#i feel some fanfiction coming on

[bigkickguy]

daanmarcoh doodle - they're sleeping in shifts and keeping watch

#daanmarcoh #daarcoh #kickdraw #funger #i just wanted to draw them and try to punch through artblock ! #as soon as i have the energy to actually render something and draw a background its so over #the eternal struggle of 'do i use daan's portrait or map sprite for hair color' #really just wanted to draw daan with marcoh's jacket #thought to myself yesterday - 'idk why they aren't as popular' so figured i'd throw some art into the mix again #such good fanfiction coming out for them too #I really want to get back into a drawing stride for them :') #the shirt grab is to make sure he's still there watching - if marcoh turns around or leaves daan would feel it #i feel like they're walking a weird line in my mind #they just met and in some cases all they have is each other - but they dont really know each other in any way #they just have to trust the stranger who didn't kill them immediately won't be worse than the fucked up monsters around them

[mycryptidisqueererthanyours]

[Redacted] Hanahaki AU

Hunched over the sink, [Redacted’s] body trembled as familiar pain blazed through him, before being overwhelmed by familiar nausea. Familiar tears streamed down his face, as he ducked his head and retched. He seized and writhed as he threw up, vomit and blood pooling in the sink, clinging to skin in a way that made him want to claw it off. 

‘Angel,’ he croaked, voice reverent almost as if he were in prayer. But they couldn’t hear him here. And, even if they could, what could they do? Hold his hair back? ‘They could love me. They could love me like I love them,’ he whispered to the empty room, with its cold, empty countertops.

After being sick a few more times and finally being reasonably certain that he wasn’t going to be again, they peered into the basin below. Although he already knew what to expect, his doctors always advised him to confirm before doing anything else. Sure enough, hidden amongst his filth, stained white petals shone through. 

Despite their beauty, what they symbolised or - rather - who, he couldn’t help but breathe out a pained swear. Almost entire Brugmansia Arborea or angel’s trumpet blooms were coagulated in the sink, baptised in ugly shades of browns and reds. He had tainted them, as he always did. 

He reached up to open the mirrored medicine cabinet but his reflection gave him pause. God, he looked like shit, covered in assorted bodily fluids, eyes haggard and hair ill-kept. He needed a shower, badly. He tranced a hand over the scar on his chest, like it could in any way quell the lingering pain. It never did. 

Especially with how fully formed the flowers were, they might have to crack open his ribs and clear out his lungs again within the year and he’d barely recovered from the previous round of surgery. 

[Redacted] knew how unusually severe their case was. How - no matter how many times they operated on him - they just couldn’t fully eradicate the roots that were so deeply enshrined in his flesh, how it only ever seemed to progress faster each time, how their beautiful petals secreted sweet poison but he would sooner die than give up on his Angel.

His Angel would reciprocate in time. He’d make sure of it.

They opened the cabinet and grabbed a new needle. He checked the packaging for the dosage of physostigmine, as he always did in case it had magically changed in his sleep (it hadn’t), before peeling the needle open and filling it. Finally, with ill-deserved tenderness, he lined the needle up with his arm and gritted his teeth. 

This part always hurt. 

@14dayswithyou because I think I saw somewhere where they said they like being @ ed but I can remove it if that’s what they’d prefer

#first post #hello would you like some pain with that pain #why am i doing this #because i can #suffer #ren 14dwy #ren 14 days with you #redacted 14dwy #redacted 14 days with you #angst #hanahaki au #I was going to write a full fic where Angel fell in love with [Redacted] curing their symptoms but i got lazy #sorry #so feel free to imagine them riding [Redacted's] motorbike arms wrapped around him and just thinking 'I love you' #fanfiction because I'm too lazy to come up with more of my own original characters #I have too many already running amok in my brain as is #14dwy #14 days with you

[milogoestogreendale]

me when im typing up a first draft without really thinking and accidentally rickroll myself

#i realized as soon as i typed it #this caught me off guard bc it’s so goofy in a kind of serious chapter #anyways guys new chapter coming soon :3 #the fate of this fanfic may be affected by the next couple days honestly #depending on how things go with my troy… #i mean what who said that? i never base fan fictions on feelings ab my personal life #i don’t talk about myself i hint at it through community references #if i get rejected at least this is gonna make some damn good fanfiction #community #community nbc #abed nadir #community fanfic

[mothfables]

Blushing Bunnies and Rings

A gift fic for @breannasfluff! I’ve had this scene in mind for literal *months* now, and finally decided to write it down <3 I hope you enjoy!!

“You know what’s nice about you being home?” Ravio asks, leaning on the counter with his chin propped in his hand. His Mr. Hero and his brothers have come to visit again. The Chain, as they call themselves, have spread through the house while Link- Legend, Ravio reminds himself- has decided to sort through and swap out some of his items.

Right now, he’s going through one of his many ring boxes. Box in hand, he sweeps distractedly across the room, barely registering Ravio’s question. “What’s that, Ravi?” he calls back, only partly paying attention.

Ravio grins, though the other boy can’t see it. Wind, on the opposite side of the room, can, and quickly comes to the conclusion that something potentially amusing is about to happen. His eyes flick between Legend, still nose-deep in his ring box, and the merchant, whose eyes are trained directly on his brother. Rupee-green shines mischievously.

“I get to look at you.”

