Tag: fic

Tags for AO3

Cut and paste – tags that you can consider using for your works so people can make informed choices.

Violence

  • Death – common tags are “main character death,” “minor character death,” “animal death,” and “child death” (the last one might not be common but I want it to be)
  • Suicide – also, never graphically describe a suicide, death note, etc. It can encourage copycat behaviour
  • Abuse – child abuse, domestic abuse (abuse of a partner), sexual abuse (only applies to children or other vulnerable persons, otherwise its rape/assault), neglect, emotional abuse, gaslighting (telling someone their feelings/opinions are wrong, questioning their memories, otherwise messing with their brains)
  • Rape/Sexual Assault
  • Harrassment
  • Assault, Torture, etc.
  • Kidnapping and Imprisonment
  • Stalking – most people need to get better at tagging this! Society romanticizes stalking REALLY BADLY. If a character is finding out things about another character, and/or following them, without their knowledge, you should probably tag. (One time research by professionals probably(?) an exception?)
  • Coersion and Blackmail – threatening or forcing someone to do something

Cruelty

  • Slurs, even if they’re being reclaimed by the target demographic (ie. even if it’s a black character saying the n-word)
  • Bigotry – homophobia, misgendering, racism, sexism, ableism, religion bashing. Tag the specific type

Sex

  • “Not Safe Sane and Consensual“ is the BDSM tag if the kinky stuff is dangerous, drop the “Not“ for kinky stuff that follows safety guidelines
  • Background and minor pairings go in the summary or end notes. Otherwise people who search by pairing are driven crazy. But please include because they may be someone’s NOTP/squick
  • “If they’re endgame or not (endgame means they’re still together by the end of the story)” – @acemindbreaker​

Health

  • Drugs and/or Alcohol – especially important for people trying to fight addictions
  • Food – for people struggling with food disorders
  • Illnesses – Food Disorders, Colds, Cancer, Depression, Anxiety – anything mental, physical, magical, etc. Tag specific illness, or include a general tag and offer details in the end notes if you’re worried about spoilers
  • Miscarriage/Pregnancy Loss – thank you SO MUCH @weareagentsofnothing! This is an important one I completely forgot
  • Also, Pregnancy in general is a good thing to tag, and Mpreg/Male Pregnancy in specific
  • Suicidial Ideation – thinking about suicide, dying, no longer existing, how much better the world would be without you, etc.
  • Self-Harm
  • Panic Attacks and Mental Breakdowns – @writingmyselfintoanearlygrave
  • Also Dissociation, Flashbacks, or any other medical thing that someone might not want to be reminded of

Phobias

  • Bugs
  • Spiders/Arachnophobia
  • Hospitals
  • Reptiles
  • Clowns
  • Anything that you’re writing AS a phobia, ie. if your character is afraid of heights and you describe that fear

Gross Content

  • Vomiting/Emetophobia (@thelaithlyworm)
  • Other bodily fluids if described graphically
  • Gore – graphic depictions of injuries, violence, and internal body parts

Characterization

  • OOC/Out Of Character – if you’re writing a character in a way that conflicts with canon
  • Switching Alignment – Good characters being written as evil, or evil ones as good
  • Changes to canon/implied race, sexuality, gender, religion, etc. Even if you’re using canon from one medium in a franchise with a lot of variation. @acemindbreaker mentions that Jughead fans might not want to read an allosexual Jughead, since he’s aroace in some of the comics. Some Avengers fans have problems with Christian Maximoff Twins, since they’re Jewish Romani in the comics (some retcons ignored). Changing the gender of one member of a slash ship so that it becomes heterosexual is another thing that you can get a lot of hate for. So tag!

Ending

  • No Happy Ending – some people are fine with dark content, as long as there’s relief at the ending. It’s nice to warn if there won’t be.

Final comments about tagging:

When you start tagging, this can seem overwhelming. It’s okay to miss things at first. It’s okay to be too general while you’re learning.

