fanfics and random fandom crafts and animals

[spicyvampire]

The way all the 2020s have done so far have been making me categorically against every new generation of tech that comes out is insane. Like I'm from a technological boom generation, saw the first portable phones, nokias & blackberries & flipphones etc, and the first smartphones, and the first ipods & ipads & tablets in general while still having cassettes & DVD & MP3 players around so I know how all of it work, I had computer classes in high school, I did the transition between home desktop computers to laptops and back to gaming computers. But then they started to put internet in your printer & microwave, everything has ads & AI now and every update is worst than the last. I literally loved technology and they ruined it

[drwcn]

literally why does my fridge need a windows update?

[terracotta7]

As if Joanne couldn't get any shittier, she misgendered and insulted a woman who called for support, all because the woman had PCOS/PMOS and "didn't sound feminine enough."

Fuck her.

Your shitty children's series isn't more important than people's lives.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Your partner came back from the dead after being missing for decades. Every one of their friends who they went with ended up dying a horrible death.

Now, somehow, their entire mental health is based on the continued life and happiness of this fairground goldfish that they picked up.

Neither of you know the first thing about how to care for even a healthy fish. This fish has been poorly cared for, has multiple diseases and the person who handed it over explicitly didn't expect it to live nearly as long as it already has.

You're frantically googling how to set up a fish tank, where to buy fish food, can you even take a fish to the vet? Your partner wants you to know that they're happy they made it home and survived their horrific ordeal, but also that if anything happens to the fish then they're going to kill everyone on this planet and then themself.

You're honestly wondering if you're even helping the fish, or just prolonging its suffering, but your partner will only accept medical help for their many injuries or engage in basic self-care once they're confident that the fish is being looked after.

So you get a tank. You set up a filter and all that stuff. You learn way more than you ever wanted to know about water temperature and ph and nitrate levels. The fish is safe. You start to develop some affection for the little guy. Your partner begins to recover. The fish begins to recover.

Which is when you learn that in its 'healthy' state, the fish regularly refuses to sleep when tired, keeps begging for food that is obviously unhealthy for it (and struggling to eat the food that you do provide because “it tastes gross”), and continually tries to persuade your partner to take it out of its nice safe tank so it can go explore the wonderful world of Outside, where the slightest mishap will kill it instantly.

Your name is Adrian, and you kind of wants to strangle this fucking fish, statement.

[va-draws]

A moment of light during the siege

[silly-jellyghoty]

It really does feel like that

[bug-mp3]

[dollsahoy]

I am super against light pollution, and have been for decades

but I am also super annoyed by the way it's framed as "without light pollution you can see how beautiful the night sky is" way more prominently than it's framed as "hey, did you ever stop to think of how much energy/resources/money are literally wasted by having so much light shine up into the sky?"

so people get the idea that light pollution can only be remedied by eliminating all night-time light, which would make being outside at night very inconvenient, instead of by making night-time light shine only on the ground where, y'know, the people who need it are

[lydiardbell]

The mildest example of what OP's talking about in Dunedin, Aotearoa:

This is just with the streetlamp equivalent of using lampshades. Imagine what truly directional city lights could achieve?

[buzzcut-butch-deactivated202403]

Reblogging this again cause light pollution actually have negative health affects on humans and wildlife. We weren't meant to live in a world constantly bathed in light.

[deemurph007]

chapter 20 - And somehow, through it all, I stand

summary:

"Now, don't get too excited," Dr. Perry grunts as he pulls a fully black carbon fibre prosthetic out of a case, "we still have some adjustments to make."  Tim doesn't care about that. He's excited. His new crutches came in last week and, while they're comfortable and more aesthetically pleasing, the prosthetic will give him so much more freedom. "Oh, it's really nice," his physical therapist, Dr. Amy Ellis, is there and she smiles as she examines the leg, "very you," she adds. She was appointed to him when his files were transferred from Harlan to Lexington and while he liked his previous therapist, he really likes Dr. Ellis. She's sarcastic and doesn't put up with shit, which is exactly what he needs. "It was between this and a hot pink one."

[1ncend1ary]

and now we're here at a stand-still, i wonder if you feel the kind of pain that rips your insides out. that's something i know all about, shocking ain't it?