The statement takes a moment to register. Legend pauses, blinking, before fully realizing what he heard. Then the box is clattering out of his hands, rings spilling out across the floor as his face flushes bright red.

Wind is in a prime position to watch as Legend splutters, his hands flailing as he tries - and fails - to come up with a response. He sees Ravio’s grin grow to a smug smirk as his partner continues to flounder, the red spreading to the tips of his ears and down his neck. A snicker makes it’s way out of his mouth and he slaps a hand over it.

The other heroes make an appearance then, drawn by the noise. They’re treated to the sight of a scarlet Hero of Legend, a smirking merchant, and a Sailor whose own face is starting to match the Veteran’s with how hard he’s struggling to hold back laughter.

“Y-you- I- you- Whuh-”

Wind can’t help it anymore- he lets out a loud ‘HA!’ before doubling over, clutching his ribs and cackling. Warriors snickers. Twilight snorts before catching himself and turning away, but everyone can see his shoulders shaking.

Ravio’s smirk only grows. From here, he can’t see Legend’s face but he does have the privilege of watching his partner’s ears flickering madly as they grow progressively more red with each passing second.

After another minute of flustered flailing, Legend abruptly turns and marches stiff-legged to the couch, where he collapses face-first and lets out a muffled scream.

The other heroes only laugh harder.

Ravio chuckles for a few moments before he pushes himself off the counter and moves to pick up the scattered rings. To his pleasant surprise, Wind joins him, shaking off the last of his laughing fit with a bright grin.

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs, appreciative. The young hero beams, reaching for the box and dropping a handful of rings inside. Between the two of them it’s short work, and before long Ravio is snapping the lid closed and standing to put it on the counter. He’ll sort them properly later.

Then he turns and makes his way to the couch where his hero is still lying facedown. He bends to press a kiss to ruffled strawberry-blonde locks, cooing at the whine that elicits. Legend doesn’t look up at him; instead he tries to burrow further into the cushions. The action only makes Ravio chuckle, and cooling ears burn red again as the merchant pets his hair.

“Oh, bunny. I can’t have embarrassed you that much, can I?”

Behind him, Ravio hears the other heroes begin to make their way out of the room now that the fun is over, some of them still laughing. One of them- the Captain, he thinks- makes a strangled wheezing sound. He pays them no mind, his attention solely on the hero before him. The hero who has yet to move from where he’s apparently trying to become one with the couch.

The sight makes Ravio laugh again and he muffles the sound with a sleeve. Link- Legend has had enough teasing for the day, no need to add to it. He pats his head a final time before straightening and moving towards the doorway. Mr. Hero will resurface when he’s ready.

In the meantime, he should probably go warn the Chain off of teasing him too badly, since he knows they’ll do it anyway. ‘Brothers,’ he thinks with a smile.

#moth’s tales #linked universe #lu legend #lu ravio #fanfiction #linked universe fanfiction #lu wind #not sure how i feel about the title but i couldn’t come up with anything better so :/ #again inspired by a steven universe scene <3 #i just wanted to write some flustered legend #and ravio is the culprit because of course he is #legend x ravio #gift fic #queerplatonic relationship #qpr legend x ravio #raviolink #ravioli ship

[sentientsky]

"I forgive you." It came out like a blood clot—like an artery dripping gore—like an oil spill. Crowley felt his shoulders rise, fall, fall, fall. The air between them hummed, the tension of six thousand years turning every atom electrified and silently screaming. Breath shuddered out of him, human and terrible and hollowing. He had never been more grateful for the swallowing darkness of his glasses, for the way they hid the centuries of pre-emptive grief and wicked terror. The air was suffocating, the once familiar bookshop turned catacomb.

And then, hating himself for it but seeing no other way forward, he spoke the words aloud. "Don't bother". And then he was out in the middle of Soho and the breeze was harsh against his too-warm skin. Stepping out into the sun felt like rising to the surface of some great ocean—the gasping, desperate feeling in his lungs, the sudden crash of noise. A woman across the street called for her wife. A car horn. A dog barking. Laughter, cruel and far-off. He pulled breath into lungs that didn't need it, winced as he felt slivers of cold drive into the soft flesh of his throat.

So that was it; five and a half million years of want and need and burning, aching somedays, cyphered pleas for "our side". All gone in the space between shaking half-breaths and a kiss still seared against his lips.

Fuck it.

He'd ruined it the first time, had forced them both to look directly into the sun, to face the thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of six millennia. He could do better—would do better. At a music café some years ago, a human had been playing the piano—something soft and slow. A jazz number, if the demon remembered correctly. But the remarkable thing wasn’t the song itself, but that they were playing it with their eyes closed. Aziraphale had pointed this fact out to Crowley, excitement lilting in his voice (even then, the sound had thrilled him, sent a stab of warmth through his heart). It was only after the final note reverberated through the room that the artist opened their eyes, blinking in the sudden rush of stage lights. Aziraphale, ever the music connoisseur, approached the musician. The pianist had explained that, for them, reading music never came easy. Rather, they learned by touch, by the way the keys felt on their fingertips. In fact, the only way they could play a song was with their eyes closed. If they watched their hands as they played or thought too hard about their next move, they got confused and tripped over the notes. Muscle memory, they’d said.  It was muscle memory—the galactic familiarity of finding the space between seconds and prying—that guided Crowley now. He hadn’t done it since Not-Armageddon, but it came easily to him just the same. Time, you see, operates kind of like sound, like music; it loops and sways and carries forward in waves. If you know where to look (as the demon did), you can disrupt the flow, send it back towards the shore. 