If you’re insecure, include a tag that you’re new to tagging! We appreciate the work you’re willing to do for us, and would love to thank you! We’ll offer support and ideas how to improve if you ask, but most of us are just aware that it’s hard and so, so grateful you’re protecting us.

Also, if you do get angry comments, try not to take them personally. Remind yourself that the person is hurting – they may have just had a panic attack, or relived trauma, or a variety of other responses. That isn’t your fault, unless you knowingly didn’t tag something. Even then, you aren’t the one who caused the trauma. Their anger is misdirected, but don’t hurt them for it. Don’t take it personally, ignore, and tag better next time if you think you can.

It has come to my attention

spitandvinegar:

That over a YEAR ago I promised @dancinbutterfly with lo these very tippy-tappity fingers that I WOULD INDEED bring resolution and peace to Red and Bai from Except it Abide, but instead I merrily fucked about for approximately eighty gazillion months and lovingly moved commas around in my delicately hand-crafted paragraphs, etc. But yesterday, in a surge of very Rogers-esque guilt-ridden energy,  I DONE WROTE THE THING, and here it is you y’all to peep at. WARNINGS for discussion of suicidal thoughts/ self-harm, brief sexy bits, cussin’, sadness, schmaltz, and a complete lack of actual proofreading that I beg you to regard as ~grit and authenticity~.

(Also, this will make less than zero sense if you haven’t read Except it Abide in the Vine.)

Keep reading

I wish you would write wholesome Shrinkyclinks! Modern AU or WS!Bucky or anything :) especially anything where people take Bucky as super intimidating and seemingly Not For Steve but he’s actually soft-spoken and embarrassingly in love with his bf. Also inspiration art, take out the parentheses: coldcigarettes(.)tumblr(.)com/post/155362763256/you-know-how-i-never-do-comics-well-ive-done-one

galwednesday:

What I ended up with is a little askew from the prompt, but it is Shrinkyclinks with besotted WS!Bucky and people being surprised Steve is his boyfriend, just with the surprise going the other direction.

Sam did one more circuit in the air just to confirm that everything was under control. The wannabe-despot of the week was being loaded into the back of a SHIELD van in handcuffs, and the three bioengineered chimeras she’d released in Central Park were all safely contained. They were part hyena, part cat, and part…actually, Sam had no idea what the hell was making them glow faintly purple, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t normal cat or hyena behavior

Fortunately, the chimeras weren’t nearly as aggressive as their creator had hoped. Once the Avengers had herded them into a sunny area by a fountain, the chimeras had settled down to bask on the warm stone, ignoring their creator’s increasingly frustrated commands to make with the rampaging already.

“Can we keep them?” Clint was shooting boomerang arrows from the top of the fountain. One of the chimeras was lying on its back, batting lazily at the arrows passing overhead. “I’ll feed them and walk them and not let them maul any civilians, can we keep them, sir, pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“No,” Coulson said. Sam could see him standing by the SHIELD van, arms folded as he watched Clint.

“I want this one.” Natasha sat on the ground by the fountain, posture relaxed, apparently ignoring the chimera five feet to her left. The chimera ignored her back, except to twitch an ear in her direction.

“No,” Coulson repeated, but only after a pause long enough signal defeat.

Natasha rolled slowly onto her side. The chimera tracked the movement, then put its head down on its paws and half-closed its eyes. “I’m naming her Boadicea.”

“So we’re done here? We’re done here,” Sam said, and turned his comm off before he could get sucked into the argument.

He touched down outside the SHIELD perimeter, where Tony was shedding his suit like a lobster shucking off its shell one segment at a time. Each piece folded up neatly into the briefcase at his feet. The Winter Soldier was standing next to him, his face blank but calm.

The Soldier had been an official part of the team for a few months now. Sam still didn’t have much of a read on him. The Soldier had been invaluable during the whole Hydra/SHIELD clusterfuck, and that was enough to earn him a lot of goodwill, but just about the only things Sam knew about the Soldier were his fighting style and his call sign.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony greeted him. “Where are the spy kids? Let’s do post-battle brunch, I’m starving.”

