goddamnitmads:

ethicalbutchering:

fallenangelsinthetardis:

Is it alright to ship the Sherlock fandom with the Hannibal fandom? Because what could possibly be better than a large group of psychopaths and high-functioning sociopaths teaming up with each other? It just fits.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_burn_centers_in_the_United_States

I now ship Sherlock fandom and Hannibal fandom as kismeses.

(via hectordixon)

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

After the initial hysterical-laughter/panic attack, it became clear what I have to do.

I have to spend the rest of my life pretending I like strawberries every time I am around my birthfamily. 

Yes. This is clearly the correct response to this present.

Within about five minutes of learning about it for the first time, I heard both rave reviews and furious ranting, both from internet people whose opinions I care about.

The positive opinion: This lets people get paid for creator-sanctioned fanfiction, while also letting the original creators get paid for it. Win-win!

The negative opinion: Fanfiction has always been free, this is a super-skeevy way for big businesses to wedge into fan culture and try to make money from it. It’s incredibly insulting.

My opinion: Yeah, there’s going to be a lot of people trying to sell fanfiction on Amazon, but I don’t think they’re going to make any real money unless they’re selling good stuff. No, I don’t think this is going to be the death of free fanfiction. People are not going to buy your stuff unless they know it’s quality. And quite frankly, there are a few fanfiction authors that I follow where I have long wanted a legal way to throw money at them and support them and say “I REALLY LIKE YOUR STUFF I WANT TO SUPPORT YOU PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU EVER WRITE SOMETHING I CAN LEGALLY BUY BECAUSE I WILL.”  And this is a way to do that. 

That being said, please do read the publishing contract really, really carefully, because who knows what shit they’re pulling in there.

I’m on the alternate list. 

This means they’ll contact me in six months to see if I’m still interested in the job, and then I have a chance of getting into their winter class.

I didn’t realize how much I’d been relying on getting that job until I suddenly didn’t have it. I didn’t realize how much I’d been propping my happiness and peace of mind and willingness-to-put-up-with-the-constant-daily-crap on having that job come the end of June.

Now I’ve got six more months.

Six more months of endless work.

Six more months of holes in my shoes big enough to stick three toes out of.

Of bras that should have been thrown out two years ago.

Of clothes that hang off my body like drapes on a skeleton.

Of shirts with ineffable smells and armpit discoloration.

Of oozing cystic acne on my back.

Of untreated migraines.

Of stained teeth.

Of uncomprehending stares when somebody mentions it’s the weekend, because I honestly didn’t notice since I have no days off.

Of nervously wondering how to figure out if the fun thing your friends want to do will cost money.

Of horrible, floor-eat-me-now guilt when it does, and they pay for it for you.

Of constant work.

Constant.

9:00 am-to-8:00 pm.

Work.

That I hate.

Mind-numbing.

Soul-shredding.

BORING.

Thankless.

Poverty-level.

Work.

And even after the six months are up I still won’t know if I’ll have the job.