And this was what Crowley did now. Drawing his hands through the ripples of minutes and seconds and hours and millennia, time stilled around him. It was natural. Easy, like breathing or sleeping. Or loving Aziraphale.  Slowly, the world turned backwards; humans retreating from whence they came, cars driving in reverse, the wind blowing in the opposite direction. If Heaven had taken notice of their "half-a-miracle", Crowley expected them to be able to see this from every edge of the universe. He likely only had one shot at this.

The world aligned itself once more, and time returned to its regular, steady gait—a rubber band snapping back into place. Something hummed in Crowley’s chest. Something bright and burning and the shape of a neutron star.  Hands shaking, he reached for the handle of the bookshop and pushed. The bell above the door rang, clear and and too-loud in the morning air. Aziraphale whirled around, a trembling half-smile on his face. Oh. Oh, somebody, this was going to be harder than he thought. It felt like all the oxygen, all the courage, had been punched clear out of him "Crowley!" A beat, a shuddering breath. "Angel". He pressed his still-trembling hands into his pockets and strode forward. "Oh, Crowley, dear, I've been looking for you. I have excellent news." His stomach did a little flip, something deep within him growing hollow and fearful. "We have to talk," he managed to choke out around the heart still lodged in his throat. "Yes, I quite think we do. I have something to tell you." Aziraphale strode forward, all grins and beauty like a flickering star, all plasma and heat. He could practically feel the agitated warmth roll off of his angel. Crowley shivered. "I just met with the Meta—” "No. Wait," the demon held up a hand, pausing the rushing torrent of Aziraphale’s words. "Just let me say my thing, please." "My dear boy, just—oh, what is that lovely human expression—"

"Hold that thought," Crowley muttered. His eyes burned behind his glasses. Aziraphale looked pleasantly taken aback.

"Yes, how did you know? I—" "No." The angel's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No?" "No," he repeated, enunciating each letter with perfect clarity. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to keep him from leaving. He could be good. Right? "I’m gonna speak, and I want you to listen to me without interrupting, m'kay?" Words were building in the basin of his sternum now, pushing up on his airways. He was going to have to say it outright this time; no more waltzing around this frenzied galaxy of emotion. Willing his hands to steadiness, he pulled his glasses from his face, and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Aziraphale's breath seemed to catch for a moment, meeting the ferocity of the demon's gaze head-on. A deer in headlights. And then, "Crowley, I really—" (Eons hurtled through his mind in a split second, the serrated knife's-edge of want like a being all its own. Aziraphale in the garden. Aziraphale in the tavern, on the cliffside, on the West End stage, in the Bentley, in the bookshop, in the very marrow of Crowley’s bones.) "I love you," he rasped, ichor writhing in his veins.

There, he'd said it., said it fully and completely, without so much as flinching. It was the same love he'd expressed for the past several thousand years in a million little, unspoken ways: an ox rib, a revolution, a church, a burning bookshop and the bottom of a glass and a lost best friend. A yellow Bentley, a lifetime of tethering his life to Aziraphale's, of trailing after him like a moth to flame—like a dog to its owner. "I love you," he pushed on. They were both looking directly into the sun again, Crowley urging them to stare straight into the heat of it all. The words were spilling out of him now, a heaving, thrashing current falling to the bookshop's hardwood floors. "I love you and you can't go to Heaven." Aziraphale froze, pupils blown wide and unblinking, for just a moment. Tension stretched out like a thread between them. And then he pulled in breath like a drowning man (who wasn't really a man at all), and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, and oh god, he'd made his angel cry. Fear and guilt and horror slammed into him at a million kilometers an hour and left him halfway between dizzy and nauseous. His fingers tensed at his side, desperate to do something, fix what he'd so obviously broken. Heaven would be on the front step any moment. It was too late, wasn't it? It was always too late. "Crowley—what?" Aziraphale breathed, mouth twisting into a brutal, terrible, heart-wrenching sob. Crowley ached, panic lancing through him like a knife. "I—I really, I can't. You could come with me." He stepped forward, moving to place his hands on the demon's shoulders. Crowley leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "Don't go," he croaked, tears beginning to prick his own eyes once again. This time he didn't reach for his glasses, didn't try to hide his fear. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And then Aziraphale could hate him and his desperate, hungry, reverent love in the aftermath. "Don't go where I can't follow. Please".