“They’re trying to convince Coulson to let the mad science experiments follow them home.”

“Good luck to them, but God help them if they try to keep them in the Tower, Pepper put her foot down about pets. You buy out one animal shelter because the cages are too small and all the animals look sad and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a hoarder. I don’t get what the big deal was, we weren’t using that floor of the Tower for anything important anyway. Tacos?” Tony suggested. “I’m thinking that place by Fordham. BattleBot, you in?”

“Can’t,” the Soldier said, typing something into his phone. “I have a date.”

Tony stopped talking for an entire three seconds. “You. Have a date.”

The Soldier looked up and blinked, clearly nonplussed to find Sam and Tony both staring at him. “Yes.”

“With who?”

“My boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend?” Tony looked like he’d just walked into a lamppost, and then the lamppost had handed him a birthday present.

Keep reading

376.

winterhawkkisses:

Reality returned slowly. Sound first, high-pitched whistle (a song) that meant someone, somewhere, was watching a (get on) television, walls and rooms and corridors away. The strange dry clean taste of oxygen; scent of (nerves) bleach and blood and poor quality food and all the ways it had reappeared. Scratchy sheets and waffled blankets; the uncomfortable angle of (know) his neck. 

And threaded somehow through it all, woven over and under and between it, a pleasant voice made deliberately obnoxious and still somehow the best thing he’d ever heard. 

“ – know a song that’ll get on your nerves -” 

Bucky’s eyelids were weighed down with ten ton trucks, impossible to open, but maybe there was something in the smile his brain was wearing, even if the rest of him wouldn’t respond. 

“Hey,” a voice said, warm and drawling, “you’re back.” 

He didn’t remember anything past the corner of El Paso and Mason, sure as hell couldn’t recall whatever the hell made it hurt so much when he shifted his arm just the slightest. 

“Hey no,” the voice said, dismayed, “no, stay here, you’re going full on deep end -” crash into frozen water, the only thing cryo could ever be compared to – “so we need to edge you up to where it’s shallow, with me.” 

Somehow depth became clear and green-blue; somehow there was golden sand and rippled light and a pair of legs treading water – truly hideous purple shorts – stupid choices in every scar on him and fuckin’ exuberance in the sheer volume of them. 

Bucky sucked in a breath like he was breaking the surface, and the wave of approval was almost a touch – tanned fingers tangled in salt-stiffened hair. 

“That’s better, right?” His voice was warm like sunlight. “Float right here like a boat. I’m great at boats.” 

“Guide Barton!”

The new voice was cold and edged around with teeth. 

“Aw,” the warm voice said, “busted.” 

“What have you been told about bothering the unbonded? If you cannot remain at your assigned post you will -” 

The voice faded quicker than it ought to – senses were messed up for a while after a zone – but sun-warm words somehow still made their way through. 

Yes! Sentinel AUs are my favorite. Thank you!

Cap drabble: fulcrum

laporcupina:

I’m apparently exceptionally cranky today, so I am projecting.

Fulcrum

1700 words | Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes, team sergeant. A variation on a theme.

.

Bucky watched Steve head off, ostensibly to organizes his notes and look
through the papers they’d taken away with them before they’d blown up
the house. But it was really to separate himself from the boys for a
bit, until they could bitch at Bucky and between themselves and the
tension wasn’t so thick as to be uncomfortable. And while part of Bucky
kind of resented having to clean up after Steve and his ego one more
time, the rest of him knew that this was his actual real job now, given
to him by the Army and the SSR, and not just the self-appointed task
he’d given himself as a child.

