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Bonus:

Sometimes, in fandom, we just want to write id-tastic fic that rolls around in tropes that might be viewed as problematic. But we don’t want to address the problematic side of things in this particular fanwork; we just want to roll around and wallow.

It is considered courteous to give readers a heads-up via use of AO3 tags. I propose a tag that signals that a given fanwork is for rolling around, not giving a measured evaluation of anything. The MCU has carved out a space for this sort of fic with the “HYDRA Trash Party” tag, for which I commend them. Trash Party is a bit too specific to cover all of the ground I’m thinking of here, though; I propose “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.”

For those of you not familiar with Arrested Development, Michael Bluth finds a paper bag in the freezer labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.” He opens the bag, finds a dead dove, and reacts as follows:

[gif of a white man saying “I don’t know what I expected” in a deadpan manner]

The “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” tag would essentially be a “what it says on the tin” metatag, indicating “you see the tropes and concepts tagged here? they are going to appear in this fic. exactly as said. there will not necessarily be any subversion, authorial commentary condemning problematic aspects, or meditation on potential harm. this fic contains dead dove. if you proceed, you should expect to encounter it.”

I guess this is what they mean by the american dream.

The Garage, Coney Island Design and Construction

My fanart homage to @cesperanza's 4 Minute Window Series which she JUST POSTED THE VERY LAST FIC OF!!

In honour of this and Thanksgiving/holidays and fandom as a whole and this series which is my happy place (if you haven't read it, go read it!)

This is fanart of a fanwork! Fanception!

Unlike @albymangroves gorgeous illustrations, I didn't collaborate with the author here, so don't take this look as exactly canon! (Especially the make of Studebaker haha oops)

See how many references to the different fics in the series you can spot

And what Steve and Bucky might be up to... ;)

let’s talk about posthumanism and body horror and the kind of thorough desensitisation that’s almost orwellian in its completeness. let’s talk about how the winter soldier has no concept of self or identity, how he clearly doesn’t think of himself as a person. let’s talk about him being desensitised not only to the violence he perpetuates, but also to the violence done to him. (the way he doesn’t react to pierce backhanding him, and just takes the brainwashing and the excruciating pain that comes with it. let’s talk about just how excruciating the pain must have been to make him scream like that.)

let’s talk about the winter soldier’s zero regard for his own wellbeing, and the way the mechanised methodical ruthlessness was used to underline his role as a tool. like. jesus christ, this isn’t just how pierce and his handlers and other people see him, this is how he sees himself. zero concept of agency or personhood.

let’s talk about the sheer brutal physicality of his fights with steve. let’s talk about how the force necessary to kick steve back is enough that the winter soldier literally falls down too, and just goes with it and doesn’t stop firing. let’s talk about the way he and steve are evenly matched, to the point that their showdown was this close to ending in mutually assured destruction.

let’s talk about steve rogers being the first and only person in the winter soldier’s memory who shows emotion towards him, and how much that fucks the winter soldier up; he doesn’t care about himself or see himself as a human being, and here’s this man he’s never seen before in his life treating him like they’re both people and not a weapon and a target. (MISSION. jesus christ on a pony i can’t even.) let’s talk about the winter soldier’s childlike confusion when for the first time in his memory he wants to remember or know something/someone except he doesn’t know how. he literally doesn’t have the tools to build an emotional connection, and he wants to, and fuck him if he’s not gonna try.

let’s talk about how he bloody well imprints on steve after a two-minute encounter that is mostly violent knifeporn; how his programming, fresh and new and shiny and terrifying, starts to fall apart again as soon as he confronts steve again.

Texas Texas Texas ❤️

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

The Kraut was small. Not as small as his Tommy, but the smallest man in the room. Not much bigger than the cheeky bit of tail with the steno pad who'd gone away and come back twice over. Something about the girl reminded him of Ada and it seemed like she was in on whatever divine joke was playing out. And it was crystal fucking clear that she and Kommissar Kraut were fucking each other. That much was true though it seemed lost on the rest of the jerries who’d come in and out and back again. But this Kraut. After a lifetime with Tommy, Arthur didn't know how or why anyone could ever write off a small man or assume that he wouldn't righteously fuck your shit up. Not the little big man sort of small man, but the kind of calm little bantam who comes into the ring to wear you down when all you've got is a one trick haymaker. Lighter, faster, smarter, neater. It's what was happening now. Little Kraut sitting there with his fresh haircut and wide tie and shoulder holster with the sweet little Walther Arthur’d like to take a look at under different circumstances. Calmly leafing through papers, referencing a small English dictionary, occasionally looking at him, looking at John, sizing them up, same as Tommy did when he'd got a cob on about something and called some poor bastard in just to sit and feel bad about himself.

This was one of those little bits of writing that just spewed out. And this is literally why I have an AO3 account. Because I had to put Peaky Blinders and Babylon Berlin in a blender...with Bernie Gunther. This was a wild ride. And it's Arthur POV so I could just be horrible. Writing seldom comes this easy for me, and this whole thing just went hard. I remember feeling like I wrote it all in one sitting, which I couldn't possibly have done. This was written as a gifticle for @parlezkate who I'm tagging like a big old creep even tho she and I have not had tumblr relations when we should have. (Kate, it's Pinkie. I'm still over here like a total weirdo. It's like LJ never died.)

13. What's the best advice you've ever come across?

Kudos, comment, bookmark: strengthen our community.

This repeats, egregiously, as the team suits up to fight Thanos for the first time in the movie, with Steve looking at Peggy’s picture in his compass before telling Nat that “if this doesn’t work, [he] doesn’t know what he’ll do.” But if it does work, it’s Bucky he’ll be getting back. Peggy has nothing to do with this narrative moment, and yet she stands in, where, for every other hero, the person they saw vanish, or whose vanishing they feel the most, is featured.

For instance, when Tony finally returns from space and Steve runs to him, Tony tells him, “I lost the kid.” [Peter]. Rocket yells at Thor to pull it together because he needs to get his family back. [Groot]. Carol and Nat both think about Nick, even though they didn’t see him vanish. Clint talks about nothing except for the loss of his family. But for Steve, Bucky is carefully removed.

Peggy, a woman who wasn’t even a loved one, they never even dated, and she died years before the Snap!

It’s like he stared a ‘Survivors of Cancer’ group and then interrupted a cancer survivor to talk about an acquaintance he knew who died of natural causes. 

😰 

Creators are not paid to make fanworks. People spend years of their lives writing fic and getting nothing in return except positive interactions. You can ask to make a translation. You can ask to make a pod fic. But you cannot demand it.

And because the only thing fanfic writers get in return for their work is positive feedback, taking away an authors ability to receive that is disgusting. Authors deserve to have full control and ownership of their works.