His angels blue-grey eyes searched his own, and the weight of his gaze was impossibly heavy, pressing down on his chest like a river-smoothed rock. "Crowley, please. I don't understand. The Metatron said—" His palms found the sides of Crowley's throat, thumbs resting gently on the side of his jaw. Crowley sucked in a breath. "Angel," The scent of earl grey—of old books and soft tartan chairs. Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "I know what the Metatron said," he intoned, soft as rainfall. "You can't go. It's not—they won't change. You're better than that." "But you could be an angel. With me," he murmured, soft thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "Be my second-in-command." "Don't want to be. Want t' be an us," he felt tears—traitorous, burning tears tip over the edge of his lashes and fall against his face. "Crowley, darling, please." A beat. "I love you." The bottom of the world dropped out from under him in that moment. Aziraphale loved him. He loved him and he'd said it aloud and now it was out there in the world and it was as though every nerve on his body was on fire. His angel pushed on, "Truly, I love you. I need you with me. Please, come with me. We can do good, I know it." He could never say no when his angel asked something of him. Especially not when his kind, gentle hands were holding him like something good, something precious. Especially not when Aziraphale had just admitted to needing him, had injected the word with so much warmth he thought his all-too-human heart might beat clear out of his chest. But there was a first (technically, second) time for everything. He drew in a heavy breath, and tilted his head, breaking his angel's hold on him. Aziraphale's hands—now empty, still shook. He made a soft whimpering sound, and Crowley ached to kiss his fingertips, banish the fear. But instead, he looked up towards the ceiling, to a God who was not there—who maybe had never been there at all. He felt the Heavenly Host drawing near, a sense of hollow emptiness, the scent of absence. This was the time of last-ditch efforts, of holding his heart out and hoping Aziraphale might take it as it was, bruised spots and all. "I can't. I won't. I need to be here, on Earth, with you." "Crowley, please. I don't think you understand what I'm offering you," he huffed. A residual shard of anger stabbed at him then, and he turned his gaze sharply back to the angel before him. "Oh, I understand perfectly well, angel. I'm fairly certain I understand better than you do." Aziraphale's mouth drew into a thin line, tears welling fresh in his eyes again. And still, Crowley ached. A beat. Something in the angel shifted, then, turned on its edge—the walls beginning to go up again, and it was just like it had been not fifteen minutes ago. He was watching the same moment play out over and over again; some cyclical, torrential nightmare. "I would like you to come with me, but," Aziraphale paused, voice breaking in the middle. "But I'm leaving, with or without you." And there it was, like it was predestined. Despite the love, despite the want, despite every shared bottle passed between them, every half-accidental touch and glance and whispered word—despite the way he would’ve let Aziraphale run a sword through his chest... It wasn't enough. It was never enough. They were re-enacting their old magic trick, right there in the bookshop, this time with Crowley staring down the barrel, letting Aziraphale pull the trigger. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear. Aziraphale wasn't shooting past his ear. His bloody ribcage felt as though it might splinter apart. Wingbeats in the distance, a grief wide enough to drown the sea. Crowley reached down, pulled his sunglasses from their resting spot against his clavicle. And then the hunger in his eyes was once more hidden, and he was walking towards the door like a man headed to execution. "Crowley—" Aziraphale nearly keened, the wall crumbling for a split second. Without turning, Crowley said the only words he could think of. "I forgive you."

#did i steal some lines from one of my own fanfics??? yes. yes i did #because im tired and i don't want to come up with more metaphors for time warping rn. so hush <3 #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 300 WORDS LONG #FUCK I FUCKED UP IM DEHYDRATED AND IM SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING AN ESSAY WHAT THE FUCK #idek what this is i literally have not edited one tiny little bit of this. i just came up with everything as i went along so i apologize #ignore the fact that the dialogue/pacing/ideas diverge from canon shhhhhh im too tired to look at source material #ehhh dunno how i feel ab this but whatever here's something (???) #take a shot every time i say chest or heart or ache or tremble #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #crowley angst #final fifteen #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable divorce #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #gomens

[the-lady-hestia]

so in the past month-ish there have been two separate instances where a friend of mine has had reason to show me that the fandoms I enjoy (namely star trek and a niche book series I'm obsessed with) have thriving fanfiction communities (context: While I did already know this about Star Trek, I have never read fanfiction or dove into that corner of the internet b/c I find it a little intimidating lol)

Anyways I've been thinking about Star Trek Voyager a little too much, specifically the ending and how unsatisfying it is.

There's a little voice in the back of my head telling me to spend what little free time I have writing something from the perspective of various crewmembers like a month after the Voyager gets back to Earth. It would inevitably be bad and I know this but like what iffffff?????????

#Like I could have all these scenes where the crew deals with the little shit of normal life after literally 7 years of being on high alert #Especially Janeway #And obviously I'd throw in some Janeway/Chakotay fluff because cannon can go jump in a lake #And OOOUUUGHHH!!! 7 of 9 dealing with being in a fucking society all of a suddennnnnnnn #But like beyond that. I feel like there was so much story to tell about these people that the show just didn't address #They get back to Earth and it just fades to black. That's lame #I'm just such a perfectionist when it comes to my own writing so IDK if working with pre-existing characters would help or make it worse #Who knows. If in a month I come back to this post and say something like “lol guess what I just finished writing” yall can make fun of me #fanfiction #star trek #star trek voyager #star trek: voyager #kathryn janeway #captain janeway #7 of 9 #seven of nine #voyager #st voyager

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

So, this is part of some flashbacks of the new chapter 10 of tbbw, first draft but still...I may have dumped the angst glitter on the Mikaelsons. Particularly Elijah. Oops.

[shrugs in a what-can-you-do gesture]

However, the reason this flashback has been added in the edits is because it also helps set up next plot arc I'm going to be writing from chapter 36 onwards. So like, take from that what you will - you guys know I love a good teaser.

Pisa, Marquisate of Tuscany, Italia. Le Estate, 1114 A.D.

“KOL!” Elijah yelled, struggling to rip the sharp, broken chair leg from his brother’s grip, yanking it away only to face another battle - stopping Klaus from grabbing anything else. “HELP ME HOLD HIM!”