The
boys were pissed, justifiably so, and Bucky didn’t deny them their
anger. He didn’t tell them it wouldn’t happen again, that would be a
lie, but he did promise that he’d do what he could because that wasn’t.
They had the usual expectations of their team sergeant – he was
supposed to fix everything, up to and including the dumbass actions of
their CO – and the foggier expectations that came with knowing that
Sergeant Barnes had been friends with Captain Rogers since they’d been
in short pants. He didn’t tell them that he hadn’t been able to keep
Steve on a leash when he’d been a hundred pounds soaking wet; they
needed their faith in his magical NCO abilities and Steve needed their
faith in his magical NCO abilities and Bucky, who knew too well that he
had no magical abilities, had to pull a sleight of hand for everyone’s
sake.

But sometimes, it was fucking tiring.

Keep reading

Jewish Bucky pls

copperbadge:

Title: Day Of Atonement
Rating: PG
Summary: Bucky thinks he’s got a lot to atone for. Fortunately, there’s a holy day for that.
Notes: Thanks to arsenicjade for checking this one over for me. 😀 

When Steve was little, he didn’t comprehend or even notice that good boys from his building didn’t play with the Jewish boys one block over. When he got older he understood it, but ignored it; after all, his mom didn’t care, so why should he?

Sarah Rogers didn’t give an Irish damn what the biddies in the parish thought of her or her son, as few of them had raised much of a hand to help her when Joseph was alive, and anyone she chose to associate with didn’t give a damn either. On the few occasions someone pointed out Steve’s choice in friends, she said, with an affectionate smile, “Well, Steve’s never been good at idiot rules.”

Steve ran about for most of his childhood in short pants with Bucky Barnes (Lefty Commie Jewish ma, Lefty Commie Convert dad) and Arnie Roth (orthodox, kind-hearted father, dead mother), who lived on the border between the Jewish neighborhood and the Irish one, an invisible but very tough membrane. Arnie drifted off eventually, too scared of seeming any kind of different to play with goyim, but Bucky and Steve battled angry Irish boys in Steve’s half of the street and (less often) tough Jewish boys in Bucky’s half, and soon enough most people who knew them left them alone. Sarah kept a jar of kosher pickles and a special plate for Bucky when he visited, and while she couldn’t send food over to the Barnes family, she did look after Bucky and Becca when the Barnes parents needed to go to a rally or a protest, and the time the strikebreakers put Bucky’s dad in a bad way because he was trying to Unionize.

If Steve ate a lot more matzoh growing up than most Irish, Bucky and Becca occasionally got a meal that might not strictly speaking be entirely kosher.

“Do you remember Yom Kippur back in ‘35, the year after my mom died?” Steve asked. He tried not to ask do you remember too often, but Erev Yom Kippur was in two days, and he didn’t know if Bucky would want to remember, or to participate.

“You wanted to fast with us,” Bucky said, sitting at Sam’s kitchen bar. “Mom wouldn’t let you. She had the Rabbi in to tell you the sick didn’t have to fast.”

“He boxed my ears when I lipped off to him, too.”

“He said that you were a gentile anyway, which was punishment enough.”

“Never lipped off to the Rabbi again,” Steve said ruefully, and Bucky smiled. “It’s comin’ up, you know.”

The smile dropped off his face. “I know.”

“Sam would drive you to Temple if you wanted. We could both fast with you,” Steve ventured. Bucky hadn’t left the house since they’d brought him here.

“Don’t remember much — ” Bucky’s lips twisted. “Bet I could still make kreplach, all the times we watched Mom do it, but the prayers, the words, it’s all…”

He made a faint gesture, fingers fluttering away from his head. Lost to the Winter Soldier.

“They got me,” he said bitterly. “They didn’t put me in a camp but they got me just the same.”

“Hey, no, it’ll come back,” Steve said. “It will. If you can still make kreplach you can still pray. That kinda stuff doesn’t leave you, Buck.”

“It’s Yom Kippur. I got a lot to atone for. There’s too much — “

"I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either, not deep down. Anyway, your dad always said the best thing about bein’ a Jew was wholesale one-day forgiveness,” Steve said. Bucky’s mom had always swatted him for that.

