Lawful Good: lurked for a month before posting to consume all fan content in their area of interest, internalise tagging conventions, and learn what content is already well-represented and what is lacking. fills in gaps in the fandom oeuvre out of a sense of community responsibility. alerts people who were like “why isn’t there fic of this” that there is now fic of this and includes author’s notes acknowledging those people by name for inspiring said fic.
Neutral Good: writes fic in response to prompts or community discussion. beloved by those who follow and interact with them. potential ouroboros relationship with fanon, where they both contribute to the development of fanon conventions and perpetuate them.
Chaotic Good: “I know no one asked for this but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone so HERE, HAVE THIS THING THAT I POURED AN UNREASONABLE AMOUNT OF MY LIFEFORCE INTO. FREE ME FROM THE GRIP OF THIS FEVERED MUSE”
Lawful Neutral: scrupulously researched, impeccably canon-compliant fic. author may go out of their way to mimic the canon narrative style as closely as possible. readers’ comments are likely to include “wow, this feels like it could have been an actual episode of !” high proportion of missing scenes, alternate POV scenes, and character interactions that should have been given screentime in canon but were tragically underutilised.
True Neutral: had an idea, wrote it, and posted it. may not be aware of the fandom zeitgeist or may simply not care. doing their own thing and feeling the fulfillment of an idea properly manifested. lower average hitcount than many other alignments due to lack of engagement with fandom or fanon and potential redundancy to already-existing fanwork. may be dabbling in a fandom they have no specific intention to revisit.
Chaotic Neutral: AUs, expies, self-inserts, reader-inserts, reader-directed/choose-your-own-adventure fic, crack, etc. We’re all mad here! Mad and having so much fun.
Lawful Evil: “I have no justification and no excuse, but enjoy this exhaustively-tagged, morally unconscionable character torture! I sure did :)”
Neutral Evil: fic would not have existed if not for the motivating power of spite and frustration with the fandom (or, in certain end-of-the-bellcurve cases, the source media, but in general spite/frustration toward the source media is common in any alignment). whatever other motivations there may be, the fic is an express Take That of greater or lesser subtlety. this author is so mad. why is everyone doing this wrong? WHY MUST THEY BE THE ONE TO RIGHT THIS WRONG? THEY’LL SHOW YOU WHAT THIS CONTENT SHOULD BE. THEY’LL SHOW YOU ALL!!!
Chaotic Evil: wants someone to suffer. is it the cause of their spite, whom they are using Take That fic to call out? is it their readers, whom they are trolling, whether with badfic or with a poisoned-apple plot that seems to be all the reader desires before it takes a horrible twist? is it the creator(s) of the source media? it doesn’t matter, as long as someone experiences regret as a result of the fic’s existence.
Tag: btw
Imagine This:
Tangled, but with fandomstuck characters.
Homestuck would be Rupunzel, Supernatural would be Flynn Rider, and Andrew Hussie would be mother Gothel.
For some inexplicable reason, Problem Sleuth and Tangled would be Homestuck’s real parents.
Some people at the tavern for the ‘I have a dream’ number could be Creepypasta, Dangan Ronpa, OFF, WTNV, DHMIS, Resident Evil, and The Walking Dead.
I hate to say it, but the only people I can personally think of to be the two thieves that betray Flynn are Doctor Who and Sherlock.
Because why not, MLP in pony form could be Maximus.
Chameleon!Hetalia could be Pascal.
Instead of having long, magical hair, Homestuck could have magic, troll horns with healing properties that he pretends are fake in front of Supernatural and others. He could accomplish this by wearing a headband right next to his horns so it looks like they’re attached to the headband. Due to a weird hobby of knitting really long scarves to kill boredom while trapped in the tower, ‘Rupunzel, Rupunzel, let down your hair’ could be replaced with ‘Homestuck, Homestuck, let down your scarf.’
To activate the weird healing powers, you could instead sing ‘You can’t fight the Homestuck.’
Because why not.
Seriously.
I want this to exist.
Oh whoops look at that my hand slipped
… a lot
This is the story of how I died.
Don’t worry; this is actually a very fun story and, the truth is, it isn’t even mine.
This is the story of a troll named Drew and it starts with the Green Sun.
Now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from Skaia, and from this small drop of sun, grew a magic, acid green flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured.
On a dark night, an old man with strange, orange skin wanders through the shadows.
Oh, you see that orange guy over there? You might want to remember him. He’s kind of important.
Well, centuries passed, and a hop, skip, and a boat ride away there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. And the queen, well, she was about to have a baby.
She got sick. Really sick.
She was running out of time, and that’s when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or, in this case, a magic, acid green flower.
Pushing through the brush, the orange guy spots the magic, acid green flower. He huddles over it reverently.
Ah, I told you he’d be important. You see, instead of sharing the Green Sun’s gift, this orange guy, Andrew Hussie, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep himself young for hundreds of years, and all he had to do was sing a special song.
Stroking the flower’s petals, the orange guy opens his mouth and begins to sing.
“You can’t fight the Homestuck!
Though it’s weird and random, it’s the greatest fandom!
You can’t fight the Homestuck!
True, it’s quite outrageous, but it’s all contagious!”
It’s as if time rewinds in that moment. His orange wrinkles receding, and his gray hair regains its former luster. The flower glows.
Alright, you get the gist. He sings to it; he turns young. Creepy, right?
“We’ve found it!”
The orange guy looks up in fright, then retreats to the wilderness, as a squadron of big, heavily-muscled guards swarm the clearing.
The magic of the acid green flower healed the queen.
A fair queen with hair as pure as gold holds a delicate little bundle in her arms.
A healthy baby troll, a prince, was born, with gray skin and candy-corn horns. No one blinked an eye at his species, as the king himself was part troll on his mother’s side.
I’ll give you a hint: that’s Drew.
To celebrate his birth, the king and queen launched a flying lantern into the sky.
And for that one moment, everything was perfect.
In the middle of the night, the orange guy busts open the window to the baby’s nursery.
And then that moment ended.
The orange guy looms over the baby, unblinking. He opens his mouth and begins to sing.
“You can’t fight the Homestuck!
Thought it’s weird and random, it’s the greatest fandom!
You can’t fight the Homestuck-”
He cuts himself off, as the young prince’s acid green eyes begin to glow. He hesitantly reaches out, and touches those nubby newborn horns. His orange wrinkles recede; his gray hair regains its former luster. He raises a small knife to the baby’s skull, and makes a clean, sharp cut across the base of the colored keratin. The baby cries, and the separated chunk of horn turns ash gray. The orange guy gasps.
Hussie broke into the castle, stole the child, and just like that- gone.
The window swings open, a light breeze blowing the curtains inward.
The kingdom searched, and searched, but they couldn’t find the prince, for deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Hussie raised the child as his own.
A young troll sits before a warm, roaring fire, the orange guy polishing his horns.
“You can’t fight the Homestuck!” The wriggler sings, “true, it’s quite outrageous, but it’s all contagious!”
Hussie had found his new magic flower, but this time he was determined to keep it hidden.
As the orange guy’s wrinkles recede, and his hair regains its former luster, the wriggler asks:
“Why can’t I go outside?”
The orange guy flinches for barely a fraction of a second. “The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you’re safe. Do you understand, flower?”
“Yes, Hussiedad.” Nonetheless, the wriggler’s frown is deep and sad.
But the walls of that tower could not hide everything.
A barrage of flying lanterns fill the sky, glowing like the stars have suddenly doubled.
On the ground, the king and queen stand by the river bank, staring distraughtly into the distance.
Each year, on his birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky, in the hope that one day, their lost prince would return.