“Elijah, please, don’t let them do this to me-” Klaus begged, eyes wild and unseeing, lost to yet another hallucination. 

“KOL!” Elijah screamed again, just as their brother appeared around the corner, cursing upon seeing the scene, Klaus’ chambers in disarray, tables and chairs toppled where he had tried to fashion the wood into stakes. Elijah wrapped his arms firmly around Klauss chest, holding him back and leaning forward to hiss in his ear. “Niklaus, we’re only trying to help, you are hurting yourself-”

Kol rushed to Elijah’s side, leaping over the toppled chairs to grab Klaus as he thrashed in Elijah’s arms.

“Please, I can’t! Don’t let her take him from me-”

Kol glanced between his brother and Elijah, grimacing as Klaus tried to slip out of his grip, nearly succeeding - he had always been stronger than his siblings. “What is he talking about?”

Elijah shook his head. “I don’t know, he’s not lucid-” He swallowed, trying to catch Klaus’ eye. “Brother, please, we don’t mean to harm you-”

“NO!” Klaus roared, lashing out and throwing his elbow back, right into Kol’s face, smashing his brother’s nose on impact. In the next moment, he’d pushed Kol with so much force his brother was thrown across the room, slamming into shelves and cracking the wall. Kol fell to the floor, blood dripping from his brow. Eyes wide, Elijah’s grip slipped and his brother nearly managed to flash away but he caught his jacket at the last second, snagging the fabric and hauling Klaus by the neck into the wall behind them.

“NIKLAUS!” he bellowed, pinning him across the stone and shaking him for good measure. “That is enough,” he snarled.

Klaus shrank away, terrified, frantically shaking his head, so terribly unlike him that it made Elijah pause. For the first time, he noticed the tear tracks on his brother’s cheeks.

“I can’t lose him, please, don’t let her take the wolf away-” he begged, but he wasn’t looking at Elijah, but to the side, talking to whatever hallucination standing there. “Please, ‘lijah, don’t let them do this to me-”

Elijah’s grip slackened, his anger exhaling from his body in a single flood of horror. He remembered the night Klaus was currently reliving, remembered the heat of mother’s fires, the roar of Mikael’s orders. His hands pinning Klaus down, enclosing his wrists in tight shackles, and eventually, Elijah doing the same. 

Now, Elijah looked down at his hands, clenched around his brother’s shoulders, holding him down and suddenly felt sick, releasing his brother as if burned.

“Brother, I-” 

Klaus didn’t give him the chance to work through the ball of emotion in his throat, releasing a yell of fury, grabbing Elijah and flashing them both across the room, slamming him into the opposite wall. Elijah gasped, looking down where Klaus’ hand had impaled his chest, fingers grasped around his heart.

“You took everything from me,” his brother snarled, eyes bleeding red, seeing not his brother, but another enemy entirely. Even so, it felt like he was saying the words to Elijah all the same. His grip tightened, fingers squeezing around Elijah’s heart and in that moment, he didn’t doubt Klaus would tear it from his chest. 

Suddenly, hands grasped the side of Klaus’ head and his neck snapped to the side, body falling to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Kol stood behind him, his chest heaving with adrenaline, nose bloody as he stared down at her brother’s unconscious body in shock and horror. Elijah slumped against the wall, a hand over his chest where the wound was already beginning to heal, sliding to the floor.

Neither of them moved for a long while. ______________________________________________________________

Elijah bolted the door to the cell shut, glancing through the barred window of the door to Klaus inside, their brother laid out on the cold, straw-lined floor where they had left him. There was no furniture for him to break and use as stakes, no windows and curtains to open and let in sunlight, the daylight ring on his brother’s finger noticeably absent. Elijah didn’t know where he had discarded it this time. He’d have to search through the wreckage in the room to find it.

“Make sure the door remains locked,” he said to Kol, turning to leave the dungeon, a numbness settling into his bones that felt suffocating. “When he wakes, he may try to escape.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” Kol said as he passed him, lips curled in a bitter snarl.

Elijah stopped in the middle of the cells, his entire body freezing as Kol’s words cut into his skin. He hadn’t known how much Kol had overheard upstairs - they had carried Klaus down here in silence, neither of them knowing how to break it. But now, now he knew. 

Skin itching with Kol’s judgement, slowly he turned around, teeth gritted as he looked at his brother, daring him with his glare to speak up. “Do you have something to say to me, Kol?”

Kol looked away from him, fists clenched as he stared instead at the wooden cell door currently locking their brother away.

“Do you know why Finn had to snap my neck to stop me from going after you and Nik that night?” he asked eventually, taking Elijah off-guard. When his gaze met his brother’s, there was agony there that was not unlike Klaus’ own. “Because I understood even then what you were going to help them take from him. Maybe not fully, but I understood enough.”

Elijah swallowed around the ball in his throat, trying not to remember Kol’s wails of grief the night they were turned, and later, Klaus’ screams as his wolf was ripped away. “Losing your magic was not same as what happened to Niklaus-”

“How would you know, Elijah? You were never a witch. And last time I checked,” Kol spat in his face, shoving past him, “You were never one of the wolf-folk either.”

On his way out, Kol slammed the door to the dungeons behind him. Elijah couldn’t stop his flinch.