Bucky looked at him, head bent, only his eyes moving. “What if I can’t remember?”

“Well, then you’ll have to go back to Hebrew school,” Steve said with a grin. “I hear the Rabbis don’t box ears anymore.”

“Bet they would if you lipped off to them, you were the worst at lipping off,” Bucky replied.

"So you’ll go? Sam and I will come if you want, at least, you know — ”

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky sighed. “I don’t know, dragging you two goyim around with me, G-d better send me patience for the pair of you…”

Imagine Bucky Barnes – tall, muscled, tough, ex-assassin… Using his strength to give his kids piggyback rides all the time.

imaginebucky:

They move out of Avengers Tower, back to Brooklyn, and it’s the best damn decision they’ve made in a while. This Brooklyn is a world away from the one they grew up in, but it still feels like home to Bucky in a way that loosens something in his chest, makes his days easier in the same way that sleeping beside Steve makes his nights easier. Even on his worst days, when Steve is away on Avengers business and he sleeps the morning away because the dark is filled with nightmares, Bucky can make it as far as the front stoop, spending the afternoons watching ebb and flow of people, and it helps.

The first time he’d shown his hand — literally — one hot summer afternoon, he’d attracted a gaggle of kids pretty rapidly.

“Can you crush a car?” one had asked, transfixed by the sight of Bucky sipping his coffee. Bucky had considered that. It’d take a while, but, “Yes.”

“Could you take on the Hulk?” That’s not something he and Bruce ever wanted to test. Bucky would lose, for a start. “No one can take on the Hulk.”

“Is it bullet proof?” “Sort of. Enough.”

“How much can you lift?” HYDRA had forced him to test that until the plates had warped and his shoulder had been a hot ball of agony. They hadn’t deigned to show him the exact results. “A lot.”

It was the adults who had asked the more pertinent questions: “You live with Steve, don’t you?” asked the young mom — Louise, building across the street, second floor — who came to drag her children home.

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d said. He’d received a firm, decisive nod. He’d not been sure what to make of it at the time, but it’s been months now, and the press still haven’t found their way to the front door. He can’t help wondering if the determination behind that nod had anything to do with it.

Today, she comes past with her dog on the way to the park. “Steve away again?” He nods, letting her puppy enthusiastically snuffle his hands. “You okay for food?” He is, and he says so, but she grins knowingly. “You want more lasagne?” He grins back. “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

A little later, the after-school crowd swarms past, and he trades greetings and the occasional fist bump.

Monique is at the tail end of the crowd, later than usual. One pigtail has come loose, which is normal enough, but she’s also walking carefully enough for Bucky to take a second glance. She’s deliberately walking along a sidewalk crack, he realizes and supresses a childhood wince.

She reaches the end of the crack, hops from there to a tree shadow, balances her way down a line between the paving stones, makes a last precarious leap to an ice-cream wrapper, and finally lunges to the apparent safety of Bucky’s stoop.

“Can’t go any further,” she announces, panting dramatically.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Sidewalk’s lava,” she says. “It’s getting worse.”

He assesses the pavement. It’s another hundred yards between their stoops and the lunging distances between cracks, shadows, and litter are daunting for short legs. “That’s a lot of lava.”

“You’ve got super-everything, you can survive lava,” she says, pointedly. “And you can jump further.” Her face is deadly serious, so he bites the inside of his mouth to hide his smile.

"Yeah, okay,” he says, and she scrambles up the steps, miraculously no longer winded. He shifts up into a crouch and she clambers aboard, grabbing her own arms rather than his throat, which he rather appreciates. He hitches her up to his waist, securing her under the knees.

“We good?” he asks. She nods against his neck, and he picks his way down to the bottom step. “Right,” he says. “I need some rock outcrops, here. Give me a terrain report.”

She rests her chin on his shoulder, radiating intensity as she assesses. “That leaf, before it gets away.”

“Forward march,” he grins, and jumps.

I adore this Bucky, this neighborhood, and this girl. I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.