[marithlizard]

(via bsky)

In case anyone hasn't heard, the cyclospora outbreak affecting tons of people in the US right now is coming from Taylor Farms produce. Best to stay away from bagged lettuce and prepared salads completely right now, but especially the ones mentioned in the screenshot:

Taylor Farms Earthbound Farms Little Salad Bar (Aldi) Marketside (Walmart) Kroger House Brand Target private label greens Costco salads and greens etc Trader Joe's chopped salad kits and fresh produce Fast food: McDonalds, Taco Bell, (Yum! Brands), Chipotle, Subway, Pizza Hut, KFC, Olive Garden, Top Golf, Red Lobster, Burger King, etc.

This is not the first time I've heard about a Taylor Farms foodborne illness outbreak. I stopped eating their salads after reading a description of the conditions in their facilities. Doesn't sound like they've improved anything.

We need a fully funded and staffed FDA, and regulations with teeth - and that's exactly what we don't have under Trump. To make things worse, the CDC is no longer tracking these outbreaks. We're on our own.

[weirdcatlive]

[insomniamamma]

Story Time: Ezra x f!reader

A/N: This is for @the-blind-assassin-12 's A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words challenge. I overshot 1k by like 500 words but i was never good at keeping things short. Also I am the world's slowest writer.

Warnings: Reader has a shitty ex. Ezra has a morbid sense of humor. A bit of angst, but mostly soft. It's short so it's all going under the cut.

Your bed-frame and mattress arrived today, hauled up three flights by a pair of delivery men who eyed you with something like pity, top floor in a victorian converted to apartments, old attic space with sloping ceilings, could maybe slide a credit card between the toilet bowl and tub, stove and fridge in beat to shit landlord white, state of the art circa 1980.

You lay in your newly assembled bed and stare up into the rafters, muted green glow of several hundred tiny plastic stars that some previous tenant applied. Across town from your old life, but it might as well me on the far side of the moon. Still have to work, still have to pay off your credit cards and child support. He used your insane work schedule against you in the custody fight, never mind that you did all that for them, used a DUI from a decade ago as a reason you were a shit parent. You have to pay your partner support which is fine, you only have Bug every other weekend which hurts like being cut every time you have to give her back.

He can’t even be bothered to pick her up most times, sends his shiny new girlfriend who always grabs Bug a little too hard by the elbow to pull her towards the car.

Music thumps up from below and the highway screams a few blocks over, and this is not where you ever imagined yourself, but it’s yours, new place, new you.Thirty minutes separating you from what you thought was going to be the rest of your life, but looking up at some college kid’s glow in the dark stars, you feel something that might become peace over time.

The day is for exploring, for seeing what’s in walking distance. The library seems like a good place to start, shares a building with the rec center, tennis and pickle ball courts tucked against the parking lot.

It’s hot for spring and the air conditioning hits you all at once, prickling your arms in gooseflesh, relatively dim cave of the lobby offering relief from the sun’s light sizzling up from the sidewalks, baking up from the asphalt.

The lobby is lined with signs thumbtacked to cork boards, fringed in tear off tabs with phone numbers, a missing cat, a lawn and landscaping service, gentle tai chi lessons for seniors, dotted with QR codes, summer sci fi book club, seed exchange. Flyers and tacked up menus. Schedule of classes offered at the rec center next door. They look like a pair of riotous quilts, shouts of competing text and color. You take a picture on your phone, one side and then the other.

“Well, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in-" Soft, southern drawl rising to a growling crescendo and squeals of little kid laughter. Bug would eat this right up, you think as you head towards the sci-fi section. Bug loves when you do voices.

you shouldn’t call her bug. what if it sticks? she’s four. still.

“Well that is an impressive armload of stories.” The man with the drawl grins at you from behind the help desk.You plop a good stack of science fiction bricks on the counter. Your eyes find his, deep and warm and bracketed in crows feet, all scruffy cheeks and dimpled smile, errant streak of brilliant white among his dark curls, like a splash of cream in black coffee. “I’m guessing you need a card before we get down to business.” “Yeah. How’d you know?” “Haven’t seen you around before,” he says, “Library patrons tend to be creatures of habit. And folks who are new to the library system or are returning after a long absence tend to grab as much as they can carry.” “Guilty. I’ve got more time to read these days,” and you feel your eyes drop from his, catch on his badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck, thundercloud eyes, and bright red scar across one cheek. Ezra Broussard.