#the big bad wolf #tbbw #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #by golly does this family have a lot of issues #sigh #also like the flashbacks aren't ALL angsty there's going to be some wholesome family moments in there too #also also #can i just say how interesting it is to explore the siblings at different stages of their lives? #like they're almost different people but not #like this is when kol and klaus were probably still quite close #before klaus daggered him so many times all that's left is resentment and fear #and the way the brothers will just LOOSE it when it comes down to protecting each other... #the family feels are strong with this one

[nomazee]

a month ago i said i would yell about misogyny and patriarchal themes in fanfiction and eventually i will but there are so many thoughts and feelings in my head that it will take me forever to type it down. But i will say this

Be critical of the things you read. i’m not saying you CANT read for enjoyment—you CAN and SHOULD read for fun. But i’m saying that sometimes you should take notice of the themes in writing and think “wow, i wonder why that’s written like that. Is this harmful or is this helpful?”

it’s a given that fanfiction is widely heteronormative because society and media blah blah blah We know all of this … but in my opinion i think it’s important to think about why women in hetero fics are portrayed the way they are sometimes. I think reader insert fics have gone a long way in being more inclusive and less harmful than they were years ago BUT. Do not let that stop you from recognizing themes in the works you read right now

like; Why are misogyny-affected people written a certain way?? Why are there often degrading themes in a lot of tropes and fics regarding women?? Why are there certain roles that misogyny affected people are expected to fulfill even in fiction?? why are women often the “default” for fics with male characters?? think about any of these questions for like longer than two minutes, read a bad fic, and you will probably see where i’m coming from

#this might be mindless nonsense #but i hope whoever is reading this can see where im coming from #there are a lot of harmful tropes in fanfiction #even those without a feminine leaning reader #and i think it's importnat to read for enjoyment while also thinking about the underlying meaning in writing #Everything is written the WAY it is written for a reason #whether the author realizes it or not #whether YOU as a reader realize it or not #i think very strongly of this #there’s a video i watched that re-ignited a lot of strong feelings for me about this #'booktok brainrot and why its okay to be a hater' by alisha not alihsha #very good points and that video mainly talks about like actual PUBLISHED books but that still very much applies to fics #all writing is important #i may maybe delete this later sigh #i really hope i do not come off as some elitist writer #the point is. read and write for fun. but sometimes its important to take the time to think about why things are the way they are #and if what youre writing/reading contributes or takes away from the harm #nora speaks

[gallawitchxx]

THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF...

🖤 barber!mickey & (not so) shaggy!ian 🖤

oh wow oh wow, we made it to a whole freaking year of these barber boys! it's been such an anchor for me--i never missed a week!--& i will be so sad to see them go. but! i may have a lil surprise up my sleeve for (if all goes well) next week! see you then & thanks for reading! xx

here's the 52nd & final installment for this week's @galladrabbles prompt: rain by @mmmichyyy

catch up/read in full HERE -- now complete! [ read the whole shebang ON AO3 ]

- - - - -

Then again, the whole thing between them is batshit. Ludicrous, how a haircut by happenstance could help two tough guys from the shit side of the street find… well, that remains to be seen… 

But as Ian watches Mickey smile around steak and sour cream, he thinks that maybe he’s found someone to want all of him, all the fucked up versions that he is. 

Hopes that Mickey Milkovich, Master Barber could be someone who’ll stay for the shine, but also the rain. 

Sickness, health, all that shit.

Ian wipes the corner of Mickey’s mouth with his thumb and exhales.

#a peaceful ending is exactly what the drabble doctor ordered! #OH MY GOD #52 whole weeks #it's been a fucking pleasure & a half #again. i do want to write them a lil epilogue so i hope that you'll stay tuned for that! hoping for next week but we shall see #it's wild to me that the ending of this story is coinciding with the beginning of my upcoming adventures #we get on a plane next week to start seeing some different sights! #feels quite cosmic ✨ #anywhoooo thank you for the support over the last year! #thank you to everyone who read & reblogged & flailed in the tags #thank you for the excitement week after week! #& thank you to anyone who was like 'she's still going??? be done already! 🥵' for keeping me motivated 😉 #what a sweet ride! #& with this... my plate is clear... excited to see what comes next! #🖤 ✂️ 🖤 #barber!mickey my sweet #shaggy!ian my pet #shameless #shameless fanfiction #galladrabbles #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #bee writes 🐝 ✍🏼

[essenceofarda]

To Be Loved: Ch12

Chapter 12 | Read from the Beginning

Before she was born, it was foretold that Princess Lothiriel would suffer greatly from the love of men. Her mother's dying words were words of power, to keep her daughter safe from suffering, to never trust the love of men. Now the Princess Lothiriel has become the Queen of the Riddermark. And though her heart is filled with love, will she learn to accept the love others have for her? An Eothiriel + Post-War-of-the-Ring Fic

New chapter up :) We're (finally???) getting to the more meaty part of the actual plot now haha. Only taken me like 4.5 years 😳😅😬

Anyway, would love to hear y'all's thoughts!!

#eothiriel #eomer/lothiriel #eomer x lothiriel #lothiriel of dol amroth #eomer eadig #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien fanfic #tolkien fic #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #my writing #i'm actually a bit proud of how this chapter turned out... #also: Thank you to all the kind messages on my most recent post :') #not to be tmi but like within 24 hours of making that post i got my period so like... yeah lol feeling a bit better now #I have pretty severe PMDD for context which is why some of you might notice i sometimes make posts like that like clockwork lol :') #It's funny i'll be severely depressed or worse for a week or two. not sure why. all the bad stuff. And then my period comes and I'll just #be like 'oh how didn't i see the REASON before now' #as if this hasn't been happening every month since i was like 13 😅🤔 #anyway. i need to develop a keen sense of self awareness so i stop whining about stuff online #note to self: stop being a lil bitch! #that or Finally commit to getting my ovaries yanked out 😬 #anyway--feeling a touch better now that my period is underway #but i still appreciate the encouraging and thoughtful comments #even if i feel a lil guilty bc it the hormones talking more than I'd like to admit :| #tho to give myself a little consideration i suppose it does truly feel real in the moment

[lovesastateofmind1]

Lie To Me

Rated: Explicit

It seems like hours before either one of them even moves, but in the end, her restless kryptonian energy wins out. She takes one hesitant step forward, her shoe squeaking against the floor, and she already has her mouth open to say… something – she really isn’t sure what – when Lena interrupts her.  

“Did you really have to hide out in the corner doing the blushing schoolgirl routine?” She asks, exasperated. “Because you and I both know that’s not who you are.” Her eyebrow arches and Kara’s cheeks burn hotter because while it is now a well-known fact, Lena has never actually called her out on it.  

“I was trying to be respectful.” She stutters out slightly and Lena scoffs. “Lena –” 

“Don’t.” She cuts in immediately, causing Kara to stop a few feet away and look at her curiously. “You don’t get to ask me. You never get to ask me. Not about that, is that clear?” 

Start from the beginning HERE

Chapter Eleven HERE

#it's baaaccckkk #supergirl #supercorp #fanfiction #lie to me #heavy angst #all the feels #all the smut #i know i disappeared off the face of the planet for a hot second there #but please come see some unstable lesbians in action #im here to break your heart

[kaythefloppa]

Rewatching No Name Dream, and honestly, it is the one Wild Kratts episode that feels the most like a fanfiction.

#wild kratts #wild kratts season 7 #wk season 7 #wk s7 #the episode was released in Canada and is viewable with a VPN #But some clever fox leaked it onto YouTube so you can easily search it up and find it #Still I'm gonna refrain from spoilers on my blog until the episode comes out in April when I'm certain that the vast majority has seen it. #But yeah there are a lot of call-backs in the episode to earlier seasons - Even more recent ones like Season 6 #It's like a fanfiction in the sense that it feels like it was written by a fan of the show that wanted a comeback for old stuff in the show #There's also the one scene that shall not be named which I 100% think was an intentional nod to the viewers. #if yk yk #It's so weird in any other context this feels like a fun little fic but it's actually a canon episode #Even weirder is that it actually works somehow? #I feel like a lot of people may either like it or hate it when it comes out but I really love it. #spoiler free

[charmac]

I know it takes me 500 years to write anything, but when I do finally get it down I am really happy with it and proud of what I've been able to put together, so that's gotta mean something.

#writing #fanfiction #etc... #no not etc this is specifically about writing fanfiction lol #ok sometimes i feel this was with work stuff but #i dont write contracts much anymore #this is about my sugar daddy au if you are reading the tags wondering #yeah yeah its coming #i got a little bit more to do but its kinda just like #gonna be a little montage-y #and then a little sprinkle of smut #and boom done off to my beta #hopefully to you in time for some pre-christmas reading #this is like not what i thought this chapter would be #but they all kinda go like that... #in a good way

[alicesbread]

Spoilers for Mrs de Winter by Susan Hill!

Okay but this book has so much fucking fic material. Like. Imagine Ich finding out she's pregnant AFTER Maxim dies. And having to raise the fucking kid all by herself UNLESS someone comes her way and helps her with that (cough cough Danny maybe?) And having to restart her life for like the third time. Damn.

#would be kind of depressing but also #i feel like after some time she would actually feel somehow relieved #like she wouldn't have to worry about making him angry anymore and wouldn't have that much tension anymore #though it's very possible that the roumors of Maxim being the killer become stronger after he commits #unless they make it seem like an accident #anyway yeah give me preg widow narrator danvich fic or give me death #when I'm done with mama's boy ya'll know what's coming #crying bc my girl Bee won't be there to see her nephew though #rebecca #daphne du maurier #rebecca das musical #mrs danvers #ich #mrs de winter #maxim de winter #susan hill #fanfiction

[averbaldumpingground]

“How come I always end up calling you when I can’t fall asleep?”

Maybe he wouldn't pick up this time, she tries to tell herself. Maybe it would just go to voicemail. And then they could pretend that she never called.

Except he wouldn't, probably. Pretend that is. But she'd hold on to her dignity, maybe enough that the next time she saw him, saw that horrible smile on his face, she could meet his eyes for long enough to get through the lecture. Get through the three hours of supervising the undergraduate lab section. Get through the door.

She doesn't want him to pick up. Not when it's two a.m. Again. Not when she's still half drunk, and she can't see the stars beyond the storm clouds on the roof that Darcy left her on somewhere between her second and fourth wine cooler.

She didn't even want to go with Darcy anyway. She's not sure why she did, but the music that she can still somewhat hear from across the quad is starting to give her a headache.

Or maybe it's the long, drawn out seconds between the first ring and the third, or now the fourth. She could just hang up. She could.

But she's not going to. Not until she gets his voicemail.