“-a photo ID and proof of-Miss? Ma’am?” You shake your head. The time you don’t have with Bug opens up in your mind like a gaping maw, a black hole that can drink you down if you think about it too much. “You went somewhere just now,” says Ezra, “Are you okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a week. Here.” You hand him your driver’s license. He reaches across his body to take it, and you see the sleeve of his rust-colored henley tied in a knot where his right arm ends, just below his shoulder. “Hmmm. Out of state. You really are new to these parts, huh?” “Is…” you raise your eyes to his, “Is that a problem?” “Do you happen to have a utility bill with your name on it? Some proof of residence?” “No, not on me,” You shake your head, slide your stack of books towards him, “I’ll come back some other-“ “Write your info down for me, darlin. Mailing address and good phone number if you don’t mind.” He slides a sheet of printer paper across the counter, “It makes my hunting and pecking less tiresome.” “I don’t want to get you in trouble--“ “You won’t. I’ve been known to pull this trick a time or two, and the most blowback I get is a gentle ‘Now, Ezra, you know you’re not supposed to do that.’ Accompanied by some rolling of eyes.“

You write your address down, have to open your phone and look at your maps, it’s all too new, street number, apartment number, none of it has had time to stick-- “Sorry I’m so discombobulated,” you say, sliding the sheet of paper back to him, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be, you know?” “No need for sorrow,” says Ezra, “Especially not when you’ve got all these science fiction yarns to keep you company. Sorry if this takes some time. Before my mishap I had more hunters to peck with.” You snort laughter despite yourself, an apology spooling up in your throat but when you meet Ezra’s eyes they glitter with mirth, lopsided grin sinking a dimple in his stubbled cheek. “That’s terrible,” you say and feel yourself smile. Ezra’s grin widens. “When the littles inevitably ask why i’m down a limb I tell them something different each time, depending on what I’m reading that day.” “What did you tell them today?” “That I too was fool enough to build a house of straw and the Big Bad Wolf blew my house in and bit my arm clean off. It gets them real invested in the story. With the older kids I just make stuff up because they’re smart enough to know that i most certainly did not attempt to wrestle an alligator because i lost a bet or get struck by a falling bit of space junk on my way to work. Here’s your card. This is good for our entire library system.” He hands you a bit of perforated plastic, one for your wallet, one for your keychain.

“You scan the card and then the barcodes on the back of your stories. Easy as pie. You can use the self-checkout or I can take care of you right here.” “I’d like that,” you say and feel your face warm, “I mean— when is story time again? I’d like to bring Bug sometime. She loves when I do voices-“ “I’m here Wednesday through Sunday,” says Ezra, “How old is Bug? If you don’t mind me askin-“ “She’ll be five in October, but she can already read some.” “Then I’d suggest the 3:45 Saturday time slot,” says Ezra, “The noon and two are generally board books, more herding and less reading if you get my meaning.” “Are they chapter books?” “Sometimes. Why?” “She-I-,”your eyes drop to the nest of your hands, tracing the edges of your newly issued library card with the pads of your thumbs, “I’ve only got her every other weekend.” “You bring her around anyway,” says Ezra, “About 3:15. If it’s a chapter book I’ll catch her up.” “You’d do that?” “Why wouldn’t I?” says Ezra, “I’m here anyway, and telling stories is less tiresome than re-ordering the YA stacks. You’d be doing me a kindness.” “I guess we’ll see you Saturday then.” “I’m looking forward to it.”

[insomniamamma]

tagging the usual suspects: @the-blind-assassin-12 @oonajaeadira @writeforfandoms @honestly-shite @quicax3 @fromthedeskoftheraven @lyrslair @artemiseamoon

[htgzoo]

Love a librarian Ezra!

[insomniamamma]

He's wonderful, isn't he?

Thanks for reading, friend 😊

[htgzoo]

So dreamy! I will never have enough of him! Thanks for writing such a lovely story.

[gunslingergivens]

JUSTIFIED 5X06 - Kill the Messenger

[anonyymoose]

stage 1 of liking media: yeah this thing is pretty good!

stage 2 of liking media: haha remember when blorbo bleepus did that thing that was so funny

stage 3 of liking media: huh this one song is kind of blorbo bleepus… if you think about this other song is also kind of blorbo bleepus

stage 4 of liking media: blorbo bleepus is really interesting… here’s a sensible analysis post

stage 5 of liking media: FUCK. THE CHARACTER. THE CHARACTER IM HAVING A CHARACTER ATTACK

stage 6 of liking media: well let’s see what ao3 has to offer!

stage 7 of liking media: everything goes on my character playlist. this song with no lyrics is about blorbo bleepus exploding a building and looking really cool. if this lyric was an entirely different sentence it would fit perfectly

stage 8 of liking media: who wants to hear about these characters new pronouns and mobility aids

[insomniamamma]

Story Time: Ezra x f!reader

A/N: This is for @the-blind-assassin-12 's A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words challenge. I overshot 1k by like 500 words but i was never good at keeping things short. Also I am the world's slowest writer.

Warnings: Reader has a shitty ex. Ezra has a morbid sense of humor. A bit of angst, but mostly soft. It's short so it's all going under the cut.

Your bed-frame and mattress arrived today, hauled up three flights by a pair of delivery men who eyed you with something like pity, top floor in a victorian converted to apartments, old attic space with sloping ceilings, could maybe slide a credit card between the toilet bowl and tub, stove and fridge in beat to shit landlord white, state of the art circa 1980.

You lay in your newly assembled bed and stare up into the rafters, muted green glow of several hundred tiny plastic stars that some previous tenant applied. Across town from your old life, but it might as well me on the far side of the moon. Still have to work, still have to pay off your credit cards and child support. He used your insane work schedule against you in the custody fight, never mind that you did all that for them, used a DUI from a decade ago as a reason you were a shit parent. You have to pay your partner support which is fine, you only have Bug every other weekend which hurts like being cut every time you have to give her back.

He can’t even be bothered to pick her up most times, sends his shiny new girlfriend who always grabs Bug a little too hard by the elbow to pull her towards the car.

Music thumps up from below and the highway screams a few blocks over, and this is not where you ever imagined yourself, but it’s yours, new place, new you.Thirty minutes separating you from what you thought was going to be the rest of your life, but looking up at some college kid’s glow in the dark stars, you feel something that might become peace over time.

The day is for exploring, for seeing what’s in walking distance. The library seems like a good place to start, shares a building with the rec center, tennis and pickle ball courts tucked against the parking lot.

It’s hot for spring and the air conditioning hits you all at once, prickling your arms in gooseflesh, relatively dim cave of the lobby offering relief from the sun’s light sizzling up from the sidewalks, baking up from the asphalt.

The lobby is lined with signs thumbtacked to cork boards, fringed in tear off tabs with phone numbers, a missing cat, a lawn and landscaping service, gentle tai chi lessons for seniors, dotted with QR codes, summer sci fi book club, seed exchange. Flyers and tacked up menus. Schedule of classes offered at the rec center next door. They look like a pair of riotous quilts, shouts of competing text and color. You take a picture on your phone, one side and then the other.

“Well, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in-" Soft, southern drawl rising to a growling crescendo and squeals of little kid laughter. Bug would eat this right up, you think as you head towards the sci-fi section. Bug loves when you do voices.

you shouldn’t call her bug. what if it sticks? she’s four. still.

“Well that is an impressive armload of stories.” The man with the drawl grins at you from behind the help desk.You plop a good stack of science fiction bricks on the counter. Your eyes find his, deep and warm and bracketed in crows feet, all scruffy cheeks and dimpled smile, errant streak of brilliant white among his dark curls, like a splash of cream in black coffee. “I’m guessing you need a card before we get down to business.” “Yeah. How’d you know?” “Haven’t seen you around before,” he says, “Library patrons tend to be creatures of habit. And folks who are new to the library system or are returning after a long absence tend to grab as much as they can carry.” “Guilty. I’ve got more time to read these days,” and you feel your eyes drop from his, catch on his badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck, thundercloud eyes, and bright red scar across one cheek. Ezra Broussard.