Because...

Because it's been a crappy night. Because her piece of junk computer crashed while she was mid-compiling.

Because doing her postdoc when she's barely older than most of the seniors has never endeared her to anyone, her weirdly outgoing roommate excepted.

The call connects.

"It's 2:37, Foster."

So much for the small mercies of his voicemail.

The comically put-upon sigh helps dampen the nauseous feeling in her stomach though. She's mostly pretty sure she shouldn't call him.

"The weather forecast lied."

A click. What sounds like blankets shifting.

Oh. He's never been in bed before.

"I could be on a date," he'd said, the last time that she'd called him.

"At four in the morning?"

"It could be a very good date."

She'd hung up on his obnoxious laughter.

But maybe--

Maybe--

"Foster, it's a Tuesday. Why are you drunk on a Tuesday?"

Is it? She probably knows that, but the frustration and the article edits and the lack of sleep are finally starting to catch up with her. The crappy alcohol still working its way through her system is probably not helping things either.

"Were you asleep?"

More blankets shuffling. An over-dramatic sigh.

"Some of us are covering a 9 a.m. lecture this morning, Foster." A beat. "Do you need me to get you?"

He's probably not on a date then. Not that she cares. Not that--

"--Foster? Jane?"

Oh. Had he been saying something? "Huh? What?"

"You're usually a lot more sober when you call me in the middle of the night."

"I don't call you in the middle of the night."

A laugh. The slide of a drawer being opened.

"Of course not, Foster. Where are you?"

She doesn't though. Not really. He's just an assistant professor whose lab sections she's usually stuck babysitting. And maybe she stops by his lectures sometimes. But only because the theoretical framework--

"--Jane?"

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Because it's your name, Foster. You do still remember your name?"

He sounds less asleep now, less soft. She's not sure that she likes it very much.

"Now, Jane, are you going to tell me where you are?"

Why would he--

"The roof," she tells him, almost despite herself.

"The roof. Alright. Which roof?"

She didn't bother checking when she and Darcy climbed up here. One of the residence halls. She'll figure out which one when she sobers up enough to climb down though.

"Jane?"

“How come I always end up calling you when I can’t fall asleep?”

She isn't sure she really meant to say that.

A pause.

"I do hope you aren't trying to sleep on the roof, Jane."

"You're not very good at conversation and you're pretty much always a jerk."

"...I see." She thinks there's something off about the way he says it. She doesn't think she likes the way it sounds. "Should I call campus security instead?"

"No."

"Will you at least tell me where you are, Foster? I've got 300 freshma--"

"--I like that you pick up."

She really doesn't mean to say that either.

"I--Okay?"

"Um. Yeah."

Maybe the wine coolers were an even worse idea that she'd thought. She--

"Okay."

At least he doesn't sound upset anymore. It shouldn't-- the feeling in her gut is probably from the questionable guacamole she'd had. Or those tasteless little cocktail sausage things.

"Do you want me to come get you, Jane?"

It's 3:14 a.m. He'd said he has a class.

"Why would you?"

She hears his car keys. She knows he lives a decent drive off campus.

"The same reason you called."

Edit: I wrote a follow up.

#fanfiction #Lokane #Jane Foster #Loki #Non-magical grad school AU I guess. #So I was thinking I could use this for Labyrinth. #But then I remembered you wrote Drunk Dial and I just can't top that. #Like not even remotely come close to that even. #So have some half-assed trash that I struggled with over multiple attempts to write this prompt. #I give up trying to make this not suck. #This just up and went where it wanted to go. I'm not particularly happy. #Also taking over and under bets about how many times I failed to make/drink tea today. It's very sad. #April 10 2023 #Edit: A/N that I feel I should add. I know a lot of postdocs are research only. #The university I did my undergrad at still made a lot of the ones in STEM babysit other people's lab sections. #It made for a lot of not particularly happy postdocs.

[idontevenuse-thissite]

"Killing curse green eyes" is a description that should be reserved for a Harry that is an alarmingly few amount of steps away from using said curse.

#So I may have gotten dragged down into #Harry potter #fanfiction #It just kind of happened... I mean I know exactly how #Usually I would do some kind of media analysis but I haven't actually consumed the source material #Still kinda working on the my student spirit one but it's been thrown into the pile a bit. #I may talk about my preferences in harry potter fanfic though. What I find interesting and such #That would in a sense be more general tropes I think. Not necessarily Harry Potter. #I would say though. Would love to read some of the scenes of fake Moody teaching illegal magic to kids. #Like imagine a terrorist who silently escaped prison became a chemistry teacher and showed the kids how to build bombs #and somehow was like the next best chemistry teacher they've had as the position keep getting replaced every year #That's the best analogy I can come up with. I just think it's hilarious and I would've liked to see more of it. #I imagine he would so try to teach the seven year Slytherins all three unforgivables if I got the chance to #And if he could get away with it he would so put the kids under the crutio for a bit as well #saying something along the lines of “They have to know what it feels like for real. Know how debilitating it really is.” #I don't think he'd get away with it. But he would probably try to see he could. test the waters with the staff a bit #I guess that's all about the canon though #I found a wonderful youtube video talking about Draco that I really liked as well. Popular fandom reception of him is... #He's kind of a spoiled ignorant bigot. People tend to forget that because #he regretted his empty words when the weight of them and reality backslapped him across the face.