“-a photo ID and proof of-Miss? Ma’am?” You shake your head. The time you don’t have with Bug opens up in your mind like a gaping maw, a black hole that can drink you down if you think about it too much. “You went somewhere just now,” says Ezra, “Are you okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a week. Here.” You hand him your driver’s license. He reaches across his body to take it, and you see the sleeve of his rust-colored henley tied in a knot where his right arm ends, just below his shoulder. “Hmmm. Out of state. You really are new to these parts, huh?” “Is…” you raise your eyes to his, “Is that a problem?” “Do you happen to have a utility bill with your name on it? Some proof of residence?” “No, not on me,” You shake your head, slide your stack of books towards him, “I’ll come back some other-“ “Write your info down for me, darlin. Mailing address and good phone number if you don’t mind.” He slides a sheet of printer paper across the counter, “It makes my hunting and pecking less tiresome.” “I don’t want to get you in trouble--“ “You won’t. I’ve been known to pull this trick a time or two, and the most blowback I get is a gentle ‘Now, Ezra, you know you’re not supposed to do that.’ Accompanied by some rolling of eyes.“

You write your address down, have to open your phone and look at your maps, it’s all too new, street number, apartment number, none of it has had time to stick-- “Sorry I’m so discombobulated,” you say, sliding the sheet of paper back to him, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be, you know?” “No need for sorrow,” says Ezra, “Especially not when you’ve got all these science fiction yarns to keep you company. Sorry if this takes some time. Before my mishap I had more hunters to peck with.” You snort laughter despite yourself, an apology spooling up in your throat but when you meet Ezra’s eyes they glitter with mirth, lopsided grin sinking a dimple in his stubbled cheek. “That’s terrible,” you say and feel yourself smile. Ezra’s grin widens. “When the littles inevitably ask why i’m down a limb I tell them something different each time, depending on what I’m reading that day.” “What did you tell them today?” “That I too was fool enough to build a house of straw and the Big Bad Wolf blew my house in and bit my arm clean off. It gets them real invested in the story. With the older kids I just make stuff up because they’re smart enough to know that i most certainly did not attempt to wrestle an alligator because i lost a bet or get struck by a falling bit of space junk on my way to work. Here’s your card. This is good for our entire library system.” He hands you a bit of perforated plastic, one for your wallet, one for your keychain.

“You scan the card and then the barcodes on the back of your stories. Easy as pie. You can use the self-checkout or I can take care of you right here.” “I’d like that,” you say and feel your face warm, “I mean— when is story time again? I’d like to bring Bug sometime. She loves when I do voices-“ “I’m here Wednesday through Sunday,” says Ezra, “How old is Bug? If you don’t mind me askin-“ “She’ll be five in October, but she can already read some.” “Then I’d suggest the 3:45 Saturday time slot,” says Ezra, “The noon and two are generally board books, more herding and less reading if you get my meaning.” “Are they chapter books?” “Sometimes. Why?” “She-I-,”your eyes drop to the nest of your hands, tracing the edges of your newly issued library card with the pads of your thumbs, “I’ve only got her every other weekend.” “You bring her around anyway,” says Ezra, “About 3:15. If it’s a chapter book I’ll catch her up.” “You’d do that?” “Why wouldn’t I?” says Ezra, “I’m here anyway, and telling stories is less tiresome than re-ordering the YA stacks. You’d be doing me a kindness.” “I guess we’ll see you Saturday then.” “I’m looking forward to it.”

[insomniamamma]

tagging the usual suspects: @the-blind-assassin-12 @oonajaeadira @writeforfandoms @honestly-shite @quicax3 @fromthedeskoftheraven @lyrslair @artemiseamoon

[htgzoo]

Love a librarian Ezra!

[badwolfbadwolf]

I think I am officially Fandom Old. I am so worn out from the arguments on who's the top or the bottom (who cares), what is allowed to be written (anything you want, bejeebus), what is Problematic (I know, just tag it), what other people Should Do (they Should live their lives free of judgment). There isn't a Right Way to do things. Tag your stuff appropriately, don't read stuff you don't want to read, and leave other people (me) alone.

[leeshajoy]

There is nothing quite like the freedom of having gone through all of the Discourse and come out the other side into the promised land of Not Giving A Fuck.

[randomslasher]

The three keys to the promised land are “Block, Unfollow, and Do Not Engage” 

[murderousginger]

I have been in Fandom spaces for 20 years. It is LOVELY once you become the bog witch that no longer gives a fuck.

[thememedaddy]

[stillnotmollified]

some of you weren’t around for the fan fiction dot net purge of 2002 (when they banned explicit content and mass-deleted thousands of fics) and the livejournal purge of 2007 (when they deleted hundreds of blogs, disproportionately targeting queer & kink content) and it shows

this kind of policing is why ao3 was created

remember, kids, the three laws of fandom are:

- don’t like; don’t read

- your kink is not my kink

- ship and let ship

[rembrandtswife]

your kink is not my kink *but your kink is okay* don't forget that part